Minister's Corner

This was published in the Shawnee News Star on Saturday, November 25, 2017.

“For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”

Matthew 18:20, the Holy Bible, New Revised Standard Version

            The church is not the building. It is not bricks or mortar. It is not contained within the walls or the woodwork. The church does not require a floor or a ceiling. The church is the people. The church is the congregation. The church is not the building.

            This is a refrain that my congregation has been repeating for several years. We began saying it when we made the difficult decision to leave our original home on Beard Street. It has been our litany these last two years as we fashioned the former Sips Coffee House into a place of worship. Although it might seem ironic, we are still saying it now that we are moving again, this time into a building of our own.

            The end of this month will be the end of our time at 114 East Main Street. As I write this on the eve of Thanksgiving, I cannot adequately express my thanks to Brad Carter for his generosity as our landlord these last two years. How thankful I am that we have had that space to call home, even temporarily. Beginning in December, we will be living in our new worship space, our new church home at 120 North Broadway. You may have known it as the Vintage Venue, but now it is the new home of United Presbyterian Church.

            It is our building, and we are beyond excited and overjoyed and grateful to own it. We are doing the things you do when you buy a place of your own. We are painting, putting in new lighting, deciding on a place for everything and everything in its place, and dreaming of new ministries, new possibilities for doing what God calls us to do. Yet, if we have learned a lesson in these last challenging years, it is that the church is not the building. We are the church. Our congregation – no matter how small or how big, how young or how old – we are the church. While we are thrilled to be in this place, to call it our own, we also know that if those four walls were to go away tomorrow, we would still be the church. We would still be the congregation of United Presbyterian, because the church is not the building.

            This scripture from Matthew is often used as a reminder that a congregation, to loosely paraphrase Dr. Seuss, is a congregation no matter how small. But that one verse comes at the end of a passage about church discipline. Jesus told the disciples how they were to deal with one another when they were in conflict, when someone in the church had gone awry. And that passage about conflict is sandwiched between Jesus’ teachings about humility, about caring for the most humble among them and his instructions to the disciples about extravagant forgiveness.

            It seems to me that Jesus was instructing the disciples on how to be in community together, on how to be in true fellowship with one another. Jesus knew that a community of his followers would not be perfect; it would not be without conflict or struggle. But as long as they were gathered in his name, even if it were only two or three of them, then he would be with them. There was no mention of buildings or site plans. The church would be the church as long as it was gathered in his name, wherever it was gathered in his name.

            We have learned that we can be the church anywhere.  As long as two or three are gathered together, a coffee bar can be a sanctuary and a storefront can be sacred space, because the church is not bricks or mortar. It is not contained within the walls or the woodwork. The church does not require a floor or a ceiling. The church is the people, and we are the church.

We invite you to join us on Sunday, December 3^rd, the first Sunday of Advent, as we worship in our new sanctuary at 120 North Broadway. Worship is at 10:45 am. Y’all come!

Litany of Leaving -- On Our Final Sunday

I wrote this for our last Sunday in our temporary church home on Main Street, November 26, 2017.

It was a way of saying thanks and goodbye. 

God brought us to this place.

When we were unsure of our future, God brought us to this place.

God brought us to this place, and through the power of God’s Spirit a store became a sanctuary.

Through the power of God’s Spirit, a coffee house became a church.

God brought us to this place, and taught us that worship is not defined by the walls that surround it.

From the pulpit we have heard messages of hope, exhortations for justice and prophecies of peace.

God brought us to this place, and taught us that music could still soar in a smaller space.

From the piano, from the choir and from our own voices raised in song, our music has overwhelmed us with joy and moved us to tears. New hymns have captured our imaginations, and old hymns have seemed even sweeter sung together, neighbor to neighbor.

God has brought us to this place, gathering us together for fellowship.

At this counter, we have shared food and laughter, coffee and sympathy. We have been given new opportunities not only to catch up on one another’s lives, but to live out the hospitality of the gospel.

God has brought us to this place, and here we have met Christ.

At this table, our memories have been renewed. We have met Christ, seen Christ, and shared in Christ’s peace. At this table we have been called, and from this table we have been sent.

God brought us to this place and made of it a church. We give thanks for every moment we have spent here. Like the Israelites following God in the pillars of cloud and fire in the wilderness, we trust that God is just ahead of us. God brought us to this place, God leads us still. Amen.

Kingdom Living -- The Reign of Christ

Matthew 25:31-46

November 26, 2017

            Sonder: the realization that every person you see, every passerby, every random stranger you come across -- the person you almost run into on the street, or the person drinking coffee at the corner table at Starbucks, the man in the next car in the next lane at the bank drive through, the homeless people who gather in groups at the library or who line up in front of us at the Salvation Army – all of these people have lives as vivid as yours. They have people who have been influential in their lives, for good or for bad. They have their own back stories, moments when their lives changed on a dime. Sonder is the realization that every person has a life as vivid as your own.

            Sonder is a word coined by John Koenig. If you Google the word “sonder” you can watch a video about it created and narrated by the author. If I were using this word next week, we could watch the video on the screen.  Soon. Very soon. I don’t know the origin of sonder, how or why Koenig coined it. But it resonates with me. The word resonates with me and the idea resonates with me.

            I first had a flash of sonder, although I didn’t know that’s what it was, when I was enduring an interminably long layover in the Atlanta airport many years ago. There’s an old joke that says if you die in the South, whether you go to Heaven or Hell, you have to go through Atlanta to get there. Sitting for many hours in the Atlanta airport felt like hell. On that particular layover, I had wandered the terminal, and checked out every possible shopping opportunity. This was long before the days when you could get a massage, a mani and a pedi while waiting in an airport. I’d gotten something to eat and drink, found the ladies room, and was now sitting at my gate with what seemed like an eternity still left to wait for my flight. I had a book and crossword puzzles, but I was having a hard time staying focused because I kept listening for updates on my flight number. So I had given up and started people watching. There were the business people in suits, looking at their watches and reading files out of their briefcases. There were some young families; one parent taking turns holding the baby and minding the stroller and diaper bag while the other one took the toddler to the bathroom.

            But one scenario unfolded that I’ve never forgotten. An older woman was waiting anxiously by a gate – these were the days when families could meet you at the gate. She was with a couple of older kids, teenagers. I guessed they were her children. I said she was anxious because she was pacing slightly, looking, peering at the spot where passengers from an arriving flight would soon appear. She clasped and unclasped her hands. The flight’s arrival was called, and travelers began to deplane. She and her children were staring excitedly at each person coming toward them. It must have been a crowded flight because passengers were streaming around this mother and children, parting like a river meeting a large stone. Then the woman’s face changed; it was suffused with absolute joy. She put her face in her hands and began to cry. A tall, lanky sailor strode toward her. He was wearing his dress blues with the white sailor hat. He walked up to her, threw his arms around her and hugged her so hard he lifted her from the ground. The other kids were jumping up and down and hugging him, and he was hugging them back. But I’ll never forget that mother. She was overcome with joy that her son had come home.

            I didn’t know it, but I was experiencing sonder. I realized in that brief moment that I was witnessing another life as vivid as my own. I would never see this family again. I would never know their names or their histories or where they went from that time on. But I knew that they were living a complete existence. I could not write them off as just people in an airport. I imagined that there was a great dinner being prepared at home to welcome their sailor. I suspected that other family members and friends would be joining them. I guessed that preparations and plans had been in the works for quite a while; the house had been scrubbed. His room was shiny clean. The table was laid. Her son was home.

            Sonder.  

            What is so surprising about this passage from Matthew is that both the sheep and the goats are surprised. When Jesus told those listening about the judgment of the nations, he said that he Son of Man would come in his glory. All the angels would come with him. The Son of Man would then sit on his throne of glory, and all the nations – ethnos in Greek – all people would be gathered before him for judgment. Like a shepherd, he would separate the sheep and the goats. The sheep would be put at his right hand and the goats at his left hand.

            To the sheep at his right hand, he will say,

“Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.”

The sheep, the righteous ones, are surprised! They want to know when.

“Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?”

The answer? “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”

He will turn to the ones on his left and use the same criteria for condemnation. I was hungry and you did not feed me. I was thirsty and you did not give me something to drink. I was a stranger and you did not welcome me. I was naked and you gave me no clothes. I was sick and in prison and you didn’t visit me.

And the goats, those poor goats, will also ask “when?”

Lord, when we did see you hungry or thirsty, naked, sick, in prison and not welcome you?!

The answer? When you did not offer those kindnesses, that compassion to the least of these, then you did not offer it to me.

The traditional takeaway from this passage is that Jesus is in every person, therefore we are to treat every person – particularly the poor, the hungry and sick, the prisoner, the least of these, as though  we were caring for Jesus himself. That is not a bad takeaway. It is a fine one, in fact. Certainly, it is the essence of what kingdom living is about. Seeing this passage in light of the Sermon on the Mount, considering who Jesus called blessed, it would make sense to reach out to the least ones, the lowly ones, the marginalized and forgotten ones.

There are folktales and stories galore about millers and monks who learn that when they care for others in need, they are really caring for their Lord. It would seem that if you want to be a sheep, than this is what you do.

However, herein lies the rub. I am a sheep. And I am also a goat. I have reached out to the least of these. But I have also walked on by. I have tried to be mindful, intentional about treating others as though I were serving Jesus himself, but I have also dismissed other people as being as unlike Jesus as possible. I label people. I group them into categories. I paint them with the broad brush of sweeping generalizations. To be brutally honest, when it comes to caring and compassion it is far easier for me to care for the least of these then it is for me to care for those with whom I radically disagree.

But then I experience a moment of sonder, a moment when I realize that everyone has a story, everyone has a vivid life. Every person came from another person. Every grown adult was once a tiny baby, dependent on the care of others. Every person needed and needs a hand to hold, no matter what they tell you. Every human is a child of God; every human carries a spark of the divine within him or her. Every human is a child of God. Every human could be Jesus, because Jesus was one of us. Maybe kingdom living is not just about treating others the way we would treat Jesus, but recognizing that every human deserves dignity because they are human. Every human has a story, and sonder, when we experience it, is the gateway to empathy.

The sheep did not know that they were caring for Jesus; they just cared. Are we not called to do the same? To care, not merely because we are commanded to, but because we care. God loves us, and we love God in return. God loves us, and out of our love for God, we love others. So care. Care for the least of these. Care for the hungry and the sick and the thirsty. Care for the naked and the prisoner. Care for the stranger. Care for the human beings who cross your path. Care for the others. Care for them all. Care as though they were Jesus and care because they are human and care because they are God’s children. Just like us.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!” Amen.

Playing It Safe

Matthew 25:14-30

November 19, 2017

I read a story in the Christian Century just recently about a church in Chicago that, along with two other churches, invested in an affordable housing development in the 1970’s. They put money and sweat equity into creating this housing, and in the last few years that development was sold for a large sum of money. The church received a big, BIG dollar amount in the sale. While there many needs and demands for the money they received from the sale, the governing board of the church went a different way. They made a bold decision. They took $160,000 and divided it into $500 checks for every active, attending member to use for God’s purposes in the world. There were no dotted lines to sign. There was no fine print. Each active member of the church was given $500 dollars to use in any way he or she saw fit to serve God in the world.

Before this took place, the church had been working through a study on spiritual discernment and decision making; and the day the checks were passed out, the pastor preached a sermon using this passage on this parable of the talents from Matthew’s gospel. According to the writer, there was anxiety on the part of the church elders. Certainly, that money was needed for other things. It was a windfall that could have helped their overall budget enormously. Giving away $160,000 without any accountability was seemingly nuts. It was a risky and pretty insane thing to do. They could be throwing away $160,000! But as the writer put it; that’s how it can feel following Jesus, living the gospel and being a disciple: it feels risky, vulnerable, and nuts in light of the world’s values.

I do not have a series of happy endings for this story. I don’t know what happened next. It would be wonderful to report that members of the church took their $500 and made amazing ministries happen – maybe they did. But I don’t know that. The happy endings are still in the making. And it’s quite possible that not all the endings will be happy. It’s realistic to believe that some of the folks who got the money just gave it back in the offering plate or spent it on something else or are still trying to figure out what to do with their share of the abundance.

Abundance is at the heart of this parable in Matthew’s gospel. The word “talent” is deceiving. It sounds like something small. It is easy to equate it with a gift; such as I have a talent for cooking or writing or gardening, etc. But in that context one talent was equal to fifteen years worth of pay. If you make $25,000 a year and multiply that by 15, that’s $375,000 dollars in one talent! That’s just one talent, and that was a fortune! Now think about how much money the slave who was entrusted with five talents was given. This master was not leaving his servants with scarcity. He was leaving them with abundance; an abundance of money, an abundance of fortune. The master entrusted them to do with this abundance as they saw fit. And as the writer of the story I told at the beginning of this sermon wrote, it was never about the money, it was about the risk.

What would the slaves do with the abundance they were given? What risks would they take? Would they take a chance and make more? Would they hoard what they were given? We see both in this story. The first two slaves took the talents they were given and traded them. The slave given the five talents, traded them and made five more. The slave given the two talents, traded them and made two more. But the third slave was a different story. The third slave was afraid. We could argue that the third slave did not waste the talent he was given. He did not lose it or throw it away. He was not profligate with the talent. He did nothing illegal or immoral with money that was not his. The problem was that he did nothing. He was so afraid of losing it, that he buried it instead. He dug a hole in the ground, put the talent in there and waited until the master returned. Surely the master wouldn’t be upset with him. No, he would have no more than the talent he was entrusted with to return to the master, but he would still have that talent.

But that isn’t how the parable goes, is it? When the master returned, he congratulated the first slave for making five more talents.

“Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.”

He did the same for the second slave for making two more talents. But when the third slave came to the master, bearing the original talent, the slave said,

“Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.”

If the third slave thought that this would be well received by the master, he was wrong. The master was furious.

“You wicked and lazy slave! You knew, did you, that I reap where I did not sow, and gather where I did not scatter? Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have received what was my own with interest. So take the talent from him, and give it to the one with the ten talents. For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. As for this worthless slave, throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

Huh? To say that is harsh response would be an understatement. There’s so many things happening in this parable, it is challenging to unpack them all. Why did the slave assume these things about the master? Perhaps they were true, but we have no way of knowing what his assumption was based on. How interesting that what the slave assumes becomes the truth, whether it was initially true or not.

It also seems strange for Jesus to tell a parable which ends with someone who has much getting even more. That seems to go against the idea of reversal which is so prominent in the rest of this gospel and the others. However, one commentator urged preachers and teachers to see this parable through the lens of the Sermon on the Mount. This is a parable about the kingdom of heaven, and in the beatitudes, those who are blessed are the least of these. The slaves who took a chance with what was entrusted to them may be the least of these, receiving blessing upon blessing.

Ultimately, I return to the quote I used earlier, when it comes to the parable of the talents, it was never about the money, it was about the risk.

Some commentators and scholars encourage sermons on this parable to be reminders about not squandering the gifts that we are given. Others urge the preacher to remember that we have unique opportunities to be a prophetic voice – to speak out against injustice. I cannot help but think that when it comes to this parable, all of the above apply, because ultimately it is about not playing it safe. That’s the true sin that the third slave committed. He played it safe. True, he did nothing illegal or immoral. He toed the line and walked the straight and narrow when it came to keeping safe his master’s money. But if it was about the risk, not the money, then he gravely committed the sin of playing it safe. He was afraid to step out in faith. He was afraid to risk doing more. He was afraid to try. He played it safe.

How often, as a preacher, as a teacher, as a disciple, have I played it safe? How often have I feared more the judgment of others more than the judgment of God? How often have I squandered my unique opportunities to further the gospel because I was too afraid of reproach or failure? How often have I played it safe?

But living the gospel is never safe. Following Jesus, being a disciple is always risky. Faith is not a certainty. If it were, then it wouldn’t be faith. To be a disciple, to love with your whole heart, to follow Jesus, is to risk everything. It is not about playing it safe. Think about that church in Chicago. They took a huge gamble by giving each member that money. There are no guarantees, no assured outcomes, no definitive happy endings. But they did it anyway, because to risk in that way felt to them like what it means to be believers.

The coolest way to end this sermon would be to tell you to see Lori this week and pick up your check. But that’s not going to happen. Sorry. But I will encourage you to examine how you are living – I’m not calling you to look for sins. I’m calling you to look at how you are playing it safe when it comes to your faith. How are you avoiding risks when it comes to living the gospel?

I read a quote this week that went something like this,

“The saddest thing would be to do the same thing for 75 or 80 years and call it a life.”

Life and love and faith is risky business. Step out in faith. Take a leap of hope. Walk in trust that God is walking beside you. But whatever you do, don’t play it safe.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!” Amen.