opc blog

Evan Carter

Luke 11:1-13
Hosea 1:2-10

After hearing this reading, you’re probably thinking the same thing I thought last week…. So this is why Marthame is out this week.    Well done Marthame, well done.   Actually, the reality is, we’ve been reading difficult texts like this all summer long.

[RECAP] For those of you who haven’t been with us, this summer we’ve been pouring through a series on various prophets in the Bible, and a lot of them have some pretty strange things to say.

These are the texts you don’t exactly want to play Bible roulette with — you know, those times in life when you want the Lord to give you a sweet message for whatever you’re dealing with…so you sit down with your Bible and you open it up randomly. But you land on stories about Elijah or Amos or Hosea and God is promising wrath and destruction upon his people.  These prophecies can be tough to reconcile with our notions of a loving, compassionate God.

[BRIEF HISTORY] – The book of Hosea is pretty strange in it’s own unique way too.  According to scholars, Hosea immediately followed the prophet Amos.  Amos’ words of wrath and destruction had little impact on the Israelite people’s behaviors.  They continued to live wildly and participated in all kinds of idol worship.  So, just before the Assyrian conquest, God sent these words to Hosea to prophecy to the Northern Kingdom:

UNPACKING THE TEXT

“Hosea, go take for yourself an adulterous wife…   And even though she is going to run around and cheat on you, I want you to remain faithful to her.  Oh, and she’s going to have three children, which may or may not actually be of your seed.

I don’t know if any of you have ever heard the Lord speak to you. I personally have never heard an audible voice tell me anything…  But, I suppose if I ever did, and God told me what he told Hosea, I’m sure I’d act like I didn’t hear it anyway.    Did God really tell this guy to go and marry a woman he knew would be unfaithful to him?  That seems contradictory to the Old Testament moral code.  It’s stories like this that stop and make me think, if people were making all this stuff up in the Bible, don’t you think they would have left out something like this?

Regardless, what does this story have to do with you and me today?  And what does this story tell us about God, who is timeless?  Is God going to tell me to go and do something crazy like marry an unfaithful prostitute too?    Well, I hope not, seeing as I’m supposed to marry someone else, who is absolutely amazing, in three weeks.

As I read about the Israelite people in these stories, I see that… not much has changed… People were running around on God then, and we’re still running around on God now.  You see, if I can be so bold, we are all like Gomer.  We’re cheaters……who are unfaithful to the Lord too.    Though it’s not the most joyful message for a Sunday morning, it is the truth!  We are all guilty of the same adultery on a spiritual level.

What does it look like for us to be unfaithful in our relationship with the Lord? After all, it’s not like we’re worshipping other gods like the people we read about in the Bible!   But are we?  Maybe we don’t understand the concept of worship.  The reality is…we are all worshipping something…it’s just that it is often not the Lord.

“To be unfaithful to God is to worship or to love something or someone else more than our relationship with the Lord.”    To put God second, whether knowingly or unknowingly…that is unfaithfulness.

What does unfaithfulness look like directly between the Lord and me? It’s when I know the Lord is leading me to step out in faith and do something, yet I choose not to.  It’s the, “Lord, if you’ll get me out of this, I promise I will never get myself into a situation like this again.” He picks me up, and I fall right back down.

[Finances] Unfaithfulness is when I don’t make the time to sit down and look at my finances in order to make tithing a priority of my spiritual life….because then I will actually know how much the Lord has given me that I should give back in gratitude and in faith. “Lord, I’m not sure if anyone has filled you in, but we’re in a little bit of a recession right now and times are a little tough these days.”  A lot of people can give when the barns are full.

[Friends with Benefits] Unfaithfulness is when my prayer life consists of a list of demands and reminders for the Lord – without a response of thanks, praise, and obedience.  It’s when I treat God like a “Friend with benefits.”  I want the perks and the freedom without the responsibility. “I don’t have time to hang out today Lord, work is really busy right now and I need to make some things happen, I got some errands to run.”  You know what that is?  That says, I’ll make time for you when I need you Lord…like when life starts falling apart.  When my career is in jeopardy, someone I love gets sick, or my finances are not as secure as I thought they were…then I’ll be interested in talking to you Lord – when I remember that I feel my need for you.

[Other people] – Not only is unfaithfulness directly between us and the Lord, it can also involve our relationships with other people too.  Unfaithfulness is when I chose to ignore what Jesus referred to as the second greatest commandment…to “love my neighbor as myself.”  Yeah I know I’m supposed to love everyone but I just can’t love “so-and-so.”  Lord, you made him and….and you knit him together in his mother’s womb remember?  So you know how they are.  I just can’t love them right now.”

And lastly, I think unfaithfulness can also manifest itself in the way we interact or worship what the world offers us.  Unfaithfulness is when I’m not content with what I have, so I lust or covet what another has.  When I compare my body image to anothers’….When I worship success or popularity or money or….myself.  It’s when I allow my thoughts to be consumed with worry and anxiety constantly, doubting if the Lord can really be trusted.  This is all unfaithfulness too.

We are guilty of unfaithfulness.  And Oglethorpe, this will only hurt us as a body and as individuals.  Love is not contingent upon whether someone is deserving of it.  Love is not optional.  Yet, it is the only way.

So, why do we do it?  Are we just selfish with our time and selfish with our love?  No, the problem is deeper.  These are mere symptoms.  It’s not a coincidence that we all just happen to randomly struggle with these things like selfishness, greed, judgment, envy, lust…or our inability to love people.  The problem is…I have the same DNA as Gomer….and so do you!  It’s called sin, and we all got the virus.

[McKittrick] I asked a friend this week what he thought unfaithfulness with the Lord looks like in his life.  He simply replied, “It looks like what I see when I wake up and look in the mirror.”

How’s your faithfulness?   Are you able to see the Gomer inside of you?  Where are you unfaithful?  Where do you need to drop to your knees and repent of your adultery?

And yet… even as we all continue to run around on the Lord, placing everything and everyone in front of God….there is good news!  You see, adultery is not the point of the story of the life of Hosea and Gomer.  So what, a guy married a prostitute who cheated on him, big deal!?!   It’s not a story about unfaithfulness…….it’s about faithfulness!  God alone is faithful!  God is faithful, loving and pursuing even when we are not.  These words of prophecy in Hosea are part of the plan the Lord had all along.  God commands Hosea to do these things and speaks against the people for all their adultery… and then in verse ten, we get a glimpse of what it’s all about.

“Yet the Israelites will be like the sand on the seashore, which cannot be measured or counted. In the place where it was said to them, ‘You are not my people,’ they will be called ’sons of the living God.’

The Israelites needed to understand that they could not be faithful to the Lord on their own… and that they needed a savior!  And the same is true for us today!  God’s faithfulness culminates in the way of sending us a messiah to save us from our adultery.  Jesus, the Christ, entered into our world and died the death that we deserved, so that we could be restored into a right relationship with God.  That’s faithfulness!

[“Faithfulness” story about Julia and I] – Julia and I were coming back from a family vacation at the beach a few weeks ago and we were talking a lot about how helpful some of our pre-marital counseling has been.  At one point in the conversation, I felt compelled to make a pseudo-confession.  In the midst of some of the intense self-discovery that pre-marital counseling tends to push people towards, I explained to her that I suddenly realized that, if I were not careful, I was actually capable of making some of the same adulterous mistakes that tore my family apart during my childhood.  If I didn’t have a healthy awareness and fear of my sin, I too could be an adulterer.  And I’ll never forget what she said back to me.  I expected to hear words filled with fear and emotion.  Instead, she softly replied, “I’d like to think that even if you were to make a mistake and hurt me like that…it would still be “till death do us part.”

Whew! That’s faithfulness….and that’s only a glimpse of the Lord’s faithfulness.   The challenge for all of us is to learn to accept the Lord’s unmerited love and grace.  To the extent that we are able to do that, to be able to really accept and understand such unmerited love and grace; the more we will be able to grow in faithfulness with the Lord and with others.

FOCUS: I think this text is trying to say that….

God is faithful even when we are not.

FUNCTION: I think this text is encouraging us to….

Think about where you’ve been cheating on the Lord and make serious efforts to repent from those things.

“If we are faithless, God will remain faithful, for God cannot disown himself.”  ~ 2 Timothy 2:13

Marthame Sanders (Marthame’s sermons and other reflections are alos available on his blog)

Luke 10:38-42
Amos 8:1-12

You know, this whole prophet sermon series seemed like a good idea at the time. When Elijah and Elisha are healing people or raising the dead or feeding widows or taking on Ahab and Jezebel, that was OK. Things seem to have turned the corner here with Amos today. Suddenly this beautiful bowl of fruit somehow becomes a metaphor for utter destruction. And that destruction isn’t contained to just a select few; instead, the whole community is going to suffer.

Which is why it’s such a good thing that we have two texts to read every Sunday! I don’t know about you, but I think I need a running start at Amos. So let’s jump back to Luke for a minute.

Here we find this familiar story of the debate between Martha and Mary about who is doing the right thing. Jesus arrives at Martha’s home with the disciples. And from what we know about the culture at the time, what Martha does is what is to be expected of a female host. She gets back into the kitchen and begins fixing food and refreshment for all of her guests. But her sister Mary, rather than joining her in service, plants herself at Jesus’ feet, where she begins to soak it all in.

This story has become so familiar to some of us that we use it as a sort of personality type identifier. How many of you would identify yourselves as Marthas? How many of you constantly make yourself busy, and look to serve God by running around and making sure that everyone else is OK? And how many of you would identify yourselves as Marys? How many of you are content to sit in the presence of God and just soak in the wisdom and faith? How many of you raised your hands twice or not at all?

Personally, I tend to be more Martha than Mary; it’s even there in my name, “Martha – Me”. But no matter where you are on this sibling spectrum, it’s my hunch that a lot of us probably took Martha’s side in the argument. Of course Mary should be helping! It’s not fair that she gets to hang out with the disciples while Martha is busting her rear in the kitchen. In fact, if Martha weren’t doing what she’s doing, then she would be criticized for being a bad host.

But let’s take a closer look. Is there something going on that we first miss when we glance at the scene? Let’s start with the obvious: it’s Martha’s house, not Mary’s. So in that cultural context, it really is Martha’s duty (and not Mary’s) to provide for the guests. OK; not particularly earth-shattering, but helpful. But then we realize that Martha doesn’t take her complaint directly to Mary, but goes to Jesus instead. How does that work out for her? Have you ever gone to someone to complain about somebody else? And if that third party is particularly grounded, how does that work out for you? “Mom, Alecia took my crayons.” “Then go work it out with her.” I don’t think Jesus is likely to get triangled by gossip.

Then we notice that Martha is doing what is expected as far as being a woman in the time of Jesus. Mary, on the other hand, had planted herself as a disciple. In essence, she was not doing what a woman was supposed to do, but instead doing what a man would do. And rather than dismissing Martha’s complaint, instead, Jesus is subtly questioning the whole cultural paradigm here. He scandalously applauds the woman who sits at his feet, the one who has violated the cultural norms.

Finally, Jesus doesn’t say that Mary is right and Martha is wrong. It’s never that easy. Instead, he observes that Mary has chosen the better option. This isn’t an endorsement of contemplative life over the life of service. Jesus is simply saying that contemplation, too, has its place in the life blood of faith.

Or to put it another way: contemplation without service drifts toward narcissism. And service without contemplation becomes self-inflicted martyrdom.

Remember where this story comes, after all. Luke’s whole gospel is set in motion by Mary, the mother of Jesus, as she sings to God, “My soul magnifies the Lord…for the Lord has lifted up the lowly and filled the hungry and brought down the powerful and sent the rich away.” Jesus picks up on this in his first public preaching in Nazareth in Luke’s account, reading from the scroll in Isaiah, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me and has anointed me to bring good news to the poor, sight to the blind, release to the captives.” And this particular story follows right after Jesus tells the parable of the Good Samaritan, answering the lawyer’s question, “What must I do to inherit eternal life.” It’s the epitome of the go and do lesson, not the go and sit lesson. Luke gospel’s is, first and foremost, testimony to a God who does stuff. It is witness to a God who upsets the way things are “supposed” to be.

Which is as good a place as any to get back to Amos. As much as we might not like to look at what Amos has to say to us today because it’s such a downer, the reality is that Amos is the very essence of the Hebrew prophet. The prophetic tradition of Christianity, the very strand of our teaching that is called “social justice”, is found right here in the poundings of the Old Testament prophets, It is a call that echoes through the gospels and even up through today. It is a call that says quite simply: “The life of faith cannot consist of pure ritual. It must be embodied, enfleshed, lived out in our very selves!”

The time in which Amos is preaching is an era of unprecedented security and prosperity for the northern kingdom of Israel. Their territory has expanded to its farthest boundaries. And there is this pervading sense throughout the nation that this bounty and safety are rewards from God for the people’s faithful devotion to the sacrifices and their dedicated upkeep of the altars and shrines.

But Amos, the one who’s very name means “burden,” is weighed down by what is swept under the rug. His vision is troubled by what God sees beneath the surface. The poor are being abused. The merchants are honoring the Sabbath, but they really can’t wait until the sun goes down so that they can get back to the daily work of fleecing those who can least afford it. The fury of the God’s prophet is unleashed on those who would value a pair of shoes more than a human being who bears God’s own imprint. Amos’ judgment is a reminder not only of the call of faith to go and do, but also the attention that God gives to those on the margins, those whom it would be easy to ignore, because they have no place, no voice, no one to speak for them. It is into this vacuum that the prophet steps to say, “You have been warned.”

What is curious is that this prophetic call to righteousness seems to be a constant, no matter what circumstances in which the particular prophet lives. When the nation is thriving and the people feel secure, they ignore the poor because they feel they’ve earned that right. When the nation is threatened, either by foreign powers or natural disasters, and the people are terrified, they ignore the poor because they’re convinced there’s not enough to go around. And when the nation is utterly destroyed and taken into exile and the people feel abandoned by God, they ignore the poor because, really, what’s the point? The nation’s circumstances are secondary to the fact that the people habitually ignore the poor. And they do so at risk to their own well-being.

And this is where Amos gets downright haunting. There is this prophecy of famine; not one of literal hunger, where the storm clouds are shut up and rain ceases to fall, no. Instead, it seems there will continue to be plenty of bowls of summer fruit. But the people will suddenly recognize that the word of God is absent. Unlike the poor whom they have utterly ignored, the people will eat their fill. But they will remain utterly empty and desolate. “They shall wander from sea to sea, and from north to east; they shall run to and fro, seeking the word of the Lord, but they shall not find it.” God is gone. You’re on your own.

And perhaps it is here that we can join Mary and Martha in their debate about which sister is more righteous. Martha is making sure that everyone has enough to eat, that there is plenty to go around. We have no indication that she is ignoring the poor and needy; instead, we might even assume that she has been sure to see to their needs. But maybe the truth is that she herself is empty. As in the time of Amos, when greed and gain were so much the norm such that it took a wandering shepherd prophet to point out the hypocrisy, the broader culture at the time of Jesus has contributed to Martha’s spiritual hunger. As a woman, her place is in the kitchen, seeing to the needs of everyone else, well out of earshot of the words that would feed her soul. Mary, on the other hand, is being filled. Mary has, intentionally or not, pushed the envelope of acceptability. She has demanded her rightful place in the presence of Jesus; and Jesus has made it clear to all who listen that this woman deserves to be right where she is, up front and center.

Eventually, Mary will have to get up from the floor. And if she has really taken the words of Jesus to heart, she, too, will be compelled by this desire to feed the world with what it really hungers for. And that, ultimately, is the call that Christ offers us. It is one thing to make ourselves busy with the tasks of the world, like Martha. It is another thing to take in everything that the world has to offer, like Mary. And it is another thing altogether to see that the two are intimately connected. We go and sit so that we can go and do. Contemplation is nothing if it is not lived out. And we go and do fully aware that we must make time to go and sit at Jesus’ feet again and again and again. Service is nothing if it has no life blood to feed it. It is like cut flowers; they look pretty for a while, but cut off from their roots, they will wither and die.

So what about you? Where are you compelled in all of this? Are you a habitual Martha? Then Jesus is calling to you. What would it look like to walk out of the kitchen and sit on the floor for a while? What are you going to do when everyone complains that the guests are here and they are hungry? Can you recognize that you can’t feed anyone if you yourself haven’t been fed?

Or are you a Mary? Do you find yourself constantly soaking it in? Do you bathe in the beauty of the word of God? Perhaps you have taken in the better part; but be careful of your own spiritual gluttony. Then the prophet is calling to you. It’s time to push back from the table, to give your seat to another, to let others know that you have tasted and it is, indeed, good! Come, and eat your fill!

Let us all hear the word of the Lord: go and sit; go and do; go and love. Amen.

(the service didn’t get recorded this week. sorry. But here’s a bonus special message from Marthame)

Marthame Sanders (Marthame’s sermons and other reflections are also available on his blog)

Luke 10:25-37
Amos 7:7-17

How do we measure up?

When we first moved into our house, the master bathroom had no shower. But there was a closet on the other side of the wall, and so we knocked a hole (well, not we – we did hire a contractor), sealed off the closet, and turned it into the shower. Great job. The trick came when we went to put in the shower curtain, working to get it even so that the water wouldn’t sneak out over the lip.

I eyeballed it, and squared it off against the new “doorway” into the shower, and it looked good. I then stepped back into our bedroom, and the shower rod seemed to be at about a 30 degree angle. But then again, our house was built in 1955, and has been “settling” ever since. It apparently was settling at the rate of 2 degrees a year. So we got out the level, made sure the bubble was in the middle, and our new shower curtain was, indeed, level.

How do we measure up? It’s one thing to compare ourselves relative to others, whether that be positively so or negatively so. But it’s another thing altogether to have the spiritual equivalent of a level to keep us steady.

This morning we pick up the story of Amos. I love the start of this story because it says, “God put a plumb line, and then said to Amos, ‘What is this?’ Amos said, ‘It’s a plumb line.’” Thank you, Captain Obvious.

Outside of the book of Amos, little is known about him at all. His name means, “Burden” and he seems to inhabit this Debbie Downer persona. He was active at a time of relative prosperity and security, but, as the conscience of the nation, he was deeply distressed by the fact that the poor were being ignored. And this plumb line is as good a metaphor as any for God’s judgment.

The plumb line was, and is, a simple instrument used in construction. It’s a string with a weight tied to the end of it, using gravity to make a straight vertical line. The symbolism of such an image as God dangles the line before Amos is clear, that Israel must measure up to this straight line – it must build its walls of faith to these exacting standards. It must keep the covenants and commandments of the law and the promise. But it has already failed to do so, not many years after the triumphant reign of King David, and must suffer the consequences. It is Amos’ lucky job, as the prophet, to inform the king of God’s decision: that the people of Israel don’t measure up. It’s not a message that King Jeroboam wants to hear, but nor is it a message that Amos seems all that eager to deliver. He is quick to point out that the word is not his, that he’s not the regally-fed and housed prophet that Amaziah, Jeroboam’s mouthpiece, comes to represent. Instead, Amos reminds Jeroboam that the word he speaks comes from the mouth of God – it is God who holds the plumb line between a divine forefinger and thumb, not Amos. And it is Jeroboam who has led the people to build this faithless, leaning wall that appears to be crumbling.

You see, there is a burden that comes with power, particularly that of those who have been trusted with the fates of peoples and nations.

Our own tradition bears witness to this idea – John Calvin, the French Reformer living in his own diaspora in Switzerland, included a preface to the King of France in every edition of his exhaustive Institutes of the Christian Religion. And each time he begged the King to repent of his repressive, faithless, leaning-wall ways. With power, he argued, comes responsibility. And with great power comes even greater responsibility – for a when a king or a queen, a prince or a princess falls, they take an entire people with them.

But we’re not just talking about royal figures or governments or militaries or even corporations here – but we’re not not talking about them, either. We, too, standing before that simple measuring device, before that plumb line of Amos’ vision, will fall just like princes. And our falls will have consequences not just for ourselves, but for others. Our imperfectly-constructed walls will crumble like sand, for no one can stand righteous before God. No one can claim perfection. No one can present themselves as flawless. None of our constructed walls will pass inspection.

For many years, we have used the story of the Good Samaritan to correct our flaws, to use as our measuring stick, our plumb line. We have read this story for years, but it is always surprising to read it again and find how many details we’ve invented. It’s a short story, a mere paragraph, but our imaginations – perhaps from Sunday School re-enactments as a child – add all sorts of things that aren’t really there – the bandits hiding behind rocks, or that man lying in a ditch at the side of the road, the priest and Levite saying something smug and dismissive to the man. None of this information is there, but in our minds, to varying degrees, it is every bit a part of the story.

This is why it bears repeated readings – not only to flesh out the details of the story, to figure out what is Scripture and what fancy, but also to see if we are really reading the story as it was really told and whether we are learning from it what was originally being taught.

This story for us has always been a morality tale, about that poor, innocent man headed down that steep, desert slope from Jerusalem towards Jericho, and the despised Samaritan – the one who might’ve been a neighbor of those lepers in Burqin – who proves more faithful than the religiously-precocious priest and Levite. I remember very vividly those early Sunday School lessons that taught my classmates and me this cautionary tale about judging people by the color of their skin, or the amount of money in their pockets, or any other humanly-instituted dividing wall (like whether they are Samaritan or Jew or Arab). And over the years, for most of us, the Good Samaritan has come to represent our drive to be moral, our faithful living in the kingdom’s shadow. Churches have their Good Samaritan funds, as means to help those in desperate circumstances. Some cities and states in the US have now enacted Good Samaritan laws that oblige people to help those in distress or under physical threat – kind of a compelled compassion, we could call it. The good, saintly, kind Samaritan has become our plumb line, where we take our cue from his honorable actions and from Jesus’ command to “go and do likewise,” to help others. This has been the way we can measure up.

But there’s one crucial detail missing in this version – or rather, this interpretation of the story. The story is told because a young lawyer asks Jesus a question: “Who is my neighbor?” The answer to this question is the story, but at the end of the story it is Jesus who does the asking: “Who,” he asks the neighbor, “proved to be the neighbor?” Jesus does something amazing and subtle in the telling of the story – he flips the question on its head. Notice the use of the word neighbor in the two questions. The lawyer wants to know who is his neighbor. His neighbor turns out to be the one who – in the lawyer’s own words – “showed him mercy.” Here’s the turn: at the end of the story, by the time we have come to respect this Samaritan, this outcast who lends a helping hand, Jesus in essence says to the lawyer, “You came seeking your neighbor. The Samaritan is your neighbor.

Which means that you’re the one in the road. You want to know who your neighbor is? He’s the one who comes to you, salves your wounds with oil, and feeds your hunger with wine. You are not the one in a position to help. You are the one in need of help, whether you know it or not. You’re not the one with the power to change your circumstance – you are the powerless one, relying on the goodness of a stranger and outcast. You were left in the road, all but dead – but I’m telling you that today, you are alive!”

Friends, my brothers and sisters in Christ, we are the lawyer – we are the ones who lie in the road, whether by circumstance, or of our own doing. And it is Jesus Christ, the outcast among outcasts, who comes to us, picks us up, salves us with the waters of baptism and feeds us with the bread and wine of the Eucharist. We cannot measure up, friends – that’s the good news! But even so, Christ has called us by name, has gathered us here, and has bound us together. That plumb line, dropped in our midst, is the very cross of Christ. And so it becomes a way not to strangle us with our failures, but it becomes the way by which we cling to God, by which God holds us in grace. We have been pulled from the road, called from our olive orchards, our sycamore trees, our sheep, and have been bathed and nourished in the grace of Christ. We must see ourselves not as powerful, but as powerless before the perfect holiness of God. And when we do, we will see that we have not been left for dead in the road, ignored by the respectable, but we have been given a whole new life by the one who came for the outcasts – and thereby became an outcast himself. We must, we must go and do likewise, as Jesus tells the lawyer, because it has been done for us already.

It is for this reason that we must stand before the thrones of the powerful and speak the truth of Amos. It is for this reason that we must stop along the road with the Samaritan and help the one who despises us. And when we do, we do it not in an effort to measure up, to build more effective walls, but rather to acknowledge that this plumb line has become our very lifeline.

Do we measure up? Not even close. Our walls begin to crumble before they are even built. But the good news is that God comes to us anyway, calling us, holding us, surrounding us, and shaping us to be instruments of divine grace. May we, and the whole world with us, go and do likewise. Amen.

(the service didn’t get recorded this week. sorry. But here’s a bonus special message from Marthame)

Marthame Sanders (Marthame’s sermons and other reflections are also available on his blog)

Luke 10:1-11, 16-20
2 Kings 5:1-19

This week we pick up where the story of Elisha left off last week – Elijah, the great prophet, passes on the prophetic mantle to Elisha. And Elisha goes on to have his own impressive prophetic career, though he was constantly overshadowed by Elijah.

This week is really the only story that pops up in the lectionary, and I’ve been trying all week to think of a modern-day example that might parallel with this one. In any case, Aram (roughly the equivalent of modern-day Syria and Lebanon) is a military powerhouse; on one of their raids into Israel (roughly the equivalent of the northern part of modern-day Israel and the West Bank), Aram has seized a young Israelite girl, who now finds herself in the service of Naaman, commander of the Aramean army. Naaman is this imposing figure in the story; no doubt he was legendary not only in Aram but in Israel as well. And yet, he is plagued by some kind of skin disease. For whatever reason he listens to the advice of this slave girl who suggests he seek healing from the prophet in Israel. Being a man of power, he plies the channels of power: his king sends a note to the king of Israel, who assumes the worst, that this is some kind of trick. He won’t be able to heal Naaman, and Aram will have an excuse to strike.

Fortunately, Elisha overhears and calls for Naaman to come visit him. And yet he doesn’t even bother to see him face-to-face but tells him to go down to the River Jordan and wash. This irritates Naaman not only because he is powerful and used to being treated with respect, but because he senses a national arrogance on Elisha’s part that stirs up his own. “That pathetic little river? We’ve got two near Damascus which are more impressive than that!” And he’s pretty much right. Even so, his servants convince him to give it a shot. He does and is cured.

The lectionary stops there, but the rest of the story fascinates me. It’s mostly about the attempt of Naaman to provide Elisha with a gift for services rendered. Elisha refuses; but Naaman carts off several loads of soil, the thought being that, if he’s going to have to accompany the King of Aram to worship Rimmon (or Hadad, the fertility god of the Arameans), he can scatter a little Israelite soil first so that he’s actually worshiping the one god in whom he believes, Yahweh, the God of Israel.

Like I said, I tried to find a current example that could help open up this story for us. First, I had to answer a series of questions: if it’s U.S., then are we Israel? Do we have something to offer the rest of the world? Or are we Aram, the massive military power? And if we are in the story, who is our enemy? Is it Al Qaeda? Iran? North Korea? Russia? If you’ve got an idea, I’d be happy to hear it; but the best I could do was this:

Vladimir Putin visits the White House and says to Barack Obama, “When I lift my arm like this, it hurts…” And Obama sends him to the Surgeon General.

Oh well. No parallel. But perhaps if we dig into the meaning of the text it might help. Aram is powerful; Israel is scared. They’ve been beaten in battle before. And the King of Israel is worried about a Trojan horse of source, a trick to attack and conquer. It is a time of national and tribal gods; each king, each nation has their own god; and each military battle is really celestial combat among the many divine powers. It’s because of this that Naaman goes to the king first, not the prophet; because it’s the king who rules the nation. And God, the God of Scriptures, Yahweh, is the national god of Israel and Judah. The miracle is that, even though Yahweh’s people are defeated – and, in fact, in the time of Jesus are conquered and occupied – it is this god that triumphs as God of all nations through the ages. What we see as defeat is not always a loss in God’s book.

Perhaps there’s no parallel because history has moved on from this last point. In our own nation, the idea of “separation of church and state” has a powerful place in our identity (despite debates over what this exactly means). There are some nations that still claim a national deity or faith, but no longer do we see these as polytheistic battles. Even in a place like the Islamic Republic of Iran, there is at last acknowledgement that there are minority religious communities that have some sense of citizenship and rights…imperfect, yes, but they’re not seen as worshiping another god.

So back to the story. Initially, it’s about power – Yahweh/God v. Rimmon/Hadad. Aram has defeated Israel in battle; and yet, in this story, it is Yahweh, the god of Israel, who is more powerful than Hadad, the god of Aram. But as the story continues, the meaning of the story shifts: it’s about Naaman’s conversion. Not only does he come to believe in Yahweh by virtue of his personal experience; in fact, he comes to believe in Yahweh as THE God – not one among many, but the sole and single God above all.

Here is the story in its barest form: a man with an affliction gets advice from surprising places. He comes seeking healing in surprising places. And his life is changed forever.

Do we have the faith of Naaman? Or do we have the faith of Elisha? Do we have enough faith in our faith to be a transformative faith?

I’ve seen us share stories of miracle healings with others:

• “You’ve got arthritis? Me, too…Have you tried Glucosamine? It’s fantastic.”
• “Have you tried acupuncture? I know, I thought it was weird, too, but ever since I visited Dr. Kim…”
• “Well, my sinus issues all cleared up after I dropped wheat and dairy from my diet. It’s made all the difference…”

And it’s not just with physical health that we make these recommendations:

• “Have you read The Shack? Oh, my goodness! You have to read it! You’ll never look at life the same way again!”
• “Gran Torino – best Clint Eastwood film I’ve ever seen. If you can get past the language, it is so layered…”
• “Oh, man; the new Sufjan Stevens album takes his music to another level. Absolutely his best…”
• “You like Indian food? Well, have you ever tried Panahar? Oh, yeah, it’s right over there on Buford Highway. Amazing…”

How do we take our zeal for such things and translate it into zeal for faith? I think, if we examine our story, it takes three things:

1. It takes risk. It was a risk for Naaman to cross over into enemy territory. And is was a risk for Elisha to stand up to the king and welcome Naaman without any kind of suspicion.
2. It takes trust. Elisha had to trust that Naaman’s quest didn’t have some kind of hidden agenda. And he also had to trust that Elisha had the very thing that Naaman needed for his healing.
3. And it takes wisdom. It takes wisdom for Naaman to listen to a foreign slave girl; it takes wisdom for him to listen to his servants again. And it takes wisdom for Elisha to know it’ll be OK to heal a foreign military leader. This wisdom, perhaps, is what ties this story in with the gospel reading from Luke. The seventy disciples, sent out by Jesus, have to figure out where to go; they have to have the wisdom to know what to proclaim; they have to know when it is time to stay and when it is time to get moving.

Do we have what it takes? Can we take a risk? Lean into trust? Rely on God’s wisdom? Above all, I think we need to remember that faith is not a panacea. Having faith in the God we know in Jesus Christ doesn’t fix everything. As the bumper sticker says, “Jesus is the answer.” But what’s the question? In my opinion, if someone is pitching faith as something that means you’ll always win, they’ve moved from religion into delusion. Faith, instead, says that God triumphs even when we’re defeated. Grace and mercy will always persist. Healing is much, much bigger than the limitations we put on it. And resurrection, the promise that there is more to this life than meets the eye, is still true.

Faith isn’t about answering everyone’s questions and defending theological treatises. It’s much more honest than that; it admits that we don’t know everything. But it shares what we have seen and realities we know in which lives are changed forever:

• “Have you heard about the Druid Hills Night Shelter? It’s an amazing to homeless man; they get off the streets and back on their feet…”
• “You should’ve seen our Habitat build; I’ve never seen a group like this gathered anywhere else – different races, different denominations, people crossing all kinds of boundaries to work with this homeowner who is willing to do what it takes to give their family another chance…”
• “You won’t believe the people that come to our church. They’re young and old, they’re conservative and liberal, they like traditional pipe organs and contemporary praise choruses. But somehow, they all love each other and trust that we’re serving God through what we do together…”

My hope for our July services is not just that we’ll create a little bit more work or that we’ll have a different kind of worship or that I don’t have to wear a tie. Instead, it is my hope that, by virtue of moving outside we’ll learn a little bit of what it means to move beyond what we know and into what God knows.

Amen.

On July 6, Jill Patterson Tolbert joins us as the Minister for Congregational Life at OPC!

Jill graduated from Mercer University in 1988 with a BA in Psychology and Human Development and Services. After graduation, she obtained her state teaching certificate and worked at her first vocational calling, teaching middle school math, for five years. She married her husband Joel in 1990, and their first son Adam was born in 1994, which led to her second calling, that of being a stay-at-home mom. Son Daniel was born in 1996, followed closely by Michael in 1998.  She maintains that her time at home with the boys was her hardest, yet most rewarding, job to date!  During her time at home, she was active in the life and worship of Immanuel Presbyterian Church in Montgomery, AL, where she served as an elder, and of Fourth Presbyterian Church in Greenville, SC, where she served as a deacon, as well as a member of the PW Coordinating Council.

In 2002, their family moved from Greenville, SC, to Decatur so that her husband Joel could pursue his calling into the ministry through studying at Columbia Theological Seminary.  Once their family was settled in Decatur, Jill responded to God’’s call to ordained ministry, and began her seminary studies in the summer of 2003.  She graduated in 2007, and now serves as the Presbyterian Campus Minister at Emory University. Additionally, she is a contract writer with the denomination for their adult study curriculum, The Present Word, and has also written for At This Point, an online journal published by Columbia Theological Seminary for the purpose of offering “thoughtful and provocative resources to stimulate growth in Christ”.

In her spare time, Jill enjoys creating art at her potter’s wheel in her in-home studio, as well as reading and spending time with friends over a good cup of coffee or a glass of wine.  Her husband Joel serves as pastor of Rehoboth
Presbyterian Church in Decatur.

visit Jill’s blog at hospitalityhouse.blogspot.com

Marthame Sanders (Marthame’s sermons and other reflections are also available on his blog)

Luke 9:51-62
2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14

In today’s lesson, we see the transfer of power from Elijah to Elisha. Elijah is modeled on Moses: both flee into the wilderness in fear where their call is clarified; both are able to part the water; and both have a death which is shrouded in mystery. Elisha becomes Joshua to Elijah’s Moses. Both Elisha and Joshua are rooted in the word “saving” – Joshua means “Yahweh saves”; Elisha means “God saves”. Joshua is also the Hebrew form of Jesus’ name.

Today we read about Elijah’s travel across the Jordan – out of the land of Israel and into the “wilderness”. And in the story, Elisha picks up Elijah’s mantle or cloak (this story is the origin of the phrase, by the way). And just as Elijah’s mantle parted the waters of the Jordan, it does the same in the hands of Elisha.

Elijah is a tough act to follow; and Elisha knows this. In the Old Testament, he is second only to Moses. He stood up to Ahab and Jezebel; and he disappears in a whirlwind! Now that’s an exit. Elisha, by virtue of parting the waters himself, establishes his own prophetic power. He has parallel miracles, including healing, feeding, and raising from the dead. He even takes on corrupt power, lending a hand in a coup. But he’s very different; when he dies, he dies. No whirlwind or chariot. And he’s a hands-off prophet at times, doing miracles from a distance or by proxy.

But the odd thing about the story today is that the transfer of power happens outside of the land of Israel. It happens in the wilderness. It’s the place of solitude and silence. It’s a place to flee. It’s a place of homelessness and wandering. It’s a place of wildness – not in the way we might covet a place to get away; but a place devoid of water, a place with jackals and thieves and sandstorms. Think about the stories in Scripture in the wilderness: Moses flees there when fearing for his life. The Israelites spend forty years there wandering aimlessly. Elijah, too, flees there when fearing Ahab and Jezebel. In the New Testament, John the Baptist is hanging out there, wild hair, clothes, and diet. And before Jesus begins his public ministry, it is in the wilderness where he spends forty days in temptation. Wilderness is a place of purification and refinement. For Elisha, it is where he picks up the prophetic mantle and begins his own impressive prophetic career.

But is there more to the choice of location than all this? Could it be a reverse Exodus of sorts, Elijah tracing the Israelites steps back into wilderness? Is it a reminder of what is at stake in prophetic ministry, a reminder of what this land of promise meant to their ancestors? Or is it a way of getting out of the land that has been defiled, the split kingdoms of Israel and Judah, which have been ruled by corrupt kings? Do they need to go somewhere that is somehow purer for this ritual of exchange, even if it’s a place of such wildness? Or is it just a reminder that the prophetic life is a lonely life, a life of solitude, where you’re facing down powers and principalities?

Maybe somewhere in there is a parallel with our lesson from Luke. Jesus confronts would-be disciples with the realities of what it means to follow him. The first he tells that following him is akin to a life of homeless wandering. Another he tells, quite bluntly, “let the dead bury their dead.” The other he tells to ignore the work he’s left undone. In all cases, I think Jesus is essentially telling them that there must be some sacrifice in following him. It’s not a universal – each person gets an individual response. But the heart of them all is a call: it’s a call to be willing to let go what they have for the promise of what they might gain.

Maybe it’s this call that is the call of wilderness. It’s a place that is in-between. For Elisha, perhaps it’s that call of letting go of a land that’s defiled for the promise of a land where faith can be restored. Or maybe it’s letting go of what’s he has known, following Elijah, for the promise that the mantle holds like some kind of prophetic security blanket, that he is now God’s spokesman.

Can we trust such a place of in-between? Do we prefer to latch onto a bitterness that we know is toxic but is oh-so-familiar? Do we hang onto a destructive addiction because, for the moment, it feels oh-so-good? Have we been asked to step into a new role, but feel like we’re in over our heads? In all of this, in this freaky, wild place of in-between, this is where we can see resurrection for what it really is: letting go of death for the promise of life.

Where is your wilderness? Where is it that you can be alone? Where can you get re-oriented? And once you’re there, are you willing to let go? Are you willing to take hold of that promise?

Amen.

Marthame:
Tiffany, so much has happened in the three years that you’ve been with us that it is hard for me to believe that it has been such a short time. Then again, Jesus’ ministry was only three years.

But don’t worry—I don’t think a trial or a cross awaits you today. Instead, we want to thank you for all that you have done. You have touched more lives and planted more seeds than you know, seed that will continue to grow in the years to come. So we set aside this time today in the midst of worship to give thanks to God, because it is God who has been working through you as we have worked together.

Your ministry here has been far-ranging; rather than try to summarize it briefly, it seems better that some in our community would share with you a word of their own that expresses their gratitude on behalf of all of OPC.

from the Graves’ girls:

Dear Mrs. Tiffany,  We will miss you.  We hope you visit.  I love you xoxo.  We will miss you being our pastor.

from Susannah Morris:

            Tiffany, one of my clearest memories of youth group with you is of a Bible study during my senior year of high school.  We’d read from Matthew Ch. 25, where Jesus tells the disciples that at the day of judgment, those who feed the hungry, quench the thirst of parched throats, clothe the naked, and visit those sick and in prison will find that they were in fact serving Jesus himself. 

            I’d heard the passage many times before, but the words you said next have shaped my life dramatically.  You said that each time we meet somebody, in a real and tangible way we encounter Jesus face to face.  Though none of us is the Messiah, God, for some odd reason, has chosen to dwell in human flesh, and in turn calls us to recognize the Divine presence in every person we meet, and even in ourselves.  We each, every single one of us, bear the image of God. 

            Tiffany, time after time since that Bible study, I’ve thought back to your words.  Moving on to college and new opportunities for study, fun, and ministry, when I’ve encountered a person who challenges me fundamentally, I’ve often thought, “So this is how Jesus meets me today.”  That day in youth group, you unknowingly offered me a way to see other people that I think brings me closer to the love of others and God I yearn to embody.

            In your three years at OPC, Tiffany, you’ve modeled that transformative encounter for me and for all of us here.  A Methodist, you came to serve at a Presbyterian church.  You’ve brought new energy, new perspectives, and a love that has touched many lives, including mine.  But you’ve also brought a willingness to listen and adapt, a respect for our traditions, and even a tolerance for congregational meetings with oddly prophetic pre-written minutes.  And in your encounter with this congregation, I know I’ve caught sight of Jesus among us.

            Tiffany, we offer you this Presbyterian Book of Order signed by John Calvin himself (or so Marthame claims), knowing full well that you are a Methodist, as a reminder of God’s work in unlikely encounters between broken and blessed people like us. 

Amy Cate, representing the Deacons:

Saying goodbye to a good friend is one of the toughest things we all have to do.  Saying goodbye to someone like Tiffany seems even harder. You have been so much to so many of us.  We have been in your Bible studies; you have guided and loved each of our children; you have been with us at hospitals and prayed for our sick loved ones; you have been with some of us through times of death; you have counseled some of us and been a sincere listener—or just a shoulder to cry on; you have prayed for each and every one of us. And if that isn’t enough, you have always had your beautiful smile, sweet voice and big hugs waiting for us.

So how do we say goodbye to you?  We are lucky in this day that we have e-mail, cell phones, Facebook, Skype and so on because all of these things make it easier to be in touch.

But through God, we have something even better!  We have his promise of eternal friendship!  We know that although our paths may not cross again on earth, we will be together again. God gives us the gift of holding Tiffany in our heart and thinking of her and praying for her anytime we want to be with her.

As I thought of your departure this week, I couldn’t help but be reminded of my teenage years when the youth director of my childhood was called to another church. Our church, and especially our youth, was heartbroken.  One way we showed him our commitment to our friendship was through song.  It also helped some of us cope with sadness. I want to teach you all this song today. You may already know it—it may be special to you—and maybe you will find yourself humming or singing it and you can lift your thoughts to God for Tiffany:

Friends
by: Michael W. Smith and Deborah D.  Smith

Friends are friends forever
If the Lord’s the Lord of them.
And a friend will not say never
‘cause the welcome will not end.  
Thought it’s hard to let you go
In the Father’s hands we know
That a lifetime’s not too long
To live as friends

Marthame:
My turn. I hope during our time together that I have thanked you adequately to let you know how much I appreciate you and the many, many gifts you bring to ministry. You have had an impact on our children, our youth, our congregational care, our Christian Education, our worship. Indeed, you have had a role ion shaping just about every area of our ministry at OPC.

I have had the pleasure not only of calling you colleague and friend, but of also watching you grow into your call as God’s servant. When you arrived, you were still in Seminary. I know you were still unsure of your gifts for ministry at the time, but you were so certain of your passion to be a part of God’s kingdom in tangible ways. And even though I was ultimately unable to persuade you of the error of your ways as a Methodist, I am convinced that your call to ministry began long before you ever set foot at OPC. Our joy has been to watch that call become more deeply rooted within you and we have benefited from that gift.

You have a heart for justice for all of God’s people; a vision of radical community inclusion without barriers; a passion for worship that matters, and education that nurtures and challenges; a spirit that weeps with those who mourn and dances with those who celebrate. In short, you are Pastor Tiffany. You are God’s servant. And God is well-pleased with you.

Now I know that you have coveted my embroidered Jerusalem stoles, and hereby cleanse you of this blatant violation of the ninth commandment by presenting you with your own.

We love you. We will miss you. And we pray for you as you and Tim take this next step on your journey together.

Hear these words from Scripture:
You are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.

Tiffany, in your baptism our Lord Jesus Christ put his name on you and received you into the church. You have always been a precious child of God made in the image of God. We have rejoiced in your incredible ministry here at OPC with us. God has blessed you and made you a blessing in our life together.

As we join our voices with God’s in saying, “Well done, good and faithful servant,” we want you to know that we will miss your many gifts for ministry, We love you. And we are deeply, deeply grateful to you for all that you have done and continue to do for the sake of God’s kingdom, And now as you and Tim head to Maryland, you are taking a new step in your faith journey. And so this charge is quite fitting:

Go in peace. Go in love. Go in the spirit of Christ.

Know that your ministry with us has served the cause of Christ in this community. Well done, good and faithful servant.

Go in peace. Go in love. Go in the spirit of Christ.

May your deepening commitment to Christ become your starting point as you enter this next step of your journey.

Go in peace. Go in love. Go in the spirit of Christ.

Let us pray: Faithful God, we are grateful for all the evidence of your grace we have seen at work through Tiffany. Keep, preserve, and protect her and Tim all of their days. By the power of the Holy Spirit, may they continue to be salt of the earth and light for the world. Keep them faithful to you, in prayer, worship, and service, in the years to come. Lead them forward, secure in the faith that binds us forever in the body of Christ. May we ever remain on in Christ’s name. Amen.

(the service didn’t get recorded this week. sorry. But here’s a bonus special message from Marthame)

Tiffany Kromer (Tiffany’s sermons and other reflections are also available on her blog)

Luke 8:26-39
1 Kings 19:1-15

A few years ago, Tim and I visited my parents’ home in Kailua, Hawaii on the island of Oahu…my dad was stationed there at an Air Force base at the time and Tim and I were excited about exploring the whole island. On one of our last days there, we thought it would be a good idea to hike to the northernmost tip of the island. The path was a rocky beach, with a lot of volcano rocks to climb over. It was also a endangered bird preserve with tons of large birds hovering over our heads. We started out in the middle of the afternoon, thinking that we’d be back way before sundown. We got to the northern tip of the island and sat there for a little bit, admiring the expanse of the Pacific Ocean and the sea lion we found sun-bathing on the beach. As we started our way back to the car, we started to hurry because we saw the sun starting to lower. As we walked and climbed our way back, we started running out of water in our water bottles and became a bit panicked once we realized how long it was going to take to get back to the car. Would we make it back before the sun went down? So, being the great wilderness explorers we were, I pulled out my cell phone and called my dad in a panic, telling him that we completely underestimated how long this trail was and that we might get stuck in the dark without light to find our way back. So being the great dad he is, he starts out on the 45 minute drive to the northern part of the island where he would rescue us from our misguided adventure. Thinking back on it, there really wasn’t much that my dad could do for us, but just knowing that we weren’t alone in this wilderness experience gave us strength to keep going. Turns out, just as my dad pulled up next to our car, we arrived at our car, grateful but a bit embarrassed that my dad had to drive all that way to get us.

Elijah didn’t have the luxury of a cell phone he could pull out to call a friend for help when he was in trouble. He couldn’t call a suicide hotline number or an ambulance. He was stuck in the wilderness he chose to go into. He was running, running from everything in his life, running from his job, his responsibilities, even God. He was afraid, afraid for his life. Ironically, in running for his life, he prays to God for his life to end. He is exhausted and discouraged and overwhelmed.

I love that this story is in the Bible. It shows how profoundly human this great prophet is. I mean, the passage before this story is completely different. It shows Elijah as victorious – as saving the day! Theoretically, Elijah should be anything but discouraged. He should be pumped and ready for anything life throws his way. But Elijah is far from that. He’s ready to die. He’s ready to give up. He’s a human being who is just fed up and overwhelmed and exhausted. And, Jezebel wants to kill him, and even though Elijah has handled far worse than Jezebel, he decides to run away instead. It’s just too much for him to handle.

Have you ever felt like this? Life throws everything at you all at once and you find yourself exhausted and overwhelmed and all you can do is throw up your arms and go to sleep. Maybe if you sleep long enough and hard enough you’ll wake up and it will all be a dream and you can wake up to a life a bit more manageable.

However, Elijah forgot about something very important. He could run away from Jezebel, but he could never run away from God. God is with him always, always providing for him, always loving him. Notice that in this story we don’t see God chastising Elijah for running away. Instead, we see God taking care of Elijah, weaning him back to strength. Elijah’s battery is on empty and God is recharging him for the work ahead. I picture God here as a nurse taking care of a sick child, listening patiently, making sure the child takes their medicine and gets enough sleep. Elijah tells God what’s wrong and God is there with him, taking care of him.

Once Elijah is strong enough, God calls him to the mountaintop. And the purpose of this mountaintop experience is not to chastise Elijah. It is to show Elijah that God is even in the small, unexpected things. Sure, it’s easy to see God’s power in earthquakes and wind and fire, but in a whisper—in the silence? Yes, God is most powerful in the small things, the things you’d never expect God to work through.

This mountaintop experience served as a reality check to Elijah. When he stood at attention before God on that mountain, he centered his life in God once again. That’s the only way he could hear God’s whisper, when he’s out of the cave he was hiding and on top of the mountain with his focus entirely on God.

I think this is a great metaphor for prayer. In our lives, there is a ton of loud noise and situations vying for our attention. Silence is a luxury that will only come when we purposely seek it out. And, it is in the silence that we hear God most clearly. And silence isn’t just a lack of noise, it’s also silencing our mind and body so that we can focus on only God. And, yes, that is so hard to do. That’s why prayer is called a spiritual practice. Prayer is a lifelong practice where we practice silencing the noise in our minds and bodies and centering ourselves in God.

OPC will always be so special to me because it was the first church I was called to in ministry. When I first started ministry with you at OPC, I knew it was the right place because of the overwhelming joy I felt in everything I did in ministry. Every day, I came home filled up with good things and confident in God’s call for me to be in ministry here. But, pretty soon things got really busy and that feeling of joy was not enough to sustain me. I became exhausted and overwhelmed, even over the tiniest things. Through talking with my mentors, I realized that in order to take care of others, I had to take care of myself and, in fact, that was part of my calling as well. Prayer and taking a Sabbath day became non-negotiable practices in my life that filled me back up when my battery was completely empty. And, when I practice prayer and Sabbath consistently and well—that is when I hear God whispering to me in the small things in ways I never expected.

The thing I think I’ve found most rewarding about prayer and taking time to rest, is that once I am filled back up, suddenly my life is not centered around me anymore—it is centered around God and where God is calling me to go and how to be God’s hands and feet.

And that’s where we find Elijah after his mountaintop experience. God asks him, “So Elijah what are you doing here in the wilderness, so far away from home?” And Elijah answers honestly, “I’ve been working my heart out for God, because the people of Israel have abandoned your covenant, destroyed your places of worship, and murdered your prophets. I’m the only one left, and now they’re trying to kill me.”

Yet, in the midst of Elijah’s honest discouragement, God does not let Elijah to go back to his cave and wallow in his loneliness and frustration. Instead, God calls Elijah out of the wilderness—to go back to the scary world he just left and to do ministry. God’s care for Elijah now turns to confidence in Elijah’s call to prophetic ministry. Elijah has rested, filled himself up with nourishment from God, and centered himself in God—although he is scared and still frustrated, he’s ready to go back into ministry. And God will be with him throughout the whole journey. And there will come a time when Elijah will need to retreat and rest and nourish and center himself in God’s presence again. And after regaining his strength, he will go out again. This sacred rhythm is what God teaches Elijah in the wilderness, so that he never gets to the point where he’d rather die than do what he’s called to do.

So, what does Elijah’s journey into the wilderness and back teach you today? Are you running on empty? How can you establish a rhythm in your life where you work hard, but you also find times to recharge your battery and center yourself in God through prayer and Sabbath rest.

And what does Elijah’s journey into the wilderness and back teach Oglethorpe Presbyterian Church? This is an important time in the life of this community of faith. There is a lot of transition, a lot of important decisions to be made, a lot of ministry to do. Even though all this can be exciting, it is easy to get overwhelmed and even frustrated with it all. Because of fear of the unknown, it is easy to turn inward and only focus on the existing members here. But I want to challenge you to resist that temptation.

Yes, the unknown is scary, but remember that God is with you, caring for you and loving you now and the entire journey ahead. Center yourselves in God, pray pray pray pray and pray some more. And then go out and do what God has called you to do—to share the good news of Jesus Christ! You are Christ’s disciples equipped and called for the transformation of the world! Don’t give up, because God will never give up on you. And if you ever feel like you want to give up, rely on that tried and true sacred rhythm of working hard—but rest and pray and center yourself in God as well. OPC is a hard working church, with many thriving and powerful ministries in our community. But there is a time to work hard and there is a time to rest in the presence of God. I pray that you do both, for the sake of your own survival. And as you center yourselves in God through prayer, listen for God whispering to you in the most unexpected places about the most unexpected things. God is doing a new, exciting thing here at Oglethorpe Presbyterian Church. Can we silence our own ideas and opinions and frustrations to hear God whispering truth and love us?

I am honored to have been one of your pastors. It has been an amazing three years in my life and the life of this church. I have seen new growth and energy in the life of this church. I’ve had the privilege of getting to know many of you and partner in ministry with you. You have the most amazing young people and children. Because of the nurture and love they get from this church, I know that God is preparing them for a future that is very bright. You have nurtured and taught me so much about myself as a minister. Through you, God has whispered clearly to me that I am called to be ordained. Knowing God’s call for my life, I too must go out into the unknown. And yes, the unknown is scary, but I know that God has gone before me to prepare a place for me and Tim and that God is always with us and taking care of us. God is doing the same for OPC. God is with you now and in your future, preparing and taking care of you every step of the way. My prayers are with you always and know that I will always look back with gratitude upon our time together in ministry. So now, as we say our goodbyes, let us also look toward the future with joy and anticipation for the new thing that God is doing! AMEN

Marthame Sanders (Marthame’s sermons and other reflections are also available on his blog)

Luke 7:36-8:3
I Kings 21:1-21

What’s in a name?

I loved reading those “Stranger Than Fiction” type stories when I was a kid. One story I remember in particular was of Johnny Nevermissashot, a Lakota Sioux Native American descended from a heralded warrior who first bore the family name for his accuracy in battle. When Johnny went to high school, the basketball coach heard of him. At 6′3″ with a name like that, he figured, the kid’s gotta be a natural. Turns out he wasn’t; he stunk at basketball. But in WWII he was drafted into action; at that point, he turned out to live up to his name after all; he was quite the warrior, serving with distinction.

What’s in a name? This summer we’re looking at some of the Old Testament prophets. The word “prophet” comes from the Greek, and it seems that the Greek meaning is what influences the way we understand what a “prophet” is. The word literally means “to say before”; in other words, to predict. And that’s often how we think of prophets, as those who predict future events. But the reality is a little different, and the Hebrew word for “prophet” sheds some light on that; the meaning in Hebrew is “spokesperson”; the prophet is a vessel for God’s message. It’s this understanding that fits more accurately with the picture of the prophets we get from Scripture as those who see clearly, who are grounded in God, and who tell the truth.

What’s in a name? As we talked about last week, the prophet Elijah’s name means “Yahweh is my God”; it’s about all we know about him. But it says something about the zeal with which he pursues his profession.

The other characters in today’s drama bring their own names with their own meaning to the story. King Ahab’s name means “uncle” – we’ll get back to that in a minute. “Jezebel” means “unproductive” or “barren” – which would have had explicit biological meaning at the time, but there’s more to it than that as we’ll see. “Naboth”, meanwhile, means “grower”; a fitting name for a farmer. And the region he lived in, Jezreel, means “God plants”; not only a fertile area, but an area almost the equivalent of God’s country.

With these in mind, let’s look at the story. Many Biblical stories have to do with planting and the use/ownership of land and earth. This is no exception. You’ve got Naboth, the grower, tending his family’s land in Jezreel, a country so abundant it’s as though God is the one who planted. Along comes King Ahab, the friendly Uncle, who betrays his own familial name by rejecting Naboth’s ancestral claim to his land. Backing him up is Jezebel, the unproductive, barren queen; and so she desires land which does produce. So blinded by that desire, she ends up framing Naboth the grower. It seems that many have been tricked by this betrayal, but God knows the truth, and so sends the Elijah the prophet, the spokesperson, the zealous one, to set the record straight. And he arrives pronouncing God’s judgment on the whole scene.

There is a grand drama taking place. Family, intrigue, covetousness, deception, murder, truth, all roll together in a way that creates this amazing scene.

And let us not forget about the element of power! Scripture often teaches us to be cautious – if not suspicious – of power. There are echoes of that in the New Testament lesson, where Jesus is at the home of Simon the Pharisee, who violates the most basic mores of Middle Eastern hospitality and is shown up by this nameless woman. Simon knew better; perhaps his power got in the way.

Ahab and Jezebel are powerful. And they manipulate that power in their favor. And in the process they brutalize Naboth the powerless.

When we try to put ourselves in this drama, I don’t think many of us see ourselves as one character or another; I think most of us have played every role at one time or another. Sometimes, we might be Elijah, speaking the truth, even to those who might hold power over us. At other times, we might resonate with Naboth, the victim of falsehood in a situation beyond our control. Perhaps we’re the Jezebel, manipulating power and circumstances to get what we want. Other times we might be Ahab, deeply desiring what isn’t rightly ours.

Which reminds me of a story. I was four years old, and it was my first year at a new school. For some reason, there was this one toy – a wooden piece of a game or something – that captivated me. I took it home in my bag one day, proudly showing it to Mom when I got home. She explained to me that we couldn’t just take things that weren’t ours. And so she sent me back to school the next day with that game piece in an envelope pinned to the front of my shirt. Of course, I learned my lesson by sheer embarrassment.

Or perhaps not. Flash forward to Junior High. It was around my birthday, and I had gotten some of those Turtles’ records gift coins and had walked to the closest store to get some albums (man…this story needs updating…). As the cashier rang them up, I realized that she had only charged me for four, even though I had bought five! Not only had I not learned my lesson about not taking what wasn’t mine; I hadn’t learned the lesson not to tell Mom when it happened. As soon as she heard, she put me in the car and drove me back to the store to explain what had happened and to pay the difference. So…I guess Mom gets to be Elijah in these two stories.

Whatever roles we might play, when we look at this story, we come to see that there isn’t a “happily ever after” ending (unless dogs licking blood is your idea of “happily ever after”). Naboth is killed. The vineyard is taken away from his family line. Ahab gets the land. He eventually dies violently, yes, but I’m not sure if that’s justice or retribution or simply revenge.

What in the world can we take from a story like this?

I may be wrong, but I think it’s simply this: as a people of faith, we are not called to be optimistic. The story doesn’t always end well. Nor are we called to be pessimistic, with a streak of martyrdom in the way we view the world. The story doesn’t always end poorly. Instead, we are called to be honest. And in this case, it means looking at this story and seeing that Naboth dies unjustly, that his family doesn’t get the land back, and that Ahab stays on top for a few more chapters. Elijah is the honest one in this story, delivering the message to Ahab that what he did was wrong; and yet, God is still at work anyway.

I think what Elijah brings to the story is hope. Faithful hope is realistic, I believe, seeing the world as it really is and being foolish enough to believe that there’s purpose anyway.

Where are you in the drama? What is it you need to hear? Do you need to be called to account for something that has weighed on you? If so, there is heartbreak in heaven for you. There is honest, realistic truth for you. And there is forgiveness for wrongs done.

Do you need to know that everything is going to be alright? Are you wounded? If so, then there is heartbreak in heaven with you. And there is hope, true hope, in trusting that purpose exists anyway.

What’s in a name? If we are the church, then we are Christ’s body. If we are the church, we open ourselves to the Spirit. If we are the church, we speak God’s truth in love.

Are we the church? I hope so. Amen.

Marthame Sanders (Marthame’s sermons and other reflections are also available on his blog)

Luke 17:11-17
I Kings 17:8-24

This morning we begin our series on the prophets. Even though we tend to think that prophets are people who can predict the future, that’s not so much the case. Instead, it is much more about seeing clearly, about being grounded in God, and about telling the truth, no matter what.

Prophets hit hard, especially when it comes to power. They’re often a little bit odd, and they’re always very human. I don’t think we’re called to be prophetic all the time, but I do believe that we’re all called to be prophetic some of the time. And that’s potentially tricky, especially because we can often see “truth” quite differently. Sometimes it seems only in hindsight that we can determine what is actually truthful. Nowadays, would anyone say that Jim Crow segregation or Apartheid South Africa were good ideas? But maybe it’s just that we really knew the truth at the time, but we just “couldn’t” say it (for whatever reason).

The world we live in is filled with untruth. Wall Street’s recent fiasco is perhaps the most obvious, and then there are those on Capitol Hill who are supposed to be investigating them. And when there are contentious issues, we often only get presented with false options and the choice of picking sides. “It’s either us, or them,” the ultimatum goes; “You’re either for us or against us,” we are threatened. Therefore, it is that much more important to take a look at the prophets and what they might teach us.

The texts this summer will come from the lectionary and will give us a chance to look at Elijah, Elisha, Amos, Hosea, and Isaiah, as we wrestle with what it means to be prophetic today.

Elijah is first up. After Moses, he’s the most important person in the Old Testament. His story even contains echoes of Moses’ story. He fights against polytheism; he flees into the desert; the details around the end of his life are mysterious; he even parts a body of water, the Jordan River. In1 and 2 Kings, he and Elisha only take up about ten percent of the chronological time, but they constitute a full quarter of the whole text. And oddly enough, we don’t know much about him at all, except that his name, Elijah, means “My God is Yahweh” – an indication of his prophetic zeal.

This week’s story is a little easier to digest than the ones that are coming, but they help ground us.

Elijah is in Gentile territory, in the area of Phoenicia – modern-day Lebanon. A famine has taken hold of the land, and as Elijah stands at the gates to the city of Zarepheth, he sees a widow – the most vulnerable segment of society. With a famine, she would have been hit harder than anyone, and we learn that she and her son have basically run out of food, so this is the end of the line. But Elijah promises her abundance if she will only feed him, even though she is a Phoenician. She does, and it comes true.

But then her son gets ill, and she begins to doubt the goodness of God. At first, Elijah plays it cool, but then he, too, begins to doubt what God is up to. But God intervenes, the child is healed, and the woman’s faith returned.

There are also parallels in the story from the gospel, too. Elijah, because of the odd details around his death, is understood as the precursor of the Messiah. He appears alongside Moses at the Transfiguration. Jesus references Elijah often (including this story). And in Luke, Jesus also brings a widow’s son back to life.

But what can all this teach us about the prophets?

First, there’s compassion. Elijah approaches this woman interested in his own well-being, yes, but also that of this widow and her child. And this compassion is of the fullest range possible. It includes those who are most vulnerable, and it includes those who are not even of the same nation (even though this nation is the nation of THE GOD!).

Second, prophets are human. Elijah’s vulnerability is what makes him so compelling. He doubts God’s provision when the child falls ill; he’s no perfect character by any stretch.

Third, they’re vessels of God’s power and channels of God’s message. In this story, it means specifically endless provision and the promise of resurrection and healing.

As we look at the rest of the summer and study what it means to be prophetic and speak truth to the world, let us begin with this simple story. It is a reminder that, above all else, it means to be rooted in God and in God’s compassion. It might bubble into righteous anger, but it begins with compassion.

It also means being human. None of us is above reproach or self-doubt. Instead, we are called to wrestle honestly with God.

And let us not overlook Elijah’s message either, because it is ultimately God’s message. Provision is sure. New life and healing are sure. We can never outrun God’s grace and mercy; we can never out-die God’s grace and mercy.

If we lean into God, we’ll soon realize that God has been leaning toward us all along. The widow in Nain didn’t seek Jesus to heal her son; he was just there. And the widow in Zarephath didn’t go to the gates to look for Elijah to save her; he was just there. God shows up before we even open the door. May we live as though that were true.

Amen.