Appearances Deceive

Mark 13:1-8

November 15, 2015

            On a podcast I listen to called Selected Shorts, I recently heard a short story read about a cautious man. This is my paraphrase of the story.[1]

This cautious man had always been cautious. He was a husband, a father, a businessman. He took care of the people he loved. He did what he could to make sure they were safe and protected from harm. But he, his wife and his children also lived and worked and played. One day the man’s house burned to the ground. He rushed home to see his house destroyed, but his wife and his children were safe. The man was terrified. Yes, he still had his family, but what if? When he rebuilt his house, he built it of materials that could not burn thinking that would ensure his family’s safety. But even with an inflammable house, he realized that robbers and marauders could still find a way into his home and harm his family. So he built a moat and filled it with dangerous animals. He built a wall around the moat which went around his house to keep that which could harm away from his family. He feared that even these physical structures could still not keep danger out, so he hired guards to watch for danger on a regular basis. Fearing that the guards might turn on him, he hired more guards to watch the guards. But still this cautious man was not satisfied that his family and his home were protected from all danger. So he built protections around them specifically. But that wasn’t enough, so at last he had them enclosed in pods. They were able to breathe and be nourished inside the pods; they were on monitors to make sure that all of their vital signs stayed within the normal ranger, but no illness or danger or harm could reach inside and take them from him. For a while he would visit them in their pods, but whenever he did their vital signs, their heart rates and blood pressure, would swing wildly high and low. The cautious man realized that his presence affected his wife and his children too much, so he stopped visiting them. He hired other people to tend to them while they stayed safely in their pods.

But one day a servant came to him and said that his daughter was dying. She was wasting away in her pod designed to keep out all danger and harm. So he had her taken out of the pod. The cautious man had his wife and his other children taken out of their pods. He realized that being alive is not the same as living. The cautious man removed all the obstacles to harm that he put in place. He fired the guards who guarded the guards. He filled in the moat and tore down the wall. He opened the doors of his house. He was still cautious. He still wanted his family safe and protected from harm, but as long as they were alive they would live.  

My original intent for this sermon has changed in these last days. It changed because evil has been alive and well this past week. It reared its ugly head in the horrific attacks in Paris on Friday evening. It also made its presence known through devastating suicide bombings in Beirut and Baghdad on Thursday and early Friday. In a period of 24 hours, hundreds of people were killed, hundreds more injured, and people in three cities who were just living their lives had their lives altered irrevocably.

Since September 11, 2001, we have had one other terrorist attack with the bombing at the Boston Marathon. While it may seem that the violence of terrorism is low, the latest statistic that I read was that we have also not gone one day this year without gun violence claiming the lives of at least one or more people. Not one day. Evil and hatred and violence have many names, and take on a variety of appearances, but the result whether it is on a large scale or small is the same. Devastation. Loss. Destruction. Senseless waste of lives.

The world’s response to the terrorist attacks in Paris has been heartening, just as it was on September 12^th. It seems that in times like these we remember that we human beings are more connected to one another than we are otherwise. But along with the response of shared mourning, sympathy and support, there have been other expected responses. We want to know why. We want to know who. We want to know what can be done. Fingers are being pointed and blame is being assigned. Sometimes the blame falls on the people who deserve it, but too often it lands on those who do not. Brene Brown said that blame in sociological terms is “the discharge of pain and discomfort.”

Our pain and discomfort are great. They are so great that we not only blame, we try to find better ways of preventing these atrocities from happening again. I am all about safety and prevention. I’ll gladly wait in long security lines at the airport if it means I have a better chance of arriving at my destination safely. But even as I say that I realize that the appearance of security deceives. When the disciples pointed out the large stones and large buildings of the temple in Jerusalem, I suspect that they believed that nothing could bring those buildings down and turn those stones into rubble. But Jesus told them otherwise.

“Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”

That was probably not the response they expected. Later, when Jesus sat opposite of the temple on the Mount of Olives, Peter, James, John and Andrew went to him privately and asked him to tell them when this would happen. What will be the signs? How will this be accomplished?

It isn’t surprising, really, that the disciples wanted to know the end. That way they could be prepared for what was to come. Don’t we sometimes wish we knew this as well? I can’t even read a mystery without turning to the end first. I just want to be prepared for what’s going to happen to the characters I’ve become attached to. The disciples want to be prepared, and so do we. We want to be secure and safe. We want to be certain of what will happen. So just like the disciples we ask to be told about when this end time will come. Tell us when our temples will be torn down. Tell us what to look for, watch for, so we can be prepared.

But Jesus said, as he did at other times and in other places, that this was not the question they should be asking. That should not be their worry. Instead beware of those who will lead them – and us – astray. Beware those whose appearances deceive. Beware those who come in his name and claim to be doing his work, but their appearances deceive.

I tried for a long time to think of examples of people who fit this bill. We can look to history, to Hitler and Napoleon and other tyrants and dictators who unleashed evil on the world under the guise of good. We could point to current politicians and leaders and prophesy that their intent is the same – evil in the name of good. But what I kept coming back to is that it isn’t necessarily a person who presents a deceiving appearance. It seems to me that what is truly deceiving is the idea of Certainty and our belief in Security.

O how we long to be certain that what we believe is right and other beliefs are wrong. O how we long to believe that if we build enough walls and patrol enough borders and keep the wrong people out while we hunker down within that we will be secure and safe. We want to be like that cautious man and wrap the ones we love in pods of protection. But that is a falsehood. That is a falsehood that leads us astray time and time again.

The older I get the more reluctantly I realize that certainty and security are illusions. They are smoke and mirrors. They blow away with the slightest of breezes. So what is left? The only answer I can find is faith – faith that God is with us, faith that good will overcome evil, faith that we humans were created to and for love. That’s the key, isn’t it? Love. We were created out of love to love – to love God, love our neighbors, love ourselves. We were created and we are called to love without limits or boundaries. The amazing thing about love is that the more we love, the more love grows. Love expands us.

But the problem is that we say in great faith that love is stronger than hate and that good will triumph over evil. We proclaim that in the end Love wins. And then we go back inside our walls and wait for the cosmic arm of God to reach through the heavens and make it happen. Yet it seems to me that Love will only truly win when the people who say it actually live it.

Isn’t that what Jesus did? He lived and died as though Love would win. Love is not a passive emotion in response to the atrocities that are happening all around us. Love is not a nicety, a cliché or a bumper sticker that we say when we can think of nothing else. To Love is our most defiant act of rebellion in the face of evil. Love is defiance. Hatred just cannot stand up to it. That is why we love our enemies and we turn the other cheek and we give the shirts off our backs because it diminishes evil’s power. Love is our defiance against evil. Love is our rebellion against those who hate us. Love lessens our need for security and certainty. Love triumphs over hatred and good wins out over evil, because we who claim Love also live Love. I think that we are called not only to recognize those people and especially those ideas whose appearances deceive; we are also called to love them. Our lives, now more than ever, cannot be just about living. They must be about loving. We must love defiantly as if our world depends on it.

It does.

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

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[1] Selected Shorts, podcast – I searched the site to find the actual title and author of this story to no avail. If you know the origins of the story, please let me know.

Going All In

Mark 12:38-44

November 8, 2015

            Money talks. That sounds like an overused cliché doesn’t it? Yet cliché’s are based in truths, and I think this is a prime example. Money talks. It talks in business, politics, sports, academics, everyday life, and in matters religious. The implication of these two words is that the more money you have, the louder it speaks.

            I became fully aware of money’s power to talk when I was a new pastor and attending presbytery meetings on a regular basis. We are a denomination of great love and compassion. We are also a denomination of great conflict and controversy. Nowhere are those dynamics reflected more clearly than when we gather together in large groups. As I said, I first started noticing how money talks at presbytery meetings. As our denomination would wrestle and debate over some particularly difficult and controversial topic, churches who felt that we were heading the wrong way would show its disapproval through its pledge to the presbytery. A church would withhold its pledged money as a way of stating clearly and succinctly that it did not agree with whatever was happening or not happening.

            I have no statistics whatsoever to back up my next statement. This is only a pattern that I have observed over the years. Yet I have noticed that large churches that contributed large sums to the presbytery, and ultimately the denomination, seemed to be the churches that most often withheld financial pledges because of theological disagreements with the larger body. While every church, large or small, does matter to a presbytery and the denomination’s well-being, at the presbytery level when a large church withholds pledging, it is felt. Why? Because money talks. Lots of money talks loudly.

            I do not dispute an individual or a congregation’s right to not financially support something with which they radically disagree. There are lots of things I do not want my money to support. Beyond the church walls, I think it is vital to be mindful of not only how I spend my money, but where I spend my money. Thinking globally and buying locally is another phrase that may seem overused, but it is also of utmost importance. Boycotts and divestments are all used to express people’s desire to stop supporting practices or policies that are believed to be wrong or unjust. Money does indeed talk. We may agree or disagree with how much or how little money contributes to a conversation, but it talks.

            So how does money talk in our story from Mark’s gospel? This is perhaps a story we think we know quite well. It is one that is used intentionally at this time in the church year when stewardship campaigns are in full swing. It seems to emphasize the importance of giving our financial all to our church – no matter how large or small a sum that equates to.

            This widow who gives all she has to the temple treasury is lifted up as a shining example of “the cheerful giver.” As Jesus said, “Truly, I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

            It would be so easy, and make for a much shorter sermon, if I just said, “See, we all just need to be like this poor widow. We need to give our all, and all shall be well.” Alas, I cannot do that. What I can do is paraphrase theologian David Lose and say that there are two ways we can hear Jesus’ words. We can hear them as commendation or lament. Is Jesus commending the widow? Or is he lamenting her great sacrifice? There are indications from the larger context of this passage that it is the latter. Looking at the timeline of Jesus’ life shows that if Jesus was sitting opposite the treasury of the temple, that means that he was in Jerusalem. He had made his triumphal entry into the city. In the timeline of our church year, this story happens during Holy Week. Jesus is most definitely headed for the cross. In Mark’s telling, Jesus had barely crossed the city limits when cleansed the temple of the merchants and money changers who made his Father’s house a market place. Immediately following this story is Jesus’ prophecy of the temple’s destruction, so it would seem odd that he would lift up a poor widow giving her all to the temple as a model of stewardship.

            In the first verses we read today, Jesus condemned scribes who put greater emphasis on appearances and status then they did on faithfulness. These scribes may be greeted with groveling respect and get the best seats at the table, but “they devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”

             If Jesus warned against being like those scribes and denounced them for exploitation of the weak and the vulnerable, also known as widows, then why would he laud the widow’s great sacrifice in the very next breath? Cause and effect suggests that what she did was the end result of that exploitation. She shouldn’t have had to put into the treasury all that she had; her whole life. This is not to say that the wealthier people who put in greater amounts were stingy. But I suspect that they felt their giving less. The widow in giving all that she had, probably felt the consequences of her generosity a great deal more. To use yet another cliché, she gave until it hurt.

            But here’s the thing, no matter how we want to interpret the actions of this widow, it seems to me that our interpretations do not grasp the complexity of this story or this woman. We leave her as little more than a two-dimensional character. She was there only to be used as an example, an illustration, by Jesus and by us. But whoever she was, she was much more than that. I do not doubt that she was exploited by the larger systems in play around her. This is not a critique of ancient Judaism. In that society, and quite frankly in most societies, she would have been one of the weakest, most vulnerable of persons. In any patriarchal culture, a woman with no man in her life has no protection. Marriage, family, kept you safe. Is it really that much different today?

            The thing is, I think this widow knew that. I think she was well aware of where she stood in her culture and what that culture was capable of doing to her. I don’t think she gave blindly. She gave because she had to, certainly. There was a temple tax. But I do not think she was unaware of how her giving affected her and how it contributed to a greater injustice that worked against her.

            She gave her whole life. I wonder if she did this not because she had to but because what else could she do? She was driven by her need. Not giving was not an option, so she went all in with everything she had, everything she was. What did she have to lose? I think, I believe, she gave out of her need. I’m not saying this to taint her actions. In fact, I think it shows how faithful she truly was. Going all in with all of her money, with her whole life may have been driven by her great need, but it also required an even greater trust. Did she go all in with her money, her life because she trusted her leaders? Or did she go all in because she trusted God? She went all in, giving her whole life, because she trusted that she was in greater hands than those who sought to exploit her. She went all in because she had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

            I know I’ve used the movie, Leap of Faith, in sermons before, but there is a scene in the movie that astonishes me every time I watch it. Steve Martin plays a traveling evangelist, aka con-artist. Debra Winger is his steadfast partner in crime. One of their busses breaks down outside of a small, broke, drought-stricken Kansas town. Martin’s character decides to set up shop anyway based on his thinking that the town may not be able to afford him, but they really need him. Liam Neeson plays the skeptical sheriff who tries to do everything he can to stop them from taking advantage of and exploiting the desperate people in his town. At one of the revival meetings, he tries to dissuade the people from giving to this “ministry,” by exposing Martin’s character for the fraud he is. He looks at one woman and says, “The bank is about to foreclose on your farm. You and your husband haven’t worked in months. How much of your hard earned money did you put into that bucket? $20?” The woman looks right back at him and says defiantly, “I put in $40. I need all the help I can get.”

            I need all the help I can get. We can look at this woman in the movie or at the widow in this story and cry foolishness. Why would they give to a system that they know is exploiting them, taking advantage of them? Why would they give anything at all much less go all in with everything that they have, with their whole life?

            Maybe because when you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. Maybe because when you are in desperate need, going all in with your money, your time, your whole life is all you can do. Or maybe you go all in because you trust God more. This widow who gave her whole life is an example, but not of a cheerful giver or of someone exploited by an unjust system. She is an example of someone who trusted God more. She went all in with everything she had, not knowing what would happen to her, but trusting, somehow, that God did.

            We are called to go all in – with our money, our time, our resources – because we trust God more. It sounds easy. Yet it is so hard to do. But still we are called. Over and over, we are called to go all in without expectation or knowing the outcome. We are called to go all in, giving up control over what might happen. We are called to go all in because we trust God more. And here is the good news. God has gone and is going and will go all in for us. Think about that. Let those words sink in. God has gone. God is going. God will go all in for us. Let us go all in for this God who goes all in for us. Let us trust God more than our fears of what we’re giving up. Let us trust God more. Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!” Amen.

A Lavish Feast -- All Saint's Day

Isaiah 25:6-9

November 1, 2015

            What foods do you think of when you hear the word feast? If a feast were to be served in your honor, what gourmet goodies would you want to see on the table? What dishes of delight would you want to chow down upon? I’ve been fortunate – extremely fortunate – to partake in some pretty amazing and delectable meals over the course of my life. If I haven’t told you about the chicken and waffles I had over Mother’s Day, see me after the service is over. But when it comes to what I think of as a feast, I think of Christmas Eve in my house growing up. I think of my dad’s Swedish meatballs.

            As far as we know, without having a DNA test done, my dad is all German. Both his mother and father were of long German lineage, so my dad is about as German as we can imagine. But for some reason, for as long as I can remember, he became the Swedish meatball maker extraordinaire. My dad isn’t really a cook. My mom was and is the cook of the family. But dad’s Swedish meatballs set the standard that the rest of us have to live up to. I’m still striving to reach his high bar.

            He would make them the day before Christmas Eve. Any dog we had in the family stayed close by his side, taunted and tortured by the smell of all that heavenly meat. Dad keeps track of how many he makes; I’m not sure if he’s gone over the 200 meatball mark, but I know he’s come close.  My sister-in-law, Mary Jo, is allergic to onions. When she joined the family, dad started making a special batch just for her.

            We always had tons of wonderful food at our Christmas Eve table: spiraled ham, baked rice pudding, assorted rolls and vegetables. If family came from Minnesota, we would have Swedish sausage as well. Dessert would be an assortment of all the Christmas cookies my mother had been baking for weeks and peppermint stick ice cream. But for me, Dad’s Swedish meatballs were the highlight of our family’s lavish feast.

            Isaiah does not mention meatballs as being on the menu of the feast the Lord will give his people. We do read of rich food and well-aged wines. We read of the feast being served on this mountain. While the word holy is not used in conjunction with mountain, it is not hard to imagine that any mountain the Lord resides on is a holy one. Isaiah goes on to say that while the people swallow their food, the Lord will also do some swallowing. Instead of food, the Lord will swallow up death forever. The shroud – that death sheet – that has been cast over the people will be destroyed by the Lord on this mountain. The sheet – that woven cloth – which has been spread over all the nations will also be destroyed. The people will consume food. But the Lord will consume death. The Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces. The Lord God will take away the disgrace of his people from all the earth. At this feast, on this mountain, the sorrow of the people – their tears, their grief, their disgrace will be wiped away. Death will be done, swallowed up, by the Lord.

            The imagery of this passage is magnificent. It is poetry at its most powerful. It is not just describing a lavish feast. It is describing an eschatological hope. Feast imagery is used in other passages in both testaments. But certainly in the Old Testament, stories of feasts are used to illustrate the ways the wealthy and powerful live by the exploitation of the poor and vulnerable. While the rich feast, the poor starve. While the powerful sit down to sumptuous spreads, the vulnerable beg in the streets. But this feast is not thrown by a wealthy tyrant. This feast will be given by God himself. This feast will not be held in honor of the A list. There will be no guest list at this feast. Instead all peoples will be invited. In three verses, the word all is used five times.

            “The Lord of hosts will make for all peoples…”

            “And he will destroy in this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations;”

            The Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth.”

            The Lord God will give a lavish feast for all people, not only for the nourishment of bodies, but for the sustenance of their souls. All that has pinned people, weighted them down, mired them in the sorrows of the world will be removed. They will no longer be covered in shrouds or sheets. They will no longer be consumed by the defeat of death. The Lord will swallow death.

            This is a beautiful passage for the day when we celebrate all the saints – those that are public and those that are personal. I’m assuming the creators of the lectionary agree with me, which is why they chose these words of Isaiah for this day. On a day set aside for us to intentionally remember the saints who have gone before us, it is beyond comforting to hear of God destroying that which breaks our hearts. It is beyond comforting to know that God will  swallow up death itself, and in the end wipe every tear from our eyes.

            But what I find so profound in these words and images is that all this done at the table. All this takes place at a lavish feast given by the Lord for all people. You see today is not only the day when we remember those saints who have gone before us. A saint, by the way, is not just a perfect person or someone canonized by the Roman church. A saint is a believer. A saint is someone of faith. Not perfect, just faithful. On this day, this All Saint’s Day, we lift up the believers who have meant something to us; who have influenced us, guided us and taught us. And we do this by gathering around this table; this table which connects us to God, to one another, and to the saints living and departed.

            To me gathering at the table is a way of stepping outside of time and space. There are two understandings of time. One, which is more western, is linear. Time has a beginning, a middle and an end. The other, which is more eastern, is circular. Time moves in a circle. Each stage of time is never far from any other stage. We have some of this in our more western thinking don’t we? The seasons are circular. Perhaps even the gaining and losing of hours through daylight and standard time is circular.

            But to me when we come to this table, linear time or circular -- our different understandings of time fall away. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that at this table, we remember what Jesus said and did. We lift up the same elements of life that he lifted – bread and wine. At this table we catch a glimpse of what God will do in his lavish feast for all. At this table we not only remember the saints but we sit at table with them. This is not a ghost story. It is a recognition that the God we worship does not exist in limited time, but beyond time. It is a recognition that we remain connected to those who have gone before, even those we have never met, who lived on this earth long before we did. At this table time falls away, and we partake of God’s lavish feast with all the saints.

            I read a story once of a young pianist who was gifted in his art, but struggling with his continued mastery of the instrument. His teacher, who recognized his frustration, leaned over and gave him a kiss on the head. He told his student that this was Beethoven’s kiss. When the teacher was a young and frustrated student, his teacher had given him the same kiss. And that teacher’s teacher had done the same thing. And that kiss had come from Beethoven. It was a kiss that was passed down from one generation to the next. That kiss helped each student work through the struggles they were having. That kiss inspired them, influenced them, pushed them forward.

            Maybe the story isn’t true. Maybe Beethoven never passed on a kiss like that. But when I look at this table, when I gather with you and all the saints at this table, I can hear my grandmother’s voice and my friend’s booming laugh. When I gather at this table, I can hear Jesus’ words about remembering him and I do. When I come to this table, I can anticipate the rich food and the aged wines that the Lord is setting before us. When I come to this table, I can actually taste and see that the Lord is good. When I come to this table, I can feel God’s touch on my shoulder, hold hands with the saints, and give joyful thanks for this lavish feast.

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