The Truth about Belief

John 20:19-31

Many of you know that in the Presbyterian church we have a tradition of confirming young people to bring them into the full membership of the church. It usually requires a series of classes, in which they might learn about Presbyterian polity, doctrine, and whatever is deemed necessary by the particular church. There is a lot of discretion in how the classes are run. But one thing that is not discretionary is the mandatory meeting with the session. Session is responsible for all matters of membership, and it is necessary for the session to “examine” anyone who desires to become a member of the congregation. 

Usually a confirmation class will meet with the session after they have completed their course of study, and the session members will ask them a few questions to get a feel for what they have learned and how they might talk about their faith. 

I remember when one of my sons was in confirmation they had an especially interesting meeting with session. This class was a little bit older than the norm, and they had a habit of challenging things. The session invited them to share any questions they might have. And these kids were honest with them. There were certain things that we had taught them that they just didn’t believe. 

I don’t remember all the details of what they were doubting. I am pretty sure that one of these was the virgin birth – which is something that a great many faithful people also have doubts about. But this challenge coming from these kids really threw the elders off their game. They were expecting simpler questions – not doctrinal arguments. Eventually, one of the elders in exasperation asked the kids, “Look, can’t you just believe it?” They said no, they could not.

These young people were not the first to have doubts about certain articles of faith – obviously. Thomas was clear about his doubts, wasn’t he? It is fair to say that doubt has accompanied faith from the very beginning.

There are some of us who would like this to not be so. I had a friend who was very anxious about doubt; she believed it was a sin and must be eliminated. “Don’t do that,” she would say if I asked too many questions. “Can’t you just believe it?”

I am sure Thomas’ companions very much wanted him to believe. I imagine the conversations during that intervening week – after Jesus first came through the locked door and appeared to the disciples, showing his wounded hands and side, and then a week later when he made a return appearance for Thomas. Picture them sitting across the table from Thomas arguing the case for faith, one after another. Finally, in exasperation saying to him, “Thomas, look: can’t you just believe it?” and Thomas saying, “No, I cannot.”

Not everyone is as honest about their doubts. Doubts can scare us, because they seem to threaten the entire structure of our faith. When I was getting ready to begin seminary studies, every pastor I knew had some advice to give me. But the strangest advice was from one pastor who told me the best thing I could do would be to keep my eyes and ears shut for the next three years. “Just go through it and get the degree,” he was saying, “but don’t let those seminary professors try to tell you anything you don’t already know.” Any new knowledge could instill doubts about what you thought you had locked down.

We build our faith like a house, brick upon brick. We go inside of it and we feel safe. But then someone comes along and challenges one of the bricks. If you let them pull that brick out, what will happen to your house? I understand why people are afraid of harboring doubts.

It seems to me that the interesting thing about Thomas is that he is not afraid – not at all. He is not afraid to say to the others, “I don’t believe what you are saying.” And he is not afraid to find out for himself. Thomas doesn’t want to hide from knowledge – he wants to receive it for himself. Thomas wants to see Jesus.

And isn’t that really what any of us want? 

The truth about belief is that it usually comes from experience. You don’t believe in gravity because your science teacher explained it to you. You believe it because your feet tend to stay on the ground and you don’t ever float away. You don’t believe that the sun will set tonight and rise again tomorrow morning because a textbook taught you about the workings of the solar system. You believe it because all your life it has been your consistent experience. 

You don’t believe your mother loves you because she wrote it in a birthday card. You believe it because she showed it with everything she had, the sacrifices she made, the way she held you. Experience matters.

There is a story I heard once about a missionary. He traveled halfway across the world to teach people in a foreign land about Jesus. He and his wife settled in, lived among the people, and taught them about Jesus. He brought the Bible with him, but the people he met couldn’t read. So he taught them in other ways, and the people there became Christians.

One day a local woman came to their door. She had a cruel and abusive husband, who was making her life extremely hard. The missionary and his wife welcomed her into their home. They took care of her while her wounds healed, her strength was restored. Eventually, she left their home and the village. She traveled over a mountain to another village, where she settled in. And she began to teach the people there about Jesus.

She could not read. They could not read. But she shared the good news of Jesus with them. and the good news was this:

Jesus heals us of our wounds. Jesus rescues us from oppression. Jesus loves us and asks us to love one another in the same way. This was what she had learned from the Christians. This was the good news of her experience, the good news she shared. And the people there became Christians.

This is the truth about belief: it comes through experience. The experience of goodness, which all flows from the ultimate source of goodness that is God.

The kids in my son’s confirmation class were accepted by the members of session. And they all chose to become members – even with their doubts. Doubt is a thing we all have to work through on our own journeys of faith. But a faith that begins with a belief in the love and goodness of God will be strong enough to carry you along this journey.

We are beginning a confirmation class today in this church. Through this Easter season we will work together to learn some of the essential tenets of our faith. I don’t know if they will remember any of that – it might not mean anything to them. But something I know they will remember is if, and how, they experience the love of God through the people of this church. This will mean everything.

Photo by John Moeses Bauan on Unsplash

Risen

 

Acts 10:34-43    

Luke 24:1-12     

This is a very big day in the church.

To put it in perspective: Without Easter, we would not be here. Without Easter, the church would not be – period.

Without Easter, we would never talk about Jesus – never utter his name. There would be no reason to.

This is not because Jesus didn’t do and say things during his life worthy of remembering. Quite the contrary. His teachings and his actions; the stories told of him in the gospels, from beginning to end, are precious gems to us. It’s just that, without Easter, all of those things would be forgotten.

Jesus would have been a footnote in history – one more Jew who died by crucifixion at the hand of the Roman Empire. One of thousands who died this way, whose names are not remembered.

Without Easter, death would have had the final word – for Jesus. For his disciples. For all who placed their hopes in him. For us as well.

The apostle Paul wrote, “If Christ had not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain.”

There is a lot riding on the doctrine of resurrection. It is not optional. It may not be discarded.

And why ever would we want to discard it? It is what eases the pain of death for us, the grief of losing a loved one; it is what gives us confidence that we will be united with them again in the life to come.

And yet, I know that, for some of you, there is a still small voice inside that persists in asking: is it really possible to believe such a thing? The resurrection of the dead?

Even on that first morning, his followers could not, at first, believe it. The stories we are told by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John show us the bewilderment, the skepticism and confusion among his disciples. An idle tale, they say. Not possible. Still, Peter runs to the tomb to see for himself and, finding it empty he walks away in amazement, or wonder. Not yet belief – but wonder.

Later, when they did encounter the risen Lord they failed to recognize him. Mary called him the gardener; the two disciples on the road to Emmaus called him a stranger. They were bewildered and confused.

And at times we are just as bewildered and confused as these first disciples were – both that he could have risen from the grave and that they could have failed to recognize their beloved lord. It just does not fit our understanding of and experience of the world – remember you are dust, we say, and to dust you shall return.

And still, we gather every Sunday in this place and proclaim Christ risen.

It is called the Paschal Mystery: Jesus walked toward his death as a sacrificial lamb, died and was buried. On the third day he rose again, the scriptures say, and we say whenever we recite the creed.

We cannot explain it. We cannot comprehend it. But there are ways we can know it, just as the first disciples came to know it.

They knew Christ was risen when they saw him, felt him, and heard him. When he was really, truly with them in ways that mattered. They talked with him, prayed with him, ate with him. They walked with him, were blessed by him and taught by the resurrected Jesus.

In the years to follow, they told and retold, and eventually put to paper, the stories of their experiences with the risen Lord – stories that are meant to convey that their experiences with Christ were very real –

even while they were not like the experiences they had with him before his death. Because the risen Christ they encountered was not the same as he was before. He was utterly transformed. 

And Christ’s transformation in the resurrection signals the beginning of God’s work of transformation in the world. Christ is transformed; in Christ we are transformed. Christ has new life; in Christ we have new life. What is more, because of Christ’s resurrection the world is changed. We live in a world transformed by the risen Christ, and so we proclaim him Lord. As the church has been doing for nearly two thousand years, we proclaim Jesus is Lord.

Jesus is Lord. It is not Caesar who is Lord. It is not Jeff Bezos or Elon Musk who is Lord. It is not Vladimir Putin who is Lord. Jesus is Lord, the one who defeated death and the power of empire for all time – however and wherever we find empire in our place and time. You may say that empire is a thing of the past, but I say to you that the same empire that killed Jesus is still with us today.

Empire is found wherever the ones who have power work first and foremost to retain and increase their power. Empire is found wherever violence is called peacekeeping. Empire is driven by the belief that life is a zero-sum game, so the powerful ones must hold down, drain, crush the powerless ones, impoverish them. The empire then tells these poor ones that their poverty is their own fault.

Jesus stood against the Empire. He stood alone before Pilate, before Herod, when everyone else had abandoned him. He stood trial and received his condemnation and death.

And on the third day he rose.

Jesus’ resurrection is the proof that God chose him over empire. God chose the one who stood against the powers of empire, and always will stand against these powers. It is the resurrection that puts the glory of Christ, a glory we share, in proper perspective.

It is the resurrection that allows us to say that Christ has defeated the powers of death and we need not live in fear. It is what gives us the strength to rise each new day and face the hardships and disappointments of our lives, keeping hope in goodness. It is what gives us the courage and the will to stand up against tyranny and evil in this world.

Because of Easter, we know something about God. We know that God is for justice, and as the body of Christ we are to stand where he stood: against the unjust powers of the world. There is no lack of opportunity for us to do this.

Believe it.

The disciples of Jesus did not yet believe on that first early Easter morning. They were still bewildered, confused, and afraid. But soon they would experience him for themselves – in the garden and in the upper room; on the mountain and on the lakeshore; on the road to Emmaus and for Paul, much later, on the road to Damascus. And still later, you and I may encounter the risen Christ, too.

As a poet once said, Christ plays in ten thousand places. We may meet the risen Lord anywhere, and like all the disciples before us, be transformed by the experience.

May we know the risen Christ and be so transformed. May we proclaim with all our being, Jesus is Lord. Amen.

What We All Need

Luke 19: 28-40  

Like his many parables, there are some curious and surprising elements in this story.

They have been traveling toward Jerusalem. Now they are, finally, almost there. But they pause, unexpectedly, near Bethany and Bethphage, because there are a few final details to take care of. Jesus turns to two of his disciples: “Go ahead into the village. You will find a colt tied up. Untie it and bring it here.”

And here we might wonder a few things, including: Is this really okay? That they should just go in and take a colt that belongs to someone else? Might someone object to this?

Yes, actually, Jesus anticipates this, for he also tells them, “If anyone asks you what you are doing just tell them this: ‘the Lord needs it.’”

So they went in and they found the colt. They untied it and, sure enough, someone asked them what they were doing. They followed his instructions to the letter, saying, “The Lord needs it,” and apparently that was good enough.

The whole scene has an air of mystery to it, where somehow Jesus knew just where to find a young donkey. It is an intrigue where there are code words that need to be spoken: The Lord needs it. Well, if the Lord needs it, so it shall be. They come back with the donkey and the procession into Jerusalem begins – Something that is particularly dangerous for Jesus. Remember that there was now a warrant out for his arrest. People were looking for him.

It was the time of the Passover – a time when Jews from all over the diaspora were making their pilgrimage to Jerusalem. The city would be packed and tensions would be high.

The Roman authorities would be there, too. As much as the Jews loved Passover, the Romans hated it. Too many people milling about, too high a risk for a disturbance of the peace. 

The Romans prized peace above all things.  But for Rome, peace meant something different than what it means to me and you.  For Rome, peace was their unquestioned, unchallenged authority.  For Rome, peace meant that there was no dissent, that there was total obedience and loyalty to the empire.  Rome prized their peace and was more than willing to use violence to keep this peace.   The irony of this should be self-evident. 

The Romans dreaded the Passover.  Because of the large crowds, of course, but also because of its meaning.  The Passover was, and is, Israel’s remembrance and celebration of their liberation story.  Many centuries ago, Israel remembers, God freed them from the bond of slavery in Egypt.  Many centuries ago, God chose Moses to lead them out of Egypt, through the wilderness, and to the promised land.  They remembered that God had given them freedom.  But how could they celebrate this freedom, while suffering under the oppressive boot of the Roman Empire, and not be inspired to resistance?  Rome dreaded the Passover for very good reason; they knew there was a heightened risk of uprising.

Everyone knew that this was a dangerous time in Jerusalem. Jesus knew that this was a dangerous time in Jerusalem. Yet he and his entourage entered the city gates, boldly, singing their praises to God and songs for peace.

Not the peace of Rome they were singing about. These are the voices of resistance rising up.

The Pharisees lose their cool; the tension is rising too high. Jesus shouldn’t be making an entrance like this. There are already reasons enough for the Roman authorities to be tightening the screws on the Jews, they don’t need another reason. The Pharisees order Jesus to quiet his disciples. But he says to them, it would make no difference.

It would make not one bit of difference, because the stones would shout out, all of God’s creation would shout praises to God, shout prayers for peace. This is what the Lord needs: the crowds, the shouts, the palms, the parade, the song of all creation rising up –

This, too, is what the Lord needs. And so it shall be.

This, today, is a moment for what the Lord needs. And as we see in this scene, what the Lord needs is a challenge to the oppressive powers of the world.

The Lord needs a colt – the antithesis of Herod’s war stallion. The Lord needs this procession of the common people with their poor cloaks and palms, a striking contrast to Herod’s soldiers in armor. The Lord needs all of creation to stand up and shout: God’s reign shall come.

Getting there means earth-shifting, norm-shattering change. It means standing against the powers of the world like Rome and any other authoritarian powers that would oppress people and ravage God’s good creation. It means standing for peace – not the peace of Rome, but the peace of Christ.

The Hebrew word for peace is shalom, but we should know that it’s meaning is deep and powerful. Shalom could never be mistaken for the peace of Rome, because the state of shalom is to be well, to be whole, to be at peace. Shalom starts in the heart and grows outward and then into every other heart and all of creation. Shalom does not require that some parts of creation be crushed so others can prosper; shalom is all of creation at peace.

It is what the Lord needs. It is what we all need and the way to it is through Christ.

We need Christ, this God in the flesh who came as one of us to show us God’s dream for this world. The love and the care that he constantly demonstrated, without boundaries; that he taught his disciples and they continued to teach others. To care, to love, to give. To stand up for one another, with one another, in a time of need. These small things.

No one of us is responsible for the peace of the world, but each of us is responsible for doing what we can, to bring peace a bit closer. To do what we would want others to do for us.

This is Palm Sunday. We know that later in the week these disciples of his will fail. They will run and hide, they will deny having any relationship with him. Tragically, they will not do what the Lord needs. Not the things any one of them would have wanted or needed were they in his place.

On this day as they approached Jerusalem, the Lord needed the colt, and he needed his disciples to go and get it for him. He needed the people lining the road with their cloaks and shouting their hosannas – making a loud noise for him. He needed this loud and insistent act of bearing witness to the world.

And if that failed, he needed the rocks and stones to take up the shouting on his behalf. The Lord needed all of creation to be proclaiming his name. Hosanna! Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!

The Lord needed everything that has breath – and even those things that do not – to praise God. That is what he was here for. Jesus needed God and all of creation to have his back in this. So he could do for us what we need.

What we all need is just what Jesus needed that day. To be surrounded, to be held up, by community – community knit together by faith, by love. This is what we all need.

The Lord needed that colt for his final entrance into Jerusalem. The Lord needed the people and the stones and all of creation to shout for him. The Lord needed it because the world needs it. To know that Jesus is Lord, Savior of all, and that through him, by grace, we are all bound together as one. What a glorious truth it is. 

Photo by Mika Korhonen on Unsplash. "I tell you, if these were silent the stones would shout out."

What Really Matters

 

John 12: 1-8       

You can tell, if you pay attention, that Mary and Martha and Lazarus – three siblings – are close to Jesus. They are important people in his life. and that matters.

Even at that time, Jesus sort of belonged to everyone. Crowds followed him wherever he went, they all wanted to touch him, talk to him, receive something from him. Everybody wanted a piece of Jesus. It was exhausting for him, as it would be for any of us. He needed to be able to get away now and then, for the sake of his own well-being. And when he did, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus were there for him.

Maybe you remember the other time he was at their house for dinner. This is told in Luke’s gospel. Martha bustles around preparing refreshment for him, Mary sits at his feet to listen to him. Even though I appreciate what Martha is doing, because someone has to get the food on, right? Still, I hear Jesus say to her, “Dear Martha, there is need of only one thing and Mary has chosen it.” The thing that really matters.

We realize how close they are in another story about the time Jesus gets word while he is on the road that his friend Lazarus is dying. He seems to be unwilling to accept that it might be true. He goes on with his travels, acting like there is no urgency regarding Lazarus. Like he was in denial.

But maybe he wasn’t in denial. Maybe his dear friends Mary, Martha, and Lazarus were about to play an important part in his work, something only these three siblings could be counted on to do.

When Jesus arrives at last, Lazarus has been dead in the grave for four days. So we should know he’s good and dead. When Martha heard he was coming, she went out and met him on the road – with accusations. If Jesus had just come when he had been called, Lazarus would still be alive. She is angry, understandably so. But because of their relationship, Martha is still willing to listen to Jesus. She still believes in him.

Jesus gathers with Mary and Martha, he weeps with them, grieves with them. We really see his distress. He has lost a good friend. Everyone is blaming him for it. and … he is about to do something that will draw quite a lot of attention – dangerous attention.

Jesus walks to the tomb and stands in front of it. He calls out, “Take the stone away.” Martha, the ever-practical sister, says, “You know there’s going to be an awful stench, Lord. He’s been dead four days.” But Jesus insists and so they take the stone away. Jesus calls Lazarus out, and out he comes.

And just as Jesus probably knew, this causes even more trouble for him. How dare he defeat death and raise up life! How dare he do what only God can do. Because of this, Jesus had to lie low for a bit. He left town for Ephraim. But when he came back, he returned to the same house, the home of his friends.

Lazarus, newly alive, is sitting at the table. Martha, as ever, is serving dinner. And Mary once again kneels before the Lord and pours out a full bottle of costly perfume to anoint his feet.

The text says it is made of nard, a flowering plant known for the medicinal properties of its oil. The oil has a therapeutic aroma that helps relax the body and mind. In ancient times it was regarded as one of the most precious oils. It was quite expensive, this nard oil; it was quite extravagant, pouring out a full pound of it on Jesus’ feet.

I remember the song from Jesus Christ Superstar that Mary sings as she pours out this oil: Try not to get worried, try not to turn onto problems that upset you. O, don’t you know everything’s alright, yes, everything’s fine. Much like Saint Julian of Norwich crooned, “All shall be well, all shall be well, all manner if things shall be well.”

Mary can see things that so many others cannot see. She can see farther out, in a way the others cannot. and she can see what is right in front of her, in a way the others cannot. Mary can see what really matters.

During our time of pandemic we saw a lot of things we never expected to see. We have seen a lot of death – as well as all kinds of loss. And we have said, many times, this experience has shown us what really matters. We grew to see the true value of relationships that we had previously taken for granted. We looked at the closeness of death all around us, and we suddenly realized what we value in life, and knew that life isn’t somewhere down the road. Life isn’t on a “to do” list. Life is what we are living right now.

I am sure this little family valued life in a whole new way after Jesus called Lazarus out of his tomb. They held one another close – and they held Jesus close when he returned to them. Mary opened up that big bottle of perfume and just lavished the whole thing on him, caressing his feet with her hands and her hair.

Martha probably didn’t even mind. The old Martha would have snorted in disgust, but the new Martha maybe just rolled her eyes a little bit and went on with her work. She knew what this meant to all of them.

But Judas didn’t know. He was not on the same page as the others. He starts ranting self-righteously: Am I the only one who cares about the poor? Now Martha probably did snort, because Judas deserved it.

The aroma of this perfume fills the room, a place that, only a short time ago, was filled with the smell of death. And for that reason, it is so, so precious. It smells like life. To everyone except Judas, who is more intent on his own agenda.

Jesus speaks up for Mary, saying to Judas, “Leave her alone. She needs this perfume for my burial.” In that one remark, bringing death back into the room. But it is alright. It is alright.

Jesus knows that death is near. He knows the Passover is coming, he knows there is a warrant for his arrest. He knows that he must go to Jerusalem and he knows just what he will be walking into there. He knows that the day of his sacrifice is coming but he also knows – and maybe Mary knows – that all shall be well, all shall be well, all manner of things shall be well.

When death is near, we can see some things more clearly. We can, perhaps, see what really matters.

It is a gift to be able to see what is truly important and what is, in the larger scheme, insignificant. People sometimes say, on your deathbed you won’t be regretting that you didn’t spend more hours at work. Although, you might regret that you didn’t tell enough people, often enough, that you love them. You might regret that you didn’t say I’m sorry all the times you should have. You might regret not listening carefully enough, not laughing long enough.

You might regret that you didn’t lavish someone with expensive perfume, at least once, to tell them how grateful you are for them.

The best thing in life is knowing what really matters. Embrace it and nurture it.

And may God give it growth.

Photo: ChurchArt.com

Reflections on our First 350 Years

 

1 Corinthians 3:1-11  

It is not known how many Presbyterians there were in this area 350 years ago. What was then all called Somerset County. But we know there were some.

There is one name that appears in records from that time – a David Brown. He came here from Glasgow, a self-affirming Presbyterian. His name appears in records dating back to 1670, as he served on several juries and grand juries, as a justice of the peace, a member of the Lower House of Assembly, and a militia officer.

Although I cannot give you their names, there is no doubt that David Brown had the company of other Presbyterians in Somerset County. Because there were enough in 1672 to form four worshiping communities alongside the rivers, which were the primary routes of travel back then.

It was a ruling of the Somerset County Grand Jury in March of 1672 that gave permission to Presbyterians to worship. Saying, “It is the opinion of us grand jurors that sermons be taught four several places in the county – the first Sunday at the house of William Stevens at Pokomoke, the second Sunday at the house of Daniel Cussix at Annamessix, the third Sunday at the house of Christopher Nutter in Manokin, and the fourth Sunday at the house of Thomas Roe at Wicomico.”

A man named Robert Maddox was assigned the responsibility of preaching at these four locations. Of him, we know little. He may or may not have been a Presbyterian, he may or may not have been an ordained minister. We don’t even know exactly what his name was because we find it spelled at least six different ways. But he seems to have handled the responsibility reasonably well, because we know that the number of Presbyterians in Somerset County increased dramatically by 1680.

And it isn’t hard for us to imagine that one preacher to manage four growing congregations – that would be a challenge. William Stevens recognized this and felt the need to do something.

Stevens was not a Presbyterian – he was a member of the Church of England. He was called a “liberal-minded churchman,” meaning that he believed that there should be religious freedom for all sects of Christianity. And so Stevens took it upon himself to send a letter to the Laggan Presbytery in the north of Ireland, pleading for a godly minister to come and lead the flock of Presbyterians in Somerset County.

It was Francis Makemie, freshly ordained, who was sent. In fact, it is likely that he was ordained for this purpose. Three other, more experienced ministers, came with him – William Traile, Thomas Wilson, and Samuel Douglas. These were men who had been in ministry long enough to have experienced the oppression that Presbyterians in Northern Ireland were subjected to at that time. They might have come to preach in Maryland to avoid prison in Ireland.

Together these four men provided the spiritual leadership and order that was needed here, but it is Makemie we remember most. Although the youngest of these men, he stood out as a leader. He organized these worshiping groups as churches and went on to plant more churches elsewhere and to establish the first presbytery in America – the presbytery of Philadelphia. He served as its first moderator.

Makemie’s name is still famous in this region. But just as important as he is to our history, it is important to recognize that he was building on the work of others who came before him – Maddox, Brown, Stevens, and others whose names did not make it into the official records. Each of these men – and even some women, I would dare say – had a common purpose, each played a part.

As Paul says, one planted, another watered. But God gave the growth.

One laid a foundation, another built on top of it, and another built on top of that – All of them building on the foundation that is Jesus Christ.

We Presbyterians have 350 years of history on the Eastern Shore because of all the faithful and skillful builders. If you look at the walls over by our offices, you can see the particular line of builders we have known at Wicomico Presbyterian Church. It is our wall of fame – hopefully not infamy. It goes back to 1855 – but, of course, there were many before whose pictures we don’t have.

But as we look back on all this history, let us not neglect to look forward – and to do it with hope – as much hope as our forebears surely had. We can be sure that over the past 350 years our churches have had more than a few moments of wondering how they might survive, what their future might look like. They didn’t know, just as we don’t know. The first Presbyterians on the Wicomico River never would have dreamed of building their church up here in Salisbury. Salisbury was nothing! Nowhere! But 150 years later, Salisbury looked like a good place to be, and so they went.

The world changes constantly, and so the church has changed as well – in ways our forebears could not imagine. But because they were faithful, keeping their faces turned to Christ and their hearts open to God’s call and direction, we are still here.

On this 350^th anniversary we look back with appreciation for the energy, intelligence, imagination, and love of the ones who led and the ones who followed. But let us never be nostalgic for what is past, or afraid of what lies ahead, for God is with us.

Beloved, let us look to the past with thanks, look to the future with hope, and look constantly to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who is the ground beneath our feet, the light that leads us on the path, the sustenance that feeds our souls.

As the Apostle Paul wrote to a young man Timothy – one of the next generation of Apostles, “God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but a spirit of power and love and self-discipline.”

Let us look to our future with the same spirit.

Photo: Tichnor Brothers, Publisher, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Worthy of Love and Grace

Luke 15: 1-3, 11b-32  

This is a parable we love, love, love. Unless, that is, Jesus is telling it to us. Then it is another matter.

You know what I mean? It’s a really nice story in the abstract way. Like saying, “I love people. Only, not that particular one, or that one, or that one either.” It turns out that we mean a very specific and relatively small set of people.

The first time I realized how hard this parable is was when I was reading it to an adult Bible study group. I looked up at the faces around me and they said, “I don’t like that one.” They didn’t like it because they had taken it personally (which is good.) They had asked themselves, am I as forgiving as this father? Do I want to be that forgiving? And their answer was no.

Parables that talk about forgiveness in a personal way are very off-putting for many of us. The parable of the prodigal son is about forgiveness. But even worse, it is about who is acceptable. What people are worthy of love.

The Parable of the Prodigal Son is an exemplar of the form, because it does such a great job of drawing us into it. and compelling us to feel it.

It begins well enough: a man had two sons. Splendid! Fortunate man. Then his younger son hands the father an egregious insult. Terrible! Now we have to choose a side, and most likely we choose the father. We are angry on his behalf. We are offended for his sake.

We have scorn for the foolish young man who is wasteful and dishonors his father. We are glad when we see him suffer for his mistakes. We can’t wait to see him get what coming to him. But he doesn’t. Something odd happens.

His father runs down the path toward this pitiful son dragging himself home. He runs – hiking up his robes, skinny legs showing, sandals flapping. He throws his arms around this sorry son, crying tears of joy.  We wonder, what happened to his dignity? Where is his self-respect? We are embarrassed for him.

At that point we wander over to see what the brother is saying; the elder brother – the one who has been nurturing his resentments for a long, long time. Out there in the fields, hitting that earth with a vengeance, muttering under his breath things that he would never say aloud to his father – until now. He tells his father exactly how he feels.

And what he feels is this: he agreed with his brother when he said, “I am not worthy to be called your son.”

But here is the question we must face: Is this true? Is this younger son worthy of love and grace? Are the people we call sinners worthy of love and grace?

This is a tremendously uncomfortable story for us, because it asks us these specific questions: Who are the people who have been banished from our community? and are they worthy of love and grace? Before you say there is no one who fits that definition, please stop and think. There are people who have been made to feel unwelcome by the church. We cannot deny this.

Someone recently said to me, “My son was far from home for the first time in his life, lonely and longing for community. I wanted so much to tell him to go find a church, because church has been the loving community surrounding him his entire life. But I could not tell him that because there was a huge risk that the church he walked into would condemn him for his sexuality. Imagine how it feels to know that your beloved son, who is so lonely and vulnerable, might be told by the church of Jesus Christ that he is not welcome.”

The people whose sexuality does not conform to our ideas about what is acceptable – are they worthy of love and grace?

I read a story last week about a young woman who became pregnant in high school. She decided she wanted to keep her baby, and so she became an unwed teen mother. Her church did not banish her, but they didn’t run out to show her love either. She tried to join the church’s mother’s group, but it just wasn’t welcoming to her. The other women’s lives were so different, and they clearly had no interest in the struggles of her particular life. 

The ones who didn’t do marriage and babies in the way we find acceptable and proper – are they worthy of love and grace?

There are so many others. The children of divorce who cannot meet the demands of weekly confirmation classes because every other weekend they are at mom’s house, and mom doesn’t go to church. The ones with mental illness which makes them maybe too loud or too emotional, and they have been told, maybe with words, maybe just a look, that they should probably not come. The ones who don’t have the right clothes, something they notice the moment they walk in the room.

Are these ones worthy of love and grace? Are they welcome, really? We don’t even have to say anything, because they can tell by the way we act.

The best quality of church is also its greatest liability: we become this close-knit community. But then we stitch ourselves together so tightly that there is no room for someone different to come in and be a part of this community.

There are people who watch our service on livestream who do not dare to step into our sanctuary and sit with us, because of how we might judge them.

It hurts to hear these things and it hurts to say them. But there is something else that should be said, something we probably don’t say often enough, and it is this: It can be very hard to open your arms in love and grace to all the others if you, yourself, have felt unwanted, unloved.

Perhaps you are a prodigal, yourself. Maybe you have felt the ache inside you of being judged. Rejected.

The Pharisees and the scribes grumbled quiet criticisms of Jesus because he welcomed sinners and sat at table with them. And in response to that, he told them this parable, which asks: Who is worth of love and grace?

The father believes the prodigal is worthy. And it seems very clear to me that Jesus also believes that he is worthy of love and grace. The question we have to ask ourselves is, do we?

A wise person once told me that when someone judge others harshly, you have to know that he judges himself just as harshly. I pray that we treat ourselves and all the other real, flesh and blood, actual people in the world with love and grace. 

Photo by Kyle Glenn on Unsplash

Good Medicine

Luke 13: 1-9                

About six years ago I bought two houseplants at a supermarket. I took them home, repotted them, and found what I thought would be good a spot for each of them. But they did not do well. They both seemed sickly.

I tried different things – a location with more sun, less sun; more water, less water; a different pot. Nothing seemed to help. They didn’t look healthy. But they didn’t die, either. I couldn’t seem to make them thrive, but I wasn’t killing them, either, so I kept doing my best to care for them.

After a few years, one of the plants started perking up. For no apparent reason. It started putting out bright new leaves, it grew full and bouncy, like it just decided one day to pull itself out of this funk and show some self-respect. And I am pleased to say, it has continued that way ever since.

But the other plant? Nothing. It is still the same as ever. Not dead, but not really vibrant. I still feed it, water it, make sure it gets enough sunlight. But I feel frustrated, disappointed with it, and I wonder: Is it time to give up on this plant? When would be the time to give up?

The parable of the fig tree asks us to consider this question: when is something no longer worthy of our care? When is something no longer worthy of life? When do we give up on something – or perhaps even this: when do we give up on someone?

Because anyone hearing this parable cannot help but think that this pathetic little fig tree is standing in for us – fallen humankind. Because immediately before this point, they weren’t chatting about horticulture. Jesus was teaching his followers about sin and repentance.

The conversation he was having seemed to be focused on why bad things happen to people. I don’t know how they got on this topic but they did. It is something that seems to happen on the regular – in fact, we talked about it just last week, didn’t we? It is a matter that we often find ourselves thinking about; it makes us uneasy to think that these things happen for no reason at all. It would be so much better to think there is a cause and effect for all bad things in the world; that we have some control over everything. And so we look for a reason when things go bad. This person had an accident, we say, because he was careless. That person got cancer, we decide, because she ate the wrong foods. Those people who were in the Twin Towers on 9/11 … well, clearly they did something to deserve their fate even if we don’t know what it was.

But it’s wrong, isn’t it? And Jesus rejects it – this idol of absolute control. Jesus’ message is this: You say these people who suffered were sinners, and this is true. But you are sinners too. You say that these people who were victims of that tragic accident were sinners, and this is true. But you are sinners too.

And by the way, you should repent, Jesus says. Repent.

Repentance is also a familiar topic. We are Presbyterians, who confess our sins together every week. We are pretty well trained to put our flaws under a magnifying glass so we can feel the cringe of knowing we are not, and probably never will be, perfect. And still we expect ourselves to keep trying and trying harder. That, also, is part of the fabric of our faith.

Repent is not a new idea to us. When Jesus says his follows should repent, we don’t question it. (It’s like your mother always said to you, what everybody else is doing is not your concern, you just mind your own behavior. The warning to repent is always lurking in the background.)

But do you mind if I ask – repent of what? I don’t mean to be cheeky when I say this. I don’t mean to make the irreverent suggestion that we are without sin – because we know that is untrue. I am only asking if, in this case, there is something particular that Jesus would have us repent of?

What if Jesus wants us to repent of this kind of idolatry, this way of thinking? The notion that there is a one-to-one correspondence between sin and circumstances?

Because, if there were such a strict correspondence, then surely every one of them would have been killed by Pilate. At one time or another. Every one of them would have been crushed by the tower of Siloam. Or some other tower some other time.

If God were such a rigid and harsh task master, then every one of us would have suffered as much, for we are all sinners. But God is gracious and merciful. God is forgiving.

Again and again, people ask Jesus to connect the dots for them. Why is this man blind? Was it his sin or his parents’ sin? Why did these Galileans get killed? But Jesus won’t draw that line for them.

Jesus, instead, tells a parable. A fig tree that will not bear fruit. Perhaps it appeared healthy in every other way, but would simply not bear fruit. The owner of the land says to his gardener, “Cut it down. It’s useless and taking up space.” But the gardener, who has been tending it – watering and feeding it, pruning it – he says, allow me to keep trying. Let it go for another year. Just give me one more year, the gardener asks.

Don’t give up on it yet.

The best thing, and the worst thing, about this parable is that Jesus leaves it unresolved. It is as though the last pages of the story have been torn out.

And because of that, there are wildly different interpretations of it. It seems to serve as something like a Rorschach test, where you are given an inkblot and whatever you see in there says something about your psychological and emotional state.

Of course, I have to say that I could probably offer different understandings of this parable on any given day. But for today, I want to shine a light on this one thing.

When the gardener says to the landowner, “Let it alone,” the Greek word used there has different facets. The word has different meanings, and one meaning is forgive.

In fact, it is the very same word that Jesus uses two chapters earlier when he is teaching his disciples to pray. He says forgive us our sins. As we forgive others. The very same word – forgive them.

Or, let them go.

Let it go, as in, let go of that insult. Let go of that loss, let go of the fact that you did not meet the expectation you set for yourself or the expectation someone else set for you.

Let it go. Forgive yourself. Forgive another. Forgive this fig tree for, once again, not bearing fruit.

Because we, like the fig tree, are far from perfect. We, like the fig tree, might be slow bloomers, we might have long seasons of not meeting our potential, of not meeting expectations, or however you want to say it. But, still, it is good and right to do our best. We don’t measure up, maybe. But we don’t give up.

It is good and right that we seek to bear spiritual fruit. But not by climbing that ladder, rung by rung, beating our sin by our hard work. We take care of ourselves and one another by nurturing our souls the same way the gardener nurtures the tree. feeding the soil around the fig tree. We do well to always feed our spirits – with prayer and scripture, with the fellowship of the community of Christ, together practicing love and service to others – all of this is good medicine. So that we too might bear fruit.

But even in the barren seasons…even when we fail for any of a long list of reasons…God is patient and merciful. God is forgiving.

I say to you today, God will not give up on us.

Photo by Jonathan Kemper on Unsplash