So What? Why Bother? What’s the Big Deal? A Trinity Sunday Sermon

This Trinity Sunday sermon, preached at St. Stephen Lutheran Church, Williamsburg, VA, is deeply informed by Fr. Richard Rohr’s The Divine Dance: The Trinity and Your Transformation (New Kensington, PA: Whitaker House, 2017) and Ken Wilber’s A Brief History of Everything (Boston: Shambhala Publications, Inc., 1996). The appointed readings for the day are Genesis 1:1-2a; Psalm 8; 2 Corinthians 13:11-13; and Matthew 28:16-20.     

 Ira was one of mentors, an ordained United Methodist clergyperson who was a religion professor and Dean of Students at Randolph-Macon College when I was a student, and active in the life of the congregation on that campus historically related to The United Methodist Church. I was privileged to be Ira’s pastor the last two years of his life, when I left the William and Mary Wesley Foundation and moved to Ashland. Every Friday morning we met at the campus rec. center to power walk and discuss matters great and small, including Bible and theology. It was meat and drink for my soul even if someone’s nerd alarm just went off.

One of our liveliest ongoing conversations was about the Trinity. There goes that nerd alarm again. But for us it was no holds barred wrestling match that true friends can have who deeply trust each other. Ira would get so exasperated; he didn’t see the point of an idea that was just too complicated and obtuse and impossible to understand fully or well.

I get that. A Lutheran campus ministry friend said that she loved Trinity Sunday because it was a yearly chance to hear another preacher get it wrong. But my comeback to Ira was to say that of course it’s complicated and impossible to understand well. We humans can’t fully grasp the reality of God or God’s inner life. It’s not for us to whittle God down to human size, or to squeeze God into boxes that fit our brains. That’s why it’s called a mystery.

That’s what I love about the doctrine of the Trinity. It is mystery, beyond our total grasp or comprehension. We confess that we believe in a God who somehow is Three in One and One in Three; I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more but in the home of metaphor, images, poetry. It’s also a call to humility. Another friend thinks thinking about the Trinity is a waste of time because it doesn’t make any sense to him. I get that; but I asked playfully and seriously, “Do you think the flea on my dog knows there is a dog?   Or that my dog has an owner? Or that my dog and I are part of something even larger and greater called Therapy Dogs International? Maybe before the great mystery of God’s inner life and being, we’re the flea; just because our flea brains can’t take it all in doesn’t mean those greater realities aren’t true.

Franciscan priest Richard Rohr writes in his book, The Divine Dance: The Trinity and Your Transformation, “Mystery isn’t something you cannot understand – it is something that you can endlessly understand!” That divine mystery is interwoven into creation’s very fabric.

Here’s an example of what I mean. Over the years on more than one occasion when I acted ridiculously in my daughter’s eyes, she’d ask my wife with exasperation, “Did you talk to him before you married him!?” I think it mostly in good humor, but there’s also bemused confession that sometimes I am a puzzle to her. But that points to the reality that marriage is itself mystery. For us Christians something of God’s love, grace, mercy, forgiveness, and long-suffering patience comes to us through the mystery of a couple’s life together. There’s wonder and delight as a couple begins their life together, but at the heart of every dynamic relationship there is an endless unfolding understanding, revealing, flowing together, deepening and intimate knowing in the mystery of two made one. And if two can be made one, cannot three also be one?

But seriously you still may be saying on this Trinity Sunday, “So what? Why bother? What’s the big deal?” Right now you that nerd alarm may be primed to go off again, but humor me. At the worst you can tell Pastors Andy and Cheryl that after having a United Methodist preach you’re really glad you’re Lutheran.

But on this Trinity Sunday, I want to invite us into some “what if” questions.

What if the relationship that exists within the Triune God means we also are most fully and truly ourselves in relationship? What if that’s what Genesis means when it says we are made in the image and likeness of God? Isn’t interesting that God says there, “Let us make humans…” Can we be open to that as a poetic expression of God’s rich, deep, multi-faceted reality of God as one and yet mysteriously divine community? What if the Triune God is known most fully as community and in community? And if that’s true for God, what if we are most fully like God and reflect God’s image more richly in community with one another? A widowed friend on the verge of new marriage said, “God has it right; it is not good for us to be alone.” Our life is not ours alone but shared with others, in love and intimacy, like God’s love and life is a sharing among and between Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

And what if this mystery known as the Triune God points us to a reality that permeates creation itself? What if, from top to bottom, dynamic interplay and relationship are the warp and woof of reality itself. Fifty years ago, in his book The Ghost in the Machine (New York: Macmillan, 1967), Arthur Koestler coined the term “holon.” As defined by him, a holon is “a whole and a part at the same time.” An atom is entire and complete of itself; at the same time it can be part of molecule, which is entire of itself and can be at the same time part of a cell; keep going and you can say the same of a planet as a whole and at the same time part of a solar system which can be whole yet part of a galaxy; you get the idea. The mystery of the Triune God is a holon. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – each a whole and a part at the same time. Each is a revelation of God and each is also a vital part of the whole holiness of God. What if from top to bottom the intricacy and wonder of creation bears witness to this God who is part of it all and is in all? In the words of the psalmist, the heavens are telling the glory of God; and another asks “Where can I flee from your Spirit?” Nowhere. From atom to universe, God’s mystery is made known.

And what if that mystery also points to the wonderful reality that there’s unity in diversity? A variety of atoms make a molecule, a variety of cells make a living being, a variety of living beings make a community; unity without uniformity; diversity as a blessing from God to be honored and celebrated, not a nuisance or a curse. The divine is expressed and experienced in diverse ways as Father, Son and Spirit, beyond, beside and within us. What a gift and blessing that there’s room for us to encounter and experience that God in many diverse ways. As Jesus said, “In my Father’s house there are many rooms.

And what if the Triune God is a witness that some realities and truths that don’t fit into neat little boxes. 1500 years ago, St. Augustine described the Trinity in human terms he hoped we’d understand. One human can think, will and act. Where’s one end and another begin? In a car I think about today’s Greek Festival, I will to go, and I drive there. One person, three related but distinct aspects. Augustine also described the Triune God’s inner life as the Lover, the Beloved, and the Love among and between. Here’s a question: if two people are about to kiss, when does the kiss become a kiss? In the thought, the desire, the act? Or is the kiss something that exists between and because of the kissers? We can’t really check just one box for where God may be found or known; God is too great and wondrous and not that small.

And finally, what if the Trinity is best described as a dynamic dancing circle of three moving in responsive relationship and interplay, moving to and fro, in vibrant communication and intimate communion; God as both dancers and the dance itself. What if this lively dance at the heart of God fills creation with divine energy, creativity, openness, as love’s invitation to join the dance – not just to look on, but to be touched and be part of God’s holy movement. In the 15th century icon, The Holy Trinity, three angels are gathered around a table. The icon is huge – five feet high and four feet wide – and is inspired by the Bible story of Abraham providing hospitality for three angels, who Abraham realizes are God present with him. They lean into each other, clearly in intimate communion. If you’re looking at the massive icon that almost dwarfs the viewer, you’re also near the table; there’s a open place for you at the table, as if the holy One in Three welcomes you not to be an onlooker, but to enter into their communion, to become one with them, even as they are one with each other.   Here, now at this table today, we’re met and welcomed by the Three in One and One in Three. We’re invited to say yes and join the dance and be drawn into holiness, wonder, mystery; into the very life of God.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.   Amen.

-2017, David M. Hindman, soli Deo gloria.

Trans God? Queer God?

“God is Spirit, and those who worship God worship in spirit and in truth.” – John 4:24

“Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love.”                 –1 John 4:7-8

There are many things I love about being a WOMP (Worn-Out Methodist Preacher), but the nerdiest thing I am delighted to do is to read theological texts of many descriptions, some of which have been on my shelves for decades. These days I am more than half-way through Raymond Brown’s two volume (!) The Death of the Messiah, two-thirds into Eberhard Bethge’s biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and in preparation for preaching on Trinity Sunday I’m plowing through Jurgen Moltmann’s The Trinity and the Kingdom. Which leads to how this particular blog was birthed.

Moltmann’s reflection on the mystery of the Trinity, published in 1979, is not some new, avant-garde, radical, contemporary rant.  Indeed, what stopped me dead in my tracks was inspired by his reference to a 1300 year old statement of faith affirmed in the Council of Toledo in 675.  Moltmann is pondering the interrelationships between the Father, Son and Holy Spirit in the tri-unity of God, when he writes:

“[I]f the Son proceeded from the Father alone, then this has to be conceived of both as a begetting and as a birth.  And this means a radical transformation of the Father image; a father who both begets and bears his son is not merely a father in the male sense.  He is a motherly father too.  He is no longer defined in unisexual, patriarchal terms but – if we allow for the metaphor of language – bisexually or transexually.  He has to be understood as the motherly Father of the only Son he has brought forth, and at the same time as the fatherly Mother of his only begotten Son….According to the Council of Toledo in 675, ‘it must be held that the Son was created, neither out of nothingness nor yet out of any substance, but that He was begotten or born out of the Father’s womb (de utero Patris), that is, out of his very essence.'” The Trinity and the Kingdom, p. 164 f. (my italics)

Be still, my heart.  Doesn’t that simply inspire with its thrilling, easy to follow verbiage?Yes, I am that nerd who thinks it’s awesome – difficult, dense, seemingly arcane and irrelevant to 21st century folks, not ready for prime time preaching, but an enriching blessing to me to be afforded the time to ponder.  But what I saw did seem to have deep relevance for us, at least worthy of a thought experiment.

Scripture clearly affirms that the Triune God is encountered as spirit and as love.  As Spirit, God is not exclusively male or female; indeed God is neither; whatever language we use for God is symbolic, metaphorical and poetic, not literalistic.  And because God is love, the Triune God has to be essentially relational and in relationship, because at the very least love requires lover and beloved.

Clearly Moltmann is both struggling, and playing with language as he delves into the interplay and relationship of Father and Son within the Trinity, when he puts forth the metaphorical language of God’s bisexuality or transsexuality.  At the very least, it seems to me that he is arguing that gender specific language is woefully inadequate to the Godhead, metaphors and images drawn from both traditionally male and female characteristics are appropriate (and necessary?), and that the mystery of God transcends all such images.

If that is so, then perhaps the following are true – or definitely worth pondering:

  1.  Both males and females are made in the image of God as we reflect something, but not all, of who God is.
  2. We each bear within ourselves both maleness and femaleness, since attributes or characteristics of both are exhibited within the Godhead.
  3. While maleness and femaleness are important and valued dimensions of being human and individual identities, if characteristics, images, roles, and metaphors assigned to each are transcended within the mystery of God, they do not have to have undue significance for us as humans who, regardless of gender identity, are all made in the image of God.
  4. Transgender and/or queer persons are valued, vital reminders to us of the utter mystery and wonder of God, who is at the heart of the universe and is not limited to, or bounded by our understandings, categorizations or endeavors to manipulate, control, legislate and reduce reality to our narrow expectations and comprehension.  The God we meet in scripture truly embodies a Reality that transcends gender and is queer (e.g., “My ways are not your ways; my thoughts not your thoughts;” “God’s wisdom is foolishness in the eyes of the world; God’s power is weakness”); crosses boundaries; will not be limited, nailed down, or confined to specific spaces (tombs or toilets?); and is encountered in the demeaned, mocked, ridiculed, condemned, outcast, marginalized, rejected and scorned.  How odd it would be of God, to be seen particularly clearly  these days in these, the least of our sisters and brothers (Matthew 25:31 ff.).
  5. Galatians 3:26-28 is even more radically revolutionary and relevant than Paul (or we) might have imagined: “[I]n Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”

This WOMP was reading Moltmann at the same time as the Judicial Council of The United Methodist Church was ruling on a case involving Rev. Karen Oliveto, a married and openly lesbian who was elected a bishop last year and currently serves the Rocky Mountain and Yellowstone Conferences.  This is the most recent significant action in the denomination’s long wrestle with sexuality, done in the context of the ongoing endeavor of the church’s Commission on a Way Forward discerning whether we can find a better way to live together with our diverse understandings of sexuality.  Following the Judicial Council’s ruling, the WCA (Wesleyan Covenant Association, a newly formed unofficial United Methodist group that holds church prohibitions against the practice of homosexuality to be part of Christian orthodoxy) responded, “We…call upon those who feel they cannot, in good conscience, abide by the doctrines and discipline of our church, to seek an honorable exit from our denomination.”

I confess I didn’t know the Church belonged to the WCA – or to the General Conference of The UMC, for that matter; my understanding from scripture is that none of us owns the Church but all submit to the Lordship of Christ who is the Head of the Church, which is his body.  Once again, I am thinking that we continue to make sexuality a false idol to which we give undue priority and turn our stance of homosexuality into a heresy by overstating and overemphasizing something, and thereby creating a false imbalance.  If God is surprisingly queer and/or transgender, perhaps we ought to lighten up, calm down and carry on, and revel in the mystery of God who continues to surprise us, lead us down unexpected paths, and reveal Godself in ways we could never have imagined.

Unexpected Blessings: Sermon Based on John 20:19-31

Locked inside Greensville Correctional Center with 150 inmates wasn’t a place I expected to be blessed. It was a Sunday night, like those we just read about in John’s Gospel; shut up in a place where sadness and despair and fear also live. We were singing a worship song that never would’ve been on my top 40 list. But unexpected blessing came in such a place and time. I realized that the Risen Christ had broken in and was standing in our midst bringing peace and joy and love and freedom and life like I don’t always experience where there aren’t guard towers. In the midst of the full-throated and full-bodied joyful song of my brothers in Christ I realized, surely God is in this place, and I did not know it – an unexpected blessing.

That’s what we hear in this Gospel story. The disciples are locked away in fear and anxiety, prisoners of their grief and disappointment, facing an uncertain future, still shocked at the Jesus’ death, the one they truly believed was God’s man. And then suddenly, unexpectedly, Jesus stands among them bringing peace, showing them his wounds so they know it’s really him alive in a way they can’t explain. The most real things they know are that Jesus was crucified, died and buried, and now he’s alive in their midst bringing peace and joy. Surely God is in this place, and they did not know it until Jesus breaks in, bringing unexpected blessing.

Such blessings can come in many ways. Ours is not a one size fits all faith: what abundant and amazing grace. Sometimes unexpectedly, what seemed dead and lifeless breaks open with new life. Many years ago, a friend greeted me after worship after we’d had Holy Communion using the old Methodist ritual that I mostly experienced as dreary and depressing. But she was unexpectedly exuberant, glowing, joyous in a way most unlike her, especially after our usual sober “celebration.” Ecstatically she said, “Today I got it. After all these years of praying the same prayers and using the same liturgy, I heard something I’d never heard it before in the words, ‘that we may walk in newness of life. That’s what this is all about; it’s what it means to be a Christian; we get to live new life, go a different way; travel a better road!” Unexpectedly and blessedly, the Risen Christ broke through a familiar and locked down faith tradition with new presence, new joy, new life.

That’s part of the Easter promise! Christ is alive, still meeting and greeting us with life and joy and peace, especially when we think we’ve got things locked down, secure and under control; or when life seems uncertain and terrifying. A tired old hymn suddenly speaks to us in a fresh way; scripture we’ve read countless times comes alive as God speaks to us directly in a stunning way; or an ordinary conversation unexpectedly becomes holy and life changing.

At a church homecoming service I attended as an adult, I saw an older man I’d known from childhood. With joy and deep gratitude I told him that when I was in college he’d spoken words at a church meeting that had changed my life. He listened to my story but said with a wry smile, “I just don’t remember that at all.” What was ordinary and forgettable to him was an unexpected blessing to me; the Risen Christ spoke through him and the old man didn’t know it.

In mission and service we may assume we’re the ones bringing God and help and hope; but unexpected blessing can come through those to whom we go; the Risen Christ enters our lives afresh bringing joy and peace and life. A campus ministry colleague took a group of students on a spring break mission trip to Guatemala; the team included a young man who said he was an atheist, but he wanted to do good. Of course he was welcomed because that’s what Christians do, right? The team worked in a village with only widows and children; a few years earlier the Guatemalan army had come to round the men up and lock them in the village church and blow it up. That young man worked alongside the widows who shared their lives and their faith in ordinary ways and at week’s end he humbly said, “If these women who have suffered so much and have so little can trust and believe in God, maybe I can, too.” The Risen Christ broke into his locked up beliefs and assumptions to plant a seed of faith as an unexpected blessing.

Scripture promises such blessing to all of us, not just a select few. In today’s story the Risen Christ comes to the disciples. For John that’s not just the 12; he rarely mentions them as a group. The disciples are all who follow and love Jesus; that’s to whom he comes, as they need him, meeting them where they are.

Certainly that’s Thomas’ story. We typically call him Doubting Thomas, and I like that, because that means my doubts and uncertainties and questions won’t keep Jesus from me, and Jesus won’t love me less. But when you read John’s Gospel there’s more to Thomas. He is also Brave Thomas saying to his friends let us go with Jesus even if that means dying with him. He’s Honest Thomas; the night before his arrest Jesus tells the disciples, “You know where I’m going and you know the way.” But Thomas says, “Lord, we don’t know where you’re going so how can we know the way?” There’s a beauty in owning up to how clueless you are and to trust Christ won’t give up on you; that’s when Jesus tells Thomas, “I am the Way, and the Truth and the Life.” Thanks to Thomas we have those treasured words and that blessed promise.

So it’s not surprising that when Thomas is told that the Lord is risen and has appeared to the disciples, he doesn’t believe it. Hearsay evidence isn’t good enough for him; a one-off, second-hand faith isn’t for him. He wants direct encounter, a hands on, full-bodied meet up with Jesus. We tend to criticize Thomas for that; he should just believe, right? But Thomas only asked for what the others already received – to know and see for himself, to believe up close and personal, not at a distance. Isn’t that what we all want? And the unexpected blessing is that Christ gave Thomas what he needed, in a way he needed it. He doesn’t chastise or criticize Thomas. He comes to him, again through locked doors, and invites Thomas into that direct encounter: put your finger here; put your hand there. In our English translation Thomas is a doubter; but that’s not what Jesus says in the Greek. There he calls Thomas from being an unbeliever to be a believer. And then Jesus gives us an unexpected blessing because even though we aren’t among those first disciples in that long ago place, belief and faith are gifts that are given to us, too. We are those who believe, although we have not seen. We don’t meet a dead Jesus but a living Christ in scripture and prayer and worship and service; he still comes to us with unexpected blessing and calls us to believe and trust and live, and to continue his work and mission and ministry. The Risen Christ doesn’t come to the disciples to say, ”I’m alive so now you know you can go to heaven when you die.” Not at all. What he does is breathe the Holy Spirit on them, like God breathing life into the first man in Genesis’ creation story, or like the prophet Ezekiel when he envisions God breathing breath/wind/spirit into a valley full of dry bones that are raised to new life. The Risen Christ breathes that same Holy Spirit into the disciples, birthing new creation and says, “As the Father sent me, so I send you.”   By the Holy Spirit’s power working in us and through us and for us, Christ sends us, like him, to live and heal, to love and forgive, to teach and serve, to show mercy and bring peace and abundant life. We get to be his partners and co-workers; Christ alive in us!

What a great joy, what an unexpected blessing. I have a treasured picture of my daughter and wife working alongside each other in the kitchen preparing a Thanksgiving feast. They both look at the camera, so alike, so happy, working together to make Thanksgiving real. That’s what we’re about, working alongside Christ to give the world what the hymn writer calls “a sweet foretaste of the festal joy, the Lamb’s great banquet feast of bliss and love.”

In the same way I watch our neighbor Quinn and his son Liam. Whatever Dad’s doing, Liam does. In the yard, they wear identical baseball hats; they’re partners bringing life to their yard, one working with big people tools, the other with tools his size, but side by side sharing the joyful work together. And in days to come, our Grace and little Liam will continue living in the light of lessons learned and living love will be still be near, even if in a different way.

That’s what we get to do; work alongside Christ and show the life Christ gives in our lives. In the words of blessing in our wedding liturgy, we get to “bear witness to the love of God in this world so that those to whom love is a stranger will find in us generous friends;” we get to tell the story that Christ still comes with joy and peace; we get to love as Jesus loves, and serve in his name; in the words of John’s story we get to to be signs of Christ’s life so others can judge for themselves if they want to be part of such an incredible story, and believe for themselves that this same Crucified and Risen Jesus is Lord and God, Savior and Messiah; and believing they – and we – will have life in his name, thanks be to God.

-2017, David M. Hindman, soli Deo gloria.

If I Was Preaching This Week…

One of the most dangerous and prideful risks taken by a retired preacher (or any homiletician not preaching on a particular day) is to share publicly how they would engage with a biblical text if given the opportunity.  But as a WOMP (Worn Out Methodist Preacher) I have a certain liberty (or diminished sense of self-control) and much more free time to let my mind go where it will without having to meet that deadline my colleagues still face – the relentless return of the Sabbath.

Case in point: this week’s Old Testament lesson (5th Sunday in Lent) is Ezekiel 37:1-14 (http://bible.oremus.org/?passage=Ezekiel+37:1-14&vnum=yes&version=nrsv).  It’s the story of the prophet Ezekiel being caught up in a divine dream/vision in which he sees a valley of dry bones and is questioned by God as to whether the bones can live again.  After following God’s commands to prophesy to the bones and to the wind/breath/spirit, the prophet sees the bones rise up as a mighty host, restored to life, at which God explains this is a vision of the the dried up, dead and hopeless people of Israel whom God will restore, reassemble and revive.

Rightly so and well done this week, the preacher I heard engage with the text named personal experiences of being dead, dried up and hopeless: loss of job or health or marriage, lost hopes for children, etc., and encouraged us to hear the promise that God is able to bring new life even to our most hopeless circumstances.  He also broadened the scope of the sermon to marvel at the ways a missionary in another country works among the poorest of the poor to bring hope, education and new life to children displaced by the government to live literally among garbage heaps.  Can these bones live?  Yes!   It was a word from the Lord, for sure, and I was grateful to be in a place to hear it.

But I hungered for more and found myself thinking, “If I was preaching this week what would I want to speak to God’s people?  What are the questions I would want to ask and what would God’s gospel be?

I am indeed a WOMP and the Christian denomination I love and that formed and shaped me as a follower of the Way is at risk of schism in a way we have not faced since the American Civil War.  Questions about right and proper attitudes and actions around sexuality, especially homosexuality, have been part of our theological terrain my entire ministry.  That is not surprising; it’s been the situation for many oldline denominations, most of which have changed their practices to be more inclusive of GLBTQ folks, including allowing for ordination and officiating at same sex weddings.

But such things are not sanctioned by The United Methodist Church and there are strong forces on all sides pushing and pulling to change or maintain the status quo.  Currently a special commission of our denomination is meeting regularly to discern if we can find a way forward to maintain unity in the midst of diversity, in preparation for a special called meeting of our General Conference to determine what changes, if any, we should make in our polity and practice around human sexuality, or whether we will break the heart of Jesus and sunder his Body once more.

Last month I had a conversation with another WOMP who is convinced that division of the denomination is inevitable, or we face a season of church trials and punishment of progressives by traditionalists.  My colleague is resigned to the death of the denomination as we know it, the consequence of a bridge too far for progressives and traditionalists; his  deeply sad words echoed for me the despair and seeming hopelessness of Ezekiel’s vision scene; if I was preaching this week, I would address the existential threat we United Methodists face and ask the question, “Can these bones live again?”  (Ironically, our Annual Conference has been asked to pray this week for the denomination as part of a systematic strategy of prayer as the commission seeks a way forward; where I worshiped we indeed did pray, but based on the way the prayer was framed I wondered if most of us gathered had any idea of how fraught our future is or what the issues are that evoked such a request).

If I was preaching this week, I would announce the hopeful news that even these bones of The United Methodist Church can indeed live as we confess the truth of our dry and barren faith, our lifeless worship and lack of zeal for the ways of God, our cheap grace and easy ways, our arid discipleship and lack of vibrant desire to seek and welcome all, our seeming lack of interest in being transformed into the image and likeness of Christ, our clinging to the familiar tradition that cannot have a vision/dream that God can indeed do new things beyond our understanding or comfort, our contentment with the status quo, and our reticent resistance truly to seek God’s will and purpose for us, no matter the cost.  We grumble about denominational decline, but seem to be more focused on membership and facile faith than costly discipleship or following a Lord who seemed to break barriers of division and prejudice with extravagant, graceful, holy glee.

Can these bones live again?  Yes, if we understand that life is restored as we heed and respond to the grand Story and Vision of God experienced in scripture (which means we also have to read, know, take seriously and be shaped by the whole of scripture), which from beginning to end is a story of radical trust and adherence to God’s ways marked by compassion, mercy, speaking and living the truth in love, forgiveness, accountability, commitment to healing, humility, sacrificial long-suffering, extraordinary hospitality, generosity, and counter-cultural risk for the sake of God’s Empire – even when that puts us at odds with the ways of the world and whatever empire(s) also want our allegiance and final loyalty.  Instead of trying to save an institution, dry bones come alive as fresh winds of the Spirit blow and take us where we are not in control or try to program and legislatively manipulate for our purposes, but pray, seek, listen, discern, and submit to God’s ways.  The prophet and we are blessed as we trust that our hope ultimately is in God’s good purposes, plans, and power, and not ours.  Instead of being actors, the bones live as we are acted upon because we know that on our own we can do nothing.

And as an American citizen who also is a Christ follower, 10 weeks into the new US administration, I would want to know if these bones of our civil society can live again. When political leaders claim (as has White House political strategist Steve Bannon) that they want to “deconstruct” the body politic, is that akin to scattering the bones of our life together?  Are we at risk of having the life sucked out of the body politic by dissembling, division and ill-will, disregard for one another (especially the most weak and vulnerable), and bullying and battering of one another and our most cherished values and commitments as a nation?  Are we at risk of losing what has truly made us great in exchange for a thin gruel of nativism, racism, Islamophobia, heterosexism, xenophobia and overly monetized values that cheapen our souls?  Can these bones live again?

Again, I would announce the odd, counter-cultural, radical hopeful promise that they can live and that we as people of the Cross have a special role to play by relentlessly and humbly advocating for the disadvantaged and marginalized (including the so-called “deplorables” who also are precious and beloved), speaking the truth in love to and about one another, believing the best of each other, praying fervently for our leaders, welcoming the stranger, living by the Golden Rule (treating other the way we would want if we were in their shoes), listening to all, and working fervently to find a way to live together that more fully resembles the Commonwealth of Heaven, where all are cherished, respected and valued.  The church  and other faith communities have great potential to be the one remaining place where people of differing political priorities and perspectives can come together united in the common purpose of serving God (and for us followers of the Way, emulating Christ who is Lord of all), speaking respectfully and faithfully to one another, and seeking together to work on the shared agenda of doing God’s will and not being beholden ultimately to any political party.

Those are hard words, not easily spoken or readily received.  But I wish I could have said them, or heard them this week.

A Lawnmower, Three Questions, and an Exam: Sermon Based on Matthew 5:38-48

     It’s a sure sign of spring when our lawnmower goes to Ace Hardware for its yearly tune-up. I did that last week and soon I’ll get a call that it’s ready and we’ll be set for the summer. I trust the mechanic so I know it will be totally perfect. That doesn’t mean my mower dropped straight out of heaven, or that it’s the only perfect one in the world, or that I’m saying anything bad about your mower. It’s much simpler. My mower’s perfect because it does what it’s supposed to do, what it’s made for. I put in gas, crank it up, it runs smoothly on all cylinders, I put it in gear and voilà, grass gets cut. It was made for grass cutting and that what it does. It’s awesome, perfect. If I described it in New Testament Greek I’d say my mower is teleios. It does completely what it was created by its maker to do, no more and no less. It is what it is: a mower, exactly perfect in every way.
     Which brings us to Jesus’ teaching today from the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew presents Jesus as the authority figure to follow him and give first place in our lives. Matthew does this in some subtle and creative ways. Again and again he calls to mind key Old Testament people and events and connects them to Jesus. Here Matthew wants to link Jesus to Moses, the most important person to Jews. Jesus is on a mountain, like Moses when he receives the 10 commandments on Mt. Sinai. But here Jesus speaks with more authority than Moses. Five times Jesus says, “You have heard that it was said…,” and follows with “But I say to you…”
     Clearly this Jesus is more important, a greater authority. His teachings on murder and anger, adultery and lust, vows and promises, revenge and enemies take us deeper – into our hearts and motives in a more radical way than a simple list of do’s and don’ts to stay on God’s good side. And the punch line comes at the end: we’re to be like God, the God Jesus shows us in his suffering love. Listen again, “I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” There’s that word again: perfect, teleios: reaching your purpose and goal, aligned with God’s will and ways; grown up and mature with excellence in virtue, being all you were created to be. As another translation puts it, “Therefore, just as your heavenly Father is complete in showing love to everyone, so also you must be complete” (Common English Bible) or as in Peterson’s The Message, “In a word, what I’m saying is, Grow up. You’re kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you;” or as Luke’s Gospel puts this teaching in somewhat different words, “Be merciful and compassionate just like your Father is” (Common English Bible; Today’s English Version)
     Here’s Jesus’ call to us: we are children of God, so act like it. From the very beginning of the Bible story, that is who we are. In Genesis’ creation story God says, “Let us make humans in our image according to our likeness. So God made us that way and blessed us. And so to be perfectly who we were made to be, we are to be like God – loving, compassionate, merciful. As Leviticus says we are to be holy, like God is holy as we defend the weak and poor and watch out for those who have no one to watch out for them. When we live in the same wild and crazy way as this God who forgives enemies and is gracious and kind to both good and evil, we are perfect. We are who we are made to be: children of our Father in heaven.
     But you say, “Preacher, we can’t do that! We’re not perfect and never will be; it’s crazy even to try.” But then why would Jesus expect this of us? Is he setting us up for some cruel, practical joke, like Lucy challenging Charlie Brown and always pulling the ball away to show that we’re chumps? Or does Jesus really mean it? Does Jesus believe we can be perfect?
     John Wesley believed it. Our father in the faith often preached on Christian perfection or being made perfect in love or growing in holiness. Wesley said God would help us to become what God expected of us. Nothing is impossible for God so God can be trusted to help us become what we were created to be. Now that doesn’t mean that we’ll always do the right thing, or get every answer right on an exam or know the Pick 6 numbers. But with the Holy Spirit’s help and power at work alongside our deep desire, we can in fact be made perfect in love; our every action and desire can be driven by the engine of love for God and others. Even when we mess up, showing love to God and others will be the aim and purpose. That’s what holiness looks like; that’s being made perfect in love. Today every person seeking ordination in The United Methodist Church still answers questions asked of preachers for nearly 275 years, “Are you going on to perfection?” “Yes.” Do you expect to be made perfect in love in this lifetime?” “Yes.” “Are you earnestly striving after it?” “Yes.” In an earlier time every Methodist was asked those questions with the same expected answers. As the bishop who ordained me asked, “If you’re not going on to perfection, where are you going?”
     Now it’s true: on our own we can’t be perfect. We are sinners, flawed, imperfect, missing the mark no matter how hard we try. But we’re not on our own. Wesley believed God’s grace and Holy Spirit are always at work in our lives and God’s grace can and will do for us what we can’t do ourselves. So Wesley asks, “ Do you expect to be made perfect in love?” That’s God’s work, God’s promise; as St. Paul writes to the Philippians, “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure” (Philippians 2:12-13). Wesley believed such transformation could happen instantly but for most it was a gradual process; he was convinced he’d met Methodists who were living in a state of perfect love and holiness. I think I attended the funeral of one of those folks; for many years Millie Sunshine Cooper was the Virginia Conference staff person for youth. In the testimony of those leading her service yesterday and in my own personal experience, this humble and dedicated servant of Christ was always motivated and inspired by love for God and love for others on the job and in her daily living up to her last days. Millie may have been somewhat unusual; Wesley thought most believers would be made perfect in love at the moment of death. As I’ve been around dying folks, I’m persuaded he knew what he was talking about; I’ve seen countless folks become one with God in love and mercy at their end.
     But this morning I heard another report of someone who may be living in that state of holiness of life and perfect love. I assume Mohamed Bzeek of Los Angeles is a Muslim, and for the last 20 years he has served as a foster parent to terminally ill children. He has been by the side of nearly a dozen who have taken last breath in his presence. Who does such a thing? Perhaps someone hungry to be like God and to love others with that perfect love. (http://www.npr.org/2017/02/19/516064735/a-foster-parent-for-terminally-ill-children)
     God wants to work this mysterious miracle in our lives. God is on our side, ready to coach and encourage and equip us to become like God, to become love and live in love, to be holy as God is holy. God is not our enemy but a friend; God doesn’t believe we’re just doomed to be what we’ve always been. In high school biology, no matter how long I studied, or how hard I tried I was doomed to D grades. I think the teacher early on decided I was a D student and almost seemed to delight in giving me Ds. And after awhile, I became that D student. I saw myself as that teacher saw me and I gave up, because what was the use?
     I contrast that teacher to one I had in seminary as I studied to be a pastor. Every time I submitted a paper to that professor, there were always challenging questions, and a relentless push to do better. But each time there were also affirmations and encouragement along with new issues raised that made me think more and pulled me closer to excellence. And after awhile I became that student. I didn’t give up; in fact I worked harder, because I knew my professor was for me and saw something I did not see myself and would work tirelessly to get me there.
     That’s the God we see in Jesus, the God who calls us to be made perfect in love, to be the children of God we’re created to be, to do what we’re formed to do – to love God with all we have and to love our neighbor as ourselves with the same mercy and compassion and extravagant grace God has already shown us. It’s a lifetime adventure; we’ll need tune-ups and sharpening and regular upkeep. God will do God’s part; and we have a part, receiving and using God’s sanctifying grace to be transformed into the image and likeness of Christ. My seminary professor tirelessly worked on me week after week, and slowly but surely, with guidance and help I became what I was created to be. In the same way God will work miracles in you and me, with help and guidance along the way. God helps through the church itself with our worship and scripture and prayer and opportunities to love even our enemies and put our faith on the line and into practice. We’re helped by small groups or soul friends who speak the truth in love, and challenge us to holy excellence. Every Christian needs such groups and a soul friend; none of us can make this journey on our own or alone. I didn’t know it then, but nearly 40 years ago here I first met my soul friend who still challenges and encourages me to be better, to be who I am created to be, to be a Christian in word and deed, to be like Jesus. And help can come through the Daily Examen, an ancient form of holy self-exam in the presence of the God who wants nothing for us but life and our good.** In God’s strong and loving arms, at day’s end we can take 15-20 minutes to be still, give thanks for God’s goodness, grace and guidance during the day, look back over a day and how well we lived for Christ or where we fell short, confess our shortcomings and our need for help, and look forward to tomorrow’s opportunities and challenges. It doesn’t seem like much, about as exciting and routine as cutting the grass. But in such ways, miracles happen and sometimes we even learn holiness and perfection, thanks be to God.
-2017, David M. Hindman, soli Deo gloria.
** To learn more about the Daily Examen as a devotional practice, go to http://www.ignatianspirituality.com/ignatian-prayer/the-examen

When, Not If: Sermon Based on Matthew 6

          Last week life pretty much slid to a halt here with the gift of God’s special snow Sabbath. But in tens of thousands of churches around the world, other Christians gathered in worship focused on the story of Jesus’ baptism. Roman Catholics and Eastern Orthodox Christians, Lutherans, Episcopalians, Presbyterians, many United Methodists, and other Protestants who follow the lectionary’s three year cycle of Bible readings were once again told Matthew’s story of Jesus’ baptism, how John the Baptist at first didn’t want to go through with it because he thought he was worthy and Jesus told him to do it anyway because it was the right thing to do, how after it was done Jesus saw the heavens open and the Holy Spirit descend on him and everyone heard a voice saying, “This is my own dear Son and I’m pleased with him.”
          What happens next? That same Spirit leads Jesus into the wilderness, “where the wild things are” and the Devil’s waiting to test him, waiting to see what Jesus’ really made of, and if he’s really able live up to God’s expectations. In that 40-day exam period Jesus fasts and prays. I think that’s so weird: Jesus needs the most strength and to be at his absolute best, and he decides to go without the one thing we count on to fuel ourselves and keep us strong. He steps away from one source of power to be sustained by a greater food and a greater power.
          If that’s good for Jesus maybe it’s good for us, too. If we want to follow the Jesus Way, it’s wise to follow Jesus’ ways. He knows specific practices that help him stay true to God and live out God’s will and purposes. So those practices are going to be helpful to us as well, unless we think we’re smarter than the Teacher. Unless we think we’re stronger and truer to God than Jesus and don’t need his help, then we should stop, listen and learn.
After Jesus comes from the Wilderness testing time he begins to call disciples to follow him and learn from him what real life looks like; in Matthew, Jesus’ first big lesson plan is the Sermon on the Mount, which brings us to today’s scripture. Jesus himself fasts and prays and helps people in need. He’s always in the business of helping others; he prays regularly and at great length; he begins ministry by fasting and praying and at the end, at his final meal with his friends he says he won’t drink again until God acts in new and powerful ways. He’ll face arrest, torture, and execution dry as a desert, trusting God to satisfy his deepest thirst.
          So it’s not surprising that Jesus teaches us pupils how to fast and pray and help others in need; he assumes we want to be closest to him and will pay attention and do as he says. So Jesus says, when you do something for someone else, when you come before God, when go without food or practice some appetite-denying discipline; as the New Revised Standard Version puts it, when you give alms, when you pray, when you fast. Did you hear that? When, not if. Jesus knows from his own experience that if you want to build a life on a lasting foundation, helping, praying and fasting are essential interlocking building blocks. In this new year, you’re digging deeper into this teaching of Jesus so you can practice walking more closely with him and following his steps on the Way of life he sets before us.
          I want to give a shout out Lynne Baab, the author of the book Fasting you’re reading and discussing. She’s provided a very readable resource with good biblical and historical background, and lots of helpful suggestions and guidance. What I especially appreciated was how she helped me to see the how important fasting is inn the global church, especially in Africa, Asia, and South America. Not surprisingly, those areas are also among the most spiritually alive. And even here in the US, congregations and small groups and individuals growing powerfully up into Christ are also deeply committed to fasting and prayer and helping others in need.
          As I prepared for today I looked back on some of my own experiences of fasting, both good and bad, the helpful and what crashed and burned. Bob was the guy who first challenged me and introduced me fasting as something more than a Bible topic to read and discuss. I was working with the youth at Centenary Church in downtown Richmond and Bob was a 20-something, working for CROP, a Church World Service-sponsored ministry committed to feeding hungry people. He’d recently graduated from college and spent his summer working at a refugee camp somewhere in Africa; now he was back home organizing CROP fasts to raise money to feed folks. He was totally passionate, and after 40 years his story that day still haunts me. In that Church World Service sponsored refugee camp, Bob and others distributed food, but sometimes there just wasn’t enough; so over a period of weeks Bob helplessly watched two parents starve one child to death so their other children would get enough to eat. Each day they received enough for four but not for five, so the death of one brought life to the rest. That’s when I decided the church youth and I could go a day without food so a child could have a life.
          As has often been happened for me, those young folks challenged me to be discontent with a C average faith and to keep moving further in and further up into Christ. For years our group fasted and raised funds to feed the hungry and support other local work in keeping with the ways of Jesus such as housing the homeless or serving those in jail or showing gratitude to first responders. Later in life other young adults inspired me to fast for 30 hours with World Vision to feed the hungry; each time I saw Bob, those wretched parents and their starving child.
There are many ways to fast faithfully: a water or juice fast for one to three days; with an Orthodox fast or Daniel fast with a diet limited to fruit, vegetables, or perhaps dairy products, fasts can last up to three weeks. The longest water only fast I ever did was for 60 hours in 2003, when we were on the cusp of war. I fasted with others, which is often helpful, and it aimed to be an act of humble and faithful repentance and sorrow and a hopeful prayer that we might turn from violence. It was one of the most spiritual experiences of my life.
          Then there’ve been the busts, the times I failed miserably. I gave up on the fast too easily or got nothing from it because I was doing it for the wrong reasons or just to lose weight. In thinking about those experiences, I had an important insight: There’s a reason Jesus teaches about helping others, praying, and fasting together. These disciplines help support each other and are especially beneficial when woven together to craft a stronger faith and discipleship. Fasting clears a space so in prayer I can listen better to God to receive guidance about best ways to help others. The fasting removes the clutter and clears the background static so I can get a truer reading on what really matters and focus more fully on where God wants me to be of help and service to my sisters and brothers in need.
          Think about this: when you go for an annual physical and the necessary tests associated with it, you fast so your doctor will get the truest and best picture of what’s going in your body. The fast allows for an uncluttered, clear picture of who you truly are, where you’re healthy, where you’re at risk, where you need help to be the best you can be. Fasting does the same thing for us spiritually. Trust me, if you fast you’ll quickly learn where your besetting sins are and where you need help to grow up into Christ.
          A year or so ago after I retired, I talked with my family physician about going off a medication I was taking to deal with anxiety. He thought it was worth a shot and I could go back on it if needed. When I asked how I would know, he said, “Oh, your wife will tell you.” And she did 🙂
          Fasting’s like that – it’s a way God tells us with love where we need help and repair for a whole and holy life. In the prayer that goes with fasting the Great Physician shows us the health of our soul and where we need change in order to spiritually healthy and whole; the Healer helps us move forward in a life focused on what really matters and where our help is most needed so this world looks more like what God intended all along.
          Last week I talked with a William and Mary Wesley alum getting ready to lead a study on the Sermon on the Mount. As we talked she wondered why the Sermon is put together the way it is. Is there a plan or purpose to the way Jesus organizes his thoughts and topics? It’s a great question at least in part because I wasn’t sure there’s a right answer. Her question stayed with me all this week as I prepared to preach on this part of the Sermon. And that’s how the Spirit spoke to me with the hint of an idea.
          You see, after Jesus speaks about helping others and praying and fasting, what follows in the rest of chapter 6 is a series of sayings focusing on trusting God and realizing what truly matters, what’s deeply and eternally important. Jesus talks about storing up heavenly treasure and not earthly riches; he describes our eyes as the body’s lamps concluding, “If the light inside you is dark, you surely are in the dark.” He tells us bluntly that we always have to make choices about whether we’re going to invest in money or God, because we can’t do both; and teaches us to stop worrying because it does no good, and ends with the challenge to make our #1 priority to be about God’s business and to serve God’s purposes, and everything else will take care of itself. My hunch is that Jesus wants us to pray and fast and help others to get clear about all of this, to see things we might otherwise miss, and to know truly and deeply what really matters and to walk that Way, thanks be to God.
-2017, David M. Hindman, soli Deo gloria.

“Ready or Not…” Sermon Based on Isaiah 11:1-10 and Matthew 3:1-12

TWO IMPORTANT NOTES:
1. This sermon is based on two scripture lessons for the 2nd Sunday in Advent. To more fully understand the sermon, you should read the two texts:
and
2. IN ADDITION, you should click on the link at the end of the sermon to hear a version of the song sung immediately following the sermon (the final paragraph of the sermon serves as a bridge).
          This is the best of all possible worlds. At least that’s what an 18th century German Christian philosopher thought. You’ve probably never heard of Gottfried Leibniz unless you were stuck in a required philosophy course in college, or that’s your last name, and every family reunion is an opportunity to remind folks that you have a connection to him. Leibniz’s thinking went like this: if God is all good and all loving and all knowing and all powerful, this has to be the best of all possible worlds. There is evil in the world, but no more or less than needed to inspire us to goodness. It’s like Goldilocks: not too much or too little, just right.
          But like Goldilocks, it’s a fairy tale. Most philosophers haven’t bought his argument. The best-known and funniest critique came from one of his contemporaries, French writer Voltaire. His satirical novel and its main character have the same name, Candide. As the story begins Candide’s young, innocent and optimistic, but through a crazy series of unfortunate events he moves from a sunny trust that this is the best of all possible worlds to a dark and dismal belief that all you can do is keep your head down and mind your own business.
          I suspect most of us aren’t persuaded either: this is not the best of all possible worlds. Many Americans have just come through a most trying and difficult time– celebrating Thanksgiving at a table where half the relatives think the savior has come in the president-elect and the other half think he’s the anti-Christ; I’m reminded of the woman who warned prior to the meal that if anyone brought up politics she’d personally drown them in the gravy boat. But most may agree that our political system gives breaks to the rich and powerful while the rest of us get the shaft.
          We’re not alone in feeling that the world’s gone off its tracks. This summer United Kingdom voters approved Brexit and leaving the European Union, and all sides were gobsmacked. Today in Austria a deeply contentious and close election is taking place; according to a news source half the voters are increasingly struggling to understand the other half. Many are beginning to wonder if democracy can survive our tumultuous times.
          On smaller but awful scale, last week I read about Yemeni refugees caught in the conflict between Yemen and Saudi Arabia. A mom and dad with several children had to decide: do we use our limited money for medical costs to save a sick child or to feed the others? In the end they decided one would die to save the rest; how do you live with such terrible choosing?*
          In recent weeks in Williamsburg there’s been heated debate about group homes for the mentally ill, with potential neighbors concerned about falling home values or safety. Last week a resident of one of the homes left a suicide note on her bed, went to a local playground and hanged herself.** I wonder if she would’ve done that anyway, or if her darkness grew deeper because she came to believe people like her are frightening or worth less than a piece of property. There was also a 69 year old man arrested for possessing child pornography*** and a dead woman stuffed in a dumpster****. Then there are the everyday traumas: sickness or troubling medical reports, family conflict or divorce, abuse in many forms, a rising tide of vulgarity and disrespect, and horrors we no longer notice, like 15,000 children dying each day from lack of food and basic health care, or more gun related deaths in two years than in two decades in Vietnam. This is not the best of all possible worlds, and we know it deep in our souls.
          But as people of faith, deep in our souls we also know another reality. We’ve been told another story with another vision of the world ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven, made new. The Bible has many visions and images portraying that wonderful new thing: swords beaten in plowshares, spears into pruning hooks, instruments of death transformed into tools to cultivate life. Today Isaiah describes a wonderfully changed world led by an ideal ruler utterly guided by God’s Spirit. He always does what’s right; he sees clearly and seeks first and foremost to do God’s will; he judges wisely for the well-being of all, not just a few. In that best of all possible worlds not only human relations are healed and healthy; the whole creation is blessed and at peace. Leopards and baby goats, wolves and lambs are at peace; cows and bears live in harmony; innocent children play safely and unafraid; “they will not hurt or destroy” because the world is as full of the knowledge of God as the ocean is full of water.
          For us followers of Christ that new day and that better world has already begun to take shape in the life, death and resurrection of Christ. It might not look like much, like a nearly unnoticed sprig of green growing out of a tree stump. But for us the hopes and dreams of all the years are met in him; he is that leader filled with Holy Spirit Isaiah saw. Ready or not, he’s the One who comes to show us how to live truly and well, how to love one another, how to humbly serve and forgive and walk a better way. In him that best of all possible worlds has begun to take shape, both in him and in us learning his ways and living his life.
          In Isaiah’s vision the promised coming one is filled with God’s Holy Spirit; that’s how he is able to live in line with God’s will and be the standard bearer for that better way. But did you notice something really important in today’s Gospel story? John the Baptist announces that God’s Empire is taking over; it’s coming ready or not, but if we’re paying attention we’ll get our lives lined up with that new reality. It’s already knocking at the door, coming through someone bringing fire and Holy Spirit. Fire to burn away in us what’s cheap or worthless or not essential; fire to heal and make us pure and holy; and Holy Spirit to give us the strength and power to live a different way, the Jesus way, and to bear good fruit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. What a gift: we also have a part to play in that new creation taking shape.
          We think we can’t live the Jesus way; on our own we can’t. But Christ comes bringing Holy Spirit power beyond our own so the life that lives in him can be seen in us. That’s what John the Baptist calls us to do: to repent, to go a different way with a different set of eyes and priorities and values and actions following the better Way of the God who comes to us in Christ. Ready or not, he comes.
          The world may not be ready for this new way but I am; I hope you are, too. It’s not an easy way: it put Jesus on a cross. But it’s also a way of joy. The best of all possible worlds comes in small ways and unexpected places as we take up our cross and follow.
          That best of all possible worlds comes at this Table. I love communion because here we lay aside our differences and become one in Christ; even in the presence of our enemies God prepares a feast to give and receive Christ’s peace and love at a Table set for all.
          That best of all possible worlds comes as the Holy Spirit guides and helps us to be peacemakers in the midst of strife and harsh words and feelings, or we opt for humility and make a mockery of pride and arrogance, or we choose peace by working for justice, or we speak up and stand with any who feel threatened or at risk or afraid because they’re different or live on the margins. Ready or not, Christ comes here and now in the hungry poor, the stranger or the immigrant refugee family fleeing like Christ’s fled Herod; ready or not Christ comes in those imprisoned in mind or body or spirit; every kind word returned for meanness, every act of gentleness to tone down anger, every choice to listen instead of shout, every mercy shown, every forgiveness offered is a Holy Spirit empowered commitment to live now in Christ.
          Such things aren’t easy, but with God all things are possible. We can’t do them on our own; we need God’s fiery Holy Spirit and each other. We need the church so we can keep hearing and telling these stories and seeing these visions; we need one another to hold us accountable and challenge and help us walk that better way. These habits of the heart we learn and practice together change us, and the world. God’s Empire comes; God’s will is done on earth as it is in heaven. The best of all possible worlds takes shape and becomes real, here, now.
          It feels like we’re in the midst of a terrific turmoil and tumult, thunder and lightning waking us in the night. But here’s the promise and the hope we have in Christ – the great storm’s over; its power’s been broken in Christ’s coming. A better day’s already dawning: sweetness in the air, justice on the wind. Can you smell Christ’s sweetness in the Spirit’s bracing breeze? The deaf shall have music, the blind new eyes; release for the captives, an end to the wars; new streams in the desert, new hope for the poor. Like a mother the church sings to us of a love that has conquered the powers of hell, and will keep singing till the Bridegroom Christ’s final return. Sisters and brothers let go your fear; the Lord loves his own and still comes near, so lift up your wings, and fly, and live, thanks be to God.
2016, David M. Hindman, soli Deo gloria.

Thanksgiving on the Cusp of Advent

(PERSONAL NOTE: The last Sunday in the church year can focus either on Thanksgiving or on Christ the King as it anticipates the beginning of the new year and the season of Advent. This year’s Epistle text for November 20 could be used for Thanksgiving or Christ the King with its focus on giving thanks and the nearness of God. What follows is my musing on that text and how those two aspects of reality might relate to one another.)
“The Lord is near; do not be anxious, but in everything make your requests known to God in prayer and petition with thanksgiving. Then the peace of God, which is beyond all understanding, will guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus.”  (Philippians 4:5b-7, REB)
          It sounds too easy, “in everything make your requests known to God in prayer and petition with thanksgiving.” This is not something you simply will yourself to do; it is not as easy to learn as your ABCs. Sometimes we preachers speak glibly about this challenging, daunting imperative issued by St. Paul; we turn gratitude into yet another thing we must do if we are to be good Christians, and as a result we are given yet one more reason to feel guilty because we don’t measure up to this high standard. Apparently we can’t pull ourselves up by our own spiritual bootstraps, so if we are not able in everything to be thankful, it’s our fault or our own failure of faith, or a spiritual work we are too weak to accomplish.
          But seriously!? In all things pray with thanksgiving? How is that possible? How is that possible for Syrian refugees who have fled for their lives only to meet a wall of hostility and suspicion? How is that possible for the Palestinian farmer whose olive trees have just been bulldozed by Israeli Defense Forces with no excuse needed or legal recourse available? How is that possible for the person wrongly imprisoned but lacking funds to pursue DNA testing and the needed legal counsel? How is that possible for the mother mourning her dead child, or the man who recently received the news that his cancer has returned and he needs to get his affairs in order? How can a child of color or a GLBTQ young adult or a Muslim give thanks in all times and all places when their welcome and place in society is not as sure and certain as it was a month ago?   There are times when we cannot on our own imagine giving thanks always, and the thought of doing so dries our mouth, clogs our throat, and turns God once again into a cruel taskmaster who asks the impossible of us.
          Perhaps that is the clue. It is not left solely to us; such gratitude is not a task but a promise; not a burden but a blessed gift. Perhaps the solution to the riddle is found in the beginning of the text: “The Lord is near.” Perhaps that is how we can be thankful; we are not alone and the Lord is near us even in our most godforsaken circumstances. It is a great mystery, but a deep truth – when we feel most abandoned, alone and forgotten, God is most near to console, comfort, strengthen and encourage. One of the most powerful scenes in the Jesus story, as told by Mark and Matthew, is when Jesus on the cross cries in agony and despair, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And yet it is there that an onlooker is persuaded that he truly is God’s Son, God’s messenger to us, God with us in the flesh. As a modern affirmation puts it, “In life, in death, in life beyond death, we are not alone; God is with us. Thanks be to God.”
          In seminary one of my professors told the story of receiving news on Christmas Eve that a young father in the church had died suddenly and unexpectedly while shopping that afternoon; now he was needed to go to the man’s home to break the news to his children and wife. My professor recalled walking with a heavy heart up the sidewalk toward the house bright with decorations and lights; through the glass door he could see children scampering before the tree, awaiting with expectation and excitement the father who would not be coming home. With one word my mentor knew he could destroy their Christmas joy, their hopes and dreams, and extinguish the light in their lives. But he also knew another Word that could somehow see them through: Immanuel, God with us. The father would not be returning home, but by God’s grace and generosity they knew a Father who would love and comfort and strengthen them and would never leave or forsake them, even in their most forsaken time.
          It is that nearness that allows us to be grateful – not for every thing that happens to us but for the promise that we are not alone and today’s disappointment and distress will not have the final say in our lives. The Lord is near; there is another Actor on the stage beyond us and today’s terrors, and beside us with a mystical holy Presence and in the nearness of others in Christ’s Body we have been given to “bear the load and hold the Christ light for us.” The Lord is near – somehow we are given a gift to know and trust that promise – and can count on other faithful folks to claim that hope for us and to trust it for us when our faith is frail and our hope is dim. And the promise is not that we can achieve all this on our own – we can’t. The promise is that as we lean into those everlasting arms and rest in that near Presence, we are given one more gift – peace that is beyond our understanding and comprehension, but real nevertheless, to guard our hearts and minds and see us through. And for that we can always give thanks.

On the Road to Another All Saints Day: Musings on Death and Resurrection

With some regularity, I receive email postings about the death of some pastor or other church leader, announcing, “So and so claimed the resurrection promise…” I don’t mean to be crass, but the image that comes to mind is of someone standing at the grocer’s deli counter ready to claim their turn at ordering cheese or meat, or a shopper at a holiday bazaar stopping by the information booth to claim their prize because their name was chosen and called over the public address system. Little or no grace is involved; everything is routine, almost contractual and obligatory and without surprise. Certainly no breathtakingly mysterious or stunningly unexpected awe is present, nor is there much overwhelmingly joyous gratitude.   “So and so claimed the promise of resurrection…” Yawn.

In a similar way I read obituaries in which it is confidently claimed that the deceased is certainly now in heaven, enjoying all the blessings of the eternal celestial realm. And in all these moments I wonder, “How do they know that?” What is the source of this certainty that leaves no room for doubt and simply takes for granted that the claims are true and this is, in fact, their new reality?

I ask the questions not to be a curmudgeon but simply because these assumptions and claims seem to be contrary to my understanding of Christian scripture and tradition. At the very least they exhibit a level of pride and confidence that exceeds the limits and boundaries we can take for granted as finite, mortal creatures.   Such claims take for granted assumptions I do not share as a person of faith, and I confess I believe to presume on divine prerogatives.

Truth be told, we Christian clergy share some of the blame for this spirit of entitlement in the face of death. Because of my age and station in life, with some regularity I attend funerals held in churches or led by Christian clergy who seemingly gloss over or ignore the reality of the death of the deceased. Typically, they glide quickly past naming the reality that the person is as dead as a doornail, leaving a hole in our lives or a ton of unresolved issues. Instead of praying for grace and mercy, there seems little or no need for such things because the deceased was such a stellar being. Instead of naming the truth that most of us are a mixture of good and evil, strengths and weaknesses, times of unmitigated failure and disaster as well as moments of triumph, the paradox of who we are truly is deleted and replaced with some holograph of pure light, joy and beauty.

That is not my life, and so such sentiments ring falsely hollow for me. I also know of funeral events in which I listened to glowing words about the deceased from friends who were utterly ignorant of the deep shadow side of the person in the coffin. These speakers needed forgiveness because truly did not know what they were doing; if they did they would have been much more cautious, humble and circumspect in their words.

Instead of proclaiming the remarkable gospel that acknowledges the awful truth of the death and destruction of our entire being as creatures and whose only hope of something more is by God’s grace and God’s gift of life, I often hear easy words that assure the gathered that of course this person has reaped a bonanza of life. We glibly are told we celebrate their life because they were so wonderful that we know without a doubt that they are now with loved ones, doing their favorite things, having a high old time – often in a heaven that seems to be remarkably devoid of God. Why would God be needed or even relevant to the life pleasantly assumed now to be lived by the dearly departed, when the prize is easily and readily claimed? This is an entitlement program that outshines all others.

Despite all these confidently expressed sentiments by clergy and other people of faith and good will, I am not so sanguine. Christian scripture often seems to acknowledge that we are finite creatures, bound by space and time, living souls who are but dust and return to dust. Unlike ancient Greek thought, in the Hebrew mind we are not immortal souls temporarily inhabiting physical bodies so that at death the body goes into the ground and the soul flies off to a spiritual realm. We don’t have souls, we are living souls inspirited and made alive by God’s Spirit, and when that Spirit is taken from us, we are entirely dead, utterly lifeless and, on our own, completely hopeless and powerless to change that reality. We are like shadows gradually vanishing as the memory of us fades among the living; all those who remember us eventually will join us in the realm of the dead until none alive will know us or remember the place we once filled in the land of the living.

Add to that the biblical concept that our lives are judged, weighed and assessed by the Eternal One who lives in light inaccessible, whose ways are not our ways and thoughts are not like ours. This Judge of all the earth seemingly measures our lives by the integrity and depth of our love for God and for one another. What seems to weigh significantly in the scales of divine justice is how we treat the most vulnerable and weak – the poor, the hungry and marginalized, the thirsty and naked, the sick and imprisoned, refugees and immigrants, our suffering and dying sisters and brothers who also are children of Adam and of God.

In contrast, my life is typically focused on getting and having and enjoying myself, and distancing myself as far as possible from the wretched of the earth as I secure my future on my own, doing as I please with my life without much regard for others or the Holy One who also gave them life. If my life is that misdirected on such a scale, how can I presume on God’s good graces just because I think God should do so? If all my days I have rarely or only peripherally focused on the things that make for life, how can I be assured of, or cavalierly presume I will spend eternity with One who is so Other than I?

The writers of the New Testament are seemingly more circumspect and humble in attitude. They speak of resurrection hope, not because they are entitled but because of God’s undeserved mercy, grace, generosity, love and unfettered freedom. St. Paul speaks of hoping to be raised with Christ to new life, but that humble hope is framed in the context of him also having suffered with Christ. Our life in life and death and life beyond death seem cut to the pattern of cross and resurrection, the style of suffering love wed to joyful trust worn by Christ.

For St. Paul in particular, it also seems that if there is a resurrected life it is lived as we are incorporated into Christ’s life. For him there is no life apart from the life of Christ into which he hopes one day to be mystically joined. That is why Christians can speak confidently of “the communion of saints.” That communion of the living and the dead is composed of all who abide in Christ and make a home in Christ. There may be a veil separating today’s enfleshed disciples and those who are asleep in Christ, but they all are one in Christ, and alive in Him. For us who claim that Christ is our life, there is no life apart from His life, and there is no communion of these living and dead outside of Him.

That resurrected life does not necessarily automatically and fully commence at the moment of death; in his most extended reflection on the resurrected life (1 Corinthians 15) St. Paul assumes that at death, all fall into the deep sleep of death until the end of time when at the final resurrection happens, finally death is defeated and those who belong to Christ are raised to life – but until then death remains our enemy even if vanquished by Christ alone (and no one else) when God raised Christ from the dead as the first fruit of resurrection (but not the whole harvest, for which we wait with hope).

St. Augustine suggests that in the realm of eternity time and space are no longer relevant and past, present and future collapse into one reality, but all this is mystery beyond my comprehension. What happens when we die? I do not know for certain. But I have seen something of the One who does know in the face of Christ, and so I can rest content in that mystery. I need not know, because I am fully known.

If there is resurrection, it is gift, unmerited favor and grace. We can await resurrection with humble hope, but not because we said the sinner’s prayer or we lived an exceptional life or we are entitled, but because of what we know of God. Our confidence is not in ourselves but in that God who is a God of life and love beyond our deserving; this God is full of surprises and able to do more than we think, dream or imagine. If we live in hope, it is not because we are good or great, but because God is, and has proven reliable to any and all who call humbly on God’s name and do not rely on their own strength but on the strength of the Holy One.

That seems a more fitting attitude for us who, even in our living, are in the midst of death. Come what may, in life or in death, whatever the future holds, we can rest confident that God’s love is great. We live and die in that love, and so we trust the mystery that all will be well, all will be well, and all manner of thing will be well – even if we do not know the shape it will take in God’s good time and wisdom. Knowing we live in God’s love is all we have. But in life and in death and life beyond death (whatever that means), that is enough.  That also allows us to leave in God’s good hands the rest of the story for those who do not follow Christ but are also God’s beloved.  I am content to let God be God because I know I am not.

Instead of “claiming the resurrection promise,” perhaps a more appropriate aspiration would be for it to be claimed of us that we “died peaceful and unafraid, in the hope of resurrection.” So may it be for all who trust the God whose life and love we have seen in Christ Jesus, his Son, our Lord.

Further Reflections on Dressing for Church

A good sermon engages the listener so s/he continues to think about it long after the final hymn, the benediction and postlude, and the drive home.  Such was the case for me today.

The text was Colossians 3:12-17:

“As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly; teach and admonish one another in all wisdom; and with gratitude in your hearts sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.”

The preacher rightly and wisely noted that in our baptism, we are clothed in Christ and Christ’s ways, and these virtues should be our attire at all times and in all places – compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, patience, forbearance, forgiveness, gratitude, and above all, love.

For me, the belt that holds all this together is love, and the concluding  injunction summarizes it all: “Whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus.”

The name.  Names define us; they shape us, tell us who we are, identify us both as unique and part of a larger community.  We know ourselves by name; we are known to others by that name; we know we belong when we are known and called by name.  We are no longer strangers, but friends; no longer alone but in community.

The name of the Lord Jesus.  When we act in that name, live in that name, are known by that name, we are defined, formed, self-aware, identified with a particular people – the Body of Christ, the followers of the Jesus Way.  And when we speak or act in the name of the Lord Jesus, we are confessing that Christ has first place in our lives; his is the voice we heed above all others; we act and speak on his behalf; and we re-present him and incarnate him afresh in the world where we live for him.  When we act in that name, live in that name, are known by that name, we are defined, formed, self-aware, identified with a particular person who lived a particular way – Jesus – a first century Jew who put God first in his life; loved God above all else; loved his neighbor recklessly, extravagantly, prodigiously, widely, deeply, passionately, boundlessly, and graciously in the Name of God, i.e., the way God loves us, thereby living up to HaShem, the Name above all names.

In that Name, Jesus incarnates for us other ways of God – mercy, compassion, forgiveness, kindness, patience, gentleness, forbearance, humility (the Mighty One, blessed be the Name, gives us freedom to turn toward or away, to be in relationship or not, to choose evil as well as good, even when that breaks the Divine Heart), healing, truth, wisdom, and above all, love.  To be clothed in such virtues is to be truly well-clothed in the classic fashion that never wears out, is always in season, and never goes out of style.

When I was a child, as was the case stated by the other pastor during today Children’s Time, I could always count on getting clothes for Christmas.  Like the pastor, that was rarely my favorite gift as a child.  But “now that I am an adult I have given up childish ways” (1 Corinthians 13:11); I know there is wisdom in receiving such gifts; there is Another who loves me and who knows that what is best for me is not always what I want, but what I need.  I may not always be thrilled to be asked – or expected- to put on forgiveness or patience or kindness or humility (especially in a culture preening itself on pride and self-determination) or all the rest, but in the end, this is the apparel that presents me at my best, and leads me to be at my best.  Indeed, when I am preparing to get dressed in my best attire, I may dread it or moan about it or think it is too much work; but in the end, when the tie is tied and the coat is put on, I feel better, special, uplifted; I find the experience surprisingly but deeply satisfying; and in the company of my wife I feel like I am thoroughly – inside and out – honoring her by showing that I want to be the best I can be so she will be pleased to be in my presence and not embarrassed by it.

I think that applies when we are clothed with these Christlike virtues as well.  They transform us and honor the One to whom our lives are wed as Christ’s Bride (the Church) so He is pleased to be in our presence and is not embarrassed by us or ashamed that we bear His Name.

Typically, as a child the clothes I received as gift each year did not fit; but that was OK in my parents’ opinion.  “You’ll grow into them” was both expectation and promise.  In the same way, discipleship is the expectation and promise that while our lives currently may be too small for the virtues given by the Giver, by grace and the power of the Holy Spirit we will grow into them as we grow up into Christ (Ephesians 4:14 ff.) until we are fit to wear them and they fit us well.

Even today, clothing is an issue for me. There are some things that simply do not go together, and I need my wife to tell me what is appropriate and matches; which combinations do not go together; and the ensembles that never, ever should be worn or seen in public.  There simply are some things that clash with being clothed in Christ: hurtful violence in word or deed; keeping grudges; prejudice; complacency in the face of suffering or poverty; silence before injustice or oppression; seeking revenge; indifference to holiness; mindless spending of time or treasure; selfishness; prideful arrogance; hatred or indifference are never in the wardrobe; they just don’t go.

That’s why I need Church, the community of faith and fellow aficionados of holy attire to hold me accountable; remind me of what season it is and what attire is most appropriate to each setting; tell me the truth when I have a wardrobe malfunction; and inspire me to look my best as Christ’s man. “Clothing makes the man, makes the person,” said today’s preacher and he is right.  Clothing makes the disciple, the follower of Christ, so that we are known as belonging to Him, and being clothed in the virtues presented in the scripture define us, make us who we say we are.

In athletics we know who is on our side, working to achieve the same aims and moving in the same direction.  And we also can clearly see who is not, who is standing in our way or seeking to thwart our efforts to achieve the victory we hope to win.  What distinguishes one from the other is the clothing they wear; the uniform apparel with which they are adorned.

“Who is on the Lord’s side?”  (Exodus 32:26).  Those whose uniform, whose one form, is being formed in Christ’s patience, mercy, kindness, gratitude, forbearance, and all the rest.   That is the winning side, the one to which I want to belong:  the arc of history will bend toward justice; faith, hope and love will prevail; mercy and truth will meet, righteousness and peace will embrace; suffering and sighing will pass away.