Drowning In Fear

Matthew 14:22-33

August 13, 2017

There is a framed poster on my dining room wall. Brent gave it to me for my birthday last year. It is a print from a photograph we saw when we toured the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis last year. The title of the photo is “Courage: Birmingham, Alabama, 1963.” The picture is of five young Black women and men with their backs to the camera, pushed up against a brick wall. They are pinned there, not by hands or chains, but by water. Off camera someone is holding a high-powered hose, and a terrible onslaught of water is aimed directly at them. Their arms and hands are flung over their faces and heads, trying to protect them from the painful bite of the water. The young women and men are not holding guns. They aren’t dressed as gang members. But the hoses were turned on them anyway. At the bottom of the print, the definition for courage is added.

“Courage. Noun. 1 mental or moral strength to venture, persevere and withstand danger, fear and difficulty”

I see this print all the time. My house isn’t very big, and the dining room is the first room you walk into. It’s the room where I work when I am working at home, and even when my back is to the picture, I am viscerally aware of its presence. I often wonder if I were to find myself in a moment or in a time when I have to choose, when I have to make a stand, will I have that kind of courage? Will I be able to do what those women and men did? Will I be willing to endure the pain of that water? Will I be willing to put my life on the line to stand up for what I believe to be true and right and just?

The etymology of the word “courage” comes partially from the Latin word for heart. Today, we may understand courage as being more about bravery, but the word courage has the connotation of living from the heart.

When Jesus walked on the sea toward the disciples, making them think they were seeing a ghost or a phantom, he told them, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

            In other words, he told them, “Have courage, I am who I am; do not be afraid.”

            Then Peter, brash, impulsive Peter, told Jesus, maybe even challenged Jesus,

            “Okay, Jesus, if it’s really you, command me to get out of this boat and walk on the sea to you.”

            So Jesus said,

            “Come.”

            Maybe somebody else would have faltered because Jesus called his bluff. But Peter did it. He stepped out of the boat. He started walking on the sea toward Jesus. But Jesus had not calmed the wild waves. Jesus had not calmed the storm. When Peter noticed the wind, he became frightened and started to sink beneath the waves. Drowning, he cried out to Jesus,

            “Lord, save me!”

            Jesus immediately reached out his hand to Peter and saved him. When they both reached the boat, he looked at his disciple and said,

            “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”

            The question is whether Jesus was rebuking Peter. Was he mad at Peter? Was he sad for Peter? Whether or not Jesus was mad or sad, I think there is a connection here between courage, heart and faith. Peter lost his courage; he forgot to follow his heart. As one commentator put it, Peter knew in his heart who Jesus was, what Jesus was. But his courage failed him. The easy way out in this very familiar passage would be to say if Peter had just kept his eyes on Jesus, he would have kept right on walking, but let’s face it the storms are real. The winds are vicious. Peter became afraid. It was fear that almost made him drown.

            Fear is paralyzing. Fear changes you. Fear makes you do things, say things. Fear and hatred too often walk hand in hand. Originally this was going to be a nice, safe sermon about our fears as a congregation as to the next steps that we are taking. We are buying a building, taking risks, acting like Peter and putting our foot in the water, hoping, trusting that we’ll be okay. But then Charlottesville happened. Yesterday, in the midst of the bittersweet emotions of moving Phoebe into her college dorm, I kept watching what was happening there. I belong to several clergy groups on social media, and there were many, many clergy folks participating in the peaceful counter protest to the KKK and Nazi rally at the University of Virginia. So I read tweets and comments about the violence happening, and a church being surrounded by protesters with torches. I saw video of clergy people and other protesters standing, holding hands, singing, in the face of men who were armed – and they were not the National Guard or the police. And then a car drove into the crowd of counter protesters, and a young woman was killed and many others were injured. And I heard Jesus tell me, not something that happens very often, I will admit,

            “Amy, you need to get out of the boat.”

            So, here I am, out of the boat, trying not to let my fear make me sink. Because I know that many of you, maybe most of you, don’t want to hear me preach another sermon or give another talk about racism. I know where many of us stand politically. You certainly know where I stand. But this goes beyond political party. It goes beyond conservative or liberal. This goes to the very heart of our faith. Because you see, you did not call me to be shy. And even if you did, God did not call me to be quiet.

            The truth is I am tired. I am tired and weary and exhausted to the depths of my soul with the hatred that has been emboldened in our country. It has been simmering underneath the surface for a long, long time. But in this last year, it has been given permission to run rampant; it has been given credibility and social status. I am disgusted, appalled and heartsick over what has happened in Charlottesville. But I am not surprised.

            Yet, what I find most offensive is that the people who carried those torches, the people who waved those Nazi flags and raised their arms in Seig Heil salutes, and wore those despicable hoods, well I would bet good money that they would claim Christianity as their faith. They not only would consider themselves good Americans, they consider themselves good Christians. That makes me literally sick to my stomach. How dare they hijack my faith in the name of their repulsive extremism, hatred and violence? I wonder how often our Muslim brothers and sisters say the very same thing?

            That’s what they have done. They have hijacked our faith. They have twisted the gospel. The God we worship became incarnate in a Middle Eastern Jew who I guarantee you did not have blue eyes and blonde hair. He was brutally executed by the occupying Roman government in a most hideous form of capital punishment. But not before he preached to the powers and principalities that the Law of God was based on active Love for God and for neighbor. He told the people that they would be judged for how they cared for the least of these. He showed preferential treatment for the poor, the outcast, the forgotten, the despised, the weak, and the excluded.

            So I’m tired of these alt right groups – what a sanitized description that is – using my faith as justification for their hatred and their racism. But I’m even more tired of the racism that has been a cancer in our country since its foundation. I’m even more tired that we won’t talk about it, that we won’t acknowledge it, that we won’t own it. Our country was built on the backs of slaves. Human beings were sold as chattel. I have black friends who have been told by strangers to “go back to Africa,” as if their ancestors came here by choice. We have to talk about it.

            Even after the Civil War and the end of slavery, with Jim Crow, there was no real emancipation. Between the end of the Civil War and well into the 1900’s it is estimated that at least 3,000 black people – men, women and children – were lynched. Think about that. The legacy of racism is a constant stain on this country. It is systemic, and if affects each and every one of us, even if we do everything we can not to be prejudiced. We have to talk about it.

            During World War II, Japanese Americans were forced into internment camps. They lost everything – their homes, their businesses. You know what internment camps are by definition? Concentration camps; just no gas chambers. Asian Americans talk about how they and their family have lived in this country for generations, but when they meet someone for the first time, they are often asked, “Where are you from?”, as in what country are you here from. We have to talk about it.

            And my beloved home state of Tennessee is also the home state of Andrew Jackson, the hero of New Orleans and the one who finally sent Native Americans on the Trail of Tears. So many tribes are here in Oklahoma because of what he did, because of his racist and flawed policies.

            I know. You’re tired of this. You don’t want to hear anymore about racism. I don’t want to preach about it anymore either. I shouldn’t have to. In 2017, I shouldn’t have to preach that groups of people carrying torches and shouting, “blood and soil,” and waving flags with swastikas are the antithesis of the gospel, but here we are. To remain silent in the face of injustice is to be complicit in that injustice. And white Christians, the other white Christians, have to start speaking up and out. Because you see, none of us are safe. None of us are immune from the violence that happened in Charlottesville. We can stay in the boat and we can mind our own business, but the boat is sinking and we will drown in our fear. So, I’m going to get out of the boat and I’m going walk toward Jesus, knowing that the storm is real, knowing that my fears are real, but trusting that the good news is more real than anything else. That good news is this, that God is God, and that I am called, we are called, to be faithful, to have courage, and to trust to the depths of our hearts that we are not alone. We are not alone, God is with us, and God is faithful, God is sure.

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

All Ate and Were Filled

Matthew 14:13-21

August 6, 2017

            Have you ever heard the joke about the person who gains weight so easily that all she has to do is look at a picture of something fattening and she’ll gain five pounds? I used to tell that joke all the time. As a person who has always been “weight conscious,” that joke rings true. I gain weight quickly and with very little effort. Then I read an article in some magazine that said there was some truth behind that joke. It had something to do with hormone production and subliminal thoughts and overeating; I don’t really remember the supposed science behind it. I just know that once I read that article, I stopped making that joke. Why tempt fate?

            But I am ever more conscious that my weight consciousness is a first world problem. While I can become obsessive about having too much food at my disposal, the latest statistics state that right now six million people are at risk of starvation in Somalia. Another 14 million are at risk of starvation in Yemen, Nigeria and South Sudan.[1] “It is the gravest emergency since the Second World War, according to the United Nations.”[2]

            While I fight against the temptation of overeating, there are, literally, millions upon millions of people – men, women and children – starving to death.

            The scene that we turn to in our passage from the gospel this morning is not one of famine, although as we know from the Old Testament, the Near East was no stranger to its devastating effects. But though the people of Israel were not suffering starvation on the scale of what is happening in the Horn of Africa, it is highly likely that food insecurity was a daily reality. Jesus and the disciples were faced with a large crowd of hungry people.

This story is commonly known as the feeding of the 5,000. Although at the end of the story, we hear that number only includes the men present. Besides the men there were also women and children whose numbers we don’t know. So maybe we should know this story as Jesus Feeding the 5,000 Plus or Jesus Feeding the 5,000 and More.

            This is the only miracle story that is recorded in all four gospels; and Matthew includes another feeding story in the next chapter where 4,000 are fed. The fact that all four gospel writers chose to include this event, even though each telling is slightly different, indicates that this meal is essential in their understanding of Jesus: of what he did and who he was.

            The temptation with a story such as this one is to try and explain the miracle that happened. How did Jesus multiply those five loaves and two fish so that all those thousands of people would have enough? But is following that line of thinking just going down a rabbit hole, a distraction? Is the multiplication the real miracle of the story? Or is there something else at work in this story that is far more miraculous?

            The first sentence of the passage suggests that we are in the middle of something much larger.

“Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself.”

            “Now when Jesus heard this.” What did he hear? He heard about John the Baptist’s death by beheading. The irony of that is the decision to behead John was made at a banquet given to celebrate the ruler Herod’s birthday. It was a very different feast from the one that would soon be celebrated by Jesus, the disciples and the crowds of people. John was in the habit of speaking the truth to Herod about his relationship with Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife. While Herod didn’t like hearing that truth, he was fascinated by John, and he was scared to put John to death because he feared the crowds who saw John as a prophet. Yet at this banquet, which I imagine to have been both a sumptuous feast and a decadent bacchanal, Herodias’ daughter danced for Herod. Her dancing pleased him so much he swore to her that he would give her whatever she asked for. Well she asked for John’s head on a platter. And that’s what she got. 

            This is the news that Jesus was given. That is what he heard. Because of that he withdrew. He took a boat and went alone to a deserted place. When Jesus withdrew in that way, he usually did so to pray, to be with God in quiet and peace. I think he wanted to grieve. 

            But his alone time was not to be, because the crowds followed him wherever he went. Jesus took a boat, and the crowds followed him on foot.  When Jesus went ashore, he saw the great crowd of people waiting for him, and whatever his own needs were, he had compassion for them. He healed their sick. He cured them of their illnesses. He had compassion for them.

            When evening fell, the crowds did not leave. The disciples saw that it was late, and they knew the people were hungry. They urged Jesus to send the folks away. I’m guessing that they knew the crowds would listen to Jesus’ instructions to do so without complaint.

“Look Jesus, it’s late. The people must be famished. This place is deserted. There’s nowhere to get food around here. Why don’t you send them off to the villages to find some food before it gets much later?”

However, Jesus didn’t bite on their suggestion – pun intended.     

“They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” 

Yet what can the disciples give them? They only have five puny loaves of bread and two measly fish. It’s meager fare for even just two people, much less thousands. 

            But the disciples gave Jesus what they had. And in an action that foreshadowed the Eucharist, Jesus took the bread and the fish, he raised his eyes up to heaven, he blessed and broke the loaves, gave the food to the disciples, who then distributed it to the waiting crowds. It was enough. All were fed. The leftovers of the broken bread numbered twelve baskets. Perhaps it was not a rich banquet such as the one Herod celebrated, but all were fed.

            This was miraculous, but it was not magic. Jesus did not lift up his eyes and hold up the food to the heavens, and in an act of prestidigitation make more food appear.  He thanked God, he pronounced a blessing, and gave the disciples what they’ve given to him.  And all are fed.

            Perhaps another change of title is due: The Disciples Feed 5,000 Plus! Jesus told them to do it. Jesus encouraged them, and showed them that they had the resources at their disposal. Jesus blessed the food, but it was the disciples who distributed the food. It was the disciples who did the feeding. Jesus took what the disciples thought was a meager offering of food on their part and turned it into a feast of plenty. What they saw as scarcity, Jesus saw as abundance.

            We’ve spent the last weeks reading about parables that compare the kingdom of heaven as something small that not only grows but is pervasive; that seems unlikely and meager, but in fact is abundant. Why would it surprise us or anyone that out of this small portion of food Jesus could feed thousands? As I said earlier, I’m not convinced that this is the true miracle of the story. What is most miraculous to me is not that Jesus made a feast out of nothing, but that Jesus made a feast. Who would have blamed him had he sent the people into villages to find food for themselves? In clergy circles, it would have been called setting boundaries. But it seems to me that what this story is about is not the miracle but what it reveals about God through Jesus. What we really know about God, we know through Jesus. Jesus, God’s incarnation, revealed the character and nature of God. Although Jesus went to find a quiet alone place, when he saw the crowds he had compassion for them. He healed them. He made sure that they were fed. In the face of overwhelming need, he empowered the disciples to take what they had and care for the people. The miracle is that instead of seeing scarcity – which is where I lead from most of the time – Jesus saw abundance.

            How different would my life be, how different would our ministry be, if we looked at our resources, at our abilities, at our time and talents and saw abundance instead of scarcity? How many miracles would happen? How many lives would be changed? How many hungry people could be fed? How many people would eat and have their fill?

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

---

[1] “A Fierce Famine Stalks Africa,” Nadifa Mohamed, NY Times Opinion Pages, June 12, 2017.

[2] Ibid.

The Kingdom of Heaven?

Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

July 30, 2017

            The story goes that he was just the crazy old man of the village. Every day at dawn he would go into the hills with his shovel, and he would not come back until sunset. He never told anyone why he went up there or what he did. He just went day after day, year after year. One day the crazy old man did not wake up. He died in his sleep. After he was buried, the villagers decided to go up to the hills and see if they could find what he had been doing all those years.

            This village that the old man lived in was in a remote location on one side of a steep hill. In order to get to the nearest larger city with a hospital, you had to take the road which wound its way around the hill. It took hours, and someone could die en route. That is what happened to the old man’s wife. She was sick, and he was trying to get her to the hospital for treatment. But the road around the hill was too long. She died before they could reach help.

            What had the crazy old man been doing all those years? He was digging a road through the hill. He was digging a road through the hill. It was wide and smooth and it shortened the journey from the village to the city from hours to one, from many kilometers to four. The crazy old man was not so crazy after all. He did not want anyone else to suffer what his wife had suffered. He did not want anyone else to go through what they had gone through. He took his shovel and dug a road through the hill.

            No one knew what he was doing. They assumed he was just crazy and went off by himself to do crazy things. Apparently no one apparently asked him what he was doing, or if they did he did not answer. But he took a small thing and made it large. He did something in secret that became a visible blessing. The kingdom of heaven just might be like that crazy old man.

            I will confess that I have started and deleted this sermon about five times. The last time was at 8:00 this morning. I realize that verges on the ridiculous. Just write something already and be done with it. But I knew that what I had on paper was not what I was supposed to have. I’m not sure that I’m any closer, but time will tell. So look for these parables as the basis of a sermon series or a Bible study down the road. It’s not that our passage didn’t give me enough to work; it’s that there is so much!

Jesus told these parables in rapid-fire succession. The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that grows from its infinitesimal size to a large and flowering bush that welcomes birds of every kind. The kingdom of heaven is like a woman who hides yeast – that is the literal translation; she is not “mixing in” yeast, she is hiding it – into three measures of flour. That is an enormous amount of flour. It’s estimated to be about fifty pounds?! That would make enough bread to feed an entire community. Then Jesus said that the kingdom of heaven is like a treasure that was hidden in a field. When a person finds that treasure, he joyfully goes and sells everything he has to buy that field and obtain that treasure. The kingdom of heaven is like a pearl of great value. A merchant, when he finds that one magnificent pearl, sells off all his other merchandise just to own that pearl. And the kingdom of heaven is like a dragnet that brings in fish of every kind. When the dragnet was full, it was hauled to shore and the fish were sorted. The good fish were kept and put into baskets. The bad fish were thrown out. That will be what happens at the end of the age. The good will be kept. The bad will be thrown into the fire, and there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

            When he finished telling these parables, Jesus asked the disciples,

            “Have you understood all this?”

            They answered,

            “Yes!”

            And I want to shout,
            “No!”

            No, they don’t, and no I don’t either, because these are some crazy sounding parables. I am not saying that lightly either. If these parables are glimpses of the kingdom, then the kingdom of heaven sounds a little bit nuts.

            The kingdom of heaven is an invasive weed. The kingdom of heaven is subversive. The term “subversive” is one used by several scholars in their description of the woman’s actions and the mustard seed. In thinking about that woman, why did she hide the yeast? I know that yeast has negative connotations in scripture – beware the yeast of the Pharisees. It can be seen as a corrupting influence. But for bread to rise, yeast is necessary. Unless that bread was supposed to be matzo, then having yeast hidden in it would have been quite the surprise.

            The kingdom of heaven sounds kind of dubious as well. Of course it is a treasure, but hidden in a field? It makes me uncomfortable to think of the person who found the treasure buying that field from the owner and not telling the owner about the treasure. All I can think of are the indigenous people living on land that had some value to it: coal, diamonds, gold, etc., and the people who bought the land from them for pennies when it worth millions.

            The kingdom of heaven sounds like it caused someone to make a bad business decision. The merchant sold everything he had in order to own that one pearl. That pearl was splendid, but if you sell off all your merchandise, you are no longer a merchant.

            The dragnet is probably the only one of these parables that I would expect, and I still don’t like it because it hearkens back to my childhood days of God being the God of fire and brimstone. Be good or watch out!

            The kingdom of heaven as Jesus described it sounds strange and unlike anything I would ever expect. Where are the angels and the perfect people wandering around in robes with harps and halos? Where are the endless blue skies and the affirmation that I will be able to fly, or at least float, my way through eternity? Isn’t the kingdom of heaven supposed to be about perfection? If so, then what Jesus described seems far from perfect.

            But Jesus was not describing a geographical location that we reach after we die. Nor was he describing a Utopia. The kingdom of heaven was in their midst, right then. That’s what Jesus brought to fulfillment. The kingdom of heaven was already there. And although it might have started small, it would grow and flourish and spread with abandon.

            The kingdom of heaven might seem hidden from view, hidden to the eye, but it was there doing its work, reaching every corner like yeast leavening dough. Although subversion might seem like a radical word; considering the work of the kingdom as subverting the work of the world with the work of God is a comfort. When the world these days seems most particularly opposite to the will and work of God, knowing that the kingdom of heaven is here, even though it’s hidden from my sight gives me great hope.

            The kingdom of heaven is a treasure that we will do anything to have, anything to own. Of course it looks like a bad or dubious business decision. When did following a call or doing something for the gospel or living empowered by the Holy Spirit not look weird or dubious or just plain bad according to the world’s sensibilities?

            And as far as that dragnet goes, well what do we know of God? What do we know of God’s intentions for the world, especially in light of Jesus, his incarnation of Love and Life? If God just wants to save some and damn others than why bother with grace? Why offer us mercy? I’m a good Presbyterian, and I hold to the predestination that we read about in Romans, but I think that God predestines us for good. I think God is always at our shoulder calling us to follow, to go the way of love and life.

            So the kingdom of heaven? The kingdom of heaven is weird and wild and unexpected. I love our denomination, but the kingdom of heaven is definitely not decent and in good order. The kingdom of heaven looks nothing like we think it should. It looks nothing like we would design it to look like. It looks nothing like we would create. It looks nothing like we would build. The kingdom of heaven is like that man who took a shovel to dig a road out of a hill. The kingdom of heaven is just a bit nuts. The kingdom of heaven is just a bit nuts. Thanks be to God.

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

Weeds

Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

July 23, 2017

            I used to shuffle cards by dropping them in a heap onto a table and then scrambling them with my hands until I thought they were all moved into some different order. It was not the most accurate of methods. Then my sister taught me how to actually shuffle. I am not exaggerating when I tell you I practiced shuffling for hours. I would sit and watch television after school and shuffle cards over and over. If only I had put as much time into practicing my cello or my piano as I did cards, think where I would be. I thought being able to shuffle made me look cool, and as that was the ultimate goal in life, that’s what I worked for.

            Had my grandmother lived closer to us and known what I was so diligently working toward, she would have been shocked, nay appalled! To her decks of playing cards were “the devil’s hand tools.” That’s a direct quote. My Gramma loved games, and she would play a game called Skipbo for hours. It’s also known as Spite and Malice, and you can play it with a regular old deck of cards. But she would never have played with cards because, again, they were the devil’s hand tools. After all playing cards were the instruments of gamblers. They were the devil’s hand tools.

            Obviously, with that kind of attitude towards cards my parents did not grow up playing Gin Rummy. Nor were they were allowed to dance. They were not allowed to go to movies. My mother’s first big act of rebellion was to sneak off to see a movie when she was 12 on a Sunday afternoon. She saw “The Pride of the Yankees” with Gary Cooper, and she has always told me that she sat there amazed that her parents had kept her from this wonderful world. But she was also such a good child that she immediately went home and confessed to her mother what she had done. Gramma wasn’t sure what she was more upset about – that Mom had gone to a movie or that she had gone to a movie on a Sunday!

            I realize now that to my grandparents, playing cards and movies and dancing, etc. were not just temptations for young people –  pleasures that might lead them astray, they were weeds. They were weeds that would corrupt them; weeds that would rob their soil of its nutrients and block out the full amount of necessary sun. They were weeds, and they must be kept away. If even one weed, a game with cards, started to take root, then it had to be plucked out before it had any chance at growth. No weeds. No way. Weeds are bad.

            It would seem that this parable Jesus told backs up this idea that weeds are bad. He says it pretty plainly. They were sown by the enemy. This is a second kingdom parable following the parable we heard last week about the sower and the seeds.

            The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seeds in a field. But after all the sowing was done, after everyone was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the good seed then slipped away. When the seeds began to shoot up, the weeds were seen along with the wheat. The slaves of master reported this to the householder. They wanted to do something about right away.

            “”Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where then, did these weeds come from?” He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’ The slaves said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ But he replied, ‘No; for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.’”

            As with any parable Jesus told, there are many points to think about. Again, this is a parable about the kingdom, so it seems that Jesus made it clear that the kingdom was not without opposition. There are enemies to the kingdom. In the explanation Jesus gave to the disciples, he named that enemy as the devil. Along with the naming of the enemy the devil, there is the implication of evil. Evil is real. Speaking of evil, the householder has slaves. The Master owns both property and people. Slavery was and is an institution based in evil. Lastly, this parable definitely seems to promote the idea of an “us versus them” ideology. There is the wheat and there are the weeds.

            One commentator said that the kingdom in Matthew is divisive, not because it wants to pit us one against the other, but because it makes us choose our allegiance. Will we be with God or against God? The problem as I see it is that we more often choose the latter rather than the former.

            It is hard not to take from this parable that there is an us and there is a them. Isn’t that how we structure our lives? Rich versus poor. Democrat versus Republican. Liberal versus Conservative. Mainline versus Evangelical. Denomination versus Non-denomination. Who will win in the end? Who is the wheat and who are the weeds? Well clearly the weeds are the other side. We just need to rip those weeds out and everything will be right again.

            Except in the parable Jesus told, it won’t be all right. The master told the slaves not to pull the weeds. If you pull the weeds, you might uproot the wheat as well. Wait until the harvest. Then they can be separated. Then what has been sown can be sorted.

            Let them grow together, those weeds and that wheat. That’s the answer that the Master gave. That’s the answer that Jesus gave. The kingdom of heaven is like a field where both good seed and weeds grow right alongside one another. No one judges which is which except God.

            All of this is great, except what does this mean for us? When it comes to injustice, is this parable telling us to not just let it grow but let it go? I don’t think so. In his explanation to the disciples, Jesus said that all causes of sin will be pulled up and thrown into the fire. What we sow, we will reap. So it seems to me that we still have to sow the seeds of justice, righteousness, mercy. We’re still called to be peacemakers, to stand up to the powers and principalities, to take up our own crosses and follow Jesus. But it also means that we cannot remove ourselves from what we perceive to be the weeds.

            Living in as many different places as I have, I have seen an interesting phenomena when it comes to home schooling. This is not a diatribe or a criticism for or against it. But when I lived in New York State, I knew several people who home schooled. Although there are always exceptions to the rule, overwhelmingly their reasons for home schooling were religious. These kids were from ultra-conservative families, and they did not like religion not being taught in public schools. They believed that the secular humanities being taught in public schools were a potential corruption for their children. So they pulled their kids out and home schooled them.

When we moved to Iowa, our town had a large home schooling group as well. They were very organized. They got together for special functions and activities. Special teachers were brought in for different subjects and extracurricular activities. But overwhelmingly they were kids from ultra-liberal families. They thought the public schools were too parochial and pushed antiquated, conservative values that forced children into gender specific roles, etc.

            My point is that both sides thought the others were weeds, and their children, their beautiful wheat, needed to be protected from growing alongside them. In reality it was no different than the white flight I saw when I was a kid the minute bussing became a reality. We live in an “us versus them” world. It is easy to interpret Matthew’s Jesus as saying this too. But I think this is a false dichotomy. I do believe there is wheat, and I do believe there are weeds. There is good seed, and there is certainly evil and people who do evil. But we are not called to remove ourselves from them. We need each other. The truth is, I have good seeds and weeds jostling for power within me too. I suspect all of us do.

            So what do we do? We acknowledge the evil without and the evil within. We stand up and call out injustice. We keep praying for the Holy Spirit to work through us, sowing good seed, bringing to fruition its good fruit. And we remember that we don’t see what God sees. We are not called to be judges or to be sin police. We are called to love. We are called to live the gospel, to show compassion and kindness, to offer cups of cold water. We are called to sow seeds, even as we pray to be fertile soil. We are called to love and to live in the world, right alongside those we may believe to be weeds. We are called to remember that we need each other. We need each other. That is the kingdom of heaven.

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

Seeds

Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

July 16, 2017

            Let anyone with ears listen!

            I took the Seed Savers Exchange for granted when we lived in Iowa. Seed Savers is the largest seed saving exchange in the country, and probably one of the largest in the world. Their Heritage Farm is on the same road as the elementary school Phoebe and Zach attended. We would drive past it every day going to and from school nine months out of the year.

            But I never thought much about it or about what they did until one or two summers before we moved down here, and my sister had an old college friend visiting her. The friend came to Decorah specifically because she wanted to visit Seed Savers. Seeing Jill, who was spending the summer in Decorah was a happy coincidence. Jill and I went with her friend to Seed Savers, and it was the first time I had the chance to wander around both the farm and the large exchange and store.

            Seed Savers Exchange is what its name suggests. It is a place where heritage seeds are saved and exchanged, and the farm is a living, dynamic example of biodiversity; a diversity that is being threatened if not completely lost with the engineering of seeds for vegetables and flowers. An heirloom tomato is not just a name for a variety of tomato plant. The seeds that created that tomato have been passed down from generation to generation. Diane Ott Whealy, the woman who, with her former husband, started Seed Savers back in the 1970’s was given seeds by her father for the purple morning glories that bloomed every summer on her parent’s front porch. Those seeds, he told her, were brought by her great-grandfather from Bavaria when her family first immigrated to this country. Those seeds were as much an heirloom of her family as any antique piece of furniture. Immigrants would bring seeds with them when they journeyed here. So part of the mission of Seed Savers is not only to preserve and conserve the vast variety of seeds while we still have them, it is also to link seeds to our history. As the informational video on the Seed Savers website states, every seed tells a story.

            Let anyone with ears listen!

            Seeds, the sower and soil are at the heart of our story from Matthew’s gospel. Not only do we have the parable of the sower and the seeds that Jesus shared, we have his explanation about it as well. Biblical scholars speculate that Jesus’ explanation of his parable was actually added later by the gospel writer. In the verses that are skipped, the disciples asked Jesus about why he taught in parables in the first place. We may take Jesus’ use of parables for granted – Jesus told stories to make a point – but it would seem that even the disciples’ wondered why their Rabbi used this particular form of teaching so often. Let’s remember what parables were and for the purpose they were used.

            Parables were not just a story for the story’s sake. Jesus was not trying to offer the crowds a diversion by telling them this parable. Parables were stories that packed a punch. Jesus told them to make a point. That point would have definitely been surprising, and in the case of so many of Jesus’ parables, it would have been shocking as well. His plot twists and unexpected meanings would have offended some who listened to him; while others would have been comforted by them. But regardless of the emotions they brought to the surface of the hearers, Jesus’ parables also made people think. I suspect the people in the crowds gathered around Jesus thought about his parables for a long time – after they had gone home, gone back to their work, or while they were lying in bed at night. The parables Jesus told were not merely for entertainment purposes. They packed a punch.

            So what would have been the shocker in this story? As I was studying this passage, I read a commentary where the author used the illustration of a farmer going out to plant crops. The farmer climbs onto whatever farm implement it is that is used for this purpose, (after all those years in Iowa, I should remember this piece of machinery) but he immediately starts spilling seeds out at the front door of his house. The farmer keeps throwing seeds out without regard for where they are landing his entire trek to the actual fields. Some of the seeds land on the gravel driveway. Some of them land by the side of the road. Some of them actually fall in the field where they are supposed to be, but there is no deliberate planting. The seeds are just tossed out willy nilly.

            You do not have to be a farmer to think that this sounds odd at best. Why would any farmer waste his or her seeds like that? That’s not planting a field, that’s just random seed sending. What would the people in the crowds around Jesus have thought about this sower? Essentially the sower Jesus told about did the same thing. He went out with his seeds, no plan, no crops to plant, and just started throwing those seeds everywhere and anywhere.

            I suspect that those folks listening to Jesus would have thought that this was reckless, wasteful behavior. Seeds were precious. Land for planting was limited. You don’t just recklessly throw your seeds wherever you feel like it. But that’s exactly what this sower did. He sowed his seeds on the path where he walked. He sowed his seeds on rocky ground, where there should not have been the slightest chance of the seed taking root. The sower threw seeds amidst thorns; surely knowing that any plant that grew there would be at risk of being choked by those same thorns. Even the seeds that fell on good soil varied in actual grain production: a hundred, sixty, thirty.

            The sower was a profligate with his seeds. He was wasteful, reckless, careless, extravagant. The sower was not cautious or careful. He just sowed seeds everywhere and anywhere. The shocked and appalled crowds must have wondered what point Jesus was trying to make.

In the explanation Jesus gave to the disciples, he focused on the seeds. The seed is the Word of God, the Word of the kingdom. Someone who hears the Word but does not understand it, well that person is represented by the path. The rocky ground is the person who hears the Word, receives it joyfully, happily, but it does not take root in that person. When trouble comes, the Word is forgotten and the person “falls away.” The thorns are the person who hears the Word, but is too caught up in the cares and woes of the world to fully let it settle in his or her heart. But that good soil? That good soil is the person who hears the Word, understands the Word, believes the Word, and lives the Word.

            Whether or not Jesus offered this explanation at the time, or Matthew added it in later as a help to the congregation who listened to him, what we learn is that the soil is us. There’s nothing wrong with that. Growing up, I was encouraged to be that good soil. But I realize that while there is good soil in me, there are also rocky spots and thorns. The path is never far away. The seeds of the Word are sown in me, and sometimes they take root, but often they are choked out by thorns or rocks or birds snatch them up. I have to persist at being good soil. I have to work at it. It does not just happen. It takes cultivation and ongoing tending on my part.

            This is the explanation Jesus gave to the disciples, but it was not an explanation given to the crowds. The people who listened to Jesus did not hear about the seeds representing the Word of God or the soil as an illustration for their hearts. They heard about a sower, a reckless, extravagant sower who sowed seeds carelessly and heedlessly.

            It seems to me that if the seeds are the Word, and the different soils are us and our hearts, then the sower is God. What does this parable say about God? Even more, what does it say about God and God’s grace? God sows seeds of love and grace and mercy extravagantly, recklessly, flinging them everywhere and anywhere. There is no plan, no map for planting. The seeds are just sown. As far as I can tell, there is no indication that this happens only once but again and again and again.

            God sows the seeds of love, grace, mercy, justice, righteousness, peace over and over, flinging them extravagantly into the world, into us, without caution or consideration. They are sown for any and all. No matter how the thorns or rocks try to choke out God’s Word of love and peace, no matter how my heart is divided between good soil and rocky ground, God sows with reckless abandon. Again and again and again. Thanks be to God!

            Let anyone with ears listen!

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

Yokes and Burdens

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

July 9, 2017

            There is dominant theme in the pictures of me as a little girl. In many of them, I am sleeping. You would think that this was because I slept a lot, so therefore my parents were forced to get pictures of me sleeping; after all it was all I ever did. Actually, the opposite is true. I did not sleep. There are pictures of me sleeping just to prove that I did it once in a while. I had colic when I was born, so for my first three months sleep – for my parents and for me – was a luxury. But even after that, I just didn’t sleep as much as other children did. In truth, I did what I still do today. I go and go until I drop. So there is a picture of me at the dinner table with a full plate of food in front of me, and my head is back against the chair and I am out. There is a picture of me sitting on the floor playing with toys, and I’m asleep. I’m not lying down next to the toys. I’m still sitting up. My elbows are resting on my knees and my hands are folded under my head and I am out. I would just go until I dropped.

            As I child I think I did this because I was afraid of missing something. As an adult, I know that I am not. Sleep is precious to me these days, and I don’t do well when I don’t have it. I understand more and more what it means to be weary of body. As I get older, I understand more about what it means to be weary of soul as well. But on Friday night I heard from people who gave new meaning to that soul weariness.

            I’ve just returned from our denomination’s Big Tent Conference in St. Louis. Big Tent is a conference where our different mission and policy agencies come together, and we talk and learn about the challenges facing our churches and God’s world. The theme of this year’s conference was “Race, Reconciliation, Reformation.” We had profound worship and were taken to CHURCH with the opening sermon by our stated clerk, J. Herbert Nelson! The Bible study was thought-provoking and challenging and was led by an OBU graduate, Eric Barreto – who is a Baptist pastor and scholar but didn’t hold our Presbyterianism against us. And on Friday night there was an optional time for engagement with local churches. This was something you signed up to do when you registered. One of the churches hosting folks was First Presbyterian in Ferguson. That’s where I went. My longtime best friend, Ellen, signed up to go there as well. We loaded onto school busses and drove to the church. The church members fed us a great meal, then we went into the sanctuary for a time of questions and discussion. We closed with worship and communion.

            I’m not sure what I expected to see when we pulled into Ferguson. Perhaps a broken down community, perhaps there would still be remnants from the protests that happened in 2014. Instead it was a quiet community. The houses were modest but well-tended. Lawns were mowed. Stores were open. The church building itself wasn’t super impressive on the outside, but someone had done a lot of work on the flowers. It could have been Shawnee. It could have been a neighborhood in Oklahoma City or Nashville or Minneapolis. First Pres Ferguson is a predominantly white congregation. The pastor is white. He had invited another pastor and community leader, an African American woman, to be there as well. Because of the protests, the two had become friends. One of the things that he told us was that when the protests were happening, he was overwhelmed. She echoed him on this statement. She said that even those who shared her skin color, who knew that something like what was happening was a real and present possibility in Ferguson, she was also overwhelmed. They were both weary of body and soul. Weary that an 18-year-old young man was killed by a 26-year-old young man. They were weary with the heartache of that, on both sides, on all sides.

            The pastor asked us what we expected to see when we drove into Ferguson. The church was located right in the middle of the two main streets where the protests were happening. What did we expect to see? He told us some of the history of Ferguson. People in Ferguson believed that a lot of work had been done to bridge the racial divide. There were folks who believed that Ferguson didn’t have racial problems, not ones that would cause real trouble anyway. The pastor told us never to take for granted that what happened in Ferguson couldn’t happen where we live. Ferguson, he said, was a mirror of the American soul.  

            What did you expect to see when you came to Ferguson?

            “What then did you go out to see?”

            The last quote was Jesus. And I’m actually quoting from verses that come before our selected verses today; but when it comes to understanding – the Bible, life or both – context counts.

            At the beginning of this chapter, we read that Jesus concluded his instructions to the disciples. Then he continued on with his ministry to the people, teaching and proclaiming the good news to the cities. John was in prison. Whatever assurance John felt about Jesus before, it would seem his assurance had been replaced with doubts and questions. He sent messengers to Jesus, who asked him,

“Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”

Jesus was not offended by this question, but sent them back to John saying,

            “Go and tell John what you hear and see; the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”

            Jesus was not upset by John’s question. In fact he went on to praise John. He wanted to know what people thought they were getting with John.

            “What did you go out into the wilderness to see?”

            Did you go out to see someone who looks nice and gentle in soft robes? Did you go out to see a prophet? You got a prophet and you got even more than that.

            Then we come to where our passage begins. Jesus compares the people of this generation, perhaps not so much the crowds but the religious authorities, the folks in the know, in the in-crowd, to children wailing and whining.

            They didn’t like John. John was an ascetic. He was too austere. He dressed strangely and ate strange things. He was too severe. He needed to live a little more, lighten up. He was so strange and so strict, surely he had a demon.

            But they didn’t like Jesus either. Jesus was too much the other way. He was not severe. He was not austere. He was about abundance, but it was with all the wrong people! He ate with drunkards and gluttons. He ate and drank! He shared table fellowship with tax collectors and sinners. One commentator wrote that it was like a theological Goldilocks. John was too hard. Jesus was too soft. But if John pointed to the One who was to come in the name of God, and Jesus was the Incarnation of God, revealing God’s presence, proclaiming God’s kingdom, then what does that say about the people? Who did they want God to be? Why could they not recognize God when God was right there in their midst?

            In the verses that the lectionary skips, Jesus made “Woe to you,” statements. “Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida!” Jesus pronounced woe on cities where his deeds of power had been done, but still they did not recognize him for who he was. Still they did not recognize God in their midst. You would think from Jesus proclaiming these statements of woe, that these cities must have been horrible and of ill-repute. But according to biblical scholars, these were not cities that were huge and wicked. They were just regular places filled with regular people trying to get on with their lives. Yet Jesus pronounced woe on them because they could not recognize God in their midst. They could not or they would not.

            Getting back to where our verses start again, Jesus gave thanks that God revealed God’s wisdom not to the folks who were supposedly wise and intelligent, but to the infants. I imagine that Jesus included literal children in this, but I also think that he was referring to the ones he spoke of in the Sermon the Mount: the meek, the poor, the mournful. The infants were also the ones he would speak about in Matthew 25, the least of these.

            And then, after all of this, after his frustration with the people for not recognizing God in their midst, for criticizing John for one thing and complaining about him for another; after his pronouncements of woe to the cities where his works of power had been done; after all of this, we come to some of the most beautiful, the most gracious words in Matthew’s gospel, perhaps in all of scripture.

            “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

            Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens.

            In a world that persisted in not recognizing God in their midst, Jesus said,

“Come to me.”

            In a world that persists in not recognizing God in our midst, Jesus says,

“Come to me.”

What would it mean to give our burdens to Jesus? To take his kind, unchafing yoke upon us? What would it mean to actually recognize what it is that burdens us? Is it my worries about finances or housework that burdens me God, or is it my pride? Do I carry a hatred or a prejudice inside me that I need to lay down? Do I contribute and silently endorse systems of oppression that I don’t want to believe or acknowledge? Is that a burden I don’t even know I carry?

            In a world that persists in not recognizing God in our midst, Jesus says,

“Come to me.”

How are we weary? What burdens do we carry? What assumptions, like the people of Ferguson, Missouri, do we take for granted? What is wearying our souls? Not just my soul and your soul and your soul, but the soul of communities, our country? Now more than ever, Jesus needs us to proclaim the message of good news, of grace, of our God who says,

“Come to me, all you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”

            Come to me.

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

Cold Water

Matthew 10:40-42

July 2, 2017

            Usually the word “cacophony” is reserved for sounds, something audible. Its definition is “a harsh, discordant mix of sounds.” But if I could borrow the word cacophony to describe a place, I would use it to describe Wall Drug in Wall, South Dakota. Wall Drug is this rambling, meandering souvenir filled, tourist crowded behemoth of a place. The summer we visited, I saw every kind of person. It was later in July so there were bikers headed to the big Harley motorcycle rally in Sturgis. There were retirees taking a break from seeing the country in their RV’s. There were young families on their summer vacations. There were tourists from other countries, who I suspect – and I fear – believed that this was a good representation of American life. Many of the people who were there had come to Wall Drug specifically to see Wall Drug. Others were there as a side trip either on their way to or from Badlands National Park.

            As I understand it that is how Wall Drug became what it is today. Wall is a first stop outside of the Badlands. The Badlands are beautiful and wild and desolate and magnificent. In the summer, those beautiful, wild, desolate and magnificent Badlands can also get hot and dusty. When visitors were first making treks out to see the Badlands, the folks who started Wall Drug would greet them on their return with cold cups of water. This attracted people to the store itself, and over the years it grew into the cacophony it is today. You can buy a million and one things at Wall Drug, most you probably don’t need, but even now the one thing you can get free at Wall Drug in Wall, South Dakota is a cold cup of water.

            I realize that Jesus was not telling the disciples about cold water as a way to attract others. This was not an evangelism scheme. This was not a lesson in church building or attracting young families to the pews. Jesus was talking to the disciples about hospitality, about welcome.

            Our passage today comes at the end of instructions to the disciples. Jesus has told the disciples about what they will face when they go out amongst the people. He has warned them and encouraged them. He has given them some insight as to what it means to be a disciple – the good and the bad. Jesus has instructed them about why he has come. He has made it clear the life of a disciple will not be easy, it will require sacrifice and hardship and separation from loved ones.

            But then we come to these last verses in chapter ten. The heading in my Bible is “Rewards.”

            “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple – truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”

            It would seem that the reward the disciples were promised was the reward of eternal life in heaven. It was the reward of the righteous. I don’t have a problem with this reward. But I’m struggling. I’m not struggling with the idea of my reward being life eternal or life in the kingdom, but is that the only reason why we do what we do? Do we welcome others so we secure our reward sometime later on?

            Let’s come back to that question. Another story I read once was about a church that started a cold water ministry. Not us, although I consider it serendipitous that we have started that kind of ministry in the last weeks just as this passage appeared in the lectionary. No, this was a church in Atlanta. They were a small, struggling church, and they happened to be on a main route where parades happened. A Gay Pride parade was scheduled and it was going to go right past the church. The folks in this church were as divided on this issue as any other. But they knew it was going to be a hot day, and whether or not they supported the reason for the parade, they wanted to offer some relief from the heat. So they set up a table and they offered the marchers cups of cold water. That’s all they did. The marchers appreciated it. They felt welcomed. Some of them felt so welcomed that they decided to visit that church. The church members continued to make them feel welcome, and because of this cold water ministry, the church grew.

            Did this church offer cold water because of a potential reward or did they do it because they knew people would be thirsty? Did they do it because they wanted to evangelize or because they just felt like Jesus would have offered a cup of cold water?

            Why do we do what we do? Is it for a reward or is just because? When I first started working on this sermon I thought that I was going to talk about the reality that all of us are sent. And we are. We are all sent out there, into God’s world. Some of us may be sent to do big things, big ministries, big missions. But some of us are sent to do small things. Maybe to us they seem insignificant. It’s just a cup of cold water. But if you’ve ever been thirsty, I mean really, really thirsty, you know that a cup of cold water can make all the difference.

            But I think we have to remember that our reason for doing what we do – big or small – is not necessarily for our reward. Yes, rewards are wonderful. If what I do furthers the kingdom for all of us, then what a wonderful reward that will be. But Jesus sent the disciples out, not for what it would bring them in the long run, but for what it would do for God’s children right then.
            Perhaps I am heretical for saying this, and if I am so be it, but it seems to me that compassion now is equally important as salvation later. Giving a thirsty person a cup of cold water is compassion now. It is a small thing to be sure, but it is a ministry nonetheless. It is offering someone welcome. It is showing another child of God hospitality. Isn’t that what we are sent to do? Out there? Jesus sent the disciples out to do great things: to heal the sick, the exorcise demons, to raise the dead, to reveal God’s love and to further God’s kingdom. Jesus sent the disciples out to do all this in his name. Jesus sent the disciples out to make others welcome and to be welcomed, to help and to be helped. Jesus sends us out to do the same. Giving even a small cup of cold water can be a large gesture of welcome to someone. Giving even a small cup of cold water can reveal the presence of Christ in our midst. Giving even a small cup of cold water can widen God’s kingdom. Isn’t that our greatest reward?

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