Sermon: Life out of fire (Aug. 14, 2016)

Pentecost 13C

August 11, 2016

Luke 12:49-56

         Sometimes when I read the appointed texts for an upcoming Sunday, I think, “Oh, I love this one!” and a zillion sermon ideas rush to mind. Sometimes I read them and think, “Oh, this one is difficult, but exactly what I needed to hear this week.” But sometimes, I read them, and it is as if God anticipated exactly what would be heaviest on my heart, exactly what I wanted to avoid this week, and then smacks me in the face with it, and I think, “Please, God, please don’t make me preach on this text right now,” and the Holy Spirit answers, “Sorry, Jo. This is what you need to do this week.”

         That’s what happened this week. “I came to bring fire to the earth,” Jesus says, “and how I wish it were already kindled! … Do you think I have come to bring peace to earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!” I don’t know about you, but I really needed Jesus to be the Prince of Peace for me this week. There is so much division, all around, and all the fear, sadness, hurt, and disappointment that goes with it. Even as we celebrate the Olympics, and the coming together of the world in this

wonderful sporting event, it is still impossible to ignore all the division in the world, national, local, and of course, personal level. And it hurts. Division is angering, but most of all, it hurts.

And just when we need a comfort, here comes Jesus, talking about fire, and turning households against each other, and division between family members. This is not a comfortable Jesus, not the guy at whose feet I want to sit and listen and learn. What are we to make of this Jesus, who spits out these words about fire and division?

Yes, there is plenty in this passage to be uneasy about. First, the fire. Fire is not something most of us welcome. Especially out west, where I’m from, fire is an ever-present danger in the summer. Like many of you, I grew up listening to Smoky the Bear tell me that, “Only YOU can prevent forest fires.” We learned that fire is dangerous. It’s destructive. People who fight fires are some of the most respected heroes in society.      

Then there is all the elaboration on division – father against son, son against father, and so on. Family dynamics can be very difficult, whether we’re talking about biological families, friend families, or church families. So why is Jesus advocating for conflict and division between family members? Who can read that without squirming in their seat?

It’s safe to say that most people try to avoid conflict if they can, whether in our personal relationships or at work or even in the church. I have a friend who interviewed for a pastoral internship, one of the requirements for ordination. His would-be supervisor told him that this congregation was divided about some big issues, and he said, “If you feel called to conflict management, this is a great internship site for you.” Yikes! While I know there are some who do feel called to the ministry of conflict resolution and healing, that certainly sent my friend running!

But these words from Jesus make us think differently about conflict, and about fire (whether metaphorical or physical). If Jesus says he came to kindle fire among us, and to cause division, then that must be a part of God’s plan for the world – but how?

Redwood National Park

One of the prides of my home state of California is the magnificent giant sequoias: mammoth trees, the largest living things on earth, and some of the oldest – some of them have been around since Jesus walked the earth!  Part of what allows them to live so long is not only that they have thick bark that protects them from fire, but also that fire is actually essential for their reproduction. First, the fire clears out some the less durable species around the redwood, plants which would otherwise crowd out the little sequoia seedlings and prevent them from thriving. Second, fire dries out the cones, which allows the seeds to escape and germinate – that is, fire is necessary for new life to thrive. Fire is so essential to the survival of these giant trees, in fact, that our diligent attempts at fire prevention have actually threatened the trees’ survival, and now the National Park Service has had to begin controlled burns, starting fires, forcing it to rip through the forest and cause the necessary damage, so that the necessary growth can follow.

With that in mind, the fire that Jesus talks about starts to look a little less threatening. In a forest of redwoods, fire cleanses, and it brings new life. This is what we expect from a relationship with Jesus, is it not? Jesus’ fire, his “baptism,” as he calls it, destroys that stuff in our lives that keeps us from having a close relationship with Christ. It clears out the rubbish and helps us focus on God. And, of course, it brings us new life – transformation in this life, as well as the promise of everlasting life.

Yet, even with that good news, the fire that Jesus is trying to kindle is really no less scary, no less disruptive, no less dangerous. As he says, this fire will cause division. This gets into the conflict piece, that conflict that we humans so desperately try to avoid. We avoid it by telling white lies (or even lies that aren’t really so white), or by flat out ignoring it and bottling it up, or by internalizing it and trying to make it our own fault (which makes it possible for us to change it without having to talk to anyone else), or by placing the blame elsewhere, so that we can relinquish all responsibility for it. Sometimes we even avoid one conflict that we don’t want to deal with by starting another one that we do know how to deal with – I can’t fix the issue at my workplace, but I can yell at my husband for leaving his socks on the floor. Oh, we humans are very clever about avoiding conflict, are we not?

And yet, Jesus tells us that he has come to bring about that conflict, that division. When she was serving as the assistant to the bishop, Jessica Crist, now Bishop of the Montana Synod, reflected on her work in the synod office. A large part of that position is what she calls “putting out fires” in the church, something she fancied herself to be pretty good at. But then upon reading this text, she

A divided church

realized: Jesus is the one setting some of those fires in the church! She writes, “Talk about a disconnect! I guess that I am probably as guilty as the next person of making God in my own image, of designing a Jesus whom I can fully comprehend. A Jesus who puts out fires sounds pretty sweet to me, pretty compatible, pretty comfortable, pretty useful. But that’s not the Jesus of the Gospel.”

So who is the Jesus of the Gospel? Again, at first reading, this stressed out, judgmental, fire wielding Jesus that suddenly appears in Luke chapter 12 may seem to come out of nowhere. But if we look elsewhere in Luke, we will see that he has been there all along.

Back in chapter 4, in his very first sermon, Jesus says, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” Sounds fine, until you realize: release of the captives is likely to upset some folks! Are they not in captivity for a reason? Letting the oppressed go free is great for the oppressed, but what about those who have benefited from their oppression – like those of us who buy clothes made in sweatshops because they are cheap? Jesus’ mission brings about change and conflict in our safe, comfortable, often self-serving lives. With Jesus’ fire on the loose, we cannot maintain a status quo in which people remain hungry, or live in the midst of constant war, or endure bullying. But in order for those things to change, people are going to get upset. There will be conflict. There will be division. There has to be. But after that conflict and division – that is the time that true peace can be realized.

We see this in our own lives, when built up tension finally explodes, and it’s terrible, but afterward everyone feels relieved. It happens with friends, with families, and even in church families. Some years ago, St. Martin had such an experience, a huge conflict. Many people left the church. They nearly closed their doors. A conflict and healing team came in to help sort things out. What remained was a core of people dedicated to the gospel, to loving each other, to serving God through St. Martin. They joined with Bethlehem in a covenant, recognizing that we are better and stronger together. And you know what? A few years later, our numbers started increasing. In fact, we are the fastest growing church in the conference. (Bethlehem by the way, is the second fastest!) Out of the fire storm and conflict and division came new life, new growth, new little sequoias making their presence known in this divided world.

But are we really surprised by this? After all, our savior was beaten, mocked, flogged, stripped, and crucified before he was finally resurrected to bring us all new life. Did we really expect that new life would come without first walking through the valley of the shadow of death? Jesus’ death and resurrection did not happen to keep us from experiencing our own struggles. It happened to show us that those struggles do not have the last word, that at the end of them comes life and resurrection.

Conflict is necessary to find peace and life. Discomfort and division are often a step in the journey toward better life. A forest fire clears away the roughage and offers new seedlings a chance to survive, giving new life to the trees. Conflict, division, and fire: these things are necessary for change, for transformation, for development – and if there is one thing that Scripture and experience teach us, it is that God loves us too much to let us stay the same.

Let us pray: God of peace, of division, of transformation and of love: We avoid conflicts and fires in our lives because they can be very painful. Grant us the courage to face them, and through them bring to the world and to each of us the hope of transformation and new life. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Waiting for the whales to come (Aug. 7, 2016)

Pentecost 12C

August 7, 2016

Genesis 15:1-6; Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16

            “Waitin’ for the whales to come… waitin’ for the whales to come… Been up since the crack of dawn. I’m waitin’ for the whales to come. I paid my money, and I’m waitin’ for the whales to come.”

            This is a song by singer/songwriter Claire Holley, and was introduced to me by a friend from seminary. He thought it was such an apt commentary on life: you wait and wait for something to come, do all the things you are expected to do to make that thing happen, and it just seems like you still wait and wait for the thing you really want to happen to finally happen.

            As I read the texts for today, this song popped into my head, not so much as a metaphor for life, but as a metaphor for faith. Faith can in some ways be the same, can’t it? You pray, you wait, you pray some more, you read your Bible looking for answers, you pray some more… but you just have to wait and wait until you see some response from God. “Waitin’ for the whales to come…”

            That’s why Abraham is the classic biblical model of faith; we see the height of his faithfulness in today’s short reading. Abraham (at this point, still Abram) speaks to God in distress, reminding God that while He promised Abram many descendants, here Abram remains, growing old in years and still childless. Abram is getting worried. At this point, Abram is afraid that his servant Eliezer will be his sole heir. Abram has been waiting for those proverbial whales to come for so long already, and it’s getting to be too late; and he is losing hope. BUT, the author of Genesis says, God tells him, “No, Abram, I got this! I told you I would! Don’t you worry: your own flesh and blood will be your heir, not your servant.” Then to prove his point, he takes Abram out into the starry, starry night and in what I have always thought was one of the most mysterious and quietly dramatic expressions of promise in the Bible, says, “Look at all those stars. That’s how many descendants you will have – more than you can even count.”

            And then I think the most unbelievable statement in the Old Testament: “He believed the Lord, and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.” Abram believed! When there was no reason in the world to believe, beyond God’s word, Abram believed. He’d been out since the crack of dawn watching for those whales, and nothing, but God said it would happen, and so Abram believed.

            Faith. This moment is one of the most enduring expressions of faith we have in scripture. It is so significant, in fact, that the author of Hebrews used it as the example in his or her own homily on faith, which we also heard today. It is one of the most beautifully poetic pieces of scripture in the New Testament, in which the author also defines what faith is:

“Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” I have long loved this definition of faith, but in our particular social and political climate right now, hearing these assuring words feels like salve to my heavy and wounded heart. On the one hand, we see brokenness, and violence upon violence, every day on the news. Another shooting. Another case of unnecessary brutality. Another extreme and unproductive retaliation. Another broken heart. On the other hand, there is our political climate, in which everyone has found someone to hate. No one seems to have nice things to say, only things that tear down others – our presidential candidates, the people who support them, and whoever else happens upon the path. Everyone seems to be so good at finding everyone else’s brokenness and darkness, their very worst thoughts, moments and traits, and there doesn’t seem to be enough grace to go around.

            In the midst of all this, the question that keeps arising for me is: how is a faithful Christian supposed to respond to this? Not only, how would Jesus have me vote in this election, but also, how do we engage with each other in the meantime? How do we respond to each other in our dialogue? How do we respond in our actions? How do we respond in our prayers? Sometimes, it feels like we pray and pray for resolution – for kindness to prevail, for God’s will to become clear,

From the wonderful children's book,
If You Want to See a Whale

for understanding and forgiveness and reconciliation – and it doesn’t make any difference. The next day we get up and there is something else on the news that breaks our hearts, or makes us feel sick. And we keep on waiting for those whales to come. How do we continue to be faithful in this climate – not to mention in any number of personal struggles in which all hope seems to be lost, and everywhere we look is more discouragement?

            Into this heartbreak and discouragement come these words from Hebrews: “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” It is, as I said, a salve to a wounded heart – encouragement to continue hoping, encouragement that our hoping, though it may not result in just what we had planned, will ultimately not be in vain.

This week in Vacation Bible School, we were raising money to help build a well that will provide fresh water to a place that doesn’t currently have access. One day, as we wrapped up for the day, one of our preschoolers came up to me, very distraught. She had conflated Jesus’ story with the well-building, and thought that Jesus had fallen into the well and couldn’t get out! Through tears she told me how concerned she was about Jesus. As much as I assured her, she was so shaken. I told her, “Jesus is so good, he will win every single time! Even when he died, he came back to life – nothing can beat him! Even if he fell into a well, he would be just fine.” She was unconvinced. I gave her a hug, which seemed to help. But I was struck how this begins even at this early age: even when we do have faith, it is hard to hold onto hope when life seems dismal. In this 4-year-old’s world, the situation was hopeless: that well was so deep, so how would Jesus survive it? But Hebrews invites us to hold onto hope even when things do seem impossibly bad.

But Hebrews is not only about encouragement to keep hoping. I read these compelling words

from Hebrews also as a challenge, urging us not just to quietly hope, but to get in there and do something about it: to give money to build a well, to speak words of love into a world of hate, to support someone who is stuck in that dark place. Sometimes it looks like kindness, sometimes it looks like educating yourself about both sides of an issue and then speaking aloud a difficult truth, sometimes it looks like getting physically and emotionally involved in a cause that is important to you. Whatever it is, I believe that hope has the power to motivate us, to move us, and to change us.

            Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Faith is actively watching for the whales, even when it seems unlikely they will ever show up. Faith is not an “out,” not a reason to say, “Oh, God’s got this under control, so I’ll just sit back and wait.” Faith is understanding that God might be using us to bring about the kingdom promised to us in our Gospel lesson, when Jesus tells us, “Have no fear, little flock, for the Father has chosen to give you the kingdom.” It’s hard to believe it, sometimes, when that kingdom seems to far off in the distance. But hold fast to hope, brothers and sisters: God might be using us to share that news with others, or to get out there and call out injustice, and work for peace, or to share love and kindness instead of hate.

God might be using us in any number of ways, but as we act for and with God, we are also assured that someday, somehow, the kingdom will come, and God will win. The whales will come. Jesus will get out of the well. Love will prevail. Meanwhile, we continue to live in the assurance of things we hope, to be convicted in the things we don’t yet see. God be with us as we live in this hope and this faith.

Let us pray… Faithful God, when life seems dismal, grant us faith: assurance in your promises, hope in the things we cannot see, and hearts to work to bring about the kingdom you have chosen to give us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Sermon: When stuff gets sinful (July 31, 2016)

Pentecost 11C

July 31, 2016

Luke 12:13-21

            A couple years ago during Lent, you may remember, our theme was about simplicity. Of all of our Lenten themes that we’ve done (and we’ve done some cool ones), this might be my favorite, probably because it dealt with so many practical things that I encounter every day. In particular, I continue to work at and struggle with de-cluttering my space, and getting rid of all the excess stuff in my life. Anyone else have that problem, the problem of too much stuff?

            The relentless collection of stuff (not to mention money!) is something I think we all struggle with. And apparently, this has long been a problem: just in today’s Gospel lesson, we can read about

how people were focused on their possessions, concerned with getting their fair share of the family’s inheritance, concerned with finding a place to store an abundance of stuff, rather than considering giving it away to someone who actually needs it.

            In our Gospel reading, Jesus uses the story of the rich man, who stashed all his abundance away, as a warning against greed. It strikes an uncomfortable chord with me, and I suspect, for many of us. Being smart and savvy and careful with our things and our money is not greedy, or something to be condemned, is it? In fact, you could call that good stewardship of your resources, right? Being financially smart, and making sure you have what you need and deserve, and planning for the future – those are admirable traits, not greed…. Right??

            Ah, but you see, this is what makes greed such a tricky sin, and what makes this parable such a difficult one to face. I look at the rich man and think he is savvy, and I’d probably try to be like him. If Michael and I suddenly came into a lot of money, I’d like to say we would give away the excess. After all, we live comfortably as it is – we have what we need. So if we suddenly came into a lot more money, we could give it away, right? …But would we? Ever notice how when you move into a bigger space, you still manage to fill it with stuff? Same with money – when you have a bit more, you somehow find a way to spend it, a way to think, “Gosh, how did I ever get along with less money?”

            That’s the trick of money, of stuff, and the trick of greed. It sneaks up on us. It masks itself as noble, as savvy. We save for retirement, we save for our kids’ college, we save for a house – who can argue that any of these isn’t good?

            Well don’t worry: saving for retirement and college isn’t sinful, nor is acquiring and surrounding yourself with things that are helpful to you. I don’t think Jesus is trying to tell us that they are. But, all of these things have the potential to turn sinful. Let’s consider how.

            First, we must consider the value and purpose money and things have in our lives. Have you ever noticed, that the root of the word “materialism,” mater, is the same as the Latin word for “mother”? What do we typically associate with mothers? Nurturing, loving, caring, comfort… Now think: are those the qualities we are looking for in our money and possessions? Are we looking to them to provide us comfort and security? Quite possibly – many offer this in a physical way (houses, clothes, etc). But do we expect them to provide spiritual comfort? To nurture us? Do they make us feel loved? Do they make us feel valuable, and worthwhile? Deep down, is this the purpose we want them to fulfill for us?

            They might just do that. It might not be what motivated us to acquire a particular item, at least not consciously, but it might be the role that item has moved into. I have joked that I will feel like I have really made it in the world when I have a car with heated seats. (This would be quite a jump up from my current car, which doesn’t even have power locks or windows!) I say it as a joke, but do I actually mean it that way? Do I think my worth will somehow be defined by having the funds to get a car with this feature? Maybe, maybe not. But it is worth exploring for ourselves. Because of course the truth is: heated seats will not and will never define my worth. My worth, is defined by the fact that I am a child of God. Our worth is defined by God, not money or things, and to look to money or things as the providers of our worth and away from God can very quickly turn sinful.

            Second way the man’s savviness can turn sinful: I can’t overlook one quirk of this parable, and that is how utterly isolated the man is. He is so alone, that he can’t even have a conversation about what to do with his abundance with another person. He talks to himself about it. Just look how many personal pronouns are in his speech!  

This, too, is a danger of greed. I read a book a couple years ago called In the Neighborhood: The Search for Community on an American Street, One Sleepover at a Time. It’s written by a man living in a neighborhood here in Rochester, and in it he laments the loss of the neighborhood – the one where neighbors did more than exchange pleasantries, where they really knew each other and interacted and helped each other daily. Now, he observes, kids play in their fenced backyard instead of the front, people watch movies on their big screen TV instead of going to the movies with friends, they have a pool in the back and a home gym in the basement instead of going to the local Y and seeing other people. With so much stuff available to us, we don’t have any need to go out with and certainly not to rely upon other people; we are self-reliant. One of the most frequent pieces of advice I got when I was pregnant with Grace was, “Don’t be afraid to ask for help! Call upon your village.” We are conditioned to think we can and should do it ourselves, even something as demanding as child-rearing. We don’t think to draw on the village until we are in dire straights – and sometimes not even then.

            But in the case of this man in the parable, this, I think, is the sin that greed has driven him to: his greed and his sense of self-sufficiency has caused him to turn so completely into himself, that he doesn’t even see his community, does not see those who are in need, those who could really benefit from his abundance. His greed has caused him to worry only about himself, and to neglect the needs of the world.

Saint Basil of Caesarea, one of the 4^th century church fathers, was very convicting in a sermon he wrote on this text: “It is the hungry one’s bread that you hoard, the naked one’s cloak that you retain, the needy one’s money that you withhold. Wherefore as many as you have wronged, you might have succored.” I imagine most of us don’t typically use the word “succored,” so here is a contemporized version of this that I read, that is even more convicting to our modern ear: “Your second donut this morning belonged to the child who came to school with no breakfast, the new winter coat hanging in your closet next to four other coats (now out of style) belongs to the homeless person you passed on your way downtown last weekend, and the money you saved for retirement is the difference between subsistence and starvation for the sweatshop workers who made your favorite hiking boots (worn only twice). Wherefore as many as you have wronged, you might have aided.” (Glittering Vices, 108) Ouch! But you see, this is what greed can and does do: it focuses our attention on and makes us proud of our self-sufficiency, and our attachment to this leads our attention away from service toward others.

And this leads us to my final observation of the real sin in this text. Jesus concludes the parable by saying, “So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.” It’s a strange turn of phrase, isn’t it? How can you be rich toward someone else? The Greek pronoun used there can be understood a couple other, more helpful ways, for example, “rich in God,” or better yet, “rich in your relationship with God.” So what does that look like? We have a pretty good sense of what wealth looks like, right? It means having the money you need to do the things you need or want to do. It means not having financial constraints on your activities. Of course, by the global definition, it is somewhat different. This coming week in Vacation Bible School, our mission project is to raise money to build a well, to bring water to a community that doesn’t have access to fresh water. Can you imagine not having fresh water – for cooking, for bathing, for toilets, for growing food? Compared to this scenario, which is all too real for millions of people in the world, every last one of us is rich.

But are we rich toward God? Rich in relationship with God? What does it even look like to be rich in your relationship with God? I think it looks like a lot of things. It looks like coming to church, reading your Bible, praying, all those obvious things. It also looks like combatting the isolation of the man in the story. It looks like community, like loving and supporting those around you, like serving those in need (whether you like them or not!), and even asking their help in return. It looks like standing up for what is godly and true, like working to put an end to injustice, lifting up the poor and disenfranchised with words and actions. It looks like responding to hatred not with more hatred, but with love. I was so moved this week when, after Mr. Trump took a jab on Twitter at Senator Cory Booker, Booker’s response was not tofight back, but to go on national television and say, “I love you. I don’t want you to be my president, but I love you, and I pray for you,” in a way that was not at all patronizing, just genuine. I’m not sure that would be my response, at least not my first response! When we are threatened, we want to fight back. But when we are rich toward God, we don’t respond with hatred. We respond with love – not necessarily agreeing with or condoning the words and actions of another, but engaging with them in loving dialogue, with respect, with acknowledgement that this person, too, is a child of God.

And that’s really the crux of it. It goes back to greed, and where we find worth and value – both our own, and that of other people. Our true worth does not come from our things, or our bank accounts, or the size of our house. It comes from the fact that we are, each of us, children of God, who live and breathe the Spirit of God with every breath, who are made in God’s image, whom God called good. It comes from being baptized into Christ’s death and resurrection, claimed as God’s own – regardless of income, gender, skin color, education level, or background. Yes, we are a part of a broken humanity. We fall short. We fall victim to greed. Our sight so often wanders to places other than God. But at the end of the day, God has claimed us and saved us and loves us. Who cares what belongs to us – if we belong to God?

Let us pray… Generous God, you have given us more than we need, yet we still set our sights on our possessions to bring us joy. Help us to be grateful for what we have, even as we look out toward those in need, and give us hearts that are eager to love and serve the world with the many gifts you provide. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.