Acts 10:44-48
1 John 5:1-6

Welcomed and loved…

Bob was a member at a church in Chicago where a friend of mine was pastor. Bob was a child of the church, born and raised there. But because of his mental faculties, he had never become a member, because when it was time for confirmation, he wasn’t capable of “understanding” the classes. And some forty years later, this had all been forgotten. Upon learning of this, my friend made sure to include Bob in the next new members’ class. Because the truth is: how many of us really “understand” faith? Bob knew that this church was a community where he was welcomed and loved, when there were so many places where he was left out. And because of that, on many levels, he actually understood faith better than most of us ever might.

Welcomed and loved…

When we look at the narrative sweep of the Bible, some times it seems like those two concepts are sorely absent. There’s a familiar predictability in the Hebrew Bible, the narrowing of the community of God. By the second generation of humanity, there’s already sibling rivalry and murder. At the flood, God has decided that only one couple of each species was worth preserving – including out own. By the time we get to Abraham and Sarah, God has promised an eternal inheritance to this one couple and they’re offspring. On and on the story goes: Isaac is in, Ishmael is out; Jacob is in, Esau is out; David is in, Saul is out. Even after ancient Israel is established as a kingdom unto itself, things get so bad that the prophet Jeremiah proclaims that only a “righteous remnant” would remain faithful to God. The whole narrative seems designed to figure out who God’s people are, and who they are not.

By the time the New Testament rolls around, it comes as no surprise that the Pharisees are in charge. They are the guardians of the boundaries that determine who is in and who is out based on what they do – or don’t – do. What can you eat? Who can you hang out with? If you behave, you’re in; if not, well, you’re out.

And right into the middle of this mix drops Jesus. He comes across as a wandering rabbi, and yet he is immediately clashing against the Pharisees’ standards. He heals people on the Sabbath. He touches those who are supposed to be unclean. He eats with prostitutes and tax collectors. He just doesn’t behave. But it’s not just petty crimes that mark his behavior; it’s capital offenses. He forgives sins! He claims divinity! He takes on the Pharisees’ notions of what is good, moral behavior. And yet, he should be considered an outsider, revealed by his own lack of moral fortitude. But instead, he seems to be getting more and more supporters as he goes, and from people who ought to know better!

And what’s most shocking of all is that he is breaking open the boundaries of who is in and who is out – not reversing them, mind you, which would be easy enough to confront.  It would be one thing if he were replacing Pharisees with lepers. But it’s another thing altogether to say that Pharisees and lepers ought to hang out together. No wonder he was perceived as a threat.

Jesus was challenging the very basic assumption about the Biblical narrative and its narrowing purpose. He wasn’t making the community smaller; he was expanding its circles ever wider. He was reversing course. In Jesus’ mind, who was “in” and who was “out” was up for re-examination. And, worst of all, he claimed that he was doing all of this in the name of God!

By the time we get to Acts, the religious authorities are convinced they’ve set everything back in order. This pesky Jesus has been eliminated. His followers still seem to be hanging on, but no movement survives long without its leader, right? And yet, they seem to keep growing. And growing. And growing.

Up to a certain point, that growth is all within the “people of God” as understood at that time: the Jews, the descendants of Abraham’s righteous offspring. Even Jesus seemed to keep things “in the family” for the most part. But things are about to change.

Peter has gone off to the coastal city of Joppa. And while in prayer, he has a vision that changes his, and the church’s, mission forever. A sheet lowers from heaven. And in the sheet are animals of all varieties, including those that were forbidden for human consumption. But in the vision, he is told that what God makes clean is clean. And not only are dietary boundaries burst open, but the very boundaries of God’s community disintegrate. Peter is convinced that “God shows no partiality” but that “in every nation” anyone who fears and and does what God thinks is right is acceptable to God.

And that’s where we came into the lesson this morning. As Peter is preaching, Gentiles – that is, non-Jews – start acting in ways that show the Holy Spirit is at work in them in the same ways that marked the early church. The Jewish “believers” – that is, those who have become followers of Christ – cannot deny baptism to them. God must want them inside the community, too. And so, inside they come.

Welcomed and loved…

How often do we need to hear these lessons before they finally sink in? We are inheritors to a church which has alternately raised and lowered its own walls. Theological diversity in the early days of the church quickly gave way to definitions of “orthodox” and “heretic”. Churches were split off from time to time because of liturgical and theological subtleties that are lost on our current sensibilities. Eventually, West split from East (or East split from West, depending on whose version of history you read), each one claiming that the other was “out”.

Our own Protestant ancestors challenged these assumptions, breaking with the Catholic Church because of its own rigid boundaries. John Knox, the founder of Presbyterianism, spoke of the “Invisible Church”, one where only God could draw the true boundaries. We soon forgot. Northern and Southern Presbyterians, Fundamentalist and Modernist, liberal and conservative, traditional and evangelical, we build up walls again and again and again only to see them fall before our eyes.

We have decided who can serve or even worship in the church based on their race or gender or orientation. And we make the table, the very thing that should unite us as Christians, the place with the highest walls of all. You have to go through a special class so that you understand what communion means. Or you have to be baptized first, because that’s the sacrament that marks who is “in” and who is “out”. But what about Bob, up there in Chicago? Doesn’t he get it more than any of us, what it means to be a Christian, what it means to be welcomed and loved…?

Friends, don’t get me wrong here. Being a community without boundaries does not mean that anything goes. And it does not mean that we open the community simply for political expediency or for the sake of openness itself. We do so rooted in the words from John’s letter that we read today. We do so because we show our love for God by our obedience to God’s desires! We find ourselves so deeply rooted in the Biblical narrative that we begin to see the world as God sees it: a very imperfect and broken imperfect place that is worthy of our disdain, but deserving of our compassionate, even sacrificial love!

Was God narrowing the community in those early days? Or was it remarkable that we even made it to the second generation after Adam and Eve’s behavior in Eden? Do we miss that Isaac and Ishmael, that Jacob and Esau are reconciled? Do we see that Jesus wasn’t actually changing the story at all, but magnifying its deeper purpose? For Jesus, and Peter after him, and even Paul after him, opening up the community was an act not of religious defiance, but of pure obedience?

Friends, you have heard me say it before: our faith calls us to be different in times that are very different. But what is sacred, what is crucial, what is needed and desired, will always remain.

We – we – are welcomed and loved. That is the eternal inheritance.

Amen.

Summertime… and the livin’ is easy…fish are jumpin’…

Along with the jumping fish and the high cotton, there are a number of things that can be said with certainty about summer:

• some days will be hot and humid
• kids will start getting bored much sooner than they should
• some people will visit new and exciting places and others will go back to the same old exciting places
• and no one will be worried about their church

Good — at least the part about their church. And the reason they’re not worried??? They thought ahead. They realized that like any other operation, their church has pretty predictable costs, and so they thought ahead. They realized that like any other charity, their church relies on their continued contributions, and so they thought ahead.

They realized that there would be days, weeks, maybe even months when they’d be away or otherwise tied up, and so they thought ahead. They realized that in this modern world, there are lots of clever ways to make their donations to their church, and so they thought ahead.

Some of them contacted their bank’s Bill Pay service and arranged for a monthly contribution… Some of them called the church to see what Electronic Fund Transfer options were available, and then they signed up…

Some of them pre-paid their summer month pledge…. And so none of them worried at all about their church…. Because they thought ahead.

Bet the fish and cotton never thought about that!

Acts 4:5-12
1 John 3:16-24

There’s something about us that makes us root for the underdog. It’s the way we tend to view our own origins as a nation, the under-funded and poorly-trained Minutemen up against the massive firepower of the British Empire. It is also how we tend to describe national triumphs over injustice: ending slavery, burying Jim Crow, championing equality for those who were once excluded.

The underdog stories, whether in real life or in fiction, are the ones we turn to again and again as evidence of the world we want to believe in, where anything is possible: Jeremy Lin leading the Knicks on a surprise winning streak, Luke Skywalker saving the galaxy from the Empire, William Wallace holding the British at bay, Frodo Baggins destroying the ring and sparing Middle Earth, the US Hockey Team taking the gold from the Soviets.

We may know that such stories are the exception, not the rule, but they seem to serve as a way to give us hope in a world that can often seem so unfair, where injustice seems to have the last word all too often. We want to believe that the worst team can beat the best team on any given Sunday. And while it’s theoretically true, the odds tend to be pretty stacked.

What’s most distressing is that there are losses that are about more than just team rivalries, losses with real life consequences.

On Good Friday, two men drove around northern Tulsa with intent to kill. Details are still emerging as the two suspects have been located and arrested, but this much is true: three people are dead because of their rampage. One of the victims was 49 year-old Donna Fields. Fields had battled some fierce demons in her own lifetime, including addiction to drugs and alcohol. But she had turned her life around, getting involved in her church and reaching out to help those who had fallen prey to the same problems.

What had seemed like a victory for the underdog, a broken life transformed into one of healing, turned quickly back to sadly predictable defeat. And rather than this being a loss in an otherwise winning season, such moments feel much more like part of humanity’s long-standing losing streak.

And yet, here we are, people of faith, walking in the footsteps of those who insist on telling us that hope has the final word, that life beats death, that the tomb is empty and the Lord is not here but risen.

Those messages of victory are the ones that we see again and again in Scripture. In the book of Acts, the plucky little band of Jesus’ followers picks up where the Messiah left off. Defying the odds, not to mention the strong hand of the religious leaders, they go on to spread the gospel and build the church in the most trying of circumstances. In the lesson we just read, we see the bigger drama in miniature. Peter and John are arrested. They have healed a man who lay at the gate of the temple, and have been teaching about Jesus and resurrection. In the midst of their defense, they cite the ultimate underdog text from the Psalms: the stone the builders tossed aside has now been used as the very foundation upon which everything rests. Despite the overwhelming opposition, they are freed with nothing more than a warning. The little guy wins. The favorite sulks away in defeat. And the drama goes on.

It begins to feel like disconnect, doesn’t it, between faithful hope and real life experiences? As Christians, we are asked to believe in the borderline absurd. On our best days, we might actually get close. And yet, much of the time, we tend to live as though such stories are just that: stories, myths, stuff that would be nice to believe if we could just suspend logic and reason and critical thought, not to mention experience. Either that, or we manage to survive with a kind of cognitive dissonance, putting our mental and spiritual trust in Jesus, but living life as though it all depends on us. Our faith tends more towards word and speech, not truth and action. What happens in Tulsa doesn’t just stay in Tulsa; it re-affirms our suspicions that the odds are stacked against us.

But maybe that’s the problem: we are so steeped in our culture of either/or, of win/lose, that we don’t even know that we’ve started out with the wrong question to begin with. If our options are polarized, if we can end up with either victory or defeat, with success or failure, then we will do everything in our power to be sure that we win. Because the alternative, well, it’s for losers, isn’t it?

But how is it that we define winning? What does success look like? Did Jesus succeed? By the standards of our society, absolutely not. He was born poor and remained poor; he was supremely gifted, but used those gifts not to amass wealth or power, but a small, committed band of followers. And when the going got tough, those followers fell away, one by one, until he was all alone. And that’s when he died: broken, humiliated, friendless.

Of course, we know the rest of the story: Jesus rises from the dead, goes on to encourage the disciples, ascends into heaven, et cetera; but that’s not success in the way we view it. It’s too ethereal, other worldly, metaphysical. It’s not nearly material enough. And so we end up crafting our visions of Jesus’ return to make sure that it conforms with how we view success: the master warrior, destroying his enemies, reigning as king forever and ever. Amen.

It feels like a visit to the eye doctor: better or worse? Number one, or number two? Maybe the problem starts because we’ve got on the wrong lenses to begin with.

Back to Tulsa. As Donna Fields’ pastor reflected on her life, one that had been ravaged by addictions but had become marked by hope and joy, he spoke of her this way:

“She stood for justice. She understood the streets…She has been an inspiration to us rather than us to her…to see what God can do with anybody.”

Do you notice the turn? Do you see how the script gets flipped? This isn’t a lesson of how the church saved her, or even of how good Christians ministered to her. As her pastor said, it’s about how she, the ex-junkie, ministered to them. It’s about what God, not the church, did to and through her; and how that stands as proof of what God can do with anybody.

The impact of Donna Fields’ change life becomes clearer the more we hear about the aftermath. Her brother is anxious to see justice for his sister. But when he was asked about the death penalty as a form of justice, his answer is clear:

“I don’t hate them. That’s not what God put us down here for, to hate.”

The principle that ought to underline all that we do is not winning or losing, not betting on the underdog or rooting for the favorite. The point is to recognize how God is at work, and to find out how we can get in on that action!

In our Acts’ lesson, our win-lose lenses show us a temporary victory by Peter and John. But the bigger story is that God used them for healing: the physical healing of the man at the gates of the temple, spiritual healing of the people who hear them speak and see them not backing down. And even though they know they have the true power, the power of God, the power of the risen Christ on their team, they don’t Lord it over their opponents. Instead, they give witness to the one who gave them that power in the first place. And once again, the script is flipped: the stone the builders rejected not only became useful, but became the cornerstone of the whole structure.

And in the lesson from John’s letter, the clearest sign of Christ’s presence within us is not victory or success. It’s love; the love we demonstrate with our words and with our actions, the way we put our money and our time and our talents where our mouths and our hearts and our faith reside. After all, as the lesson of Tulsa reminds us, God didn’t put us here to hate anybody.

Can we re-evaluate the rules of the game? Can we move beyond winning or losing into healing and loving? Is it even possible in an election year where campaigns are just barely getting warmed up?

Friends, God wants to work through us. Christ wants to live within us, and to let the world know who it is that motivates our love, our compassion, or desire to keep on, even when it feels like the odds are stacked against us.

Let the games begin!

Amen.

Ezekiel 47:1-12

In my work with our Presbytery’s Earth Covenant Ministry and now as director of Congregational support at GIPL, I help Presbyterian churches across metro Atlanta incorporate environmental stewardship in their witness to faith in Christ. Our programs encourage what I like to think as common sense – conserving energy, water, fossil fuels. Reimagining our culture of conservation that I believe was present in our communities generations ago – most of you probably recall that way of living too. Because water is such a big issue in Georgia these days, our ministry has had a particular focus on water – in many ways, water connects all these other environmental issues, it’s what binds them and us together.

To put it into perspective, Planet Earth is really ¾ covered by water – over 75% of the earth’s surface is covered by water. And almost all of that – close to 97% of it is SALT water – ocean water. Water water everywhere – it should be called PLANET WATER. Of the fresh water on this planet, less than 1% is available for human consumption. PLANET WATER.

Even we humans are water – formed and shaped in wate r- in the waters of our mother’s womb. Almost ¾ of our own bodies WATER. Clearly, the most important nutrient and the most abundant substance in our own beings. A poet once said, “thousands have lived without love. No one has ever lived without water.” We can live without food for weeks – but our bodies cannot survive beyond ONE WEEK without water.  And there simply is NO substitute. In all our technological advances and human achievements, we cannot create a replacement for it. All life requires water. It is just impossible to live without, even when there is too much of it to manage – like during times of extreme flooding.

Certainly in biblical times, there was an even more profound understanding of human dependence upon water, physically and spiritually. What other image is so rich and vital in all the pages of the Bible? So much of our understanding of God’s grace and Christ’s love for us is described like flowing water. It is Christ who gives us Living Water. We read in the Bible of significant human interactions occurring at the well. We are washed clean through the waters of baptism – a chance for new life and new direction for tire thirsty souls.

We like to think of water as only life-giving, a source of refreshment and certainly an opportunity for recreation. But images from last year’s Japanese tsunami or even the memories of Hurricane Katrina show us the powerful destructive force of water.  There is something quite humbling about water, even in all our efforts to try to control it through the ages. We don’t want to yield to its power though. We think we can exert control over it – and maybe we can for a little while. But then a flood happens – floods of varying degrees – maybe a basement has flooded, or entire section of a country like northern Japan. In these moments we are reminded that we do not control the water and how it flows. We can only be subjected to its might and respond to its power.

Frankly I think its fair to say we really are in conflict with water – its water for human needs versus water for nature, for the rest of creation. Right now we humans use ¾ of the world’s available water for agriculture. We currently practice a utilitarian view of water – water is in service to us. We need it – depend upon it for our survival and so it is here for us to use up. It appears to be infinitely  available to us.  But is it really? Is water really an infinite resource? As the human population explodes we are seeing that water maybe finite after all.

But are we missing a critical point about water? The reading from Ezekiel this morning invites us to a different view of water – to reclaim the sacramental sense of water, the mystical properties of water. It’s a chance to wonder about water with Ezekiel and his divine messenger – and to wander with this new river as it flows from the restored temple out through God’s world.

Ezekiel was a prophet during the great Babylonian exile – in 6th c BC – when the temple had been utterly destroyed in Jerusalem and the Israelites were scattered.  As a prophet living in exile, Ezekiel was invited by a divine messenger to wonder through God’s eyes – in the midst of his disenchantment and displacement – he was called to imagine a new possibility. This angelic messenger was giving him the grand tour of the new temple. And it was such a vision – Ezekiel was not only ankle deep in it – he could swim in it.

This vision offered to Ezekiel is the new hope for Israel – the hope of a new temple – a new temple that represents a return to sacredness. This vision was a chance to experience again that all that flows from the temple – including water for the world is HOLY – it is LIFE GIVING. This sense of the holy will return to the Israelites – that is their hope, that is Ezekiel’s vision – A vision to which you cling when you are a people destitute, disoriented, and disconnected from God because of exile and having no place to worship. The destruction of the temple in Jerusalem was the ultimate act of cutting off the Israelites from their God – taking away the sacred place where they worship together.  So this vision from Ezekiel is a vision that will return the Israelite back into full relationship with God.  Despair no more – believe that prosperity is surely to come. As in his vision, for wherever the river flows, there too will be life for them and all of creation. What better image than a flowing stream, alive with creatures good enough to eat whose banks lined with beautiful trees with branches hanging down, swooping ove r the water heavy with fruit to eat. Its’ a lush place, sounds like Eden doesn’t it?  This river is so inviting. Come and sit by the waterside, the divine messenger says to him, dip your feet in, go ahead and wade on in. This is what god’s promises feel like – cool water that refreshes and brings life!

In Ezekiel’s vision, the temple is part of creation and creation is part of the temple- their existence is intertwined and pours forth healing, not destruction. Through  the generations, we seem to have gotten away from that understanding. Our temples – our sanctuaries, don’t often represent a sanctuary of nature. We’ve wanted to wall ourselves off from the outside world – protect ourselves from the natural environment all around us rather than imagine spaces (and lives) that call us into relationship with God’s creation. But I believe that even with our modern structures of today, we can reclaim the understanding that our sanctuaries are part of creation, and creation is a part of our sanctuaries.

Rowan  Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury recently said this about Our present ecological crisis, “the biggest single practical threat to our human existence in the middle to long term, has, religious people would say, a great deal to do with our failure to think of the world as existing in relation to the mystery of God, not just as a huge warehouse of stuff to be used for our convenience.”
Many of us go through our days without much thought to the source of water that we depend upon to keep our lives going. Or at least, we don’t think about it until that fateful day when it doesn’t pour forth from the tap. That’s when we take notice.  But really, where does our water come from. Most of us can’t name the watershed upon which our homes and sanctuaries are situated. We may not even be aware of exactly how much we water we even use on a given day. Many estimates range between 80-100 gallons of water per person per day – that’ s how much we use each day. That means the typical household here in Atlanta uses 400 gallons a day.  We would be much better off if we could bring that number down to 50 gallons a day per person. And now you wonder why we are in a battle with our neighbors in Alabama and Florida about “OUR” water here in Georgia.  Someone once said, “we’re all “downstreamers” in some way or another…meaning, how someone else uses water affects our water – and how we use water affects someone else and it goes on down the line…

So all this points to the need for us to pay attention to how water sustains us and to understand the source of our water – no matter where we live or work or worship or play… Believers of all ages can get involved in this issue. Our source of water is not so separate from us. It’s not this thing from far away that just appears when we turn on the tap. It is a part of us – remember what I said earlier about how much our bodies are actually water? And ultimately in this time of critical ecological crisis worldwide we will only save what we love. And we can only love that with which we are in relationship. And relationships require us to be engaged in them.

That’s why Ezekiel found himself following this divine messenger through those waters flowing from the temple, being led along the banks of this new river of life – he was being engaged by it in the midst of this vision.

The river of life is not just some metaphor for our spiritual journey. It also brings refreshment to our physical lives, sustaining  us and all creation. This understanding of water, of all rivers that flow through out neighborhoods, our cities, our world can be that river in Ezekiel. And God has called us to be stewards of this precious resource that is intended to sustain all creation for generations to come. It is up to us – as people of faith – to reclaim a culture of conservation in our immediate communities and throughout the country. To recognize our dependence upon water and celebrate this gift rather than abuse it or take it for granted.

It took an angelic messenger to lead a tired prophet experiencing exile to see the new thing God was doing in a flowing body of water – to reclaim the sacredness present before him. Let us see what Ezekiel saw that day – let us see it for ourselves, even in the Chattahoochee or Nancy Creek – water that is intended to bring healing and life for all creation. And we don’t have to travel to its actual riverbanks to experience this – we can give thanks every time water flows from our taps or showers us from above. Giving thanks that we are part of the intricate web of creation on Planet Water. Giving thanks in the name of the one who gives us Living Water so that we will never thirst. Come and see this River of Life.  Amen.

Acts 4:32-35
1 John 1:1-2:2

Honesty. Integrity. Generosity.

The theme of our current worship series, “Acting Like a Christian”, brings to mind the great actor Sir Laurence Olivier. Once asked what his advice to aspiring actors would be, he replied, “What is acting but lying and what is good lying but convincing lying?”

There is a way of hearing this series as an invitation to hypocrisy, putting air quotes around the word “acting”, as though what we are called to do is to behave like Christians regardless of our interior lives so that we fool the world into thinking we’re better than we are.

If you haven’t guessed already, that’s not where we’re headed.

A few months ago, Jeff Chance stood up here reflecting on his experiences as a Habitat volunteer. Jeff’s words that day were a seed for this very conversation as he asked, quite rightly, about the importance of Habitat and ministries like it. Is it to put hammers on our wall, to put notches in our tool belt, letting us know how many houses we have built? Or is it that such work is an opportunity to put our faith into action so that the love we proclaim is more than just words?

As we read through lessons taken from the book of Acts, we will reflect on what it means to “act” like a Christian – that is, to embody the very things that we say we believe. And what better moment is there to begin with than a casting call? As God puts out the word that actors are needed to take part in this grand human drama, will we respond? Do we think we have what it takes? Will we play a role in shaping what comes next?

Before we go any further, let’s get one thing straight: this cannot be about pretension or falsehood. And it cannot be about achieving moral perfection or getting ourselves into a place where we can judge others who fail to meet our standards. If that’s where we start, then we haven’t been paying attention.

Our lesson this morning from the letter of John drives this point home. Writing to one of the earliest Christian communities, he writes, “If we claim that we are free of sin, we are only fooling ourselves.” If you’ve been worshiping with us for some time, then those words should ring familiar, as we use them from time to time as our invitation to weekly confession: “If we say we are without sin, then we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.”

But John goes on to make his case even more pointed: “If we claim that we have never sinned, we contradict God and even make God a liar.” If we pretend that we’ve got it all figured out, we’re not fooling anybody. And even worse, we are poor representatives for God.

This is a theme we visit regularly here at OPC. Words like “church” and “Christian” are negative, a reality that can be quite foreign to those of you like me who were raised in positive experiences in the church. But if you ever spend significant time with folks who are not part of church – whether because they never have been or because their experiences were so negative as to be hindrances – then you know what I’m talking about. God has been poorly represented by those who claim to act in God’s name. Or, more pointedly, Christ has been poorly represented by those who claim to act in his name.

A moment from history to illustrate, perhaps only made obvious in its moral lessons by the intercession of time.

Sam Oni was the first black man to attend Mercer University. Oni was admitted in 1963 and had been encouraged to apply by a Mercer alum named Harris Mobley. Mobley was a missionary of the Southern Baptist convention who met Oni in his native Ghana. Three years later, in 1966, Oni decided that he would worship at nearby Tattnall Square Baptist Church one Sunday morning.

When he arrived, Oni was met at the door by two deacons who barred him from entering. “I wish to join you in worshiping the living God,” he said, “the God of us all.” They were unmoved. Oni continued: “Do you realize what you are doing? Why do you treat me in this fashion? I am your brother. My people have heard the gospel from the lips of your people. Did they deceive?” As a crowd gathered outside, worship began inside, with the music providing the only necessary commentary as the congregation sang:

Where cross the crowded ways of life,

Where sound the cries of race and clan,

Above the noise of selfish strife,

We hear thy voice, O Son of Man!

To be fair, Christians aren’t the only ones who fall prey to hypocrisy. Religions are filled with folks who say one thing and do another. And it’s not just religion that is to blame. Those who claim no god or reject God altogether fare no better in the morality department.

And yet, is that really the point? There’s a reason that John’s letter uses the first person plural. This behavioral standard is a communal one, for the whole church. And it is one that flows not from ourselves, but from the God whom we claim to know in Christ: “If we claim that we share life with God and continue to stumble in the dark, then our lives reveal the lie: we are not living what we claim.” Our job is not to hold others up to our standards, but to live up to the standards we set for ourselves!

How far we have come from that world described in the book of Acts! One of the things that we know about the early church is that their moral behavior was one of their most effective evangelism tools. It was well-known and well-noted how they lived together and how they lived within their society. Practices such as the one we read about in our lesson this morning, making sure that no one in their community was in need, these were acts that spoke volumes, and spoke well. They made others curious to know what was behind their extreme choices, such as their generosity and sharing.

How do we measure up to that standard? How are we at sharing what God has given us with those who are in need? Or do we more likely to stand at the door, barring entry to others who want to take part in God’s good gifts?

Do we even recognize who it is that has given us what we have? Or do we simply assume that everything we have gained is due to our own worthiness?

Honesty. Integrity. Generosity. These are the watch words of John’s letter to the church, to us, this morning.

Now, I am aware that it is tentative business to preach about money on a day when ya’ll are voting on whether or not to give me a raise. So let me put it this way. However you vote, the challenge to me remains the same: am I honest, do I show integrity, am I generous with what I have received? Whether I get a raise or not, the questions don’t change.

And neither do they change for you. Because money may be the object in the lesson from Acts, but it is not the point of that lesson. Instead, we should see it as a tool that teaches us something about ourselves. The risk is that it might teach us something that we don’t want to learn.

How honest are we about money and the way we see money? Do we give off light? Or do we cast shadows of darkness?

How much integrity do we put into the money we have? Can others see a direct line from what we say about God to how we handle what God gives us?

And the bottom line, so to speak, is this: are we generous? Do we share, or do we hoard?

I have no answers to these questions today. My hope is that each of us will do a serious accounting of them in your own lives; because, believe it or not, God has a role for you to play. If you’re ready to go, that’s wonderful. God be with you! If you’re not ready, then…well, that sounds about right; because it isn’t, really, about what we do. It’s about what God does through us.

Friends, we are called to be agents of God’s work. We are invited to serve as ambassadors of God’s love. May those two realities collide as we put our faith into action.

Amen.

John 20:1-18

Sometimes, it’s the little things that make the biggest difference.

How many times have you heard this Easter story? Is this the first? Or have you heard it year after year? Do you know it intimately, able to recite all the details, or do you find something new each time you encounter it? As I read the story this year, most of it struck me as memorable terrain: Mary Magdalene, Peter, and John all witnesses to the empty tomb; the foot race between the two men; the angels; Mary’s wonderfully baffled encounter with the risen gardener.

And then, there’s this little detail that jumped out, as if it hadn’t ever been there before: when Peter finally goes into the tomb, he notices that the linen cloths that covered Christ’s body are lying there empty, and that the cloth used to cover his head was separate, “neatly folded by itself.”

What an odd little moment! Why is that detail there? Now, it’s possible that the ancient audience who first heard this story would have recognized the purpose of that description, of folded cloths, but if so, it’s been lost to the ages. The gospel writer John offers no explanation as to why this matters. A Google search produces some fanciful theories, but none of them is borne out by actual research or fact. And I’d be willing to bet that, somewhere out there, this text is used to back up a parental assertion about making up your bed in the morning. But it’s all speculation; so we are left to wonder.

John’s gospel is marked by such little details. Just one chapter later, the risen Jesus appears to the disciples as they fish along the shores of the Galilee. They have been up all night, and they have nothing to show for it. Jesus tells them to try dropping their nets on the other side of the boat, and they get this huge haul of fish. John goes on to tell us that there are 153 fish in the net. Again, no explanation, just a little detail left out there, something to grab our attention.

And maybe that’s all there is to it: these little details are there to remind us that life is full of such details, so pay attention. And sometimes, the smaller the detail, the bigger the difference, so be alert.

I was reminded of this lesson a few days ago. Over the past few weeks, walking has become a regular part of my routine. I’ve particularly discovered that I love walking at night. So following our Maundy Thursday worship service the other evening, I decided to walk home. The shortest route is 2.3 miles, most of it on beautiful, scenic Peachtree Industrial. I have driven the same road at least twice daily for seven years now. And yet, as I walked it, it was as though I was experiencing it for the first time. Maybe you’ve noticed these things, too, but apparently I’ve always been in too big a rush to pay attention.

For example: did you know that there are significant stretches that have no sidewalk whatsoever? Or, odd little factoid, did you know that there’s a tree-house with a tire swing next to the MARTA tracks behind Brown Auto Wreckers? Look for it! Or that behind the line of trees hiding Peachtree Golf Club are guard dogs and armed sentries?

Well, that last part’s not true.

One other thing I noticed: nobody walks down Peachtree Industrial!

How often do we find ourselves in a similar circumstance? How often do we go on auto-pilot, sprinting through life, unable to stop for a moment to take in the world around us? Are we so eager to get this Easter story over and done with, or do we think we already know every intimate detail of it, that we miss that the head cloths are neatly folded up?

I wish I knew why there was a tree house next to the MARTA tracks. And I wish I knew why it is so important for the risen Jesus to make his bed. I’m ultimately not sure, but I think it may be as simple as this: the story pays attention to detail because God pays attention to detail. Jesus once told his disciples that God cares for us more than the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, that God counts the hairs on our head. The Creator God, the maker of our unfathomable universe and all that is, cares enough about one little species on one little speck of a planet that God continues again and again and again to reach out to us, to let us know how precious we are! The God whom we know in Christ cares deeply about the little things.

And, I think, these subtle nuances are there to remind us that there is always more to come. It’s like those moments in movies that set up the sequel: Darth Vader’s ship spiraling off into space, letting us know that the Empire might just strike back; Hannibal Lecter disappearing into the tourist crowds of the Bahamas; or Doc Brown letting Marty know that where they’re going, they won’t need roads. The cloths are discarded and folded because the story isn’t finished – not by a long shot. There is much, much more to come.

Friends, no matter how much we might know, we can never know it all. There is always more to discover, because curiosity is meant to be a lifelong pursuit. The world is far too interesting a place!

But we, we who are supposed to be living into God’s desires for our lives, we breeze right by. Our whole society seems bent on keeping us from paying attention to the little things. We are supposed to live frenetically. If we don’t, what will others think of us? And this kind of thinking infects our faith. It’s like the t-shirt says: “Jesus is coming. Look busy.”

That’s not the point, is it? I don’t think so. God is not interested in filling our calendars; God wants to fill our cups! But we, we who are so busy, we probably only notice the mess as our vessels overflow…

On this Easter morning, I believe that we are being invited to pay attention. We are being called to slow down, not because of what our bosses or our customers or our neighbors or our families demand, but because of what God desires for us.

There’s a wonderful quote from Thomas Merton:

God is not found in the soul by adding anything, but by a process of subtracting.

What’s the one little thing you can take away from your overcrowded schedule that would allow you to notice those little details?

You may find yourself walking on uncharted ground, getting looks from others as they fly by. But these details are all around us, if we can take the time to pay attention. And when we do, we will be surprised by what we see and what we gain in return. There is so much more to the world around us. And when we notice that, that’s when our story intersects with God’s story, reminding us that there is more to come.

What brings you here this morning? Is it habit or hope? Is it despair or desire? Is it stress or celebration? Is it fear or faith? Whatever it is that got you here this morning, know this: God is ready to meet you here. God is already at work: not only here, but wherever your paths might take you. My prayer is that you will have eyes to see God at work in the details all around you.

My brothers and sisters, the Lord is risen! He is risen indeed! And we, too, join with him in celebration of the newness of life! The story isn’t finished; not by a long shot.

Amen.

2 Corinthians 12:7-10
John 13:1-17, 31-35

Now, I’m no expert on church music, but I wager that if we surveyed our favorite hymns, we’d find some common threads.  For instance, I think we’d find that a good many emphasize God’s strength and power.  “A Mighty Fortress is Our God,” anyone?  God’s not just our rock, God’s our fortress, stronger than a thousand rocks put together.  Another one of my favorites goes,  “God is our refuge and strength, a present help in time of trouble.  Though the mountains quake in the heart of the sea, though the waters roar and foam, we will not fear.”  God is the mighty stabilizer who holds us when the storms of life rage. Don’t you find that many of your own favorite hymns fit the pattern?

I think these hymns point to the heart of our belief system.   It’s deeply reassuring to believe in a God who is mighty and powerful, who will always take care of us, who will swoop in like Superman to save the day.  And there may well be truth to that vision of the mighty God.

But something about tonight, something about this Maundy Thursday, unsettles this vision of God.  Jesus is no comic book hero.  Tonight, Jesus shares food, drink and laughter one more time before his own people (that’s us) deliver him to the state for torture and execution.  Do you feel an uneasy tension between our declarations of God’s power and what happens tonight?

Picture the scene.  Jesus and his friends gather in the musty old conference room of a Motel 6, dirty, worn out, and frazzled from their hectic travels.  A quiet, normal dinner would be great, wouldn’t it?  No stress, no drama, only a peaceful meal with old friends.  Just pass the fried chicken bucket, Jesus!  But no.  The disciples gave up more than they knew when they decided to follow Jesus, undisturbed meals included.

Jesus feels the weight of the upcoming events right in his gut.  He rises from the table and ties a towel around himself.  Jesus kneels before his friends’ feet, preparing to wash them.  The disciples shift around uncomfortably like preteens at a school dance, not sure what’s happening and what they should do about it.  Peter speaks up: What the heck, Jesus?  I mean, I know you’re our Lord, so can’t you just act the part?

Jesus refuses to act the part.  Slowly and deliberately, gently and patiently, he goes around the circle, bathing the feet of his friends.  Those hands, hands that had healed the sick, raised the dead, and cleansed the temple, now carefully wash the grimy, smelly, calloused feet of road wanderers.
And he raises the bread and wine, so much like the bread and wine we share tonight, and tells his friends that what they eat and drink is his own body and blood.  A body that will be broken.  Blood that will be spilt.  But, he entreats them, eat this bread and wine, this body and blood.  That’s what they’re for—nourishment for the world.  Crumbs of bread and dregs at the bottom of the chalice will be what remains of the Christ.

Can any of us bear to face a Savior like this? Can any of us stand to follow a Lord whose last hours find him kneeling in servitude?  Broken like the bread in his hands?  Poured out like the wine they share?  Can we commit our lives to a God who looks so…well…weak?

We know what power looks like, right?  Power looks like an Olympic weightlifter setting a new record.  Or like the inauguration of the United States president.  Or like a mighty tornado ripping trees out of the ground.  Or like stocks soaring on Wall Street. Power isn’t broken.  Power isn’t servanthood.  It isn’t a man kneeling before his friends or a dead body hanging on a cross.

But what if we were wrong about what power really means?  What if God’s power looks like a broken servant Jesus? What if bare feet and broken bread herald the power of God’s reign?

If you’re anything like me, the God-in-Christ we encounter tonight disquiets you.  If Jesus’ actions tonight are a sign of God’s power, then God’s power is completely foreign to us.  Why doesn’t God break into creation like water breaking through a dam?  Why doesn’t God flood human existence with a power that totally transforms all this mess right away? Out washes the old, in washes the new: New heavens and a new earth pronto, brought to you by divine pressure wash.

But let’s remember, the biblical narrative says that God tried the pressure-wash method once before.  The story goes that God gets so disappointed, sad, and angry that God sends a flood to wash away all the mess.  According to the story, only one good man, his family, and an ark-load of animals are left.  You’d think that God would be relieved, right?  A chance to start creation practically from scratch, a chance to make everything go differently?  But then God makes a breathtaking move.  God makes a new covenant with creation, promising never again to flood us with a divine pressure wash.

I don’t think that the writers of the Flood story meant us to take the tale literally.  Still, the story is hugely troubling.  I truly don’t believe that the God of love would ever kill his precious children.  But I think the story makes an important point: God rejects a pressure-wash solution to the world’s problems.  In every rainbow, the sign of God’s covenant, we know that God chooses to re-create the earth in a completely different way.

That different way, apparently, is Jesus.  For some reason, God meets us in this inefficient, embarrassingly humble Jesus.  Nothing could be further from pressure washing than the gentle touch that washes the disciples’ feet.    But to be honest, I’m not really sure why God seemingly rejects pressure-wash power, why God chooses instead the seemingly insignificant way of a broken Jesus.

But maybe it’s because relationship is at the center of God’s character.  Intertwined with the world, God longs for partners, not subjects.  God desires us to be co-creators of new heavens and a new earth.  Vividly sharing in the brokenness of the world, God takes on flesh, and comes to suffer and die with us as our unflagging partner in the redemption story.

And perhaps in the person of Jesus, God tells us that healing power and brokenness aren’t opposites.  In 2 Corinthians, Paul writes about having a thorn in his flesh, some unspecified brokenness.  Paul asks God three times to take the thorn away, but God doesn’t.  Instead, God replies, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” And then Paul concludes, “So I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so the power of Christ may dwell in me.”

These words are counterintuitive, aren’t they?  When an athlete gets a major injury, she’s often sidelined for the season.  She’s out of the game.  When a politician’s troubled past comes to light, he’s often seen as unfit for public office.  Frederick Delano Roosevelt, a victim of childhood polio, scrupulously avoided being photographed in his wheelchair so he wouldn’t look weak.  In our society, any vulnerability, whether a physical impairment, age, a mental or physical illness, or a few wrong turns in life, is treated like a green Martian to set in a corner and conveniently shun.  We think our power is in spite of these vulnerabilities.  And often we think that our vulnerabilities disqualify us from joining in God’s work.

Hear these words again: God answers Paul, “Power is made perfect in weakness.”  Our weakness, our vulnerability, doesn’t sideline us in the ongoing redemption story.  Instead, our weakness can become a way that God’s power can touch the world forever.  Christ’s vulnerability doesn’t mean he’s stopped accomplishing God’s will.  Instead, we hold that Christ’s suffering during Holy Week signals God’s gracious embrace of all creation.  And Christ invites us to join the work of embracing creation.  He invites us to find the ways that our brokenness can bring life to our neighbors.  Jesus says to the disciples, “For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” He’s asking us to bring our brokenness to God’s work—work that may seem futile and inefficient, but work that plants seeds that may grow into the beautiful garden we’d rejected before. We belong at the feet of our neighbors; we belong on the cross for the world.  Our vulnerability, like Christ’s, may become a point of intersection of God’s grace and the world.

Maybe our experience of grief lets us bring comfort to others.   Maybe our mistakes allow us to guide others down different paths.  Maybe our anger at an injustice we faced leads us to seek justice for everyone.  Though God didn’t will the grief, the mistakes, or the injustice, God’s power in us means that our brokenness may become a beautiful new beginning for the world.  God asks us to offer up the broken totality of all we are, just as Jesus spreads wide his arms on the cross, displaying his weakness, all for the dream of a new world.

Can you bear to face a Savior like this, whose power is so alien to all we know?  Whether or not you think you can…whether you come to this table for the first time or whether you’ve come a thousand times before…whether tonight you’re the strongest you’ve ever been or the weakest…here Jesus meets you. Here Jesus kneels at your feet, your brother, your servant, and your savior.  Here Jesus offers you the gift of himself through bread and wine.  Here you can give your broken life as manna for the world.  Bare feet and broken bread: Strange blessings, but of magnificent power.  As we share in the hurt and humility of the Christ, together we pray, “God, take these wounds, and in our bleeding, heal the world.”

Amen.

Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29
Mark 11:1-11

-Loving God, you are present in our lives in unimaginable ways. Surprise us in these words, in our hearts, and in our lives. And show us the unexpected places where you are at work.-

There is a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning that I think reflects our scripture today, from the book Aurora Leigh… It goes like this:

“Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only they who see, takes off their shoes,
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,
And daub their natural faces unaware…”
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning
from Aurora Leigh

The passage for today where Jesus came into Jerusalem, and the citizens gathered palms is one of my favorites of the Bible, because it reflects this message, that all of earth is crammed with Heaven. That God is in the smallest most unexpected places, and sometimes you can barely even recognize where God is at work, but when you do, you stand in awe where the rest of the world continues, unaware of these everyday miracles.
There are two halves to this story, and both leave me imagining and searching. So, let me attempt to tell this story as I see it, so maybe we can imagine this together.
Jesus and the disciples have been traveling for several chapters at this point, presumably on feet, stopping in town after town, sometimes with crowds following them, but all along making their way to Jerusalem. And it is here, just outside of Jerusalem, where Jesus suggests that two disciples, an elite rogue splinter cell of the larger group, go to the next town, where they will immediately find a colt that has never been ridden. Its at this point where I start to think… …Wait what?

The disciples must have thought
A Donkey?
Thats never been ridden?
…whyyyy? If you wanted it to carry our luggage, or to ride; it would’ve been much more helpful at the beginning of trip, not just outside of Jerusalem the place where we were heading all along
And its just going to be there?
How do you know that?
Then we’re supposed to just take it, like no one would notice it missing?
what if it belongs to someone?

Jesus must have known this was weird because he prepared them with a statement. If someone asks you what you are doing, just tell them ‘The Master needs him, and will return him right away.’”
I think I would’ve laughed at that. “Jesus do you… know what they do to thieves? and that is our explanation?” “The master needs him” as if the response to that explanation would just be like “Now that you’ve said that go right ahead, take my colt”

But the disciples do in fact go. Perhaps with their eyes rolling and full of doubt but they do go, and sure enough, there as soon as they enter town a colt, or in some versions a donkey, or in some both. but there it is, Right there! Just as Jesus said!
Its almost like a scene from Monty Python…

huh, look a donkey, there is actually a donkey… okay I wasn’t expecting that it was actually going to be there, I guess we need to take it.
AHEM! What do you think you’re doing?!
Oh, uh, hi, …You see… The master needs it.
Oh… (enthusiastically) okay!

I mean really? Excuses like that have never worked for me, I imagine the disciples really not expecting it to work either, but somehow to their amazement, it does! They let them take this young donkey for free, and they give it to Jesus, throw their coats on it as a saddle. An event so different from the normal course of things that God must have been involved.

So let’s picture this, Jesus, the king of kings, Lord of Lords, the sovereign, mighty, perfecter of our faith mounted on… …a donkey.

THAT is what made Jesus humble, that is our Lord triumphantly mounted upon his ride into Jerusalem. Its ironic, don’t you think? As in the total opposite of how we might imagine a King’s arrival into Jerusalem. The opposite of how we might imagine the person who is essential to our life, faith, and salvation being. And its hilarious!

It’s the equivalent of today’s political leaders, arriving at a UN summit in a backfiring, rusty 1970s hatchback gremlin.

But despite this awkward animal that Jesus is riding on, people start recognizing Jesus right away, and are taken by surprise by his entrance into Jerusalem. They even recognize immediately that he represents not worldy leaders, but God.
They want to welcome him somehow, so they take what they have with them, their coats, and the palm branches of trees in the fields, anything to honor the presence of Jesus and they all begin to lay them on the street to make a way for him into Jerusalem. They begin to recognize God’s presence in this strange, wonderful, and unexpected person.
I’ve heard the laying down of palm branches by the citizens of Jerusalem described as a protest. By honoring this humble man mounted on a donkey, representing God not the state, they took power from the political leaders of Jerusalem, and gave it to this person, Jesus. This person who takes an awkward, embarrassing animal and makes him into a beautiful moment.
This person who unexpectedly redefines what it means to be powerful, by giving up power. This person who in just a few days from this moment redefines what it means die, giving power not to death, but to life.
The version of this story from the Gospel of John has the disciples reflecting on this in hindsight after Jesus has resurrected, They remember this absurd event that is totally out of the ordinary, and realize that it fulfilled a prophecy in Zechariah 9: 9
Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion!
Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem!
Lo, your king comes to you;
triumphant and victorious is he,
humble and riding on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

Because in the absurdity, and unexpectedness of this moment is something prophetic. Jesus, the one Lord, the only Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one Being with the Father, this magnanimous person redefines what it means to be Lord, Jesus is humble and riding on a donkey. Jesus Flips the idea of king, Lord, and power on its head.

Throughout the bible is this image, of the thing that is most unexpected, most out of the ordinary, becoming central, in God’s action in the world.

The psalm passage today mentions this image when it brings up the stone that the stone masons inspected and thought so flawed and broken for building that they threw it away into a pile with other useless building material. But says in the work that God does, this stone became the capstone, the center of God’s work.
Hearing this psalm’s story of the stone, sounds a whole lot like Christ. Christ was rejected by the world, but became central to God’s work in the world. And these are amazing messages for us. Because we expect God to act certain ways in our life. Maybe to forgive us, to heal us, to respond to us. Or maybe even the opposite, maybe we expect God to be distant, and foreign and to not understand us.

But friends the good news is in the fact that God does not live by our rules. That the story the world gives us, that we are cast out, that we are useless could not be further from the truth in God’s eyes.

That Jesus is King, because he is unlike any other king that has ever been. That God is in our lives in unexpected places. In moments and places where we imagine God shouldn’t be.
Amen.