Repentance--asking the Gardner to compost the dung in our lives . . .

     Between my two trips this week, I had occasion to work out and get a couple sermon illustrations.  Who says God is not faithful?  Monday, as I was riding with my earphones in, a visitor, probably a bit loud to get my attention a second or third time, remarked I really did go to the Y.  I took our my earbuds and started talking to her.  Unfortunately, I guess the guys to my left thought maybe she was yelling at me as she was initially talking over my music.  Is there a problem?  What’s wrong?  Why are you yelling at him?  The lady explained she was just getting my attention.  She had visited my church a couple times and wanted to say hello.

     Well, that got them going.  You’re a Christian?  You should be going to his church all the time.  He may not look like it right now, but he’s a great teacher.  Now, that caused me to jump in.  “Whoa!  Let’s get off her back.  Y’all should be coming to my church, or any church for that matter.  And what do you mean I may not look like it right now?!”  She laughed nervously and they made their normal excuses.  It’s been an almost three-year running gag between us.

     The leader this evening offered the “but we were mad at you for blowing us off when we need you” excuse to their normal protestations.  I asked how I had blown them off.  Appealing to her as if she was the judge or arbiter, he busted my chops a bit for skipping my workout last Friday.  Naturally, I rose to my own defense and reminded them I had told them I would be gone late last week as I would be working in El Paso.  Oh yeah, the slavery stuff.  They nodded and pointed out among themselves why I did not work out at my normal evening hours.

     I should say at this point that the guys and I have a pretty good relationship.  I know their names aren’t John.  They probably think my only name is Father.  But we do tend to talk about serious things from time to time.  So I asked why they were mad that I had not worked out at my normal time.

     The leader for the evening said “New Zealand.”

     I asked why they were no longer mad at me, and the proceeded to tell me and the visitor that they had had the conversation among themselves last Friday.  They had figured out how I would have answered and were rather content now.

     Of course, I needed to make sure they should be content over my imagined answers regarding a terrorist attack in a mosque in New Zealand, so I asked how they thought I would have answered their questions.  They had been struggling Friday over the question of whether God had judged those in the mosque for rejecting His Son Jesus.

     I asked how they thought I answered that question.

     The leader said, “well, after some serious discussion and worry, we realized you would have pointed us to the Sixth Word of the torah.”  Thankfully, it is Lent and we do the Penitential Order each week, so I realized he meant we shall not commit murder.  He went on to explain to the visitor that I had taught them that God was not a fan of murder.  When God instructed His people to fight, He gave clear instructions.  Conversely, when God told His people not to fight, He also gave clear instructions.  Since the murderer was not claiming to have heard God’s instruction to kill, this was clearly murder and a violation of God’s instructions to us.

     Now, I should point out that the visitor just wanted to say hi.  She was there to do her own workout and just wanted to encourage me in my workout and point out that we shared a common interest.  I am fairly certain, based on her expression, that she did not expect a teaching on the Ten Commandments or the torah during a break in her workout.  But she was polite.  She told them that was cool that they had figured it out for themselves.

     Unfortunately, my friend was not done, and told her so.  Now she was stuck in a conversation because she had just told them their reasoning was intelligent and sound.  He took it as in for a penny and in for a pound and excitedly told her that he was not done.  Now, when they think of the Ten Words or the torah, they try to figure out how things relate to Jesus.  She, I assume having no other inspiration on how to remove herself from the conversation at this point just asked how they tied that massacre to Jesus.

     My friend told her that was even easier than tying the tragedy to the Ten Words.  Jesus’ second great commandment was to love our neighbor as ourselves.  One cannot love someone and murder them.  You just can’t.  That is hate, the very opposite of love.  So, the massacre would be condemned by Jesus and by God.

     To his credit, he seemed to realize he was making a judgment about God.  So he asked if they had worked through it the way I would have walked them through their discussion.  I told him I would like to think I would have.  I did not share with him that I had my doubts I would have been as eloquent as he was.  But they certainly had captured God’s heart in that matter.

     He, of course, was pleased to be validated.  They were proud of their success, at least they had the tone of those who are proud.  I’m not fluent in their language, so I cannot say for certain.  Her face, though, was a bit more challenging to read.  I asked if she was ok, and she said “man, when you say you have weird conversations at the Y, you have weird conversations with surprising people.”  We chatted a couple more minutes about their reference to the word and not the commandment and her shock that they were likely Christians who did not attended the denomination of their background.  After a bit, she begged off claiming she needed to finish her workout, but she promised I would see her in church again.

     Human beings have a need to connect events with meaning.  It is a statement that a famous bishop in our Communion made to me over beers in Chicago when he learned I was a Classics major, and it was a statement I shared with the students and parents of those students who study the Classics in the commonwealth of Virginia.  Classicists study the attempt by earlier men and women to give meaning to the events that were happening in the world around them a long time ago.  In the Church, we call that theologizing.  Why does this happen?  Why did that happen?  As you can all see from our Gospel lesson from Luke today, it was happening when people encountered Jesus.

     Before I really begin, understand we have no extant proof that the slaughter described by those engaging Jesus occurred.  For some who study Ancient History, that’s a deal breaker.  For those who study Pilate, or other governors in the Roman Empire, though, such an account is nowhere near unbelievable.  Just because records do not survive does not mean they did not occur—it’s kind of like all those receipts you lose that are the very key to your taxes being a return rather than a payment.  That same Pilate will condemn Jesus to death even though he understands the Jewish leadership has plotted against a wrongfully accused man.  Pilate was concerned with staying in power and staying alive.  He wanted the taxes paid to Rome, for there to be no civil unrest, and for Caesar to keep him in power.

     Those around Jesus ask if those Galileans who were killed and had their blood mingled with the blood of sacrifices were killed in that way because they were being punished by God.  It’s not that unusual a question in any time, but especially the 1^st Century Mediterranean cultures.  Gods were strongest in their temples.  Part of the sacking of any temple was a claim that your god was greater than their god.  All temples would have seen the mingling of worshippers’ blood as blasphemous.  Gods would have to act to preserve their power and glory.  Since God did not act to save the Galileans, the people wondered if this was His judgement on them.

     Think back nearly a year ago to the discussions about the shooting at the church in Antioch.  How surprised were we that someone would shoot up a congregation during worship?  How many people wondered allowed to me about why God allowed that to unfold the way it did?  How many Adventers wondered aloud or silently that the actions were God’s judgment on that church?  How many people thought that’s what happens when you build in Antioch rather than Brentwood?  Unfair?  Really, people said that to me during the aftermath as they struggled with the meaning of the tragedy.  And the idea of God protecting His flock in church was strong at the Y when it happened.

     Bad things happen in the world around us.  Bad things happen all the time.  Bad things are so common that I spend more time trying to figure out why “this bad thing” garnered so much more press or attention or empathy than “that bad thing” than I do looking for theological meaning behind each one.  For those outside the faith, those who want God to be a god who eliminates evil, such stories simply confirm their unbelief.  It is, from my perspective, unfortunate.  They really do not want God destroying all evil.  What they really mean is “I want God to destroy the evil of which I disapprove.”  It’s a big difference.  If God was really in the business of rooting out evil rather than wooing the evildoer’s, none of us would exist.  None of us would have the opportunity, while we were yet His enemies, to repent and turn back to Him.  That, of course, is a bunch of different conversations.

     Today, we are looking more intently at this idea of events happening in the world and whether they carry theological implications.  Our concerns, as it turns out, are not new.  Were their sins worse than others?  Jesus responds emphatically that their sins were not.  He is so emphatic that He points out an additional tragedy that seems familiar to the crowd around Him.  Even the eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them were not worse sinners than those around Him!

     Siloam, of course, had an interesting role in the fabric of Ancient Israel’s society.  It was from the pool of Siloam that the Levite was sent with the golden pitcher to draw water to pour over the sacrifice on the feast of Tabernacles.  This was done in memory of the water that gushed from the rock at Rephidim and likely in homage to Isaiah 12’s claim that “you will draw water from the wells of salvation.”  These connections to Moses’ actions and Isaiah’s prophesy caused some rabbinic scholars to teach that the pool of Siloam was the Messiah’s pool.  Now you know why some experts argue that it was the pool of Siloam to which Jesus pointed when He stood in the Temple and told the crowds “let those who thirst come to Me and drink,” a statement which would have confused most of the masses but enraged the leadership.  The pool was the spot where the man was sent to wash the mud off his eyes in order that his sight might be fully restored.  You get the gist.  Siloam had a long important history in Israel, and a tower named for it or around it, fell and crushed eighteen poor folks!

     Jesus is absolutely emphatic that these deaths are no worse than the deaths of anyone else.  In fact, Jesus instructs the crowd and us that unless we repent, they and we will all perish as did those folks.

     We are in a season we call Lent, where our focus is supposed to be on our sins, our walking apart from God.  How many of us truly understand Jesus’ teachings here?  How many of us truly understand that our sins led ultimately to our death?  Often, as Lent makes its way to us each year, people who are struggling with the notion and consequences of sin, will argue with God.  I’m a pretty good guy/gal; it’s not like I killed anyone.  I mean, have you ever read all those things that God counts as sin?  Who could keep them?  As the wrestling continues, and the Holy Spirit has a pretty good half nelson on them, they begin to notice Jesus’ teaching.  What do you mean calling someone a fool is just like killing them?  Jesus clearly never drove in Nashville traffic . . . in the rain!  What do you mean lusting after a hot young man or hot young woman is a sin?  It’s not like I can control what I think when I see something.  Plus, did you see how he or she dressed?  Put differently, we seem to be really good at excusing our sins and pointing out the sins of others.  Put in Jesus’ words, we are great at detecting the mote in the eyes of others even though we have logs in our own eyes.

     The outcome, though, for everyone is the same.  Unless we repent, we all perish.  And perishing is the real tragedy.  God is willing to forgive and redeem and resurrect, and so many of us would rather be confirmed in our guilt.  We would rather go about our daily lives, blissfully convinced of our own worthiness, our own innate value, than to confront the ugly truth beneath the façade.  Lent, my brothers and sisters, is all about digging under the façade and exposing those ugly truths to ourselves.  Put in simpler language, Lent is the season where we intentionally remind ourselves of a need for a Savior!

     I suppose, part of the reason I was drawn to the Gospel this week was a challenge.  One of my colleagues posted a sermon by Gregory the Great on this very passage and double dog dared us to preach like Gregory.  Gregory, as it turned out, preached more on the parable that followed the questions of the crowd, the parable that is meant to warn and challenge and comfort us as we continue this walk through Lent and life.

     Most of my colleagues and I were taken with Gregory’s use of the image of dung.  Our translators use manure, but dung does a better job of conveying Jesus’ teaching here.  Just to refresh your memory, a man has a garden with a fig tree that bears no fruit.  He wants to cut down the fruitless tree and plant a new one in its place.  The gardener asks for one more year.  He will tend it.  If it produces next year, well and good.  If not, the tree can be cut down.

     In the parable, human beings are the trees.  God is the owner of the vineyard;   Jesus is the Gardner.  Just as the Owner of the vineyard is angry that the tree is wasting space and soil, so, too, is God angry that we are not using our gifts to bear glory to Him.  I see some taken aback expressions.  Forget the scandal of the word choice for just a second, and read the parable.  The owner has planted a tree in a vineyard and it does not produce fruit.  Why should he let it continue to live?  Think to our liturgy of penitence a few minutes ago.  We prayed that God would forgive us our sins, known and unknown, things done and . . . left undone.  Why do we rightly pray that?  Because we recognize, each one of us present, that we have not done things which God has commanded, instructed, or called us to do.  We have been lazy or fearful or whatever, and so we have not born fruit for the glory of God in our lives.  We have been bad stewards of the gifts and talents with which He has blessed us.  We are sinners.

     Just as we are about to give up all hope, though, the gardener steps in on behalf of the tree.  Let me tend it.  Give it more time.  Notice a couple important Lenten lessons in this image.  First, as Gregory rightly points out, how will the gardener tend the tree?  He will work the dung into the soil.  To use more modern language, he will compost the dung and turn it into great life-giving soil.  Fast forward to us: what is the dung in our life?  Our sins!  How does the Gardener, Jesus, compost the dung we produce?  That’s right, through forgiveness.

     One of the most powerful tools we have been given, brothers and sisters, is the power to repent and to forgive.  The world teaches us to hold grudges, to never forget, to stick it to our enemies.  God has another way, a deeper way.  We begin by repenting to God of the sins we have committed.  We pray for the grace that the consequences of our sins will be redeemed.  Would that our sins could be measured by cost or fixable effect, but we understand that our sins have ripples that extend and extend and extend.  How do we stop that expanding set of ripples properly?  I see some confused faces.  Let’s try this another more concrete way.

     To use the example of the butterfly effect with sin, what happens when you give another driver the universal sign of respect when he or she thinks they are the most important driver or the only driver on the roads around Nashville?  Quit laughing for a second and seriously think about this.  Do we really know all their responses to our middle finger?  Did their anger or frustrations or myopic sense of self-importance end with their response to us?  Probably, they were not driven to road rage killings, or we would have heard of it in the press.  But how were their inter-personal dealings for the rest of the day?  Did they yell at or fire an employee unjustly?  Did they mistreat a child or spouse?  Did they fuss at a service worker to convince themselves they were worthy of the respect we denied them?  No doubt sitting there, you can think of other ripples.  Now, how do we fix the effects of the ripples?  In truth, we cannot.  Only Jesus, only the Gardener can!

     The uncomfortable truth of which we remind ourselves in Lent is that we cannot.  We cannot fix the ripples of our actions or inactions, our words or our silence.  Only God can redeem all our sins and all their consequences.  Period.

     A curious thing starts to happen, though, when we begin to repent and forgive others who repent.  The world begins to note we are a little off, a little different.  Oh, to be sure, some folks plot to take advantage of what they perceive as our newfound naiveite, but way more folks are drawn to it.  Why are you not more bitter about this wrong?  How were you able to move past that wrong?  How can you speak pleasantly to that jerk?  Maybe the southern version of all this is why don’t you use “bless his/her heart more” when you speak of that person?  What, you think I don’t know all that underlies that phrase?

     To use the same image as our parable today, the Gardener takes our repentance and begins to work it into the dung or muck of our lives; He takes our repentance and works it in with the sin.  Over time, if we are truly trying to follow Him, others begin to notice.  Maybe we are slower to give middle fingers in traffic?  Maybe we are less likely to steal from our companies?  Maybe we treat service folks like we expect to be treated by others.  Put in theological words blended with the image of our parable, we begin to be transformed.  People begin to notice changes in us.  At first, those changes may be subtle; heck, they may not believe we are at all different.  But over time, we prove the grace of our Lord Christ true and begin to reflect His character, His instruction of us, better.  We become the meek.  We become the peacemakers.  We become the sons and daughters that He calls us to be!

     But that composting begins with repentance.  We have to understand that we are not pointed to God.  We have to understand that we have pointed ourselves in a direction that leads away from His saving grace.  We have to choose to want to follow Him.  We have to confess our faults and sins and acknowledge our need of Him to atone for the wrongs we have done.  And we have t ask God for the grace to follow Him better, to point ourselves at Him and the things He loves!  It sounds ridiculously counter-cultural because it is.  At a fundamental level we must recognize that we are not captains of our own ships or masters of our own domains.  There is only one Lord, one God, one Gardener with the power to overcome and to redeem all our sins, and He is not us!

     Both the questions about untimely deaths and the parable share an important teaching to which you and I need to pay attention during this season of self-examination where we consider our sins and their effects on others.  Death.  In the crowd’s questions, Jesus is more concerned about their untimeliness of their deaths?  Unless y’all repent, all ya’ll will perish just as they did.  Yes, I retranslated that into Southern to remind you that Jesus was speaking to everyone.  Unless we repent, we all die!  That is the real tragedy in Jesus’ eyes.  None of us has to die.  God woos us, asks us to turn back to Him, to follow Him, but we so often reject Him, choosing death over life eternal.  We ignore the fact that the path to salvation begins with repentance and ends with acceptance of Him as the Christ.

     The parable He chooses to illustrate His point shares the same message.  The Gardener asks the Owner for one more season, but what’s the acknowledgement regarding the produce of the fig tree in question?  That’s right.  If it bears fruit, well and good.  If it does not, He can cut it down.

     Brothers and sisters, we take it axiomatic that we have all the time in the world to decide to repent and follow God.  Part of that is the patient nature He reveals in Scripture, part of that is the fact that we are going on almost 2000 years since His Ascension and promise to return.  But God’s patience is not endless.  Eventually, we will face an accounting for our sins before His throne.  Either we will have accepted His Son as our Lord and be given entrance into the land of saints, or we insist that we can do things our way, and find ourselves needlessly headed toward the death that so frustrates Jesus.  What choice have you made?  Do you follow Him?  Or would you rather do everything your way?  And make no mistake, thinking about it or putting it off until later is already making a choice, a tragic choice.  Because if we have not accepted Him, our fate is intertwined with those upon whom the tower collapsed or those whose blood was mingled with sacrifices.

     I get it.  I have seen the squirming this morning.  We no more want to talk about sin and judgment and death today than did folks in the time that Jesus walked the earth.  Yet it is precisely to that deeper consideration where Jesus takes us twice, but in the discussion of events current to His Incarnation and in the instructive parable that He shares with the crowd.  It is that conversation that He has with the crowds and with us gathered here in Nashville this third weekend of Lent.  How do we choose?  Do we trust God and His Son our Lord, the Owner and Gardener of the vineyard?  Do we believe His offer and accept His call on our life?  In this season of self-examination, that may be the most important question we prayerfully answer!

In Christ’s Peace,

Brian†

On covenants and freedom in Launion . . .

     So, in the course of our work in Rome, the Consultation watched a video that was taken of a “Blue water” vessel before it made port.  To date, it remains the single worst horror flick I have ever watched, and it is the sound that makes the disgusting far more horrifying whenever I think on it.  On this ship in question, some slaves had been purchased to do the work of getting the ship from port to port.  It was a lure of false job or pay that got the men to volunteer to begin with.  Before reaching port, the “paid members of the crew” began throwing the slaves overboard.  Then came the disturbing part: bets were placed on whether they could shoot the bobbing and swimming slaves (those that could swim) before the sharks got the slaves.  What made the sound more horrific than the video was the gleeful laughing at successful bets and curses at losses.  All those laughs and curses and, let’s call it locker room humor at sea, were caused by the fear and dying of other human beings, who were being valued only for the entertainment value their deaths caused or the proof of a marksman’s skill with a weapon.

     Looking at your faces, I can see some horror.  Before our gathering this weekend human trafficking or slavery was likely something that happened elsewhere, if it happens at all, or, as we are gathered some six miles from our border with Mexico today, more akin to human smuggling.  As shocked as you are to have that scene described in general form in a sermon in church, imagine how we members of the Consultation responded at the video and sound before us.  Keep in mind, nearly everyone gathered there thought we had seen or heard it all.  I am a priest.  I am most needed or requested when death is present.  I have no reason to cringe from death.  It is, to use other language, a constant companion.  I’m also engaged in what Paul calls that spiritual battle of good versus evil, right?  Part of my visit with y’all this weekend was to teach you, along with the other presenters, how modern slavery works and, more importantly I think to God, to ask you how God is asking you to help in this fight.  Even more still, I live in failure in human trafficking.  One of the ladies thought I had rescued hundreds of slaves yesterday.  I had to explicitly make clear to her that I had directly rescued one slave.  Count them: one!  Each of those gathered with me was likewise hardened in this fight.  None of us were newbies.  And the oppression for us was palpable.

     People often ask me what I think of Francis and Justin, as if I am in a position to judge their worth.  I suppose I should be flattered that people care about my opinion, but I suppose I am a bit too cynical in my old age.  It’s ok, you don’t have to choke down the guffaws.  But this is one of those pastoral responses that does cause me to give thanks that God has called them at this time to those important roles.  That evening, we were supposed to get a private tour of the Sistine Chapel and the Catacombs where Saints Peter and Paul are buried.  Being a Classics major and a student who had finished coursework for a PhD in Classical Philosophy, but also a young man who had been forced by a discernment committee to recognize God’s call on my life, I have a tremendous love of ancient things AND no expectation of being able to see them myself.  And here I was in Rome.  I was seeing sides of Rome that only a LOT of money would have made possible.  A private tour of the Chapel and the Catacombs!:  Can you imagine my excitement?

     Imagine my shock and disappointment when Archbishop David announced there had been a change.  Instead of going to the Chapel and the Catacombs, we were going to get to go to Paul’s Prison instead.  All of us had that look of “what is going on?” that many of you have right now.

     You may or may not know, but we are certain we have discovered the house where Paul was imprisoned when he finally reached Rome.  It was found under something like 12 feet of silt and a much newer castle.  If you go to Rome now, it’s easy walking distance from the Pantheon toward the river, underneath a castle/museum.  By the standards of antiquity, this was a nice prison.  It had its own well and plenty of natural lighting from windows.  It had a couple levels to provide those living there an opportunity to escape each other.  What stood out to me, though, as we looked at this rather small house was not the handwritten notes on the wall, that seem to be identical to verses we read in Paul’s Epistle’s and may well be in his own handwriting, but the fresco. 

     Against a wall about the size of the space above your altar was a painting.  Now, by way of tradition, I should first tell you that our Greek Orthodox brothers and sisters have an icon of Jesus that they claim is the closest we have to a photograph of Jesus.  Protestants, naturally, dismiss the claim.  And, until a few short years ago, so did the Vatican.  As you all who attend a church named for that saint are no doubt aware, Luke was a physician.  Among his talents for healing were his talents for drawing.  Physicians often would draw what they saw in their diaries or patient books.  The Church believes that Luke spent years interviewing Mary the mother of Jesus to get the information he shares in the Gospel that bears his name.  The Greek Orthodox argued that, during those years of interviewing, Luke drew the picture of Jesus and asked Mary His mother to help correct his errors.  When Luke finished the sketch that served as the basis for this icon, Mary had, in effect, said that the picture looked like her Son.  Why do I share that story and what does it have to do with any of our lessons?

     On that fresco were a number of . . . vignettes.  Drawn kind of like a window were several scenes.  There was a scene possible of Athens.  There was a scene of Stephen’s martyrdom.  There were scenes of women meeting with a man in a wooded area.  AND, there was a vignette that was clearly related to the icon I just mentioned.  In fact, they were identical copies.  Did the sketch that became the icon serve as the basis for the artwork?  Did the artwork serve as the basis for the icon?  We do not know.  But they were clearly to my untrained inartistic eye related.

     After some research, experts have concluded that the paintings were likely drawn by Luke or a close associate.  The details on a couple of the paintings give them reason not to doubt.  Our best guess now is that Luke painstakingly painted that portion of the wall for his beloved mentor, Paul.  Each of the scenes seems to recount stories you and I read in the book of Acts.  Why?  Paul, remember, was imprisoned there.  He was under house arrest.  His view did not change day after day, week after week, month after month.  Can you imagine the monotony?  Plus, as Paul neared the end of his life, we know his sight was not what it was in his younger days.  Writing was hard enough – Luke wrote some of the letters he dictated.  Reading?  It would have been just as hard.  Ah, but the pictures!  They were bigger and more colorful than any writing on papyrus.  Paul could have gone as up close as he needed in order to see the scene depicted and, likely far more important, returned to that scene in his mind’s eye.  I see the nods.  Yes.  We think Luke drew the pictures on the wall to help remind Paul that God was faithful, that God would keep all His promises.  Paul had so many experiences in his life with God, one might think it would be crazy to think that he might have second thoughts.  But picture yourself passionate for the Gospel, confined in prison.  Picture yourself a slave to Christ Jesus, yet under the thumb of the emperor.  Emotionally and psychologically, what would that do to you over weeks?  Over months?  Over a couple years?

     Why do I share that story?  In truth, I am convinced today it is a story about faith about which each of us needs to be reminded.  I had only a couple minutes in Daniel’s office to prepare this sermon.  You can ask him.  My real struggle when visiting congregations are the illustrations.  I do not know you like Daniel does.  I have not walked with you through the shadowy valleys and celebratory mountaintops of your collective and individual lives.  For me, that makes preaching really challenging.  How can I pass along the certainty and excitement that His life-giving word stirs in me, if we have no relationship?  Yet, I was reminded yet again of God’s faithfulness.  I settled on Genesis rather quickly yesterday afternoon following the human trafficking stuff.  But what would be that image that would remind each of you gathered of why you are here?  Of why God is deserving of your faith and your trust as you go through your life?  It took one of your Saturday evening saints to point out to me that it was a really nice thing I had done to incorporate your patron saint into my sermon.  She knew the stories of Luke travelling with Paul and felt quite certain that if Paul ever had those dark moments, Luke, the healer, would have been there for him to remind Paul, to encourage Paul, and she hoped to exhort Paul.  When I told her I did not realize this was St. Luke’s and that the illustration had popped in my head after a couple minutes, she pshawed me.  “Father, that was too good a sermon to be unprepared.”  I told her if it was really that good, then the Holy Spirit had, indeed, showed up in power to remind each of us why we trust, why we have faith in God.

     If you think about it, our liturgy is designed continually to encourage us in our faith.  The first half of our service is called what?  Yes.  I ask questions and expect answers.  What is it called?  That’s right.  The Liturgy of the Word.  What do we do during that part of the service?  That’s right.  We read the assigned lessons and listen to a preacher teach on those lessons.  What else is in that part of the liturgy?  I never said this had to be closed book, but I thought y’all went through Confirmation class.  That’s right.  Prayers!  We commend to God our prayers of intercession and thanksgiving.  What else?  That’s right!  We begin preparation for the liturgy of the Sacrament by repenting of our sins and by sharing the peace with those who will go to that altar rail with us.  In effect, we remind ourselves that we are sinners in need of God’s grace.  Then comes the liturgy of the Sacrament, where we remind ourselves that Jesus died for us, that He was raised on the third day, and that He will one glorious day come again.  We proclaim that holy mystery each and every time we gather.  Liturgically, each and every time we gather, we remind ourselves that God alone is deserving of our faith, that God alone can bring His promises to fulfillment, that nothing can separate us from God’s promises except our faith, or rather our rejection of God.

     Look at your reading from the Old Testament today.  What is going on?  We are a little more than three chapters into the relationship that God has begun to forge with Abraham and Sarah.  As God reminds Abraham in today’ reading, God has called them from the land of Ur of the Chaldeans.  God has promised them an heir.  God has promised them ownership of the Land before them.  Just to remind you, Abraham and Sarah are pretty old at this point.  They are closer to 100 than 70.  If God came to those of us in our 60’s or 50’s and said He was going to give us an heir and ownership of Land which was owned by however many tribes of “ites,” how many of us would be excited?

     Ladies, let’s put it like this, how many of you would relish going through the bodily changes and hormonal changes of pregnancy, the pain of labor, the sleep depraved state you get for caring for a newborn, the stubbornness of toddlers, and the insolence of teenagers at your current age again?  What?  No volunteers?  It’s ok ladies, I have seven.  I love them dearly, but I have no desire to do it again in my fifties let alone my nineties.  And I, like Daniel, am a professional Christian.

     Gentlemen, I know you were all far better husbands than I was when my wife was going through those bodily changes with our first six.  You probably got up in the middle of the night to bring the babies to her for their nightly feedings and made sure you changed all the diapers.  No doubt you did all the cooking and the cleaning to make mothering easy for your wife.  Whoa!  Hold on!  There are some sharp elbows being thrown into the ribs of these considerate men.  Let’s dial that down a bit.  Though, I confess, gentlemen, I am glad I am not the only one who got those all wrong.

     Let’s pretend you did the husband stuff well, but now you get to wrest control of the Land from all those tribes.  Will God make you work to get the money to purchase the Land?  That’s a lot of work for men near retirement age.  Will he make you fight?  Anybody still try and exercise at your current age?  For those of you who served in the military, how many of you would relish going through boot camp in your nineties?  Are y’all sitting on your hands?

     I’m glad everyone is laughing, but I hope you see the point.  Abraham and Sarah were man and woman like you and me.  If God made that promise to us, we would throw out all kinds of objections.  Sarah and Abraham do the same thing.  We are too old to have a child, so we’ll adopt.  God says we cannot adopt, so I’ll give a slave girl to Abraham.  He’ll “do his duty” and I’ll resent her fertility and her offspring.  Oh, and let’s not forget God must be crazy.  There is no way we are going to be able to defeat all those “ites.”  It’s those thoughts that serve as the basis for Abraham’s questions.  How can this be, God.  We are old.  Sarah is no longer menstruating.  We have too few to fight.

     God answers Abraham’s questions with two visions.  We might think God is disappointed in us when we question Him.  He seems not to mind questioning Him too much.  Most of the folks about whom we read in the Scriptures had questions, just like you and me.  Heck, one of their grandsons will wrestle with God until He pops his hip out of socket.

     And like you and me, I hope, ultimately they also had faith.  Though reason and the world would tell them that such a promise could not possibly come true, Abraham and Sarah ultimately believed God, and He credited their faith as righteousness.  And, in the end, that’s all He asks of us.  In some ways, I am often amazed at Abraham and Sarah’s faith.  How hard must it have been for them to believe compared to Paul or us?  Paul had the mystical encounter with the Risen Jesus on the Road to Damascus.  You and I, like Paul, live on this side of the Empty Tomb and Ascension.  Plus, we have however many thousands of years of examples of God’s faithfulness.  We can look to Noah or to Moses or to the Exile or to the Apostles or to those who introduced us to God.  The Bible is full of those stories.  Abraham and Sarah lacked those stories.  Yet, embedded in this story is that shadowy reminder of what is to come.

     The first vision is easy.  God promises Abraham that his descendants will be impossible to count.  That you and I are part of that family is further proof of God fulfilling that promise.  The other requires a bit more teaching.  In the Ancient Near East, there were treaties known as Suzerain covenants.  In English, these treaties were usually signed by kings at war with one another.  At some point in the hostilities, a king would likely realize his armies were losing and sue for peace.  The stronger king might offer a suzerain treaty or might go ahead and eliminate the opposition.

     What we see in Abraham’s vision is what we Episcopalians might call a suzerain liturgy.  Terms would be drawn up by the two kings.  The vassal or conquered king would agree to provide however much gold or silver or wood or whatever his land was producing, maybe young males for military service, maybe young females for concubines.  The terms were really set by the stronger king because, well, he was winning.  Then, once the terms were agreed upon, the vassal king would pass between the halves of slaughtered animals declaring to those witnessing the event that, should he fail to keep the jot and tittle of the covenant, that such should be done to him and his family.  Put in the language of modern just war, if the vassal king failed in any of the obligations to which he had assented, the stronger king had the right to slaughter him and his family.

     In our story today, who is the stronger king and who is the vassal?  That’s right, God is far and away the stronger.  Who should pass through the slaughtered halves declaring the stronger king has the right to slaughter him and his family if they do not abide the terms?  That’s right!  Abraham.  Who actually passes through?  You can say it louder.  That’s right, God.

     All the way back in Genesis 15 God promises that He will deliver and propagate and redeem Abraham and Abraham’s family.  And the oath that God swears to Abraham is understood by Abraham to mean “If your descendants do not number like the stars and do not receive the land I have promised, then you (they) can slaughter Me.”

     I see some of you already see it.  What is God’s promise to us?  That He will redeem us, that He will vindicate us, that He will rescue us from all that oppresses us, right?  By what are we truly oppressed?  Sin and its consequences, right?  Each of us gathered here today understands at varying levels that we are each oppressed by sin.  It may not be a conscious thought outside the season of Lent and Daniel’s call that you each enter into a Holy Lent, but it is always there.  Do not raise your hands, but how many of you are oppressed by issues of provision?  How many of you are oppressed by issues of disease?  How many of us, unless Christ’s comes before we get there, are oppressed, like Paul, by the threat of death? How many of us are oppressed by the consequences of failed relationships?  Of bad parenting?  Of being bad children?  How many of you are oppressed by addictions?  Chances are, I have hit one or more for each of us in that short list, but I or Daniel or you could go on and on.  What was God’s promise again?  That He would redeem all that?  Who promised to die if we could not do as He instructed?  God.  Who died to redeem us from sin and death?  Jesus!  Or God, if you prefer.  When we could not keep the covenant He made with us, He died for us, to bridge that chasm we created.  It truly is good news.

     In fact, it is better than good news.  Ultimately, of course, the consequences of our sins lead to death.  Death is that one oppression that you and I are reminded we cannot overcome.  In truth, there are many others, but death really stands out.  To the world it seems the finality of things.  We avoid talking about it; we avoid planning for it; we avoid naming it for fear we may hasten its approach.  Yet the Resurrection reminds us Christians, us sons and daughters of Abraham and Sarah to use the words from the conference yesterday, that God can redeem even death.  And if He has power to redeem our deaths, He has power to redeem those oppressions in our lives which seem less onerous, less dark than death!  And to receive that promise, to become the beneficiary of that power, all He asks us to do is believe in Lord Christ.  Believe that He became Incarnate, believe that He died, believe that He rose again, and believe that He will one day come again.  It is so simple a request; yet so many in the world reject it.

     Brothers and sisters of St. Luke’s Launion, you have had quite the weekend.  A number of you were involved in the planning and execution of this gathering.  You hosted folks from around the diocese and, in fact, from around the country and the world, well, Arizona and Tennessee and Mexico, at least.  A few of you have expressed pleasant surprise at how well it was received.  You who sit close to a fence that is a symbol of division in this country and in the world, have given a particular focus, a particular voice, to those who are oppressed by some of the evil in the world.  More significantly, you have reminded the world that we do this because the oppressed, the enslaved in the world, bear the same image of our Lord God that we each bear.  You have hosted business leaders and academics not members of your congregation.  You have hosted members of other denominations, Roman and Baptists at least, demonstrating the unity to which our Lord Christ calls us.  You have hosted a few people who were open that they do not accept the promises of God as revealed in Christ.  The press has even taken notice and shared with the world the work you did this weekend.  You have picked up the mantle obefitting a son or daughter of Abraham and worn it well this weekend, serving as a small kingdom of priests, a flicker of light unto the wider world.  Well done! 

     Talking to a few of you on the side this weekend, I get the sense that there are a lot of emotions out there right now.  I trust much is caused by the exhaustion of planning and executing such events.  Some are disappointed the conference was not bigger.  Some are worried that Daniel is encouraging the parish to pray and discern its role in the fight, if any, when you want to get right to work.  Some of you are worried that you lack a skill to engage in this fight.  On more than one occasion I remarked how some expressed, either obliquely or bluntly, that nothing exciting ever happens here, that nothing ever goes on here in Launion.  My brothers and sisters, the same thing used to be said of Nazareth.  A desolate region of the armpit of the Roman world.  Nobody, but nobody wanted to serve the empire in Judea.  And the folks in Judea made fun of Nazareth like we do of hillbillies back east.  Yet salvation came out of Nazareth to the ends of the world.  And God calls each of you, each of us, to live as if we believe, trusting that He will use us for His redemptive purposes wherever He plants us.  God is at work in Launion today every bit as much as He was in Nazareth 2000 years ago!

     My brothers and sisters, you have seen His promises fulfilled in your lives.  You have seen His purposes fulfilled even in Launion.  Now it is your unique and God given responsibility to, as your patron saint once wrote, to go into the world to proclaim and demonstrate good news to the poor, to proclaim and demonstrate freedom to prisoners, to proclaim and demonstrate restoration of sight for the blind, and to proclaim and demonstrate by word and deed that the oppressed, you and me and all them in the world around us, can be truly free in Christ!

In Christ’s Peace and Power,

Brian†

On trust, temptations, liturgies, and the Gospel!

     I am mindful that this is both the First Sunday Lent and Outreach Sunday, and so I will be more Homily than sermon focused.  That is not to say that the written sermon, when finally published, may not be normal length after feedback from those of us gathered here today.  Speaking of which, I am doubly glad to see y’all here.  First, I am glad your boats all worked after a season of idleness.  We laugh a bit, but many of you know the water is ridiculously high around here after all that rain the last couple days.  Keep the folks dealing with flooding in your prayers.  The other reason, of course, is the start of daylight savings.  I know how hard it is to get up today and make it to church on time.  So, thank you for taking your bounden duty and service seriously!

     If I was a homily namer and marketer, I’d probably call today typological and trusting.  The t-words keep it alliterative and point us to the theme behind our readings.  But the types and shadows serve another purpose.  They point us to the reasons of why we should be in the business of trusting God, even when the world around us seems to be falling apart or going to hell in a handbasket or whatever over metaphorical phrase we like to use.

     Our OT reading today takes place during Moses’ last day with the people of Israel.  Some will say it was his last day on earth, but that is just guessing.  Moses is forbidden by God from leading Israel into the Promised Land because of his sin, his failure to trust God.  Before he exits the stage we call life, though, Moses gives a number of instructive and exhortative speeches.  This one is about feast of the First Fruits.  Y’all can read it well enough, but it was a significant event in the life of Israel.  Before the battles that will be fought and the division of the Land, Israel is being instructed by their leader of their need to remember that it is God who has done all this for them.  In fact, God’s grace is so prevalent that they are the inheritors of promises not made to them, but rather their spiritual ancestors, by the Lord.

     At the first harvest, faithful Hebrews were required to bring a tenth of their offering to the priests in the camp, and later to the Temple.  There, the ritual described here was to take place.  The one offering the tithe to God  declared publicly their relationship to Abraham and Jacob, their cultural identity with being on the margins and later enslaved, their growth and oppression, their cry to the Lord, His faithfulness, and His deliverance.  Every time one of the people brought their feast of first fruits to the priests, this liturgy was to be enacted.  Every Hebrew, or later so-called God-fearers, was called by God to remind themselves that this harvest, this bounty, was made possible only through the saving grace of God.  Nothing the individual member of Israel did had caused this abundance to occur.

     Then, of course, the first fruit tithe was to be shared with the Levites, who had no inheritance apart from what their brothers and sisters, cousins in reality, shared with them, and with the resident aliens, those who lived among them but had no inheritance.  Can you imagine the display?  It would make our Thanksgiving celebrations look pitiful by comparison as tithe after tithe was presented.  Spiritually, the lessons would be a reminder of the need to trust God and of the abundant blessings which He bestows upon those who do, in fact, trust Him.  Plus, there would be a forced identification with those on the margins in their own society.  Given the responses by Netenyahu the last couple days, one wonders if he skips this part of the torah in his studies.

     All of that liturgy was to be done to remind people that Yahweh was trustworthy.  When old man Abraham had a choice, trusting God to give him and Sarah an heir, Abraham eventually trusted.  When Abraham was called by God to sacrifice the literal offspring of that promise, Abraham was willing to trust God.  Similarly, though things seemed their bleakest when the people of Israel were enslaved, God was faithful.  Israel did not fight their way out.  God fought their way out.  Better still, as inheritors of the liturgy described by Moses, the people would live on the side of possession of the Land.  For them to make their offerings of fruit they did not sow and plantings they did not plant, their ancestors had to defeat all the “ites” who possessed their inheritance.

     We are Episcopalians; we are liturgical.  We, of all modern Christians, should understand what’s happening in these passages.  Our work, our liturgy, is identical to that of what Moses describes in the book of Deuteronomy.  It is, to use my fancy t-word from the pretend title, typological of what we do when we gather in worship, which itself is typological of what is occurring the eternal presence of our spiritual ancestors with God!  We remind ourselves that God bound Himself to Abraham because of Abraham’s faith.  We remind ourselves that God’s fulfillment, ultimate fulfilment of His oath to Abraham, is the coming and work of Jesus of Nazareth.  We remind ourselves that we are oppressed.  Oh, I know that seems a weird thing to say in the blessed land of Brentwood in the blessed land of the United States.  Most in the world would love our oppression, but we know we are oppressed by the consequences of our sins.  It may not be slavery like Israel experienced under Egypt, but it is just as oppressive.  Some of us suffer from disease.  Some of us here may suffer from material privation, which seems even more burdensome when we remind ourselves that most of us are well blessed materially.  Some of us are oppressed because of failed or broken relationships.  We are oppressed, in short, by sin.

     Oh, I understand it is not a way that we think outside of Lent.  When I talk enslavement, some of you question whether people really are enslaved.  I mean, there are no chains, no collars, no real bindings.  But the threat of death is all too real.  Similarly, what does it mean to be oppressed by sin.  The short answer, of course, is that sin binds us in ways we do not spend much time contemplating.  Our ultimate bind, our ultimate chain is death.  Know anybody who is excited to face death?  Unless they are in great pain or mentally ill, probably not.  Most of us fear it, or at least do our best to avoid it.  Heck, I am a parish priest in Christ’s One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church, to use the set apart language of ordination.  As many of you remark, I really seem to believe the things I preach.  I am certain that just as God raised Jesus on that glorious Easter morning, He will raise me after my death.  Yet, y’all will never catch me playing hopscotch on I-65!

     And so, like our spiritual ancestors, we gather in liturgy to remind ourselves that we are not citizens of this country or this world.  Our citizenship is of the place of our Father in heaven.  We remind ourselves that we, too, are small in number.  We remind ourselves that we are oppressed by our sins and the sins of others.  We cry to the Lord for deliverance.  And we remind ourselves that, just as He has delivered His sons and daughters countless times in the past, so will He deliver us in His good time.

     Doubters and cynics among us are probably raising the “But you really don’t know.”  And, to an extent, they have a point.  Do we know?  Of course not.  It is, after all, faith.  They question that doubters and cynics deal with really, though, is the question of trust.  How can you or I trust that what we read is true?  How can you or I claim to be reasonable and rational and yet believe something so outside the bounds of modern knowledge is true?  How can you and I and even them believe something and not later be found to be fools?  I see a couple nods.

     Again, I am trying to be brief, and I gather there can be lots and lots of unpacking this week in conversations, but think back to the Garden.  What was the sin?  Upon what did Satan prey when convincing Adam and Eve to eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil?  I heard it.  Say it louder.  Trust!  That’s right.  How do you know God can be trusted?  Both doubted, and our relationship with God was terribly distorted.

     Look to our Gospel reading today.  Does Jesus know His purpose?  Yes.  Does Satan know His purpose?  Yes.  So what is the temptation really about?  Trust.  Who has been leading Jesus in the wilderness without food?  God.  Who has promised Jesus authority and glory if He walks the path in obedience to which He has been called?  Jesus.  Who has been asked to place all His trust in the Father, undoing the sin of Adam and Eve so long ago?  Jesus.  All these temptations, described by most commentators as messianic, are questions of trust for Jesus.

     I know we spend a great deal of time talking about Jesus’ divinity, especially during the seasons of Christmas and Epiphany, but now we have switched seasons.  Now, it is appropriate to change our focus a bit.  I am glad that Jesus was God incarnate, but I am equally as glad that He was and is fully human.  How much more relatable does His humanity seem to us?  At Christmas, I reminded us of birth stories, and it caused a bit of buzz as folks around here shared their own.  Similarly, look at the temptations face by Jesus.  How much more should we be comforted by the fact that our judge understands the pulls and strains we face!  If you fasted Wednesday, how easy was it?  Maybe you failed.  Maybe it was not as easy as you thought.  The One who stands in judgment of you, though, knows what it is like. 

     Look at the offer of power and authority.  Who does not crave those things and desires to avoid death at all cost?  Satan is offering Jesus an opportunity to avoid the pain and suffering of the Cross.  Can you imagine THAT temptation?  Yet Jesus trusts the Father’s plan and walks the path He agreed to walk.  Make no mistake, He will be hurt.  Those He comes to save will betray Him, mock Him, and shout “Crucify Him!”  Those for whom He came will, at the very end, mock His death for their sakes, and still He wills Himself to obey the Father even to death.  Can you imagine the physical, emotional, and spiritual toll?  And He sits in judgment of us.  That’s why we remind ourselves in the comfortable words that He died for everyone who would call Him Lord.

     Even the temptation to trust God to send the angels to prevent His death is instructive for us.  As much as you and I like to avoid pain, how much more do we work to avoid serious pain and death?  God, of course, has promised that He will command angels to protect and bear His Son.  In essence, Satan is asking Jesus How do You know You really are the Son and that He really loves You?  Messianic temptations, indeed.  Jesus has to be so secure in His identity that He trusts unfailingly in His Father.  He is willing to face the doubt of Satan and of those who stand at the foot of the Cross saying “If You are the Son of God, come down” knowing that, if He proves to us who He is, He becomes unable to save us!  If He saves Himself, we are condemned.  Ah, the weight of glory seems a bit more oppressive now than you first thought, does it not?

     My guess, of course, is that those among us who are serious about their sins understand the oppressive weight of glory.  Oh, our failures in light of temptation does not damn all of creation like Christ’s failures would in light of His.  But our failures, our sins, do impact others.  We talked a few moments ago about how we are bound by our sins and the consequences of the sins of others.  Sometimes the oppression is more obvious than at other times, but we know their weight.  How many of us have experienced or been impacted by broken relationships?  Millennials seem to live under it as their parents and grandparents have worked through the era of no fault divorce only to prove to them it’s better not to marry in the first place.  How many of us were so touched by material privation that we forget the lesson imparted by the liturgy of the First Fruits, that we are merely stewards of God with respect to our possessions?  How many of us have areas where we have convinced ourselves that God has ceded us authority, much like He did Bruce in a few blocks around Buffalo?  How many of us have thorns like Paul, where God does not pull the thorn out or get the monkey off our backs with respect to addictions, only to find ourselves judging ourselves or others for that seeming lack of grace?  All of us have those dark, shadowy areas where we think God is incapable, or we are more capable, of exercising power and discernment.

     Where is the Gospel in all this?  In a sense, it is in the words of Paul to the Romans.  If you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.  Salvation, grafting ourselves into the people of God, is really mercifully simple.  There’s no litmus test to be passed.  There is no final exam, apart from this confession and belief in life.  Peter’s not going to be standing there waiting on us with a blue book and choice between essay or multiple choice quizzes.  Peter will not be there with a clipboard of our sins saying “Brian, you were tempted by this sin x times too many.  Sorry, there’s no room for you here.”  What saves us is that God’s Anointed, Jesus of Nazareth, trusted the Father.  Even though we fail and failed, still Jesus trusted.  And because of that trust, and our faith in Jesus, you and I get the benefits of His passion and Resurrection.  Wait, that sounds familiar, almost like a part of our liturgy, which points us to God and His worthiness. . . .

     The Gospel is, of course, summed up by St. Paul in the letter to the Romans today.  But it is present in the liturgy of the First Fruits, in Psalm 91, and even in the wilderness of temptation.  In fact, it is even present in our own liturgy, but more noticeable in the liturgy of Lent.  We remind ourselves each and every time we gather that God alone is worthy to be trusted and that Jesus alone truly trusted and that, one glorious day in the future, we will be recreated with new minds, new bodies, and new everythings that help veil us from the love of our Father in heaven and allow us to see Him clearly, hear Him clearly, and understand Him truly.

     Of course, like Abraham our earthly father, we are still wandering Arameans.  We will leave this service and head back out into our own wildernesses to do the work He has given us to do and to resist the temptations of the world and of its current ruler.  What better way to prepare us than to remind us, both in study and worship, of the trustworthiness of God, and of the source of strength and hope that will help get us through our own temptations.  Better still, when next we gather, be it Wednesday or Sunday or some other day, how much more adoring might we be knowing that the One to whom we pray for forgiveness, has walked a path not dissimilar to our own.  To use the language of our liturgy, this season: To Christ our Lord, who loves us, and washed us in His own blood, and made us a kingdom of priests to serve His God and Father, to Him be glory in the Church evermore.  Through Him let us offer continually the sacrifice of praise, which is our bounden duty and service, and with faith in Him, come boldly before the throne of grace.

Amen!

Brian†

The Last Sunday of Epiphany and Transfigurations . . .

     I know.  I am risking a lot by coming out of the pulpit and standing among you.  For those of you who are new to us and have complained about me preaching down at you, you have inserted yourself into a pastoral dilemma.  I prefer preaching down here.  I think such sermons are livelier, at least in my own mind.  I feel like the pulpit ones are more lectures, or at least run that risk.  But now that there’s enough voices on both sides, I think I will be splitting my time, or at least the location from where I preach my sermons and homilies. 

     To the extent that some Adventers have been remarking that my sermons are way better than they used to be, I would have to agree.  When I arrived, I could exegete a text fine.  Part of good preaching, though, revolves around the preacher’s ability to point how the text speaks to us in our current lives.  I guess the colloquial way to say it would to say it is my job to point out to you where God is at work in the world around you.  Now, it’s one thing to say that God cares about this or that or something else and that He is redeeming this or that or another thing, but it is entirely different to see it with your own eyes and hear it with your own ears.  That’s what’s really happening around here.  As you all have come to know me these last four years and I have come to know you, you are doing a better job of sharing your lives.  And it’s in your lives that God is active.  All I am doing is tapping into that, oooh, dare we say Epiphany?  What do I mean?

     This week, I had several sermons bouncing around in my head.  It is Transfiguration Sunday, so all the readings are rather well known.  My problem was the sermon illustration part.  Who among us will be going up a mountaintop with Jesus this week?  Who among us understands Paul’s use of veils?  Who among us glow with the glory of God and so has to hide our faces from our friends?  I see the nods.  You understand this issue.  I had good lectures or papers, but they were going to be lousy sermons.  Until last night.  I chuckled as I sat talking with three homeless men because God was finally answering my prayers for a good illustration or two to help me bring the Transfiguration alive in your world.

     Our story from Exodus comes from a famous story.  Most of us picture Charleton Heston coming down the mountain and throwing the tablets at those who want to worship the molten calf and sin against God.  A few demented folks picture Mel Brooks with fifteen commands dropping one of his stone tablets and switching to ten commandments.  What?  Y’all haven’t figured out I have a weird sense of humor yet, or that I know a few of you are kindred souls?

     The story is so well know we forget the meaning and the consequences.  God sends Moses to free His people.  After Yahweh defeats all the Egyptian gods in their strongholds, Pharaoh throws the Israelites out of Egypt.  Moses leads them to the sea, where they are corned by Pharaoh’s chariots.  God parts the sea, allows Israel to go through the water on their left and on their right, and then closes the dry path, destroying Pharaoh’s chariots.  Israel then proceeds to Mount Sinai, where they camp to be given the torah – what it look like to live in communion with the holy, righteous, just, loving, God of their ancestors.  The people think that God takes too long giving Moses His instructions, and so the Israelites commit idolatry and some other notable sins.  The famous depictions in the movies make us think it was just the Ten Commandments being brought down the mountain, but way more information was being conveyed to Moses by God.  All the torah was being given.  Plus, God was sharing the precise instructions regarding the Tabernacle.

     One of God’s promises to His people was that He would dwell among them.  They would be His people, and He would be their God.  I see the nods.  Israel had the opportunity to experience the fulfillment of that promises.  Great attention was paid to that dwelling where God would be.  In fact, Moses will receive more instructions regarding the Tabernacle after the interlude of sin and destruction of the tablets.  So, here’s Israel.  They’ve been delivered from bondage and from the threat of Pharaoh’s army by the hand of God.  They have fought no battles themselves.  There have been no quirky tricks by their generals.  They have come to Sinai to begin to prepare to be the inheritors of the Covenant that God made with Abraham and Sarah.  And what do they do?  That’s right.  They reject God.

     If you were God, how would you respond?  Lightning bolt?  Sure.  Earthquake?  You just watch the movies.  Tornado?  Sure.  I think most of us would have understood if God had chosen to destroy them.  They were, at best, ungrateful.  They certainly were unworthy of benefitting from such a magnanimous promise, right?

     Israel, though, should remind us of ourselves.  We are, at our best, ungrateful and at our worst, unworthy, right?  You and I live on this side of the Empty Tomb.  We see the full revelation of God and the bulk of the Covenant that He made with Abraham and Sarah so long ago, yet how often do we resemble the Israelites?  How often do we think God is insufficient for our problems?  How many of us think God is restricted from acting in our lives?  How many of us think we are beneath God’s notice?  Yes, I had lots of interesting discussions about the truth of the Resurrection this week.  I recognize there are some among us who believe, but I recognize that there are some among us who need help with their unbelief.  We live on this side of the Empty Tomb, but we act as if that tomb still had His body.  And the world sees how we act, how we speak.

     How does God respond to the sin of Israel?  Yes, He kills a number of them in the aftermath.  But what else happens?  Who will lead the people now?  The angel of the Lord.  The consequence of Israel’s sin is that God will no longer dwell among them.  He will send His angel to lead them, and from time to time He will descend to speak with Moses in their midst, but He will not dwell among them.  The true sad consequence of all this is, seemingly, the loss of God being in the midst of them.

     Now, remember when we were talking of lightning bolts and tornados and earthquakes as our way of handling the people?  Thankfully, God is far more merciful than we.  The angel will lead them, but who will mediate between them and God?  That’s right!  Moses.  God will use a human being to be His mouthpiece.  In this way, of course, Moses is a pre-figure of the fully divine and fully human Jesus of Nazareth.  Moses is a type and shadow of the Mediator who is to come.  Moses will be their instructor.  Moses will be their judge.  Moses will be their prophet.  Moses will be their leader.  For now.  But, like the people whom he serves, Moses will sin against God.  Like the people whom he leads, Moses will not trust God and His instructions entirely.  That true truster, that One who gets it right will be Jesus.

     Moses has another problem, though.  He has been in the presence of God for so long that he reflects the glory of God.  When Moses comes down this time, his face glows.  It rightly terrifies the people.  So, what do they do?  They ask Moses to veil his face.  Think of how sad this really is.  God was going to dwell among them.  They were all going to glow with the glory of God.  They were going to get to be the nation of priests and a light until the world in fulfilment of God’s promise to Moses.  Now, they ask God’s mouthpiece, God’s chosen mediator, to cover that same glory.  Talk about a real tragedy.

     There are two lessons I want you to take away from our story today.  First, one cannot truly encounter God and not be changed.  Not many of us have those same kind of real or mystical experiences that result in a Pauline conversion or a need to veil ourselves, but we are all changed in our encounters.  As I talked a few weeks ago, that awe in our encounters with God causes us to live out our lives for the benefits of others—I know the mental health folks said it in a fancier way, but that really is what happens.  We recognize our humanity.  We recognize our impotence.  We recognize the mortality of others and God’s love of them, and we begin to live the life to which He calls us.  We serve others not because He makes us, but because we want to thank Him for what He has done for us in Christ.  And we know this thanksgiving is far more than worship.  Rather, we understand that worship is feeding the hungry in His name, clothing the poor in His name, visiting the sick in His name, being the shoulder to cry on in His name, being the peacemaker in His name and so on.  We offer the Creator of all that is, seen and unseen, everything!  We recognize that there is no secular square inch of the universe, and no second of our lives, outside His purview.  And we offer our lives gladly.  Lovingly.

     Where it gets fun, of course, is that you and I, by virtue of our baptism, you and I inherit part of Christ’s work in the world.  Make no mistake, Christ is the Mediator with a capital M, but you and I, like Moses and all those who came before, are the mediators, with a small m, of God’s grace in the world around us.  We gather in worship here to be prepared, taught, encouraged and whatever else we need to be His herald out there.  When we pray that we receive the benefits of His passion, this is one of those benefits.  We are asking God to use us as His mouthpiece, His mediator, His herald and whatever else He might need to convey His love and His mercy to the world around us!

     All that leads me back to last night.  I was sitting with three homeless gentlemen at Room at the Inn.  They did not yet know who I was.  One of the guys said he wanted to thank us for welcoming them into our church.  I told him, of course, he was welcome.  He reiterated, rather forcefully, that he meant it, that they wanted to thank us for welcoming them in.  Now, that’s when my pastor head started ringing, so I asked if churches really invited them in in unwelcoming ways.  “Heck yeah!  All the time.”  I remarked I thought that strange.  For all our denominational fights in the world around us, I seldom hear Christians remarking they should not feed the hungry or clothe the poor.  “You’d think so, right?  I mean, not many of us chose this for our lives, right?  It sort of just happened.  Many of us may have made bad decisions, but usually it was addiction or not being right in the head that caused us to make stupid decisions.  Know what I mean?”  The other two guys agreed with his evaluation.

     So, I asked how they could tell how some churches wanted them and others did not.  “All y’all seem glad we are here.  That’s the first tip.  The guy who picked us up was excited to be driving us and glad to have a full load.  Then, we walk in the door and some lady is welcoming us, telling us to grab a spot, get some clothes, help ourselves to toiletries, where the bathroom is, where the food is, and offering us a drink.  Now, look around.  We’ve all started eating, and folks are sitting with us chatting.  Heck, you’re not even eating and you are just sitting here listening to me go on about churches that don’t want us.  Beggars shouldn’t be choosers, right?  Who cares if we are wanted as long as we get our food and a warm place to stay and a shower?  Which reminds me, she apologized y’all don’t have showers?  Who does that?  Nobody apologizes to us!  She’s acting like she kinda failed us in some way.”

     I should add that the other two at the table were echoing his statements and filling in some other details that had stuck in their heads.

     I knew quickly this was God steering me to this sermon.  We are changed by our encounters with God, but I wanted to press him to see if God really was in the midst of this.  So I asked if he had any ideas why some churches are unwelcoming and others are not. 

     “I have a theory.  It’s just my theory.  But I think some churches make people volunteer.  They draft them and make people do the stuff.  My guess is here there’s no draft.”  The other two were certain about his judgment.

     I, of course, thanked God for the great sermon illustration for the Transfiguration Sunday and told him I thought he may be on to something.  Everything done for them at Advent was by people who wanted to do it.  There’s a lady who washes all the bedding every month because she wants to.  There’s a lady who bakes all the bread every month because she wants to.  The driver goes and gets them and returns them because he wants to.  Folks choose a theme and decorate because they want to make them feel like they are invited to a feast that points to a way better Party.  As I shared the details of the planning and of the gathering of clothes and toiletries, and the want to, the men all shook their heads in agreement.  Each also blurted at various points, unless they were going on about bread or something else they really appreciated that they “could just tell.”

     Brothers and sisters, those in your lives “can just tell” if you have encountered the God of Abraham & Sarah, of Isaac and Rachel, of Jacob & Rebecca, of Moses, of Hannah, of Mary Magdalene, of Paul, of Peter, and of all their favorite heroes.  Even if they do not know the stories, they know.  We are, to use different language, out of step with the world.  Where others look down or divide, we lift up and bring together.  Where others seek to self-aggrandize, we humble ourselves or deflect praise.  Where others seek to settle for good enough, we disciples of Jesus remember that God gave His best.  And they know, and see, and hear, and feel.  And many, some even at a level they cannot understand, want that same change, that same feeling of being loved, that same certainty that God will redeem them and all their circumstances.

     In some ways, my brother and sisters, this was the perfect ending to our season of Epiphany.  My job has been to point out to you where God’s grace and love has been manifest in the world around us and in our lives.  Now, we are preparing for that big switch, where we remind ourselves that, like Israel, we need God’s covenantal faithfulness, that we need His Savior, because we will fail if left to our own desires and devices.  Like Israel before us, we will gladly and quickly turn to idolatry absent God’s covenantal love and grace toward us.  But like Moses and all those who have communed intimately with God, we are changed, we are transfigured, in that relationship with Him.  We may not glow as did Moses.  We may not even see the change in ourselves because it is more a process we call salvation than a single event, but make no mistake, others see His glory in us.  When we trust Him with the circumstances of our lives, others notice.  And when we give Him thanks and praise for His faithfulness to us, they take note.

     On Wednesday, I will call us all to a Holy Lent.  On Wednesday I will remind us all of our mortal, sinful nature, and I will call upon us each to enter into a season of reflection and holy evaluation.  Before we get there, though, I have one other job for us all.  Perhaps it is a head start on Lent, but maybe it is a final reflection on Epiphany.  Where else is God looking to meet you?  Where else in your life is God asking you to trust in His redeeming power and mercy?  Where else in your life is God asking you to allow Him to manifest His glory in the world around you?  Work?  School?  The tennis club?  Your favorite restaurant?  In the life of a neighbor?  In your pursuit for money, or power, or glory?  Where do you, like those in the story from Ancient Israel today, insist on separating your life from Him?

     I am here to remind each one of us today, that we are the only ones hurt by such idolatry.  In our pursuits of whatever things or relationships or goals we pursue apart from Him, we consign ourselves to a life full of consequences of rejected grace, or rejected mercy, or rejected love.  When we insist on our own way, and exclude Him from a part of our lives, it is we who are made poorer, who are made less than what He called us to be, who become less human than He intended.  Why not, like those who saw Moses and repented, give Him what is rightfully His anyway?  He wants nothing more than for you to be that son or daughter in whom He is well pleased, but that first step, that step of trust and repentance, is ours.  Yes, it can be scary.  Yes, it can make us seem weird.  But consider the sight of those three homeless men last night.  They saw in Adventers God’s grace in their lives.  They saw in Adventers thankfulness and joy.  They saw, in its most shadowy and hazy form possible, that for which God had created them, and they were awed and thankful not just for the service, but for the reminder.  My brothers and sisters, God promises that one day, one glorious day, all will see us as He sees us in His Son our Lord Jesus.  All will know our choices to serve Him were the right and wise choices.  And all will know that we have inherited all that He promised His children in this and every age, not just for a few minutes on a Saturday night, but for all eternity!  Why not give them, and yourself, a sneak peak now?  Why not give over to Him all those areas you think outside His wisdom and power and see what He wants you to see!

In Christ’s Peace,

Brian†