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.

What Is the Church?

This is my Minister's Corner article from last Saturday's Shawnee News Star, October 24, 2015

“Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit because apart from me you can do nothing.”

                                     John 15:4-5, the Holy Bible, New Revised Standard Version, ©1989.

            What is the Church? I’ve been pondering this question of late. I can offer a scripture-based answer. The Church is the body of Christ in the world. The Church gives feet to the love of God in Jesus. However, others have proposed that my question can also be answered in more secular terms; the Church is a gathering of like-minded individuals; a voluntary association that can be joined – or left.

            It’s not difficult to claim that the first answer is the correct one. I suspect that most folks reading this article, regardless of denomination, would agree that the Church is meant to proclaim the gospel of good news, and do the work of Jesus in the world. That is the answer. That is what scripture tells us. So bam, there ya go. There is no problem here. There is no question to ponder. The Church is Christ’s body in the world. Wrap up your article, Amy, and let’s move on.

            Yet I cannot seem to move on. It isn’t that I don’t agree with the scriptural answer to my question. I do, wholeheartedly. But my question about the Church’s identity remains. Why? Why do I have this feeling of dis-ease when it comes to this question? I suspect that it is because many church-going folks (I’m at the front of this line) proclaim the first answer but we live the second one.

            The Church is a gathering of like-minded individuals; a voluntary association that can be joined and un-joined. Why are we members of the churches we attend? Why are we affiliated with one denomination versus another? What keeps us going to our churches? What makes us leave? I’m sure the answers are many and varied. I’m a (fill-in-the-blank with your chosen denomination) because this is the church I grew up in. I used to be one denomination but when I moved, I couldn’t find a church in my own denomination that I liked, so I joined this one. I grew up in one church, but when I got married, I joined my spouse’s church. I’d like to go to that other church down the street, but they don’t have any programs for kids, so I attend this other church instead. I’m a member at this church because I like the preaching, music, people, etc. I’m not a member at that church because I don’t like the preaching, music, people, etc.

            I could probably go on and on with the list of reasons for church membership, but I think you get my point. Some of you may be saying, “Amy, your examples are about different denominations, church in the lowercase. But your question is about the Church with a capital C. Sure, our denominations are different, but we are all members of the Church.” Yet, whether it is the Church or the church, our words say one thing and our behavior says another. Are we joiners of a church, a gathering of like-minded individuals? Or are we the Church?

            Is a church something we join or is it something that we are? That is the heart of the question I have been asking. Yet, I think that I’m going the wrong way regardless of the direction I choose. Because implied in both answers is the mindset that all of it is in our hands. We are the church. We are the Church.  It is what we do, what we say, what we control. But Jesus told his disciples, “apart from me, you can do nothing.” Apart from me – that is the ultimate answer. The Church and the church are not about us. They are about God in Christ, the revelation of the Holy Spirit, the Good News. We do not make the Church. We are made the Church. It is not about us. It is about God. It is about the Vine. Yes, we are the branches. As branches trying to be faithful, we stretch our tendrils outward into a world that is longing for life. But the branches do not grow apart from the Vine. Apart from Jesus we can do nothing. We do not make the church or the Church, God does. We are called to follow. Thanks be to God.

Kingdom Work -- World Communion Sunday

Mark 10:13-16

October 4, 2015

            Imagine two pictures depicting these words from Mark’s gospel. The first portrays children –angelic, adoring children – gathered around Jesus. Perhaps Jesus is sitting, so there’s at least one chubby toddler in his lap, or he is holding a baby while laying his hands on another child’s head. The children gaze up at Jesus in wonder and love, and Jesus gazes at them with a beatific smile and eyes full of love.

            Second picture: sweet, precious children gathered around Jesus. One child is gazing adoringly at Jesus. The child sitting next to the adoring child is pinching the adoring child. The baby Jesus is holding is screaming because she’s hungry and tired. A toddler in the group keeps trying to escape only to be brought back by a mother with dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes. Two little kids sitting a ways off are whispering and giggling. They don’t seem to notice the fact that their father’s eyes are boring holes into them, or his “stop it now or you are going to be in so much trouble when we get home” look. And let’s not forget the child who is interrupting Jesus with questions and comments, or the other child who continues to pull her robe over her head so her best friend can see her belly button.

            I love the hopefulness of first picture. I’m sure I saw many a version of this picture in my Sunday school classes and in children’s bibles when I was growing up. If you google this text, you can discover many illustrations by a variety of artists. Some are more realistic and engaging than others. The best of these also show the disciples standing nearby looking stern and bewildered at their teacher having to deal with the tedious chore of blessing babies.  But all of them seem to show a scene that is closer to the first one I described than the second. They portray children who are pretty close to being perfect looking lovingly at Jesus.

            I’m not trying to poke too much fun at the first image. I can well imagine that the children who were brought to Jesus probably did look at him with such love and wonder. I have witnessed the effect that a person filled with compassion and love and gentleness can have on little ones – and on bigger ones as well. I have no trouble believing that the children brought to Jesus responded to his tender and gentle manner and soul. But I also wonder if our interpretation of this story – at least how that interpretation has been reflected in art – has become a hindrance to our understanding of this story and its deeper meaning.

            Hindrance is the crucial word. The passage starts off simply enough. People were bringing their children to Jesus for blessing. But the disciples “spoke sternly” to the people doing this. I think this is a watered down translation of the Greek. The disciples were hindering the people from bringing their children to Jesus. To hinder is to impede or delay or hold back. When Jesus saw this, he was angry. Although he does not rebuke the disciples as he has in other passages, he tells them with great emphasis, “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs.”

            Just reading this exchange on its own, without knowledge of its context, is enough to make me join Jesus in his indignation with the disciples. But we are privy to what has been happening and what Jesus has been trying to teach the disciples “on the way.” Therefore, our indignation should be even greater.

            If Jesus were a parent, I could imagine him responding with a phrase I’ve heard and said many, many times, “What. Did. I. Just. Tell. You?” Approximately 25 verses earlier, Jesus deflated the disciples’ argument about who among them was the greatest by taking a child into his arms. Whoever welcomes that child, he told them, welcomes him. When the disciples were peeved about the unknown disciple exorcising demons in Jesus’ name, Jesus reminded them that whoever was not against them was for them. He also warned the disciples in dramatically harsh language that whoever put a stumbling block in the path of someone who believed in Jesus would be better off being hurled into the sea with a millstone around his neck.

            Yet once again, the disciples don’t get it. They tried to hinder the people bringing babies for blessing. Jesus was indeed indignant. “What did I just tell you? These are the stumbling blocks I warned you about. These are the children I told you to welcome. These are the last that will be made first. These are the ones to be served instead of the other way around. Don’t hinder them.”

            Then Jesus finished his reprimand of the disciples with the words that are probably this story’s best known and remembered. “Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”

            There are two ways of translating and interpreting the Greek in this statement. The first is that if you want to enter the kingdom of God, you must become like a little child. This is the interpretation I have heard most often. The second possible translation is, if you want to enter the kingdom of God, you must welcome a little child. The second translation certainly fits with Jesus’ earlier teaching that welcoming a child was welcoming him.

            It seems to me that both interpretations hold truth. As one commentator pointed out, the first interpretation leads to a great deal of sentimentality. If you want to enter God’s kingdom you have to be sweet and trusting, childlike in your faith, believing simply, without question. Have you ever spent time with a two-year-old who has learned the word, “no?” Or a four-year-old who asks why? All day long. Just being a child does not mean that you believe simply without question.

            Do not misunderstand me. I love children. I love working with children and playing with children. But the first interpretation sets a standard for entering the kingdom that most of us can’t ever reach. It is unfair to us and to children. Children are not born perfect then become flawed as they grow older. Children are born real, and become more so. We were all born real, with real personalities and real temperaments and real strengths and real flaws. A childlike faith is not simplistic. A childlike faith, to paraphrase Frederick Buechner, is a faith that is open to all possibilities.  Maybe that puts this first interpretation in a vastly different light. To receive the kingdom of God, we must be open to all the possibilities of what the kingdom is and how the kingdom looks.

            The second interpretation is equally important. In order to receive the kingdom, we have to be willing to welcome children. Remember that argument the disciples had about who was the greatest? Wasn’t it also about who carried the most status? Children were loved and cared for, but they did not have status. Isn’t it tempting, in any situation, to roll out the red carpet for those with status and prestige and push the status-impaired off to the side? Jesus turns that reality, the one that seems ingrained in our human nature, on its head. If you want to receive the kingdom, then you have to welcome those without status. You have to welcome those who can do nothing for you in return. You have to welcome those who are vulnerable.

Those who are vulnerable; I think that is the common denominator in both of these interpretations. Children are the most vulnerable in any society, at anytime, anywhere. Children are vulnerable, helpless, dependent. If we were all born children that means that every single one of us was born helpless. We were all born dependent. We were all born vulnerable. None of us would be here now if someone had not taken care of us when we were small. This is true for every person, and for a majority of species. The young are vulnerable.

So if we are to enter and receive the kingdom of God like a child, it seems to me that our faith does not have to be simplistic or lacking dialogue and questioning. If we are to be childlike in our faith, we have to acknowledge that we are vulnerable. We are dependent. No matter how old we are, we need help. We need God. We need each other.

And if we are to do the work of the kingdom, then we also have to acknowledge that our kingdom work is to welcome the vulnerable of situation and station. Our work is to work on their behalf, to serve the least of these. On this day we celebrate the Lord’s Supper with sisters and brothers around the globe. Perhaps we need to ask ourselves who has been welcomed to the table and who has not. Are we seeking out the vulnerable, the lost, the lonely, the least of these? Are we giving them the best seats at the table, treating them as honored guests, seeking justice on their behalf? Welcoming the vulnerable, serving the poor, loving without condition the least of these – that is kingdom work. That is the work Jesus did. That is the work we are called to do. Because we are all vulnerable, we are all in need, we are all helpless in one way or another. But Jesus does not hesitate to welcome us. May we do the work of his kingdom by doing the same.

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

Whoever Is for Us

Mark 9:38-50

September 27, 2015

            A former parishioner and dear friend just recently retired after many years as a kindergarten teacher. One time she explained to me a lesson she taught her students at the beginning of every school year. Most of the children started kindergarten already understanding that a tattletale was not a cool or accepted thing to be. A tattletale was the persona non grata of the playground. But what should they do if something really bad was about to happen?

So my friend taught them that there were two different kinds of “telling.” The first kind was reporting. If Cindy Lou saw Billy Bob about to do something dangerous and harmful, such as jumping off the top of the swings or getting too close to a busy street, then it was important to tell an adult. That was being a reporter. Being a reporter was an important job. Being a reporter was a way to keep their friends safe. Cindy Lou reported what Billy Bob was doing so that he would not get hurt.

However a tattletale was altogether different. If Jimmy Jack’s friend, Buster, was playing with another friend rather than Jimmy Jack, and Jimmy Jack didn’t like this and told the teacher; that was tattling.  It all came down to motivation. Were you reporting to a teacher because you were afraid someone was about to get hurt? Or were you tattling on someone because you were mad or jealous? That was the difference between being a reporter and being a tattletale; motivation.

What do you think John’s motivation was when he told Jesus about this other person casting out demons in Jesus’ name? Was he reporting or was he tattling? My instinct tells me that it was the latter.

John and the other disciples saw an unnamed person exorcising demons in Jesus’ name. This other person was successful at casting out demons else I suspect the disciples would not have tried to stop him. We don’t know anything about this other person, this other disciple. One of the Biblical scholars I refer to commented on this and said, “We don’t know this disciple’s name, so let’s just call him Bob.” In fact, my original title to this sermon was “Bob, the Disciple,” but I chickened out about using it at the last minute.

Why would the disciples have been so upset about Bob casting out demons? I think the first answer is that he was doing something that they were unable to do. They had tried to cast out a demon already and failed. But Bob the disciple did what they could not do. That must have irked them, to say the least.

Another reason Bob bothered the disciples is that he was not one of them. They were the disciples. They were the ones Jesus called to follow. No one knew anything about Bob. How could he be a disciple if Jesus had not called him? How could he do the work of a disciple if he was not in the in-crowd? There is an aspect to this exchange between John and Jesus that I had not noticed before. When John complained to Jesus about Bob the disciple casting out demons, he didn’t say, “We tried to stop him because he was not following you.” John said, “We tried to stop him, because he was not following us.”

Jesus did not question John about using us instead of you. In fact, Jesus responded in the plural. “Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. Whoever is not against us is for us.”

Whoever is not against us is for us.

John may have been presumptuous in asserting that he and the other disciples were to be followed same as Jesus. But Jesus didn’t seem to have a problem with John’s use of the collective as much as he did with them trying to stop Bob. Whoever Bob was and however he heard about Jesus, his work in Jesus’ name was legitimate. He was not against them, so he was for them. Even though he was not one of them, he was still for them. He was still for Jesus, and his deed of power in Jesus’ name was not to be dismissed.

This is yet one more misunderstanding of Jesus’ message, mission and purpose by the disciples. This follows immediately after our passage last week when the disciples argued among themselves about who was the greatest, and who carried the most status as a disciple. Their argument was preceded by Jesus telling them for a second time that he would undergo great suffering, death and resurrection. Jesus even went so far as to embrace a little child so they would understand his words about the first being last, the last first, and the greatest of all being the servant of all. But the disciples don’t get it.

They don’t get it, and their lack of getting it comes out in jealousy and insecurity over Bob the disciple. Here was this unknown person doing what they were not yet able to do. So they tried to stop him. When they couldn’t, they tattled to Jesus about him. But Jesus knew that what was more important was that anyone who was not against them was for them. Bob the disciple was for them, and that was all that mattered.

I suspect that most of us would agree with the point Jesus made. It doesn’t matter how we go about the work Jesus calls us to do just as long as we are doing it. That is our priority. Do the work we are called to do. Whoever is for Jesus is for us and us for them.

But that message seems to get lost in translation when it comes to our denominations, our styles of worship, our liturgies or lack thereof. Our priorities seem to get turned upside down when we compare our music and the way we pray. Interpretation of scripture from one denomination to the next can be so radically different, we wonder who is right and who is wrong? We may mouth the words Jesus said, “whoever is not against us is for us,” but when it comes to our actions – and our other words – I think we really believe that whoever is unlike us is not only against us, but doing it all wrong.

Isn’t that really what John said to Jesus? We saw Bob the disciple casting out demons in your name but we tried to stop him. He was doing it wrong!

He was doing it wrong. I hate to admit that I feel like this, but I know I do. I know that I am guilty of this. I know that I get jealous over others who I think are doing ministry wrong, but seem to be far more effective than I am. I know I’ve spent many a Thursday afternoon after I’ve left the ecumenical Bible study I co-lead thinking, “They are doing it wrong!” How I would love to go tattling this to Jesus, “Jesus, those other so-called disciples are doing it wrong!” Yet, Jesus made it clear to the disciples and therefore makes it clear to me that whoever is not against him is for me, and for us.

In case you haven’t heard, Pope Francis has been visiting our country this week. He addressed a joint session of Congress. He ate with homeless brothers and sisters. He stopped a procession and called over a little girl who broke through the security barriers. I have heard over and over what a profound impact he has made on the people who have listened to him, spoken with him, experienced his compassion and kindness.

I have also heard people who have complained bitterly about his message. Pundits of all varieties have commented that he is not doing what a pope is supposed to do – getting people to heaven. Beyond that, he needs to keep the church in its place and get his nose out of policy. I greatly respect Pope Francis. I do not agree with everything the Catholic Church advocates for, but I am still greatly moved by his genuine kindness and grace. In my eyes he is mercy and gentleness personified.

But would I be this accepting of him if he were a representative of a different kind of Christianity? I’m not so sure. I think I would be more likely to roll my eyes and dismiss a religious leader more evangelical or conservative than I am.

In the movie, The Apostle, Robert Duvall plays that second kind of pastor: the kind of pastor that makes me uncomfortable. He preaches a lot of hellfire and brimstone. He focuses solely on saving souls for a life after this one, and doesn’t seem to care too much about people who are hungry and hurting now. He doesn’t dig deep into the scripture, offering a well-reasoned interpretation with a beginning, middle and end. He shouts. He cajoles. He exhorts. He paces. He calls the people to be saved, to repent, to give their lives to the Lord. He does everything I don’t do. But there is one moment in the movie when he is standing on a bridge over a river and sees a priest across the water blessing people. I don’t remember the apostle’s exact words, but looks at the priest and smiles, saying something to the effect of “We may be going at it in different ways, but we’re working for the same goal, the same reason, the same One.” This man, this minister – so different from anything that I am and from anything that I want to be – watches this priest and acknowledges that truth which tends to stick in my throat; whoever is for Jesus is for us.

Whoever is for Jesus is for us. They are not doing it wrong. They are doing it differently.  But we all do what we do, minister the way we minister, worship the way we worship, in the name of Jesus and for his sake. Isn’t that what is important? Isn’t that what ultimately matters? May we remember that about others, and may others remember that about us. Whoever is not against us is for us; even Bob the disciple.

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