Some Kind of Power

John 18:33-37             

Although it might seem like forever-ago, it’s been just a few weeks since we had a very contentious midterm election in this country. It dominated the news for weeks beforehand, and even after. Many Americans needed to take anti-anxiety meds or practice their yoga breathing just to get through it – especially on election night while we watched the odds-makers continually revising their predictions about who would win.

Mid-term elections have become more like presidential year elections, in that they have taken on a national tone. People don’t just care about their local and state representatives – they care deeply about everyone else’s representatives. People make donations to high profile candidates in states far away from their own, all because governing this country has become, for a great many of us, a cosmic showdown between the forces of good and evil. Our guys are good, while the opponents of our guys are evil.

And this year there are lots of people giving advice on how to talk to your relatives at the thanksgiving feast. Because it has become a given that some of the people in your family are on the side of evil. And, horror of horrors, you might have to sit across the table from and pass the gravy to the enemies of all that is good and right and pure.

Politics today is a zero-sum game, and if your enemy wins that means you lose. Just the fact that we have begun using the word enemy when we refer to our opponents speaks volumes about how we view political power.

I hope that someday soon we will pass through this particular phase of our political life and move toward something more civil and compassionate. It will be interesting to see how history deals with this phenomenon. And I imagine that there will probably be more than one view. History is usually written from some personal perspective.

I am thinking about this as I consider the historical perspective of the gospel we read today.

I want to be careful of talking about history and gospel in the same sentence, because most biblical scholars would tell you the gospels are not history. The gospel writers did not intend to give us a historical account of first century Palestine. They wanted to give us the good news, that’s all. And so whatever history we glean from it, we need to ask how it serves the agenda, the purpose, of the gospel.

The character of Pontius Pilate has been a fascination to Christians throughout the life of the Church. He played a very important role in the gospel, and because of that he has been elevated, historically, to an outsized role.

In some Christian accounts Pilate has been nearly elevated to sainthood because he was the instrument of the death that led to the world’s salvation. I think that’s a little twisted, but that is the logic, nonetheless. There are others who do not go that far, but they want to impose certain sympathetic qualities on him that flesh out the story in a pleasing way. They give him a conscience. They make him doubt the goodness of what he is being asked to do by the Jewish authorities.

In fact, the gospel of Matthew tells a story in which Pilate has grave reservations about crucifying Jesus. His wife begs him not to do it because of a terrible dream she had. Pilate then turns to the Jewish crowd and asks them to make the decision for him. He asks them more than once, wanting them to change their answer, but they persist in wanting Jesus killed. Finally, Pilate washes his hands to symbolize his innocence and tells the crowd his death is their responsibility, which they gladly accept.

Yet this is in all likelihood a very misleading portrayal of Pilate – not to mention the absurd prejudice against Jews. By most historical accounts, Pilate was the worst, most cutthroat governor Jerusalem ever had. He was ruthless, cruel, heartless. By any accounts outside the gospels, he had no qualms about killing Jews. None whatsoever.

In a world where there are all kinds of power, Pilate liked the violent kind. He was a very practical man, who would have had little patience for philosophical discussions. He would rather cut straight to the point: are you a problem for me? If so, I will get rid of you. If not, stop wasting my time.

We see shades of this in John’s account of how Pilate deals with Jesus. It all starts with the Jewish Priests. They feel Jesus is a threat to the well-being and peace of Jerusalem. And Caiaphas, the Chief Priest, says, “It is better for one person to die for the people.” So they arrest Jesus and try to trick him into self-incrimination. But you know how that usually goes. Apparently, they lose patience with him and take him over to Pilate’s headquarters. They want the Roman Governor to deal with him, because he is the one with the power of crucifixion.

So Pilate takes Jesus inside with him and attempts to dispose of this problem expeditiously. “Are you the king of the Jews?” Do you call yourself a king? Do I have a reason to execute you?

Jesus wants to know who is asking this question – is he asking on behalf of the Jewish authorities or Rome? Because the answer depends on that. To the Jews, who would understand the kingship of God and the messianic promise, he might say one thing. To Rome, who only understands other kings as a challenge to the authority of the Empire, the answer would be different.

Pilate is like, just cut the bull. I don’t care about your internal disputes, but your people handed you over to me so I need to deal with you. Tell me, what have you done?

We have here what we might call a clash of empires. The distance between Jesus and Pilate is so enormous; they are speaking on entirely different planes, they understand the world and power in completely different ways. Jesus and Pilate each have power, but their powers are entirely different in terms of where they come from, what they look like, and how they impact the world.

Jesus responds to Pilate, finally, saying that his kingdom is not from this world. And Pilate lights up, “Ah, so you do call yourself a king then!” Jesus replies, “You say that I am a king.” That’s your word. It is the language of people like Pilate who see the world as a zero-sum game.

For Pilate and those like him, power only comes in one form – power is force. Power is winning. If I win you lose. If you win that means I lose, so I cannot let you win. In Pilate’s world, everyone who is not supporting him must lose.

Pilate will never understand the power of Jesus Christ.

Today is The Reign of Christ Sunday. We used to call it Christ the King Sunday, but it was renamed because we’re not that comfortable using the language of kings and kingdoms – it confuses us a bit. Today we are asked to reflect on power – as we understand it in this world, as we are taught about it through our faith – and what kinds of power we will choose to embrace in our lives.

Part of it hinges on how we interpret Jesus’ words when he says to Pilate, “My kingdom is not from this world.”

Some Christians choose to hear this as, “My kingdom has nothing to do with this world.” They choose to compartmentalize their faith, guarding it from the secular world where “real-life” decisions are made in a practical and efficient way. To put Christ in a corner and live the rest of their lives like Pilate.

Other Christians choose to hear this as, “My kingdom has come from somewhere else in order to take over this world,” overruling the powers that be. So, therefore, it is their duty to put people in power who will rule according to what they see as God’s law. They might even, in fact, lift up rulers who look a lot like Pilate as long as they say the right things and pass their litmus tests.

Even though these two positions appear to be opposite, they can end up being a lot alike. In both cases, Christians end up surrendering to the powers of this world, the power of empire. The power of Pilate.

It goes back to the tendency we have to divide the world up into good guys and bad guys. My guys and the other guys. White hats and black hats. But the world isn’t like that.

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn famously wrote, “the line separating good and evil does not pass through states or classes or political parties, but right through every human heart.”

Jesus tries to tell Pilate that his power – his kingdom, if you will – is truth. Truth. And I can hear Pilate snorting with disdain as he replies, “What is truth?” Pilate is not a man who has time for truth. Pilate is not a man who sees any value in truth, whatever that is. Therefore, Pilate does not recognize the power that Jesus holds within him.

I wonder. Will we recognize it?

The power of Christ is the power of truth, and it rules over all things. It is the journey of a lifetime to seek it. It ultimately will rule over this world – but not yet. It may be entrusted to the hands of individuals at times, but men and women will never be the repositories of truth. That lies solely in the domain of God.

Although Christ’s power came from somewhere outside of this world, there is not an inch of this world that is not claimed by him. All life on earth is made to serve him and glorify him. May we be guided by this truth.

May you live always in obedience to Christ, seeking his truth in every facet of your life,

May you embrace the power of this truth, and recognize falsehood, even when it is spoken by the “good guys,”

May you speak the truth. What is truth? Life and love.

Love and Happiness

Mark 1:4-11 

There are a few passages from scripture that are so well known and loved that they almost become etched on our hearts. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,” is one of them. “For God so loved the world he gave his only begotten Son,” is another.  These are special; no one should mess with these.  “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased,” is also one of these, I think. But when I read this story of the baptism of Jesus in the Common English Bible translation, it had me in a whole new way.

“You are my Son, whom I dearly love; in you I find happiness.” What beautiful language. Maybe not poetic in the way that the King James Bible is poetic, but clear and direct and beautiful in its message to us. You are my Son, whom I dearly love. In you I find happiness.

You are my Son. Whom I dearly love. In you I find happiness. The words are spoken directly to Jesus. The word “love” – it is not a noun here, an object or a concept; it is a verb, an action word: You are my son whom I love; I love you.

One of my favorite bands, the Avett Brothers, wrote a song that says, “Three words that became hard to say: I and Love and You.” This is so true; how often do we dare to say these three words together? I Love You. And these are the words God says.

But that’s not all. The voice from heaven goes on to say: In you I find happiness.

You make me happy. You are my happiness – just you being you. You don’t have to do anything: perform tricks, master a skill, stroke my ego or provide for my amusement. Just know that I find happiness in you being you. 

I don’t know if there are any more beautiful words in the whole world. You are my son, my daughter. I love you. In you I find happiness. 

And this all happened at the river. At his baptism. All this love and happiness, right here at the place of baptism. Jesus was baptized out of love. You and I, all of us, are baptized out of love.

The love that God has for us. The love that your parents or grandparents had for you when they carried you to the baptismal font as an infant or young child; the love a pastor had for you when he or she shared with you the good news of God’s unbounded love for you, and showed you the way to baptism as a youth or adult. The love the church has for you when they promise to be there for you always, when they welcome you into the fold of God’s beloved community. 

I don’t know what could give us more happiness than knowing that.

We are talking about baptism today because today we will baptize four new members of the family of God – Joy and Michelle and their two children. And we are also welcoming six others into the congregation today, six who have previously been baptized, but today as they make the decision to become a part of us, we remember their baptism. And as we say what we believe, as we make our promises, as we welcome our new members, we each remember our own baptism, remembering that we, too, have been baptized. Do you remember your baptism?

I don’t remember my baptism because I was two months old, but I remember the stories. And I have seen the pictures of my Aunt Violet holding me on her lap with my Uncle Helmuth beside her, and my older brother, Brian, looking over her shoulder.  I was baptized because I was loved. 

You were baptized because you were loved.  Someone found happiness in you.

Today this family will be baptized because they are loved. They are loved by this congregation, they are loved by God. These children are loved by their parents who made the decision to bring them to the font today. There is a lot of love and happiness going around here today. All the way around.

When Joy and Michelle and their children are baptized today they become a part of us and we become a part of them. When Jim and Kim and Caryn and Bruce and Rita and Eric profess their faith before everyone today they become a part of us and we become a part of them. They reaffirm their baptism and all that it means for them. All the power that is in it.

There is a story about Martin Luther; that whenever he found himself tempted or tormented by evil, he would say loudly and clearly, “I have been baptized!” because he found strength in it.  Our baptism makes us stronger.  Do you know why?  Because in our baptism we have the strength of the saints surrounding us – all those who have lived and gone before us, who have inspired us and made a path for us – as well as all our brothers and sisters in Christ who are present with us. We have the strength of this great big family of faith that we are adopted into.

Baptism is about our claim on one another in love when God claims each one of us in love. And there is nothing stronger than love. The power of baptism is enduring power that sees us through all our life; your baptism will not fail you.  The power is renewed every time we gather at the table to share the bread and the cup; every time we proclaim that we have been baptized; every time we remember. Remember your baptism; in whatever ways you can, remember the power of God’s love.

Remember you are lovable, you are loved, and you make someone happy.

Remember you belong here, by virtue of your baptism. God has claimed you.

Remember we are all in this together, as we share the common memory of water. Memory is a powerful thing – collective memory, especially. It is a teacher, a liberator, a meaning-maker. Today in our worship let us remember our baptism. Let us remember because in these things we know how much we are loved.

And that makes me – and I hope you – deeply happy.

Go and See

Mark 6:30-44     

Recently, I came across this list of the top ten things you never hear in church.

10.  Hey – it’s my turn to sit in the front row!

9.    Pastor, I was so enthralled, I never noticed your sermon ran 25 minutes over.

8.    Personally, I find witnessing much more enjoyable than golf.

7.    How long is the waiting list to serve on session?

6.    I’ll be the permanent nursery volunteer.

5.    Isn’t it great to have the children running around the church making a joyful noise?

4.    I LOVE it when we sing songs I’ve never heard before!

3.    No, don’t ask someone else. Let me do it.

2.    Pastor, we’d like to send you to this Bible seminar in Hawaii.

1.    Nothing inspires me and strengthens my commitment like our annual stewardship drive![1]

We always hear a few groans when stewardship time comes around. It seems, to many folks, like a necessary evil. We wish we didn’t have to sully ourselves with this distasteful topic of money, but, alas, we do. If we want to pay the bills, we do.

If we want to do any ministry, we do. If we want to do any mission, we do.

If we want to be the church, we do. So, let’s talk about it.

A pastor stood before her congregation and said, “I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that the church has all the money it needs.” Everyone cheered in great relief. Then the pastor said, “The bad news is that it’s still in your wallets.” Stewardship Sunday is one of those days when the church has the opportunity to really see clearly that the church does not consist of buildings, denominational logos or anything else, as much as the church is all of us. Look around you, the folks sitting beside you, in front of you and behind you; when you think of church, this is what it is.

The story we read today is a familiar favorite – the feeding of the 5,000. This is a story that appears in all four of the gospels, something that is noteworthy. The notion of the abundance of God’s provision is so central to the gospel message, so crucial to our faith, each one of the gospel writers made sure to include it. In fact, Mark included it twice. Really.

Jesus and his disciples have been traveling and teaching and their following has been growing. Shortly before this, Jesus has sent out his disciples to travel the countryside in pairs, without him, to spread the message far and wide. They return to him, feeling high on their success. But Jesus sees that they need to be brought back to their center of gravity, so he leads them to a boat, to go and have some quiet time to themselves.

But the quiet doesn’t last for long. The hungry crowds, hungry for the message, follow them, they will not leave them alone. So, the time they had in the boat will have to be enough to refresh them, as they went ashore and continued teaching these sheep in need of a shepherd.

The time grows late and the disciples remind Jesus that he will need to let the people go so they can find something to eat. I suspect the disciples are as thoughtful as they are because they, themselves, want to get something to eat. But Jesus says to them something shocking: You give them something to eat.

These people don’t need to go away. You feed them. Well, his disciples balk, as you would expect. There are thousands and thousands of people here. The text says there were 5,000 men, so this would almost certainly mean that there were also thousands of women and children. I’ve been to some large banquets, but never anything like this.

These disciples haven’t a clue as to how they are supposed to take care of thousands of people. They have never been asked to do something like this before and they don’t know how to begin. So Jesus helps them out. He says, “How much do you have? Go and see.”

Go and see. Take stock of your resources. Look in every corner and find out how much there is to work with. Go and see; you will probably be surprised.

Initially they found five loaves of bread and two fish. But as they went about the process of feeding the crowd, it is quite clear that much more food became available. The story doesn’t tell us exactly where it came from and how it happened, but we know that much, much more was “found,” because many thousands of people were fed and satisfied, and there were 12 baskets of crumbs left over.

Let’s consider this miracle for a moment. We generally assume that Jesus created this abundance of food out of thin air, because … well, because he’s Jesus. But look at what else was going on.

We shouldn’t ignore the fact that Jesus put this task in the hands of his disciples. If he was intending to produce tons of bread out of thin air, why not just do it? Why enlist the disciples to take over the job? If, on the other hand, he wanted to create a different kind of miracle, a miracle of generosity and compassion and trust, this was a way to do it.

Jesus said to his disciples you are responsible for this. Go and see what you have to work with.

Go and see.

A story has been told about Tony Campolo, a very well-known and highly regarded Baptist pastor, writer, speaker. He was invited to speak to a Christian women’s organization. There were about 300 women there. The president of the organization got up to make some opening remarks, during which time she read aloud a letter from a missionary. The missionary wrote about an emergency situation, and said they needed about $4000 to address this problem. Everyone was very moved by the letter. The president turned to Tony and said, “We need to pray that God will provide the resources to meet this need. Brother Campolo, will you please pray for us? 

Tony said, no, he would not. Now, Tony Campolo is known for being blunt even to the point of being offensive (as all good preachers should be, at times!); even knowing that, these women were shocked. The president said, “I beg your pardon?” He said, “I won’t pray for that. I believe that God has already provided the resources and that all we need to do is give. Here’s what I will do. I’m going to step up to this table and give every bit of cash I have in my pockets. And if you all do the same thing, well, I think we will see that God has already provided the resources.”

The president laughed lightly and said, “Okay, I think we get the point. You want to teach us that we should give sacrificially.” But Tony said, “No, I’m trying to teach you that God has already provided for this missionary. All we need to do is give it.” He had $15 dollars on him, so he put that down on the table and deliberately looked at the president. Hesitantly, she opened her purse and took out the $40 she had inside and placed it on the table. Then, one by one, the women in the room all came up and put their money on the table. When the money was all counted, there was more than $4000.

Tony said, “God, who always supplies our needs, had already provided for the needs of this missionary. The only problem was we were keeping it for ourselves. Now, we’ll pray; let’s say a prayer of thanks to God for his provision.”

Go and see what you have. Go and see what God has already provided. Go and see and give.

Today we will present our pledges for next year; we will thank God for God’s faithful provision and we will ask God to bless these pledges and all the gifts we bring. Your Stewardship Team has asked you to consider increasing your pledge by 10% over last year. Why? Because we can never rest on our good deeds, but always ask ourselves, “What has God provided? What do I have to share?”

Some of us will increase our pledge this year by 10%; some will increase it by a greater amount, some a little less. Others will not change the amount of their pledge, and some may decrease their pledge. Each of us is simply asked to go and see what we are able to give. There is no shame in doing what you are able to do, whatever that is.

For many years now, at stewardship time, Kim and I have searched ourselves and asked what we can give. Knowing each year that it would be impossible for us to outdo God in our generosity, we have increased our pledge – some years by less than10%, some years by more. This is what we have been able to do. Some are not able to do that, but some are able to do more than that. It is for each one of us to go and see what God has provided for us to give.

You have all heard about that beloved church member, Someone Else? Someone Else has been relied upon for many, many years to step up and do what is necessary when others of us don’t want to do it – to speak up when others were afraid to, to fill the need when others didn’t care to. Dear, dear Someone Else. But Someone Else will not be with us forever, and we must learn to step up in place of Someone Else.

The disciples out there in the wilderness with Jesus and thousands of hungry people were hoping that Someone Else would take care of things. But Jesus said to them, “You do it.” And then, “Go and see what you have.”

Let us be thankful today for the generous way God has provided for us. And let us, each one of us, give in accordance with the blessings we have received.

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[1] This, and other stories shared today, come to you courtesy of the internet, preacher’s best friend.

Living Through Our Tears

Isaiah 25:6-9      

John 11:32-44    

Not long ago in our Tuesday Bible Study we discussed a text from the book of Ezra in which the people of Israel are gathering at the site of the new temple. The young ones cheer for joy and the old ones cry. And the cheers were loud and the weeping was loud, and you couldn’t make out the crying from the shouting because it was all mixed up together. Sort of like a school playground during kindergarten recess.

And we mused about why the old ones were crying. Possibly because they felt a fresh wave of grief over the loss of the old temple, and all the loss that had gone with it. But it’s also possible their tears were expressions of joy and gratitude, because they were given a chance to begin again. Tears can have many meanings. Quite likely, these tears were a mixture of grief and gratitude.

It may be sort of a mash-up in the Ezra story, but most of the time tears are mentioned in the scriptures they are understood to be expression of real grief, of pain. A little or a lot of sadness leaking out of the body. Whether it’s the expression of longing for a day to come when God shall wipe away every tear, and the pain and sadness – and disgrace – of the people will be gone; or it’s the wailing of a people who are in the throes of grief, like Mary and the others who attended the burial of Lazarus; tears are an accompaniment to the losses experienced in life.

Around death, you will almost certainly encounter some tears. Even Jesus weeps. Some of you might recall a time when John 11:35 was every child’s favorite Bible memory verse – “Jesus wept,” as it is rendered in the King James. Back then it meant nothing more than that it was short and easy to remember. As we grow older, however, the notion of Jesus weeping resonates more deeply.

It is the only time we ever see such a deep expression of feeling from him. Throughout his ministry in which he is chased and threatened and provoked; through all his travels in which he encounters so many people who suffer deeply, so much sickness and persecution and loss. Through it all Jesus never shows this kind of sorrow. It’s fair to wonder, why now? And we can come up with all kinds of explanations, I’m sure. But, of course, we know that tears always come unbidden. Tears don’t reveal everything that is behind them.

Even Jesus might have been caught by surprise when the tears began to flow. Perhaps he didn’t know why he was crying at the time. Yes, he loved Lazarus. But was that all that was going on? Doubtful. There was so much going on.

This story is part of a much longer narrative that comes at a pivotal moment in the gospel. It begins when Jesus receives word from Mary, Lazarus’ sister, that he is quite ill and they want Jesus to come to Bethany. But Jesus, strangely, does nothing. He deliberately stays away. In response to the message, he says, “This is not the kind of illness that leads to death.” He says, “This is really all for God’s glory,” and probably no one understood what he meant by that, but in any case, they did not go. Bethany was in Judea, near Jerusalem, and Jesus has recently had some trouble in Jerusalem, where a crowd of people tried to stone him and he barely escaped with his life. So, quite likely, his disciples agreed that it was best for Jesus not to go anywhere near there, and Mary and Martha and Lazarus would have to get along without him.

But then two days later, out of the blue, Jesus announces, “We’re going to Judea; Lazarus has fallen asleep and I am going to wake him.” And the disciples wonder if he’s lost his mind. Nonetheless, they go.

By the time they arrive, they learn that Lazarus is dead, and has been in the tomb for four days. Four days. We are to know that he is really and truly and completely dead. There is no chance that he has just fallen asleep. He is dead.

And then Jesus encounters an angry Mary.

She is angry at Jesus. She gave him word of Lazarus’ condition. She asked him to come. She knew that Jesus could have done something – he could have saved Lazarus from death, but for some reason she couldn’t begin to fathom, Jesus had not come. Until now, and now was too late.

She was angry at him, and she let him know: “He did not have to die.” It’s as simple as that. Jesus could have prevented it – Mary knew it, everyone knew it – but he didn’t.

Mary wept, and I believe her tears were sadness, grief, and anger all mixed together. Like when you can’t tell if you feel mad or sad because you’re zigzagging in between the two things.

I remember standing at the bedside of a woman in the hospital, who died with her son and daughter beside her. and when they realized she had taken her last breath, they stood up and cried and raged, saying, “The hospital killed our mother!” So powerless were they in their grief, so badly they wanted to blame somebody for their loss.

We don’t accept loss easily.

Mary’s tears, and the tears of all the others who have accompanied her in her grieving, come together in a chorus, and then Jesus joins them in their weeping.

Weeping for his friend Lazarus. Weeping for the devotion of Mary and Martha. Weeping for the accumulating weight of his own suffering, suffering that will reach its apex soon in Jerusalem. Sad and mad at the suffering he will be made to endure, suffering that all humankind undergoes, sad and mad at the power of death in our lives.

They take Jesus to the tomb where Lazarus’ body lies behind the stone. Roll the stone away, Jesus calls out. Martha, the practical sister, knows the stench will be overpowering, and cautions Jesus. Again, the King James says it best: “But Lord, he stinketh.” Why open it now? It is too late now to do anything, but Jesus demands it. Lazarus, Come out. And the dead man walks.

There is no way to explain this mystery. We imagine things we have seen in horror films – The Mummy; Lazarus’ halting steps, strips of grave cloth hanging from his body. Or zombies; Lazarus’ lifeless face, distant eyes unable to comprehend what he sees. For me, it is hard to see him as fully alive at this point. Because he has been dead.

But great as this mystery is, it is the gospel hope. He, who was dead, is now alive. We, who were once dead, are given new life. In Jesus Christ we receive the gift of life.

Thomas, the disciple who later acquired a reputation as a doubter, said something to Jesus when he announced that they were going to Bethany to wake Lazarus – words that could be called prophetic. He said, Let us go with you, that we might die with him. It probably didn’t make sense to anyone at the time, but Thomas was giving voice to a glimpse of the good news: that we, too will die and rise with Jesus. This is our belief. This is our hope. That, although we die, we will live.

And this is the strange hope we center our worship around on All Saint’s Day. We who belong to Christ suffer in this life. He did not take that from us. In this life, though we love Jesus we experience loss, even death. Including, we know, our own death some day. As the Apostle Paul wrote: as we live, we live to the Lord; as we die, we die to the Lord, so whether we live or die we belong to the Lord who gives us life everlasting.

The strange Lazarus narrative shows us that as much as we really do live, we will really truly die. We will someday be as dead as Lazarus was dead. But Christ has power greater than death. The death and resurrection of Jesus Christ conquered death once and for all. While we mourn the loss of our loved ones, the saints who have gone before us, we know that they live in Christ, with him in God’s kingdom. And that we will someday be reunited with them in glory.

Today we remember the ones who have gone before. In a mixture of gratitude for their lives and all they gave us, and grief for the fact that they have left us. But today we also look to a day when we will sit at table again with them – as Isaiah says, with well-aged wine and rich food – a day when God will wipe away the tears from all faces. Let us be glad and rejoice.

All thanks and glory be to God.

Photo Credit: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Einzelne_Kerze.JPG#/media/File:Einzelne_Kerze.JPG

The Benefits of Membership

Mark 10:35-45    

I was thinking of my old friend Bill this past week. He died a couple of years ago at the age of 82. I first met him when he invited me to join him and his wife to a dinner theatre performance of The Sound of Music. He picked me up in his Buick. We talked about cars. Bill was an avid member of the Buick Club of America.

I never knew there was a Buick Club until I met Bill. He was very enthusiastic about it. He went to Buick meets, joined in with Buick Club tours whenever he could. Bill had a barn on his property which held a variety of Buicks, so part of the fun was deciding which one to drive when he went to Buick Club events.

The Buick Club was not his whole life, though. He was also a Free Mason, and had several other affiliations, including the Presbyterian Church. Membership was a significant part of Bill’s life; he was an organization man, in the best sense of the word; a man of his generation. He worked for corporations, he joined clubs and fraternities, and he believed in the mutual benefits of being a member.

Many of his friends from the Buick Club came to his funeral, all of them wearing their club jackets. They were friendly with everyone, but they mostly stayed together, sort of huddled in a circle. You could see they had a good camaraderie, a sense of belonging with one another.

I thought about Bill because I was thinking about membership. The gospel today takes us to another somewhat absurd conversation between Jesus and his disciples – another day in which the disciples demonstrate for us how immune they are to learning – when James and John announce that they want Jesus to do for them whatever they ask of him. Like he’s their personal genie in a bottle. When I think of all the comebacks Jesus might have given them, what he actually said is not among them. He says, very good-naturedly, “What is it you want me to do for you?”

And given this opening they jump right in, saying, “We want you to let us sit right in the front with you, on your left and your right.” They want to be the teacher’s pets. His right- and left-hand men. The first and second runners up in glory. They want to be considered special, set apart from the others.

And when they hear about it, the other disciples get mad – not because they disapproved of what James and John did, but because they wished they had gotten there first. If rewards were being handed out, they didn’t want to be left out. They, too, wanted the benefits of membership in the insider’s club.

The Jesus Insiders Club. whatever that is.

A couple of weeks ago we had an inquirer’s class here at the church – an opportunity for those who are considering membership to learn something about it. We talked about a variety of things – our personal faith histories, practices and beliefs in the Presbyterian Church. But something we did not discuss was the benefits of membership.

I didn’t tell them that when you become a member of WPC you get your own pew, which becomes your personal property for life – in fact, you may bestow this property as a legacy to your descendants, should they become members of WPC. This privilege also confers on you the right to kick out any unwitting newcomers who don’t know any better than to sit there. You can walk right up to them, give them a cold stare and say, “You’re in my seat.”

I didn’t tell them that when you become a member you get a reserved parking space. Or that membership gives you the authority to chew out anyone who puts the silverware in the wrong drawer, passes the offering plate the wrong way, or makes some other unforgiveable faux-pas.

Lording it over and behaving as tyrants – these are the things Jesus says about the gentiles and their leaders.

I did not tell the folks in our inquirer’s class any of these things because, alas, they are not true. Membership in the church of Jesus Christ doesn’t really come with any of these benefits. You don’t even get a membership card. No club jackets, either.

I don’t know why we have this tendency to think that membership gives you some status. That when you become an “insider” you now have something to lord over those who are still outsiders. Maybe it’s because we have a fear of being left out, ourselves; of being outsiders.

When I was a psychology undergrad I learned that human beings are motivated by three innate needs: the need for achievement, the need for affiliation, and the need for power. It isn’t hard to see how these needs sometimes affect the ways we behave with one another. James and John, and I assume the others too, have a need to achieve. They want everyone else to see them as being special. They also have a need to affiliate, to show that they belong.  And finally, they need power. They wrestled with this need for power in the group and their desire to lord it over the others. In spite of everything Jesus says, they continue to wrestle with their need for power.

I want to give them the benefit of the doubt and assume they have been listening to Jesus throughout their journey together. They have heard him say in so many ways that, in his kingdom, the first shall be last and the last first. They have heard him say that, contrary to their hopes and expectations, he is not going to march into Jerusalem and overthrow the empire; he is destined to suffer and die at the hands of the empire. And that any who follow him are called to demonstrate God’s love by serving others, even submitting to humiliation and suffering themselves.

I want to believe they have heard these things, as we have heard them. But, like us, they find them very hard to accept. They, like us, tend to resist these truths. They, like us, will hear in one moment that Jesus will be handed over to the authorities, condemned, and killed. And in the next moment they, like us, will say, “Jesus, give me whatever I ask for.”

Jesus, give me what I am asking for.

Jesus recognizes this problem. He looks at James and John when they say, “We want you to give us whatever we ask for,” and he says, “You don’t know what you are asking for.” Are you able to drink the cup that I drink? Or be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with? Do you really understand what you are asking for?

Can you go where I am going? Are you able to drink the cup?

The cup is bittersweet. It holds both sacrifice and celebration; obedience and freedom; persecution and treasure. The cup holds both death and life.

To drink the cup means drinking all of it.  You can’t push the bitterness over to one side, like you might push your Brussels sprouts over to the side of the plate.  You drink all of it.  Where do you imagine you find the courage to do that?

I will tell you where: in the fellowship of Christ. In the community of the church. Because this community, at its best, is a communion of servants, those who are devoted to serving one another and the least of God’s children. It is a communion of discipleship, as we learn together to practice humility, to extend forgiveness and mercy.

If you want to know the benefits of membership in the church, this is it. It is the community in which we may practice growing in Christ’s likeness. The community in which we are free to expose our weaknesses because, when we dare to do this, we may benefit from the strength of the community holding us up.

Now we don’t always reflect those great qualities, to be blunt. We too often look like the ones who lord it over others, or like James and John in their weaker moments, shoving our way to the front of the line. We too often say, Jesus give us what we want, when we don’t really know what we need.

My old friend Bill shared with me once his concern that young people didn’t seem to want to join – either his clubs or his church. He was a little mystified by this, and also sorry for what he thought they were missing.

I can’t speak for the clubs. But maybe, in the church, we haven’t been clear enough about those real benefits. Not the private pew or the right to judge others; I’m talking about the love and support, both given and received.

May we keep our eye on the true benefits of membership;

May we embrace them fully;

May we draw courage from the strength of one another; our fellowship in Christ.

Photo Credit: Auckland Museum [CC BY 4.0  (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Receiving the Kingdom

Mark 10:2-16     

My friend Rachel was married when I first met her – and I thought her marriage was divinely happy.  It looked like that from the outside.  But it became awfully clear one day that this was not such a happy marriage, when Tom announced to her that he was planning to file for divorce.  He did not love her anymore, he said, if he ever really had loved her in the first place.

Rachel was heartbroken for a long time.  This was an independent, intelligent, highly capable woman, but now it was like her whole life had fallen apart. Everything that she had believed and valued about her life was now in question. In our conversations during that period, she acknowledged that, yes, the marriage had been troubled but she had not wanted to accept that the troubles were that threatening.  She had not wanted to believe it.  Now, she had to accept it and believe it and deal with it.

It took some time, but gradually she did heal.  There came a time when our conversations weren’t solely focused on the marriage, the divorce, and what Tom was doing. Then one Saturday a couple of years after the divorce I met her for lunch. When she sat down across from me I could see she was in a great deal of distress, and I soon found out why.  Tom was getting remarried.  This was the day of his wedding.  It was like reopening a wound, and starting the bleeding all over again.

Perhaps this is what Jesus was talking about when he said a man who divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her.  No matter the reasons for the divorce, no matter the healing that has taken place after, the bond that was once theirs can still hold the potential for pain.  

Perhaps this whole conversation about divorce and marriage is Jesus’ way of saying to us, as he has said so many times, that he wants to show us a new way. It’s as though he is saying to us – 

You want to talk about what is lawful; I want to talk about what is good.  

You want to dwell on blame and where it should be assigned; I want you to see truth and know that sin permeates every aspect of your lives; in one way not your fault at all, but in another way entirely your responsibility because you’re the only one who can do anything about it.

You want to believe in your own righteousness and you hate to be confronted with the brokenness of your human condition, but I want to show you that you come before God with nothing and any righteousness you have comes from above.

You want to present yourselves as worthy of the kingdom but I want you to know that whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.  

As a little child…

A little child who brings no credentials, no accomplishments, nothing to impress.  A child brings only herself, asking only for love.  

A little child who does not need to be complimented for all his great qualities or validated for his actions.  That is only something he learns as he gets older.  A child who brings only himself, asking only to be accepted just as he is.  

Little children have many endearing qualities, but I think the one quality Jesus may wish for us to see today is the quality of humility – a garment that we find quite fitting for little children but less so for ourselves. Not very comfortable, I know that. Yet I don’t see how we can approach the kingdom of God without humility.  

Once again, Jesus pulls us out of our comfort zones. Today he does it by talking about divorce.

We are not comfortable talking about divorce, and some of us are so uncomfortable it becomes hard to even hear what he is saying. He seems to be saying that divorce is sin. But if we are to say that, then let us also say that, sometimes, divorce is the very best we can do in our human condition. If we are to regard divorce as sin, as Jesus seems to be suggesting, then I also want to say it is not necessarily an evil act. Rather, it is a tragic symptom of our brokenness, and every one of us is impacted by this brokenness – divorced or not.  Jesus just wants us accept the fact of this brokenness and the consequent suffering that spreads through our lives. But then maybe he would say – 

So you’re not all that great.  But you’re not that bad, either.  You know what you are? You are a little child looking for love along with the rest of us. And you can find that love in the kingdom of God.

If this text tells us one thing it is that there is pain in life. There is pain in both marriage and divorce, especially in divorce.  But life goes on. And turning away from bitterness and blame is always an option. Seeking redemption and healing is always possible with God.

And so the story of us – if I were to boil it down to its bare essence: we are created in goodness; broken by sin; redeemed by Christ.  This is the Christian story.  This is our story, and this is all we have to present at the doors of the kingdom. Here we are, nothing more than little children.  

It is enough.

Stumbling Blocks

James 5:13-20             

Mark 9:38-50     

I just heard about the new words that have been added to the Scrabble dictionary this year. Among them is “ew.” I like that. I mean, I don’t like the word, but I am amused that it is now something you can play in Scrabble. Ew, the sound you make when the milk has gone bad; what you say when your kid eats his boogers.

My spell-checker still doesn’t know it’s a legitimate word – every time I type it the angry red squiggle lines appears underneath, warning me that I have made a faux pas. But it’s real now, it’s okay to say ew.

The word, ew, will forever and always remind me of the 18-year-old woman in Texas who asked me what I was studying at the university, and when I told her I was working on a PhD she said “ew.” As in, that sounds hard. Boring. Definitely not cool.

Ew. The swift, efficient two-letter judgment.

I don’t know if it’s English. It might be a universal word. After all, it’s more of a reactive noise than a meaningful word, sort of like “huh.” Maybe ew is something you could hear any place in the world, no matter what language is spoken. Maybe the people in ancient Palestine said, “ew” when they passed the lepers. 

Except Jesus. He didn’t say “ew.”

Maybe I’m talking about the word ew today because it’s easier than talking about the gospel passage. It is. This passage from Mark is moving into territory no preacher wants to enter. Jesus is saying weird stuff. He’s talking about hanging millstones around your neck, cutting off your hand or foot, tearing out your eye. That’s a big “ew” for me. He throws out the possibility of being cast into hell – three times, he mentions it. And then ends with, “Have salt. Salt is good.”

I am afraid this passage is chock full of stumbling blocks. But let’s try to get through it.

It begins with the disciples coming to Jesus and tattling on someone who is casting out demons in Jesus’ name. “Teacher, teacher, he’s casting out demons and you didn’t say he could.” Someone outside their small group is battling the demons, evidently with some success. Are the disciples happy about that? No. It’s making them jealous. 

You see, just a short time before this happened there was a man who brought his son to Jesus’ disciples to be healed. The boy was suffering from terrible seizures, which was attributed to a bad spirit within him. The father begged the disciples to cast out this demon from his son. But they couldn’t do it. They tried, but couldn’t do it. When Jesus saw what was going on, he did it himself.

So, just a few short verses later, when they encounter someone who is not one of them, doing what they were unable to do, they were not happy. I suppose it just seemed unfair to them that some Joe Blow steps out and gets it on the first try! Here they have been training for this, but still can’t do it right. It doesn’t seem fair. Of course, it makes no difference to the one who has been healed if their healer was an official disciple or not – he has been healed of an evil spirit. But for the disciples it makes all the difference in the world, and they can take no pleasure in this. They feel that someone ought to stop such things from happening. Jesus should stop it.

But Jesus says, “Whoever is not against us is for us.” Anyone who is doing good work in my name can be on my team. After all, it’s not a competition. Is it?

It’s not as though you would put a block in front of someone who was running the same path as you, so to make them trip and fall, losing ground. It’s not like that, is it?

Is this a competition in your eyes? That you would be judged in comparison to one another, so it is necessary to keep others from getting ahead of you?

But Jesus, they might reply, someone we don’t even know is casting out demons in your name, Jesus! He’s not even a disciple, Jesus. Ew, Jesus. Make him stop. Better we should all fail, than someone we don’t even know, who isn’t a part of our program, should have some success.

Well, Jesus answers them, if you want to put stumbling blocks in front of any of the little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you to drown in the sea. 

This is not an easy passage to deal with. It’s confusing when he talks about stumbling blocks, because first he is accusing them of putting blocks in front of others but then suggests they are making stumbling blocks for themselves. It’s unclear when he talks about the little ones, because it sort of sounds like he’s referring to children, but it’s not clear that there are children here. It’s unnerving when he talks about a choice between cutting off our limbs or going to hell because that doesn’t sound like much of a choice. 

I don’t know exactly what he meant when he speaks of hell – none of us really does. The word in the original text is Gehenna– the name of a place outside Jerusalem, which was a regional garbage dump. A burning, stinking, smoldering garbage heap. It was not uncommon at the time to use this reference, to speak of Gehenna as a kind of hell. Maybe you can think of a modern-day reference that has the same effect. 

But, of course, it is unlikely that he simply means the literal Gehenna. Jesus is very serious here; he wants to convey a state of being that would be painful, intolerable, suffering. Hell.

This is something we don’t like to talk about these days – if we ever did. The idea of hell is frightening – whether it is the image of eternal flames or the dark, cold void of being separated from God. Hell is a place we do not want to go. But Jesus wants us to hear about it. 

If any one of you puts a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me – this is the danger that leads to hell. If you cause a little one to stumble, you are not doing my work. You are doing the work of evil. 

When he speaks of these little ones here, you might want to assume he is speaking of children. After all, it was just a few verses ago that he lifted a child onto his lap and said, “whoever welcomes such a child, welcomes me.” But given the context, I don’t believe it is necessarily children he has on his mind. It is likely that when he says “little ones” he means weaker, less important ones. When he speaks of putting up stumbling blocks before others he means taking advantage of your relative strength to hurt another who is relatively weak. 

Perhaps he is referring, at least in part, to the ones who are casting out demons in his name. His disciples, who are trying to maintain a belief in their own greatness – remember last week, that’s what they were arguing about – are united in bringing down someone else. They seem to be demonstrating a kind of “herd mentality,” as they seem determined to keep strict control over who is in and who is not. They have made themselves the gatekeepers.

Amazingly, they elevated themselves to such a height, they say, “this guy – he wasn’t even following us.” Not, “he wasn’t following you,” but “he wasn’t following us.” Apparently, they no longer think of themselves as followers of Jesus, but more like equal partners in his firm. 

They are wrong, though. They are not his equal partners. In fact, it should be as clear as day that they still have so much to learn. Perhaps a little talk of hell will wake them to that fact.

Because in these recent passages we have seen the disciples behaving badly – even toward each other. They try to bring down one who is not in their inner circle, and they even try to bring each other down. They want to be seen as the best. The first. The greatest. They are willing to put stumbling blocks in front of one another, for the sake of being the greatest.

And it really isn’t about that, not at all. It’s about the community – the ever-growing, always-loved, community. 

One thing Jesus is very clear about, not just here but throughout the gospels, is that his concern is for the wide, wide circle of God’s beloved – a circle that extends well beyond the boundaries of this little band of disciples. At every opportunity, he challenges the boundaries people want to draw. He’s not in it for ego, or for his “brand,” or for any propriety self-interest, he’s in it for God’s boundless love for the world.

So when he speaks about salt, he is talking about salt’s preservative qualities. He is suggesting that they be a little more like salt, in preserving the beloved community he came to draw together and lift up. James, in his letter, has some excellent suggestions for doing that: confess your sins to one another; pray for one another; help one another to stay on the path of righteousness and holiness.

It’s a messy passage, to be sure, this section of Mark. But often the hardest things to say, and hear, are the most important. I pray that we will not put any stumbling blocks in front of one another or ourselves, that we might hear his words and follow his will.

Photo: Salt. By kevindooley - https://www.flickr.com/photos/pagedooley/2769134850/sizes/l/, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5019625