Stories that Teach, Week 5: Responding

Matthew 22:1-14

There’s a good chance you are familiar with this parable. But I’m going to venture a guess that you didn’t remember that part about the man who forgot his wedding robe. You know, the guy who was thrown into the outer darkness because he was dressed inappropriately? Did you forget that detail? I know I try to.

If I preach or teach on the parable of the banquet, I usually choose Luke’s version, because it doesn’t have all this nastiness, all this violence. Luke’s is the G-rated version of this parable, the “good news” that goes down easily, whereas Matthew tells a story that gets caught in our throats. Typical of Matthew.

Yet, we might have conflicting feelings about this story. I think there are elements of the parable that are very appealing to us, elements that resonate with our lives. We know how it feels to plan an event and having people not show up. On the other hand, we understand being in the position of having committed to something ahead of time that, all of a sudden, feels like a burden we would like to get out of. These things are everyday kinds of experiences. 

But it is a lot harder to relate to the violence that ensues. The invited guests are so put out about the fact that they are being summoned to a banquet they don’t really want to attend, they actually kill the messenger. The king is so offended by the actions of these invited guests that he sends in his troops to burn the city – his city. And, in the end, when the banquet is finally happening – with the good, the bad, and the ugly – is the king content? No. He zeros in on one man who was dressed inappropriately and orders him to be thrown into the outer darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth (a phrase that Matthew seems very fond of.) It all feels like so much overreaction. What do we do?

We might do one of two things: 

We might look away. Forget about the ugly stuff in this parable. Take a sharpie to the text and black out all the offending verses. Or, if you’re not comfortable defacing in your Bible, just flip over to Luke and read that version (it’s in chapter 14). It’s a little challenging, but manageable compared to this one.

Or if we cannot look away, blot it out, turn the page, maybe we push up our sleeves and get to work trying to get a handle on this business of invitations and murder and destruction and weeping and gnashing of teeth. And if we do, we might learn a few things.

We might learn that in the cultures of the mid-east, it was customary to extend two invitations – the initial invitation to give the host a head count and the follow up invitation when the feast is ready to eat. Refusing the second invitation is quite rude, the same as going to someone’s house for dinner and then when you are summoned to the table suddenly saying you have other stuff to do and walking out the door.

And we might learn that in that same culture it was customary for the host to provide a wedding robe for each guest. So this guy not dressed appropriately? it isn’t as if he didn’t have the right garment. Unless, perhaps, he was a wedding crasher?

We might also learn that a common interpretation of this story is to allegorize it, to say that everything in it is symbolic of something else: the king is God, the son is Jesus, the first guest list is the nation of Israel, or the leaders of Israel (to whom he was speaking at this moment). And the wedding robe? It is faith. Or it is Christ. Or it is good works. Or it is baptism. Or all of the above.

And so, then, the message may be that God has invited the people of Israel to be a part of the new covenant in Christ. And if they decline the invitation, they are writing their own death warrant. But even among those who accept the invitation, there are no guarantees. You know. Just showing up isn’t enough. Make a mistake and, well, there could be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

None of it feels very inviting. Or very loving. And that, I want to say, is important.

It is important to pay attention to how you feel about the parable –  more important than figuring out the parable.

A parable is not a secret message that is meant to be decoded and nailed down. A parable is meant to be experienced.  It is something that falls alongside our lives, close enough for us to relate to. Distant enough to pique our interest. And it’s the space in between – between the closeness and the distance – where something can happen.

For here we are. Listening to this story about a king who wants to have a banquet for his son’s wedding. And people don’t respond the way they should. They don’t follow through on their promises. 

They overreact with gratuitous violence. They are so put off by a message they don’t like, they are willing to kill the messenger. A ruler is so embarrassed by this failure, he starts a war. Somebody who looks different, doesn’t follow the conventions, is vilified. Why? Because these are things that people do. These are things that really happen in the world. They still happen in our world. 

If you have followed what has happened in Michigan the last few days, where groups of self-appointed guardians schemed to storm the capitol and kidnap the governor, then you know. It sounds like a parable, doesn’t it?

The parable is an observation made by Jesus of what he sees all around him, exaggerated to the degree that we cannot miss how disturbing it is. It is shocking, and that is the point. 

Somehow or another, it is necessary for us to get the point that these are high stakes. The world is in serious trouble. And God’s calling is serious business. 

Jesus ends the parable with these words: For many are called but few are chosen. And, again, it is hard to know exactly what he means by this, the difference between being called and being chosen. Perhaps we may hear it this way: the call is an invitation to respond. And the choosing has something to do with our response.

This parable works with the two parables that come before it to tell a story about invitations being extended, and responses made. People saying yes, then failing to follow through. People receiving the good gifts of God and then failing to use those gifts for God’s good purposes. People doing things that are destructive of others and, therefore, self-destructive as well. We cannot hurt others without hurting ourselves.

We might have thought the parables of Jesus are cute little stories, but they are much more than that. Jesus’ parables look unflinchingly at a hurting and broken world, a world in danger. And call upon us to make a change. Repent. 

Underlying all of this is the knowledge that God is true to God’s promises, so it is certainly not a blanket condemnation of the Jews. And that God’s grace extends backwards and forwards and way beyond anything we can imagine. The truth of this is in the life and death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. 

There is serious trouble in the world. But God’s grace is unbounded. And there is the hope.

All thanks be to our God of amazing grace.

Stories that Teach, Week 4: New Fruit

Matthew 21:33-46      

Let me tell you a story about an experience I had. I was leading a Bible study in a congregation where I had just begun working.  At the end of our study we stood and held hands for a circle prayer – we would go around the circle and those who want to add their petitions do.  We got to Cathy and she opened her mouth to speak and just started sobbing – big shaking sobs.  She spoke her prayer, all the while sobbing.  It was alarming to me.  I thought, “Oh my goodness, what’s the matter? What’s she so troubled about?”  I was also kind of disturbed that no one else seemed to react at all. 

The next week it happened again.  I gradually learned that this is just what Cathy does.  It is a part of who she is. She opens her mouth to pray and the sobs just come falling out.  Everybody knew it but me, but then I knew it too.

Sometimes you find yourself in some situation where weird things are happening and you think: There is a backstory here that I just don’t know yet.

That’s the way this text from Matthew strikes me.  There is definitely a backstory here.

First, just consider where we are in the gospel, and we ask what has happened before this point. Flip back a few pages. Is Jesus responding to something that has just been said or done? Who is he speaking to, and who else might be listening in? Finally, where is he in his journey toward the cross?

With respect to this story of the Tenant Farmers, here’s what we know: It is one of a set of three parables. Jesus is speaking directly to the Chief Priests and Pharisees in the temple – but there are a lot more people watching and listening.  It is late in his ministry; in fact, we are in that final week in Jerusalem; the night of his arrest draws near. The officials know who he is and they are pretty tense about his actions and teachings.

This is a conversation that has been going on for a while. They have been watching him for a long time, and now the Chief Priests and Pharisees approach Jesus in the temple and demand to know from where he gets his authority to teach, because they know he didn’t get it from them. 

You could say this is all about a power struggle – and you wouldn’t be entirely wrong. It is about power, as many things in life are. But it’s actually about more than that.  It’s about order and tradition. It’s about truth – truth as told in parable.

He begins this set of three with the parable of the father who asks his two sons to work in the vineyard – the one we heard last week.  First son says yes but then never does the work; second son says no but then actually does the work.  Which son is obedient to his father’s will?

He ends with the parable of the king who prepares a wedding feast, invites the guests on the A-list, who are all no-shows.  The king then invites the entire D-list and has his party anyway, and we will come back to that one next week.

In between, he tells this parable, about the tenants who refuse to give the landowner what is rightfully his.  Not only that, they rough up his messengers and kill his son. 

Which brings me to another thing you should know about parables: they always have a cultural context. We want to know not just where this story sits in the gospel, but also where it sits in history. What is going on in the world Jesus is living in? Knowing something about this helps us to know what they were thinking when he talked about landowners and tenant farmers, vineyards, harvests, watchtowers.

Well, it’s not hard for the chief priests and Pharisees to get the cultural references here. Jesus is drawing from their own scriptures. They know that the vineyard is Israel and the landowner is God; it’s pulled right out of Isaiah 5: My beloved had a vineyard; he cleared it of stones, he planted it with choice vines, he built a watchtower in the midst of it. 

They can deduce without much trouble that the slaves are the prophets of Israel. And if they didn’t know immediately, it soon becomes clear that in the parable they are the tenant farmers.  And the vineyard they have been tending will be given to others.

It’s a conversation that has been going on for a while. There is tension in Israel. Just as the Chief Priests and Pharisees have some issues with Jesus’ authority, the people of Israel have issues of their own with the Chief Priests and Pharisees. These authorities are afraid of the crowds, Matthew says more than once. This speaks volumes.

Yes, this is a conversation that has been going on for a while, and still is. In every century, in every land, the gospel seeds have been sown, to borrow an image from another parable. The church has grown up and produced fruit of varying kinds in every land, flavored by the local conditions.

Given that, it is fair to ask where you and I are right now in this long conversation about big things. The parable raises questions about our trust in God as the authority in our lives; about how well we are doing at giving to the Lord the fruits that are owed to him; even about how we feel when the Lord brings in new workers, perhaps because we have ceased to be fruitful.

I wonder if we can write a different ending for the parable.

The Lord of the vineyard has said, that is enough. He is ready to remove the tenants from the land and bring in some new workers.

Because the old tenants have forgotten why they are there. They have stopped caring about what the Lord needs from them. By this time, they only care about what they can get out of it. They seem complacent. Self-satisfied. Even worse, anyone who challenges their complacency does so at great risk. Yes, they have pretty much stopped bearing fruit.

But imagine this: the new tenants approach the vineyard and the old tenants turn to them and say, welcome. We are glad you are here. We might have lost our way. Help us produce the best fruit for our Lord.

It’s a long conversation – a big story – that we are a part of, and we really only know our little part of it. We need one another – the rich and the poor, the urban and the rural, the Northern Europeans and the Sub-Saharan Africans, and everyone else. We need those who came before us and those who will come after us, to bear new fruit.

May you give thanks for the church all over the world.

May you keep your minds and hearts open to what the church might be in the future.

May your hearts be open and receptive to the Word and may your corner of the vineyard be fruitful.

 

Stories that Teach, Week 3: Doing the Work

 

Matthew 21:23-32      

What do you think? I have a personal affinity for this parable of the man with two sons. When I hear it, this is what I think: I have two daughters. When I would say to the first daughter, “Do this,” she would say, “No.” But then she would do it. When I would say to the second daughter, “I think you should do this,” she would say, “Yes.” But then she would not do it. Which of the two did the will of her mother?

This is the parable as I have lived it. And so all the action in the parable evokes real feelings for me – remembrances of how I felt in that same situation. And even if you haven’t lived this parable as I have, it is probably not too hard for you to relate to it, somehow. I identify with the father, but maybe you identify with one of the sons – and so you see it from a slightly different perspective. All of this is valuable, because every variation in perspective adds something to one’s understanding. The lessons taught by the parables are not flat, 2-dimensional decrees. They are rich and multi-dimensional, always offering something more.

What do you think? Jesus likes to set up a parable like this, asking “What do you think?” It lets us know that he’s not just talking at us, but he is asking us to be engaged in a thought process. Here is a problem, he says. What do you think? It is one more way that the parable draws us in so that the learning that takes place is transformative. By the time it is finished, we have worked it out in our own hearts and minds. We have struggled with the nuances of real, live problems; we have discovered new insights and we have been transformed.

So, what do you think? You might have noticed that in his conversation with the chief priests and elders preceding the parable, he responds to their question with a question – something else Jesus had an affinity for. They ask him bluntly, who gives you authority to do what you are doing, because – you should know – he has been doing a lot.

He just staged a grand entrance into the city of Jerusalem, complete with an adoring crowd throwing down palm branches and shouting hosannas. He then went directly to the temple and flipped over the tables of the moneychangers and drove out all the merchants. Then he cursed a poor little fig tree, causing it to wither and dry for no apparent reason. Now he’s teaching in the temple, as one with authority, and these official authorities want to know, “Who in the world do you think you are, Jesus?”

And, of course, he answers them with a question – one about John the Baptist’s authority. It sounds like a trick question to them. And, in a way, it is, because there is no way they can answer it without getting someone upset. They deal with it in a manner that brings to mind our U.S. Senators who walk briskly past reporters and their cameras, pretending they didn’t hear or just don’t have time for their questions, because answering these questions would just be too awkward and potentially dangerous for them. So it is both awkward and dangerous for these chief priests and elders. They refuse to answer his question.

And Jesus replies, “I won’t answer your question either.”

And even though it might sound like he’s playing games with them, he isn’t playing. Let me ask you – what do you think? If you are in conversation with someone you know will not ever concede a point, will you continue reiterating your case? If there is someone who is asking you “gotcha” questions, assuming they know the answer before they even ask, and unwilling to hear anything different from what they assume they already know, will you give them what they are anticipating? Will you play their game?

There are times in life when it just doesn’t feel worth it to continue a conversation where the parties involved are just talking past one another. Such as political discussions where each participant seems to be speaking from a different worldview, with different assumptions and different values. If we value the relationship we might just change the subject and find those things we can agree about. If we don’t value the relationship we might just walk away. But notice that Jesus doesn’t do either of those things.

Jesus changes his approach. He goes into parable mode.

As I have said before, the power of the parable is in the way it draws the listener in. It can actually make you react strongly to it before you even understand what is happening. At that precise point, while the defenses are down, a transformation can occur. This parable draws us into a story that we might have some real-life experience with, and then tacks a zinger on to then end. He says to the chief priests and elders, you are not like the first son. You guys are more like the second son; you pay lip service, but that’s about all you do.

The ones you judge with contempt, these are the ones who heard John’s message and saw the righteousness that was in him. These whom you condemn have been transformed by his message and his baptism and have become workers in the Lord’s vineyard. You really have to take a hard look at your own actions, the parable is saying.

And for me this means I look back at my lived parable, the Mother with Two Daughters. And I recognize that there was nothing pleasing about the fact that the first daughter would say no to me. It offended me every time, not to mention that there was always the uncertainty about whether, this time, she really meant no. She wasn’t perfect, but she did come through for me. She went out in the vineyard.

And I also recognize that the second daughter wasn’t just a bad kid. There were things she was dealing with that made it hard for her to follow through on her “yes” at the time. But there was always hope that she would find her way to yes, which she did.

In the same way, I say there is hope for the modern-day chief priests and elders who are finding it hard to get past the boxes they have painted themselves into, and get out in the Lord’s vineyard. Who might these modern chief priests and elders be? What do you think?

Those of us who are ardent believers in the way things have always been done, and only that way? Yes, it might be us.

Those of us who have enjoyed controlling some part of church life or work life? Yes, it might be us.

Those of us who are trying to hold on to the lavish gifts that God has given us, unwilling to devote these gifts to the work in the Lord’s vineyard, wholeheartedly. Those who are, perhaps, only willing to give these gifts with strings attached. How many of us might this include?

The point of the story is we all need to get out there in the vineyard and do the work. There is the potential for many, many laborers and much good work that can be done. But not if we play power games. Working together, accepting one another rather than judging one another, conceding that we might be wrong now and then, giving our best efforts to working through our differences – these are the things we must strive toward for the sake of Jesus.

The Lord has called us to work in the vineyard. Let us come together for the glory of God.

Photo: By michael c - originally posted to Flickr as the long and wine-ding road..., CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5109202

Stories that Teach, Week 2: God’s Economy

 

Exodus 16:2-15 

Matthew 20:1-16        

When I call the gospel “good news,” it is not without a certain amount of trepidation. Because I know there are parts of the gospel that don’t necessarily strike us as good news. There are parts that makes us utterly confused. And there are parts that make us squirm uncomfortably. And there are parts that, when we hear them, we just say, “Nope.”

Not all of the good news feels good. And I suppose that was intentional. Jesus didn’t want his listeners to just feel good, he wanted them to change! Consider the conversations that have been going on up to this point.

It was just a few verses ago that some people brought their children to Jesus. They wanted Jesus to lay his hands on them and bless them, which seems perfectly reasonable to us. But his disciples were all into crowd control. There were so many people who wanted to see Jesus, they felt the need to prioritize. They made themselves the gatekeepers – no one could come to Jesus except through them. And as far as they were concerned, there were no children getting through to see Jesus. They were too short. But Jesus saw what they were doing and said, “Guys - Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.” So, that happened.

Then a rich young man came to him – the disciples let him through, and I don’t think it was because of his height. It might have been because of his riches. He wanted to know what good deeds he would need to do to inherit eternal life. Jesus said, “Well, you’re going to have to give away all your wealth,” and this young man said, “Ok, thanks,” and disappeared as fast as he could. He wasn’t expecting that answer, and he didn’t like that answer. So, now he would have to go find a second opinion.

After he goes, Jesus makes that comment about it being easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to pass into heaven – you’ve heard this one? You can tell by their reaction the disciples find this as alarming as we do. Rich men won’t get into heaven? That’s not what they had heard. Jesus tops it off with these confounding words: Many who are first will be last, and the last will be first. For the kingdom of heaven is like this – and he launches into this awful parable.

Let me tell you, if you have a bad reaction to the parable, that means it’s doing its job because a parable is meant to convict you. You are meant to feel it before you even understand what happened. With the parable of the laborers in the vineyard, you do feel it. And it’s not hard to pin down the exact point at which you feel it.

It’s not at the point where he lines the workers up just so – the first last and the last first. That’s weird, but we’re not feeling it yet.

It’s not at the point where he hands each one of the one-hour workers the usual daily wage – a denarius. That’s surprising, but we’re still not feeling it.

It happens right at the point where Jesus gives the first workers – those who have worked since the dawn’s early light – how much? A denarius – the very same amount he gave the one-hour workers. Oh. Yes. Now we’re feeling it.

Let’s take a moment to acknowledge that a denarius was fair enough at the beginning of the day when they negotiated their terms. It was fair enough all day long as they worked under the hot sun. It was fair enough until that moment they saw the latecomers – the one-hour-workday folks – receive a denarius. At that point, their mental abacus started recalculating.

“Wait a minute … If these slackers are getting a whole denarius, I must be getting more – maybe 12 times more.” And just like that, they thought they deserved much, much more.

Because I was first. And they were last. And you shouldn’t mess with that.

This idea that the first shall be last and the last shall be first really messes with our heads. It completely turns things upside down. Because we do a lot of ranking and ordering, and it confuses us to turn that upside down.

But, maybe I’m being too literal here. After all, Jesus spoke and taught in parables.

Perhaps he simply meant that in God’s economy there is enough. For everyone.

There is enough food and water for even the poorest. There is enough work for even the weak or disabled. There is enough time for even the children. There is enough.

Like the manna that falls from the skies, the story Israel told about their sojourn in the wilderness. In that time when they had nothing but God, there was enough. There was enough for each one, enough for each day.

The people of Israel had memories of plagues and natural disasters, times of want and times of plenty, and everything in between.  And they knew that the Lord had been with them through it all.  They knew from their experience that the Lord provides and that sometimes humans are their own worst enemies, when their insecurities and greed and jealousies get in the way of their well-being.

And they knew, just as some of us know, that when you are at your most inadequate, God is most present.  When everything else is cleared out of the way, God is there.  People often say: God helps those who help themselves. But that’s not what the Bible says. The amazing truth the scriptures tell is that God helps those who cannot help themselves.

The story of the manna in the wilderness is a testament of faith. The gospels, full as they are of parables like this one of the laborers in the vineyard, are testaments to faith. Our life stories, as well, can be testaments to faith.

What does your life story look like if you tell it as a testament of faith? 

Stories that Teach, Week 1: Forgiveness

Matthew 18:21-35     

Did you ever hear the story of Alvin Straight?  Alvin lived in Laurens, Iowa. When he was 73 years old he set out on a 240-mile journey to see his estranged brother, Henry, in Wisconsin. Henry had recently had a stroke, Alvin heard. They had not spoken to each other in 10 years. But now Alvin felt the need to reconcile with Henry.

The only problem was Alvin didn’t have a driver’s license anymore. But he did not let that stop him. He hopped on his John Deere lawn tractor and hit the road. People thought he had gone off his rocker, but Alvin was determined to make his way to his brother somehow. It took him six weeks.

There was a movie made about Alvin, called The Straight Story.

There’s a scene in the film where, as he gets near Henry’s home, he has an encounter with a priest who knows Henry. The priest says, “Henry never mentioned he had a brother.” Alvin says, “Neither one of us has had a brother for some time.”

We might call this the parable of the lawn tractor. Because I imagine if we really look, we can see ourselves in Alvin and Henry. Who among us has not, on occasion, found it easier to withhold forgiveness that would take what Alvin describes as “A hard swallow to our pride?”

Who among us has not mulled it over and decided, maybe I will call her tomorrow to say I’m sorry, but I don’t really care to have that conversation today?

Who among us has not nursed hard feelings and, every now and then, trotted the story out again to tell someone new so we can experience the outrage all over again? It happens between friends. It happens in families. It happens in workplaces. It happens in churches.

When we replay these things in our memories, we might make slight alterations to the stories, so that the ones who are wrong are more clearly and completely in the wrong. And any fault of our own is gently erased and forgotten. Who among us has never done that?

The parable of the lawn tractor is not a bad one. Hearing it, we might remember times in our own lives where we have let some resentment grow between us and someone in our family or community. And when we do remember, the parable might help us realize that life is finite. And resentment is long. And forgiveness is … mysterious.

Alvin feels suddenly compelled to seek forgiveness from his brother Henry. Now, for ten years it has been easier to push this problem into the background, but this news of Henry’s stroke has forced him to realize he will not have infinite time and opportunities to do the thing that, deep in his heart, he knows he must do.

Alvin knows it so deeply, so completely, that he makes this risky and uncomfortable journey so he can do the right thing at last.

The parable of the lawn tractor together with Jesus’ parable of the unforgiving slave provide a rich context in which to consider the problem of forgiveness. 

So let’s consider this story of the unforgiving slave.

There was a kingdom where the ruler decided one day that he would reconcile accounts with all his slaves, and he had many, many slaves. One by one, the slaves were presented to him. There was one man who approached him who, according to the ledgers, owed the king a ridiculously huge fortune. He owed him more than he could earn in 150,000 years. I’m not kidding; that’s how much it was. There was no way in heaven or in hell or on earth that this man could repay it.

But he falls on his knees and says, “Please, lord, give me time – I will pay you back, I promise!”

The ruler is thinking, “I could sell him and his family and all their possessions and at least get something out of it.” But then, instead, he is moved with compassion, and he lets him go. He says, “The debt is forgiven.” The slave has a clean slate.

And, in a way, we see this as like the unfathomable forgiveness bestowed on us by God. We are forgiven, thanks be to God. Even though God could hold us accountable for every shortcoming, flaw, and plain act of evil we commit, God chooses forgiveness.

Now. This forgiven slave leaves, free of his burden. But on his way, he encounters a fellow slave who happens to owe him some money – it’s a considerable sum, a few months wages. Frankly, in comparison to the debt he has just been forgiven, this is nothing. But it is something to this guy. It might mean the difference between being able to remodel his kitchen, or not … taking that dream vacation, or not.

And just like that, he has forgotten his own debt and the fate that he just narrowly escaped. He has forgotten that just moments ago he was on his knees begging the very same thing this man is begging him now.

How easily we forget our own need for forgiveness. Especially when we have the opportunity to withhold forgiveness from someone else. In our own minds we are always the victim, until something shakes us out of it and opens our eyes.

For Alvin Straight, it was the recognition that his brother could die, and that he could die too. And that changed the way he looked at life. Why had he withheld forgiveness for all those years? Why had he refused to ask for forgiveness? What could he possibly have been thinking?

How much richer could Alvin’s life have been if he had not waited so long? If he had enjoyed the pleasure of having a brother all those years?

The fact is, the thought of death can scare us into doing the right thing, and the end of Jesus’ parable shows that he is not above using a scare tactic now and then. And I know that God can forgive anything, including the ways we drag our feet about reconciliation. But the point I want to draw from both these parables – the lawn tractor and the unforgiving servant – is this: why wait?

In the prayer Jesus teaches his followers, he says “forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” Forgiveness received is always tied to forgiveness given. But this parable teaches us that it isn’t necessarily an exchange, like “You forgive me and I’ll forgive you.” Sometimes forgiveness is one-sided. But always, forgiveness moves us forward.

My daughter shared some words of wisdom recently that capture this message perfectly. Living well is knowing that you have received far more than you could ever repay. You will never be able to call it even. And the only thing to do then is to keep paying it forward.

Your community needs you to do this. And God’s desire is for you to do this. In God’s realm, God’s community, forgiveness is free and abundant – and, really, essential. Because it is only by forgiveness that there is community. It is only in forgiving that we are free.

So what are you waiting for?

Photo: from the David Lynch film, The Straight Story.

Call

Exodus 3:1-15   

Last week I talked to you about the best first lines of novels. Today I want to tell you about one of the best book titles I have heard: A Good Walk Spoiled. It’s a book about the game of golf.

I don’t play golf, but I like the title very much. It speaks to me, and I’ll tell you why: The author writes, “One week you’ve discovered the secret to the game; the next week you never want to play it again.”  This could be said about ministry. And when I say ministry, I mean every Christian who is called to walk the walk of faith. Sometimes it feels like a good walk spoiled.

Moses would relate. There he was, out for a walk – just Moses and the flock – and the angel of the Lord calls to him from this burning bush. He just had to look. I know he was sorry, because once he looked he was hooked.

And Moses was living a good life, perfectly content with his wife, his family, his work. He didn’t need this – whatever it was God was offering him. But once he looked, he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t not walk over that way and heed the voice of the Lord saying to him: take off your sandals for you are standing on holy ground. He couldn’t not listen.

And once he heard it, he couldn’t unhear it. The Lord called him to a new vocation: to deliver God’s people out of the bondage of slavery and into the promise of freedom. Moses was going back to Egypt, like it or not.

He didn’t really like it. In fact, he had run away from it years earlier. Moses, who was lifted out of the river and taken by the Pharaoh’s daughter, raised in the lap of power and privilege in the land of Egypt –

Yet knew who he was. When he was grown, he went out among the building sites where the Hebrew slaves were working. He watched an Egyptian beating a Hebrew slave and Moses intervened, killing the Egyptian. Maybe he thought this would endear him to the slaves, but it didn’t. And when Pharaoh learned of it, the text says, he sought to have Moses killed. So Moses fled. He found a new home in the land of Midian, where he was safe and comfortable.

It seems like the last place Moses wanted to go was back to Egypt.

He tried to talk his way out of it, just as many others have done when faced with the call of God. Not too many of us say, “Thank you, God, for this opportunity,” when God calls us into our particular ministries. You don’t see the prophets of Israel raising their hands, begging God to choose them. They whine, they make excuses, they act like they don’t understand. But God is persistent.

They say, “I can’t do this,” and God says, “I will equip you.” They say, “I don’t know how,” and God says, “I will show you the way.” They say, “I am afraid,” and God says, “I will be with you.” You see – it doesn’t all depend on you, it isn’t even about you, when you are following the call of God.

This past week I watched the film Harriet about Harriet Tubman. She escaped slavery and fled to the safety of the north. Then she returned to the land of slavery again, and again, and again to lead more than 70 others to freedom. They called her Moses because she was following God’s call to deliver God’s people.

The film portrays how Harriet Tubman always believed that God was guiding her and protecting her. God led her to freedom not just for her own sake, but so that she could be an instrument of liberation for others. I believe this is how it always is with the call of God.

People of faith should recognize that what riches we have in this life are gifts from God, who is the source of all blessings. If we feel that we have been blessed with good things – a loving family, a secure home, material abundance – we must also recognize that God doesn’t bless us to become self-satisfied and complacent. The whole story of the Bible tells us that God blesses us to be a blessing to others. and God’s call will always lead you to, somehow or another, be that blessing.

Moses took his blessing and went back to Egypt to become an irritant to Pharaoh and eventually lead God’s people to freedom. Harriet took her blessing and went back down to the plantations to take slaves out of the fields, out of their chains, and lead them to freedom.

In one scene of the movie, a minister tells Harriet, “Fear is your enemy.” This is true. If Harriet had given in to fear she would have been captured. If she had given in to her fear she would not have returned to liberate others.

It is important to say this because fear is not uncommon when faced with the call of God. There is a reason the angels in the Bible always say, “Be not afraid.” It is natural to be afraid because God is always calling us to venture out into unknown territory, for the sake of God’s people. God is often calling us to step out into a place where we will be criticized and scorned for acting against the majority interest – against what may even look like our own personal best interest.

And as I said, when I talk about God’s call to ministry I am not just talking about pastors and prophets and missionaries. I am talking about every Christian who is called to walk the walk of faith.

Each of us must ask ourselves repeatedly whether the decision we are making, the direction we are taking, is guided by God. How are we serving God, and the people God loves, in our actions? The question of the day is: How is God calling you?

God calls some to walk into the land of Egypt and deliver people to freedom – but God’s call takes many different forms. God calls some to simply refrain from acts of violence. God calls others to sacrifice their presumptions about others and just listen to their stories, imagine their journeys. And God calls others to stand up and say, “I will not entertain you while my people are suffering and dying.” As professional sports leagues did this past week. As the psalmist says, our tormentors demanded songs of joy, but how could we sing?

And I commend these men and women for deciding they will not just play it safe and protect their assets. They will risk something for the sake of those whose very lives are at risk.

God’s call will always call you out of your little safety zone and invite you into a bigger place. It may seem scary. It may seem like too big a sacrifice to make. But it will always, surprisingly, lead you into a place of greater love.

Reverend Dr. King said, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” And so the call of God will always lead us toward greater justice, greater light, greater love. My prayer today is that you will hear God’s call to you; that you will turn aside from whatever you are doing, just as Moses turned aside to see that burning bush; and that you will open your heart to the power of God’s love moving you toward freedom.

photo: Reflection on Sand and Water.  © Tomas Castelazo, www.tomascastelazo.com / Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=46457765

By the Grace of God

 

Exodus 1:8-2:10

A favorite pastime among readers is to list the best first lines of novels – sentences that are so good they hook the reader instantly. Think of the opening line from Anna Karenina: “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” Or Moby Dick: “Call me Ishmael.” “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” from A Tale of Two Cities, and my personal favorite: “124 was spiteful,” from Toni Morrison’s novel Beloved.

And chapter 1, verse 8 from the book of Exodus, is also one of the best: “Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.” Now, you might say it doesn’t count because it’s not the first line – it’s the eighth line of the book. Technically you are right – but I think verses 1-7 are more like a prologue to the story. The real story begins in verse 8.

“A new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph” – this sentence says it all. All the fears and dread, all the worst possibilities for Israel are contained in this sentence. A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph. It didn’t happen right away. It didn’t happen in anyone’s lifespan. But eventually, inevitably, it happened.

A new king arose over Egypt who did not know how much gratitude was owed to Joseph – and to Joseph’s God. A new king who did not know that, had it not been the Lord who was on their side, they would be gone. Egypt would have been no more, they would have died out in the terrible famine that had happened those many years ago. A new king who did not know that because of Joseph, and by the grace of God, Egypt survived the drought.

He did not know because that was so many years ago – and, really, who cared anymore? It was such a long time ago. Why bother to remember something that doesn’t fit the story they would like to tell about themselves. This little detail about some foreigner who had to rescue a great nation from its own shortsightedness – is it really important?

Willful amnesia, perhaps? We all practice it sometimes; Egypt certainly did at this time. The collective conscience of a nation can be dangerously weak when they decide not to remember, when they turn the other into their enemy. When they let their fear get the upper hand, as nations sometimes do, and are willing to sacrifice compassion in the bargain. To read the story of what happened to Israel these many years after Joseph is to take a walk on the darker side of humanity. There is much evil on display in these first two chapters of Exodus.

Yet, there is also hope.

The story of Moses is a miracle story, from beginning to end – and sometimes the miracle is the fact that ordinary human beings resist the forces of evil. This first part of the story, the conditions under which Moses arrived in the world, highlight a few individuals who resisted the evil surrounding them and chose to do something good. To borrow some words from the psalm, let me put it this way:

If it had not been Puah and Shiphrah who midwifed the Hebrew women, every baby boy of Israel would have been stillborn.

If it had not been Moses’ mother who was brave and resourceful and strong, the infant Moses would have been thrown into the Nile.

If it had not been Moses’ sister, Miriam, who loved her brother and watched out for him, he might have died in the papyrus basket.

If it had not been the Pharaoh’s daughter who found Moses in the reeds, he might have been just one more lost boy of Israel.

It’s a story with a lot of “ifs” in it. It’s the kind of story where all the parts are held together by the grace of God.

But I am hesitant to use the phrase, because talking about the grace of God can be a risky thing; it can so easily be misunderstood. It’s a phrase people use when they have avoided some catastrophe, that it was by the grace of God. It’s what people say when they see someone who has been dealt a horrible fate – “There but for the grace of God go I.” It is as if to say the grace of God has chosen us and passed over that other miserable wretch.

It doesn’t make sense to talk this way, because we all know that even we who claim God’s love suffer our share of hardships and heartbreaks. St Theresa of Avila, who worked herself nearly to death for Christ’s church, committing her whole life to it, is said to have heard the voice of God speaking to her at a particularly difficult time. “This is how I treat all my friends,” the Lord said, to which Theresa replied, “Then it is no wonder your Lordship has so few.”

Seriously, I don’t know how far we want to go down the road of crediting God for every good thing and blaming God for every bad thing that happens, keeping a tally of pluses and minuses. The biblical text says God gave the midwives families as reward for their courage and faithfulness, but we might say this is too quaint. We might claim that we have a more complex, more sophisticated view of things now.

But do we? I wonder if I should say we just don’t leave much room for ambiguity anymore.

In our world where everything is crisply outlined in black and white; fact or fiction; where one plus one must always and only ever equal two; we may have lost the ability to say –

The hand of God has saved Moses and

the hand of God has rewarded the midwives and

the hand of God has chosen Israel even while

the hand of God has allowed the suffering of Israel;

to say that the grace of God is present in all things because

the grace of God is not in what actually happens but in how we experience what happens.

And how we experience what happens will certainly affect the choices we make.

As the prophet Micah says, “God has shown you, O Mortal, what is good.” God has equipped us with the ability to discern evil from good. And what we see in this story about a time when a new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph – - - - it is very much like what we see in life: when things get hard, some will become the instruments of evil, but others will stand up and say no.

And so, I say to you that it is not by the grace of God that we stroll through a valley of sunshine and lollipops and unicorns and butterflies.

Unicorns aren’t real, anyway.

But it is by the grace of God that we know what is good and have the choice to step forward and say so.

May it be so. Amen.

photo: I have been making a collection of these hope signs that have been appearing during the pandemic. Hope is a good response to hard times.