"A Shoeless Moment" - A Sermon for Coffeeson's Baptism

Exodus 3:1-15

Two birthdays celebrated, two birthdays remembered. Two birthdays very different from one another, far separated by time.

The first birthday was celebrated and remembered yesterday morning. Many gathered here to grieve the passing of one beloved by so many; who had died way too young. Members of her family repeatedly noted that Gloria was baptized close to a year ago.

September 30th would have been her first “new birthday.” It was the day she recognized and claimed for herself the presence of God in her life. Baptism is the act of marking that presence – a moment that she’d treasured and that strengthened her in her illness. It had been a moment that changed her forever.

This morning we celebrate as a church family--along with all these strange people sitting down front--another “new birthday.” But as we’ve gathered again around this font, I recall another birthday, now about 4½ months ago.

It was mid-afternoon, featuring two exhausted people who’d been up for 24 hours. Within the span of a few seconds, everything changed: one moment, there was nothing, and then suddenly, there was a new little person. The exhaustion evaporates because complete awe takes over. There wasn’t life, then suddenly there was life. It’s a moment that changes you forever.

These are the types of moments that mark you, and that you want to mark somehow. They’re moments when you know nothing is going to be the same again: not the way you live your life, not the way you think, not the way you relate to others. They can be moments of clarity, or joy, or peace. They’re moments that you can name later on. You can tell the story as if it just happened – it’s that vivid and powerful for you. You can speak of them with that same sense of clarity or joy or peace each time you tell it.

And at times, we have our own ways of marking these moments – not just memories, but at times real actions. We mark birthdays by throwing a party, being with friends, eating too much. We mark anniversaries by throwing a party, being with friends, eating too much. We mark other important milestones – graduation or retirement, the beginning of school.

These are the well-known ones, the easy ones. There are others, too – others that may be more personal; more unique.

The day you were cleared of a critical illness. The first day of a new job. Your first visit to a storied ballpark. The first time your partner said, “I love you.” A moment you experienced God – claimed faith as your own. The moment you said goodbye to a dying loved one.

They are moments that will mark you, have marked you. And they’re moments that you mark for yourself in the future. They, too, may be marked through celebrations with friends and family. They may be marked through photographs or some other artifact that somehow represents a person or a place. They may be marked through revisiting where it happened. They may be marked through scars or tattoos.

These moments have changed us, have defined us – we in turn mark them for ourselves.

Moses, for instance, is told to take off his shoes. It seems like a weird gesture. Here he stands in front of a bush – a flame burning from within, yet not appearing to even singe a single branch. You don’t see something like that every day – of course Moses stops to look. Maybe he’s fallen asleep or hallucinating.

No…it seems pretty real.

A voice speaks to him from the flame. It calls him by name, even. It tells him to take off his shoes – this ground is holy. It’s holy because God’s presence is so imminent – is right in front of him, around him, and under him.

He’s told to mark this moment by removing his sandals – told to let his bare feet touch this holy ground. He should fully experience this moment of clarity, of peace, of call.

That’s what this is about. This holy moment, this moment that he marks and that will mark him, is a moment when he will be told to do something incredible. He will be told to lead the Hebrew people out of Egypt. He will be told to begin the Exodus. And while we can read ahead and see just how hard all of this is going to be (and he already seems to know, judging by how much he tries to resist), it may be that he’ll need to remember this first moment. He may need to look back on this first shoeless moment, his feet one with holy ground, and remember why he’s doing any of it to begin with. But again, in this first moment, marked by bare feet while experiencing a moment of divine presence, he is forever changed.

For centuries, baptism has been the church’s “shoeless moment.” Whether named a “second birthday,” it is a moment that marks us. It marks the child in the sight of the church as one of God’s treasured ones. It marks the parents just as that first moment had months ago. It marks family and friends as witnesses to the divine presence in one child’s life. It marks the entire community of faith as partners in reminding him of this shoeless moment, praying that he will one day claim it for himself.

It also provides the opportunity to remember our own “shoeless moments.” It provides opportunity to remember when we ourselves have been marked by God along the way; to remember when God spoke to us out of the fire, called us by name.

We can remember when God provided reassurance through a doctor’s care, or when we could hear God speaking in between someone’s “I love you,” or in a moment of forgiveness or the struggle to forgive, or when we experienced a moment of grace and peace in a loved one’s final moments.

Oh yeah...God was there. God IS there.

We can remember moments that marked us and how they may have been infused with the divine. And what is it about our own "shoeless moments" that provide reassurance for us? When we're at our weakest, our most vulnerable, our most hopeless, how can our "shoeless moments" serve as ways to remind ourselves who we are and whose we are; to remember that God was somehow present in the fire?

Just as Moses may have needed to recall back to his being called out of the flame in the harder moments of his upcoming journey, we need these moments simply because revisiting them can provide comfort and strength. Baptism can be remembered as a "new birthday" by one suffering. One can remember the first glimpse of one's child and fall in love with him all over again. We can remember times before and since - times of clarity, or joy, or peace, or knowledge of oneself, or knowledge of God's closeness.

We experience something like this the first time, and it marks us. We mark it, and then revisit it out of a sense of longing or a need to renew our spirits. And we always must remember to take off our shoes and become one with the holy ground.

"A Different Kind of 'Exciting'" - A Sermon for Pentecost

Acts 2:1-21

Throughout junior high and high school, I went on a lot of mission trips through my church’s youth group. These were week-long work trips to inner city Philadelphia or Cincinnati, or more “outer reaches” type places in Illinois and Massachusetts.

The place in Massachusetts is called Heifer Project – if you’ve never heard of Heifer Project International, this is an organization that raises various animals to send to Third World areas to help their economy or their food supply. So essentially, Heifer Project is a farm, so we basically did farm work for the week when we went there.

I’ve been to Heifer Project twice. The first time I was a newly minted confirmand, and took the trip with some fellow confirmands (it was my first mission trip ever, actually). The second time I was a junior in high school – and my mom signed up as one of the chaperones. Actually, she’d become the youth group coordinator by this point, so there was no escaping being on that trip with her.

So during this week of farm work, we’d put up electric fences, clean the barn, feed the animals, milk goats and a cow – typical farm chores. Every day we’d be divided into subgroups to take on these different tasks, and one day my little subgroup was assigned the task of fixing up an overhang that housed lumber and other materials: cleaning it out, nailing up some tarps to keep out the rain, and so on.

My mom and I were in the same group that day, and I remember that morning very clearly. I remember it being hot and muggy. I remember my sinuses violently protesting the pollen count. I remember the bugs: flies and mosquitoes both. And I remember that it had come close to lunch time, and everyone else in my group had already headed back to get cleaned up. I’d wanted to quit for the morning as well, and come back later even though we’d only had a little more to do. I was standing on a ladder nailing up those tarps, and my mom looked up at me on the ladder and handed me another nail, and said, “Come on, let’s finish this. This is the hardest I’ve ever seen you work.”

I tell you this story about my mom for two reasons. One: it’s Mother’s Day, so it seemed appropriate. Two: it’s Pentecost, so it seemed appropriate.

The second reason probably sounds strange. What does a story about a mother’s encouragement to finish the job through sweat, discomfort, fatigue, and bugs have to do with Pentecost?

Believe it or not, it has everything to do with Pentecost. Here was a 17-year-old kid who was more interested in popping on his headphones than hammering nails. Here was someone more interested in air conditioning than the hot humid morning air. Here was someone more interested in being back with his friends than out alone finishing the work that everyone else had abandoned. Here was someone to whom music seemed more exciting, cool air seemed more exciting, laughing with his friends seemed more exciting. And the work that he was doing to help others didn’t seem so exciting. It was hard and tiring – but not exciting in the sense that he enjoyed it. It took someone else’s prodding for the task to be completed.

The story in Acts 2 of the first Pentecost can be called exciting – after all, it’s certainly not boring. Here we get the sound of a rushing wind; we get the disciples all speaking in different languages so that everyone who heard them could understand their message. People who hear and see them are amazed, confused, cynical, but nevertheless interested. This is not something that anyone – the disciples or the observers – is able to ignore.

Finally, Peter stands up in order to offer an explanation, and you can bet that he had an attentive audience by this point. He quotes the prophet Joel as he lays out what the work of God’s Spirit is about. It’s about men and women prophesying – in other words, calling people to own up to unfaithfulness. It’s about people receiving visions and dreams about what God truly wants out of God’s people – faithfulness, trust, love – and at the same time condemning people’s actions to the contrary.

These prophesies, visions and dreams couldn’t have been tremendously popular. The people at whom they’re directed probably got a little upset, to say the least. The people charged with delivering them probably didn’t want to give them because it would damage relationships; create tension and awkward moments.

The ability, the drive, the courage to do all of this through the sweat and discomfort had to come from someplace else…it had to come from Someone Else. In order for this work to be accomplished, in order for us to finish the job, we need the Holy Spirit to swoop in and light the passion within us and to say to our hearts, “Come on. Let’s finish this.”

When people talk about how exciting any particular church is or making the church more exciting, this stuff isn’t what they usually mention. When talking about an exciting church, people may talk about the upbeat music, or how many jokes the pastor told that day, or Sunday School classes that don’t weigh themselves down too much with that boring book called the Bible. There’s nothing wrong with these things – they can actually help engage different people in different ways; help them learn how to follow Jesus (except maybe the “Bible study with no Bible” thing).

But there are some other exciting things that the Holy Spirit may have in mind – a different kind of “exciting.” The Holy Spirit may have in mind some stuff that might make us sweaty or uncomfortable.

Think of some of the exciting things that church members have accomplished over the centuries.

Think about Martin Luther opposing practices of the Catholic church that he thought were oppressive or unnecessary, making him a pariah and drawing the ire of his church in the process. That’s not boring.

Think about New England Congregationalists who were responsible for the Boston Tea Party – church people sneaking onto ships in the middle of the night to chuck tea into the harbor! That’s not boring.

Think about Dietrich Bonhoeffer helping to organize opposition to the Nazi party. That’s not boring.

Think about Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. as he organized churches to combat racial discrimination. Think about the nights he spent in jail and the opposition he faced. That’s not boring.

The Holy Spirit helped inspire church people to these actions – hard, uncomfortable actions; actions that strained or broke relationships. This is the kind of exciting stuff (because it’s certainly not boring) to which the Holy Spirit calls the church, prodding us, speaking to our hearts while saying, “Come on. Let’s finish this.”

The Holy Spirit gives the church the passion and drive for justice, for God’s kingdom to come into view more fully through our actions: Actions like fixing up a needy person’s home. Actions like reconciliation between enemies. Actions like confronting our own prejudices.

Exciting actions, because they certainly weren’t boring.

Actions where people saw visions and dreamed dreams and prophesied faithfulness.

Actions that would have a much longer-lasting effect than the most exciting music or the most joke-laden sermon.

Actions where the Holy Spirit poked and prodded, and keeps poking and prodding, saying, “Come on. Let’s finish this. This is the hardest I’ve ever seen you work.”

Hard work, but not boring work.

Exciting work.

Spirit-filled work.

"Age of Anxiety" - A Sermon for Easter 7

As a sort of epilogue, here's what I ended up preaching this morning. In order for certain things to make sense, the title that appeared in the bulletin was "That They May All Be One," and it was a communion Sunday.

1 Peter 5:6-11

The first thing we need to do is change the title. After two weeks away and some mild sleep-deprivation, I’ve been slow to come up with something to say. And since the bulletin had to be run by Thursday, I was feeling a little pressed for time.

Likewise, even though John 17 appears as the focus text this morning, we need to back up to 1 Peter 5. This is a chapter—an entire letter, really—about suffering. The writer has a lot to say about suffering, as he addresses the actual suffering that his community was going through.

When times get really hard, one understandably wonders a couple things. First, you may wonder whether you’ll eventually crack under the pressure. One may try to resist breaking down completely in frustration, anger, or depression. One may try to resist complete emotional shutdown.

You may also wonder how long any particular hardship will go on; you may wonder how long you’ll need to endure it. At times, there’s a clear limit: perhaps the end of the day, or someone coming in to relieve you somehow. At other times, there seems to be no end in sight.

Finally, you may wonder where God is in all of it. How is God helping? IS God helping? When will God help? WILL God help? These are all ways that we become anxious about hardship, about difficult moments.

After acknowledging the hardship, the writer of 1 Peter also has a lot of encouragement in the midst of it. He has a lot to say along the lines of remaining steadfast in faith. He has a lot to say about trusting God’s presence. He has a lot to say about trusting in the one who raised Christ. He has a lot to say about trusting that the community is set aside for God’s mission, and thus God has not abandoned them.

And then we come to this chapter, where he returns to the theme of hardship when he says, “Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.”

There was a lot of anxiety in that age, and there’s a lot of anxiety in this age as well.

That’s our new title, by the way: “Age of Anxiety.”

There’s plenty of anxiety to go around.

We may have anxiety about the state of the world. We may feel anxiety about wars and rumors of wars, tensions between countries or entire regions. We may have anxiety about people of different religions seemingly always at odds, with extreme fringes of those religions resorting to violence.

We may have anxiety about the state of the country. We may have anxiety as the presidential election becomes increasingly divisive and heated, as it always seems to do. We may have some anxiety over a byproduct of this year’s election being the topic of race, and how much misunderstanding and anger still exists between different racial groups.

We may have anxiety about church-related things. The United Church of Christ has come under increased scrutiny over the past few weeks because of the inflammatory words of Jeremiah Wright. Some may have anxiety about how that affects other local churches such as ours and members such as ourselves (by the way, if you want to talk about that, stop by the office or buy me coffee or something…I need coffee these days).

We may have anxiety about any number of personal concerns: life transitions such as graduation, employment, finances, disease, birth, death.

There really is plenty of anxiety to go around. And what does the future hold for any of it? What can we expect tomorrow, or even an hour from now? Will we crack under the pressure? How long will this anxiety last? What is God doing in the midst of all of it?

Then here’s this verse again: “Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.” I wonder how his original community reacted to that. How many took it to heart, and how many blew it off, saying, “Do you really know what we’re going through?”

Surely the writer didn’t mean it in some sort of dismissive way. He didn’t mean to minimize the hardship and anxiety they were feeling. He didn’t just throw it out there like a pithy piece of advice to “just pray harder” or “just believe more.” Here is a community trying to stay together, trying to maintain their trust in God and each other. The writer knew that.

Here is a community with plenty of anxiety, plenty of opportunity to crack under the pressure or abandon their faith. The writer knew that, too.

This piece of advice to entrust our anxiety to God doesn’t happen by itself – it doesn’t stand alone as something to print on flowery greeting cards at Hallmark or Berean. It comes after a long description of suffering, a long acknowledgment that yes, there are some bad things happening; some real gut-busting kinds of things that we can’t shake by trying to think good thoughts. These are things that may keep us up at night or that we carry through the day.

But we don’t need to carry them by ourselves. That’s what the writer of 1 Peter is getting at. He encourages his audience to trust God with their anxiety. He also encourages them to trust each other with them. He reminds them that their brothers and sisters in Christ are going through hard times and anxieties as well.

This community is told to share anxiety with God – to share, to commune. They’re told to share anxiety with each other – to share, to commune.

That’s how this table works. We are sharing ourselves – our joys, our sorrows, our anxieties, our dreams – with God, and with Christ our host. And we are also sharing with each other. We are sharing the good news that Christ is present and resurrected.

Here we are given these real, tangible elements. Here are things that we can chew and things we can feel in our stomachs. Here are physical things that can show us spiritual things. Here are gut-filling things to help us through gut-busting things.

Here we are told that God is with us, and that our fellow believers are with us. Here, we are told that our anxieties are meant to be shared just as we share Christ – that we may all be one.

Saturday Special

I hate writing my sermon on Saturday, but that's what I'll end up doing this week.

I do my best to avoid this predicament. In fact, my routine usually sees the notes finished on Wednesday or Thursday, and then I can spend the rest of the week thinking about the moment itself: how to flesh out a particular point more, or the tweaking of words or phrases so as not to be misunderstood.

This week has been a shorter week. Due to officiating a funeral over my paternity leave, I came in on Wednesday rather than Tuesday. And ever since then, I've been wrestling with what to say on Sunday.

It's not for lack of material. This week I've become increasingly aware that Jeremiah Wright is on the collective mind of my congregation. Questions of how it all relates to us, or how someone like him is a part of our denomination, or whether there are different "branches" of our denomination have been put to me recently. Wright has been on my mind besides, because I've still been trying to figure out what parts of his message and ministry I support and what parts I reject. And with all this in mind, I've been trying to figure out whether addressing any of this in a sermon is a good idea.

The original plan for this Sunday was to do just that. Following the lectionary, I was going to use Jesus' prayer in John 17 "that they may be one" to talk about UCC polity, what it means to be united without being uniform, disagreeing with Wright without leaving the table, and so on. I wondered whether giving Wright this much time in the pulpit was a worthwhile thing, a needed thing. My main angle was to explain our polity in order to answer some of those questions above. I intended it to not even really be a discussion of Wright, but a discussion of how we do things in the UCC.

So I began my outline just yesterday. I talked out loud to an empty sanctuary. I began thinking about words and phrasing so as not to be misunderstood. And I still worried and wondered, and still worry and wonder, whether this is a worthwhile thing, a needed thing.

And then late last night and early this morning, Coffeewife and I sat up with Coffeeson, trading our wide-awake child back and forth. His refusal to go to sleep confounded us both: was he hungry? gassy? frustrated? bored? The minutes ticked away with seemingly no end in sight. It gave me plenty of time to consider what a sermon on John 17 in this cultural moment should contain.

Eventually, however, something else happened.

My sleep-deprived self started not to give a damn.

I suddenly didn't care who won the election, and I didn't care what anyone anywhere thought of Jeremiah Wright, and I didn't care what I would say on Sunday. I didn't care because it was freaking 1:00 in the morning and I had other concerns at the moment, and I didn't care because I'd thought about all of it for so long that I was just fed up with thinking about it.

It was at that moment that I remembered what I originally planned on preaching about from 1 Peter: "cast all your anxieties on him because he cares for you." People are anxious about Wright and people are anxious about our election, but they're also anxious about babies who won't go to sleep and whether they're good parents for not knowing how to deal with it. People are anxious about a lot of things, like what to say in a sermon or what they might hear from their pastor on a given Sunday.

I don't know whether it'd be more or less responsible to say something about that instead, or whether people really need to be better educated about how a guy like Wright is part of a church like ours.

I don't know. It makes me anxious.

Still, I'd better come up with something pretty soon.

Atonement

Since it’s Lent, I’ve been thinking a lot about atonement. If there was any time of year appropriate for thinking about atonement, it’d be now. Right?

Let’s get it out of the way up front: it’s been a long time since I’ve believed that atonement is as simple as saying, “Jesus died in my place on the cross for my sins and now God isn’t mad at me any more.” For one thing, when the New Testament talks about Jesus being a sacrifice, the writers don’t have an idea of substitution. When animals were sacrificed, it was never understood that they were dying in someone’s place. They were understood to maintain or repair a relationship with God, but not in the sense that the animal is being punished in someone’s place.

Second, boiling Jesus’ life purpose down to his death is way too minimalistic. It shortchanges everything that he taught about the kingdom of God and approaches those teachings as just some nice ethical things that he said to pass the time. Once one starts delving into some of those teachings, one sees first that they’re so multi-layered and rich that you need to spend some time with them, and second that they cut so deeply to the core of what it means to be human and a part of God’s creation. Glossing over all of that so we can get to the crucifixion misses a lot.

So now that all of that is out there, let’s move forward, shall we?

It seems to me that there are two questions behind the idea of atonement. First, we’re asking, “What is humanity’s problem?” Atonement assumes that humanity is broken or suffering or lacking in some way. Second, we’re asking, “What is God doing to fix it?” Notice that this question also assumes some things: God’s initiative and grace. Whatever is wrong with humanity, we can’t fix it on our own. We need to begin with and rely on God to address whatever our problem is.

So what’s our problem? Are we sinful and need to be punished? Are we separated; is there some great chasm between us and God that needs to be bridged, as the old tracts some of my college classmates insisted on passing out suggested?

As I’ve said, I’m not big on the punishment idea any more…but it doesn’t take watching more than three minutes of CNN to see that we have a major problem with sin. However, I don’t think that sin is equivalent to separation from God. I think the proper term for that is hell, but that’s for another post. I’m more apt to refer to sin as blindness to or willful ignorance of God, or if one is an atheist, blindness to what is right or ethical (what atheists use as a reference point for what is right or ethical is also for another post). Ultimately, if sin is separation from God, then God can’t be in very many places. Sin as blindness is to say that God is present and active with creation, but we suck at paying attention.

Scripture is filled with people who suck at paying attention. Adam and Eve and ignoring God’s command to eat the fruit. The people who built Babel. Jacob wrestling by the riverbank. The Israelites and the golden calf. Israel and Judah every time one of the prophets open their mouths. The Pharisees, Sadducees, and in many cases the disciples. The churches in Corinth and Galatia, and later some of those mentioned in Revelation. These people have a problem with living into an awareness of God’s presence and purpose, even and especially when they know or realize that God is right there with them.

I’ve generally heard two objections to this line of thinking.

First, people tend to object to the perception that people’s problem is merely academic. That is, that if people were simply more educated about God or the Bible or whatever, then our problem would be solved. The second objection is actually related to the first: it sounds to some like blaming the victim. That is, if someone experiences a crisis of faith of some kind, it’s their fault because they’re ignoring God. I actually don’t think that awareness is that academic or simple, and I give God and humanity a lot more credit than that. Jesus’ teachings were multi-layered in part because God, creation, and the relationship between the two are all multi-layered.

So thinking or believing the right things, or thinking or believing them harder, isn’t going to cut it. Anyone who has experienced a faith crisis knows this already. In those instances, a deeper kind of awareness is needed, an awareness that echoes through your entire body and spirit, not just your mind. It’s the kind of awareness that needs more credibility than logic can provide, the kind that transcends verbalization and synapses alone. I’ve got two examples for you.

First, at one point in seminary my classmates and I were told that we need to constantly ask ourselves what our theology will sound like to Jewish children in the furnaces in Dachau. At the time, this made sense. In the face of suffering, we need an answer that takes that suffering seriously. I’ve since changed my view on that idea. You’re standing in front of a bunch of kids on fire, and you’re going to stand there and try to explain God to them? What the hell is the matter with you? They’ve got other problems at the moment! This is to say that in the face of human suffering, the problem is not merely spiritual or mental. It is physical and emotional and you can’t address one aspect of that by itself. So an awareness of God is not going to happen without a more complete view of humanity and its needs.

Second, picture a family standing around the hospital bed of their dying mother. At one point, one of the kids turns to you and asks that question that every theologian dreads even a little bit: “Where is God in all of this?” If you approach the answer to this question only on a theological level, you’re going to strike out. The person asking it is not just asking it to be satisfied spiritually. He’s probably feeling a great deal of anxiety, sadness, anger, and uncertainty. The question is in one sense a theological inquiry, but it’s also a lament. It’s asked from the depths of his emotions and perhaps from a bodily weariness. The question is not simply academic, so an academic answer is going to fall flat on the linoleum.

This is supposed to be about atonement, right? Okay, atonement.

As we inch closer to Good Friday and Easter, we’re bound to hear texts dealing with the crucifixion. Maybe some preacher you know has decided to tackle the well-worn sermon series based on each of Jesus’ statements from the cross. Probably one of the most notable statements that he makes goes like this: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” This is not an academic question. Far from it. Jesus is hanging from a cross and is being derided, mocked, spat upon; his disciples have long since abandoned him, one has betrayed him and another denied him. He’s in great pain emotionally, physically, and spiritually. He’s come to this point because of the blindness and willful ignorance of others. A lack of awareness is all over this scene.

First, the blindness, willful ignorance, and sin is apparent. Jesus is crucified at the hands of people who wanted to keep their positions of power, who wanted to assert dominance, who felt threatened. Jesus may or may not have died FOR sins, but he certainly died BECAUSE OF sin.

Second, Jesus himself cries out, craving an awareness of his own. It’s something that he needs with his entire being, and not just to satisfy a spiritual or theological yearning. At the same time, if Jesus is somehow the incarnation of God’s presence in the world, then Jesus is somehow providing awareness while crying out for awareness. Jesus, not just in his suffering but in his entire life, showed God to others. He showed God both to the people who didn’t want to see and to people crying out to see. In this lament, Jesus’ cry is on behalf of the entire world: why do people forsake and why are people forsaken? They all need you and they need you with their entire selves. They need to be transformed and drawn back in both challenge and hope.

This struggle, this lament, this need, is embodied in Jesus. His entire life, death, and resurrection is an atonement. In the tradition of Paul, the cross in particular displays a divine obedience in the face of human blindness and a lament lifted up with one's entire being while foreshadowing that that entire being will be renewed through resurrection. Jesus lived out and continues to reveal both humanity’s problem and God’s solution.

It's Almost Here

I'm just getting positively giddy for the beginning of Lent.

GIDDY~!

Let me just say that if you've never "gotten into" Lent before, iMonk's got you covered with some places to start.

As for myself, I wrote my reflection for Ash Wednesday this week (see? GIDDY~!), in which I play off of those annoying HeadOn commercials. You know the one: "Apply directly to the forehead!" Get it?

The Ash Wednesday service is one of my favorite services that I lead all year. There's a different atmosphere in evening worship, and this service is so simple, yet so meaningful. For a church this size, we get a good crowd for it, too.

Subsequent Wednesdays, we'll do our soup supper and program thing. This year I'm going a pretty straightforward route and leading reflections on Jesus' final week, based on Borg and Crossan's book. I'm especially looking forward to discussing Palm Sunday and views on atonement...I think people will be into that.

As far as any sort of discipline goes, you may recall that I'm going to strive for this quality over quantity thing on this blog, the specifics of which I'll share next week. I figured that maybe with the extra time I'll have I'll pick up a devotional of some sort and work through that as well.

But before we get into all that, every lectionary-following preacher knows that we have to trudge through the Transfiguration first. It only recently occurred to me how large the collective groan lifted up at the prospect of preaching this event can be. Really, how many different ways can one preach on this? I inevitably rag on Peter's reaction to the vision, and it's no different this year. I'm going to state that Peter misses the point by thinking that the best response to this vision is to build a shrine and visit it...oh...let's say weekly. Sound familiar? Okay, basically I'm going to say that weekly worship is part of our lives as disciples, but it's not the only thing or even the main thing. The problem is when we treat it like the main thing like Peter tries to do. The most important thing turns out to be listening to Jesus.

All right, time to get ready for work.

Christ the Substitute?

I don't know how it happened, but the other night at my Bible study the question of what it means that "Jesus died for my sins" came up. I ended up deliniating a few views of what the cross means in the New Testament and over the centuries. It genuinely seemed to surprise some people that the view of Christ as a substitutionary punishment isn't the only view in the Bible and elsewhere. I also wanted to make a distinction between Christ being a substitute and Christ being a sacrifice. For what it's worth, I think that there is plenty in the NT that affirms a view of Christ as sacrifice. However, it is much less clear that Christ was acting as some sort of substitute, dying in our place and taking our punishment.

The idea of sacrifice as practiced by the Temple and in Leviticus had more to do with making an offering to God in order to restore or maintain a proper relationship between God and the people. The animal(s) sacrificed are not understood to be dying in someone's place...it's a gift offered to God in thanksgiving or in penance. Beginning in Exodus and on down through the centuries, the Passover lamb isn't understood as a substitute for human blood...it's a proper offering so that the people would be preserved by God. So when Jesus is given this term by John and others, he becomes the new offering of preservation, not a substitute.

So if Jesus is to be understood as a sacrifice, it is in that he offers himself on behalf of the people to restore or maintain a relationship. And in various places, Paul and the writer of Hebrews in particular understand it in this manner. But there is less warrant for "God needed to punish someone, and Christ satisfied Him." It's less about Jesus being punished and more about Jesus being a sacrifice, a self-offering. Maybe it's a subtle difference to some, but it's an important one, I think.

And that's alongside other understandings of the cross/resurrection in the NT, including but not limited to Christ conquering death, Christ paying a ransom (who's holding who hostage?), Christ as moral example, and Christ correcting Adam's disobedience. Sacrifice is hardly the only theme.

Also notice that the arguments for sacrifice come while people are making specific arguments. Paul brings it up while trying to get a an emerging Jewish-Christian community to accept Gentiles. The author of Hebrews brings it up while appealing to a people familiar with Temple sacrifice, trying to show that Jesus is the New Sacrifice for all time, 1 John makes him an example of self-sacrifice to be emulated in striving to love others. So there are specific reasons for Biblical writers to make this argument.

Furthermore, a substitutionary view assumes that humanity has a particular problem: estrangement from God by sin, and God's call for punishment. If this was the problem in Jesus' time, there does not seem to be much indication from people around that time where people were sitting around saying, "Guys...God really hates us right now. We've sinned a lot, and we need to make things right. How do we do that?" If this was really a problem in the way that people interpreted Christ as solving, then they didn't seem to be too aware of it until after the fact. It would be like someone walking into my house and rearranging my kitchen cupboards, leaving, and then calling me from their home and saying, "Hey, your dishes weren't organized very well, but I came in and ordered them better for you."

It seems to me that the problem of Roman occupation and regulation was much more a pressing concern. Whether that arose out of a sense of such occupation being God's punishment

However, if people were beginning to discover that a community could be formed around Jesus' life and that it could be a community without traditional boundaries, then suddenly arguments needed to be made where Christ somehow took care of any sorts of hindrances to belonging...thus, his death in certain places of the NT is interpreted to either cover any sort of identity differences and superceded past ideas of law and sacrifice. And that's what the NT writers, in part, end up doing. That's also how Jesus' language of the kingdom, or empire, of God, would have sounded so controversial and revolutionary. Smack-dab in a different empire, THE empire, he would have been advised to watch what he said. So Jesus does recognize a different problem than sin, or to put it a better way, still sin but characterized in a different way.

And the solution does in part become sacrifice: of ego, of traditional boundaries, of traditional thoughts about who can be "in," and even of one's life in order to do right by God and one another. To take up the cross as it were. But hear the good news: Christ is risen. And his--and our--sacrifice is worthwhile, if for no other reason than that God's grace is completely revealed through it.

Tuesday Misc.

I've really been paying a lot of attention to the lament psalms lately. It's quite a rich tradition that, as iMonk has recently stated, a lot of Christians are ignorant of. It's a needed counterpoint to the happy-clappy brand of faith that you can pick up in any local Berean outlet. Psalms 13 and 22 have been favorites lately. It can be quite soothing and reassuring to read this tradition when only a bunch of platitudes are offered elsewhere.

Recently the Pope declared that only those in churches under apostolic succession are fully united in Christ. At least he has a point of view, I guess. Some laud this statement as "reaching out" to more conservative Roman Catholics. It sounds a little like circling the wagons to keep out postmodernism and us dirty Protestants. What irks me the most is how high an ecclesiology many people have (not just Catholics, mind you), which depends so much on theory and much less on experience. No one who has spent any time in a local church with their eyes open, let alone at other denominational levels, could possibly declare any church infallible. Christ transcends our institutions, including those that (disputably) come straight from his blessing. And thank God for that.

So after I wrote that piece about playing guitar, I picked up my bass and have started getting into that again. I've been trying to tell myself lately that I should really focus on one instrument, and that weird part of me that wants to be unique thinks that the bass is the best option because, as I've heard, it's "easy to learn and hard to master." Of course, since college, I haven't happened into a lot of opportunities to play regularly with others, aside from wedging my guitar into the Sunday service. And the bass, in particular, needs others around it. It's a supporting instrument. And don't ask why I feel the need to focus on one instrument because I don't have a good answer yet.

For the past two weeks or so, the message on our church sign has been, "God is the Real Transformer." I've seen at least two cars pull into the parking lot just to take a picture of it. To someone who thinks that church signs are one of humanity's sillier ideas, that's pretty cool.

This post has been modified.

Thinking Out Loud About John 14:6, Part 2

I was talking with a friend the other day who in turn had been talking with a friend. This third party is not a Christian, and he'd had a conversation with someone involved with the Evangelical parachurch campus ministry where he and my friend are getting Ph.Ds.

During the third party's conversation with this other person, the notion of the "God-shaped hole" came up. This is the idea that we all have a hole in our souls someplace shaped like God and thus God is the only one that can fill it. When my friend told me about this later, he used "God-shaped" and "Jesus-shaped" interchangeably, which is probably significant.

Anyway, my friend turned the question to me: "Do we need Jesus, specifically, to fill this hole? Is plugging some hole inside us with Jesus the only way to have a meaningful life?"

This was, and is, a question of whether other faiths are valid. It is also a question that assumes what humanity's problem is. I was a little dodgy on the first part because I myself didn't have a clear answer. But I did get to thinking about the second part.

The notion of a "God-shaped hole" assumes that 1) before some active profession and practice of faith, we have no connection to God, and 2) without God specifically as revealed in Jesus, our lives have no meaning. This is the problem as defined by this analogy. The problem is almost like a Mentos commercial: a problem arises, and once we pop Jesus the Freshmaker, all is well and we have a clear direction and purpose and maybe a cheesy smile. It borders on selling a product with promises of fulfillment and personal satisfaction. That's why many mainliners in particular have issues with many forms of evangelism, but that's for another day.

The first assumption of this analogy has flaws as well. The psalmist asks, "where can I go from your presence?" Jacob exclaims after his ladder dream, "Surely the Lord was in this place and I did not know it!" Jesus declares that the kingdom of God is very very close to people. There are numerous verses where God is in active pursuit of individuals and groups rather than waiting for them to make some public statement that they're ready to submit, repent, pray a sinner's prayer, sign a True Love Waits promise, raise their OCWM giving, or whatever else. So God is not a passive God waiting to fill some hole when invited in, and God is more connected even to people who have been deemed by others to have this hole. So there isn't really a hole to begin with, as that indicates complete separation from God and lack of regard by God until some commitment is made on the individual's part.

Still...do we specifically need Jesus to fully realize this connection to and pursuit by God? My first inclination is to respond that the Israelites did pretty well for thousands of years without Jesus. That's being admittedly snide about it, but if we first consider that Jesus was indeed Jewish and thus in both continuity and critique with this tradition that had such a long history prior to his being born in a stable rude, coupling that with Paul's statements about whether Jews are "in" or "out," and the Biblical case is somewhat muddled.

Furthermore, I'm a weak subscriber to Karl Rahner's concept of "anonymous Christians." This is the idea that non-Christians can be in service to Christ without being aware of it. I say "weak" because I've never actually read this concept for myself...it's just come up in enough places for me to think that it makes sense. Understand that, acknowledging all of the factors of upbringing and cultural context, I am a Christian, and thus interfaith dialogue does not and should not call Christians to apologize for following Christ, but instead acknowledge differences while still working together on common matters of justice to which our faiths may call us. And while there may be the concept of "anonymous Christians," others may hold to concepts of "anonymous Muslims," "anonymous Buddhists," and so on. This is all to say, I suppose, that where our paths cross in matters of serving humanity and restoring creation is when we are most clearly showing the divine to our neighbors. That's probably an inadequate answer and I didn't even really mention John 14:6 until just now. I suppose it was the bigger concept that I wanted to write about.

This one was more rambling. But I think I've got all of this out of my system for the time being.

Thinking Out Loud About John 14:6, Part 1

Jesus said to him, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."

This verse has come up in a few different places for me lately. There's a big discussion about it happening on the UCC forums. Last night I overheard a guy telling another guy that this verse is "objectively true" while I was picking up some Chinese take-out. A few days ago, a friend asked me not about this verse but about the general concept of absolutely needing Jesus to have any semblance of a meaningful life.

This will be a little rambling and may need to be divided up into two parts. So be forewarned.

Traditionally, this verse is interpreted to be an exclusive, triumphalistic affirmation of Christianity as the one true faith. Note that I said Christianity. True, some would argue that the person of Christ is what the verse means, but then we begin to talk about who Christ is and which beliefs are correct and before too long there are accusations of apostasy thrown around. The way, the truth, and the life eventually becomes not just Christ, but a particular church or denomination, a particular creed, a particular theological framework...in other words, a particular understanding of who this one way, Christ, is. That's the first thing that we need to acknowledge when dealing with this verse.

Many Christians wonder about this verse or are uncomfortable with it. They wonder about their Jewish friend or they question the concept that Christianity is the truth among other faiths. I'll try to get to that question, but for this first one I want to talk about the verse and what people tend to read into it.

First, the Gospel of John is such a different animal from the other three. In Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Jesus corrects people who call him good: "no one is good but God alone." He proclaims this notion of a kingdom of God and makes that his definition of good news or gospel (Mark 1:14-15). He tries to point others to this kingdom, this larger reality that God is bringing about and will bring about. In John, the focus is on Jesus himself. Jesus is the good news. Instead of chastising people for calling him good, he frequently states that "the Father and I are one." So the Bible is in conversation with itself about who Jesus is, what he's pointing to, and how he's pointing to it.

John puts forth a Jesus who is constantly in control and who wants people to look at him to see God. It is Jesus, John says, who should be our focus. This is important to note both because of how it may or may not square with what is found in the other three Gospels and because the literary and rhetorical context helps in our understanding of this verse.

When Jesus says, "I am the way, the truth, and the life," what does that mean in the context of the entire book? We need to begin answering that by dealing with the second part of the verse: "no one comes to the Father except through me." I begin with this because this part of the verse tends to be read back into the first part, and there's a lot more reading back beyond that which I'll mention soon enough. But when Jesus makes this claim about the Father and him, it is in line with similar statements he makes throughout John, one of which occurs as soon as verse 7: "If you know me, you will know my Father also," and then in verse 9: "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father." In fact, this verse comes as part of one of a handful of teachings where Jesus says such things. So when I read verse 6, I first read it as being another statement to be included with this list of statements about seeing the Father so completely in Jesus. So when Jesus says no one comes to the Father except through him, it is another statement in a string of statements about how Jesus reveals God.

What gets read back into this verse is the word "belief." True, John's Jesus talks about belief a lot, but there's no reference to belief here. However, when this verse is typically read, the necessity of belief makes an appearance on the part of the interpreter. Why? Jesus doesn't say, "no one comes to the Father except by belief in me." He just says, "except through me." This is important to note because of what I observed earlier: that this verse is usually read and interpreted with a belief system in mind, when really John is closer to making a statement that when you look at Jesus you see God, and it is the most complete sight of God that you will ever see and so paying attention, somehow, to this sight of God, and responding to it, is the way to the Father.

More typically, Paul's writings about the importance of faith is read back into this verse. Paul has this ongoing argument that shows up in his letters about whether or not Gentiles need to be circumcised and become Jews before they can become Christians. No, Paul says, their faith in Christ is how they are justified. And we'll skip the nuances of the Greek word for "faith" here. This concept that Paul used has been lifted up as a more categorical truth: you need faith in Christ (unspoken: the right kind of faith in the right kind of Christ) to go to heaven. Paul's argument doesn't mention heaven, but that gets tacked on anyway. Then we have the writings of guys like Augustine and Luther, who were the big pushers of such a reading of Paul and who wrote volumes based on this interpretation about belief in the right things rather than anything that we can do on our own, and eventually John's verse is interpreted with a strong belief component that isn't there.

Jesus says, "I am the way...no one comes to the Father except through me." It's actually a pretty enigmatic statement. Even if Jesus is the way, how do we follow the way?

Oh. Hold on. Follow. You follow a way, don't you? If you want to "come to" a particular destination, you need to walk a path. You need to follow a way, not just believe some things about the way. If I want to drive to St. Louis, I can believe all the things I want about I-70. I can believe that it's flat and long and boring and even that it's necessary to travel in order to reach where I want to go. But all that belief isn't going to get me to St. Louis. I'll need to actually drive it. So there's more to Jesus' statement than believing the right things (if that's even applicable), isn't there?

That's enough for today. More to come.

Christmas Eve

The Word was first, the Word present to God, God present to the Word. The Word was God, in readiness for God from day one. Everything was created through him; nothing - not one thing! - came into being without him. What came into existence was Life, and the Life was Light to live by.

The Life-Light was the real thing: Every person entering Life he brings into Light. He was in the world, the world was there through him, and yet the world didn't even notice. He came to his own people, but they didn't want him. But whoever did want him, who believed he was who he claimed and would do what he said, He made to be their true selves, their child-of-God selves. These are the God-begotten, not blood-begotten, not flesh-begotten, not sex-begotten. The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood. We saw the glory with our own eyes, the one-of-a-kind glory, like Father, like Son, Generous inside and out, true from start to finish.

No one has ever seen God, not so much as a glimpse. This one-of-a-kind God-Expression, who exists at the very heart of the Father, has made him plain as day.

-excerpted from The Message

Blogging Ecclesiastes

Ecclesiastes really is a fascinating book. I finished my lectio divina study of it this morning, and have come away with a few impressions that I wanted to share...

The worldview in Ecclesiastes is clearly different from what we find later in the New Testament in a few different ways. Throughout the book, the Teacher's refrain comes through: 'All is vanity and a chasing after wind.' His application of the refrain produces some results that may puzzle or even offend those who strive to be faithful disciples of Jesus.

In my vain life I have seen everything; there are righteous people who perish in their righteousness, and there are wicked people who prolong their life in their evildoing. Do not be too righteous, and do not act too wise; why should you destroy yourself? - Ecclesiastes 7:15-16

The Teacher has observed what happens to righteous people. They get treated like they're wicked. They're frowned upon. Others don't like them. They get taken advantage of. His solution: don't be too righteous. Preserve yourself. Meanwhile, Jesus says, 'Those who save their life will lose it, but those who lose their life for my sake will find it.' Jesus had a different take on righteousness: be righteous. You'll actually save your life by doing it.

A sidebar: Yes, this is 'the Bible Jesus read,' to borrow a phrase. But while we see Jesus operate within his tradition in many ways, we also see him operate outside it. Consider his statements about the sabbath. There may even be other instances in the Hebrew Bible where prophets and others disagree with what the Teacher of Ecclesiastes has to say. Consider the strong critiques of those too comfortable to consider the righteousness that God sets forth for them.

The other piece of the Teacher's worldview that is clearly different from what we get in the New Testament and 'orthodox' Christianity is his concept of the afterlife. He mentions heaven four times. In all of them, he presents heaven as a place apart from earth and apart from human beings. This is where God lives, a place 'above' human beings. In the meantime, we all end up in Sheol:

Enjoy life with the wife whom you love, all the days of your vain life that are given you under the sun, because that is your portion in life and in your toil at which you toil under the sun. Whatever your hand finds to do, do with your might; for there is no work or thought or knowledge or wisdom in Sheol, to which you are going. - Ecclesiastes 9:9-10

Sheol is the Israelite concept of the place of the dead, perhaps not unlike Hades in Greek mythology. Everyone goes there. Good works, loving God, acceptingJesusChristasyourpersonalLordandSavior...none of these things 'get' you into heaven or 'get' you out of hell (the latter of which is foreign to the Old Testament). There is Sheol, to which everyone goes.

So one aspect of Ecclesiastes that has been fascinating is that the Teacher's worldview clashes so much with 'traditional' concepts of Christian belief. It illustrates so clearly and beautifully the diversity of thought in the Christian Bible, and presents a strong case against claims of inerrancy.

Don't get me wrong. That's not primarily why I would read it. This was just one observation made while moving through this lesser-known work. The Teacher shares his thoughts on accepting and enjoying one's lot in life and making the most of one's time on earth. He cautions against being too consumed with gathering wealth or wisdom, stating that since we all die, we shouldn't obsess over such things. One of my favorite quotes comes toward the very end:

Of anything beyond these, my child, beware. Of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh. The end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear God, and keep his commandments; for that is the whole duty of everyone. - Ecclesiastes 12:12-13

He cautions against having your nose crammed in books all the time. You're not accomplishing anything besides making yourself tired. Go eat and drink. Go get some sun. Go serve God. What I like the best is that for the Teacher, studying and serving God are not necessarily the same thing. Maybe there are moments when they intersect (how to know God's commandments without studying them?), but there's more to it.

But then again, 'don't be too righteous.' Yeah, whatever.

Ecclesiastes, Easter, and a Prayer Request

It's been a quiet week around the blog. I've been reading plenty interesting material on others, but have had little inclination to write here. Call it the post-Easter lull.

Lectio divina was an excellent discipline for Lent. I read through Luke and Mark, noting some fascinating corners of them both that I've paid little attention to in previous readings. I'm continuing this discipline, and have decided to focus on Ecclesiastes. Here's a shorter book tucked away in the wisdom writings that I think has a great deal to teach us. It is written by 'the Teacher' (or 'Preacher'), who by tradition is thought to be Solomon. The notable refrain in this book is that 'all is vanity and a chasing after wind,' speaking of toil, generations passing away and not being remembered, seeking wisdom and riches, and so on.

The temptation with Ecclesiastes is to glean a moral from the book summed up as such: 'See...this is what happens when you seek pleasure in earthly riches.' This is, I think, too simplistic. The Teacher is making observations on how temporary we are in the whole of existence, yet also reflecting on how life is a gift from God. We just can't let ourselves get hung up so much on the particularities, such as sucking up knowledge, leaving a legacy, and in general thinking that we're more important than we really are. There's a certain humility that undergirds the book's cynicism that I am appreciating more and more.

Easter went well, save for one thing. Back at the beginning of Lent, we sang a slow repetition of 'Alleluia.' You would know it if you heard it, probably. It's a meditative chorus...has a couple verses...well, anyway, as we sang, baskets were passed down the pews and everyone had a slip of paper that said 'Alleluia' on it. As each person dropped his/her slip in the basket they stopped singing. It was to symbolize how we don't sing Alleluia during Lent. Well, we passed them back out on Easter. What was supposed to be a joyful chorus ended as a sleepy drone. Basically we needed more baskets to pass them out more quickly. No complaints about the rest of the service, though.

And if anyone could remember my father-in-law in their prayers, that would be appreciated. He's looking at a liver transplant sometime over the next several months. His liver developed a few clots, which has in turn produced some spleen issues, which has in turn produced some blood issues and ammonia backup issues.

So right now that's my life in a nutshell. Not really. But I figured I should write something.

Easter Sunday

When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, "Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?" When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, "Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you." So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid. - Mark 16:1-8

'Where Should I Start?'

The other day I was asked by a regular attendee about books to introduce her to the Christian faith. I actually don't have many books that could be considered 'introductory' other than a few church history textbooks, so I went with books of the Bible instead.

So here's the question for my readership: what books of the Bible would you recommend to someone looking into Christian faith?

This is what I passed along to her...

The Gospel of Luke - Illustrates Jesus' purpose to 'bring good news to the poor...to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor...to proclaim the kingdom of God.' He tells a young man that love of God and neighbor leads to eternal life and follows up with a story about neighbors with a surprise ending. A story of forgiveness and grace is told about two sons and their father. Jesus is revealed in the breaking of bread to two downtrodden disciples. This Gospel is one of hope and challenge.

Philippians - Emphasizes Jesus' obedience and the strength we find as we seek to follow him.

James - 'Faith without works is dead.' 'Religion undefiled before God is to care for orphans and widows.' 'Even the demons believe, and shudder.' This is a letter about faith as reflected in action, not faith that leaves complacent. It is an extension of Luke's Jesus.

Honorable mentions that weren't mentioned are Exodus, with its story of learning what it means to be God's people, Micah with its commentary on what the Lord requires, and 1 John with its commentary on true love.

Bible Stories You Won't Learn in Children's Church

Update: This is for my new buddy Jason and his little friends on Myspace. Make sure you read down to the very last period before attempting to understand what I'm trying to do in this entry.

This is the title for our upcoming Lenten series. The church traditionally holds Wednesday night soup suppers with a pastor-led program afterwards. This year we'll be studying some of the more dark and disturbing passages in the Bible and raise questions about their value, both then and now. Here's a brief overview, to be expanded each week through Lent according to which text is that week's focus.

Genesis 38 - Judah, one of the twelve sons of Jacob, has three sons. His firstborn, Er, marries a woman named Tamar. Er dies without them bearing a son. Er's brother Onan does not fulfill his brotherly duty and dies as well. Judah keeps his third son Shelah from meeting the same fate, so Tamar resorts to other measures to conceive: she disguises herself as a prostitute and sleeps with Judah. The whole thing reads like something off of Passions, though I'm sure it would be much better acted.

Psalm 137 - The people of Israel are exiled in Babylon and can't bring themselves to sing. They long for the day of retribution when they can dash the heads of the Babylonians' babies against rocks. We'll question the fruitfulness of such a reaction and talk about revenge vs. justice.

Judges 19 - A Levite stays as a guest in Gibeah. The men of the town eventually show up at the door demanding that the Levite come out to them so that they can rape him. Instead, the Levite's concubine is thrown to them, and she is found on the doorstep the next morning beaten, raped, and dead. We'll talk about the view and treatment of women in the Bible and how the concubine might even speak for women today.

2 Kings 2:19-25 - Elisha is taunted by some 'small boys,' and Elisha responds by having two bears maul them. We may explore issues similar to the Psalm, and ask about the God revealed in this story.

A Yet-to-be-Decided Text from Joshua Where a Whole City is Wiped Out on God's Command - There are a few to choose from.

These are subject to change, as I don't want to necessarily focus on the same question of 'What kind of God is depicted in this overly violent text?' Genesis and Judges will be unique enough...it's the other three with which I'm not totally satisfied. Joshua might provide a good springboard into the topic of war.

What I'm trying to prepare myself for is what I see as one inevitable response: 'Well, that's just how God wanted it to be.' I want people to look past that. If God wanted an entire people wiped out, what sort of God is that? If one of God's prophets is allowed to sic bears on small children, what sort of God is that? Then may come, 'We can't understand God's ways.' These are non-responses given in order to avoid the question. The purpose of this study is to acknowledge the incredible amount of sex and violence in the Bible, and to deal with it rather than piously gloss over it. A modern example of the above responses would be to look at pictures from war and shrug it off with some trite saying like 'War is hell' or 'You can't make an omelette...'

Simply giving God the benefit of the doubt in these stories comes from a particular reading that assumes God's supreme authorship of scripture. Who might we be to question the annihilation of a city so that the Israelites can have their promised land? God wanted it to happen and that should be good enough. The Bible is short on details, so we don't see the corpses littering the streets, mothers and children, youth and elderly. We don't feel the stillness of death, we can't smell the blood. It's easier when there is less detail provided and a purported divine blessing covering it all. This study will try to fill in some details and wonder about the blessing. For some it is a dangerous place to go because it is depressing and spiritually taxing. For others it is a new and exciting way to read scripture.

I must be clear that this is not meant to tear faith down, but to deepen it. It is not meant to discredit the Bible, but to enhance people's understanding of it. Laypeople in churches statistically don't have a lot of knowledge about the Bible outside of what the pastor tells them on Sunday morning. This is meant to engage that 90 degrees out from beginner's courses that no one will show up to. It's a way to provoke further study, and a way to get people to provoke scripture.

The past few days have not been bright here at POC. I'll try to lighten it up soon.

Busy Day

They started to follow Jesus. They pressed against each other to catch a glimpse, if only for a moment before being overtaken by each other. They craned necks and stood on their toes and pushed off of the shoulders in front of them. Would today be the day he'd perform another miracle? My son is sick...my wife has a demon...my master is growing old and blind. I need to talk to him...to look into his eyes...to touch him.

He was nowhere to be found that day. Where could he have gone? The desperation was growing. They'd heard the stories being passed around in the marketplace. People might share rumors of him over meals. His miracles were real. His preaching was fantastic. They wanted to see for themselves.

But he was missing. There was no time for this! They were demanding that he appear, demanding that he would perform for them. Please, he might die...please, I miss talking to her...please, he's so miserable...

In place of hope, there grew sadness and resentment. Attitudes began to change as a cloud of rationalization and bitterness crept around them.

'I heard that Bar-Mochba's leprosy came back a week later.'

'I heard that his disciples actually do all the work.'

'I heard that he's really ugly, and he has to hide his face in public.'

'I heard he actually has a few of these diseases himself.'

The grumblings began to change, from the front to the back. Word came through the crowd. He had been praying somewhere, and now had returned! A roar of requests mounted. Those near the back wondered if he'd make it to them. How could he possibly hear them all? Shouts of rejoicing could be heard. My child will live! My wife is well! My father can see!

The disciples took all this in. With each healing, with every touch, the crowd began to thin. With every moment of joy and thankfulness, a few more disappeared.

It was evening before they were finished. The disciples looked around. James shot John a look of anger and bewilderment. Peter caught Bartholomew's eye and shrugged. Jesus didn't seem to notice. He observed the houses; watched as one by one lights were extinguished and families settled in for the night. For many of them, sleep would be much easier.

James fought back what he really thought about all this, and instead ventured a question. 'So...what happens now?'

Jesus turned to look at his friend, reading that there was more he wanted to say. 'Now...you sleep. We'll move on to Capernaum tomorrow.'

'What will you do?'

'I'm going back out to pray.'

'Pray? Pray for what?'

'For all of them. For you. The usual.'

With that, Jesus set off to his familiar spot, leaving the twelve to wonder why he cared, more than a few of them stewing about the days' events. Shaking their heads, heading out in twos and threes, they prepared for the morning and for more of the same.

'Change for Change' - A Sermon for 10/9/05

Pieced together from my outline and morning delivery...

Exodus 32:1-14

When you go to the Ohio State Fair, there is a lot to do. You can see one of the many concerts put on throughout the day by the State Fair band or choir. You can ride the rides. You can view all the livestock and the arts and crafts on display. You can play one of the carnival games. And there are plenty of elephant ears to go around. One other thing that you can view there as you visit the dairy section..Smith's has a display there...is something truly amazing, astounding in its own right. There enclosed in a glass case (and presumably properly refrigerated) is a cow, life-sized, made completely out of butter.

It IS truly amazing. After all, it is a butter cow. How many of those do you see in your lifetime, even if you visit the fair every single year? You have to admire the work, the creativity that went into such a thing. It's a butter cow! Did someone pour butter into a giant mold? Did someone carve it out of a big block of butter? It is truly a specimen to behold. It's a butter cow.