God Sees

1 Samuel 15:34-16:13

2 Corinthians 5:6-17   

An item that has been in the news for the past week, gaining in intensity, is about the detention centers where our government is keeping children who cross the border, and the fact that some of these children crossed with their parents, seeking asylum. But at the border, the children were separated from their parents – sometimes by deceit. We have heard from some of these parents that agents told them they were taking their children to be bathed. They simply never returned.

I don’t assume they lied to the parents out of meanness. Perhaps these agents simply couldn’t deal with having to tell them the truth.

The children who were taken from their parents were placed in detention centers, warehouse-like facilities where they are kept in fenced-in areas. Last week some congressional representatives and journalists were allowed into one of these facilities. One of the executives who runs the facility spoke with them before they were escorted in to see the kids. One thing he said to them gave me pause. “You might want to smile. The kids feel a little like animals in a cage, being looked at.”

Like animals in a cage, exhibits at the zoo. Have you ever felt that you are being looked at like an exhibit on display? I don’t think I have. I have felt overlooked, looked down upon, and looked askance at, but I have never been looked at as an animal in a cage.

I appreciate the empathy of this man who was tasked with leading the tour; he had some sensitivity to the humanity of these children. He cared, at least a little, about how they felt. And I guess he hoped that others would see these children as human beings. It doesn’t seem like too much to expect, does it?

This story from the book of Samuel, about the anointing of David, always makes me think about what we see when we look at another human being. The truth is, sometimes, we see others for how they are useful to us – or not. We see the parts of them, the aspects of them, that we care about for our own reasons.

I remember a young man I met when I was in college who looked at me and said, "you seem like the right size." He was looking for a girlfriend who could be a dance partner, someone he could lift. He thought he was Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing and I could be Baby. So he might date me just for that reason. But I couldn’t dance, and I wasn’t very teachable. I just wasn’t going to leap into the air trusting him to catch me. It wasn’t happening. He would have to keep looking for the right size woman to be his Baby, someone who was braver than I was. 

The story about Samuel looking over the sons of Jesse reminds us how we look at other people. The way Samuel looks at them is probably the same way we would look at them. When Jesse calls all his sons together and lines them up, oldest to youngest, they seemed to be an impressive lot. Like those strapping young men in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers – handsome, strong, eager to please.

Of course, when he looked at them, Samuel was still grieving the loss of Saul, the king that God’s Spirit had departed from. 

Remember how Samuel resisted giving Israel a king? He didn’t think this was the best way for Israel, and he was probably right. But he relented; Saul was the young man he chose. Samuel felt the Spirit of the Lord leading him to Saul, who is described as tall, broad shouldered, handsome. Saul looked the part of a king. 

Samuel tried to teach him to be a king. He took so much time and care with Saul, he gave him so much encouragement. But this situation was a little like me and dancing. Saul didn’t really have the confidence, the trust, the faith that he could do what was being asked of him. 

Saul looked the part, the right size and all, but it simply wasn’t in him. And Samuel was still grieving. But God said to Samuel, “Get over it. Fill your horn with oil and get out there. I’ll show you who I have in mind.”

And everything that happens after that is unexpected. 

God sends Samuel to Bethlehem – not an important place. Bethlehem was small, remote, not a likely place to find a king. Samuel is led to the family of Jesse – a famer. Samuel has come under false pretenses, saying that he is just there to perform the ritual of sacrifice to the Lord. No one knows he is there to find a new king, because, remember, the Spirit of the Lord has left Saul but the power of the kingdom is still very much with him.

He asks Jesse to call his sons so they can have a proper assembly for the ritual. They all line up and Samuel begins to look them over, one by one. 

Samuel was looking at these young men as if they were part of an exhibit. He might have disguised it well, he might have remembered to smile at them in a friendly way, but they were an exhibit – contestants for the role of king of Israel.

And the story says each one Samuel looked at – tall, handsome, strong – he heard God in his ear saying to him, “Not that one, Samuel. Not this one, either. You’re looking the wrong way. Look as the Lord looks. See what the Lord sees.

Samuel is looking at their stature, but the Lord does not look on the outward appearance – the Lord looks on the heart. 

Samuel is looking at their bone structure, but the Lord does not look on the outward appearance – the Lord looks on the heart.

Samuel is looking at the size of their muscles, but the Lord does not look on the outward appearance – the Lord looks on the heart.

Samuel is only looking at these young men the same way anyone else would. No one even thought to call David to the assembly. He was too young, too small, too insignificant to matter. But as Samuel looks over each one of Jesse’s sons, and each time fails to sense the Spirit of God alighting on him, Samuel looks at Jesse and asks, “Is this all there is?”

Jesse admits, well, there’s David, who is out tending the sheep. But they send for David, even though no one would have assumed that it mattered for him to be there. After all, he was a child.  

When Samuel looked at him he knew right away that this was the one God had chosen. Samuel took his horn of oil and anointed David in the presence of his father and his brothers.

Mortals look on the outer appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart. And David was, as the scriptures say, a man after God’s own heart.

Maybe younoticed something odd in the story. The text can’t resist saying that David was handsome. So, although God does not look on the outward appearance, apparently the narrator does.

How difficult it is for us to see as God sees. How often do we really look at someone and see them? We see aspects of a person that put them into categories: we see skin color, we see age, we see clothing. We see how pleasant a person is to look at – eyes, nose, hair. We see physical fitness or strength, and we judge a person on the basis of all these things. And, you know, you can do that a whole lot more quickly than the alternative. Because it takes time to really see someone, and begin to get a glimpse of their heart.

Jill Duffield, a Presbyterian minister who is editor of the Presbyterian Outlook, wrote this week about the undocumented youth who are being kept in these detention centers. There is a poet who has worked with the youth in one of the centers, encouraging them to write poetry. He has compiled a volume of their poems. One of the young poets wrote a poem titled I Want to Support:

I want to support the
poor and end
hunger. I'd like to give
a great place to live
to those
without one, and also
to the animals.

I wonder – if we walked into that detention center and looked upon the young person who wrote this poem, I wonder what you and I would see. Would we see an animal in a cage? An exhibit? An object to observe?

Perhaps we would we see a label. What would that label say? illegal? deportee? burden on American taxpayers? What would you and I see?

Paul writes to the Corinthians a reminder that in Christ we are given the chance to be made new. In Christ there is a new creation, and we no longer regard anyone from a human point of view. In Christ, we are to know that there is no value – there is nothing to be gained – from looking on the outward appearance. In Christ we are given the gift of being able to look on the heart, just as God looks on the heart.

Blessed is the one who seeks out the heart, in Jesus’ name. 

Photo provided by Custom and Border Protection; Detention Facility in McAllen, Texas.

Life with the King

1 Samuel 8:4-20

2 Corinthians 4:13-5:1

A friend once said to me, “It’s always the third generation that runs the family business into the ground.” Well, in the case of Judges of Israel, it seems to have been the second generation. We saw it with Eli and his sons. Now we see it with Samuel and his sons. 

“You are old, and your sons do not follow in your ways,” they tell Samuel bluntly. They might not have been so blunt, except for the fact that they have seen this picture before and they know how it ends. Samuel’s predecessor, Eli, appointed his lousy sons as judges over Israel and it was a disaster. They were corrupt and greedy, lacking wisdom and integrity. Under their leadership Israel lost the ark of God to the Philistines and were devastated. Samuel rose up to be a good moral leader of Israel. But now we see history repeating. 

It is clear to the people of Israel that it will not go well to have Samuel’s sons in charge. They see what they see, they know what they know, they have been hear before. So they speak bluntly to him about what they don’t want – and also what they do want. They want to have a king. They have seen it work for other nations. Why should it not be good for Israel? 

This thing they were asking displeased Samuel, so says the text. To put it bluntly: Samuel hates the idea. He is frustrated, exasperated, and detests the direction they are going. And it is not just because the people have pointed out his flaws and rejected his sons. There is that, but it’s not only personal; there is something. Samuel knows Israel does not need a king. Israel already has a king.

So when they say to Samuel, “Give us a king,” Samuel goes to God, like, “Oy, these people! You know what I’m saying?” and God says, “I know, I know. You better tell them what it’s gonna be like.”

So, of course, he does. You want to know what a king will do? He will take and take and take from you. And then he will take some more. You think my sons are bad? You know nothing … yet.

Even after Samuel’s speech they continued to insist on a king even after Samuel warned them about the realities of monarchy. It was like they didn’t hear him. It was like they were too afraid to hear him. And they were.

There were times in Israel’s life when they felt that God had wandered away from them, that God had left them alone. Those were terrible times. They felt abandoned, forsaken, helpless. They didn’t want to ever feel that way again.

It reminds me of the ads I used to see in the back of the comic books I read as a kid. The skinny guy at the beach who gets sand kicked in his face; he goes home and sends away for some mail-order miracle cure that will make him big and strong, just like the bullies. It works, he fights back against the bullies, and as an added bonus, he gets the girls, too.

Israel wanted some of that miracle cure. They wanted to be strong in the midst of the other nations. They never again wanted to feel vulnerable, and they thought they could make sure it never happened again. They could have a king. 

They could have a ruler here on earth, one who fought their wars, protected them from enemies, safeguarded their property. They could have a strongman, and a strongman is what they wanted. 

So, God said to Samuel, “Listen to their voice and set a king over them.” Soon, they had their king. Samuel anointed the first king of Israel,Saul, who was apparently very handsome. But he never did sit easily on the throne. 

Monarchy was not a terribly good fit for Israel. But that is not to say that the kings were all rotten. The Bible sings the praises of King David, even while acknowledging his flaws. King Solomon built the first temple of God. King Josiah reestablished the law of God long after it had been abandoned by a string of bad kings. Sometimes the kings did good things, but in between there was a lot of corruption – a lot of kings who fought the wars for their own gain, who safeguarded the property for their own use. Being a good king of Israel was hard because being a good king meant being a righteous man, a servant leader, and effectively pointing the people away from themselves and toward their true king – God.

Eventually, the kingdom collapsed. Israel was overrun by other strongmen and their armies. They got to know what it was like to be under the thumb of foreign occupiers, other greedy men who sought to enlarge their power and possessions. Some never stopped wanting a king, never stopped wanting to fight the same battles with the same weapons that had failed them before.

Some never did understand what Jesus meant when he said “my kingdom is not of this world.”

Some are still fighting these same battles with the same old weapons, thinking there will be a different outcome this time. 

We want the miracle cure so we can go back out on the beach and beat the bully at his own game. Yes, I think we are still fighting these battles.

However, right now all around us a different kind of battle is going on.

This battle is being fought with different weapons. It is not a fight for self-enrichment, it is a fight that pushes aside fear and greed – because fear never did make a wise decision and greed never made a moral one. It is a fight that turns away from these baser instincts and takes up the cause of the least, the lost, and the last. It is called the Poor People’s Campaign: A National Call for Moral Revival. And we are right in the middle of it.

For six weeks, churches of all denominations, along with other faith communities, are focusing energy on the needs of the poor in this land. 

Why? 

Because fifty years ago, another King, the Rev. Martin Luther King, said we have come to the point where the problem is really bigger than race. It is bigger than civil rights, it is about human rights. It is about the unacceptable truth that too many people live and die in poverty in a land of abundance. Reverend King called for a Poor People’s Campaign in 1968. And fifty years later, we look around and see that the same challenges are still with us. Some voices in the church have decided it is time for another one – a new revival. 

Perhaps some of us worry that it might not be appropriate for the church to get involved in public policy. Perhaps we don’t think that it is the church’s place to tell us how we should organize our society. Perhaps we want to respond to the biblical stories by saying, “That was different – a different time, a different place, a different world.” Yes, it was different. But it was also much the same.

When we read the stories about ancient Israel and their shortcomings and failures, it would serve us well to see how we share these same shortcomings and failures. It would be good for us to remember that God’s law was designed with the needs of the least, the lost and the last in mind. And even though we don’t pine after kings – although we do have a fascination with the goings-on of the royals abroad – we continue to seek power and security at the expense of others. We continue to allow our leaders to exploit the vulnerable, ignoring their cries.

We need a moral revival in our land. Because those in power try to blame the poorest among us for our budget shortfalls. Because tens of thousands of Americans are still denied basic healthcare. Because the city of Flint still does not have clean water. There are systemic problems in our society that only good public policy can fix. Just like the kings of Israel, our leadership has the choice to work on behalf of the people they govern, or just for their own benefit. Is there a right and a wrong in this?

Think about it: Eli’s sons were bad priests because they exploited the people they were meant to serve. Samuel’s sons were bad judges because they exploited the people they were meant to serve. God does not smile on leaders who exploit the ones they are meant to serve.

What kind of leadership will we ask for? What will we demand of our leaders? The scriptures demand over and over again that we try to keep our eyes fixed on the needs of this world God loves, caring for it and calling on our leaders to care for it. And if we can do that, I think we will find, as Paul says to the Corinthians, that our inner nature is being renewed day by day. 

All glory and honor, power and love, be to our true king – creator, redeemer, and sustainer of our life. Amen.

God Calls

1 Samuel 3:1-10

2 Corinthians 4:5-12   

Who does God call? Christians do not all agree about this. Some people do not seem fit to be called, so it’s hard for us to imagine them as potential instruments of God’s divine power and love. Doe God call people worthy of the call?

Graham Greene addressed this question quite well in a story called The Power and the Glory. It takes place in Mexico in the 1930’s, a time when the church was being persecuted by the government. There is a priest who travels from place to place to administer the sacraments, all the while trying to evade capture and execution. You might say he is a hero, but he is an unlikely hero.

He is never given a name – Greene refers to him as the whiskey priest. He is not what you would call a stellar example of a man. He is a drunk, a gossip, careless about his own spiritual habits, and he is not especially courageous. But he bears the identity of one called to priesthood, so he carries out the functions expected of him – not always well, not always gladly.

The people to whom he ministers do not think much of him. They don’t hold him in high regard, because he’s kind of a mess. They roll their eyes and they sigh. But he has what they need and they have faith in his ability to provide it.

They believe that he has been called by God, and that God does not necessarily call the most impressive candidates. This whiskey priest was never a man anyone would expect to see among the chosen. He is proof that God can take a good-for-nothing and make him good for something. And leave the warts in place for the world to see.

We ought to believe that too, if we pay attention to the stories of scripture. Time and time again the stories show God choosing the one we don’t expect. God chooses the second-born son – not the first-born. God chooses the smallest one – not the big and strong one. God chooses the one who killed a man in a fit of anger and then ran from the law, took on a new identity out in the wilderness, and settled into a life of tending his father-in-law’s sheep. Then, when God called him, answered with excuses for why he couldn’t do want God wanted him to do. Yes, Moses was not the most likely candidate.

God calls the ones we don’t expect and in the story of Samuel, this child is the unlikely candidate. 

Those were dark days. The word of the Lord was rare in those days, the story says, and so most of the candidates were unlikely. It was not a high point in Israel’s history.

Visions from the Lord were not widespread, and the priest, Eli, was losing his vision. And I think we can understand this to have a figurative as well as a literal meaning. Perhaps there was a time when Eli was a strong, visionary leader of Israel, but this was no longer true. 

Eli had problems – not least among them were his sons. The priesthood was sort of a family business back then, but it was becoming evident that Eli’s sons would not be able to carry this tradition forward. They abused the power that was entrusted to them; they treated the people with cruelty, concerned only for their own gain. They would not be leaders of Israel. It wasn’t just because they were good-for-nothings, because as we have already said, God can take a good-for-nothing and make him good for something. No, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was they were not even listening. They would not listen.

There was sadness, darkness, in Eli’s life. It was a dark time in Israel – but there was still hope because, as the text says, the lamp of God had not yet gone out.

It is night and Samuel lay down to sleep on the floor in the temple, and he hears a voice calling his name. He assumes it is Eli – what else would he think? Eli is his master. Three times he hears his name, three times he goes to Eli and says, “Here I am.” It takes three times before the old man Eli recognizes this as a call from the Lord – but finally he does. He tells Samuel, to wait for the call to come again and answer, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

Eli teaches Samuel how to listen. 

God uses all kinds of imperfect, flawed vessels to carry God’s word into the world. God might call anyone. God might call any of us.

But we all need someone to help us learn how to listen. 

Years ago, I asked a group of Sunday school children to draw a picture of somewhere they hear God speaking. Most of the children drew pictures that were not surprising – the church sanctuary or Sunday school room, scenes of nature, like flowers or a mountain. But one child drew a picture of the Weis Market, which was the local grocery store. And another drew a picture of some telephone wires. I never followed up with those children to ask them how they heard God, or what they heard from God, in the telephone wires or the supermarket. I think I suspected that they wouldn’t be able to articulate it. But I wonder if I should have asked. Maybe these children were hearing God’s call in a special way, and maybe they needed someone to teach them how to listen.

Children, especially, need someone older to teach them how to listen. We do that pretty well in some ways. Parents teach their children to listen to their voices and obey them. Teachers train their students to listen to the teacher’s voice and respond. But do we teach our children to listen to the voice of God?

That isn’t a particularly easy thing to do. Perhaps we, like Eli, have vision that is failing, and hearing that is not very sharp anymore. And we, like Eli, are not accustomed to hearing the voice of God. 

But remember, even though the word of God had been distant for some time, Eli still believed it could happen. Even though it had not happened for Eli in many years, he knew what was happening for Samuel, and he showed him how to listen and respond.

The lamp of God has not yet gone out. The Lord is still speaking. Will we allow ourselves to be called and used by God for God’s purposes?

We hear stories sometimes about children who listen and respond in extraordinary ways. Just last week I heard a story about a five-year-old girl who had seen the plight of the homeless when her church sponsored the emergency winter shelter. She was moved to help them in some way, and with the help of the adults in her congregation, she put together health kits to give to the men and women in this community who need them. She saw, she heard, she listened, and she responded. But she could not have done it without the help of her faith family.

God may very well be calling you to hear and respond. Even if God is not calling you directly to minister, to prophesy, to evangelize, God could be calling you to guide and support someone else – someone who needs you to help them listen. 

It is not too late for us to teach our children to listen to the word of God. There are children in our midst, and they need teachers, they need models, they need mentors and guides. 

God could be calling you, regardless of whether or not you feel equipped to be called. None of us does, really. 

As Paul said to the ornery and prideful Corinthians, we carry this treasure in clay jars, we are but humble vessels, holding this power. For we proclaim not ourselves, we proclaim not ourwisdom and glory, but we proclaim Christ and the power of his resurrection.

These are dark days, as dark as Eli’s days. There are still men and women who use the power that has been entrusted to them for greedy purposes. But the lamp of God has not yet gone out. We must watch, we must listen. For God is still speaking.

photo credit: Islamic broken jar, Metropolitan Museum of Art 

Strange Gifts

Isaiah 6:1-8         

John 3:1-17         

When I was a freshman in college I opened the door of my room one evening and met three young women who were making the rounds on behalf of salvation. They smiled warmly and spoke in gentle voices and invited me to participate in a weekly bible study they were holding in their room. I said yes. I didn’t need to think about it. It was like God had opened the door and said here you go. 

I went to the bible study, and at first it was very nice. These young women radiated warmth and love, and I appreciated the things I was learning. But then suddenly one day it changed.

We were in our usual space, sitting on the floor together reading the scriptures and then the leader turned to me and asked me when I had been saved. I didn’t know how to answer that question. I was a Lutheran, we didn’t talk that way. When was I saved? What an absurd question. But when it became clear I didn’t know the answer, they pounced.

It was imperative for me to be born again. And if I were born again, I would know that I had been born again. There was no gray area in this business of being saved. I either was or I wasn’t. They were telling me that it was becoming pretty clear that I wasn’t. They told me that if I did not accept Jesus and be born again I was most certainly going to hell. The dissonance I experienced between their sweet tones and their harsh words was really messing with me.

I left there in tears. Because I had loved Jesus all my life. I had been taught that I am saved by grace alone, through faith alone. There was nothing I needed to do to earn it; indeed, there was nothing I coulddo to make it happen. God had already done this amazing work through the Son’s death and resurrection. I didn’t think a born-again experience was going to happen to me, and I knew I couldn’t fake it. Yet the certainty of these girls unsettled me, and I was afraid.

I understand why Nicodemus was unsettled by this talk of being born again. Because, to him that night, it seemed quite impossible. How can a grown man go back into his mother’s womb? How can anyone be born a second time?

Nicodemus got stuck on a few words and couldn’t get unstuck. “How can this be?” he says. We have no idea if Nicodemus hears any more of Jesus’ words after that. He seems to fade away into the night.

How can this be? Well, I could ask that question about a whole host of things, particularly on Trinity Sunday. When I think about Isaiah and the Seraphs, and the Lord God upon a throne before him. When I think about that live coal being pressed to his lips. When I think about the Spirit of God blowing where it will blow and somehow touching us, enabling us to be born from above, as Jesus says. How can this be?

When I think about God loving the world so much that God gave his only Son so that we may not perish but may have eternal life. That God sent the Son not to condemn the world but that the world might be saved through him, I wonder – how can this be?

I don’t have the answer to these questions. 

When I think about the words of the scripture saying that God sent the Son for us and for our salvation, and that the Son sent the Spirit, the Advocate, so that we would not be alone, I do wonder – how can this be? When I ponder the presence of God as creator of all things, the one who was present before the beginning of time, making beauty and meaning out of chaos, I wonder – how can this be? When I consider God as being incarnate, born of flesh to live and teach and heal and die for our sake in order to overcome death for us all, I do wonder – how can this be? When I think of God being present in our midst now, as Spirit, intangible, elusive, but powerful, I wonder – how can this be? 

I don’t know how this can be. these are strange and mysterious gifts. And it is certainly not for us to determine how and when these gifts are received. Nicodemus walked away into the night without an answer to his question, just as lost as he had been before. He didn’t receive what he had come for, what he had asked for.

Isaiah didn’t ask for the gift that was given to him. As far as we know, he wasn’t asking for anything, at the time. He was just minding his own business when the Lord and his heavenly entourage appeared before him, calling out to one another with words of praise, filling the room with smoke and noise and trembling. A seraph touched a burning coal to Isaiah’s lips and said, “Your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.” He didn’t ask for this gift. 

The wind blows where it chooses; you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with the Spirit of God. 

Isaiah did not ask for this gift, but the gift chose him. And when the Lord called out, “Whom shall I send?” Isaiah said, “Here I am; send me.”

The Spirit blows where she will and how she will. Did the Spirit blow on Nicodemus? It didn’t seem so, as he skulked away into the shadows. But here is something else we should know about Nic.

A few chapters later, Jesus goes to the temple in Jerusalem and begins teaching, saying some very provocative things. The Pharisees watching become very agitated and want to have him arrested. But Nicodemus, who is himself a Pharisee, speaks up. Now, we have not heard him speak since he said, “How can this be,” but now he speaks to the gathered Pharisees to urge restraint. Nothing bad happened that day, and perhaps it was because of Nicodemus’s words.

Again, Nicodemus disappears. We hear nothing more about him – until after Jesus is crucified. A man named Joseph asks permission to take his body down from the cross. He arranges to have it taken to a tomb. And Nicodemus, who first came to Jesus under cover of darkness, brings a hundred pounds of myrrh and aloe to give his body a proper burial. 

Did the Spirit blow over Nicodemus? Perhaps. We don’t control how any of this works.

So often it seems that the Spirit blows over us, surprising us, and moving us in a new direction – a direction of service, a direction of love. Sometimes the earth shakes and the angels cry out and the Lord says, “Whom shall I send?” and you answer, “Send me!” and everything is changed. Sometimes, you get blinded by the light on the road to Damascus and hear Jesus speaking to you. And everything is changed. 

But other times there are gentle brushes … moments of confusion … questions that seem unanswered – until the moment when you know you have to answer. Like Nicodemus, who spoke to the Pharisees in a moment of necessity and came to the grave with compassion and a lavish supply of myrrh and aloe.

The gifts of the Spirit are strange gifts. But somehow, they empower us to do the work of God in this world, which we know from the words of John chapter three, is the work of love.

I never had the kind of born-again experience that those girls wanted me to have. But I know that, in the years since then, the Spirit has worked in surprising and powerful ways in my life. No Seraphim and burning coals. Sometimes more questions than answers. Perhaps I am more like Nicodemus than Isaiah.

The gifts of the Spirit are strange, indeed. Let us be grateful for these strange gifts that empower us to do God’s work on earth.

Let us be grateful for those who stand up and say, “Here I am; send me.”

Let us listen for the call of love in our lives.

This Wasn't What I Had Planned

Ezekiel 37:1-14  

Acts 2:1-21

        

I want to tell you a story about something that happened last week. Friday was my day off and I was at home. I was puttering around – doing laundry, putting things away – the kind of things you do on your day off. That morning I saw a news alert come across my phone: a shooting in Santa Fe, Texas. Santa Fe, Texas – it didn’t ring any bells for me. It barely penetrated my awareness.

Later I turned on the TV and there was coverage of a shooting – the one that had flashed on my phone earlier. It turned out Santa Fe was near Galveston. It happened in the high school, again. They were still waiting to find out how many were dead. It was all very familiar. I just didn’t give it that much attention.

It wasn’t until sometime that afternoon that it finally broke through for me. I looked up and saw a girl being interviewed on TV. She had long dark hair, but I couldn’t tell you what her face looked like because she never looked up. She kept her head down, not looking at the reporter asking her questions, not looking at the camera – like she couldn’t face the world. 

The reporter asked her: was there any moment during all this that you thought “this can’t be happening, this can’t be real?” And she said no. there was not. there was not even one moment that morning when she thought this could not happen, because she knew it could – and it would. She said, it’s happened so many places. I figured it would happen here eventually. I wasn’t surprised. I was just scared.

I wasn’t surprised. I was just scared. 

I wasn’t surprised either. But neither was I scared. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t mourning. I wasn’t feeling anything. Until the moment I looked at this girl with her head down saying, “I wasn’t surprised. I was just scared.” 

I don’t have to go through the litany of statistics about the numbers of school shootings, the rates of violence, and so on. We all know it already. And we are all tired of this. Really tired, yet we feel helpless to change it.

I had a sermon ready for today, about the miracle of Pentecost that involved language, right at its center, when the apostles, all Galileans, were suddenly able to speak different languages. When the Holy Spirit blew in and took over and spoke through them, enabling the multitudes gathered in the streets of Jerusalem to hear the message of the gospel. 

It’s a good message, it’s a great story – one that we need to hear every year to remind us who we are. We are a people who break through barriers. Powered by the Holy Spirit of God, we break down barriers.

But today I just feel the heaviness of these barriers that are killing us. All of us. Some kind of barriers are making us helpless to stop children from killing other children. 

Some kind of barriers are making it impossible for us to get out of this paralysis and move forward. Some kind of barriers are preventing us from knowing what kind of life experience makes someone want to take a bag full of guns into school and shoot as many people as you can shoot.

We say “Who would do something like that?” “Why would anyone do that?” We say, “Can this really be happening?” and it takes a 14-year-old to tell us, “Yes, of course it’s happening. Why would you think it couldn’t be happening?”

What I was going to say today about the Pentecost story just seemed hollow in the light of Friday. But there was one little part of the story that I kept thinking about. There is one little thing that always strikes me as funny; I always notice this detail and never quite know what to do with it. But after Friday, it has been on my mind. 

It’s something that happens after the Spirit breaks in and settles like tongues of flame over each one of the apostles’ heads, and they begin speaking in tongues that were previously unknown to them. They are heard by the multitudes in the streets below, who are able to understand, because they are hearing the gospel proclaimed in their own native languages. 

And everyone was amazed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” But others sneered and said, “They’re drunk.”

I always pause over this little detail because it doesn’t make sense. How does drunkenness give you the ability to speak a new language? It doesn’t. It doesn’t make any sense to say this. Yet, it’s a classic example of what we do when we are confronted with a reality that is new and unexpected and, perhaps, unacceptable. A reality that is uncomfortable for us to acknowledge. In those moments, we have the capability of looking this reality in the eye and saying, “I don’t believe you. You’re drunk. Go home.”

Some days there is nothing we want more than to say, “You’re drunk, Reality. Go home.”

But we can’t do that. We have no right to do that.

We must acknowledge truth, even when it is uncomfortable. We must keep our eyes open and see the things that we are tired of seeing – the violence, the hatred, the severe alienation of humans, one from another. 

We must see the fear and loneliness that our children are living with. We must see the pain that is ever-present, often quietly living beneath the surface. Occasionally breaking through in unspeakably violent action. The fear that is always just beneath the surface. 

We don’t want to see it, but we must. And just for a little while, at least, resist the urge to throw blame on somebody. 

And knowing, also, at the same time there is so much beauty in the world. There are weddings, babies are born, children grow up and graduate – there is much beauty and love and joy that we embrace. And this makes it possible for us to see the pain, the fear, the violence, and not be overcome by it. Beauty and violence, love and hate; somehow, outrageously, these things co-exist. And it is the beauty and love and joy in this world that give us the strength we need to stand against violence.  

If we won’t do that, we are like Ezekiel’s dry bones – lifeless, powerless, loveless. 

Let the Spirit of God come breathe life into us – a people waiting to be born.

Come, Holy Spirit, come.

Leaders Who Follow

Acts 1:15-17, 21-26    

A couple of years ago I went to a workshop on leadership in times of change. It was led by a professor from Union Theological Seminary in Richmond. He had written a book on the subject, which I was reading. So I went into the day with certain expectations. But somewhat to my surprise, he began the morning talking not about leadership, but followership. I had never heard that word before – I thought he made it up. 

His point was that even though he was there to talk about leadership, even though he was there to address a group of church leaders who came to learn about leadership – Ruling Elders and Teaching Elders – there is actually a serious need in the church for something we don’t even have a good word for: followership.

Since then, I have done a search on Amazon and discovered there are many books out there in the business world about followership. But at the time, I was quite skeptical about it. It seemed to me that following is not a hard thing to do. Anyone can be a follower. Why do we need to teach people how to do that?

After he put in his plug for followership, he got into the topic we had all come for – leadership strategies that we could use in our congregations, which were all facing change and the need to adjust to this change. And it was a good workshop; I took away some good practical ideas that I would be able to use back home. But that idea of followership continued to annoy me. Is this really something important? Followership?

This week we are back at the beginning of the book of Acts, the second volume of Luke’s gospel. In the beginning of this volume Luke described the ascension of Jesus, with his disciples – that is to say, his followers– standing around looking on, and then not knowing what to do with themselves. They were suddenly leaderless. They stood in the same spot, looking up into the sky, until two angels of the Lord appeared before them and said, “What are you doing standing here?” So they went back into Jerusalem, returned to the room they had been staying in for all these weeks since the Passover, and waited – waited for inspiration to strike.

All they had ever done, since they had walked away from their old lives and entered this new life, was follow Jesus. They followed him from town to town, across lakes and deserts, up and down mountains, in and out of synagogues. But now that he was gone they did not know what to do.

How do followers begin to take hold of the reins when their leader is gone? 

When I was a campus minister a big part of my job was to plan all kinds of events for the students. I tried to be there for all the events, but it wasn’t always possible. Occasionally I would have to send them out to do something without me.

Once I got a phone call about a woman who was moving out of her apartment into assisted living. She was frail and needed a lot of help, but there was something else. She was a hoarder, and she was embarrassed by it. Would our students be able to help? 

I knew I had a conflict the day it was scheduled, but I called the students together and explained the situation. Would they be willing to do this? They said they would. 

The week after, they reported back to me triumphantly. Everything had gone well. They got there on time, they put in a few hours of hard work, they treated this woman with kindness and respect, assuring her that she had no need to feel ashamed. 

Then one of them told me, “After we left there we didn’t know what to do, so we asked ourselves, ‘what would Maggie do?’ We went to Dunkin Donuts and had a reflection.” I felt so proud.

Now that might have been the only time anyone ever asked, “What would Maggie do?” WWMD, perhaps? But millions of people have asked another question: What would Jesus do? And I think his followers asked that very question. The day Jesus ascended into heaven, and in the days that followed, they pondered that question: what would Jesus do? And what, then, did they do? They devoted themselves to prayer.

They constantly devoted themselves to prayer. These are the words of the scripture, in the verses leading up to this passage we heard today. This devotion to prayer, as Jesus taught them, prepared them to take their next steps. And now it was time for the next steps.

So Peter, who had become their de facto leader, stood up and began to speak. He spoke to the whole congregation, numbering about 120 people. The first order of business, he told them, was to replace Judas, the disciple whom had been lost, and bring their number back up to 12. Throughout Jesus’ ministry, there had been 12 disciples in his inner circle. Twelve is the number signifying completeness – there were a total of 12 tribes in Israel, there were 12 disciples of Jesus, now there would be 12 apostles.

There would be certain criteria for the selection of this 12^thman. The first, of course, that he would be a man. But also, that this man would be one who had been with them from the beginning. They were seeking a man who could be an eyewitness to the ministry and resurrection of Jesus Christ. They chose two candidates: Barsabbas and Matthias.

Once these two candidates were named, they set about the task of choosing one. First, once again, they prayed. Then, they cast lots.

Perhaps that seems like an odd way to do it. To us, casting lots seems like leaving it up to chance. Like flipping a coin or throwing the dice. But in ancient Israel it was used as a means of discerning God’s will. One would pose a question to God and cast lots for the answer. In the Old Testament something called the Urim and Thummim is mentioned a few times, and this is believed to be a form of casting lots. Please don’t ask me what it is, because I don’t know. We only know that the priest would carry the Urim and Thummim in his breastpiece when he went into the temple. Without getting into specifics, the scriptures indicate that this was how the priest would receive answers from God. From what we have been able to gather, it seems to have been a form of casting lots.

It had its limits, of course. Casting lots was only useful for true/false, either/or questions. Maybe multiple choice, at best. Personally, I have this tendency to ask God open-ended questions like, “what do you want me to do with my life?” or “just tell me how to solve this problem!” but the technique is no good for that sort of question. You can’t say to the Urim and Thummim “Just tell me what to do!” They would just say “Yes.”

Before we draw the conclusion that these ancients were just silly, superstitious people for this business of casting lots, let us consider how it was actually done. 

Prayer.

Prayer helped the followers of Jesus to first ascertain that they should anoint one more man to round out their number. And prayer also gave them insight into what qualities were needed in this man, and prayer led them to the selection of two men who might serve well. 

And then, one more time, they prayed: O Lord, show us which one of these two you have chosen.

As the proverb says, “The lot is cast into the lap, but the decision is God’s alone.” There is an expectation that God is involved in every part of the process, and that God has chosen someone already. The role of these followers of Jesus is, primarily, to seek God’s will and follow it. 

Evidently, the cast of the lots showed them that the man God had chosen was Matthias. Matthias was added to their numbers, making them once again complete.

And what about Barsabbas? We don’t know. We can assume that he continued as a follower of Jesus. As a man of faith who had exhibited the qualities necessary for leadership of this movement, I would think he would not want to desert his friends or make trouble for them. 

I think Barsabbas accepted his place and stayed. But the better question might be, what about Matthias? 

What ever happened to Matthias? We never hear another word about him in the scriptures. Perhaps he wrote a gospel, there is some scant evidence he did, but if so it didn’t make the final cut. 

It is a strange little passage, and its purpose for the church is, perhaps, just to serve as a bridge between the ascension of Jesus and the day of Pentecost. It’s a little picture of how they managed through the quiet period between losing Jesus and gaining the Holy Spirit. They were, for this little while, leaderless – 

but they didn’t just sit like bumps on a log, waiting for something to happen. 

New leaders were born that day. Peter stood up and guided the congregation. Matthias stood up and joined the leadership team. As the book of Acts unfolds we see many others stand up and take their place among the leaders. But you know what happens first? They follow.

The unique quality of leadership in the church is knowing how to be, and having a willingness to be, a follower of Jesus Christ. Every one of us begins as a follower. If the truth be told, we never stop being followers, by the grace of God.

The message is this: you may be called to lead, in a certain place, time, setting. And you need never be afraid that you lack the ability to lead in Christ’s church – as long as you are a willing follower. Christ will call, the Spirit will equip, and through prayer we will never be left alone. Thanks be to God.

May you hear the voice of the Lord calling your name.

May you answer, as so many before have, “Here I am.”

May you follow him in faith, without fear, always in prayer.

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While We Were Busy

Acts 10:44-48    

There is a bigger story here that we have to acknowledge. We need to go back, at least, to the beginning of Chapter 10 to do it. It begins with a man named Cornelius, who is not a Jew. He is not an Israelite, he is not a member of the Jewish diaspora. He is a Roman centurion. And he is a man who loves God – the God of Israel, apparently. Now this was not common, nor was it uncommon. People like Cornelius were called God-fearers. They believed in Israel’s God but they were not really a part of their flock. 

You should know that there was a process for people like Cornelius to go through if they wanted to become a member of the flock. He could become a proselyte, which involved meeting certain requirements that would then enable him to participate in the practices of Judaism. These practices would include adherence to the laws of Israel, such as certain dietary restrictions. There is no indication, however, that Cornelius was a proselyte. 

Nonetheless, Cornelius had a vision, which told him to go to Joppa and find a man named Peter, who was staying there. And so Cornelius sent two of his slaves on this errand to collect Peter and bring him to Caesarea.

While this was going on, Peter, who was staying at the house of a man named Simon, went up on the roof to pray alone. And there Peter also had a vision. He saw before him a sheet– like a tablecloth, or a picnic blanket – hovering in the air. On it there were all kinds of animals. And Peter heard a voice say to him, “Get up, kill, and eat.” And Peter said, “Why goodness no – I do not eat unclean foods. I never have and I never will.”

And so we are to understand from this that the animals Peter is seeing on this picnic cloth are animals that Jews are prohibited from eating. These animals are not kosher. There were, perhaps, pigs and rabbits and ostriches. There may have been crabs. Crabs are not kosher. The cloth was loaded with animals that are ritually unclean and may not be eaten by Jews. So Peter’s response is not surprising, but then he hears the voice say, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”

What God has made clean, you must not call profane.

This message was repeated three times, but still Peter was confused. And while he sat there in his confusion, these men sent by Cornelius were wandering through the town inquiring about where they might find Peter. The Spirit once again intervened and sent Peter down to meet the men. He told them, “I am the one you are looking for.” So they explained that they had been sent to bring Peter back to Caesarea to Cornelius, that Cornelius’s vision had shown him that he needed to hear Peter’s message. And Peter knew that this was what he was supposed to do. 

The next day they set out together for Caesarea, and when they arrived there, Peter began to share the story of Jesus.

Now, this is something that Peter would not have normally done. He would not have considered sharing his message and breaking bread with people like Cornelius, people he considered unclean. But his experience of the previous morning had changed all that.

Because while Peter was busy doing something else, God was making unclean things clean. God was making things ready for Cornelius and his household to become Christians. God was opening the door to grow the church, to spread his love, and all Peter had to do was walk through it. And Peter said, “Now I understand.”

Peter thought he understood before that God sent Jesus to the Jews, to the people of Israel who had long-awaited their messiah. Peter thought he understood that there were certain people who were saved and others, many others, who were just not a part of the equation. Peter thought he understood that there were firm boundaries separating the clean from the unclean. But while Peter was busy living within this set of assumptions that circumscribed his world, God was breaking those boundaries.

And now Peter was just trying to catch up. Have you ever found yourself in this place, just trying to catch up with what God is doing in the world? 

Have you ever said, I will never cross that line, only to one day find yourself in the position of stepping across that line because it is the right thing to do?

There was a woman in a church I served years ago who said, “If this ever becomes a clapping church, I’m leaving.” I was only there for a couple more years, and I don’t know if they ever did become a clapping church. I doubt it. But would she really have left if they did?

There have been many others who have said, if the church passes this overture I am leaving. If the church amends its constitution to allow this new thing, I am leaving. And many have followed through with their threats to leave. 

The church, of course, isn’t always right. We sometimes make decisions that we have to go back and fix later. The church in America famously got it wrong on matters of race, more than once. When the church supported slavery, when the church was slow to support civil rights; it has taken the church time to see where God is leading us. But eventually, hopefully, the church says, like Peter said, “Now I understand.” 

Now I understand that when Jesus said that God so loved the world, he really meant the whole world.

Now I understand that when Paul wrote in his letter to the Galatians that in Christ there is no longer Jew nor Greek, male nor female, slave nor free, he actually meant it.

Now I understand that God is always tearing down fences, not building them. God is always reconciling the world, not inserting wedges between us. God is ever and always moving in the direction of love.

God is always moving in the direction of love. If we could only remember this, we would save a lot of time and energy we spend putting up fences – fences that God is only going to tear down someday.

For as it says in the letter to Colossians, God is reconciling all things to God’s self, through the body of Christ – the body of Christ… the church.

Friends, as the church of Jesus Christ, God is counting on us to be a party to this reconciliation – even though we don’t know how to do it, we are responsible for helping God do it.

The book of Acts is filled with stories of the early church just trying to keep up with what God is doing. The disciples of Christ are dizzy with trying to keep up. There is Phillip with the Ethiopian eunuch; the one whom he happened to meet on the road from Jerusalem; the one who says, “what is to keep me from being baptized?” What, indeed?

There are Paul and Barnabas, the evangelists, who as they are chased from one city into another, find themselves unexpectedly sharing the gospel with people they never would have planned to share it with. And finding that these people – of all people – embrace their message. 

And here in Caesarea, there is Peter following God’s lead and sharing the good news with the gentiles in Cornelius’s household, then finding once again that the Spirit of God is a step ahead of him. For before he can even get his words out, the Holy Spirit has been poured out over the gentiles. And then Peter realizes, “Look, wemay as well baptize them. Because the Holy Spirit has done it already.”

You know, God doesn’t always do things in an orderly way. I know this is a hard truth for Presbyterians, but important for us to accept, and even embrace.

While we are deliberating through the steps of revising our Book of Order for the umpteenth time, while we are working through our processes of discernment, God is moving ahead and doing new things in the world. We have seen it happen in many ways.

When we were busy arguing over whether to allow women to be ordained, God was filling them with the Spirit and anointing them for ministry. While we were busy arguing over whether to allow gays and lesbians to be ordained, God was filling them with the Spirit and anointing them for ministry. 

While we were busy writing theological treatises on who is permitted to participate at the communion table, the Spirit was leading congregations everywhere to open their tables and share the bread and the cup with anyone who came in hungering for spiritual food. We didn’t always ask them if they were baptized or if they were members in good standing. 

While we were busy discussing amongst ourselves what is the true definition of a congregation, God was forming men and women together into worshiping communities that were springing up in unusual ways and unusual places. And showing us that the church is not a building, but a people that God has chosen to work through; that the church is not necessarily gathered in rows with pews and a pulpit, but may find itself in a ballfield or a bar, a coffee shop or a yoga studio – or who knows where? God knows where.

God is always a step ahead of us.

While we were busy carefully explaining to people, “This is the way we do things here,” God was out in the world doing things in new ways. And like those first disciples of Christ, we just need to try to keep up.

How do we do that – try to keep up? The same way Peter and Paul and Phillip did it: Listen to the Spirit. 

While we were busy doing ordinary things, God has been doing extraordinary things. So here’s a tip for us all: Let us never get too busy to listen for the Spirit.

photo credit: By User:MarkusHagenlocher - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2142199