Pouring Out Our Soul - Sermon on 1 Samuel 1:4-20

     During our worship together last week, we were led by the “director,” so to speak, of Psalm 107 through several scenes.  These vignettes, through several broad, sweeping motions, invited us to ponder the ways that we, as God’s people, have cried out to the Lord who then showers us with steadfast love
     We wandered with the “wanderers” who found no way in the desert wastes
          until the Lord led us by a straight way to an inhabited town. 
     We sat with the “sitters” who sat in darkness and in gloom
          until the Lord brought us out and broke our bonds. 
     We loathed with the “loathers” who could not bring themselves
     to receive their God-given nourishment
          until the Lord sent out his word to heal us. 
     We staggered with the “staggerers” who were at their wits’ end
          until the Lord brought us out from our distress and gave us quiet.

     Today’s lectionary passage, however, gives us no generic participles to describe groups of people in common situations.  Rather, we have a name, a person, a beloved and specific child of God:  Hannah.  But this specific child of God has a very specific problem:  the Lord has closed her womb.  While the inability to have children is a certainly no less a source of grief today as it was in the days of Hannah, our modern culture does not view this condition with the same social stigma with which it was in her days.  Back then, a woman who could not conceive was considered worthless, a good-for-nothing waste whose physical barrenness mirrored the devastating public humiliation of a person without a purpose.
     A few weeks ago, we experienced the irony of the story of the blind beggar, Bartimaeus, whose name meant “son of honor.”  Likewise, this passage is steeped in irony for this woman who is considered cursed and purposeless is called Hannah whose very name means “God favors me.”  Clearly not, it would seem, for not once but twice the author of today’s passage reminds us that the Lord had closedher womb.
     Peninnah, her rival as another wife to Elkanah, has no such problem.  She, the author of today’s text tells us, has many sons and daughters; fitting perhaps for a woman whose name means “pearl.”  The focus, however, is not on this “pearl’s” sons and daughters but rather upon her incessant taunts and snares directed straight at Hannah, as if she needed a reminder, had her womb closed by God.  It is just too much; she weeps and does not eat, and goes to the house of the Lord to pray year after year after year after year.  Like the folks we met in Psalm 107, she cries out to the Lord in her distress.
     This day must have felt like every other, crying out to God for the umpteenth time, returning exasperated and saddened from hearing nothing in reply only to return home to the cruel barrage of insults from that “pearl” of a woman, Peninnah.  This time, however, she prays at Shiloh.  The time period of today’s story takes place towards the end of the period of Israel’s judges and just before the period of her kings.  The judges, you might remember, were leaders of Israel whose stories are familiar to us; Gideon, Samson, Deborah and the like.  The kings of Israel to follow were Saul, David, Solomon and then a number of others after the nation split.  In the interim period, in which we find today’s story, Shiloh was the central place of worship for all of Israel.  This is where the entire nation gathered for feasts, celebrations, worship, sacrifices, and the like.  Therefore, this place in which we find Hannah pleading with God is no private worship space, no solitary meditation chapel or prayer room.  Rather, this is the place where the Israelites come to worship.  This cry was a public spectacle!
     Perhaps this is the reason that Eli is concerned with her behavior which does not come across as decently and in order.  As she prays silently, only her lips move.  Therefore, Eli accuses her of being drunk.  However, this assumption by Eli is quickly corrected when Hannah replies to her with a clever, evocative, and heartfelt pun that no drunkard could ever muster.  “No, my lord,” she answers, “I am a woman deeply troubled; I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord.”  Pouring out my soul.
     I began working on this sermon thinking that I would frame this story as nothing more than a concrete example of the generic stories that we journeyed through last week in Psalm 107.  A child of God is in distress, the person (whether a wanderer, a sitter, a loather, or a staggerer) cries out to the Turner, the God of abundance, and is delivered by the Lord from her distress.  Now, that being said, Hannah’s story does seem to fit rather seamlessly into this salvation narrative.  The Lord hears her cries, brings forth life to her barren womb, and makes Hannah to conceive and bear Samuel, a great leader in the future of Israel’s history.
     However, if we limit this story to this truth alone, important and vitalizing as it is, we lose the specificity of Hannah, the nuances of this story that challenge us to go deeper.  Hannah’s little phrase “I am not drunk, I am pouring out my soul before the Lord” does just that.
     As I was preparing for this sermon, I ran across an article by Marcia Mount Shoop, a pastor up in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.  She says that this passage has many layers of meanings but at the end of the day, it is really a story about being “spiritually awake.”  She continues to say that “her prayer of groaning makes her an icon not simply of the mother of a son who is prophetic and powerful, but of a human being who knows herself to be known and loved by God.”
     Perhaps, then, today’s passage is about worship for, after all, worship could be defined as that act when we “present” ourselves to the Lord, where we know we are known and loved by God.  Hannah, in her pain and in her suffering and in her lament, knew where she needed to go.  She needed to rise up and present herself in the presence of the Lord.  Hannah knew that she needed to present none other than her real self, not some prettied-up, tamed, restrained, moderate, meek, costumed, masked self.  But her real self in all of her humanness, in all of her beauty and all of her pain, in all of her strength and all of her weakness, in all honesty.  Hannah knew that worship was not a time for her to “sprinkle” out her soul to the Lord.  This was no time to “drip” out her soul to the Lord.  No, Hannah’s worship in this public place of Shiloh was where she knew she needed to pour out her soul to the Lord.  Hannah knew what it was like to be “spiritually awake.”
     We have a lot to learn from Hannah for we, you and I, are not always spiritually awake during the act of worship.  Hannah challenges us to be honest with ourselves as we move through the journey of worship with all of its mystery and grace, its questions and its answers, its bread and its wine, its praise and its lament.  Hannah’s honesty in her worship challenges us to rethink the way we worship and present ourselves before the Lord in our very own Shiloh here as this worshiping community.

• Take the moment of the “Call to Worship” – during this moment we are gathered in the presence of the very God who created everything, who called Moses through a burning bush, who rained fire from heaven at Mount Carmel, who names us and loves us and knows every hair on our head, who alone possesses the power to both create this world and bring it to an end!  Does our embodiment of this moment reflect the “spiritual awareness” of Hannah?
• Perhaps we need to rethink the way we confess our sins in light of Hannah’s wisdom.  After all, what is confession if it is not pouring our out souls to God and confessing that which we do and that which we are that prevent us from living as we should.  We confess to God, knowing that, if left to our own devices, we would forever be tormented in the hellish fires of our own depravity.  After that, we are assured that through the life, death, and resurrection of Christ we have been no less than plucked out of the jaws of death to live as a redeemed people.  Does our embodiment of this part of worship reflect the honesty of Hannah?
• Or perhaps look at the prayer for illumination.  A musical prayer for illumination from Nigeria has the congregation singing “wa, wa, wa, emimimo, wao, wao, wao,” which means “Come, come, come, Holy Spirit, come immediately, come right now, come this very minute!!”  Hannah asks us if our prayer for illumination reflects this desperate need of the Holy Spirit to make any sense out of this mysterious and salvific word of God.  
• Finally, perhaps Hannah would challenge us to look at the mindset of our Affirmation of Faith.  When we stand to profess that in which we believe, we proclaim the truth.  We stand in defiance and proclaim the Way, and the Truth, and the Life in the midst of a world that screams lies in our faces veiled as truth.  It is no small thing that we stand together to proclaim our allegiance not to the lies of this world but of the truth of the world that was and is and is to come under Christ our King!  Does our embodiment of this defiant prayer reflect the defiance of Hannah as she defends her actions in the temple at Shiloh to an ignorant Eli.

     Friends, in my time with you it has become clear that the family that is Silver Creek Presbyterian Church has had a long and rich history of meaningful worship.  There is certainly no lacking of faithful worship in your history!  But in the rough and exciting waters that we are navigating, how might we take courage from Hannah and come before the presence of the Lord in new and creative ways that awaken our “spiritual awareness?”  How might we more fully embody our entire selves into the worship we are called to do?  How might we pour our souls out to the same God who heard Hannah’s cries and restored life to her barren womb? 
     Perhaps Hannah’s faithful worship reminds us of the need to keep our eyes open.  And perhaps not only our eyes but our ears, mouths, hearts, minds, and arms as well!  Hannah will remind us to pay attention for she was not the only woman who carried a gift from God within her womb.  For as we approach the season of advent, we will be reminded of another woman who poured out her soul to God in order that she might bring into this world a savior who would pour out his soul for you and for me.  So in the weeks to come, as we prepare ourselves yet again to welcome into the world the savior who first welcomed us, remember Hannah’s courage and be not afraid to pour out your soul to God.  For I announce to you that the very God to whom you pour out your soul is the very God who will turn around and fill it with life!  Thanks be to God!

Texts for November 25th

     Friends in Christ, below are the lectionary texts that I will preach on the Sunday after Thanksgiving (November 25th).  I welcome your comments and feedback.  As always, feel free to give your insights and questions either publicly on this blog or privately via my email at smfearing@gmail.com.  Grace and peace, Stephen.

John 18:33-38

     Then Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, ‘Are you the King of the Jews?’ Jesus answered, ‘Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?’ Pilate replied, ‘I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?’ Jesus answered, ‘My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.’ Pilate asked him, ‘So you are a king?’ Jesus answered, ‘You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.’ Pilate asked him, ‘What is truth?’

Revelation 1:4b-8

     John to the seven churches that are in Asia:

     Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven spirits who are before his throne, and from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.

     To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and madeus to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen. 
     Look! He is coming with the clouds;
          every eye will see him,
     even those who pierced him;
           and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail.
     So it is to be. Amen.

     ‘I am the Alpha and the Omega’, says the Lord God, 

          who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty. 

Joy Too Abundant For Words

Many thanks to Sally Ann McKinsey Sisk, Rachel Hood, and Chris Vogado for their leadership in the worship service that inspired this post.  With much appreciation to John Fawcett for his musical invitation to see (and hear) things with a fresh grace.

     I have always loved words.  Of late I have become enchanted by the power of God-speech.  Today I was reminded that God-speech sometimes is prophetically uttered without words because, sometimes, words just won't do.
     At the chapel service today at Columbia Theological Seminary, this week's chapel leadership team led us in a reading of "the Prodigal Son."  Two readers came forth and began to read the familiar words:  "Then Jesus said, 'there was a man who had two sons...'"  It is not without a small amount of embarrassment that I admit to you that I almost immediately checked out after the second verse.  I, like so many others, have heard this story countless times and know exactly how it ends.  But, as I have discovered, the Spirit has a holy and unpredictable way of reorienting us in fascinating and invigorating ways.
     As the story continued and my mind wandered away (perhaps ironic given the content of the story), something happened that ripped me from my distraction.  As the prodigal son returned home to find the father awaiting him eagerly with joyful celebration on the agenda, the liturgists uttered these words of the passage:  "Now the elder son was in the field...and he heard music and dancing."  At that precise moment as the reading continued, a friend and colleague of mine, leaning casually against the wall of the chapel with guitar in hand, began playing music that immediately reoriented me to the story in a way I have never experienced before.  The tune was soft and yet playful and warm.  A very physical joy enveloped me as I heard the beautiful, celebratory music.  Simply put, the music forced me (I use that term intentionally) to feel the passage in a new way.
     I found myself standing shoulder to shoulder with the elder son as his father explained to both of us why there was such an abundant feast going on inside for our jerk of a brother.  We found that the music, more so than the words, expressed to us that this is a time of joy.  And what's more, this joy in this moment was too abundant for words alone to embody.  So perhaps the best way to understand God's grace is to stop talking about it and go inside and join the feast!

1 Samuel 1:4-20 - your thoughts?

Sisters and Brothers in Christ,

          I will be preaching on the following passage at Silver Creek Presbyterian Church this upcoming Sunday (November 18th).  I welcome your insights and questions regarding this text.  Please feel free to comment here on the blog or to share with me privately via smfearing@gmail.com.  Many thanks!

                                Grace and peace,

                                Stephen

1 Samuel 1:4-20

     On the day when Elkanah sacrificed, he would give portions to his wife Peninnah and to all her sons and daughters; but to Hannah he gave a double portion, because he loved her, though the Lord had closed her womb. Her rival used to provoke her severely, to irritate her, because the Lord had closed her womb. So it went on year after year; as often as she went up to the house of the Lord, she used to provoke her. Therefore Hannah wept and would not eat. Her husband Elkanah said to her, ‘Hannah, why do you weep? Why do you not eat? Why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?’

     After they had eaten and drunk at Shiloh, Hannah rose and presented herself before the Lord. Now Eli the priest was sitting on the seat beside the doorpost of the temple of the Lord. She was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord, and wept bitterly. She made this vow: ‘O Lord of hosts, if only you will look on the misery of your servant, and remember me, and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a male child, then I will set him before you as a nazirite until the day of his death. He shall drink neither wine nor intoxicants,and no razor shall touch his head.’

     As she continued praying before the Lord, Eli observed her mouth.Hannah was praying silently; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard; therefore Eli thought she was drunk. So Eli said to her, ‘How long will you make a drunken spectacle of yourself? Put away your wine.’ But Hannah answered, ‘No, my lord, I am a woman deeply troubled; I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord. Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time.’ Then Eli answered, ‘Go in peace; the God of Israel grant the petition you have made to him.’ And she said, ‘Let your servant find favor in your sight.’ Then the woman went to her quarters, ate and drank with her husband, and her countenance was sad no longer.

     They rose early in the morning and worshipped before the Lord; then they went back to their house at Ramah. Elkanah knew his wife Hannah, and the Lord remembered her. In due time Hannah conceived and bore a son. She named him Samuel, for she said, ‘I have asked him of the Lord.’

The wanderers, the sitters, the loathers, the staggerers, and the Turner - a Sermon on Psalm 107

     The following sermon was preached at Silver Creek Presbyterian Church on November 11, 2012.  The original title of the sermon was "Feasting on the Verbs" but I decided to rename it "The wanderers, the sitters, the loathers, the staggerers, and the Turner" after the characters that found me during the journey of this sermon.  As a side note, the opening rhetorical pattern ("this sermon is not for you if...") is borrowed from a sermon by Walter Brueggemann which can be found in The Collected Sermons of Walter Brueggemann (Westminster John Knox Press, 2011).  Finally, the pictures that are posted in between the sections of this sermon were taken by me on a wonderful walk around Piedmont Park in Atlanta, Georgia on November 10th.  Enjoy!

            This sermon is not for you…if you have never wandered.

            This sermon is not for you…if you have never sat in darkness or in gloom.

            This sermon is not for you…if you have never loathed what actually heals you.

            This sermon is not for you…if you have never staggered along the journey of life.

            If none of these verbs sound familiar to you…then this sermon is notfor you.  However, if, like me, you have experienced or are living them at this very moment…then this sermon is especially for you.  This story is for you because the Psalms are our story.  So perhaps, if we listen closely enough, we will note that the voices of Psalm 107 might not be as far removed as previously thought.

I

            I like to think of the author of Psalm 107 as a stage director, who has crafted several “scenes” and invites us to journey from one to another to arrive at the end of the story changed.  Furthermore, the psalmist cleverly uses verbs to direct us in the movement of this passage.  The psalmist begins the narrative with a verb directed, rather bluntly, toward you and me.  “O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; for his steadfast love endures forever.”  Give thanks.  There you have it:  our first verb.  The psalmist then directs our gaze from our verb and toward two verbs that belong solely to God:  gather and redeem.  Simply put, we give thanks because God gathers and redeems.  Now, thanks to the verbs of the Psalmist, you and I know exactly what to look for in the rest of the story.

II

Our first scene opens as the “Wanderers" take the stage.  They have two big verbs:  the find no way and then they faint.  We watch this scene with a great deal of empathy for we all, I suppose, at some time or another, search for that “inhabited town,” that place where we will have purpose instead of meaninglessness, that place where our hunger and thirst will be perished and wandering will give way to exploring and fear will give way to curiosity.  After finding no way and fainting, the Wanderers cry out to the Lord.  And then the One who has gathered and redeemed delivers and leads.  The Lord hears their cries and leads them by a straight way, a just and upright path, to an inhabited town where their stomachs are filled and their thirst satisfied.  As we begin our movement to the next scene, a musical interlude reaches our ears that we will hear again throughout this story:   

“Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,

for his wonderful works to humankind. 

For he satisfies the thirsty,

and the hungry he fills with good things."

III

            The second scene begins as the moving Wanderers exit stage left and we turn stage right to see the “Sitters.”  They, it would seem, do not even possess the energy to wander.  Instead, they sit in their darkness and gloom, prisoners of misery and in irons.  However, this is no unjust circumstance, for they have rebelled and spurned.  They have fallen down under the weight of their own hard labor.  In their misery, darkness, and gloom, they repeat the refrain of the Wanderers and cry out to the Lord.  This time, the Psalmist gives God three new verbs in response to this gut-wrenching plea for salvation:  saved, brought, and broke.  God saves them from their distress, brought them out of darkness and gloom, and broke their bonds asunder.  The movement to the next scene continues as the musical refrain begins again: 

“Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,

for his wonderful works to humankind,

For he shatters the doors of bronze,

and cuts in two the bars of iron.”

IV

            The third scene opens with the “Loathers.”  They are called as such because, according to the Psalmist, they loath any kind of food.  In sharp contrast to the Wanderers who wander the desert in search of the smallest scrap of sustenance, the Loathers cannot bring themselves to be nourished by the smorgasbord sitting right in front of them.  Why, we might ask?  Because they are sick through their sinful ways and endure affliction by their own iniquities.  Their sickness is so prevalent that they draw near to the gates of death.  The Psalmist does not let them off the hook by giving them a passive verb such as “were drawn.”  No, the Loathers are active agents in their own distress and draw themselves near the gates of death.  Once again, the pattern continues, and the Loathers join the chorus of the Wanderers and the Sitters and cry out to the Lord.  The Lord, in response, saved, sent, healed, and delivered.  God saved them from their distress by sending out God’s word to heal them and deliver them from destruction.  And as the camera turns to the next scene, the refrain again continues:

            “Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,

                        for his wonderful works to humankind.

            And let them offer thanksgiving sacrifices,

                        and tell of his deeds with songs of joy.”

V

            Our fourth scene introduces to us the “Staggerers.”  Perhaps worried that we might lose attention during this rather long narrative, the director throws us a curveball by introducing to us these characters.  Unlike the Wanderers, the Sitters, and the Loathers, the Staggerers are not victims of their own doing but instead find themselves amidst a storm of God’sown doing.  In the chaos of the stormy wind and the incessant barrage of waves, their courage melts and they reel and stagger like drunkards, so much so that they are at their wits’ end.  To no surprise, the Staggerers join their sisters and brothers the Wanderers, the Sitters, and the Loathers, and cry out to the Lord in their trouble.  The Lord responds and brings them out of their distress, makes the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed.  And the Psalmist tells us that they were glad because they had quiet, because God brought them to their desired haven.  Together at last on the stage in front of us, the Wanderers, the Sitters, the Loathers, and the Staggerers sing the refrain that, by now, is familiar to our ears: 

            “Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,

                        for his wonderful works to humankind.

            Let them extol him in the congregation of the people,

                        and praise him in the assembly of the elders.”

VI

            The fifth and final scene introduces the main character (who actually gave the script to the director in the first place).  This character goes by many names (“Lord” perhaps being chief among them) but in this scene is called “The Turner.”  He is called as such because the Turner turns the rivers into a desert and turns a desert into rivers.  The Turner is introduced as the one whom all along has possessed the ability to turn the Wanderers into sheltered ones, the Sitters into freed ones, the Loathers into healed ones, and the Staggerers into glad ones.  The Turner allows all of the characters we have met so far to sow and plant and receive a fruitful yield.  Through the blessing of the Turner, they do not decrease but multiply. 

VII

            As the curtain comes down on and we are left pondering the story of the Wanderers, the Sitters, the Loathers, the Staggerers, and the Turner, the director comes out front and addresses us directly, saying:

            “The upright see [these things] and are glad;

                        and all wickedness stops its mouth.

            Let those who are wise give heed to these things,

                        and consider the steadfast love of the Lord.”

           

            This is much to consider, indeed!  There are many wanderers, sitters, loathers, and staggerers in this world, but there is only one Turner.  Only thischaracter can bring us from the depths of our despair and the prison of our misery.  Because of this good news, the Psalmist invites us to be wise and heed these things, to realize that this story both begins and ends with the Turner’s steadfast love.  The Psalmist also lets us in on a little secret:  the lowering of the curtain did not actually end this story, for it is only intermission.  Much to our surprise, you and I are no longer members of the audience but then again perhaps we never really were in the first place.  We are active participants in the story of God’s steadfast love and we will never be the same for God has gathered and redeemed and we must give thanks!

Feasting on the Verbs - The Verbs of Psalm 107

Sisters and Brothers in Christ,
     As I prepare to preach on Psalm 107 this upcoming Sunday at Silver Creek Presbyterian Church, I thought that it would be helpful to map out the verbs (and their "owners") in the psalm.  Below is the result of my findings.  What a feast!  I welcome your comments and insights!

                       Grace and peace,
                       Stephen

Verbs that are attributed to God in Psalm 107

Verbs that Belong to God in Psalm 107

Past Tense

• Brought (3x)
• Saved (2x)
• Delivered (2x)
• Redeemed
• Gathered
• Led
• Broke
• Sent (out)
• Healed
• Commanded
• Raised
• Made

Present Tense

• Turns (2x)
• Is (Good)
• Endures
• Satisfies
• Fills
• Pours
• Makes
• Shatters
• Cuts
• lets live
• does not let decrease

Verbs that Belong to "some" (or "us")

Past tense

• Cried (4x)
• Went (down) (2x)
• Bowed (down)
• Fell (down)
• Melted (away)
• Wandered
• Mounted
• Fainted
• Reached
• Sat
• Rebelled
• Spurned
• Reeled
• Staggered
• Saw
• Loathed
• Drew near
• Were (sick)
• Were (glad)
• Were (at their wits' end)

Present Tense

• Thanks (6x)
• Establish
• Sow
• Plant
• Multiply
• Say
• See
• Tell
• Give heed
• Consider
• Extol
• Praise

Psalm 107

Sisters and Brothers in Christ,
     I am preaching on this text next Sunday (November 11th) at Silver Creek Presbyterian Church near Rome, Georgia.  I welcome your thoughts/questions/insights of this text as we engage in this holy word.  You are invited to comment on this blog.  However, if you would rather share privately, please feel free to email me at smfearing@gmail.com.

                        Grace and peace,
                        Stephen

Psalm 107

O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
   for his steadfast love endures for ever. 
Let the redeemed of the Lord say so,
   those he redeemed from trouble 
and gathered in from the lands,
   from the east and from the west,
   from the north and from the south. 

Some wandered in desert wastes,
   finding no way to an inhabited town; 
hungry and thirsty,
   their soul fainted within them. 
Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble,
   and he delivered them from their distress; 
he led them by a straight way,
   until they reached an inhabited town. 
Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,
   for his wonderful works to humankind. 
For he satisfies the thirsty,
   and the hungry he fills with good things. 

Some sat in darkness and in gloom,
   prisoners in misery and in irons, 
for they had rebelled against the words of God,
   and spurned the counsel of the Most High. 
Their hearts were bowed down with hard labour;
   they fell down, with no one to help. 
Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble,
   and he saved them from their distress; 
he brought them out of darkness and gloom,
   and broke their bonds asunder. 
Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,
   for his wonderful works to humankind. 
For he shatters the doors of bronze,
   and cuts in two the bars of iron. 

Some were sick through their sinful ways,
   and because of their iniquities endured affliction; 
they loathed any kind of food,
   and they drew near to the gates of death. 
Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble,
   and he saved them from their distress; 
he sent out his word and healed them,
   and delivered them from destruction. 
Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,
   for his wonderful works to humankind. 
And let them offer thanksgiving sacrifices,
   and tell of his deeds with songs of joy. 

Some went down to the sea in ships,
   doing business on the mighty waters; 
they saw the deeds of the Lord,
   his wondrous works in the deep. 
For he commanded and raised the stormy wind,
   which lifted up the waves of the sea. 
They mounted up to heaven, they went down to the depths;
   their courage melted away in their calamity; 
they reeled and staggered like drunkards,
   and were at their wits’ end. 
Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble,
   and he brought them out from their distress; 
he made the storm be still,
   and the waves of the sea were hushed. 
Then they were glad because they had quiet,
   and he brought them to their desired haven. 
Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,
   for his wonderful works to humankind. 
Let them extol him in the congregation of the people,
   and praise him in the assembly of the elders. 

He turns rivers into a desert,
   springs of water into thirsty ground, 
a fruitful land into a salty waste,
   because of the wickedness of its inhabitants. 
He turns a desert into pools of water,
   a parched land into springs of water. 
And there he lets the hungry live,
   and they establish a town to live in; 
they sow fields, and plant vineyards,
   and get a fruitful yield. 
By his blessing they multiply greatly,
   and he does not let their cattle decrease. 

When they are diminished and brought low
   through oppression, trouble, and sorrow, 
he pours contempt on princes
   and makes them wander in trackless wastes; 
but he raises up the needy out of distress,
   and makes their families like flocks. 
The upright see it and are glad;
   and all wickedness stops its mouth. 
Let those who are wise give heed to these things,
   and consider the steadfast love of the Lord.

The Sacrament of Subway

     Have you ever had the Holy Spirit completely and unapologetically explode into your life?  Such an explosion happened to me a few weeks ago and there is a part of me that will not rest until I share it with you.

     Tuesdays are my busiest days this semester at Columbia Theological Seminary.  My identities as student, teaching assistant, preacher, and musician seem to converge (and sometimes collide!) on this particular day of the week.  It usually looks something like this....

     I wake up around 7:30 and have breakfast and run through my Hebrew vocabulary.  At 9:00 A.M. I have Hebrew plenary and then immediately leave at 10:00 A.M. to spend a couple of hours at one of two of my favorite coffee joints to get some reading done.  After grabbing a quick bite to eat for lunch I usually spend an hour or so preparing for choir rehearsal at 3:30 (I am the Choir Director here at the seminary).  Just as rehearsal finishes, I serve as a teaching assistant and lead a one-hour practicum on the art of reading scripture aloud.  Finally, I then serve as a teaching assistant for the introduction to worship class from 6:00 to 9:30.  I'm sure that this schedule would be exhausting for anyone but the rather strong introvert inside of me often finds itself retreating to the fetal position by the end of the day!

     I have found a particular ritual that has helped me during the chaos of my Tuesdays.  I have a very small window between 5:30 and 6:00 where, every Tuesday, I drive to the Subway that is in the Walmart a mile or so away from the campus.

     On this particular Tuesday in question, I was even more frazzled than what is normal on such a day.  I ran out of Campbell Hall after dismissing my fellow colleagues, my steps deliberately leading me towards my silver Ford Fiesta.  I was on a mission and I would be damned if I let either God or man deter me from my goal.  As I stepped on the clutch to bring my engine to life, I sped out of the parking lot, causing a group of innocent squirrels running for cover.  As Murphy's Law would have it, I got stuck behind one of those God-forsaken MARTA buses.  The squirrels had probably just begun to cautiously poke their heads out of their holes back on campus as I frantically pulled into a parking spot at Walmart, cursing the people who had left their empty shopping carts in the two spots closer to the building.

     As I power walked into the Subway, feeling important with my green Society of Biblical Literature tote bag over my shoulder, I approached the counter of the Subway to receive my nourishment to finish my day.  I had finished the race, I had fought the good fight!  

     But....(there's always a but!), a woman with her two children had preceded me in line and, of course, there was only one person working the place.  As I muttered some rather non-reverent words under my breath, I watched as the woman working the counter slowly, methodically, and perhaps even lovingly placed each slice of meat, each dash of pepper, each portion of tomato, on the three sandwiches.

     Really!?!? I thought, you've got to be kidding me!  Can't you see how important I am?  Can't you see I'm in a rush so I can go continue to do the work of the Lord?  

     And then....it happened.  A feeling which I find hard to explain erupted within me.  I caught myself (or, perhaps better said, I was myself caught).  I stopped.  I looked at the sandwich and a voice inside of me said, wow, that really is a beautiful sandwich.  A beautiful, grace-filled calm surrounded me as a warm smile crept upon my lips.  For the rest of the evening, tired though I was, a peace that passes understanding fell upon my shoulders.  A peace rained down on my frantic mindset because it really was a beautiful meal prepared by loving hands.

     In the weeks since this explosion of the Spirit, I have come to interpret this event as a sacramental one.  John Calvin speaks of the sacraments as moments when we, as God's people, are lifted up by the Holy Spirit to gain a grace-filled glimpse of the Kingdom of Heaven.  This explosion of the Holy Spirit into my very being on this evening at Subway was a sacramental one for I was rather physically lifted out of myself and placed within a larger narrative.  As I watched this one worker prepare sandwiches for a mother and her family, I was reminded that she was not the first person to break bread with loving hands.  Christ invites us to the table to give us broken bread offered with loving hands, hands that lift us out of ourselves and into one another.

     Friends, the presence of the Holy Spirit in the moment of the sacraments forces us to reinterpret and re-imagine the narrative of our lives.  Perhaps, then, a normal piece of bread amid the chaos of our lives might even place upon us the grace we need to continue the call.  

                           Grace and peace,

                           Stephen

     

A Darkness Perished

Mark 10:46-52

They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Jesus stood still and said, ‘Call him here.’ And they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘Take heart; get up, he is calling you.’ So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ The blind man said to him, ‘My teacher, let me see again.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Go; your faith has made you well.’ Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way. 

http://matthewpaulturner.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/light.jpg

            It had been years, years, since he had seen the light of day, sitting by the side of that dusty, unforgiving road.  Beauty, he had once seen.  Color, he had once tasted.  Sunsets, he had once embraced.  His legs, once strong and stable, now lay surrendered beneath his feeble frame, withered by the long march of time.  He used to cherish his long walks, especially this time of year.  His eyes would marvel at the beauty of the fall leaves beside the silver streams.  He would follow the path as his eyes guided his feet, which in turn guided his thoughts and his prayers.

            But then….darkness.  He didn’t know why.  Some told him it was because of some terrible transgression that he must have done and others thought it due to an even greater sin by his parents.  But whatever reason, to him it didn’t matter.  Gone was his sight, lost was his light, empty was his life. 

            It’s true, what they say, about the other senses sharpening when another dies.  His ears and nose began to shoulder the weight that his eyes had so long carried.  They taught him, after years and years, every note of the symphony that surrounded him as he sat by the roadside.  Each morning, as he shook off the chill of the night’s darkness, the song began with a solitary rooster, calling out of the emptiness, ushering the orchestra to life. 

            From a distance, off to his left, he could always make out the clanging of dishes as a mother prepared breakfast for her children.  Soon after, the smell of spices and incense crept up his nostrils as the street vendor next to him opened shop.  As the city awakened and the footsteps began to shuffle past him, the priests would walk by, muttering their prayers, heading off to the temple to be nearer to God.  He pulled his cloak tighter around him for the morning had yet to shed its chill.  He always eagerly awaited the splash of warmth that the sun brought as it emerged from its hiding.  He did not, however, greet the dust with the same gratitude for the symphony of feet always kicked dust in his face as the intruder caked his lungs and throat.  Coughing and sputtering, his wiry fingers embraced the cup that he extended daily in the hope of mercy.

            Bartimaeus was his name.  Bar-timaeus; literally, “son of honor.”  The title just rubbed salt in the wound.  He had once had honor, purpose, direction.  But no more.  Now the Son of Honor sat by the roadside and begged, his eyes glazed over.  What he wouldn’t give to see again, to walk again, to have purpose again!

            A sharp curse and a biting pain in his leg interrupted his thoughts.  A man (a priest, Bartimaeus presumed from the prayers that had preceded him) had tripped over his feeble legs.  No doubt having had his eyes gazing reverently upon the heavens, the priest recovered from his stumble and continued his walk and followed along his way.  As the curses disappeared in the distance, the blind beggar continued listening to the surrounding symphony.

            His ears had grown accustomed to the content of the conversations that journeyed past him day after day, month after month, year after year.  Another shooting had happened a few days ago.  Some more politicians are promising salvation.  High unemployment and low job growth.  It was all part of the same round sung in endless repetition.  Same today as it was yesterday and most likely the same as it will be tomorrow.

            But lately whispers have been creeping into the scripted symphony of his surroundings.  These new conversations, barely audible to all but the most trained ear, bring forth a note of improvisation and curiosity to his life.  Amidst the din of sound, he has heard whispers of a man who silences demons, who touches, actually touches, a leprous person and makes him whole.  Whispers of a man who heals withered hands, and lifts seizing children, and raises dying daughters, and feeds fields of people.  The other day, he even heard a whisper of this person who opened the ears of a deaf man and brought speech back to his tongue!  Why, just this morning, he had overheard a woman speaking of a man who spit in the dirt and made mud and rubbed it in the eyes of a blind man just like him, who was then able to see everything clearly!

            And then, it happens!  The symphony changes key, the tempo quickens as the feet of the crowd surrounding him scurry off in the distance.  Suddenly, he is left alone.  Quietness, at this time of day, was unheard of.  He straightens up as he sat on the road to better listen in the direction he had heard the people go.  Two whispered words he had manages to capture before the swarm of people excitedly ran off:  he saves. 

            In the silence, he wonders:  could it be?  Could he be? 

            Then his ears detect the silence being pushed away.  The echoes of the crowd bounce off the sides of the buildings and he hears excitement, shouting, curiosity, and wonder.  The tempo quickens again as the people approach his corner of the roadside.  As they round the bend and the chorus erupts he sees it, something he hasn’t seen in what seems like countless years:  light!  A light, however small and faint, explodes into the darkness that has so long covered his eyes. 

            As the crowd surrounding the glimmer of brightness comes ever closer, a primal cry erupts from his breast with a voice that he did not know that he possessed.  “Mercy!” he cries, “mercy on me!”  An uncomfortable hush silences the crowd that is immediately replaced with harsh voices of rebuke.  Hush!  Shut up!  Be quiet, for God’s sake! 

            Without hesitation he cries out with an even more passionate fervor:  “Mercy! Mercy on me!!!”  And before the crowd can begin its next wave of reproach the light freezes.  The next three words he hears come directly from the light, not words of rebuke or rejection, but three words of a curious grace: “call him here.”

            A power, not of his own, raises him from the dusty ground.  He has been called; no one has ever called him!  Others begin to cough and wheeze as his cloak is thrown from his body and flies into the wind, shedding its deep layers of dust.  The light suddenly becomes stronger as he hears the question he never could have imagined ever being asked:  “what do you want me to do for you?”

            He didn’t even have to think.  The reply arrives naturally and passionately from his lips:  “My Teacher, let me see again!”  He can’t even pay attention to the next words that come from his teacher’s mouth for his eyes are too caught up in the mystery.  The light that had exploded into his darkness begins to dance playfully around the darkness, perishing its captivity.  The sounds of the crowd disappear as he watches the light splash colors of deepest blue and brightest yellow and wondrous orange. 

            Blinking, he adjusts to the light, the warmth, and tears begin to wash the dust that has too long made its home in his eyes.  Standing before him, the light welcomes him. But this light is a light that he doesn’t remember ever witnessing even before the days of his blindness.  This light is not what it had been before.  This light brings forth more questions than it does answers.

            “Go!” the light tells him, “your faith has made you well!” 

“No!” he replies, “I will not go, I cannot go.”

The light again begins to move and the man who had been blind follows.  He follows with a strength and a courage that he did not know that he had. 

And as his eyes begin their abundant feast, he knows that he must follow this light. 

For it will take no less than his lifetime to proclaim the mystery of this sight. 

A Call to Worship, Opening Prayer, and Confession inspired by Mark 10:46-52

A Call to Worship, Opening Prayer, and Confession Prayer inspired by the story of the Healing of Blind Bartimaeus (Mark 10:46-52, 22nd Sunday after Pentecost, Year B).

Painting by Scott Anderson.  http://www.artobsessions.com/Scott-Anderson.html

Call to Worship

One:     Take heart!  For we are gathered in the Father's presence

Many:   to proclaim the wonders of the Lord.

One:      Get up!  For we are beckoned by the Risen Son

Many:   to respond to grace undeserved.

One:      God is calling us!  For we are united by the Spirit

Many:    to follow Jesus on the way.

One:      Come, let us worship God, as we pray together saying....

Opening Prayer (unison)

Creator of all, Redeemer of all, Sustainer of all,

we are gathered in your presence

to stand side by side with those who have gone before us,

who have lived the mystery of your grace

and responded by following you on the way.

May your Holy Spirit guide us as we follow you

to the places that you are calling your church to be.  Amen.

Prayer of Confession (unison)

Merciful God,

our thoughts and deeds too often

do not reflect the grace you show us.

Our speech and actions too often

do not proclaim your salvation.

Forgive us, Lord, for the sins that we bear

both as individuals and as your Church.

Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on us.

Our teacher, let us see again!

Give us the courage to take heart in your grace.

Give us the strength to get up.

Give us the wisdom to hear your calling.

Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on us.

A Song of Bartimaeus - my imagining of Mark 10:46-52

It had been years, years, since he had seen the light of day,
     sitting by the side of that dusty, unforgiving road.
Beauty he once consumed, vistas he once felt, eyes he had once known,
     Eyes...
          the very word drove pain into his breast;
          Not his eyes, but others.
Sitting by the road, coughing up the dust that tortured his lungs,
his ears whisper to him that which his dark eyes cannot:
     that other eyes are blind to his,
     that the symphony of sandals which shuffle past him year after year
     hold the descant of eyes that soar above him,
     eyes that choose not to see the eyes that are choosing
          to yearn, to crave, to seek...

He had long memorized the song of his place on the road,
     the laughter of a child running to catch up with her father,
     the gush of water being carrying past his withered shell of a body,
     the sharp curses of the men who, with their eyes upon the future,
          trip over his fragile legs and never look back.

And then, one day, the symphony changed without warning.
The whispers surround him as his ears adjusted to the change of key,
     a modulation which challenges his monotonous life.
     Two words he manages to capture:  he saves.
Quickly, intensely, abruptly, the feet scuffle off and he once again
     is left alone.

In the silence, he wonders, could it be?  Who hadn't heard the rumor of the man
     who stills waters,
     who perishes demons,
     who grabs hands and lifts.
With a grimace the shrunken muscles of his arms
force the hunch of his back to straighten his posture.
He turns his face to align his ears to prod the silence.

And then, it came.  The silence began to be pushed away,
     the feet returned but with a different tone.
     What was different about this crowd?
     What it the shouting,
         the concentration of sound,
         the way in which the sound unveiled itself to him as
         a different crowd approached.
     No.  That wasn't it.

And then the spark happened.  A small but unsettling flash of light
     in the sea of his darkness.
And then, he knew.
A whisper which stirred his heart and
     erupted a primal cry within his breast....

MERCY!!!! he cries.  Mercy on me!  His eyes had never been wider.
     the flash in his darkness stilled but remained bright.
The clash of his cry hushed the crowd as they realized
     that a new improvisation was thrust upon their scripted symphony.
Hush!  Shut up!  Be quiet!

MERCY!!!! he cries again.  Mercy upon me!!!
Then, a word beckons him
    Not a word of confusion and monotony,
    but of grace and intimacy.

Not his strength but a new force within him springs him up.
Others begin to cough and wheeze as the dust is shaken from his cloak,
     caught in the wind and blown to the side.

Let me see again, he says.
The blurry light he had seen began to dance around his head
splattering paint of deepest blue and brightest yellow
His eyes adjust to a new light, a different light.
This light is not what it had been before.
This light brings him more questions and answers.

As his eyes begin their abundant feast
     he knows that he must follow this light
For it will take no less than his lifetime
     to proclaim the mystery of this sight.

Back to the Font: A Sermon on Mark 10:35-45

Fall leaves in Silver Creek, which weaves its way around the campus of Silver Creek Presbyterian Church in Northwest, Georgia.  Date:  October 21, 2012.

         It’s tough being a disciple in Mark’s gospel.  They just don’t get it.  Time and time again in Mark’s narrative, the disciples misunderstand Jesus and his teachings.  They just can’t seem to grasp who Jesus is or what he is doing or what he is telling him he is going to do.  It’s tough being a disciple in Mark’s gospel because it is not the disciples, but a demon who actually first sees who the Christ is. 

I like to think that each year, when the disciples from the various gospels gathered for their annual reunion, that the disciples from Mark’s gospel always looked across the tables with envy at Luke’s and Matthew’s disciples.  In Matthew was apparently just as alarmed as we are at the disciples’ request because he instead read Mark’s account and decided to give the request to the mother of James and John.  Luke was probably even more alarmed at the disciples’ opportunistic self-serving quest for advancement for he leaves out this exchange all together.

But not Mark.  Here the sons of Zebedee don’t get off the hook like Matthew and Luke so graciously do.  Mark has them up front with the spotlight on their misunderstanding.  But of course, we wouldn’t know what that’s like, would we?

In today’s lectionary passage, Mark gives us a somewhat comical image of the two disciples, James and John, approaching Jesus, each perhaps anxiously nudging the other to come out and say it.  Relunctantly, but obviously loudly enough for other ten disciples to hear it, they say “we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” 

Now the parents in the room today have probably heard this request from their children and know that one must proceed with caution when responding to this wide-open petition.  Accordingly, Jesus covers his bases and, rather than responding in the affirmative, tells the disciples to elaborate upon their request.  Perhaps gaining a little confidence at not being completely shut down by Jesus, the sons of Zebedee continue:  “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.”

I wonder if the disciples were aware of their body position as they asked Jesus this ironic question with their arms outstretched.  It is ironic because today’s reading comes after not the first or even the second but the third time that Jesus predicts his death to his followers.  Consequently this is not the first or even the second but the third time that they fail to understand the specificity to which Jesus was speaking.

After the first prediction/misunderstanding, Jesus attempts to clarify by naming the very means by which he is to be executed: “All who want to come after me must say no to themselves, take up their cross, and follow me.”  But to no avail.  After the second prediction/misunderstanding, Jesus decides to employ an object lesson and, while embracing a child, say “whoever wants to be first must be least of all and the servant of all.”  But it didn’t catch on; not with Mark’s disciples.

Clearly, though, neither of these attempts rid the disciples of their misunderstanding so after this request to sit at Jesus’ left and right hand in his glory, Jesus decides to change his tactics and instead steers the disciples towards water. 

In the middle of this passage, within two verses, Jesus uses some variation of the word “baptism” six times!  In addition, in the same two verses, he uses some variation of the term cup/drink six times as well.  Listen again for the repetition in Jesus’ reply to the disciples:  “You do not know what you are asking.  Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?”  They replied, “We are able.”  Then Jesus said to them, “the cup that I will drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized…”

Baptism (and water for that matter) is a risky and unpredictable thing in Mark’s gospel.  Through Jesus’ repetition of this term, Mark directs us back to the first chapter of his narrative when Jesus is baptized by John in the River Jordan and the heavens open up and God declares, “this is my child, whom I love dearly, in you I find happiness.”  Immediately afterwards, Jesus is driven from his baptismal waters into the dessert to be tempted by the devil. 

It is on water that the disciples are called to follow Jesus.  It is by the water that Jesus gets on a boat so that the crowds do not crush him and the unclean spirits challenge him.  It is on the water that the disciples fear for their lives on a tiny boat as the waves beat upon it.  It is by the water that Jesus drives the demon into the two thousand pigs who run deranged into the lake.

Clearly, Mark saw water as a place of drama, uncertainty, and improvisation.  Mark knew that baptismal waters sometimes force us to get more than a few drops of water upon our heads.  Mark’s disciples, I think, were scared of getting wet and perhaps we are too.

My preaching professor at Columbia Seminary tells a story of how at the first church in which she served as a solo pastor, she quickly got the reputation for being rather liberal with the amount of water she used during baptism.  In fact, as a gift, one of the congregants gave her a picture frame with three consecutive photographs of a baptism at which she presided.  The pictures show her holding the child, splashing the water from the font on the child (and the surrounding area!).  The progression of the three photographs shows the elder who presented the child for baptism moving consistently further and further away from the abundant torrent baptismal waters.

Baptism, or, more accurately, what it calls us to do, can be a scary, messy thing.  I think Mark knew that and I think Jesus knew it too because, if you listen closely enough, you can hear a hint of fear in Jesus’ remark when he says, “you don’t know what you are asking.”  Jesus was scared, make no mistake about it.  But rather than move away from the waters of his baptism he does quite the opposite and heads back to the font. 

            Jesus knew that he came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.  He knew that the time would come when he would stretch out his arms and embrace all of humanity.  He knew tough times were ahead.  I think it is exactly because of that that Jesus brings himself back to the waters in that moment when God looked upon him and said this is my child, whom I love dearly, in you I find happiness.  Jesus, in his uncertainty, and fear, and humanness, leans on that promise that was made to him in the waters of his baptism.

Silver Creek Presbyterian Church near Rome, Georgia.  The church was founded in 1875 and is a member of Cherokee Presbytery.  Silver Creek Presbyterian Church Website

            It’s tough being a disciple in Mark’s gospel.  It’s tough being a disciple, period.  We just don’t always get it.  So let us, you and I, lead by Christ’s example and head back to the font.  As we forge ahead into uncharted territory, we will head back to the font.  As we journey with Christ, we will head back to the font.  As we journey together surrounded by the waters of Silver Creek, we will head back to the font.  As you and I both move forward from our respective faith communities splitting apart, we will head back to the font.  We will head back to the font to remember the promise that God makes to each and every one of us to sustain us as we drink the cup that Christ drank and walk with him to wherever he is calling his church to go.  And wherever Christ is calling us to go, and however chaotic the waters may seem to be, we will come to the font to remember that when God looked down and said “this is my child, whom I love dearly, in you I find happiness,” he wasn’t just talking about Jesus.  

The Defiance of Prayer

              http://www.cpcatlanta.org/worship_music/article204981.htm

      Ever since I began worshiping at Central Presbyterian Church here in Atlanta, Georgia, I have been enchanted by their three-dimensional prayers of the people.  For an extended period every year since 2008, the people who are Central Presbyterian Church elevate an estimated 2000 multicolored paper cranes which dangle from the sanctuary ceiling.  These origami creations are made by the congregants themselves and many of them contain the prayers that were on the hearts of their creators.  On the International Day of Peace, the congregation erects “A Wing and a Prayer,” and for a period of several weeks, the brilliant prayers of the people hover amidst the worshiping body as they literally lift their prayer to God.

        As simultaneously prayer and offering, the creation rises above the pews and grasps the imagination of all those who gaze upon it.  Often throughout worship, I find myself pondering the mysterious beauty of this congregation’s physical embodiment of prayer.

        Like any great piece of art, its presence evokes a diverse range of interpretations.  On some Sundays, I am intrigued by the fact that this congregation has embodied prayer in a very physical, tangible way.  The prayer was created by hours and hours of folding by the people of this community with their hands, the very hands God has given them to be the body of Christ in the world.

       Other Sundays, I am left in curiosity, pondering what each prayer says and I am forced to remind myself that God alone knows our every prayer.

      Yet another Sunday I might be fascinated by the fact that this “prayers of the people” is at once individual and communal; each person (quite literally) lifts up a prayer which becomes a corporate offering to God on behalf of the community that at once both speaks to God and speaks to us on God’s behalf.

        This Sunday, for some reason, I found a beautiful defiance in this prayer as I worshiped directly beneath its mysterious presence.  It is quite remarkable, I thought to myself, how this piece of art inspires a sense of awe while reminding us that we come together as the worshiping body to pray to God who alone is the source of all goodness and grace.  What is perhaps even more remarkable is the fact that we dare raise such a beautiful creation in the midst of what too often seems to be a dark and dismal world.  Despite it all, or perhaps because of it all, we lift our prayers to God.

                As Atlanta continues to serve as a hub for human sex trafficking, we lift our prayers to God.

    As the homeless woman tries to stay warm in the cooler weather, we lift our prayers to God.

                As senseless killings happen around the world, we lift our prayers to God.

                As the rich get richer and the poor get poorer, we lift our prayers to God.

                As we ravage this earth we were called to preserve, we lift our prayers to God.

         What a beautiful image of quiet defiance that we dare raise such beauty to God when we are surrounded by such grief and brokenness?  Such defiance is the voice of Jacob who refuses to let God go until God blesses him.  Such defiance is the voice of the woman who will not let the judge ignore her.  Such defiance is the voice of Paul who is not ashamed of the gospel.  Such defiance is the voice of John who dares to tell us that there will be a day when tears will be no more and God will have the final word. 

         So the next time you are in downtown Atlanta, stop by Central Presbyterian Church.  Lift your eyes upward and gaze in wonder at the mystery of prayer.  Dare to lift your own prayers to a God who listens.  Lift your prayer to God who lifts us from the depths of an empty tomb and raises us to new life in Christ.  And as your eyes traverse the whispers of our prayers, remember that we have never worshiped a God who is happy with leaving us alone.

Prayer of Confession - Luke 24:13-49 (Responsive)

Rob Lively, member at First Presbyterian Church of Dalton, Georgia and former youth adviser of mine, has taken the prayer which I posted a few days ago and turned it into a responsive prayer.  Many thanks for his creativity!  Here it is:

            Holy and merciful God,

            We come before you as a broken people.

            Our sinful thoughts and deeds obscure our focus

            Upon your triumphant “yes!” of Easter.

            Though your grace surrounds us everywhere we go, We say NO

            Though you walk with us on our journey, We say NO

            Though you take, break, bless, and give, We say NO

            To your merciful invitation to live freely for you and one another, We say NO

            O Lord, forgive us our sins.

            God of Easter,

            Help us to recognize, You as the Risen Lord

            Guide us, that we might walk with you

            Cleanse us, that we might no longer be slaves to sin

            Come to us, in the breaking of the bread

            Come to us, as we are but leave us not as we were;

In your mercy, Lord, hear our prayer.

"Taste and See What?" - a sermon on Luke 24:13-49

          “The rising of the sun had made everything look sodifferent-all colors and shadows were changed-that for a moment they didn’t see the important thing.  Then they did.  The Stone Table was broken into two pieces by a great crack that ran down it from end to end; and there was no Aslan. 

            “Oh, oh, oh!” cried the two girls, rushing back to the Table.

            “Oh, it’s too bad,” sobbed Lucy; “they might have left the body alone.”

            “Who’s done it?” cried Susan.  “What does it mean?  Is it more magic?”

           “Yes!” said a great voice behind their backs.  “It is more magic.”  They looked round.  There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.

            Recognizing Christ is no simple task.  Perhaps C.S. Lewis knew this well for he spent a large part of his life an atheist.  Always the intellectual, Lewis used to describe this phase as a time when he was “very angry with God for not existing.”  I believe that he knew that recognizing the Risen Christ is tricky business even when you think you know what it is that you are looking for.

            In his beautiful allegory for Christ, the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Lewis describes the death of Aslan the Lion, that great Messianic savior of his book.  The young Susan and Lucy, who have followed him until this point, watch in horror as Aslan willingly gives himself as a ransom for them and all who we have met so far in the story, Lucy and Susan’s brothers Edmund and Peter, the faun Mr. Tumnus, Mr. and Ms. Beaver, the Giant Rumblebuffin, and perhaps even those in the army of the White Witch herself.

            Susan and Lucy watch as Aslan is bound and dragged to the stone table that has been prepared for his gruesome death.  Aslan is humiliated as his grand and proud mane is cruelly shaved from his flesh as the White Witch and her ghouls laugh.  Watching from a hidden place, the youngest sibling, Lucy, looks to Aslan’s face in this moment and notices that “the shorn face of Aslan looked to her braver, and more beautiful, and more patient than ever.”

            And then, with her silhouette cast against the moonlight, the Witch raises her arms with the strange and evil knife and plunges it into Aslan’s flesh and Aslan dies.

            Lucy and Susan stay with the body after the White Witch and her army march off to war now that the great Aslan has been defeated.

            But then it happens.  The morning comes and Susan and Lucy notice that the “rising of the sun made everything look different – all the colors and shadows were changed…”  That sunrise of that Easter morning was so blinding that they don’t see what C.S. Lewis so eloquently calls “the important thing.”  Upon hearing his voice, they turn around and barely recognize Aslan for his mane has miraculously grown back but he seems different, larger than life, alive and yet mysteriously something that we hadn’t seen before.  After defeating the armies of the White Witch and crowning Lucy, Susan, Edmund, and Peter as Queens and Kings of Narnia, he quietly slips away only to reappear throughout the Lewis’ larger Chronicles of Narnia.

            The Resurrection often leaves us with more questions than it does answers.  Perhaps like Susan and Lucy, we are left blinking on that Easter morn, our eyes adjusting to the brilliant light, asking “who’s done it….what does it mean?”  Clearly the eyes of the followers on the road to Emmaus were still adjusting to the light for they do not recognize the Risen Christ.  They, for a moment, do not see the important thing.  Jesus, though, apparently seizes the moment and decides to have a little fun.

            “No, I don’t know what has happened.  We have a long walk; why don’t you tell me all about it?” 

            After the long walk, they urge him saying “stay with us!”  Jesus obliges and then does a curious thing:

                                    He takes bread.

                                    He takes bread and breaks it.

                                    He takes bread and breaks it and blessesit.

                                    He takes bread and breaks it and blesses it and gives it          

            And then they see the important thing. 

            Their eyes were opened and they recognized him. 

And then he vanishes. 

The bread quite literally falls into our hands as the One whom we now recognize disappears.  Slips away.  Just when we think we have this resurrection thing down, just when our eyes adjust to the light, just when we see the important thing, that thing vanishes.  Why?  We know that we are to taste and see.  Taste and see what?

            I don’t know exactly what the Resurrected Christ looks like.  But I have seen him and I will see him because his vanishing only draws me in deeper.  Make no mistake, Christ is Risen, he is risen indeed.  But he is on the loose, no longer confined to a cold stone table or a lonely tomb.  No longer restrained to one image or one place, he is on the loose.  The Risen Christ is made known to us in the breaking of the bread not so much because we recognize him as we did before, but rather because we taste and see a glimpse of what Christ is now capable of.  Christ vanishes, slips away, to remind not that he has abandoned us (for that is certainly not the case!), but rather, quite the opposite.  He vanishes to show us that he is out and about.  Christ leaves us wanting more because the Resurrected Christ looks different.

            For C.S. Lewis, the Resurrected Christ looks like a lion who breathes humanity back into persons turned into cold, lifeless statues.

            For the followers of Jesus, the Resurrected Christ looks like one who takes, breaks, blesses, and gives.

For a local congregation, the Resurrected Christ looks like a thousand multicolored paper cranes floating amidst the people.

            For someone who has screwed up, the Resurrected Christ looks like a verse of “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.”

            For a congregation emerging from a split, the Resurrected Christ looks like a deliciousloaf of broken bread on a broken plate.

For a little girl taking Communion, the Resurrected Christ looks like a morsel of bread that she just has to have.

            Friends, the brilliant light of this Risen Christ makes everything look so different!  As we taste and see, our hearts will burn within us as we look back on where the Risen Christ has taken us, perceive where it is that Risen Christ is with us now, and hope toward that final banquet when the Risen Christ will vanish no more.  Christ is risen!  He is risen, indeed!  Amen.

A Prayer of Confession for Luke 24:13-35

            Holy and merciful God,

            We come before you as a broken people.

            Our sinful thoughts and deeds obscure our focus

            Upon your triumphant “yes!” of Easter.

            Though your grace surrounds us everywhere we go,

            Though you walk with us on our journey,

            Though you take, break, bless, and give,

            We too often say “no!” to your merciful invitation

            To live freely for you and one another.

            O Lord, forgive us our sins.

            God of Easter,

            Help us to recognize your risen-ness

            Guide us that we might walk with you

            Cleanse us that we might no longer be slaves to sin

            Come to us in the breaking of the bread

            Come to us as we are

but leave us not as we were;

In your mercy, Lord, hear our prayer.

Masai Nicene Creed

Masai Nicene Creed

Thoughts?

Holy and Unpredictable

“I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention…”

This declaration comes from Mary Oliver's poem entitled “The Summer Day.”  Such a bold confession comes amidst her curiosity ignited by a grasshopper who is eating sugar from her hand as the poet sits idly in a field.  I was introduced to Mary Oliver by my preaching professor and her words have implanted themselves in my mind ever since.  I, like so many others, struggle with prayer.  How does one go about the curious and unpredictable journey that is speaking with God?  How do we continue the dialogue begun by the Great Conversationalist who spoke amidst the chaos and brought forth goodness and grace?  Where to begin?

Sure, I’ve prayed the Lord’s Prayer a thousand times in worship with my fellow Sisters and Brothers in Christ.  Of course, as I have begun sermons I have echoed the song of Psalm 19 that “the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts might be acceptable and pleasing in God’s sight, our Rock and our Redeemer.”  But in my most intimate of moments outside of corporate worship, as I am sitting outside my dormitory with my pipe between my lips and my thoughts within my head, as I walk along the paths of the retreat center where I have spent so many summers, as I recline in a seat overlooking the shores of Lake Allatoona, so often my fervent desire to “pray” is met with an equal and sometimes seemingly overwhelming reality that I just don’t know where to begin.

Perhaps, as an introvert, my mind is full of the thoughts that I have had all day long but haven’t had a chance to process.  Perhaps, as a sinner, I am faced with the amount of my transgressions and feel unworthy to approach the Almighty.  Perhaps, as a seminary student, I am so indoctrinated by the scholarship of faith that I forget the intimate, spiritual, and mystical aspect of it.  Perhaps, as one so disheartened and disappointed by the rampant individualism of modern Christianity, I have so emphasized the communal aspect of faith that I have ignored the personal intimacy of God-speech. 

Whatever the reason might be, I struggle with prayer.  And, what’s more, I have a feeling that I am not the only one. 

Mary Oliver continues her observation by insisting that she knows “how to fall down/in the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,/how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,/which is what I have been doing all day long./ Tell me, what else should I have done?”

Perhaps, at the end of the day, you and I must accept the most sacred of tasks of which God has ordained us to do:  pay attention.  This task is both holy and unpredictable (it is curious, isn’t it, how those two attributes tend to align themselves).  It is holy in the sense that God creates us to be separate, distinct, particular, and, perhaps most important of all, intentional.  God calls us to live like Jacob, to recognize her presence, and find our own “Bethels” for, indeed, God is in this place and perhaps we didn’t even know it.

Paying attention is unpredictable because it, by its very definition, invites (or, in some cases, forces) us to acknowledge that which we had previously not seen.  Paying attention draws me out of myself and into the moment.   

For instance, at this very moment it calls me to wonder what in God’s name has sparked the curiosity of this obnoxious bumble bee that refuses to vacate the privacy of my space on this wooden porch.  Paying attention requires me to address what this elegant and yet assertive hummingbird is trying to bring to my attention as she flies directly in front of my face and hovers before me.  How does something so small harness the power to flap those wings with such speed?  How does such energy and intensity manage to hover motionless as if cemented in place?  What is she trying to tell me?

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.  But I am trying to pay attention.  What will come of it?  I don’t know.  If I have any assurance it is that Abram probably didn’t either.  Moses certainly wasn’t planning on doing anything but shepherding Jethro’s flock until God called him to pay attention to the slight detail of a burning bush.  So perhaps we are called to hang on for dear life and pay attention to this burning bush that God has given us and to be guided to places we never knew existed.

This life may indeed be a holy and unpredictable search to answer the question posed in the closing lines of Mary Oliver’s poem:

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do

With your one wild and precious life?”

                   Grace and peace,

                   Stephen