The Forgiven

Psalm 51

A Meditation for Ash Wednesday

February 13, 2013

            My parents were role models of apologizing.  I give them a lot of credit for being willing to apologize, not just to other people, but to their children.  They were never too proud or too full of their own authority as parents to say they were sorry to my siblings and me.

            They both had stressful and taxing jobs, physically and mentally.  They did what every parent does.  They worked to keep food on the table, a roof over our heads and clothes on our backs.  They paid the bills and maintained the house.  They made sure we not only had the basic necessities of life, they also paid for all the extra stuff we did – piano lessons, guitar lessons, band, orchestra, soccer, school activities.  The list goes on and on.  So I know they got stressed out.  And in spite of the fact that they were raising three brilliant and impeccably behaved children (especially me) who never gave them a moment’s trouble or worry (especially me), that stress would cause them to sometimes get angry with us.  Sometimes they would even overreact.  But they never hesitated to apologize.  More than once I heard “I’m sorry” from my parents.  And they meant it. 

            My parents taught me the importance of being able to say, “I’m sorry.”  They taught me that being willing to admit to wrongdoing on my part was an important aspect of growing up, accepting responsibility and being accountable for what I do and what I don’t do. 

            I didn’t think that much about this when I was a kid, but as a parent I realize how important it is to be willing to say this to my children.  I get stressed.  I overreact.  I’m wrong.  I’m sorry. 

            Psalm 51, the psalm that we will sing in just a few minutes, is one of the penitential psalms.  There are maybe only seven of these kinds of psalms.  There are lots of psalms that give praise, thanksgiving or ask God for deliverance from enemies, but this is a psalm that asks for deliverance from self.  We are our own worst enemy.  It is a psalm that says “I’m sorry.” 

            Attributed to King David, this psalm is his apology to God.  It is connected to his confrontation with the prophet Nathan.  David has had an affair with Bathsheba, gotten her pregnant, had her husband, Uriah, killed in battle and Nathan has confronted him with all of it.  It is David’s turn to ask for forgiveness, to say, “I’m sorry.” 

            In discussing this psalm, the scholars at WorkingPreacher.org made the comment that one of the marks of a mature Christian is the ability to say, “I’m sorry,” to admit wrongdoing and to ask for forgiveness – not only from God but from family and friends.  We need to be willing to be accountable. 

            Along with that, the WorkingPreacher folk said that another mark of a mature Christian is the ability to accept forgiveness.  In my experience, that is infinitely harder to do.  My parents were exemplary in their ability to apologize, but I know for a fact they’re not so good about accepting forgiveness.  Neither am I.  How often do I mentally and emotionally beat myself up for everything I’ve done wrong in my life – certainly when it comes to my own children, I periodically examine every mistake I’ve made, every cross word I’ve uttered and I feel the shame all over again.  I’m pretty sure that any emotional baggage they carry, any problems they have are all my doing.  I convince myself that no amount of apologizing could ever make up for the mistakes I’ve made, as a parent and as a person. 

            So I carry guilt like a mantle on my shoulders.  I know my parents carry it as well.  In fact I think it is a far greater, more widespread burden than most of us realize or will admit.  We are weighed down with guilt.  The church traditionally has been excellent at reinforcing that.  But is that what this night or this season is really supposed to be about?  I know that we often give up something for Lent, and this is a season that’s meant for simpler living and reflection, but isn’t it also a season to recognize that we are forgiven? 

            Radio personality Paul Harvey had a catch line in his broadcasts about “the rest of the story.”  Well we know the rest of the story, don’t we?  We know where Lent ends.  I don’t say that as a way to advocate skipping blithely through Lent or ignoring the harsh reality of the cross.  We can’t get to resurrection without the cross.  But I also don’t see Lent as a time for self-flagellation.  It seems to me that Lent is about learning a little more how to live as people who are forgiven. 

            When I was in my internship year during seminary and going through a difficult time with understanding what it meant to be forgiven, a wise mentor in the church asked me if I believed that God forgives me.  I replied, “Yes, absolutely.”  “Well,” he said, “if you believe God forgives you then how can you not forgive yourself?  Isn’t that putting you above God?” 

            What does it mean to live as people who are forgiven?  If we accept forgiveness, from God, from others and from ourselves, maybe we are better able to be joyful.  Thankful.  Maybe it means that we’re kinder.  Maybe it means that we forgive more.  Maybe it means that we love more. 

            So tonight and throughout Lent let us confess what we must confess and apologize for what we’ve done wrong.  Let us not be hesitant about saying were sorry.  Let us be sincere in our penitence.  But let us also embrace the truth that forgiveness that is ours.  Let us accept it.  So that as we live more fully as a forgiven people we may also increase in love.  Tonight, throughout Lent and in all times and places, let us rejoice.  We are forgiven!  Let all God’s children say, “Amen.”

A Glimpse of Glory

Luke 9:28-36

February 10, 2013

            For at least four weeks every summer, Presbyterian youth groups from all over the country make their way to Montreat, North Carolina for the week-long Youth Conferences at the Montreat Presbyterian Conference Center.  In the summer of 1991 I had the opportunity to go with my senior high youth group for a week of Bible study, group building, worship, activities, friend making, music, fun and a talent show that included a completely choreographed rendition of “Copa Cabana” by Barry Manilow.  It was an amazing week!

            If you don’t know about Montreat, the conference center is set in the Smoky Mountains just outside of Asheville, North Carolina.  Asheville is the home of the famous Biltmore House, and the entire area is absolutely gorgeous.  Our youth group stayed in one of the many houses in Montreat that were for rent during the weeks of the conference.  As one of several counselors, we divided our duties between taking care of things at home and participating in a small group and small group activities. 

            Because it was my first time to attend, I was one of the counselors who participated in small groups.  I met youth and adults from around the country.  What was most exciting was that I had a chance to talk with other pastors about what it meant to serve as a minister.  I listened while they shared their experiences of serving in ordained ministry and what it meant to them.  This was important to me because I got the confirmation that week that I had been accepted to Union Theological Seminary.  A few weeks after we returned from Montreat, I started Hebrew school and the next four years were dedicated to becoming a minister.

            That trip up the mountain, with all of the fun and friendship and unforgettable views of the beauty of God’s world, was the final confirmation of my call to ministry.  It’s no wonder that I wanted to stay on the mountaintop forever and just revel in the glory of that place and time.  But the week finished and we had to make our way back down.  But I had gone up the mountain and the encounters I had with God and with other people changed the course of my life forever. 

            The courses of the disciples’ lives were changed as well.  They just didn’t know it.  Jesus is transfigured before the disciples’ very eyes, but they leave the mountain afraid and mute about what they’d seen. 

            In Luke’s telling of this story the word “transfiguration” isn’t actually used.  Before we come to this particular moment, Jesus has predicted to his disciples what is about to happen to him.  He will go through great suffering, be put to death and on the third day rise again.  The disciples, if they truly want to follow him, must be ready to carry their own crosses as well.   

            Now eight days have passed and Jesus decides to take Peter, James and John with him up a mountain to pray.  While Jesus is praying, something happens.  His face changes and his clothes become dazzling white.  In the New International Version, the translation states that Jesus’ clothes become as bright as a flash of lighting.  So you can imagine that this is a blinding, bright white – one we normally can’t achieve even with the best of bleaches.  Along with these changes in Jesus’ countenance and appearance, two men suddenly appear.  Moses and Elijah the two greatest prophets of Israel’s history, are standing with Jesus talking with him.  Only in Luke’s version do we find out what they are talking about.  They are discussing Jesus’ departure that is about to happen in Jerusalem.  They too are talking about the subject of his death and ultimately his resurrection.

            Throughout this Peter, James and John have been fighting off sleep.  But they finally wake up enough and see Jesus in his glory and the two men with him.  Just as Elijah and Moses are starting to leave Jesus, Peter acts as only Peter would act.  He wants to make this moment last, so he said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.”

            But while he’s speaking, a cloud came over them.  The disciples are terrified.  Clouds like this one signaled the presence of God.  And their terror was confirmed when a voice was heard saying, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”  When the voice was gone, there was Jesus, looking as he always did, and standing alone.  The disciples didn’t tell anyone what they had seen.  They were too confused and scared of what they had gotten a glimpse of.  They were probably left wondering at what they had seen, heard and what it would mean. 

            On the mountain top the disciples get a glimpse of the glory of Jesus, they have his true identity confirmed for them from a heavenly voice, they see Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah, yet they don’t share this news with anyone.  They were probably too afraid to talk about it, even amongst themselves. 

            They don’t talk about any of it until after Jesus died and was resurrected.  It took the full course of events in Jesus’ life to unfold for them to find the courage to speak, to find their voice and tell others about the glimpse of glory they witnessed. 

            Even though they had this mind-boggling experience on the mountaintop, they don’t get what Jesus is about to endure.  They don’t fully understand the words he told them.  They resist the idea that he must suffer and die.

            As I said, they were probably too terrified to speak.  Or maybe they thought that no one would believe them.  I mean who would believe that as they were sitting on this mountain that Jesus’ face and clothes would change before them?  Who would believe that a voice spoke to them from a cloud?  Who would believe that God told them this was his son?

            Peter, James and John weren’t entirely sure they believed the whole thing themselves.  It was all just too much!  If they had a hard time believing, who else would be convinced?

            And maybe the reason they didn’t speak about this to anyone was because they couldn’t put into words what they had seen.  The words we actually hear don’t fully describe what happened on that mountain.  What does it mean that Jesus’ face changed?  What did that look like?  How white were his clothes really?  What did the voice from the cloud sound like?  What was the tone and timbre of the voice of God?

            It’s indescribable.  That is the challenge and the frustration of this passage both for preaching and reading.  Words cannot convey what really happened on that mountaintop.  There’s no way we can fully comprehend what happened, what it looked like, what it sounded like.  There’s nothing to compare.

            In the past when I’ve preached on Transfiguration Sunday, I’ve tried to come up with any concrete idea I could find to grasp the transfiguration.  I’ve even used Transformers.  You’ve heard about Transformers, haven’t you?  Before the huge movie franchise, they were just toys.  But they weren’t just any toys, they were toys that transformed from an ordinary car into a robot or some other sentient machine that was either bound for good or for evil.  But this isn’t the kind of transformation that happens on this mountain.  Jesus doesn’t go from being one thing into something completely different.  He becomes who he truly is.  For a moment, a glimpse, the disciples see him in his glory.  They see him as both fully human and fully divine.  For a moment God breaks in, the kingdom breaks in, glory breaks in and what seems to be ordinary is revealed as extraordinary. 

            Well of course we can’t describe this!  We can’t describe it any more than we can explain it.  With all of the wonderful words at our disposal, there are no words to describe the glory of the transfiguration.  It is something we would have had to experience; and the disciples are testimony to the fact that experiencing it still doesn’t translate to comprehension.  They didn’t get it and they witnessed it. 

I guess it comes down to memory.  Obviously we can’t have a memory of the transfiguration itself, but are there other times in my life when I’ve had glimpses?  What made my experience at Montreat so special?  Was it the people, the setting, the experiences?  Did they all add up to something bigger than what they seemed?  Did that time on the mountain provide a moment when I had a glimpse of God?  When I saw glory break into the ordinary and I knew, even for just a fraction of a second that God was right there?  It is my memory of that moment -- that mountaintop moment – that keeps me going through all of the other moments.  The moments when it is too easy to forget that glory might be all around because I’m so caught up in the day-to-day grind of just surviving.  Those days when I’m more concerned about barreling through my to-do list and what I’ll make for dinner than I am about transfiguration, transformation or God in the midst of us. 

But then something happens. I read something that makes me stop for a minute or I see something that makes me happy or I hear a song that brings back a happier time in my life, and there it is, that moment, that brief instance where I get a glimpse of glory.  I get a glimpse of God.  It’s fast.  It’s gone as quickly as it came.  But it’s there. 

            The 19^th century poet Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote a poem called God’s Grandeur.  The first line says, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God.  It will flame out, like shining from shook foil.”

            It will flame out, like shining from shook foil.

            Maybe that’s what a glimpse of God’s presence is like – a brief shining.  Maybe that’s what the disciples witnessed up on that mountain – for a moment, just a moment, they saw the shining glory of God in the face of their teacher and their friend.

            So perhaps it’s no so important that we don’t have words to describe this happening.  Perhaps what is important is that we just believe.  We believe that it happened.  We believe that Jesus was transfigured, even if we don’t know what that means and can never describe it with our limited vocabulary.  Maybe it’s important to just believe that the glory of Jesus, fully human and fully divine was revealed to simple men.  Maybe it is enough to know that God’s glory is all around us whether we can see it, recognize it, and understand it or not.  So let us believe.  And along with believing, maybe we should try to do what God tells the disciples to do.  Listen.  Listen to him.  We don’t have to be just like him.  We just have to listen.  And in our listening we might just get a glimpse of glory.  Let all God’s children say, “Amen.”

Tough Love

I Corinthians 13:1-13

February 3, 2013

            A few years ago, there was a video on YouTube that went viral.  It’s called “Kevin and Jill’s wedding.”  It’s a real wedding with real people, not actors or actresses playing parts.  The video starts out just moments before the bridal party is about to walk down the aisle.  You think that it’s going to be like any other wedding.  Then all of a sudden music begins to play that is not your typical wedding processional type music.  Instead it’s a pop song.  The two ushers who were handing out wedding bulletins suddenly fling the programs into the air and begin to dance their way down the aisle.  Then two bridesmaids follow, also dancing down the aisle.  A groomsman and a bridesmaid bop their way down.  Ultimately the whole wedding party gathers together and dances as a group.  Just when you’re wondering what else could happen, the bridesmaids and groomsmen huddle at the doorway and the groom somersaults his way through them, dancing his way to the front.  Finally the music reaches a climax.  The camera pans back to the doorway, and there she is!  The bride.  She too dances her way in.  She is met halfway by her husband-to-be, who escorts her, arm and arm, the rest of the way. 

            My description does the video no justice.  As silly as it sounds, the first time I watched it I got a little teary.  This couple was obviously so full of joy about marrying each other, that it seemed completely natural and normal that they grooved their way to their marriage vows. 

            The video stops shortly after the bride and groom reach the altar, so the viewer has no idea about what the rest of their marriage service is like.  But it’s quite possible that they used this passage from I Corinthians.  It’s probably one of the most popular passages of scripture to be used in a wedding.  And I mean, why not?  Its sole purpose is to talk about love.  What love is and what love isn’t.  Isn’t that the most important thing to talk about when two people are about to join their lives together forever – love, the foundation and basis of it all.

            Not according to Richard Hays, a commentator and scholar with the Interpretation series of biblical commentaries.  He writes “the first task for the interpreter of I Corinthians 13 is to rescue the text from the quagmire of romantic sentimentality in which popular piety has embedded it.  The common use of this text in weddings has linked it in the minds of many with flowers and kisses and frilly wedding dresses.  Such images are far removed from Paul’s original concerns.” 

            Well, I guess I’ve blown it already, haven’t I?  The first thing I did was link this text to a wedding.  But, that is where we hear this text the most, at weddings.  So why not at least start there. 

            As Mr. Hays writes, romantic love was not what Paul was trying to get at in this passage.  As he is throughout this letter, he is trying to make the Corinthians understand that the way they are living is far removed from what God in Christ was about.  At different places in this chapter, we hear Paul exhorting them to stop putting so much emphasis on knowledge, but look instead to love.  Paul wants them to realize that loving each other as Christ loved is not about who is superior and who is inferior.  It’s not about who has the best spiritual gift.  There is no hierarchy when it comes to love.  Those who speak in tongues are not going to be loved more by God, than those who don’t.   All Paul seems to want is for the Corinthians to learn how to love, not romantically, not patronizingly, but as God showed love to God’s children in Christ. 

            But what does that mean exactly? 

            I know I’ve said this time and time again that one thing Paul was driving at was that love is not just about warm and gushy feelings.  Certainly being in love brings out all sorts of warm, gushy feelings.  But those feelings don’t necessarily last.  They may not disappear but they change.  Hopefully they evolve into something deeper and truer than any warm gushy feeling could be. 

            But beyond romantic love, Paul saw love as something that was enacted.  A person following the way of Christ practiced love, lived love everyday.  Living love means reaching out to those we don’t like as well as those we do.  Living love means doing what is right over doing what is easy.  Living love means speaking the truth even if it’s a truth that most don’t want to hear, even if it’s a tough truth.  Jesus speaks the truth in love in the passage we have from Luke today.  And Jeremiah will be called on again and again to speak hard words from the Lord to people who would rather close their ears, hearts and minds, then hear the truth God wants to impart. 

            So that’s what Paul is trying to get at in this passage.  He’s telling the Corinthians that if you don’t have love as the basis for all you do and say and think and feel, then you don’t really have anything at all.  If you speak in the tongues of angels, whether it’s a tongue giving to you by the Holy Spirit or if you just use powerful and beautiful speech, but you don’t base your words in love, then you are a noisy gong.  Paul isn’t trying to say that those spiritual gifts are wrong.  He would not have believed that.  But he is telling them clearly, that without love, they become meaningless.  The metaphor Paul uses here would have been a profound one for the Corinthians.  Corinth was well known for the bronze vessels it produced.  These were not musical instruments, but large acoustic vases that were used in theaters to help provide echo and amplify the actors’ voices. 

            So when Paul says that if you speak in tongues of angels, but you don’t speak with a foundation of love, it’s like these bronze vases are echoing but it’s only noise.  It’s not speech that can edify or build up.  It’s just noise. 

            If you have faith, if you give all that you can to the poor but you don’t have love, then your faith becomes a mockery and your actions of self-denial lose their truth.  Nothing is gained without love. 

            I think it’s important to repeat what Paul is trying to convey to the Corinthians.  He wasn’t putting love as something separate or higher.  He wasn’t trying to make a check list of spiritual gifts and activities with love at the top as the most superior factor.  No.  Paul wanted the Corinthians to understand that all of the things they had been doing, speaking in tongues, self-denial, etc. was fine.  But love must be the starting point.  Why deny ourselves?  Because we love.  Why be willing to open our hearts and speak to God in the language of angels?  Because we love.  Why should we not value knowledge above all else?  Because knowledge without love is nothing. 

            Paul is saying to the Corinthians, in some of his most powerful and inspiring rhetoric, that faith, that life without love would eventually become hollow.  The Corinthians must learn how to love. 

            Self-denial without love is like a clanging bronze vase.  Religious life without love is empty.  Without love, nothing makes sense, nothing can be fully known, nothing can be complete. 

            Paul knew the Corinthians needed to learn how to love.  So do we all.  I think this is a pretty loving place to be.  But I also know that with all we love, there is so much more we can do, there is so much more we can be.  There is so much more I can do and be.  I know for a fact I don’t have this loving thing down.  I am not always patient.  I am not always kind.  How many wrongs against me do I keep in my heart?  How many times am I unwilling to forgive, to let go of anger, to persevere in love?  Too many.

            So today and everyday, I must learn, like those Corinthians, how to love.  Let us learn together.  Let us love one another and all whom we meet, as God has first loved us.  Let us learn how to love, and share that love with a broken world.  Amen.