Sermon: Peace follows conflict (August 18, 2019)

Pentecost 10C (Proper 13)

August 18, 2019

Luke 12:49-56

INTRODUCTION

         Question for you: how many of you find comfort in your faith? … How many of you find comfort in the words of Scripture? …

         Yes, yes, sometimes both of those things are indeed very comfortable, but if that’s the case for you, I’ve got some bad news for you today… today’s texts are not so comfortable. In Jeremiah, God says God’s word – the very word you just said brings you comfort – comes like a fire, and like a hammer breaking a rock in pieces. Not exactly what I’m looking for when I seek comfort!

         But wait, it gets worse. While we get a respite in our wonderful Hebrews text, which goes through a litany of people of faith over the generations who have trusted in God and culminates with this powerful statement: “Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus!” … while that gives us a bit of courage, then we get to Luke, where we’ll hear Jesus say these troubling words: “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”  Now that is definitely not something that brings me comfort!

         Readings like these can rattle us, but also, in naming a difficult reality, they can also help us look more deeply at the struggles we face. So as you listen, lean into these difficult words. Notice what they stir up in you. Notice how and why they feel uncomfortable to you. And we’ll see what I can do in the sermon about finding some good news to bring to that discomfort. Let’s listen.

[READ]

         Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

When I do premarital counseling with couples, we always spend some time on conflict resolution. I ask if they ever fight, and what it looks like for them when they do, and if they ever saw their parents fight, and did they ever see the resolutions of those fights. Whenever a couple answers, “Oh, we never fight, and neither did my parents!” I see it as a big red flag! Though it’s not entirely a surprise for someone to say that. We do spend a lot of energy avoiding conflict, don’t we? There are certain topics that are off-limits in polite company or family gatherings. Fighting happens behind closed doors where the kids can’t hear it. We just do our best to all get along, and not rock any boats. Conflict is best to be avoided.

But then along comes Jesus, who came to bring fire to the earth and wishes it were already kindled, who talks of the divisions he will bring between people who are supposed to love one another! For a society that celebrates those who put out fires, and one that goes to great lengths to keep the peace and be polite, these words from Jesus are pretty jarring! Where is the good news?

When Michael and I were on our honeymoon, we went to Muir Woods, just outside of San Francisco. This is a large, preserved area of California coastal redwoods: these 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 shade-loving and 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. You see, for redwoods, 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 them 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 junk that builds up in our hearts, all that stuff that keeps us from having a close relationship with Christ – the negative self-talk, the distraction, the worry, the focus on things and activities that are not of God. Jesus’ fire clears out the rubbish and helps us focus on God. And, of course, it lets all those little seedlings grow, and brings us new life – newness and transformation of our ways that we may never even have noticed needed to happen, if a fire had not ripped through our hearts.

Now, I think transformation like that is pretty good news, pretty hopeful… but honestly, it doesn’t make the fire that Jesus is trying to kindle any less scary, no less disruptive, no less dangerous. It sometimes leads to difficult self-work, self-discovery, that can be painful for us, as well as for those who have gotten used to us being a certain way, and now we are different. Fire, and the change it causes, is wonderful and important, but also difficult for all involved. In fact, as he says, this fire will cause division. This gets into that 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 hence letting it fester), or by internalizing it and blaming ourselves. 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 kids for not cleaning their room. Oh, we humans are very clever about avoiding conflict, aren’t we?

That must be why Jesus tells us that he has come not to avoid or skirt conflict and division, but to bring it about: he knows that as long as we avoid it, or stuff it deep down in our hearts, we will not find true peace.

When she was serving as the assistant to the bishop, Jessica Crist, now Bishop of 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 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, then 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 when Mary found out she was pregnant with Jesus, she sang a song, in which she talked about how the high would be brought low, the hungry filled and the rich sent away empty. That’s disruptive, table-turning stuff! Then 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.” Well that sounds fine, good, even, 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? Do I want the oppressed to go free if it means I can no longer get a pair of jeans for under $50? The people listening knew how disruptive this was – it wasn’t too long after this sermon that Jesus nearly got himself thrown off a cliff by an angry mob!

Jesus’ mission, you see, brings about change and, yes, 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 daily bullying. But in order for those things to change, people are going to get upset. There will be conflict. There will be division – in our families, in our work places, in our country. There has to be. But after that conflict and division, if we are able to look honestly and humbly at what happened and be open to the transformation it can bring – that is the time when true peace can be realized.

Conflict is necessary to find peace. 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: Transforming God 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: Abram's All-star faith (Aug. 11, 2019)

Pentecost 12C (Proper 14)

Lectionary 19

August 11, 2016

Genesis 15:1-6; Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16; Luke 12

INTRODUCTION

         I intended to preach on Luke today, but am so drawn to our first and second readings, I couldn’t resist! They are very related to each other, but otherwise may seem unconnected to the general arc of the story we’ve been hearing this summer, so let me give you a little context.

         First, the story about Abram. As you may remember from Sunday School, Abram was promised many times by God that he would be the father of a great nation, and yet at 100 years old he and his wife Sarai were still childless. In today’s text, Abram really starts to doubt, and wonders if maybe this heir God has been promising will end up being his servant, Eliezer. But God assures him once more that the promise will be fulfilled, in one of the most mystical expressions of that promise in all of scripture.

         This moment is so important, in fact, that the writer of Hebrews picks it up hundreds of years later. As a whole, the book of Hebrews aims to bring encouragement to discouraged Christians, urging them to persevere in faith. In today’s reading, the author uses the story of Abram and Sarai to show how God has been and will be faithful, even when it seems impossible.

         All of our texts are about what it means to have faith, even in the face of discouragement. As you listen, think about a time in your own life when you have found it difficult to keep the faith, when God’s promises seemed too big, too impossible, and what it was like to try hold onto that faith anyway. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

            “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 song was introduced to me by a friend in seminary, who 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. He 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 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. As much as I want to cling to it, to believe like Abram, even when the promise seems utterly unbelievable… I sometimes feel more like Abram at the beginning of the story, rather than the end. It can be hard to keep being faithful when there is no hope in sight. Take this week, for example – another mass shooting, and another, and all the heartbreak, and big, empty promises, and finger-pointing that inevitably follows. We blame everyone but ourselves and our own convictions, and demonize everyone else – the president, the shooter, the Republicans, the Democrats, faulty parenting, mental illness, video games, the dark corners of the internet. Maybe a bit of each. And it’s not just this tragedy. Every day on the news, we see brokenness, and violence upon violence. Another mass shooting. A crisis on the border. Hate crimes and terrorism. Broken hearts, everywhere you look. Everyone, it seems, has found someone to hate. No one has uplifting things to say, only things that tear down others and divide us from one another, or we just avoid talking about these issues all together, and are complicit in our silence. People are 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? How are we to engage with each other, and 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, 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.” They are 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.

Some years back, during Vacation Bible School, the kids were raising money to help build a well that would 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. 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 did fall 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 fear and worry begin 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 in our hearts, but to get in there and do something about it: to give money to build a well, to call your representative with your ideas for gun safety, to speak words of love into a world of hate, to listen to those in pain without judgment, to support someone who is stuck in that dark place. Sometimes it looks like kindness, sometimes like prayer for both victims and for perpetrators. Sometimes it looks like educating yourself about both sides of an issue and then speaking aloud a difficult truth, and 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.” No, 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 so 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. God will bring the new life for which we yearn.

Let us pray… Faithful God, when life seems dismal, grant us faith: assurance in your promises, hope in the things we cannot see, and conviction 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