"The Gift of Public Witness" - Matthew 5:13-20 (February 9, 2020)

Matthew 5:13-20

‘You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.

‘You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lamp stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

‘Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

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“You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored?  It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.”

If you’ve been out and about the past few days, I suspect that you have walked on a lot of salt.  In the past few days, the city of Lexington has finally been able to test out the capacity of the new salt barn that was built last year to give us the space to store a massive amount of salt for snowy days like the past few.

I was also reminded yesterday that the absence of salt can make for a very bland meal.  I made my first ever white bean turkey chili yesterday.  Since I knew I would be busy yesterday at the session retreat I decided to prepare the chili Friday night.  I cooked the ground turkey and then put it in the crockpot.  Then I sautéed the onions and garlic in the cast iron skillet and then added those to the crockpot.  Finally I added the white beans, the corn, and the chili powder, cumin, and oregano.  I lovingly placed it in the fridge and then cooked it on low while I was at the session retreat yesterday.

I came home after the long meeting and the house smelled amazing.  I went to the gym to walk on the treadmill for a little bit and then came home to take a shower and the smell only got stronger.  My mouth was watering at the aroma.  Then when I finally scooped some of the chili out and put it in my bowl and tasted it, it just tasted…meh.

I was disappointed.  All that work.  All that smell.  And it just tasted…ok.  Finally, Tricia reminded me that I forgot to add salt.  And that did it.  OK, she may have added a little more chili powder too but, really, it was the lack of salt that made it just mediocre.

Fortunately, adding salt was a pretty easy fix.  But it speaks to the truth that its amazing what just a little bit of salt can do.

I suppose the same can be said of light.  A little light can go a long way to illuminate a path in the nighttime.  I’ll never forget how dark it was on Shelter Island (where Tricia and I used to live), especially this time of year.  Sunset during the late fall and early winter would often be around 4:30 P.M. which makes for a very long night.  And being on a small island there was no light pollution, very little traffic, and little to no street lights.  So, on a cloudless night you could look up and see the stars.  I mean really see the stars.  All of them.  And it never ceased to amaze me how on a dark, cloudless night, a full moon could illuminate the island so brightly that you could get around just as easily as during the day without a flashlight.

Salt and light.  Two simple and necessary and power things.

Salt and light is what Jesus uses to teach his followers about, well, following him.  

“You are the light of the world,” Jesus says, “A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lamp stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

This salt and light stuff is about public witness.  Notice the location of this sermon.  It’s not in a church.  It’s not in the temple.  It’s not in a house or structure of any kind.  It’s outside, in the open, on a mountain for all to see.  If you close your eyes, it’s not difficult to imagine Jesus gesturing widely with his arms in the great expanse as he preaches these verses.

I’ve mentioned before in this sermon series that Jesus’ ministry was a ministry on the move.  He and his disciples never stayed in one place too long but were always on the move.  This is how movements begin.  Think about all of the politicians during campaign seasons such as the one we are in now.  The politicians don’t hunker down and ask their constituents to come to them.  They are the ones on the move, finding and getting to know their constituents where they are in the ordinariness of their lives.  Now, I’m not suggesting that we conduct the business of the church the same way as a political campaign but there are some similarities; it’s an effective way to spread news.

The bottom line is this:  Jesus seemed to be teaching the early church a valuable lesson:  don’t isolate yourself and get too comfortable.  You, the Church, are to be the salt of the earth, out and about in the world enhancing the flavor of all you encounter.  It’s hard to do that when you stay cooped up in a building.

Sometimes, if church buildings aren’t the single worst thing that has ever happened to American Christianity.  I don’t know of a single pastor who - at times - resents the fact that she or he spends more time on working with the people to maintain a building that she or he spends with the people doing actual ministry.  Sometimes, I wonder if the bushel basket that Jesus bemoaned in today’s passage is the four walls that surround the sanctuary.

Let me tell you a story of a church that decided to free itself from that particularly bushel basket of a building.  A colleague of mine, Mandy Sloan McDow, is the pastor of First United Methodist Church of Los Angeles.  That congregation used to be a booming congregation of more than 6,000 people in the heart of downtown LA.  However, in the 1990’s people started fleeing to the suburbs and the congregation shrank to a small size.  However, they were burdened with a huge building that they could not afford to maintain.  So, rather than call it quits, they decided to sell the building but keep their parking lot at the corner of Flower and Olympic streets in downtown LA.

Every Sunday morning, they erects some large tents in the parking lot, set up some chairs and an PA system, and they hold services.  Right there.  Right out in the open for all to see.  Since they’re a few time zones behind us, I sometime enjoy watching their services on Facebook live.  Although there are may regulars, their congregation changes each and every Sunday when passersby, sparked by curiosity, will join them.  People of all races, ages, genders, and backgrounds gather to sing, pray, preach, and gather at the Lord’s Table for communion.

They fund themselves by renting out their parking lot during the weekdays.  And, without a building to worry about, they have a sense of freedom to focus on ministry, outreach, worship, and hospitality.  If you go to their website, you will not find a picture of a building or an empty sanctuary.  Rather, you’ll find a picture of the skyline of downtown Los Angeles.  They lovingly refer to themselves as “a church without a home.”  Their website says the following:  “At this church, no borders divide, no walls exclude.  We meet to serve, not to be served.  Grace is our guide.  Love is our goal.  Everyone is welcomed.  Everyone is loved.  We remain a church without walls, without borders, without barriers. This reflects our theological openness, and the way we believe God's love should be experienced and shared.”

Now that’s one way to be the salt and light that Jesus is talking about in today’s passage.

Now, before anyone has a heart attack, please hear that I’m not suggesting that we sell our building and meet in the parking lot.  We live in a slightly different context than the folks at First United Methodist Church of Las Angeles, not to mention the weather is a heck of a lot nicer in LA today than it is here in Kentucky!

But, still, it begs the question, how have congregations such as ours gotten a little too comfortable inside our buildings?  What are ways that we can expand our ministry outside the walls?  How can we lift the bushel basket a little bit and step out of our comfort zone?  

How can Beaumont Presbyterian Church be the Church in the public square?

What does it mean to be Church at Panera Bread?

What does it mean to be Church at God’s Pantry or the Hope Center?

What does it mean to be Church at the Lexington Pride Festival?

What does it mean to be Church at the prison?

What does it mean to be Church at a protest or advocacy event?

What becomes possible if the Church is to leave the building?

Because, friends, you are the light of the world, the salt of the earth.  Jesus is talking to us, today, to his Church - a Church that should make its home not in the confines of a beautiful building but in the brokenness of the world outside it.

In the name of the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say:  Amen.

"The Gift of Bold Action" - Matthew 4:12-23 (January 26, 2020)

Matthew 4:12-23

Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the lake, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: 

‘Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles— the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.’  From that time Jesus began to proclaim, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’

As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the lake—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.’ Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him. 

Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.

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Last week we journeyed through John’s account of Jesus calling his first disciples.  Today, we see what the Gospel writer Matthew had to say about it.  Instead of proclaiming a baptism of repentance by the river, John has been arrested and Jesus feels like he needs to relocate himself for safety’s sake.  

He walks by the Sea of Galilee and sees two brothers, Andrew and Peter, casting their nets into the lake.  Then Jesus turns to them and says 10 words that will forever change their life:  “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.”  Without a word, they drop their nets and follow him.  The three of them continue on their way until they stumble upon James and John.  Jesus calls out to them with presumably the same invitation and they, too, follow him in a manner even more dramatic that Andrew and Peter because the two of them abandon their father who was right there in the boat with them mending the nets.

Together, the five of them - Jesus, Andrew, Peter, James, and John - go all throughout Galilee doing the work of the Gospel.  This work to which Jesus invites them is described with three verbs - teaching, proclaiming, and curing.

They taught and proclaimed the Good News of the Gospel and then they physically manifested it by curing people.

It’s a pretty simple story; not without its curiosities, of course, but simple nonetheless.

Jesus recruits regular folks and then travels with them teaching, proclaiming, and curing.

The focus of this sermon is, hopefully, going to be as simple as the story which inspires it.  This week, as I was preparing this sermon, there was one simple detail of this story that stood out to me:  the movement of the passage.

Jesus begins his ministry in today’s passage by being on the move.  Jesus didn’t start his ministry by erecting a church and building a new gymnasium to attract folks.  Jesus didn’t hire a young pastor to attract other young families.  Jesus didn’t find followers by sitting still and asking them to come to him.  

Jesus found followers by being out in the world - their world - and finding them in the ordinariness of their lives.

Now, that may seem like a foreign concept to us but, in a way, that’s not unlike how this congregation was founded.  In the 1950’s, this part of Lexington was flourishing as the suburban boom happened and folks from 2nd Presbyterian Church decided to plant a church here where the people were beginning to move.

Today’s passage is a helpful, and perhaps unsettling, reminder that we are not called to remain stationary in our journey to be followers of Christ or, as this passage puts it, fishers of people.  In fact, if we take it a step further, we can also glean this truth:  going to worship once a week does not make someone a follower of Christ; it makes them a church-goer.

Now please don’t get me wrong:  what we’re doing right now, this act of worship, is not unimportant.  I in no way wish to suggest that worship is some meaningless exercise.  On the contrary, worship is the single-most important way in which we are molded into followers of Christ to go and serve him in the world.  However, worship must always be focused on training us for what we do in Christ’s name “out there.”

You may have noticed that for the past few weeks I’ve led the charge and benediction from the rear of the sanctuary.  I’ve been very intentional in doing so because it redirects our gaze from the front of the sanctuary to the back of it where most of us exit this place.  It changes our focus to what we’ve been doing to what we’re about to go do.

Worship prepares us to go out in the world and be the Body of Christ.  Worship prepares us to share with the world the gift of bold action.  What Andrew, Peter, James, and John did was nothing if it wasn’t bold.  They left the comfort of what they knew how to do and followed Jesus into the unknown.

To put it another way:  Jesus left the building, and so did they.

So, today’s passage compels us to ask ourselves the following question:  what are we, as a congregation, doing outside our doors that is serving our community where they are?  Another more dramatic way to ask that question is to ask another:  if this church were to close its doors today, what percentage of people who live within a two mile radius of us would notice?  What void would that leave here in the west end of Lexington?

So, to end this sermon, I’d like to lift up a few examples of how some of us at Beaumont Presbyterian Church were “church” outside of our doors over the past 72 hours.

On Thursday evening, we began our Exodus Bible Study at Panera Bread.  13 of us crammed around a table, broke bread with one another, and dove into this dramatic book of the Bible.  Something about meeting outside of the church walls changes our conversation.  Also, more than once, we’ve had a random person come over, intrigued about what we’re talking about, and ask to listen in.  Who knows the seeds that could be planted?

Then, on Friday, a handful of us drove to Central Baptist Hospital to sing to Russell Huffman.  With hymnals in hand, we surrounded him - literally - with songs of God’s grace.  After singing to him for about 30 minutes, we placed our hands on him, anointed him with oil, and prayed with him.

Then, yesterday, about 10 of us gathered to go see the movie Just Mercy at the mall, witnessing a heartbreaking but hopeful story of the relentless search for justice.  

These are only three examples of ways that Beaumont Presbyterian Church has been church outside of our walls.  I know there are many other ways.  Some of you volunteer at God’s pantry.  Others of you volunteer in other ways.  I’m very aware the behind the scenes much goes on to fulfill our calling to be followers of Christ.

But we can’t stop here.  We can’t stop now.  Christ compels us to take bold action in following him.  Because if Jesus has left the building, we need to as well.  I hope this physical place is a refuge for each of you.  I hope that this church building is a safe space to come and pray, play, eat, serve, and sing.  But, at the end of the day, this building is nothing more than a building.  If it burned to the ground, Beaumont Presbyterian Church would still exist.  

So come to this building, friends!  Let us gather here to work and worship.  But let us not get “stuck” in this building.  For Jesus is on the move, and we’d do well to keep our walking shoes on.

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say:  Amen.

"The Gift of Unbridled Curiosity" - John 1:29-42 (January 19, 2020)

John 1:29-42

The next day he saw Jesus coming towards him and declared, ‘Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! This is he of whom I said, “After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.” I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.’ And John testified, ‘I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, “He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.” And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.’

The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, ‘Look, here is the Lamb of God!’ The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, ‘What are you looking for?’ They said to him, ‘Rabbi’ (which translated means Teacher), ‘where are you staying?’ He said to them, ‘Come and see.’ They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, ‘We have found the Messiah’ (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, ‘You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas’ (which is translated Peter).

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Today, we’re talking about the Gift of Unbridled Curiosity.  Given the title of the sermon, I thought it would be fitting to share with y’all a story I recently had with a horse.  Last week, I went over to Pisgah Presbyterian Church to see my good friend, Hannah, who will soon be installed as their next pastor.  Pisgah Presbyterian Church is located right behind the castle on Versailles Road and could not be in any more quaint of a location.  Founded back in the late 1700’s, the church buildings sit nestled in a field surrounded by a very old cemetery and horse farms.  

As I pulled up in my car, I parked next to a fenced in area containing several horses.  One of the horses, a mare, seemed particularly curious of me and stepped up to the fence.  I reciprocated with my sense of curiosity and stepped up to greet her.  She seemed enamored with me and began sniffing me and lowering her face so that I could pet her.  I giggled and said, “hello there.”  She seemed particularly fascinated by my hands and started to lick and gently nibble them.  Which was when I remembered that just before exiting the car I had applied some lavender Bath and Body Works hand sanitizer to my hands.  The mare was clearly quite a fan of the smell and taste.  I laughed as she licked my hand with her massive tongue and huffed in appreciation.

But our lovely moment was soon brought to a traumatic end when the mare promptly sneezed directly on my face.  I don’t know if you’ve ever had the experience of being sneezed on by a horse but, let me tell you, it was a LOT of phlegm!  I stood in stunned silence for a moment when I heard laughter from behind me.  My friend, Hannah, had arrived just in time to see the hilarious scene.  As I began to wipe off my face and clean my glasses, I understood that curiosity had gotten the best of me and had taught me that while horses appreciate the small and the taste, Bath and Body Works’ lavender hand sanitizer will cause a horse to sneeze violently in your face.

Curiosity is the birthplace of learning, growth, and innovation.  Sociologically speaking, curiosity is the birthplace of religion.  Why are we here?  Where do we come from?  What is the meaning and of life?  What happens when we die?  Without the innate curiosity of these human questions, there would be no religion.  And yet, here we are, asking these questions still after many millennia.  Curiosity is what makes us human.

And, even more specifically, curiosity is the root of those of us in the Reformed tradition.  The Reformation began in the 1500’s when theologians such as Martin Luther became increasingly frustrated by the Catholic Church’s opposition to the curiosity of its congregants.  The leaders of the Protestant Reformation sought to create a version of Christianity that encouraged curiosity instead of oppressing it.

And so, more than five hundred years later, here we are continuing this theological tradition of curiosity.  Even if it means that every once in awhile it gets us in situations where a horse might sneeze on our face.

Today’s passage comes to us from the first chapter of the Gospel of John, as John the Baptist sees for the first time the man that he has been proclaiming in the wilderness for all those years.  John the Baptist has been preparing the way for Jesus Christ and now is the time.  And John doesn’t miss a beat.  His prophetic curiosity leads him to identify Jesus immediately.  

“Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! This is he of whom I said, ‘After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’ I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.”

The next day, John is standing with two of his disciples and Jesus yet again walks by.  Again, John points to Jesus and says, “Look, here is the lamb of God!”  Then, curiosity gets the best of his disciples.  The safer option would have been for them to remain with John the Baptist.  I imagine they’ve gotten used to the routine of being a disciple of John the Baptist.  Wake up.  Head to the river.  Preach about the coming Christ.  Baptize folks in his name.  Maybe call some passing Pharisees a brood vipers.  Go home.  Sleep.  Wake up.  Repeat.

But, they choose the other option.  They leave their status quo and are led by curiosity to follow this man that John the Baptist has been telling them about all these years.  They follow him for a while before Jesus senses their presence and turns around to face them.  After their brief interaction, their journey begins and curiosity has officially gotten the better of them.

The disciples could have stayed put.  But instead they took a chance.  A dangerous one.  They took a chance that was fraught with risk because the Holy Spirit stirred up within them a sense of curiosity about what God was doing in their lives.

Curiosity is the first step of living a life of faith.

You see, when we exercise curiosity, it communicates at least two things:

First of all, to be curious is to admit that we don’t have all the answers.  If we were all knowing, then there would be no need for curiosity.  

Secondly, to be curious is to admit that God is still creating and that there is always more to learn about ourselves, our world, and each other.

Curiosity is an act of faith because it’s what makes space for the Spirit to move.  

Beaumont Presbyterian Church would not exist if it weren’t for the curiosity of members of Second Presbyterian Church who wondered what might happen if they planted a church here on the west end of Lexington.

The hymns that we sing would never have been written had it not been for the curiosity of the hymn writers, wondering what would happen if they combined theology with music.

The liturgical art that hangs around this sanctuary would never have been created without the curiosity of those who worked on them.

And those acts of curiosity extend far beyond the story of this church:

Tomorrow, we’ll observe Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.  Martin Luther King was a brilliant practitioner of curiosity because he and the other leaders of the Civil Rights Movement had the curiosity to imagine a world in which people were not treated differently because of the color of their skin.  But the Civil Rights Movement gave us another truth about curiosity:  curiosity is risky work.

The disciples who began to follow Jesus in today’s passage did not embark on a journey of convenience and comfort.  Rather, their curiosity led them on a path to challenge the economic and cultural norms of that day.  And, therefore, they met resistance.  Their work was not welcomed by those who benefited by keeping the world as it was.  But the work of the Church is prophetic curiosity that challenges such structures.

And that work continues to this day in the Church.

We, as a church, are at a place where we need to have an innate sense of curiosity in order that we might give the Spirit some wiggle room to work among us.  Maybe the best gift we can give God, and one another, is to remain curious.

Because only the curious have something to find.

In the name of the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say:  Amen.

"The Gift of Unexpected Gifts" - Matthew 2:1-12 (January 5, 2020)

Matthew 2:1-12

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.’ When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, ‘In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: 

“And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.” ’

Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, ‘Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.’ When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure-chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

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As we begin a new year so too do we begin a new sermon series for the Season of Epiphany:  Gifts That Keep on Giving.  Now that the Season of Christmas is coming to an end, most of us are starting to think about taking down the Christmas trees, if you haven’t done so already.  And many of us are enjoying the gifts that were under them for so many weeks before we opened them up.

Epiphany is the season that serves as the bridge between the seasons of Christmas and Lent.  Epiphany really boils down to a time when we process what it means now that God is incarnate in our arms.  We spent four weeks waiting for Jesus and, well, now he’s here.  Now what?  That’s the question Epiphany asks.

We’re going to observe Epiphany with the intentionality it deserves because so often it doesn’t get a whole lot of attention.  Epiphany sometimes feels like the “middle child” in-between it’s older and younger siblings, Christmas and Lent, not getting the attention it wants.  So from now until the Sunday before Lent begins, we’ll be talking about gifts; both the giving and receiving of gifts.  What are the gifts that God-with-us brings to us?  And, conversely, what gifts will we bring to him in honor of the new born king?

The gifts in today’s passage are pretty tangible, though not gifts that we would think to give today (with the exception of maybe gold).  Gold, frankincense, and myrrh were, of course, the gifts that the wise men brought to the infant Jesus, the source of King Herod’s violent insecurity.  The wise men had been sent by this petulant politician to find Jesus so that he could have him assassinated.  

And although we often focus on the gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, I think the most important gift the wise men gave to Jesus was their choice to disobey King Herod and, as we talked about during the Children’s sermon, go home by another way.  Sometimes the greatest gift we can give God is to defy the wishes of those whose behavior is so blatantly antithetical to the Gospel.

The story of the wise men reminds me that sometimes the greatest gift we can give God, and one another, is to say no to violence, no to oppressive rulers like Herod, and no to the fear and intimidation they try their hardest to spread around.  When the Church pushes back against such hatred, that can be an unexpected gift to those around us who are suffering.

For today’s passage is filled with truly unexpected gifts.  After all, I doubt Mary and Joseph were expecting such kingly and expensive gifts as gold, frankincense, and myrrh.  I doubt the wise men were expecting to receive the gift of their king in a form of a helpless little infant.  And I certainly doubt that King Herod was expecting that his “gift of homage” would be denied when the wise men decided to disobey him.

I think the unexpected gift that day was that peace was birthed into this world despite the violence that threatened it.  Indeed, peace is still being birthed into this world despite the violence that currently threatens it.  Over the past few days, the news has been dominated by the escalating tensions between our country and Iran.  And I think it’s a good time to be reminded that we’ve never found peace by killing our enemies.  More often than not, killing our “enemies” ends up creating even more of them.  

Which is why the gift of Jesus that you and I have received is such an important gift to share.  The wise men saw something in Jesus, something that they didn’t see in the mad king who sent them on that errand.  I think they saw in Jesus the possibility of a different kind of world than the cruel one through which they traveled to see him.  I think they saw in Jesus an alternative narrative to King Herod’s violent one.  

What do you see in Jesus?  What gifts is he bringing you?  What gifts might you bring to him and, by doing so, help heal this world?  

Food for thought as we depart on this Epiphany journey.

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say:  Amen.

"Courage Can't Wait" - Matthew 1:18-25 (December 22, 2019)

Matthew 1:18-25

Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’ All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel’, which means, ‘God is with us.’ When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

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Today is our fourth and final stop on our Advent journey, asking ourselves “What Can’t Wait?”  In just over 48 hours, we’ll gather together in this very room to sing “Joy to the World” and “Silent Night,” finally lighting that long-awaited Christ candle to welcome the baby Jesus into our arms.

But just in case you’ve missed a few stops on this Advent train, allow me to catch you up.  

During our first stop on the first day of this month and the first day of a new liturgical year, we talked about how “God’s Promised Day Can’t Wait.”  We journeyed through the poetry of Isaiah 2:1-5 and Psalm 122, which reminded us that God longs for the day when weapons will be destroyed and turned into gardening tools, cultivating a world in which war and violence are things of the past.

On our second stop, we talked about how “Repentance Can’t Wait.”  We journeyed in the wilderness with John the Baptist reminding us that God takes repentance very seriously.  We were told that repentance is an important task to practice as we prepare for the coming of Jesus Christ.  Furthermore, we were challenged to practice repentance not with a sense of guilt and shame but rather to welcome it with open arms as a necessary step in order to find joy; joy for ourselves and joy for our neighbors.

On our third stop, a week ago today, we talked about how “Delight Can’t Wait.”  We were enchanted and challenged by the subversive and controversial words of Mary’s Magnificat, celebrating that God will bring down the mighty and uplift the lowly, and indeed already has.  We pondered in our hearts how we too might be called to sing our own Magnificats in order to sing into reality God’s promised day.

Which, of course, brings us to the fourth Sunday of Advent.  The day when we light the candle for love.  But the title of this sermon is not “Love Can’t Wait” but “Courage Can’t Wait.”  I think it makes perfect sense.  After all, is there any more courageous act than love?  Is it even possible to love without courage?  Of course not.

Last week, the courageous act belonged to Mary.  She, a brown-skinned unwed teenage girl from the Middle East, chose to sing a subversive and political song of God’s countercultural justice.  Today, however, the courageous act belongs to her fiancé, Joseph, who, like Mary, is swept up into circumstances that none of us could ever predict.

It all starts when Joseph has a dream.  The beginning of the Gospel of Matthew is filled with dreams that tell those who are dreaming them what God is doing in the world.  The first few chapters of Matthew also have the following dreams:

• In Matthew 2:12, the magi are warned in a dream to disobey Herod in his search to find and kill the newborn Jesus.

• In Matthew 2:13, Joseph is warned in a dream of the wrath of Herod and is instructed to take Mary and the child and seek refuge in a safer place.

• In Matthew 2:19, Joseph is informed in a dream that Herod has died.

• Finally, in Matthew 2:22, Joseph is led to settle in Galilee, making Nazareth Jesus’ home.

So it is safe to say that, in Matthew’s Gospel at least, dreams are God’s preferred method of divine communication and intervention.

But before the dream in today’s passage is dreamed, there are a few more details to reckon with.  The text tells us that Mary was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit.  What is curiously absent from today’s narrative is any detail at all about the conversation that was had between Joseph and Mary.  But I think it is safe to assume that that conversation was filled with frustration, anger, and confusion.  Imagine for a moment that you are Joseph, and that you are engaged to be married to the woman of your dreams, who has just informed you that she is pregnant.  You haven’t slept with her yet so, logically, there is only one conclusion:  she slept with another man.  And yet, the woman that you trust so much as to marry her insists that no such thing happened.  If you’re Joseph, you’re left with one of two difficult options:  1) break off the engagement quietly or 2) accept the inconceivable: that your fiancé has somehow managed to become pregnant without having sex.

Joseph, we are told, chose option one.  A righteous option, we are told, by the moral codes of the day.  And as he laid down to sleep that night, I can’t help but wonder what Joseph was thinking about as he closed his eyes.  Was he thinking about what would happen to Mary after he left her?  How she would provide for herself and a child?  Would the father of the child, whoever that was, take care of them?  Was he thinking about how he would navigate the rest of his life without the woman that he had planned to spend the rest of it with?  Would he ever find another woman to love as much as he loved Mary?  Perhaps he was wondering if he was doing the right thing.  Perhaps he was having second thoughts about abandoning Mary.  After all, he had never found her to be distrustful before.  Why should he begin to doubt her now?

I imagine that Joseph drifted off into an uneasy sleep that night.  I wonder if he wondered what dreams may come.

Dreams come to us when we are at our most vulnerable.  Dreams come to us when we are in the dark of night with nothing to guard us from letting the mysterious subconscious from taking us on a ride that we can’t control.  In the dark of night, God does wondrous things.

I never know when a dream begins or where it ends, kind of like you never are completely aware of that moment when you drift off into sleep.  It’s a space that is marked with mystery and truth.  Because while what happens in a dream is not “reality,” dreams, I’m convinced, tell us truths that are as real as the pulpit from which I stand.

And so, the truth comes to Joseph in the form of an angel.

“Do not be afraid” the angel tells Joseph, repeating a refrain we’ve come to expect from angels in the Bible.  “Do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife for she did not cheat on you.  Yes, she is pregnant, but the child is of not of man but of the Holy Spirit.  She will have a son and you will call him Jesus, because he is to save all of creation.”

Now, it is very important to note that the angel told Joseph to name the child.  Because according to the law of that day, if a man named a child it legally became his and was officially a part of his lineage.  This, of course, is why Matthew goes to such lengths to link Joseph to the line of David.  By naming him, Joseph both makes Jesus his legal child and seals him into the line of David, to fulfill the line from Isaiah that says that a shoot shall spring forth from the stump of Jesse (Kind David’s father).

And then, Joseph’s dream comes to an end.  Just as we might be curious as to what he was thinking as he drifted off to sleep, we too might be curious as to what he was thinking as he awoke from his slumber.  Was he wondering when he crossed from the dream world into the “real” one?  Was he wondering just how crazy it was to think about his beloved Mary being pregnant by the Holy Spirit?  Was he considering dismissing the whole thing as a meaningless dream that was nothing more than his subconscious trying to make sense of a truly bizarre set of circumstances?

At the end of the day, we just don’t know what was going through Joseph’s mind after this divine dream.  The text just tells us that Joseph woke up with a very different plan than the one he went to sleep with.  Joseph awoke and did as the angel of the Lord told him to do.  He took Mary as his wife.  He didn’t sleep with her until the child was born.  And then he named the child Jesus.

Love and courage are two sides of the same coin;  you cannot have one without the other.  It took courage for Mary to sing her song.  It took courage for Joseph to heed the instructions of the angel and adopt Jesus as his own son.  It took courage because courage often compels us to choose between what is easy and what is right.  Today’s text lifts up Joseph as a model of courage; one that exemplifies for us what it looks like to follow God when it seems like the most absurd thing to do.

Brené Brown has said the following about courage:  “The root of the word courage is cor—the Latin word for heart. In one of its earliest forms, the word courage had a very different definition than it does today. Courage originally meant ‘To speak one's mind by telling all one's heart.’ Over time, this definition has changed, and today, courage is more synonymous with being heroic. Heroics is important and we certainly need heroes, but I think we've lost touch with the idea that speaking honestly and openly about who we are, about what we're feeling, and about our experiences (good and bad) is the definition of courage. Heroics is often about putting our life on the line. Ordinary courage is about putting our vulnerability on the line. In today's world, that's pretty extraordinary.” 

In today’s story, Joseph exercised courageous vulnerability.  Obviously, the “safer” option would have been for him to just leave.  Joseph could have simply washed his hands of this entire situation and left and started a new life without the drama and uncertainty of an immaculate conception.

Instead, Joseph chose the harder option.  He chose the more vulnerable option.  He chose the more courageous option.  Joseph chose to stay.  Joseph chose to bind himself to Mary in wedlock and to stand by her side through the uncertain territory ahead.

What might we have to learn from Joseph’s courage?  From Mary’s?

Because today we must proclaim that courage can’t wait.  So much of the systemic causes of our the world’s grief and suffering come from one thing:  a lack of courage.  

So I invite you, for thirty seconds to pause in silence and to think about someone in your life who had taught you what it means to have courage…

Let us together channel that courage.  As anticipate the birth of Jesus Christ - the greatest example of courage we will ever have - let us remember the courage it took for Mary to be vulnerable enough to carry God’s child.  Let us remember the courage it took for Joseph to be vulnerable enough to stay with her through the chaos.  And let us remember the courage it took for God to be vulnerable enough come to us in human flesh, to save us from our sins.

Friends, courage can’t wait.

In the name of the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say:  Amen.

"Delight Can't Wait" - Luke 1:46b-55 (December 15, 2019)

Luke 1:46b-55

And Mary said,
’My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.
Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.
His mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
in remembrance of his mercy,
according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
to Abraham and to his descendants for ever.’

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“My heart shall sing of the day you bring.
Let the fires of your justice burn.
Wipe away all tears, for the dawn draws near,
and the world is about to turn.”

These beautiful lines that form the refrain of our opening hymn are a perfect pairing with today’s passage from Luke’s gospel.  There have been many times since finding out that we’re expecting a child that Tricia and I have done the ritual I’m pretty sure every first-time expecting couple does:  looking at each other with a mixture of excitement and fear, saying to one another, “Everything’s about to change.”  Or, to put it in more liturgical language, “the world is about to turn.”

Mary knew that everything was about to turn, because she knew that what was happening to her was not business as usual.  She was a poor brown-skinned teenage girl from a marginalized community in the Middle East, soon to be a refugee escaping the wrath of a cruel politician.  And God had chosen her.  Why?  We don’t know.  We don’t know any more than we know why God chose Abraham, Paul, Peter, or Elizabeth.  But God chose Mary and Mary knew it.  It’s pretty hard to miss when an angel shows up out of the blue one day and informs you and you’re pregnant and it’s not with your fiancee.  Mary knew that things were about to change in a big way.

And so, Mary does what the church does when things are changing, we sing.  We sing when people are born.  We sing when people die.  We sing when people are baptized, when they are married, when they are ordained, when they are sad and happy and everything in between.  Mary sings because singing is a natural human response when God is on the move.

Mary sings and in so doing joins a list of other women in the Bible who sing when God does something big:

In the Book of Exodus, Miriam sings when the God saves the Israelites by destroying Pharaoh’s army in the depths of the Red Sea.

In the Book of 1st Samuel, Hannah sings when God gives her a child after years of infertility.

In the Book of Judges, Deborah sings with joy when God gives the Israelites victory over their enemy, the Canaanites.

And now, in the Gospel of Luke, Mary joins the chorus by singing of what God is doing in the song that we’ve come to call the Magnificat.  She visits her relative Elizabeth, who has also become miraculously pregnant, growing in her womb a baby John the Baptist that just can’t help but leap with joy when Mary enters the room.  The two women, one young and one old, share a moment together that can only be had between two expectant mothers.  And in that moment that is pregnant with wonder, another song is born as Mary opens her lips and sings.

Barbara Brown Taylor has said the following of today’s passage:  “‘My soul magnifies the Lord,’ Mary sings right there in Elizabeth’s living room, ‘and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.’ Elizabeth and Zechariah are the first to hear her song, but it is not just for them. It is also for her, Mary, and for the Mighty One who has done great things for her. It is for Gabriel, who first gave her the good news, and for all who will benefit from it—for the proud and powerful who will be relieved of their swelled heads, for the hungry who will be filled with good things, for the rich who will be sent away empty so that they have room in them for more than money can buy. Her song is for Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—for Sarah, Rebecca, Leah, and Rachel—for every son and daughter of Israel who thought God had forgotten the promise to be with them forever, to love them forever, to give them fresh and endless life. It was all happening inside of Mary, and she was so sure of it that she was singing about it ahead of time—not in the future tense but in the past, as if the promise had already come true. Prophets almost never get their verb tenses straight, because part of their gift is being able to see the world as God sees it—not divided into things that are already over and things that have not happened yet, but as eternally unfolding mystery that surprises everyone—maybe even God.” 

Mary was a young prophet, probably around the age of climate activist Greta Thunberg who was selected a few days ago as Time Magazine’s person of the year.  Often, men in power don’t like to listen to young girls like them.  We don’t always like to listen to prophets like Greta, or prophets like Mary, because they sometimes tell us things that upset the way things are.  

Mary did not sing because God was carrying on business as usual.  Mary’s song was a song of thanksgiving because God is getting read to stir the pot!  Her song is a song of thanksgiving because God’s gonna trouble the water.  Her song is a song of thanksgiving because the fruit of her womb has made these promises so real to her that she can’t even speak of them in future tense but, as Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us, in the past tense.  Because prophets have this uncanny and, frankly, dangerous ability to see the world not as it is but as God wants it to be.  But when young girls like Mary sing their truth, they can get publicly ridiculed by the powers that be, as we saw happen this very week in the news.

But, you and I have a different option to take.  Instead of bullying young women who bring us God’s truth, we can join their song.  We can sing our own Magnificat which bears truth to the radical, subversive love of God that is soon to be born in our very arms.  We can choose to sing not only the Magnificat of the first chapter of Luke but we can also sing of the Magnificat in the 35th chapter of Isaiah.

You have to suspect that Mary was familiar with the words of Isaiah 35 because they fit in perfectly with the poetry of her Magnificat.  The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom.  The eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped.  Waters shall break forth in the wilderness and streams in the desert.  The lame shall leap like a deer and the tongue of the speechless will sing for joy.

Both Magnificat’s, both in Luke and Isaiah, speak of the delight of the divine reversal that is about to happen.  The world is indeed about to turn.  In fact, when we put on our “prophet hat,” we must admit that the world has already turned.  We just don’t always act like it.

But today’s passages remind us that there is delight to be found when we embrace the change that God ushers in by the very presence of God’s one and only child, in flesh and bones just like us.  There is delight, - delight that cannot wait - within the songs that young women like Mary, Miriam, Deborah, and Hannah sing.

There is a song that must be sung because, as Henri Nouwen has said, “You are the place God chose to dwell.”  You don’t have to be a young girl like Mary to have God dwell within you.  God has chosen each and every one of us to dwell within.  That is the truth of Advent and the truth of Christmas.  That is reason to sing.  That is the source of our own Magnificat’s.  Because delight can’t wait - and so we sing.

In the name of the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of God’s children say:  Amen.

"Worshiping a Wounded God" - Luke 23:33-43 (November 24, 2019)

Luke 23:33-43

When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. [[ Then Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.’]] And they cast lots to divide his clothing. And the people stood by, watching; but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, ‘He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!’ The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, and saying, ‘If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!’ There was also an inscription over him, ‘This is the King of the Jews.’

One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, ‘Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’ But the other rebuked him, saying, ‘Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.’ Then he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ He replied, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’

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Well, here we are - the last stop on the liturgical calendar.  After journeying through a very long period of “green” during Ordinary Time, our final destination before beginning a new liturgical year is always Christ the King Sunday (or Reign of Christ Sunday, depending on who you ask).  Next week, when we gather back in this room for worship, the sanctuary will look much different.  We’ll switch to hues of blues and purples among the greens that will hang around us.  But before we sing “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” or “Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus,” we have one final stop.  Before we anticipate the wondrous birth of Jesus, Christ the King Sunday is an opportunity to observe the end of his life - or, more specifically, what the Romans Empire thought would be the end of his life.  I like to see Christ the King Sunday as reminding us who it is that we are so soon to be welcoming among us as a tiny little baby, swaddled in cloth in Mary’s lap. Today, we are reminded that there is only one King, only one Savior, only one person who can truly save us. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about kings this past week while this sermon percolated in my brain.  I’ve been thinking about King Friday XIII from Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.  I’ve been thinking about King Richard in Disney’s 1973 animated classic, “Robin Hood” (since Tricia and I have recently subscribed to Disney+ and have been feelings rather nostalgic lately).  But one king that sticks out in my mind is King Henry VIII.  

King Henry VIII was the King of England from 1509 until his death in 1547.  You may remember him for his six wives.  You may remember learning their fates in school: “divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived.”  That first marriage to Catherine of Aragon - or, rather, Henry’s attempt to annul it - was the reason for the birth of the Church of England.  Since the Catholic Church would not grant him a divorce from Catherine, he just decided to go ahead and start his own church and name himself - not Jesus Christ - as the head of it.

I’ve also been thinking about King Henry VIII because the bible that he commissioned was in this very room a few weeks ago during Michael Morgan’s historic bible presentation.  Some of you may remember the intricate wood carving on one of its pages.  In the middle of the page are the four gospel writers, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.  Bordering the left and the right of the page are the 12 tribes of Israel.  At the very top middle of the page is a depiction of God which is rather tiny - about the size of a dime.  Then, right below God, taking up no less than a full third of the entire page, is an enormous depiction of King Henry VIII (which tells you a bit about what he thought about himself).

All this is to say that this reminds me that history has given us a long list of kings with, shall we say, overinflated egos.

But you and I don’t worship a king like that.  We don’t worship a king that stays removed in an ivory tower.  We don’t worship a king who has made his power through coercive means.  We don’t worship a king who who is safely removed from the suffering and despair of the world around us.

We worship a very different kind of king.

We worship a wounded king.  We worship a wounded God.

We have all heard the story before. The story of Jesus being placed on trial and sentenced to a criminal’s death by crucifixion. The long and arduous walk carrying the cross to Golgotha, the place of the Skull. The nailing of his arms and legs to a cross where he would hang, in agony, between two criminals who deserved their punishment. 

Not once, not twice, but three times as he hangs on that cross is Jesus told to save himself.  In cruel mockery, the soldiers, the crowd, and even one of the condemned criminals hanging next to him shout out for him to save himself.

And you know what, I think Jesus could have done just that.  Surely a God so powerful as to create the entire world had the capacity to, in an instant, escape the physical and emotional pain being inflicted upon him.  But unlike any other king who would go to extreme measures to avoid appearing vulnerable or weak, our King made a different choice.

Our King decided to remain on the cross and die.

And that decision makes all the difference.

We worship a God who is not afraid to show us his wounds.  Think of it, when the resurrected Jesus appeared to the disciples in that upper room in John’s Gospel, he does not present himself unblemished.  Instead, he displayed his wounds, even inviting Thomas to touch them to prove their realness.  

We worship a wounded king.  We worship a wounded God.

And we follow that God because even in the midst of God’s wounded-ness, that same God assures us that we will be in God in paradise.  Because when the crucified Jesus said that to the criminal hanging next to him, he speaks to every one of us.  

We are wounded but God loves us just as we are.  And God compels us to stand in solidarity with others around us who cry out in pain as Jesus did from the cross.  We follow a King who is intimately present in other people’s suffering because that same God is acutely aware of what that suffering feels like.

And that vulnerability is power.  

That kind of vulnerability is a power that cannot be bought with money or acquired through the strongest army.  It cannot be found in political sway or social media influence.  That kind of power is reserved for one person and one person only:  Jesus Christ.

I’ll end this sermon with the following words from Brené Brown on the power of vulnerability:

“Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path.”

So let us follow the path of our wounded God, share in God’s vulnerability, and care for others in theirs.

Friends, all praise and glory to our King who reigns eternal, our one foundation.

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer.  Amen.