Sermon for the Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on August 27, 2017
Preaching text: Matthew 16:13-20

“Who do you say that I am?”

I spend a lot of time in these sermons on the topic of questions. You have heard me say on numerous occasions I consider the question “What now?” to be the most important question we Christians must ask ourselves. We are saved. We are the chosen. We are called by God. What now? What do we do with this grace that we’ve been given? How do we live our lives in the midst of this truth and faith that we have? I spend a lot of time and energy guiding you, as best I feel I can, to answer that question.

But today, we confronted with a different question. And in some ways, it is even more elementary, even more fundamental, than “What now?” It is the question Jesus asks of his disciples when they visit Caesarea Philippi. “Who do you say that I am?”

You see, “What now?” in all its various forms and manifestations comes out of our answer to “Who do you say that I am?” One follows from the other. How we see Jesus defines how we try to follow him. And if “What now?” is the most important question we Christians ask of ourselves, then “who do you say that I am?” is probably the most important question Jesus asks of us.

And in these troubled and chaotic times, we may be due for a trip back to the basics. Back to Christianity 101. Back to the elementary level. Back to the question of Jesus’ identity and what that means for us.

Because, while one would think that every Christian everywhere would have the same answer to Jesus’ question, that we’d all answer like Peter did, it is increasingly clear that is not true. That across the Church, there are many who would answer Jesus’ question very differently that Peter or ourselves.

Every Sunday, even now as we speak, Joel Osteen and the other Prosperity preachers are telling their flocks that to follow Jesus with devotion and commitment is a sure-fire way to health, success, wealth, and popularity. When Money is God, Jesus is the path to riches. That’s who they say he is.

His response to Hurricane Harvey (or lack thereof) is proof of his true character.

When Money is God, the uber-wealthy are the Saints. And how much is our supposedly Christian society structured on that belief? What’s the old joke? “If you want to steal $1000, rob a bank. If you want to steal $1,000,000, start a bank.” That’s probably a little unfair to honest folks working in the banking industry, many of whom I've had in my pews at my congregations. Perhaps the original quote on which the joke is based is better. From the Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi, “The petty thief is imprisoned but the big thief becomes a lord.”

When Money is God, that’s how the world works. Is that who Jesus is? Is that what this is all about? Did he come to tell us of the Cosmic Santa Claus, that if we only pray hard enough and believe devoutly enough, our lives would be showered with worldly blessings and we would be as gods and kings here on Earth?

Also, in some churches right now, there are preachers who are declaring that Jesus only came to save people like them. Only people who believe precisely the same theology as they do. Only people who worship the same way they do. Only people who avoid the same sins that they do. Only those who have the same political leanings as they do. And, in its most extreme form, only people with the same skin color as them. When self-righteousness and self-superiority is God, Jesus is the fiery judge who will damn and destroy all those outside the fold. That’s who they say he is.

Unpleasant truth: Every person in this picture considers themselves "Christian."

When self-superiority is God, the saints are the haters. Those who appoint themselves judge, jury, and executioner over their fellow human beings. The Inquisitor or whatever form he takes in these times is the paragon of faith. And how much is our supposedly Christian society structured on this belief? With politicians trying to declare illegal those love in less popular ways and those who are determined to imprison people of color for crimes white folks get a slap on the wrist at most. When every Black kid is a thug and every white kid an angel.

Who do you say that I am?

Peter says, “You are the Anointed One, the son of the living God.” “Blessed are you,” replied Jesus, “Simon, son of John, for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. I tell you, you are Peter and on this rock I will build my Church.” And what rock is that? It is the rock of recognizing Christ’s true identity. He is the son of God. He is the one who has come into the world to save it.

He is bigger than money. He is greater than our delusions of superiority. He is better than our hate and our greed. Our selfish gods that glorify our baser desires are too small and petty to be who Jesus is. He is far greater than we can imagine.

Because only he can transcend those base designs of the human heart, what we call sin. And because he can do that, he is the only worthy to go to the cross and die for the sake of humanity. For the sake of us selfish unworthy humans. And he does this willingly, perhaps even eagerly. Why? Because, for all our faults, Jesus loves us beyond reckoning.

That’s a better god than money. That’s a better god than my own selfish prejudices. That’s a god who died for me because he loves me that much. What’s money ever done for me? There’s never enough of it when I need it. There’s always more than enough Jesus when I need him. What’s arrogance and hate ever done for me? All it’s ever done is turn off the people I love, chase them off, sent them away. Jesus will never leave me.

And what’s true for me is true for all of us. The son of the living God loves each and every one of you beyond compare. He died for you. He rose again for you. He gives you life eternal out of his immense and immeasurable love. That’s who I say he is. And you? Amen.

Sermon for the Funeral of Joan Dietz

Preached at Etzweiler Funeral Home on Saturday, August 26, 2017
Preaching Text: Acts 9: 36-42

I met with Jim and Jason on Thursday to discuss Joan and her life. And since I arrived here about an hour ago, I've heard even more stories. Stories of her sense of humor and, of course, a picture tells a thousand words and there are many of those gathered here as well. Pictures of vacations, birthdays, weddings, and other family events.

I have to admit thought I could have lived without seeing Jim's audition photo for the 1970s comedy "Chico and the Man." Rocking that "Disco 'do" as he was. Still, Joan would have liked a bit of playful teasing. She would have liked a bit of laughter in this midst of this moment, because that's who she was.

But the stories that have stood out the most are those of her kindness and compassion, stories of how she’d make food for people in need, of how she’d do anything for anyone who needed help. As those stories are told, we've discovered new ones; of a time when she paid the down payment on a house for a couple in need, a story unknown to her family until just a few minutes ago.

People express their faith in different ways. Each one of us here has our own personal theology and practice when it comes to what we believe. So too with Joan. She was not, as Jim reminded me, much of a church-goer. But her faith was clearly very important to her. Her church was charity. Her worship was compassion and generosity to others. Her prayer was service to people in need.

Honestly, the kingdom of God could use more people like her. Folks who put their money where their mouth is. People who DO the work of God. I know I am blessed as a pastor to have Jim and Amy among my flock, folks who are clearly carrying on Joan has taught them.

But as I was listening I realized that Joan was of a type hardly unique in the life of the greater Church. She reminded me very much of Dorcas, whose story from the book of Acts I just shared with you.

Here again, many centuries ago, was a woman in much the same mold as Joan. Self-sacrificing, kind, generous, a “sweetie” to the many widows in the city of Joppa. Dorcas’s talent was in sewing, so she made clothing for those in need. But then, rather suddenly, she took ill and died. Hearing that St. Peter was in a neighboring town, they sent for him. Peter traveled the distance between the towns and came to where Dorcas was laying. There, he laid his hands on her and commanded her to rise. And she did.

John the Evangelist, who wrote the fourth Gospel, calls all of Jesus’ miracles “signs.” He uses that word very intentionally, as he sees the miraculous as something that points to the truth of God’s kingdom, in much the same way a road sign will point a traveler towards a particular destination. You want to see what God’s kingdom is like? Look to the signs.

And while this is a miracle of Peter’s rather than Jesus, I think it still proves true. This is a sign of the kingdom and it is a sign for us here gathered today.

You see Jesus came to this Earth to show us a kingdom of God where life rules, where kindness is the order of the day, where sorrow and pain no longer exist.  He came and he told his followers to tell and to SHOW others what that kingdom looked like. That’s what Peter did with his miracle, but it’s also what Dorcas did with her charity. AND it’s clearly what Joan did throughout her life.

ALL of them knew that God’s kingdom is our hope. Peter’s miracle is proof of that. He brought back from the dead someone we might think was gone forever. That’s the kingdom. That’s what Jesus came to do. And on the cross and through the empty tomb, he won that kingdom for us.

Joan has received her reward. She has entered into the fullness of the kingdom she proclaimed with every kindness and act of charity of her life. This is God’s gift to her. And God’s gift to us is the same thing. We too are given this kingdom, this place of kindness, peace, harmony, where death and sin and sorrow are no more. A place of joy and celebration.

So, in this moment here and now, I know many are full of sorrow. Joan will be deeply missed. But her life was a sign of things to come, a world beyond ours where all of God’s promises will be fulfilled. Be like Joan. Trust in those promises. Share those promises. And hope for a better tomorrow. Amen.

Sermon for the Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on August 20, 2017
Preaching text: Matthew 15:10-28

The first half of our Gospel text today contains what was, in my teenage years, probably my favorite verse in all of Scripture. It was my shield, my defense, against my detractors. You see, in West Virginia, there is a peculiar and very strong strain of pietism in Christianity. Regardless of denomination, there were just some things you didn’t do if you were a “good Christian boy.”

For instance, you didn’t listen to rock-n-roll music. That would turn you gay and make you into a devil worshiper. You didn’t read certain books like Lord of the Rings or Conan the Barbarian (or, a generation later, Harry Potter) because that would turn you gay and make you into a devil worshiper. You didn’t study “evil-ution” in school because that would turn you gay and make you into a devil worshiper. You certainly didn’t play Dungeons and Dragons because…well, you get the picture. I did all those things.

Jack Chick's cartoon idiocy was quite popular back home.

Now it’s easy to laugh at the obvious homophobia and paranoia of their interpretation of Christianity, but to them it is deadly serious. In the early 1970s, in an effort to protect the youth of WV from corruption, riots broke out over certain textbooks in use in the schools. People were hurt, books were burned, and things were very very ugly for a time. 

And it hasn’t changed much. When I took a group of youth to a Christian rock concert in Charleston from my church in Davis just a few years ago, we ran into protesters who claimed yet again that listening even to Christian rock would turn us gay and make us worship the devil.

But, in my defense, I had the words from Jesus himself. “It is not what enters a man that defiles him.” I felt I had good standing here and still do. After all, I’m not gay and even if I were it wouldn’t be because of one too many D&D games. It would be because I was born that way. And I’m certainly not a devil worshiper. I love my Jesus now as much as I ever have.

But I have to confess that recent events have challenged my interpretation of this text and those like it in the other Gospels. Well, speaking of being born a certain way, I know darn well those people who marched through the streets of Charlottesville last weekend were not born with hatred in their heart for those different from them. That crap was learned. And it was learned by what they took in. It was what entered into them that made them that way.

So am I wrong? Should I read Jesus more literally here? Since it is, in Matthew’s recording, that which “goes into the mouth” that does not defile and I certainly did not eat my books, CDs, and games. Is this really only about food and unwashed hands? No, I don’t think so. Jesus himself points out that it’s what’s in the heart that determines what comes out of a person. So what’s the difference between the ones marching in the streets for hate and myself?

Not a whole lot actually.

I’ve done a lot of reading on the origins of the so-called Alt-right movement and a big chunk of the followers of that movement are, for lack of a better way to describe them, nerds. Like me. People who did all those same things I did as a youth: played D&D, read and watched stories of brave knights and beautiful princesses in great distress, devoured sci-fi: Star Trek, Star Wars, Dr. Who, you name it. Grew up believing, as so many do, that courage, hard work, tenacity would all be rewarded in the end. That they’d get the great job, win the girl, and live happily ever after.

And then real life came crashing down on them like an avalanche. Real life is not a fairy tale and these folks discovered, as I once did, that life does not hand you anything no matter how deserving of it you think you are. Women are not vending machines into which you can drop coins of kindness and wit and then sex and romance come out. Good jobs are scarce in this economy and even with hard work you may not land them.

I had to learn all those lessons. Ask any of my ex-girlfriends how entitled I felt I was to them because I was a “nice guy.” Ask my college sophomore self how unfair it was that I was still flunking out of Computer Science despite the long hours of work I’d put in. I watched my whole life fall apart that year. Everything I thought I was going to be gone in a few short months.

According to Eric Hoffer’s book The True Believer, it’s people in those very circumstances that are ripe for recruitment into mass movements. People who believe their lives are utterly and irredeemably broken. And that’s why so many of those nerds fell in with the alt-right and the hatemongers in Charlottesville. But why didn’t I? It’s not like those sort of charlatans and neo-Nazi groups and so forth didn’t exist in the 90s too. That was the era of Ruby Ridge and Oklahoma City. Why didn’t I become like them?

Because I chose not to. What was in my heart, along with all the anger and despair at how life had treated me, was also Jesus. And that part of me compelled me to choose differently. I choose the good, as best I could. The execution of that choice could have been better; I wasn’t perfect then and I certain am not now. But I strove for the good, despite the temptations otherwise.

And maybe that’s why Matthew pairs Jesus’ discussion of what does and does not defile with the story of the Canaanite woman. What goes into this woman but insults and rejection? Even Jesus himself responds to her with cruelty and disdain. But I believe he does that for a reason. He knows what’s in this woman’s heart. He knows that pouring hate and rejection into her will not stop her from choosing the good. It will not stop her from choosing Jesus even when Jesus himself seems to say no.

And he’s right about her. She chooses to follow. She chooses to believe. She chooses to turn Jesus’ own words back on him. “You don’t throw the children’s food to the dogs? Fine. I’ll just take a crumb, just like the dogs would get. That’s all I need to save my daughter.” She does not disappoint him. Her faith is strong and she chooses Jesus even in the face of his rejection. What a powerful demonstration of faith.

You can almost imagine Jesus walking away from this scene with a certain smug satisfaction. “You wanted to know what I meant about what does and does not defile. Look to that woman. I insulted her, heaped disdain and rejection upon her and yet still she called upon me for aid. Her heart is pure no matter what I or anyone else tried to put inside her. Do likewise. Be like her.”

We are confronted with myriad choices every day. And there are forces of evil about that want our allegiance. And we’ve seen how they work. They tear people down, beat and abuse them. Convince them of their worthlessness and say to them their only choice to redeem themselves is to follow evil. From the marchers in Charlottesville to the greedy-beyond-measure CEO in the halls of power, we’ve seen how these choices are made. But we here gathered have chosen differently. We have chosen Christ even as life has done its worst to us. We have chosen the one who has said we are not worthless; that we are more precious than all the wealth in the world. That we are worth dying for.

That’s who we are and we have also been called to make others like us. These ripe times for the church; the harvest truly is ready. We have seen with our own eyes the vast numbers of lost souls convinced the meaning in life can be found in hate, rage, greed, gluttony, and lust.  We have an alternative to all those things. We have a better choice. But they will only know if we show them. Amen.

Sermon for the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost (Actual)

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on August 13, 2017
Scripture text: Matthew 14:22-33

I had my sermon all planned out. Written. Ready to go for this Sunday. I put the written copies, 3 of them, where they’re to go: one in my laptop for Grace, one in the pulpit at Canadochly, and one in the pew for Lois to be able to read along. But this isn’t that sermon anymore. (Sorry, Lois.)

I couldn’t ignore what I was seeing in Charlottesville this weekend. The unbelievable outpouring of hate and malice that was unfolding before my eyes. I felt sorry for the people of the town, for the students on campus at UVA (There’s a first.) I was afraid for them. And with good reason.

The Nazis (and make no mistake, that’s what they are) who’d come to town to protest murdered one person. Drove over a crowd of people with a car and sent nearly 20 of them to a hospital and one to a morgue. 

Terrorism has returned to our country yet again, only this time it’s not some radical from the Middle East with ties to Al Qaida or ISIS. No, this time it’s people that look just like us.

White folk. Waving Confederate flags and making Nazi salutes. Telling folks around them they’re looking forward to roasting people in the ovens again. Looking forward to violence and death. Looking forward to murder on a grand scale for anyone who isn’t like them.

And then there’s the Internet. Lauds of support for the protesters from people who should know better. Right-leaning friends who see nothing wrong anymore with Nazi symbolism and naked hate. The wife of one of my one-time closest friends vomiting hatred on anyone who disagreed with her or those marching on the streets in Charlottesville.

This is humanity at its ugliest.

And we here gathered and in every church across this country are confronted with this reality and it begs a question of us. What are we going to do about it?

This isn’t about right or left anymore. It’s about right or wrong. There should be no place in the Christian heart for these attitudes, opinions, and hatred. No place for it in us. What are we going to do about it?

I know a lot of our neighbors here and perhaps many of you voted for the Republican candidates in the last election. Many of you voted for Trump. You did so for a variety of reasons: strongly held convictions, long held traditions, and a genuine belief that they would make our country better. But those people waving the Stars and Bars and throwing bottles filled with cement at people in Charlottesville yesterday also voted for the GOP and they did so because they saw it as the white man’s party. If that doesn’t make you uncomfortable, maybe it should.

But I don’t believe for a second that’s what the Republican party in this country wants to stand for. Abraham Lincoln would be appalled at what has happened. As would Dwight Eisenhower and any other conservative, past or present, of good character and judgment. (Orrin Hatch certainly was.) I hope many of you are as well. What are you going to do about it?

We liberals aren’t innocent either. We share the blame for much of what has inflamed this hate. By ignoring the plight of working folk. By not standing up more vigorously for education. By being spineless in our own beliefs about the value of human life and diversity. After all, what’s the old saying, “The only thing required for evil to thrive is for good men to do nothing.” What are we going to do about it?

The first step is repentance. When we all (ALL OF US) turn to God and admit that we’ve sinned. When we admit to our sin and we pledge to do better. To stand up for what is right and good in the world. To stand up for love of neighbor as the best and only way to peace in our world. To stop being afraid.

Admitting that we, by action or inaction, by belief or apathy, had a part in making that nightmare in Charlottesville real. That’s a big step and not a comfortable one. As I said on the first Justice Sunday, we don’t like to think of ourselves as the villain. Well, then let’s stop being that and start being the hero.

And there’s the second step. Admitting we’re wrong is not enough. We’ve got to do more. We got to follow through on our repentant pledge. That we will stand up this time. That we will not be silent in the face of evil. That we will love our neighbors as Jesus commanded. That we will fight for them against the forces of hate and fear, with the pen, the spoken word, with the ballot box, with the courage and care of our hearts. Not returning violence for violence, but defeating hate with love.

But, Pastor, we saw what happened to those who tried that. Beaten, pepper sprayed, run over by a car. The Christian path was never meant to be an easy one. I said to a colleague this week that I think I now know what the next phase of Church history will be, given we’re hitting that 500 year mark this very year. It’s going to be a time when the Word of Christ and his teaching becomes radical again. And if radical then threatening to the powers of the world. And if threatening, then they will retaliate against us.

I’ll be honest. That scares the hell out of me. I had friends, colleagues at the counter-protest. People among those who were hurt and were killed. I could have been one of them, and might have been if I lived closer. But we cannot be afraid.

The miracle story in our Gospel lesson, which was the original topic of my sermon, gives us an important lesson in the midst of these terrifying and confusing times. The real miracle isn’t that Jesus walked on water. We already know he can do tricks like that. The real miracle is when Peter does it. When he, an ordinary human being, does the impossible. And if he can, so can we. Changing the world will not be easy, but it can be done if we hold fast to what we believe.

And even if we falter, as Peter did, what happens then but Jesus reaches out and plucks us from the water. Two Sundays ago, we heard that unforgettable text from Romans of how nothing than separate us from the love of Christ Jesus. Not failure, not sin, and not the violence of those in the world who oppose Christ and his message of love.

Our purpose as Christians has never been clearer, my friends. We must stand against this evil. We must stand against it within us, in the fear and the hate we may hold within ourselves. We must stand against it within our political affiliation, getting back to working towards the common good instead of embracing hate or cowardice in an effort to win votes. We must stand against it in our whole society, saying this is not America. We must stand against it within our families and circles of friends, saying these thoughts and beliefs are unacceptable to civilized peoples. And we must stand against it even within the church, as hate can flourish even here.  It’s an ugly world and it’s getting uglier. What are we going to do about it? Amen.

Sermon for the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost (original)

Not preached
Scripture text: Matthew 14:22-33

Pastor's Note: This was the original draft of my sermon for 8/13/17, written before the nightmare of hate and violence in Charlottesville, VA on 8/12. I decided, as my conscience compelled me, to rewrite this from scratch to answer the obvious manifestation of evil in our society. I present here, however, the original for the sake of completeness.

On Thursday, while I was driving to the Senior Center to do my bi-weekly volunteer duty, the radio started playing Sheryl Crow’s song “My Favorite Mistake.” I sort of chuckled to myself, thinking “Man, I haven’t heard this song since I was in college.” I did my volunteering and drove home a hour or two later, stopping by CVS on the way to pick up some prescriptions. I walk into the store and what song is playing over the loudspeaker at the CVS? Yep, “My Favorite Mistake.”

Music is a funny thing. It has an amazing power to teleport us through time. And while that old song I heard on Thursday certainly did a little bit to transport me back to my days of youth, there are examples that can do that far more potently. A few notes of either The Sunday’s “This is where the Story Ends” or The Cure’s “Untitled” and I’m smack-dab in the middle of the Drillfield at Virginia Tech. Doesn’t matter what I’m doing or where I am, I’m immediately taken back to a time now 25 years past. Back to one of those perfect moments in life. Back to bliss and enchantment. Back to a time I once thought would never end.

Nostalgia is a powerful thing. It reminds us of those perfect moments in life and how valuable they were. Valuable in part because they did come to an end, which is always something when we’re in that perfect moment that we cannot believe. We think they’ll last forever and yet they never do.

So what does all this have to do with Jesus walking on water? Well, quite a bit actually.

I had two thoughts coming into this sermon today. One, much like the miracle last week, there’s an element of unanswered questions about this miracle. Once again, we have a miraculous event that appears on the surface to be Jesus just showing off. As I pointed out last Sunday, that’s not his nature, so what’s the real reason for this miracle?

The second thought is the recognition that the disciples are in their “perfect moment.” They are on the missionary journey with Jesus. They’ve seen amazing things: the dead raised, the lame walking, the blind seeing, lepers cleansed. They heard teachings that have astounded and intrigued them. They’re on the adventure of a lifetime, having a blast, doing and witnessing incredible things. And, like all of us when we’re in such moments, they believe it will never end. Perhaps that’s why they refuse to listen when Jesus frequently speaks of his coming Passion.

So does Jesus’ miracle have something to do with that delusion of the unending perfect moment? I believe it does.

Jesus, of course, is very aware that this fair time will come to an end. He’s been telling the disciples that for some time now, but they don’t listen. They don’t believe it. (We probably wouldn’t either.) But rather than butt heads with them over it, Jesus does something of an end run around them. It’s not the only time he does this. There are numerous occasions where Jesus does something and in his explanation of that something, he says “What I am doing you do not understand now, but someday you will.” This is one of those times.

He walks on water. More importantly, however, when Peter asks to do the same, Jesus ascents and Peter steps out of the boat.

That’s huge. Here is Peter, an ordinary and often flawed human being, doing the impossible through Jesus. That is precisely what the disciples need to see. (And us as well.)

You see, whether the disciples believe it or not, the fair time, the perfect moment, will come to an end. Jesus does go to cross, he does die, he does rise again, and he does ascend into heaven. And the disciples are left (for the first time) with that question that I have said is central to the Christian story, “What now?”

Well, Jesus tells them before he leaves what they are to do. “Go, spread the Gospel. Go, heal the sick, bind up the brokenhearted. Spread the kingdom of God to every corner of the world.” One can immediately sense the feeling of panic in the disciples upon hearing those instructions. “How can we do that? We’re not Jesus.”

No, they’re not, but Peter did walk on water just like Jesus. Peter did do the impossible through Jesus. And if he can do that, then we can all do the impossible. We can all change the world.

That is why this miracle is important. It’s not really about Jesus walking on the water. It’s about Peter doing it; Jesus demonstrates in a very potent way what the Evangelist John records Jesus saying in his Gospel. “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father.”

Imagine that.

And now imagine it not just for those twelve men in that boat that day, but also for all of us. We too can do the impossible, just as they did. We too can spread the kingdom. We too can bind up the brokenhearted, welcome the stranger, heal the sick, change the world.

But, pastor, Peter sank. Yeah, only after he took his eyes off of Jesus. Nothing that Jesus asks of us in our personal callings is going to be easy. As I’ve alluded here in this very sermon, some of what he asks is downright impossible. Keep our eyes on Jesus however and it all becomes very doable.

But we’re human, just like Peter. And yeah, we’re going to sink from time to time. That’s the other piece of this miracle story. When Peter begins to go under, Jesus doesn’t stand there and laugh at his lack of focus and faith. No, he reaches down and plucks Peter out of danger. He steps into the boat and the wind and waves cease. He brings peace into our lives even when we fail him.

That’s grace, my friends.

No, we’re not Jesus. We’re never going to do what he asks of us perfectly and that’s okay. For two thousand years, the Church and Christian people everywhere have been trying to do as Jesus asked. And has history has shown us, they’ve failed quite miserably quite often. So have we and so will we. But Jesus still calls us to do his work in this world. Yeah, we’ll fail, but there will be times when, like Peter, we discover we can do far more than we ever imagined through Christ. When we can do the impossible. When we can change the world, perhaps in small ways, but also perhaps in very big ways. Amen.

Sermon for the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on August 6, 2017
Scripture texts: Romans 9:1-5, Isaiah 55:1-5, Matthew 14:13-21

Our second lesson today is one of the most difficult ones in all of the New Testament. It’s the beginning of the “What about the Jews?” text, where Paul muses over his thoughts and feelings about what will happen to the Jewish people now that Christ has come. This is a question the Church has struggled with along with Paul. Our answers have often been self-interested, evil, and violent. “Convert or die” has far too often been our answer, and that thinking, that mindset, of course, led to the Holocaust and all of its horrors.

We may not like to admit it, but this started with Christians and their long history of antisemitism.

Paul, for his part, gives no such hostility in his musings over the question. He is hopeful, but uncertain, about salvation for his own people. How sad it is that we have read his uncertainty as sanction for cruelty, license for abuse and persecution. But Paul is simply being honest about not knowing the mind of God. He quotes numerous Scriptures that say one thing or another throughout the 9th, 10th, and even 11th chapters of his letter to Rome, debating with himself about what might be the truth. His uncertain conclusion is that salvation will come to all people, Jew and Gentile alike.

Paul is really no different than any of us. Most of us, I can imagine, have crossed paths with people of other religious understandings or no religion at all. And while we remain called to proclaim the Gospel to such people in word and in deed, what happens if we see no response to that Gospel in them? The right and proper answer, which I’ve noted over the last several sermons, that’s not our concern is little comfort when the person we are dealing with is beloved to us: Our best friend, a favorite relative, a wayward child, or some such.

I remember keenly a story that was told to me by one of my seminary professors regarding a favorite uncle. He was a man who did not believe, who rejected Christ even on his deathbed, and yet to the young man that would become my professor, he was wonderful and loved human being. “Can I be damned to save him? Can he take my place in heaven?” asked my professor hypothetically, but also in all sincerity. Paul says much the same thing himself, “For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my own people.”

Paul’s not grandstanding here. His love for his own is great, just as my professor’s love for his uncle was great. Just as my love for my atheist and agnostic and Hindu and Jewish and Muslim friends is great. Just as your love for those folks who do not believe yet you call friend or family is great.

But I believe we can take heart. It’s been no secret to any of you who’ve heard me preach and teach over the years that I fall in line with Paul’s conclusion that salvation will be for all people. That when the final judgment comes, hell will be empty because of Christ. But like Paul, I am also uncertain about that. I do not know the mind of God and I do not know what, in the end, he will do. I can hope that he will save those that I love who outside his flock.

And that hope is not without support. Paul quotes Scriptures numerous to back up (and refute) his claims in his debate, and I can do the same. In fact, the lectionary was kind enough to give me a few today that I can use for those purposes.

The prophet Isaiah was, of course, steeped in the reality of the Old Covenant. The covenant made to Abraham where God claimed that he would send through Abraham’s family a “blessing for all the families of the Earth.” The whole purpose of the Hebrew people, the whole reason they were Chosen, was to serve as priest and intercessor between God and the rest of the world. It was they who would introduce the nations to Yahweh. It was they who would show the world what Christians would later call the “kingdom of God,” a place where the hungry were fed, the sick cared for, and where every life mattered.

Isaiah, as did many of the prophets, called the Israelites to remember why they were Chosen. His call to the people in the 55th chapter of his prophecy is universal. All who thirst, come to the water that God offers. See there is a covenant with David’s kingdom and it will call nations to learn of God. Nations that do not worship Yahweh will come to learn of him.

These prophecies never came true, or did they? Has God brought all nations, all peoples, all tribes and languages, under his wing through Christ, the one who is “a blessing for all the families of the Earth?” I hope so.

And then our Gospel lesson is the famous story of Jesus feeding the 5000. It’s the only miracle of Jesus that all four evangelists report on. I’ve always wondered why there were leftovers. It’s always seemed an unnecessary flourish that Jesus put on his miracle, that he was “showing off,” and that didn’t seem like Jesus. He’s not the “Hold my beer. Watch this.” type.

So there has to be a reason why he made twelve baskets full of extras from the miraculous meal. The evangelist John calls every miracle a Jesus a sign, something that points to the reality of God’s kingdom. And these extra baskets too are a sign of that kingdom.

Perhaps it is the same sign as when made the water into wine and made far more wine than the partygoers at that wedding could ever drink. Exceeding abundance marks both these miracles. Is that a characteristic of the kingdom? Is it because grace overflows? Is it because his love, like the cup of the 23rd Psalm, runneth over? And if it does so, is there not room in God’s heaven for more souls than we can imagine? Does grace abound even for those who do not believe?

Maybe.

I don’t know for certain, but I hope. What I do know for certain is that God loves me beyond comprehension. Even though I know I don’t deserve that kind of love. And I know he loves you that way too, even though you too do not deserve it. As Brennan Manning often said, “God loves us so much he’d rather die than be without us.” Jesus made proof of that by dying for us on a cross, evidence of God’s immensely incalculable love for us. I know that I am saved because of that love. I know you are too.

Is that love big enough for the whole world? I believe it is. It’s a love for everyone. Christ’s sacrifice was for everyone. His rising from the tomb was for everyone. He said “It is finished” from the cross on that fateful Friday. I believe he meant it. Is it truly done for all? One day, we will know. Amen.

Sermon for the Funeral of Betty Bitzel

Preached at Grace on July 29, 2017
Preaching texts: None

Unlike Betty, I am not a lifelong York county resident. I grew up in the mountains of West Virginia and only moved here about 5 years ago. But one of the things we mountain folk like to do is find ways in which we’re interconnected with one another. Oh, you like that music. So do I. You know so-and-so? How cool. Me too.

As Sharon and I were talking on the phone Thursday night about her mother and her life, I had to chuckle inside. Because, as we were talking, I came to realize that Betty and I had a lot in common. We were both fanatical dog lovers; Betty even took her dog Bebe into the home with her after she sold her place on Canal St. Dogs show us that sort of loyalty; it’s nice to hear of someone who returned the favor.

Each week, I gather with friends to play games. Betty, her husband Roger, and all his union buddies would gather together frequently to play cards. I didn’t catch if they had a favorite game… But I’m sure those were good times.

I also know Betty was very dedicated to this congregation. She grew up here at Grace, raised her children here at Grace, worshiped her Lord here at Grace. Having been here these past 9 months now, I understand where that loyalty comes from. There is something special here.

Every one of us is a unique creation. We are created unique from the substance of our parents with God’s guiding hand. The circumstances, events, and experiences of our lives are all unique and yet put two people in a room together and, with a little bit of time, they will find something they share together. We are unique and yet we are all the same.

We all desire a good and decent life, not merely for ourselves, but also for those that we love. We want a good job (Betty had several of those), a loving spouse (almost 50 years with Roger), as little hardship as possible. We want our children to grow up strong and self-sufficient (the evidence of that is here before us today.) We want to know our lives mattered.

We are a bundle of emotions right now. Betty, our mother, our friend, has died. What does that mean? How are we supposed to feel? Those are questions that come into our hearts often without words. We feel sorrow, anger, confusion. We can feel relief that she is free of her Alzheimers. We can feel guilty because we feel relief. We feel trepidation and fear. Is she okay? With mother gone, I am rapidly becoming the eldest generation. My time is short. What happens to me when this moment comes?

No matter how vigorous our faith, moments like these can shake us to the very core.

But I know that Betty and I have something else in common. And it’s something that you also share with her, beyond all other ties of fellowship and blood. Betty was loved intensely passionately by her savior, Jesus Christ. In fact, Jesus loved her so much that he went to a cross and died upon it so they could be together in eternity. He rose from the dead on the third day so that death would have no true hold upon her. He did all this for her…and for you and for me.

One of my favorite authors, Brennan Manning, often said that “God loves us so much that he’d rather die than be without us.” In Jesus, we see how true that is. That’s how much Betty means to our Lord and how much you and I do. This is the whole Christian story. This is what it’s all about. It’s what drew Betty time and again back to this place to hear it anew. Of how God so loved the world (and her), that he gave his only Son to save them.

My friends, none of that has changed in this moment of grief. God remains steadfast. He loves Betty; He has saved Betty. God loves you; He will save you. It’s really that simple. This grief is but temporary. This parting brief. The day will come when God will fulfill his promise of salvation to you and I just as he has with her. And she will be there waiting for us, with Roger and Bebe at her side and probably with a pack of cards in her hand, ready to deal you in.

That is God’s gift to us. Remember it. Hold fast to it. I will not say do not cry, because I know this hurts. But we need not cry forever. We will see her again, thanks to the one in whom she put her truth her whole life long: Jesus Christ. Amen.

Sermon for the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on July 30, 2017
Preaching text: Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

It seems Jesus is not quite through throwing agricultural parables at us this week. That really isn’t much of a surprise. After all, these vast crowds he was teaching were largely made up of farmers or folk from small towns who were connected to or perhaps only one generation separated from the family farm. They understood the images, even if the real message underneath the metaphor often went over their heads.

Of course, not all the parables we have today are of an agricultural nature. One can suspect that Matthew, the evangelist, found this a convenient spot in the life of Jesus to take some editorial license, placing a number of short one-sentence parables together here rather than tell a separate overarching narrative for each. Still, it is the first two, the agricultural ones, that I want to focus on today.

Once again we begin with the image of a seed. As it was with the sower and the weeds amidst the wheat, the seed is the word of God. It doesn’t take much to do powerful things. The yeast in the second parable highlights that. I saw an amusing meme on the internet this week; a news report about a bread truck carrying yeasted flour that got a little too hot in the summer sun and left a trail of leavened bread dough behind it. I could see Jesus revising his parable for modern day after that incident. The kingdom of heaven can be compared to a bread truck on a hot summer day. Just a little heat and you’ve got one heck of a mess.

But the overall point of any and all of these is that it doesn’t take a lot to do a lot.

And yet, evangelism remains a dirty word in many Christian circles. Filled with nightmarish images of knocking on the doors of strangers, handing out tracts on the street corner, and any number of aged obsolete (and ineffective) strategies. It’s the fear of looking stupid or offending someone.

I know for my part I used to be intimidated by those who knew the Scriptures better than I did. People who could quote chapter and verse, those were the folks who could do real evangelism. Not some scrub like me. As I’ve aged however, I’ve come to realize people like that are about as rare as diamonds and gold. Most folks in the church haven’t opened a Bible in decades, as evidenced by their embrace of the idolatry that the Scriptures were written by Americans for Americans only. Excuse me, let me clarify, written by white conservative Americans for white conservative Americans only.

I’ve started taking a new route to Canadochly for my office hours. It takes me past a house that has a giant wooden cross sculpture in the front yard. A bald eagle stands atop the cross and the word “Trump” is carved across the front of it where Jesus' corpus would be on a crucifix.

Love the president or hate him, there’s something outright blasphemous about that. No President of either party should ever be equated with our Jesus. 

Everything wrong with American Christianity in one single image.

The threat isn’t knowledge of Scripture, it’s ignorance of it.

But we here gathered are not ignorant of what matters most in Scripture. One of you approached me some weeks ago and said “I think you want us to understand that God loves us. That’s pretty much all you preach on.” YES. And that’s all one really needs to be an evangelist. Show people that God loves them.

And boy, is that desperately needed right now.

A year or so ago, we heard the chant from the streets about “Black lives matter.” A counter-chant put forth by those uncomfortable with issues of race in America was “All lives matter.” But we’ve gotten where we are today as a nation and a society because “no lives matter.” That’s really the truth of it. Not yours. Not mine. Not anyone’s.

My wife and I have more pre-existing medical conditions than we can count. And yet our government just this week debated over whether we could keep the paltry amount of health insurance we’ve gotten under the ACA. I don’t feel my life matters to anyone up there in Washington.

Thank you, Senator McCain, for giving me some hope.

The people of my home state have languished under generations of poverty and, now with the coal industry on the decline, what few good jobs remain are evaporating quickly. They don’t feel their lives matter.

 

And, of course, Black lives matter came about because so many African-Americans are dying, at the hands of cops, vigilantes, and each other. (And, yes, despite right-wing screeds to the contrary, they do talk about that.) They’ve been marching to make their lives matter to others because they haven’t for so very long.

On Justice Sunday, we heard anew the call from our Lord to “love kindness, do justice, and walk humbly with God.” The call to do something. The call to LOVE people and not just as a sentimental emotion, but as an active vigorous effort to make life better for them.

To me, that’s evangelism. It’s not merely telling someone “God loves you,” it’s telling them “God loves you and because of that, I’m going to fight for you. I’m going to do everything I can to make your life better than it is now” and following through and doing it.

Because that’s what Jesus did. If he saw someone who was sick, he healed them. He cleansed the lepers. Made the blind to see. And while we may not have his miraculous powers, that is a model intended for us to follow. Do good to others in every way you can. Heal the sick. Feed the hungry. Protect the weak. Speak for those without voice.

The world needs that now more than ever. The world needs people of good conscience to stand up for what is right, good, and just. The world needs the Church to be the Church as Jesus envisioned it, a place of mercy, compassion, and justice. And those things will happen when you and I and our brothers and sisters start doing what Jesus has called us to do with the tiny little mustard seed of the Word that we have in our hearts.

The world will not take that kindly. It’s all eaten up with hate and nihilistic despair. It will push back. But remember, as Paul tells us today, nothing can separate us from the love of Christ.

We may not think of ourselves as much. Ordinary folk in York county, PA. But we have everything we need to change the world. We have the seed of faith. We have knowledge of the Word and its priorities. And we have a God who has already won the victory over death. What on Earth can stop us? Go, spread the Word and make a better world. Amen.