Rejoice!? Always!? Seriously!? Sermon Based on Philippians 4:1-9

Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved. I urge Euodia and I urge Syntyche to be of the same mind in the Lord. Yes, and I ask you also, my loyal companion, help these women, for they have struggled beside me in the work of the gospel, together with Clement and the rest of my co-workers, whose names are in the book of life. Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you. -Philippians 4:1-9 (NRSV)
          Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice! Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice! Rejoice! Rejoice! And again I say, rejoice! Rejoice! Rejoice! And again I say, rejoice!
          That Vacation Bible School song sung as a round came to mind when I read this week’s scripture. Especially when sung the customary four times by four groups you’re surrounded with the demand: rejoice, rejoice, rejoice, rejoice, rejoice, rejoice, rejoice, rejoice!
          That first came to mind, but then came, really? Rejoice always? How’s that even possible? Isn’t that more than we can bear? Maybe such sweetness and light’s possible in a make believe place where purple dinosaurs named Barney live singing, If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops? Oh what a rain that would be. Standing outside with my mouth open wide. Ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh.
          But we don’t live there. Telling someone to rejoice always can be cruel. Who’d say rejoice always to families of Las Vegas’ dead and wounded? Or our fellow Americans in Puerto Rico after two hurricanes, or Houston folks destroyed by three 500-year floods in three years?
          I couldn’t say rejoice always several years ago when my to friend’s son committed suicide; I can’t say that you now you after unexpected deaths of two church pillars in a week. Our land’s divided over race or politics in deeply unsettling ways; we seem closer to nuclear war than we’ve been in 55 years. Rejoice always? Seriously? That call seems, well, nuts, and unhinged from reality.
          Except, we’re those people who stand under the cross. There, instead of seeing weakness, failure, foolishness and death there, we experience God’s power, victory, wisdom and life. We’re those odd people who hear an odd scripture word and trust it’s still true for us.
          And today’s word comes oddly from prison, not from some keys to happiness book written in a cozy study with a warm hearth-side fire. Paul’s life hangs in the balance; he expects he’ll be executed and isn’t sure he’ll ever see the light of day again or his friends’ faces. On top of that, some so-called friends and co-workers are making his life as wretched as possible. This Paul says rejoice always; maybe we should pay attention. He knows something good for us.
          When I think about Paul in prison, two other prisons come to mind. One is in 1945 Germany. A young pastor and theologian named Dietrich Bonhoeffer is there. A prison cell’s been his home for three years because of his part in a plot to assassinate Adolph Hitler. Soon the Third Reich will collapse in blood and fire. But on this April morning, direct orders have come from Hitler. This 39 year-old pacifist Christian is ordered from his cell one final time; Bonhoeffer’s stripped of his dignity and clothes, and he’s hanged in a prison courtyard. His final words are simple. “This is the end – for me, the beginning of life.” And I imagine him going to the gallows singing quietly, Rejoice in the Lord, always, and again I say, rejoice!
          The other prison’s closer to home; Greensville Correctional Center in Jarratt, Virginia, a medium-security prison that’s home to 3,000 souls. For nearly 15 years I’ve had the honor and privilege occasionally to worship there; each time I’ve been stunned and humbled on a Sunday evening by the sheer joy in the Lord expressed by 150 or so brothers in Christ, especially when a song like this is sung: I’m trading my sorrows; I’m trading my shame; I’m laying them down for the joy of the Lord. I’m trading my sickness, I’m trading my pain; I’m laying them down for the joy of the Lord. When they sing in surrender with delight, Yes, Lord, yes, Lord, yes, yes, Lord; yes, Lord, yes, Lord, yes, yes, Lord; yes, Lord, yes, Lord, yes, yes, Lord, Amen!; when they bow in prayer or receive the Lord’s Supper; it’s a holy time and place. Those so-called prisoners are more free in Christ than many of us. We’re locked up by custom or tradition or being proper, afraid to let our guard down or let someone see our weakness or wounds, our fears or failures.
          How can they rejoice? How can we? Paul can help. The first thing he says today is, “Therefore.” Our lesson begins as another part of the conversation is ending. A few verses earlier Paul’s written wonderful words of life: our true home is with God; for the baptized our real and full allegiance is not to the Commonwealth of Virginia, but the commonwealth of heaven. That’s how young Pastor Bonhoeffer can go to the scaffold rejoicing; he trusts he’s entering in a new way that commonwealth that death cannot defeat. That commonwealth’s governor is not Terry McAullife; the one who presides and rules that realm is not Adolph Hitler or Donald Trump; our Governor and Lord is Jesus; no one else. Our first and final loyalty is to him; our true home isn’t a prison, but in Christ alone. On the way Paul promises that Christ will transform our lives so they look like Christ’s and mirror his ways, and in the end, all will be well; all creation will be healed and made new; and Christ will be all in all.
          We have God’s word on it so now Paul says, “Therefore, stand firm in the Lord in this way.” You know where the world’s going and God’s grand vision for you, so stand firm; build your life on Christ’s life so he is seen in you, in ways both great and small. For example, here Paul urges two women to stop feuding for Christ’s sake; instead of seeking their own way they’re to seek Christ’s way and to make up their minds to be of the same mind in the Lord, to have his attitude and go his way. And all those receiving this letter have a part to play. They’re not to stand idly by or enjoy the fight; they’re to help heal. When we are in Christ, we live in him together; if we live in Christ, we submit to him as head of the household and stay close to one another to stay close to him, even when it’s hard. But with Christ, nothing is impossible.
          That’s how we rejoice: we rejoice in the Lord. We don’t rejoice in all that life brings, but in the Lord’s goodness and mercy and grace and love and kindness and forgiveness and life-giving healing power and a thousand other wonders; we rejoice in God’s nearness and promise never to leave us or forsake us, not even behind prison walls. There’s nothing that can separate us from the love of God we’ve seen in Christ Jesus, nothing. Even when terribly awful things happen, God is still at work for our good. So worry and anxiety don’t have to be the final word for us; they don’t have to rule our lives. We can be gentle and generous toward others because God has given us those same good gifts. We trust this same God loves us so fiercely that we can share anything and everything with God and pray for help and guidance and for others with grateful hearts. That’s how we can rejoice, in the Lord, always, always.
          Then Paul takes it a step further. We’re promised peace that surpasses understanding as we stand firm in the Lord on a foundation that endures. Paul urges us, “Whatever is true or honorable, whatever is just or pure, whatever is pleasing or commendable, if there is any excellence or anything worthy of praise, fill your mind with those things: not with bitterness or fear or always being right or getting into someone’s business; not with what’s hurtful or mean or glittery or passing away. Focus and frame life on what honors God to draw closer to God’s ways in Christ, and the God of peace will be with you. That’s the promise and the good news.
          Bill was so focused; a college student with cancer, he took classes to the end. When he died one of those courses was on Death. He wrote in a textbook, “I don’t know why I’m suffering, or what good can come of my death. But I know God is not my enemy; God loves me and wants only good for me.” And as he died I imagine him singing, Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice. In our living and dying may we learn to sing that song, too.
-2017, David M. Hindman, soli Deo gloria.
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In All Things, Charity: A Sermon Based on Romans 14:1-12

One of my colleagues in campus ministry knows his faith is weak.  He’s not ashamed to confess that he doesn’t watch R-rated movies without checking with some of his soul friends or accountability partners.  Watching some such movies takes him to a place that’s not good for him as a disciple, and so he counts on friends giving him good advice.  They don’t judge him; they don’t think they’re better Christians than he because they don’t have such problems.  Every Christian needs to have such folks in our lives, who we can trust to watch over us in love and not judge or mock the ways we believe are best and faithful for us and to keep us company on Christ’s Way.

Paul knew about Christians with weak faith as well as strong, and he writes about them in today’s reading from his letter to the Christians in Rome. The weak eat only vegetables while the strong are meat and potatoes kind of folk; the weak put a priority on one day of the week as more sacred while the strong treat every day the same.  It might not sound like a big deal to us, but my friend who wonders about R-rated movies gets it.  What may not be a big deal for one can challenge another.

Being true to Christ in 1st century Rome’s more complicated than you think.  You don’t get your meat at the local grocer but from the local pagan temple, where it’s been sacrificed to a pagan god or to honor the emperor who’s honored like a god.  So the weak in faith don’t eat meat to show their utter loyalty to Christ; the strong eat whatever’s put in front of them because they know the gods aren’t real and Caesar only thinks he’s in charge.  In the same way the weak especially setting aside one day for God are perhaps honoring the Sabbath; or they know that pagans pay special attention to the moon’s cycle and particular days as having magical power or mystical importance. Again, they want to show their complete loyalty to Christ. And those with strong faith don’t fret it; they know all power comes from God, not the moon or the stars.

We don’t fuss and fume over those things, but we have real conflicts in the church over what does matter to us: drop down screens; contemporary vs. traditional worship; baptism by sprinkling, pouring or immersion; monthly or weekly Communion; meeting local needs or over there; how we interpret scripture; how we think and act on social issues as disciples; whether the flag should be allowed in an embassy of heaven and a sanctuary devoted to the Lord of all nations.

So how do we live together when faith leads us different ways?  Paul gives some very helpful advice.  First, don’t judge each other.  It’s not our place, or our job.  As Pope Francis responded when asked about homosexuality, “Who am I to judge another?” Paul reminds us that God has already accepted the person with whom we differ; they’re part of God’s posse, so who are we to question God’s commitment to them?  If you live your faith and life in Christ differently from me, what’s that to me?  You’re not my slave, but Christ’s.  I’m not your master; Christ is.  Whatever happens with your faith and life is Christ’s business, not mine, and Christ has the power to raise both of us to life.

Paul’s not saying anything goes.  How we live and trust in Christ matters.  My friend with weak faith clearly knows that. But we’re to think deeply and carefully and prayerfully about it means to be true to God’s will and purpose, and to act on our own convictions, in line with what we discern to be Christ’s Way.  I’m not at the center of your life; I’m not even at the center of my own life, to decide on my own all by myself how to live for Christ.  We both live to the Lord, for the Lord; we both belong to the Lord; our actions and attitudes are to please and honor Christ alone, not ourselves nor anyone else.  How I experience God’s work and will in my life may not be yours; my life doesn’t have to be the mirror image of yours.  But both our lives are to reflect the love and mercy and grace and healing power and light of Christ.  We’re not to judge one another but to love and honor each other in Christ.  In one translation of these verses, Paul seems to call out folks individually: “You then, why do you pass judgment on your fellow-Christian?  And you, why do you look down on your fellow-Christian?  We shall all stand before God’s tribunal; each of us will be answerable to God.”

I have enough trouble living faithfully myself without judging your discipleship.  Later in this chapter Paul advises, “Let’s make up our minds never to put a stumbling block or obstacle in a fellow-Christian’s way.  All I know is that the Lord Jesus convinces me that nothing is impure in itself.  The kingdom of God is justice, peace and joy, inspired by the Holy Spirit.  All who show themselves servants of Christ in this way are acceptable to God and receive human approval.”

Why does this matter?  We’re the only Bible some people will read; we’re the face of Christ some will most remember.  We convince the world the gospel’s true, or they decide it’s a lie, based on the evidence seen in our us. At the funeral of a dead relative, one of my cousins said, “She was the meanest Christian woman I know.”  Sadly there was some truth there.  Our relative was quite ready to be judge and jury to let you know where you’d gone wrong.  But that wasn’t her job, and her scowl was the face of Jesus some turned from.  Truth is, many folks won’t go near a church because we’re so judgmental. As Mahatma Gandhi said, “I like your Christ, but not your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”

Why does this matter?  When we judge others and build barriers there’s little room for love.  John Wesley knew that Christians sometimes were unable or unwilling to live in communion with one another and he said, “The pretenses and excuses for separation may be innumerable, but the lack of love is always the real cause.”

Why does this matter? When we lose our focus and misplace our priorities as disciples in Christ’s community, we fall into following the world’s familiar ways.  Can’t get along? Move to another neighborhood, go your separate ways, unfriend her, stop talking to him, get a divorce; demonize your opponent to win at all costs.  But that’s not Christ’s Way: he welcomed all, made room for a tax collector and a terrorist among his disciples, he was the friend of sinners, which includes me, and you.  Christian community reflects the life of the Triune God who is one in three and three in one, united but not identical. Such life together is an act of subversive resistance to the world and to those who conquer us by dividing us into parties and factions.  Wouldn’t it be great if our words of welcome in worship were to saints and sinners, regular pew sitters, those here for the first time or after a long time; married, single, divorced, young, old, straight, gay, Democrats, Libertarians, Republicans, members of the Tea Party, the Green Party, the Green Tea Party – more mellow, less irked: all welcomed by the Christ who died and rose for all; all welcomed because above all else we honor and serve the Christ who holds us together and meets us at his Table.  That’s Gospel truth, for sure.

Why does this matter?  Today we United Methodists are more at risk of giving up on each other than at any time since the Civil War when we could not find a way forward over slavery.  Those were not our best or more faithful days, but eventually the Spirit in love made us one once more.  Today we risk doing something similar with regard to sexuality.  In my entire ministry life, matters related to homosexuality have been debated, even fought over. Last year, our General Conference stepped back from the edge of division to establish the Commission on the Way Forward to discern if and how we might live together in mission and ministry, even in our differences.  The truth is, good and faithful friends of Jesus can deeply disagree and be deeply convicted that their understanding of faith and life is still valid.  Can we live together in Christ in that tension and diversity?  Can we trust and respect each other’s deepest convictions and commitments in Christ, even if yours is different from mine?  Can I admit I might be wrong or honor the truth you profess; can I see that there’s more to God than I know; that God’s ways are beyond my small ways; and we’re both accepted by God and Christ can make us both stand?

My friend Kara is a University Chaplain in the British Methodist Church.  This summer she visited an artist’s glassworks studio in a small English town and struck up a conversation with the owner, Jill.  Jill asked Kara what she does for a living.  Preachers can often be pegged, so Kara chose to say she works at a university in student welfare.  Jill asked about issues students face, and Kara said that in addition to typical ones like homesickness or relationships, students wrestle with some very complex issues around sexuality and gender identity.  That’s when Kara remembered she wasn’t in a particularly progressive part of England; Jill’s body language seemed to shift to a more aggressive position as she asked “And what do you think about that?”  Kara took a deep breath, looked at Jill and said, “Shakespeare said, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ So I think that just because I don’t understand it doesn’t mean it’s not real and true and painful for someone else.”  Jill stared at Kara for a very long time and then her demeanor softened as she said, ‘You must be very good at your job.’”  There was open grace and truth there, and humility and love, too.

John Wesley said, “If your heart is as my heart, give me your hand;” he also gave us this wisdom for life together in Christ’s church, “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things charity.  Paul could live with that.  May we do the same, thanks be to God.

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

A Sermon for Stephen Ministries Sunday, Based on Philippians 4:4-14 & Mark 10:46-52

          In my time at the Wesley Foundation, one of the yearly low-lights of orientation for new students was icebreakers: the important but endless activities helping students get to know each other and feel more at home on campus. By the end of orientation, students were too through.
          But one such icebreaker activity still stands out for me. It was done several times on a Sunday afternoon so every new student participated, but in smaller groups of 300 or so. It began with all the students on one side of the room; then the leader would call out a description and if it fit you, you moved to the other side of the room. It started out fairly tame: if you have blue eyes, move to the other side; if you’re from Virginia; if you’re Baptist; if you have siblings. Gradually the exercise dug deeper: if your parents are divorced; you’ve experienced the death of a peer; you know someone with cancer; someone mentally ill; someone with an addiction; is in an abusive relationship; who’s thought about suicide. Students became quieter, more pensive; they looked around to see who also moved with them, and saw they weren’t alone. Somebody knew the troubles they’d seen; there were tears, the occasional embrace or a knowing look; strangers saw they had more in common than they thought. True community began to form through the bonds of shared struggle. For me it was a moment of holiness born of vulnerability.
          It’d be interesting to get up right now and move into the Fellowship Hall to do a similar exercise, perhaps with other descriptions: if you’ve ever been bullied; concerned about health; dealing with dementia; in conflict with children or parents, or both. But we’ll have none of that; we prefer safe and predictable worship; we might go over an hour; oddly enough we fear the church is the last place to show our wounds, even as we claim to be disciples of the Christ whose wounds are still visible. But if we did such a thing and moved into that space, we probably would be stunned to see the wounds we bear. Some are still fresh; perhaps recently opened, or a scab’s broken-again. Even if our wounds are now scars, we know they’re there and some areas are still sensitive; all of us came limping here one way or another. And at least for some, there’s a lingering, longing wish that we were a community where wounds could be more easily shared.
          We live in a culture that tells us to be quiet, don’t make a mess, keep your troubles to yourself; we’re entered into an endless competition always to be the best, the brightest, the happiest, the most successful, the most beautiful and fit. That competition produces one of the most depressing parts of December: the Christmas letter from folks touting their great successes and accomplishments. Did you ever notice that when tough times came to folks’ lives, the letters stopped coming, too?
          For a younger generation the phenomenon of social comparison is linked to depression, low self-esteem, and jealousy. It’s the funk felt on Facebook or other social media when our humdrum lives bump up against our friends’ highlight reels of fun, parties with friends, and awesome vacations. Ugh.
          Thank God for another, more real and true story found in scripture. What a blessed relief to see that wounds are real; terrible things happen; life can be a mess; and that that isn’t the end of the story. As many a preacher has said, “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming. We know Good Friday’s darkness, but Easter dawns. The Crucified Jesus is also the Risen Lord. An imprisoned Paul on his way to Rome and possible execution writes to Christians in the town of Philippi, “Rejoice in the Lord always. Do not worry about anything, but in everything let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus;” then he is bold to say, “I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” We followers of Christ can sing this truth, “Forget your perfect offering/There is a crack, a crack, in everything/That’s how the light gets in.” (Leonard Cohen)
          Sisters and bothers, it’s OK, even a blessing, to own our brokenness and our need, and to cry out for help, even when good people around us tell us that’s in poor taste, or to shush up. It’s a blessing, because that’s how healing and transformation happen.
          Imagine how unsettled the crowd is around Bartimaeus when he begins to howl for help, “Jesus! Son of David, have mercy on me!” A bunch of folks tell him to put a sock in it, but desperately hopeful people do desperately hopeful things so he just cranks it up a notch, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” And then Jesus says, “Call him here.” Did you notice that? Jesus’ call doesn’t come directly from him but through the crowd. It’s the crowd that says, ”Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” Healing comes from Jesus, but through the caring help of those around Bartimaeus.
          Think of what would’ve been missed if Bartimaus had just shut up and stayed in his proper place. The crowd would’ve stayed distant and removed; they would’ve missed the opportunity to help healing happen. They would’ve missed seeing God’s amazing power transform a life. Bartimaeus would’ve stayed blind, he would’ve stayed put, begging on the sidelines, and he would’ve missed seeing the face of Jesus and the adventure of getting up to follow on the Way.
          For this gospel, following on the Way is not just walking a road; it’s following Jesus, being a disciple.  In Mark’s Gospel, Bartimaeus sees what the disciples hadn’t: following Jesus is about serving, not being served, finding life by giving it away, becoming great through suffering love. Bartimaeus was never the same.
          And I suspect that following Jesus led him to see that becoming like Jesus meant helping others also to experience healing and hope and new life. And I suspect the crowd was never the same, either. Because of what they saw and said that day, they knew they’d had a part in God’s work of healing a life.
          That’s our calling and promise, too. What happened with that crowd and Bartimaeus can still happen here in this place, where Jesus also stands. Indeed, it happens, every week.
          When I left the Wesley Foundation to become the pastor of the United Methodist Church at Randolph-Macon College, I was thankful that dedicated Stephen Ministers were there; we became a ministry team as I offered first response to need, and they followed with long term care as I went to the next crisis. We knew that together we were the care-givers, but God was the Curer. Here too, each week, Stephen Ministry care-givers serve their care-receivers.
          But it isn’t one-way. Blessing comes to all. Any Stephen Minister will tell you they get as much or more out of the humble gift of being allowed into the most fragile parts of a person’s life. They know God guides and helps them; the ministry is simply beyond their ability. They’ll tell you it’s a holy thing to be Christ’s instrument of transformation in a life, and to sense Christ at work through their flesh and blood. Wouldn’t you want to experience Christ alive in such a way?
          And any Stephen Minister will tell you God works in their life through the care-receiver they serve. Every gift of the Spirit has grown in them, especially peace, patience, kindness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. This ministry’s changed them; they’re more open to others and willing to share their deepest selves, more ready to be still, to wait, to listen. One Stephen Minister confessed, “Christ has developed parts of me I didn’t know I had.” Watch out: put yourself at God’s disposal and you don’t know what’ll happen. But trust me, it’ll all be good, for others, and you. Perhaps God is working on someone right here and now with a challenge and call to let God do such things again. Maybe that call is to you.
          A Stephen Minister here told me she’d once been a care-receiver and it was such a gift in her need that she felt called to share that gift with someone else. Mutual blessing happens when we become wounded healers together in Christ. From prison Paul wrote to the Philippians, “It was kind of you to share my distress.” Paul had birthed that church and helped them come to Christ. Now in his need they were the ones to offer help as mutual care and ministry were given.
          Some years ago I was one of the pallbearers for a friend and mentor who’d died. We were seated in the church together and during the singing of the opening hymn, at one time or another each of us broke down in grief. But the song kept on; others sang for us until we could again join in singing when sadness silenced other voices. That’s what it means to be the Body of Christ: sometimes we serve, sometimes we’re served; in all times and places we all join love’s sweet harmony; we hold the Christ light for each other until we can see clearly the Christ who helps us all follow the Way that leads to life, thanks be to God.
-2017, David M. Hindman, soli Deo gloria.

For a Week Like This: Sermon Based on Matthew 14:22-33; Romans 10:5-15

For the scripture texts, go here: http://bible.oremus.org/?passage=Romans+10%3A5-15&vnum=yes&version=nrsv
and here: http://bible.oremus.org/?passage=Matthew+14%3A22-33&vnum=yes&version=nrsv
          For decades the best news many heard each week was from Lake Wobegon “where all the women are strong, all the men are good looking and all the children are above average.” I bet many would’ve been thrilled this past week if our biggest news was that there were too many tomatoes in people’s gardens. Instead we’ve had a steady diet of bellicose bombast from US and North Korean leaders and updates from Charlottesville about the most recent protest by KKK members, neo-Nazis, and other white supremacists, and news of subsequent deaths and injuries. If we ever needed to hear different news, especially the odd and radically different good news of the Gospel, this would be it.
          But at such a time, today’s assigned texts seem irrelevant, even ludicrous. Our reading from Paul’s letter to the Romans is part of a larger, three chapter long soul-searching struggle: if Jesus really is God’s main man for setting things right between God and us and showing us how to live truly with one another, why haven’t Christ’s own people and Paul’s faith family bought in? If Jesus really is true, why don’t God’s chosen and favored people, the Jews, see the light?
          This isn’t a little mind game for Paul; it causes him anguish, grief. The Jews are God’s uniquely chosen and adopted; they experience God’s glory and presence in a matchless relationship of worship and commitment; he says, “to them belong the promises, the favored faith ancestors; from them has come the chosen Messiah who is over all, God blessed forever.”
          How did things go wrong? A few verses before our reading Paul affirms that his fellow Jews have real love and devotion for God. The problem is that they don’t truly get who God is or how to be in a right relationship with God. The truth is that often we don’t get it, either.
          Paul says there are two ways to be right with God and each other. One is to keep the rules, cross all the t’s, dot all the i’s. In other words, prove we’re worthy of God’s love and deserve special favor and treatment. Paul writes, “Moses writes about the righteousness that comes from the law, that the person who does these things will live by them;’” or as another translation puts it, “a person can become acceptable to God by obeying God’s Law in scripture; if you want to live you must do all that the Law commands.”
          At my age I go to lots of funerals; I often hear about how great and good a person was, so there’s no question: they’ve earned their heavenly reward. On the other hand, many young folks believe in so-called moralistic therapeutic deism: there is a God who created everything and watches over us but isn’t too involved in life, except when we need help with a problem; this God wants us to be good, nice, play fair, be happy and feel good about ourselves; and if we do that we’ll go to heaven when we die. Truth be told, many learned that in Sunday School and in countless children’s sermons. And in between youth and age, it’s tempting to believe we’re God’s favorites because we work hard, or get the best grades or the most Instagram likes, or live in the right area or are the right color or gender or live in the best nation or chose the right religion; we even believe that people are poor because they deserve it, which means I deserve being well off. I’ve earned it, by God. We create a world of winners and losers, them and us, insiders and outsiders, chosen and rejected. But it’s life on a very shaky foundation. If we’re not always and everywhere the absolute best bringing our A Game, then confidence and entitlement evaporate. What if we’re not good enough, smart enough, hard working enough? There’s no rest or real joy; we only have disquiet, stress, fear as we anxiously look over the shoulder at who’s catching up. There’s no real community of care because you’ re a competing threat; we can live glibly together, but in a crunch you can soon become my enemy. It’s a helluva way to live.
          But God intends another truer way, a more blessed way. In Romans Paul describes another righteousness that comes from faith, trust, and confidence in God, not in ourselves. The God met in Christ loves us, is for us, cherishes us simply because we are, is always at work for the good of all of us, and simply will not leave us or forsake us or abandon us to fend for ourselves. Your pastor got it right in his Easter sermon this spring: there’s absolutely nothing you can do to keep God from loving you. This is the faith of Jesus; he lived his life all the way to the cross and beyond, trusting in God and God’s loving care above all else. And God said “Yes!” to that kind of trusting faith and blessed it as the right way to live by raising Christ from the dead. The Risen Christ is alive in our midst and not far off. And the great good news is that I am most alive when I learn by heart to live trusting in that God, too. Best of all, Paul says that blessed better way is for all: “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved; everyone: Jew and Gentile, American and North Korean; white and person of color; anyone will be saved who trusts and believes that God loves and forgives and accepts and shows mercy toward all and wants abundant life for every last one of us.
          Now that’s not me just saying the right thing or having the right feeling in my heart. To say Jesus is Lord means no one or nothing else has first place in my life: not my race or nation or a political leader or ideology or tax bracket or anything else. And believing that in my heart is not cozy warm fuzzy feeling. If I confess from the heart that God raised Jesus from the dead, that means I stake everything on trusting that is the way to live and commit body and soul to doing so. I will not be ashamed to live like that. No matter what, I will give myself to living that way, come what may. That is the Jesus Way. The world’s dying to see us live like that’s true and real. What a blessing to lay down the burden of proving our worth; to experience joy and live lighter. It is God’s gift to us.
          I’ll spend my whole life learning to receive and trust the gift fully. I’m like Peter in today’s gospel story. I want to trust that Christ is near and step out in faith even in the dark; sometimes I actually do so. But when life’s storms threaten or fears batter I quickly can sink in doubt. Thank God, Christ still reaches out today to save me and help me walk in faith and trust again.
          Today while the governments of North Korea and the US play a cosmic size game of chicken, Christians in both North and South Korea are united in praying, as they do every August, for the peaceful reunification of the Korean Peninsula. Those prayers from the hearts of countless Koreans north and south, on both sides of he Demilitarized Zone, are being joined by many other Christians connected globally through the World Council of Churches, the World Communion of Reformed Churches and the World Evangelical Alliance. Jesus people trust it is more holy to live from mercy and grace than fire and fury; we know the Lord of all is generous to all who call to him.
          This week a friend asked prayers for her nephew Jason Kessler, the young man at the heart of yesterday’s Unite the Right event in Charlottesville. She’s pained that Jason’s alienated from his whole family, angry and hate-filled. They were all worried, disheartened and concerned for his safety. Jason’s aunt reported something remarkable: First United Methodist Church was Ground Zero for people of faith to gather to bear witness against hate, and one of the pastors at the church reached out to Jason to offer sanctuary if he felt threatened in any way. It is that odd way of Jesus, to trust that God wants life for all.
          In yesterday’s chaos and anger there I saw Christ as clergy and other people of faith stood between protesters and counter-protesters. In a photo they were linked arm in arm in an alternating pattern so they faced both sides as if, through them, God was calling all to turn and live and be saved. Tragically someone spurned his invitation; a life was lost and others maimed, by a hate-driven guided missile of a car. All the more reason for us to continue to bear witness to the truth we know in Christ.
          Mother Teresa said, “If we have no peace it’s because we’ve forgotten that we belong to each other.” Our wounded woebegone world aches to hear our good news. How beautiful our feet when we bring it, our mouths when we tell it, our lives when we live it. Amen.
-David M. Hindman, 2017, soli Deo gloria.

Sermon Based on Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

     I love Jesus’ disciples; they’re so full of bluster and bombast, but generally are clueless boneheads. Today and the two previous Sundays, our gospel lessons have come from Matthew 13, in which Teacher Jesus tells parables about the Kingdom of heaven, what it’s like to live when God truly is in charge of our lives and creation. At the end, he asks his disciples, “Have you understood all this?” And they nod their heads, “Yes!” I imagine them saying, “Sure, Jesus, got it! Of course we understand; totally, no problem!” And then, as they move out toward toward the next town, I see them in clusters of two or three whispering, “Do you really understand?” and one or another confesses, “Not a clue; I have no idea.  Maybe, but I’m not sure.”
     If they understand, I’m envious.  I’m not sure I always do. Even if they do have a clue, there’s always more to understand, another thing to see; which is like going deeper into Christ. I was in a discipleship accountability group in which we agreed to particular practices, one of which was to be kind and considerate to everyone we met. That was easy, except when driving my car. Then I saw there was more to learn and new challenges to face in that arena.  Jesus says to love your neighbor; I’m good with that but then there’s my rude neighbor, my neighbor of color, my gay neighbor, that immigrant, those Muslims, that nutcase who doesn’t share my politics, my enemy. That’s when discipleship is more than we first thought, right?
     Jesus’ parables are like that; they open up new worlds, offer new insights and always challenge what we think we understand. In Emily Dickinson’s words, parables “tell the truth, but tell it slant.” They’re like a diamond that reflects light differently from different angles; no one by itself is enough, but each one points to a different aspect of what it means to live in God; each is a creative sketch of life that really is life.
So Jesus tells us that God’s Realm is a treasure that is both found unexpectedly, and a pearl to be sought after fiercely. It’s an unexpected and surprising gift, stumbled upon: the light comes on and we realize, oh, this is what it looks like.
     At a downtown church, both homeless folks and church members with suburban homes gather at a wintry midweek evening worship service when a guy comes in off the street without shoes. Nice folks scurry around the building looking for, but not finding any shoes for the poor guy, until another homeless guy comes in, sees the situation, gives away his shoes, and simply says, “I’ve got another pair at the shelter.” All those folks with so many shoes in their walk-in closets; and suddenly the blind see.
     And it’s something to seek fiercely. If I want to run a 10K, I can’t just think about it; if I want to lose weight, I have to change my eating habits. Both quests are good; a greater one is to find life in Christ, and that also takes more than wishful thinking:  constant and regular disciplines of prayer, silence, worship, serving the poor, feasting on God’s Word regularly and faithfully, cultivating the fruits of the Spirit: these are markers on the Way to where the priceless treasure of Christ can be found. Life in God: surprising gift?  wholehearted quest? Yes.
     Truth be told, I’d like my faith more cut and dry, simple and undemanding with less mystery, offered by a laid back Jesus who doesn’t ask much or cause any trouble or indigestion. But Jesus wasn’t put on a cross because he was nice, but because he was a threat and a challenge. If we listen to his parables and don’t think, “This guy needs killing,” we probably don’t understand them. In reality they’re subversive, scandalous, outrageous, and call into question things we take for granted and cherish a lot, because that’s how we survive in the world. So we think.
     So with the parables we hear today. We tame the mustard seed parable with pithy phrases, “From tiny acorns mighty oaks grow;” “Good things come in small packages.” That’s true, for sure. But what if Jesus said God’s Realm is like Kudzu? Kudzu: that awful weed we thought would help us control erosion, but took on a life of its own and is beyond our control; a pain, not a blessing. That was mustard in Jesus’ world; a tiny seed growing to take over a field.
     But here’s a mystery: we think Kudzu’s terrible, but the Chinese treasure it as an essential herb good for food and for healing. And that’s God’s Realm: beyond our control. No matter how hard we try it won’t go away; at times it’s unsettling but also the essential source of healing we need and crave. Jesus says that Realm runs wild with mercy and love, forgiveness and compassion, justice or peace, and he promises it will overrun the landscape of all creation for good: even us.
     Now here’s the odd thing in Jesus’ parable: mustard doesn’t grow into something all that great. Birds do nest in it; it grows to six or eight feet, but that’s no tree; it’s a bush. Elsewhere in the Bible cedar trees symbolize mighty and powerful empires where birds come to make nests. Compared to a cedar, a mustard bush is a joke.
     But maybe it’s God’s last laugh about what we think matters. Maybe God’s Kingdom is marked by great humility and service; the truly powerful and mighty kneel down to wash feet and forgive, or show mercy and offer compassion. What an odd Realm Jesus invites us to inhabit as our true home, now and always.
     Then there’s that baker woman.  She seems safe, friendly, homey. But think again: bread rises and is transformed into something marvelous by being pummeled and kneaded. My life isn’t easy when God’s strong hands lay hold; new life arises as I surrender, am worked on and pounded, humbled and formed and shaped crosswise into the image and likeness of Christ. But it’s a joyful thing to be touched by God’s hands to rise anew full of life, delightful to behold. And the result is nothing short of spectacular.
     Three measures of leaven would produce an enormous amount of bread, enough to feed 100 or more people. It’s beyond expectations, extravagant, more than enough; apparently God is an open-handed, generous host, holding nothing back and ready to provide for all who are hungry for something real and eternal. God’s banquet serves up heaping helpings of that bread of life that changes everything: mercy and kindness and grace and acceptance and forgiveness.  God welcomes us to sit and be at home there even here, even now. People hunger for such things.
     William and Mary students are very competitive, the brightest and best; and that can be a heavy burden if you think you’re loved for your achievements and not yourself. I often shared with them words from Henri Nouwen, a Catholic priest who left a teaching position at Harvard to live as a companion for a special needs adult in the L’Arche community. He’d written, “There is that voice, the voice that speaks from above and from within and that whispers softly or declares loudly: ‘You are my Beloved, on you my favor rests'” (Life of the Beloved). Nouwen had heard that voice, rising up against the many voices that tell us otherwise; it transformed him as he went a new Way with Christ. William and Mary students who heard those words also heard that voice with wonder and joy on their faces as they realized God offered them such a gift, too.
     I’m comforted by Jesus’ word that that life-bringing leaven is often hidden, doing its work unnoticed, mysteriously, quietly and not in plain view. But I saw it here a few weeks when a solitary woman at this church noticed I was a stranger in the crowd, sought me out spoke and acted with true hospitality that is not seen nearly enough in congregations; and I was grateful.
     Could such Kingdom-leaven hospitality work a different miracle? Next month in Charlottesville, white surpremacists will again gather. My bishop has asked United Methodist clergy to join in non-violent protest, and I think a colleague has a crazy wise way to go one more step. She suggests that Kingdom-bold clergy offer free food and drink to the Unite the Right group, to engage in conversation with them, to listen deeply, to humbly challenge in love when possible, and offer to pray with and for them. In that heated place of controversy and conflict, who knows what might arise from such leaven hidden among Christ’s followers that day; and wouldn’t it be worth everything to glimpse God’s Kingdom there?
-David M. Hindman, 2017, soli Deo gloria.

Sow Crazy: Sermon Based on Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

Note: Whatever flaws are contained in this sermon, they are mine. Some of the thought was informed by Brian Stoffregen’s Exegetical Notes at CrossMarks, and Elisabeth Johnson’s commentary on Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23 found at WorkingPreacher.org.
     Today’s scripture’s a hard sell. We’ve heard it so much we don’t hear. “A sower went out to sow…” Boring. It won’t be easy to sow the seed of God’s Word to bring unexpected blessing before you stop listening and start thinking about lunch or the coming week?
     Remember first that Jesus’ stories are trickier than you think. Jesus says he tells parables to confound people to make them think more about things they think they already understand. He says, “This is why I tell parables: ‘seeing, folks don’t see, and hearing they don’t get it.’ The prophet Isaiah got it right: ‘The people are blockheads! They stick their fingers in their ears so they won’t have to listen; they shut their eyes so they won’t have to look so they won’t have to deal with me face-to-face so I can heal them.’”* If we think we’ve figured out a Jesus story think again: maybe not.
     And remember that Jesus’ stories caused trouble. If we listen to a Jesus story and don’t think, “This guy needs killing,” then we probably don’t really get it. His stories always have an edge; they take an unexpected turn to challenge our everyday day world and what we think. Jesus wasn’t put on a cross because he nice, but because he and his stories threatened people.
     Matthew arranges his story of Jesus to show him as a new Moses, a new lawgiver and teacher of God’s way. In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus teaches with authority like Moses on Mt. Sinai; five blocks of teaching crafted by Matthew remind us of the Law in the first five books of the Old Testament. Today’s scripture is one of five parables Jesus tells in the third block of teaching, but they’re wedged between conflicts Jesus has with faith leaders, hometown neighbors, and his own family. Jesus’ stories go together with misunderstanding, challenge, threat. Today’s story is also full of puzzle and promise, if we have ears to hear.
     It answers a crucial question: if Jesus is so wonderful and truly God’s chosen, why don’t more people believe? Shouldn’t more people believe, and trust him, and live like him? The story’s told so we won’t fret overmuch that most folks simply won’t.
     Some hearts are just hard and unreceptive. For whatever reason some think faith is foolishness for losers and this Jesus stuff is just wishful thinking.
     Others start out well, but their roots in Christ aren’t deep so when trouble comes faith withers. Disappointment happens and they turn from God because they think God didn’t come through, so what’s the point?
     And some folks have the seed of Christ planted in them, but other things become more important. and discipleship dies. I knew someone on fire for God and the radically different life she believed Christ was calling her to live. But then she met and married a man with a very lucrative career and this world’s cares and wealth choked her life of faith.
     But there’s that fourth blessed group: the seed of God’s Word and life takes root to bear a rich harvest. But it’s only one out of four; an F- in school. A 25% success rate’s not that great; shouldn’t God do better?
     Maybe failure and lack of success are just part of the deal. Maybe God delights in throwing seed everywhere to see what happens and delights whenever and however new life comes. Fruitfulness matters; but so does faithfully doing God’s work, trusting that growth will happen, sometimes in surprising places. Maybe faithful failure and fruitfulness are both OK.
     We’re tempted to think we’re the good seed, the good soil, the ¼ bearing fruit. In God’s multiple choice test, we’re #4, the good soil, right? But maybe the more honest answer is #5, all the above. Our hearts can be hard and dismiss parts of the gospel as absurd: love our enemies? forgive those who harm us? trust God completely instead of military strength or retirement savings, or youth or beauty? There’ve been times when doubt got the best of me; I felt betrayed by God or God’s silence terrified me. We know what it’s like to be distracted by wealth or money worries or family demands. Maybe we should thank God that God’s seed somehow survived and we produced any fruit. Maybe it’s a miracle that God didn’t give up on us, but kept planting year after year. Even when met by failure and disappointment God kept hoping for something good, even in us.
     As a teenager I spent hours talking after school with Ben Nelson, my home church’s associate pastor. We talked about everything: relationships, issues of the day like race and war, faith. At times he could’ve thought I was a waste of time; I was such a blockhead, sticking my fingers in my ears not wanting to hear what Christ might expect of me, shutting my eyes to what following Jesus required of me if I took him seriously. But he didn’t give up, and I tell you that whatever fruit came out of my ministry came because God kept planting seeds through him week after week, month after month, year after year. Before giving up on others, thank God that God doesn’t give up on us. It’s a miracle of God’s amazing grace.
     Maybe this story is about a God willing to take risks even when results aren’t guaranteed. Maybe it’s about a reckless and extravagant God who sows seed without fretting over efficiency or effectiveness, but simply throws out seeds of life and blessing to see what happens. We disciples are to be like God, doing God’s work today. What if we become God’s faithful reckless risk takers who don’t fret over efficiency or effectiveness or what kind of return we get on our efforts? God seems to be OK with being faithful failures and things not always working out; Jesus’ God Jesus is extravagantly and wastefully generous, tossing the seed of life and rejoicing with what happens. Could we?
     Maybe God’s seeding and harvest of life through us is marked both by grand failures and successes; what’s surprising is where fruit is produced. In Jesus’ life it was the odd balls and misfits and rejects who got it, not the religious or proper folk – often their hearts were hard or faith was shallow. In his story maybe Jesus is challenging us to take risks that may fail, to try things that might not work, to see what God might do anyway. Do something for Christ’s sake even if it goes badly.
     Here’s some advice from successful business folks: be sure to create a sufficient number of excellent mistakes. If you want to succeed, double your failure rate; if you’re not making mistakes, you’re not doing anything worthwhile. Indeed, some things are so important they’re worth doing badly.
     In Jesus’ story, if the sower didn’t throw the seed and fail alot, there would be no fruit. Making mistakes, wasting time and energy are part of the creative process. Google headquarters has nap rooms and game areas and outdoor spaces for walking for a reason. Sometimes what looks like doing nothing is tilling the ground for unexpected breakthroughs to new life. Jesus advises us, “You received without payment; give without payment; you received as a gift, give as a gift.”
     What if this church decided to be God’s reckless risk-takers and committed 10% of the budget to sow God’s seed in wild and crazy ways, to experiment with reaching out and planting seeds of faith and living the gospel where you’re planted? What if you didn’t fret about being effective or efficient, but prayed fiercely simply to be faithful see what God might do?
     When a Chicago church received an unexpected $1.6 million windfall last year, most of the money went to ordinary things, like meeting a budget shortfall or needed building upkeep. But they also did something reckless and risky: one Sunday each of 300+ worshipers got a $500 check to do whatever they thought God wanted them to do with it. $160,000 to sow crazy for Christ. Some miracles happened, but certainly not always. But without sowing crazy, no fruit.
     In campus ministry I often saw the fruit of risky, reckless faith. Students tossed out ideas and tried crazy things, trusting all to God. Spectacular failures happened along with wonderful experiences of unexpected fruitful blessings. In late night movie discussions students suddenly got it and faith was born in new ways. Seemingly endless encounters eventually led to students becoming a pastor, a nurse, a special ed. teacher. Paying students to take Religious Studies classes led to deeper faith, not less. A casual walk across campus with a teacher from Russia led to years of connection and mission between students here and there.
     In his book Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller tells of some young adults setting up a confessional booth at a mall. They invite passersby to enter the booth where they unexpectedly hear a Christian ask their forgiveness for the church’s sins: racism, homophobia, judgmental intolerance, love of power, focus on buildings instead of building relationships. Sow crazy! Sometimes nothing happened, but some gave grace and forgiveness to the broken Body of Christ and room was opened for new faith.
     Others sow crazy: a college town church hosts therapy dogs and food for 300 students during exams; a downtown church’s Bible School draws hundreds of children, most not from that congregation; another offers Sunday School for special needs friends and midweek worship for folks who work on Sundays; a church gives yearly blessings to new drivers, teachers, first responders, health care workers; another hosts a free community-wide block party with food, games and music; a congregation invests thousands of dollars helping working poor neighbors develop a two year plan to escape poverty; some Christians goes to Denny’s at 4 a.m. to share breakfast and blessing with Muslims from a local mosque as they prepare for their daily Ramadan fast. Sow crazy; you never know what fruit might be produced.
     Jesus says, “You will know my disciples by their fruits.” Seeing becomes believing as our good soil fruits help others “put together” faith, words and actions. A young woman went to church but finally became a Christian as she saw an older woman showing that following Jesus was fruitful, if not easy. The woman had a rough relationship with another in the church; as she worked to love and forgive frequently, she saw her nemesis as a fruitful gift and blessing as she confessed, “That woman will make me a Christian yet.” God’s seed in our lives might be the only Bible someone will ever read. Sow crazy, for Christ’s sake. Amen.
-David M. Hindman, 2017, soli Deo gloria.
  • This is my wording, based on a loose rendition of Eugene Peterson’s The Message, Matthew 13:10-17

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.

The Perfect Church: A Sermon Based on Acts 2:42-47, on the Occasion of the Baptism of James Eno Clayton

Your pastor Meghan told me that during this Easter season she’s preaching on the early church as described in the book of Acts and what that might mean for us today. One of her guiding questions is this: Was the early church perfect and have it all right?

The quick and easy answer is of course it wasn’t perfect and didn’t have it all right. After all, if the early church was perfect, we wouldn’t have most of the New Testament; much of Paul’s letters deal with problems in his less than perfect churches. Even in the book of Acts and its pretty picture of the church, there are problems to be faced and addressed.

You may be surprised that not only is there a perfect church, I know where it is; I saw it a few years ago during a William & Mary Wesley Foundation Spring Break mission trip to Atlanta. The Perfect Church had a large sign above the main door reading, “The Perfect Church,” so it must be perfect, right? You wouldn’t lie about that, right? What was interesting was that the carved sign “The Perfect Church” had a crack in it, so The Perfect Church sign was, well, imperfect.

It’s true that we have ideas of the perfect church, whether in Atlanta or here or elsewhere. And people do look for it. On YouTube, search for “Church Hunters” and you’ll find a comical spoof of HGTV’s House Hunters; a couple looks for the perfect church with just the right blend of hipness, convenience, music, branding and star preaching. For others the perfect church has every seat taken on Sunday, the budget’s easily met, there are enough volunteers so I don’t have to do much, young families, children and teens are everywhere but old people are still mostly in charge, the preacher is young with 40 years experience, serious and totally funny, always available anytime to me but dedicated to her family, preaches from the Bible in a way that’s always relevant and tells it like it is but is never offensive or controversial. Perfect, right?

Today’s reading in Acts follows the Pentecost Day birth of the church when 3000 become believers after a powerful, Spirit-filled sermon by Peter. We now see the Jesus community evoking awe and marked by signs and wonders. It sounds picture perfect; I’d like to be part of such a church, wouldn’t you? More importantly, could Salem be such a church?

But before we hear about that “perfect” church in Acts, we might honestly think that “perfect” is too strong a word, too impossible, too flawless for Salem. But here’s some good news: in the Bible perfection doesn’t mean utterly pure or unrivaled or faultless or beyond compare. The Greek word teleios simply means doing what you’re created to do, being what you were made to be. For example, my lawnmore is teleios; it’s perfect, not because it dropped straight out of heaven, or there’s none like in the world, or it’s better than yours. 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, put it in gear and voilà, it runs smoothly on all cylinders and grass gets cut. It was made for grass cutting and that what it does. It’s awesome, perfect.

So what are the marks of the perfect church in Acts? Listen to today’s report from the book of Acts:

“They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.”

They seem to be joyfully caught up in a new kind of life rooted in the Holy Spirit and constantly devoted to worship; there’s continual learning about God’s great works in Christ and what that means for faith and life; they eat weekly in homes and around the Lord’s Table; there’s habitual and fervent prayer, and sharing a common life deeply. Not just the good and easy things are shared, but shared struggles and failures, needs and fears, along with gratitude and victories. In that community there is caring honesty, healing, hope, joy, active love, and sacrificial compassion so no one is in need, and all have enough. What strikes me about this picture especially is that it doesn’t sound like it is legally enforced, but Holy Spirit-enabled. There’s s mutual agreement and a shared commitment to live in such a way; they didn’t take a vote with majority rule winners and losers; they were drawn to this way because they couldn’t imagine another way to share life in love with God and each other. Such a life together brought them such unaffected joy that they had to praise God with glad and generous hearts, and others were drawn to it because it had such magnetic power and evoked their goodwill and awe.

Can Salem be such a perfect church? Yes, not because you’re great but because God is; and because God is good and desires it for you. Here’s an extraordinary promise: the same Spirit that empowered the church in Acts can still act here. Constantly hold up that mirror of church, reflect it here, and by grace you will become what you see. The God who raised Christ from the dead can raise you to such a life. Church, that’s the Easter life good news, even here.

Here’s why it matters. Today Meghan and Josh give baby James up for adoption. They’re bringing him to the baptismal font to give him up to God, his rightful owner, and giving him over to you as his faith family, because they know they can’t do this faith thing all on their own. They need your help, just like you need theirs to keep close to Christ and to help James take on a Christ-shaped life. They’ll make promises to do their best by grace to show Christ to James in their lives, and they ask you to do the same so James can grow up with a greater knowledge of what it means to hunger for Christ and to love God and others. In the language of the old Methodist baptism service for children, they hope that together you’ll “live a life that becomes the gospel” and makes it real and true and attractive, so in time James will also choose Jesus because he won’t be able to imagine any other way to live. That would be perfect, thanks be to God.

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

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.