Monday, December 26, 2016

Immanuel

"Immanuel"
Matthew 1:23; Psalm 23

Human beings all share a common fear.  It is the greatest human fear.  It seems to be a part of the human condition and it doesn't matter what gender, race, or nationality you are.  We all have to deal with this fear.  If we don't get through this fear in a healthy way, it will effect us for the rest of our lives.

It is the fear of abandonment, particularly the fear of abandonment by our mothers, who are usually the primary caregiver.  Another name psychologists give it is "separation anxiety."  We start going through this stage in our lives when we are just a few months old.  It begins to subside when we are around two years old.

The famed psychologist Erik Erickson called this first stage of human development, "Basic Trust vs. Basic Mistrust."  We need to know, as infants, that we can trust our environment.  That we can rely, without question, on our primary caregivers.  We need to be sure, if we are going to have a firm foundation for the rest of our lives, that our caregivers are familiar, are safe, and can be relied upon.

If we are left alone for too long of a time, or untouched, or our primary caregiver is out of sight and and out of range of hearing for too long of a time, infants begin a foundational feeling that life is unsafe.  We, when we were babies, will begin to assume that life is unsteady and threatening.  Without that assurance that we can rely on our environment and primary caregivers, we will feel alone and fearful.

By the time they are two, toddlers will have made up their mind if their environment is safe and reliable.  Or unsafe and unreliable.  They will have made up their mind if they can trust their primary caregivers so that when they leave the room, leaving the toddler alone and is out of sight, that child knows the caregiver will return later, and everything will be OK.

As I mentioned, Erik Erickson has proven that if we don't get through this initial stage well, it will effect all the subsequent stages of our human growth and development.  As you have listened to me describe this primary stage of Basic Trust vs. Mistrust, you may be thinking of people who fit this description.  People who have never been quite trusting of others around them, and never feel completely safe and secure.  It's a terrible way to have to live.


I think we go through the same development process in our Christian life.  When we give ourselves to Christ, it is like being spiritual infants.  Paul says the same thing when he wrote his letter to the Corinthian church—that we start out with spiritual milk, so to speak, until we can move on to more substantial "food."

We start out asking ourselves if we can trust this God that we have decided we believe in.  We start testing the boundaries of God's supposed caring, just like infants do with their new parents.  We want assurances that God won't abandon us, especially when we feel we need God the most.  That this God is not only the great mind behind the universe, but also the great heart who somehow cares and loves us each individually, as mind boggling as that is.  Will our assumed caregiver God leave us alone?  Can we get to the place, as human beings, where we feel safe under God's care?  That we are confident when we need succor and embrace from God, God will be there?

That's why Jesus, and this name, Immanuel, is so important.  As the gospel writer Matthew, tells us, the name Immanuel means, "God with us" or "God is with us."  Calling Jesus, Immanuel, is God's signal to us that, in Jesus, and through Jesus we work through the primary stages of our faith development.  That Jesus is the one, God has given us to establish our spirituality beyond our anxiety and attachment issues.  That when we ask the basic questions about familiarity and safety, in face of an unsure and scary existence, Jesus is the one, God has given us to establish that faith.  That when we feel most unsafe and threatened by what the world throws at us, Jesus is the one, God has given us to provide the safety and security we need to grow more and more secure.  That we can get to the point in our faith that even when it doesn't feel like God is in the room, or out of sight, that, in Jesus, God is always near, always with us.  That when we are trying to decide if the world is a place we can trust or mistrust, Jesus is the one, God sent to be the one we can ultimately and constantly trust.  That Jesus really is Immanuel, God with us.





Hanging in the US National Gallery of Art in Washington DC is a series of four paintings by Thomas Cole. The series is called “The Voyage of Life”. Each painting depicts a stage of life: childhood, youth, manhood and old age.

The first painting is of childhood. It shows a mountain with a dark cave at its base and a river flowing out of the cave. A beautiful timber boat glides out of the cave into a world of lush vegetation, flowers in bloom and a peaceful, gentle surface on the water. Inside the boat is a laughing baby with a Guardian Spirit standing right behind. The painting shows childhood as a time of wonder and joy.

The second painting is called “youth”. We see the same boat now travelled further downstream. The baby has grown into a teenage boy. He stands in the rear, confidently steering the boat towards a majestic white castle off in the distance. The riverbanks are still lush and green and the Guardian Spirit stands on those banks, watching the young man boldly chart his course. The painting shows youth as a time of dreaming and absolute self confidence that nothing can hold us back.

When we look at the third painting the scene has changed dramatically. The youth has become a man, the river is on the verge of becoming a raging torrent, and the sky has become dark and threatening. The castle of dreams is nowhere to be seen and the boat’s rudder has broken. Up ahead lie treacherous rocks, with white water crashing all around them. The man in the boat is caught up by forces he can’t control. With the rudder broken he cannot steer his boat. All he can do is look up to the sky and pray. Meanwhile the Guardian Spirit sits somewhat hidden in the clouds, but is still watching over the man. Cole is picturing adulthood as a time when the joy and wonder of childhood have been tamed by the difficult and tragic experiences of life, when the confidence and boldness of youth have been swept away by the harsh realities of life, but yet the presence of God is there.

The final painting is called “Old Age”. The battered and weathered boat has finally reached the ocean. The dark clouds remain but the water is still. The boat’s occupant is now an old man, and his gaze is fixed firmly on the clouds out there in front of him, clouds pierced by the glorious light of heaven, the light pierced by angels coming to and fro. For the first time in his life the man sees the Guardian Spirit that has accompanied him on his journey. It comes, takes him by the hand and prepares him for his journey into the heavens.

What an amazing picture of Immanuel.  What I noticed in the paintings, and maybe you did too, is that in each of the three paintings, the person's face, while in the boat, is turned away from the presence of God.  The boatman doesn't realize he is being watched over and cared for as he goes through each stage in life.  Not until the end does he finally recognize the Immanuel, the God is with us presence of the protecting Spirit.


There are lots of places in the Bible that point to this Immanuel, God is with us theme.  But none more clearly than the 23rd Psalm.  There are two affirmations in this Psalm that affirm the Immanuel character of God.  The first affirmation is at verse 4:

I may walk through valleys
as dark as death,
    but I won’t be afraid.
You are with me…

When I was younger I read this wrong.  I read it as if the Lord were at the end of the valley, calling us on, encouraging us to keep going through dire circumstances, by ourselves.  That's what the person in the boat may have thought—that he was alone. But that's not what this verse in Psalm 23 says.  It says, "I won't be afraid (because) You are with me."  Which is the word, Immanuel.  Immanuel, God is with us, takes away our fear when we feel we are alone but are not.

The last verse of this well-loved Psalm is:

Your kindness and love
will always be with me
    each day of my life,
    and I will live forever
    in your house, Lord.

Notice, there are those words again:  "…will always be with me…"  It's the word, Immanuel.  Kindness and love speak to the deep and enduring commitment between two persons.  What I like about the paintings is that it shows this relationship of commitment starts when we are born.  Whether we realize it or not, whether we desire it or not, God has committed God's-self to us at our birth.  The psalmist—and the painter, Thomas Cole—recognizes that God's kindness and love will be shown in this steadfast presence of relationship throughout our lives.  That's why the coming of Immanuel at Christmas is so important for us to see and celebrate.

We will never go a day without the ever present kindness and love of God in Jesus.  God sent Jesus to let us know that Immanuel, God with us, is determined and intentional when it comes to showing love and kindness.  Of being with us, no matter what, no matter when.  May be you feel the Immanuel, not just at Christmas, but through every part of your life.

Monday, December 19, 2016

When Push Comes To Love

"When Push Comes To Love"
Matthew 1:18-25

Joseph needed to talk to someone.  He was getting nowhere on his own.  But who could he talk to?  Whoever it would be needed to be a good listener.  He could talk to his brother, but his brother would have flown off the handle.  Joseph could talk to his mother, but, well, you know how Jewish mothers are.  All problems, no matter how awful, can be solved with a good meal.  "Eat, eat; you'll feel better," she would tell Joseph.  But eating was the last thing on Joseph's mind.

Who could he talk to, then?  Suddenly, he thought of the perfect person.  She would be just right in a weird sort of way.  When Joseph and Mary were just children, they were matched with each other by a matchmaker.  Yeshiva had made the match and negotiated the deal with Joseph and Mary's fathers.


So Joseph went back to Yeshiva the Matchmaker.  Maybe she could help him find some insight into his awful dilemma.

Yeshiva was a contradiction to her craft.  She had never gotten married.  The boy she was matched with was killed when he was 12 years old.  He had been kicked in the head by a mule, so Yeshiva never married.  She turned her life over to God and the holy work of matchmaking, making her assignments, just as God had assigned Eve to Adam.  She spent most of her time watching the children play, and the insights she gained were uncanny.

Joseph had always thought of Yeshiva as old when he was a child.  He had no idea how old she was now, but ancient was a good description.  She wrapped her long, thin, gray hair into a faded head scarf.  She wore so many layers of wraps and tunics, it was hard to tell what shape her body actually was.  She blended in with the children so well, because she wasn't much taller than most of them.

Yeshiva had "welcome" written across her face by the way she smiled.  You could tell Yeshiva anything without fear because it was like she had heart it all before.  She had the wisdom of God, knowing exactly what to say or what not to say.

Joseph found Yeshiva sitting near the well watching the children play in the water.  He sat down beside her on a low wall and didn't say anything for a while.  He had a longing look on his face as he watched the children—a look that wished for those simple times again.

"Why are you not happy, Joseph?" Yeshiva asked, still with her eyes on the children.
"I didn't say I was unhappy," Joseph replied.  "In fact, I haven't said anything at all."
"You don't need to say anything," Yeshiva said.  "Your face says it all.  And the way you walk.  Your whole body is telling me something heavy has been lain across your spirit."
Joseph exhaled through his nose.
"See!  Even your breathing tells me," she said.
Joseph was silent for a time.  "It's Mary," he finally said.
"What, you don't like the match now that you are betrothed?  She is a great match for you!"  Now, Yeshiva turned to look Joseph in the face.  "In fact, your match was one of the best I have ever done.  Schlem and Hannah, not so good of a match.  But you and Mary—the best!"
"It has been good—until now."
"What, did you have your first fight?  Poor Joseph.  You are finally finding out what married life is really like.  Not all this kissy, kissy, giggly stuff."
"It's more than a fight, Yeshiva."
"Tell me," she said more softly.
"She's pregnant," Joseph murmured.  "Pregnant!" he almost shouted, to the point that the children stopped playing and looked over at him.
"Congratulations!" Yeshiva brightened.  "How could this be such a problem?"
"The baby's not mine," Joseph replied with his head hanging down.  "There's no way I can be the father, because we haven't, uh, you know."
"Oy, vey," Yeshiva said raising her hands in the air.  "This isn't the first time in the history of the world that such a things has happened."
"I'm afraid it is," Joseph replied dryly.
"What, you are trying to tell me a girl hasn't come up with child out of wedlock before?  Where have you been living?  I just didn't think May would ever be that kind of girl."
"I don't think she is either," Joseph said.
"Well open your eyes, young man.  Her belly will soon be telling you she is."
"She told me she's still a virgin."
"Yah, sure, and if that's true, I'm still a teenager," Yeshiva giggled.
"She said God has made her with child."
Yeshiva let out a loud, one-syllable laugh.  "HA!  That's a good one.  I have not, myself, heard that one before.  Blame it on God!  HA!  At least she is creative, this Mary is."
"It's awfully outlandish, isn't it?" Joseph replied.
"Her brain has become dried up like figs," Yeshiva said with a bit of anger in her tone.  "She will not make a fool of you, Joseph.  I will take this marriage contract away.  You will be free to find another."
"I don't want another," Joseph said with a sad but determined look on his face.
"What!?" Yeshiva exhaled.  "What are you saying?"
"I still love her."
"But you can't go through with this," Yeshiva said.  "I can understand you have feelings for her.  So, you want to spare her disgrace; I see.  You are a good man, Joseph.  She doesn't deserve you.  We can do this quietly, then.  I can find two witnesses, have them sign the document, and then…"
"No!" Joseph interrupted.  "No, no.  I don't want any documents.  I don't want to put her away."
"What!?" Yeshiva exhaled again, but this time with a sly smile on her face.  "Certainly you are not telling me you believe her story?"
"That's just the problem," Joseph said, hanging his head, staring at the little pile of dirt he was pushing together with his feet.  "I do.  I think I do believe her."  Yeshiva just sat and stared at him.  "I know, I know," Joseph went on.  "It doesn't make sense; and at the same time it makes all the sense in the world."  He sat silently for a while and finally said, "Because when it comes down to it for me, it's about her.  It's about Mary.  I don't know about all the God stuff.  I don't know if I really believe God is making her have this baby.  I don't know what I believe about God.  I only know what I believe about her.  Is she true or not?  Does she have the kind of purity of heart to back up such a claim?  I ask myself those questions over and over, and every time I come up with the same answer:  Yes.  Yes, to both questions.  I just know I believe in her."

Yeshiva shook her head in affirmation, and put one of Joseph's calloused hands in hers.  "Sometimes," Yeshiva said, "believing in another person is the beginning of belief in God.  If you can't trust God, or you can't believe, then trust in Mary's trust in God; believe in Mary's belief, and let that carry you for the time being."
Yeshiva gave Joseph's hand a squeeze, and then said, "Let me tell you a story.  A long time ago, I was sitting in a spot like this one watching children playing.  Most of them would point their fingers and laugh.  They would imitate my walk, and they would find a boy and a girl and make them stand together.  They would raise a stick over their precious heads, pretending it was my cane and say, 'The deal has been sealed.'  Then they would giggle and run off to play house or something.
"Most of the children were afraid of me, except one little girl.  She would come and sit beside me and tell me about her dreams.  One day, she came and sat as usual.  She said, 'Yesuva (she couldn't pronounce my name), Yesuva, I had such a dream last night.'  I said, 'Tell me about it child.'  She said, 'I dreamed that God came down from above and woke me up.  God picked me up and took me up to heaven, where we played and played.  I had so much fun.  Then, when I was tired, God brought me back to my bed, and waited until I fell asleep.  Then God went back to heaven.'
"Then she jumped down from the bench and ran back into the circle of children to play.  She didn't ask me what the dream meant like she usually did.  It was as if she already knew the answer and she had, in her childish innocence, accepted the wonder of it."
Yeshiva and Joseph sat on the low wall watching two little boys throwing rocks, to see who could throw the furthest.  Joseph asked, "And that little girl was…"
"You know who that little girl was," Yeshiva replied.
"So all along you have known that God would do something powerful through her; that in her dreams God was preparing her for what was to come?"
"Yes," Yeshiva replied.
"And when you made the match when we were children, you knew."
"Yes."
"So why did you choose me for her.  What could you have possibly seen in me that would befit such a person as Mary?" Joseph asked.
"Because, my dear boy," as Yeshiva patted Joseph on the arm, "you have always been someone who has done the right thing, no matter how difficult.  And I knew when the day would come when God would place his hand upon Mary again, that you would be the only one who would think long enough to do the right thing."
As Joseph smoothed out the little mound of dirt with his foot, Yeshiva finally asked, "So, Joseph, what are you going to do?"
Joseph thought for half a second, smiled, stood, straightened himself, and replied, "The right thing, Yeshiva.  I'm going to do the right thing."

Sunday, December 11, 2016

Are You The One?

"Are You The One?"
Matthew 11:2-6

I'm going to do a little name dropping.  Back when I was in college, at Whitworth College in Spokane, Washington, I met a girl by the name of Leilie Weyerhauser.  My girl friend (who would eventually become my wife), in fact was roommates with Leilie in the dorm.

So I got to know Leilie and her future husband pretty well.  So well, in fact, that I and my future wife got to be in her wedding.  Leilie had talked about her father a lot.  He was the CEO of Weyerhauser Lumber, a multinational company, that at that time, controlled most of the world's lumber supply and lumber-related products.  Through my conversations with Leilie, I thought I had a pretty good understanding of her father.  He was a huge benefactor to Whitworth College, and many other charities.  He was a Presbyterian, and active church goer with his family.

I got to chat with him a few times during the wedding weekend.  They were good conversations, but something seemed to be off.  He didn't quite measure up to what Leilie had told me.  I began to see a different kind of man than the one described to me.

After the wedding, held on their huge family estate in Tacoma, Washington, just south of Seattle, I was leaving.  I was saying goodbye to different friends and some of Leilie's family.  I shook hands with Leilie's father George and said, I don't know why, "Let's keep in touch."
He replied, "I don't think so."
What do you say after that?  Like I said, I'm not sure what I was thinking, or assuming when I said that to George Weyerhauser, CEO of this huge conglomerate, multinational corporation.  He knew I was headed into the ministry, so I wasn't hitting him up for a job in the head office.  It was just, "I don't think so."  In other words, "We're done here."

I walked away feeling like an idiot.  But I also walked away understanding my friends father a little more and a little less at the same time.  He certainly wasn't the person that Leilie saw.  And that's OK.  I understand that.  A daughter will see her father much different than just some guy like me who happened to be in her wedding.  I learned, also, not to let my preconceptions of someone determine how I saw them as a person.  It's better to figure that out through actual experience.

Most of us probably are like my experience with George Weyerhauser.  We form these ideas of how we think people are based on what we've heard, or read, from reliable sources.  Maybe you did that with your future spouse—you acted towards them based on your assumptions, and then found out they were totally different.  You can do that with a boss or a co-worker.

I've seen parents do it with their own kids, acting towards their kid as if that child was a certain kind of person.  Or a parent acts toward their kid based on how they want their child to turn out, and totally misread who they are as a person.

I've done that with other ministers I've worked with, totally misreading them, for the better and for the ill.  Some who I thought were morons ended up being insightful and fairly competent.  Others I thought were extremely gifted ended up being narcissistic nightmares in their churches.

It appears this is what's going on between John and Jesus.  Something happened to John's evaluation of Jesus between a time early in Matthew's gospel, and here in the middle of it where John asks his question:  "Are you the one…"  At first, John said of Jesus that this was a person he, John, was not worthy to even carry Jesus' sandals.  That Jesus was more powerful.  That Jesus will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire.  John sounds really sure about Jesus, who he is and what he's about.

But now, in the story read this morning, John's not so sure about this Jesus guy.  "Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?"  John is wondering if he's misread who Jesus is.  The stories John was hearing about Jesus weren't meeting his own, personal expectations.  John seemed to be expecting a different kind of Savior.

John's views of Jesus as the Messiah would have been forged by his many years spent in an Essene community.  The Essene's were a strict Jewish religious community who lived in caves around the Dead Sea.  The Essene communities started up around 2 B.C.  Only men were allowed in these severely monastic and communal groups.  It took a year or two of rigorous practices to even qualify to be a part of an Essene community.  The Essene's believed they were the true Jews, separating themselves from normal Jewish society, especially the Jewish leadership in Jerusalem.

The main area of study for the Essene's was the coming Messiah.  They had huge expectations of what they thought the Messiah was supposed to be like, based on years of study in the Jewish scriptures.  The Essene's believed that there wouldn't be just one Messiah, but two who would appear.  There would be a King David kind of Messiah who would be a royal and military leader of the nation of Israel.  And the Essene's believed there would be a High Priestly Aaron type of Messiah, who would restore the Jewish Temple to its rightful place of prominence in Jerusalem.

So John the Baptizer had these many years of severe study and expectation behind him.  He's looking at Jesus.  He's hearing stories about Jesus.  And Jesus the person is not measuring up to the Messiah expectations piled up in John's head from being an Essene.  Jesus didn't seem to fit either of the two Messiah expectations of a David King or an Aaron priest.

It seems John has two choices here.  Either John has to throw all his expectations from past Essene teaching out the window, and, by faith believe Jesus is the Savior.  Or, John can keep his Essene teachings and expectations, and throw Jesus out the window as not the Messiah.

We all have that choice when we meet someone new.  If we are unwilling to let them be who they are, we have to jam them to fit into our box of expectations.  If we are willing to let them be who they are, we throw the expectation box away, and roll with the relationship—with the person as they are.  That's John's dilemma.  That's what John is dealing with here in his question of Jesus.

We're dealing with the Savior.  We probably didn't have many, or any clear-cut and entrenched expectations of the Savior, like the Essenes did.  We may not have had someone tell us about Jesus way ahead of time, so we could build up these expectations over time.  And I wonder, which is better?  Going into belief in Jesus with a lot of specific expectations, or having none at all?

Just like the Essenes had expectations for two kinds of Messiah's, based on their years of study and religiosity, I think we are expecting two kinds of Messiah's as well.  Both Messiah's are based on two very strong and popular mythologies in our culture.

The first Messiah/Savior mythology is the super hero.  Think of how many there are:  Superman, Supergirl, Batman, Thor, The Flash, Spiderman, Wonder Woman, Captain America, Aquaman, The Silver Surfer, Iron Man, and on and on.  There are over 100 Super Heroes.  Many of them come from other worlds into our world to live among us and save humanity from evil.  Sound familiar.

We have this understanding that our world is in a mess beyond our control to fix it.  Or there is an evil force in the world that threatens to take us all over, and put us under its control that is more powerful than we are.  So we need some super hero to enter our realm and clean up the mess, or vanquish the evil force.  That's what our collective mythology, similar to the Essene theology, expects of a Savior.

The other popular mythology about a Savior in our culture is the Thinker.  This is the one who we expect to help us make sense of our lives.  Some Thinker, maybe the author of a self-help book on the current bestseller list, or some pop psychologist, with ideas and views that will finally help us see and experience the Truth about ourselves and Life.  We embark on reading such a book with the thought in the back of our minds:  maybe this will be "the one."  Maybe this will be the Thinker or the paradigm (as I explained last week) that will put my broken life back together.  Some Dr. Phil, or Dr. Oz, or Joel Osteen who will, with their schlocky bon mots of wisdom put it all together for us.

Both mythologies—the Super Hero, and the Thinker—are strong in our culture.  Just as strong as the Essene beliefs were about the Messiah.  We measure Jesus by those expectations.  We still ask John's question:  "Are you the one who is to come?"  The super hero who will save us from the grip of evil; or, the great thinker who will put all the broken pieces of our past together and help us finally feel whole?

Jesus' answer to John is also his answer to us:  "The blind see, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news proclaimed to them."  Does Jesus' answer, answer John's question?  Or ours?  Jesus' answer was probably disappointing to John.  And to us.  Does Jesus' answer speak to the King David royal conqueror expectation, or the High Priest Aaron temple builder expectation of John?  Does Jesus' answer speak to our Super Hero Messiah expectation, or the Great Thinker truth finding Messiah expectation we have in our day?

That's why Jesus said at the end of his answer, "Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me."  In other words, anyone who doesn't think Jesus' answer is the wrong answer.  The Greek word for "taking offense" is scandalon, where we get our word scandalize from.  It means that Jesus hopes that we don't stumble in our faith in him because of his answer to John.  That we don't begin to distrust him based on our expectations of him rather than who he really is.  That we don't feel cause to fall away from Jesus because we don't understand his own self-definition.

Is Jesus' answer a long "yes" to John (and us); or a long "no"?  Or neither?  If you were blind, lame, a leper, deaf, dead, or poor, then, yes, this is a great answer.  But if you're just trying to figure out what it means to be a human being in a tough world, it may not be so helpful.

There are really two questions in John's question.  First, "Are you the one who is to come?"  That's a question with a yes or no answer.  Either you are, or you aren't, Jesus?  Tell us, yes or no.

The second question is, "(If not) shall we look/wait for another?  The implication of this question is, Shall we look/wait for someone who is substantively different, in a different class, or by nature, different?  Shall we look for someone who will measure up to OUR expectations?  As I said earlier, Jesus and his answer is forcing John to decide between throwing his expectations for a Messiah out, or throwing Jesus out.

I want you to ask John's question as we journey through the rest of Advent towards Christmas:  Are you the one, or should I look for another?  This question forces us to think about what our individual or collective expectations really are for a Savior.  "Are you the Savior I'm expecting?  Are you the Savior my extensive or limited biblical reading has formed.

The point we may need to think about, also, as we try to answer those questions is that Jesus often answered a question that wasn't asked, but should have been.  Based on Jesus' answer, what is the question John should have asked?  It would be more along the lines of, "If you are the Messiah, what kind of Savior are you?  How are you defining yourself as Savior, that I need to either accept or reject?"  "Who is really in charge of your self-definition about what kind of Messiah you are—you or us?"

That's what Advent is about—struggling with those questions of the Savior's identity, and any subsequent answers we get.  May God bless you as you ask, and as you hear his answers.

Monday, December 5, 2016

At Hand

"At Hand"
Matthew 3:1-12

The college basketball season is at hand.  That builds my anticipation, but also my frustration.  As a lot of you know, about 3 or 4 years ago, I gave up television.  I decided I was just watching too much TV in my spare time, and my brain was turning to jello.  So that makes this time of year really tough for me—college basketball is the only stuff on the "tube" that I really miss.  Realizing that the college basketball season is at hand, then, creates some mixed feelings for me.  (I listen to all the KU games on internet radio, which is actually kind of fun.)

Anyway, that the college basketball season is at hand, is nothing compared to a statement like, Your surgery is at hand.  That kind of statement makes the anxiety level escalate a bit.  Having a surgery date get closer and closer—being at hand—is a bit unnerving.

At hand.  Those two small, simple words, are so good at building anticipation or anxiety or both.

For something to be "at hand" it means that it is approaching, and that approach is closer and closer.  To be "at hand" means that something is coming near.  Either the good or the bad can be at hand.  A final exam.  A house closing.  Your mother-in-law coming for a visit.  A dentist appointment.

It's an interesting word in the Greek language in which Matthew wrote his gospel.  The word, "at hand" literally means, "to join one thing to another."  When John the baptist used the word here, he was making the point that an event in the future is going to be joined to this present moment.  The present and the future are getting closer and closer to each other, until one day they will be joined together--they will be at hand.

What is it that John the baptist says is "at hand"?  It is the "kingdom of heaven."  The kingdom of heaven, that time when God brings all things to fulfillment, is at hand.  That is, the kingdom of heaven, that promised future is getting closer and closer and, behold, has already invaded this present moment.  At a time of God's own choosing the future promise and this present moment will come together in the kingdom of heaven.  The kingdom of heaven holds within it all present moments, and all of God's moments to come.  The kingdom of heaven is yet, but not yet.

The kingdom of heaven is a huge change in the way of the world.  Time--past, present, and future--have always been separate.  In this present moment, you can't go backwards.  Even by a minute.  The second I started this message became a second in the past.  Neither you or I can go back to that precise second and live it again.  It's gone.  It's left behind by this present moment.

And the future is unknowable.  Even the next word I'm going to say.  None of you know what that word will be.  But I just said it.  It was the word "none."  I just said it in my last sentence.  And now it's in the past.  The unknown future to be lived into.  All separate.  Unmixable.

Except as the kingdom of heaven.  The "at hand" of the kingdom of heaven does the impossible, mixing the future and the now.  In order for that to happen, in order for that huge change in God's world, God's order of things, God's kingdom of heaven to happen, a huge change has to happen to us and in us.

When the kingdom of heaven, the yet/not yet, the present and future of God begin their mix, three things happen  repentance, baptismal cleansing, and winnowing.  All three of these have to happen to each of us if we are going to be God's new people in God's new world where times blend—where present and future are blended together.  These three qualities of God's yet/not yet mix will have a huge impact on who we are as believers and generally who we are as human beings.

First, repentance.  We all know what repentance is, right?  Basically it's a reversal of direction of your life.  Repentance is what we do when we have made a life choice or decision, and we realize that was the absolute wrong choice.  So we choose, with God's guidance, to go in an entirely different direction.

It can be a change of mind, also.  You make up your mind to do such and such, or be a certain kind of person, and you realize that wasn't the right thing to do, so you change your mind.  Or you adopt a way of thinking, a point of view, a frame of reference upon which you hang all other things in your life.  But then you realize that frame of reference has gotten your thinking all muddled up.  So you make what's called a paradigm shift.

A paradigm is basically a framework upon which you build your way of thinking, your values.  It's like the stud work of building a house.  A carpenter can't put up the sheet rock for the walls if there is no frame work there to hang it on.  The studs are that framework.  But what if the framework of your way of thinking ends up being all wrong?  That framework doesn't allow you to build a life you're proud of, and you just keep getting deeper and deeper into a mess.

That's when you need to do the hard work of making a frame shift, or a paradigm shift.  In my mind that's just a fancy term for repentance.  It means having to tear down the old framework so you can rebuild.  That's the work of repentance.

John the baptizer is making a further point about why we have to repent, and why repentance is a major part of the kingdom of heaven.  At verse 8, he says, "Produce fruit that shows you have changed your hearts and lives," (Common English Bible).  So, to repent is to effect a certain result in your life that could be called "fruit." What you recognize, prior to repenting, prior to making a paradigm shift, prior to rebuilding your life's framework, is that you aren't bearing fruit.  Your life may be a lovely tree, but you're an orange tree, and you haven't ever produced any oranges!  It's time to do something very different so you can produce fruit as you were meant to.  It's time to repent.  Reframe.  The kingdom of heaven, which is at hand, demands you do so.

Secondly, John says if we have repented, if we're ready to reframe our lives to bear fruit in a way that's pleasing to God, there is a ritual by which you signify that inner paradigm shift.  It's called baptism.  John told the people, "I baptize with water those of you who have changed your hearts and lives" (vs. 11, CEB).

Interestingly, the word that John uses for "baptize" doesn't mean just once.  It doesn't mean "once for all time," as we believe as Presbyterians:  "Once baptized, always baptized."  Here, John has used the word to mean dip repeatedly for the purpose of cleansing.  It's more in line with the Jewish rite of baptizing or ritual washings.

For example, in a Jewish household, you have to wash your hands ten times before each meal.  It's like baptizing.  You have to wash your hands, then have someone pour water over your hands as a baptism, then repeat the process nine more times.  There were all kinds of ritual washings for purification like that in the Jewish religion.  It was a repeated dipping or pouring of water for the purpose of ritual cleansing.

Baptism, or ritual water washings, then became the norm for the Christians to signify they had repented.  Baptism as we now have it as a sacrament of the church is an action by which God signifies to us that we are his own--that our sins have been forgiven, once and for all.  But baptism which was the daily ritual washings were the way people signified to God that they had repented, and were now ready to make that shift in their lives to become a kingdom of heaven person.

And let's face it, we mess up--a lot.  We may end up repenting on a frequent basis, as we continually make those shifts after each mess up.  We need a way to ritualize our promise to God that, this time, our lives, our life direction, the stud work holding up our lives, is really going to change.  And so we dip repeatedly in the cleansing waters, for the purpose of signifying our inner cleansing promise.  That we are now ready to live as a kingdom of heaven person.

Third, and lastly, to be a kingdom of heaven person we need to do some winnowing.  With the kingdom of heaven "at hand", that is, approaching and preparing to mix its time with our present moment, we get ready by repenting, by signifying that repentance with cleansing, and then winnowing.

Farmers have big machines to do their winnowing for them.  They're called combines.  And they cost a lot of money.  Back in Jesus day, they did all that work with a shovel--a winnowing shovel.  The dried wheat stalks would be laid out on a large cloth on the ground. Those stalks would be beaten to release the wheat from the heads.  Then, on a windy day, the farmer would take his winnowing shovel, scoop up the wheat and throw it straight up in the air.  The lighter chaff, or husks, would blow away, and the cleaned, heavier wheat seed would fall back down to the cloth.

Using this imagery, John talked to the people about the final process by which the coming Savior would prepare the people for the approaching kingdom of heaven:  "The shovel he uses to sift the wheat from the husks is in his hands.  He will clean out his threshing area and bring the wheat into his barn.  But he will burn the husks with fire that can't be put out" (vs. 12, CEB).

The kingdom of heaven, that yet/not yet moment, that major work of God's future ushered in by the Savior that will become mixed in with our present, is a time for God's people to get rid of that part of our selves that really doesn't matter.  There is a part of us that really does matter to God.  That's what God wants to hold on to in us.  That's the part of us that God wants to save, the part of us that God says is worthy.  The fruit, if you will.

But there is a part of our selves that is husk.  It's worthless.  It did it's job of protecting the fruit.  But now that the Savior has come, the Savior will protect our fruit--those worthy, God-saved parts of us that will become the kingdom of heaven.  Those husks need to be let go of.  They need to be cast to the wind.  They need to be burned away.  They aren't the part of us that will go with us into the kingdom of heaven with the Savior.

Only the Savior can do that.  We can't.  We would try to hold on to too much that is unnecessary and useless.  We have to let the Savior do his shoveling work so that we can be totally released and ready to become kingdom of heaven people.

The kingdom of heaven is at hand.  The Savior is coming.  A big change is on the horizon.  The changes that God is making come near will as of us to make some major shifts so that we will be ready:  Repent,  a paradigm shift;  baptize washed, a constant dipping into God's cleansing waters;  and let God use the winnowing shovel on us so we will finally let go of the chaff in our life.

Sunday, November 27, 2016

Unexpected

"Unexpected"
Matthew24:36-44

Do you remember all those disaster movies that were hits a long time ago?  One of the first was the movie, "Earthquake" that came out in 1974.  It was the first film that came out in sensuround, a kind of stereo sound that was supposed to make you not only hear the earthquake, but feel it as well.

The storyline of the movie began with introducing the audience to a number of characters.  We watched and became involved with their individual stories.  We saw how their everyday routines were lived out each day.  As the audience, though, we knew the secret the characters on the screen did not.  We knew an earthquake was coming.  The people in the movie just went on with their everyday lives.  But we in the audience wanted to shout out the secret, "Watch out you idiots—an earthquake is coming!!"

That's about the way every disaster movie since then has been developed.  Whether it was an alien attack in several movies, like "Independence Day," or a volcano erupting out of the La Brea Tarpits in Los Angeles in the movie, "Volcano", we first get to know characters carrying out their everyday lives until the huge unexpected event drops in their laps.

That's also what is so scary about all the terrorist attacks that go on every day around the world.  You never know.  People are carrying on with their normal everyday lives.  They are going to work.  They get on the subway.  They get on a school bus.  They are standing around the coffee pot having their normal morning banter.  Then the subway train starts gaining speed and the brakes don't work.  Or a bomb goes off.

Each day, people look at the mounds of work on their desk in their cubicle, wondering when it would get done.  They were thinking about the argument they had had with their spouse that morning across the breakfast table.  And then everything starts shaking.

They were looking through their iPhones and iPads, sending texts and tweets, updating Facebook.  Then a spaceship shows up, shoots a death ray into the building, imploding it.

They were kissing loved ones at the airport terminal and boarding what they thought would be a routine flight.  They were asking stewardesses for a pillow for the long flight ahead.  They were opening their laptops once the OK was given by the pilot to turn on electronic devices.  Then the unexpected happened:  Snakes on a Plane!!

The movies and the real life events people have faced in our country lately have all served to remind us of the reality that none of us knows what's going to happen in the next moment.  We assume life is a stable progression of events, mostly predictable with few if any surprises.

But the truth is, we really can't be sure what unexpected things might be dropped into our lives at any one moment.  Possibly the very next moment.  As the bumper sticker from the late 1960's stated, "One atomic bomb can ruin your whole day."

Jesus was making the same point about the unexpected return of the Savior.  Jesus likened it to the time of Noah.  People went about their everyday lives.  They carried out their ordinary kinds of tasks.  From small, routine matters to big ceremonies they lived through their predictable, ordinary lives.

Then the rain started falling.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  Nothing unexpected.  Everyone saw the rain clouds forming.  Lots of people probably looked up and said to someone else, "Looks like rain."  Rain was a normal kind of occurrence.  Except this rain didn't stop as expected.  "It rained and poured for forty daysies, daysies…" until all life on the planet was drowned except Noah's family and their floating zoo.  That was totally unexpected.

That, said Jesus, is what the Second Coming of the Savior will be like.  People will allow their lives to be lulled into predictable routines.  They will become numb to the holy.  They will go on with their treadmill lives, with no Godly pursuits happening.  They will make their squirrel cage existence go round and round, but never make something happen with the Lord..  They will continue to live like rats in a maze, scratching down alley after alley, looking for a reward that doesn't even matter in the larger scheme of things; or maybe giving up on the idea that there ever was a reward somewhere in the confusion.

And then, BAM!!  The Lord will return unexpectedly, sweeping up the faithful and leaving the rest behind to face their fate.  No one will see it coming.

Jesus used the story of Noah for a very particular reason.  That reason was because he wanted us to see that this is the way God likes to make things happen.  The biggest events God has made happen, and will make happen were totally unexpected.  It's just the way God does things.

Let's use a couple of pieces of the story of Moses that I've been telling the kids.  Moses, out in the wilderness taking care of sheep, doing, day after day, whatever it is shepherds do.  And then, whoa!, there's a suddenly a bush on fire nearby, but it's not burning up.  Moses couldn't have expected that, no matter how creative his mind may have been.

Or, standing at the edge of the Red Sea, Pharaoh's army coming like a dust storm down upon them.  Had they escaped, just to be slaughtered?  But then God tells Moses to hold up his staff, and when he does, the sea parts before them, and the Hebrew people walk across on dry ground with two huge walls of water on each side of the procession.  Totally unexpected.

Or, moving to the birth story of Jesus, Mary's life unfolded with the normal, small town, Middle Eastern culture predictability.  She was arranged by her father to be married to Joseph, a man from a family on the good side of town, with a respectable occupation.  As a carpenter, Joseph lived by the rule, "Measure twice, cut once."  It applied to every part of his life.

Mary would have a stable life (pardon the pun) being a wife, and, God-willing, a mother of several sons.  Well, God was willing, only a lot sooner than Mary was willing.  In an unexpected way and with an unexpected message, God dropped his world-changing plan into her lap.

But more than that, God dropped the Savior into the lap of an unsuspecting, unexpectant world.  In one of the smallest of Israel's towns, in a cattle stall, while the rest of the world carried on, or slept on, God was birthed into his world.

With the same kind of unexpectedness, Christ will come again to end and remake all of creation.  That's how God likes to make things happen, says Jesus.  So you better be alert.  Those least alert will be left totally clueless.  You don't want to be one of those, Jesus added.

Or, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I've heard Jesus is supposed to come again, but I'm not going to wait around for it.  I'm going to go on and live my life and not hold my breath.  I've got places to go and people to see."  According to Jesus, those kinds of people were drowned in the flood.  Or, will be left behind at the second coming of Christ.

Queen Victoria was one of the most loved Queen's of England.  She would make unexpected calls on the farm folks who lived in cottages or small villages across the British countryside.   Any day might be a royal day, and the humble Brits would put a chair at their table prepared for a possible, yet surprise, visit.

They would keep their houses spotless. They were a clean and wholesome people, but the Queen's surprise visits added to the joy of keeping their homes lovely. The old people who remembered her visits in their youth charmed visitors by the expression used in the residences across the countryside. They would say, "Perhaps today, she’ll come my way."

Or, as Christians, we should say, "Perhaps today, the Lord will come our way."  The people, with the first coming of the Savior, had all but given up that God would send such a one into the world.  They were already amending their expectations that God would usher in a "Messianic Age" but that an individual Messiah probably wasn't a part of God's plans.

Then, surprise, Jesus the Savior is born, and all their expectations went out the window.  It was God, who had to say, through Jesus' coming, "Perhaps today, the Savior will come your way," so that they could get back on track with what God was doing.

The kinds of questions you need to be asking yourself, this Advent, are questions like, How could the Lord catch you the most unawares?  What kinds of activities do you get so wrapped up in that you would miss today—the coming of Christ or the Second Coming?  What kind of qualities do you have that would make you "takable" rather than being "left behind?"  When are the times you are most attentive to God?  Most inattentive?

What I'm thinking is, if God is important to you, you better be ready for the unexpected.  You better be ready for anything.  And, especially, you better be ready to have God impose his agenda and his schedule upon you.  Because, in the end, ready or not, that's how it's going to come down.

"Maybe today, the Lord will come your way."

Monday, November 21, 2016

Grace Descending; Gratitude Ascending" (part 3)

"Grace Descending; Gratitude Ascending"  (part 3)
1 Thessalonians 5:18 (KJV)


"In everything give thanks…"

Four words.  In.  Everything.  Give.  Thanks.  Let's look at them individually in order.

First, "In…"  Other words and phrases we could use instead of "in" might be, "during",  "while in the midst of…",  "immersed in".  The point is, that we are giving thanks while something is happening.  We aren't giving thanks while in some sort of life bubble or experience vacuum.  That's not possible.  And we aren't giving thanks after everything is over and we are looking back and saying, "Thank God that's over!"  Although that would be legitimate.

That's why "in" is so important.  We have to determine, in what?  In life, whether we be in panic mode, in procrastination mode, in multi-tasking mode.  We are in the middle of some kind of experience, good, bad, or ugly.  Because we're in the middle of it, we don't know how it will turn out.  Our circumstance could go this way or that.  Our circumstance could present us with an infinite number of life options.  That may be part of the panic.  We aren't in control.  We feel like the situation is taking us for a ride rather than us being at the steering wheel, which is the position we'd like to be in.

When we are in control, we are less willing to see, and therefore take a look at more options.  So while we are "in" some circumstance in which we aren't in control we may be open to other possibilities that we might otherwise not entertain.

Not only that, but while we are "in" some circumstance we may be more willing to rely on another.  That other may be God.  Or a fellow Christian.  Most of us would probably say we rely on God most of the time.  But there are times we really lean on God, when we are "in" some kind of circumstance we'd rather not be in.

When you think about it, we are always "in" some situation or another.  Usually many situations at once.  Life is a "being in" experience.  Think about the opposite.  What is a "not in" kind of life?  Uninvolved.  Unconnected, with no relationships.  Ungiving.  Ultimately, being "not in" life is a death spiral kind of living.

In.  Another way I like to look at "in" is adventure.  The disciples would be a good example here.  If you are reading along the 5 x 5 x 5 Bible reading plan, we just finished up the gospel of John not too long ago.  At the start of the gospel, (as it is at the start of each of the gospels) Jesus calls the disciples.  Before Jesus, their lives followed a daily routine: get up in the wee hours of the morning, climb in their boat with their brother or father, row out on Lake Galilee, cast the nets, pull them back in, pull any fish you caught out of the net, cast the nets again, pull them back in, hour after hour, row back to shore, sort the fish, salt the fish, carry some to market, mend the nets, go to bed, start it all over again the next day.

That is, until Jesus came and offered them to be part of an adventure.  To join him not in a life of ruts, but a life of adventures, one after the other.  Something new each day.  It may be a life changing conversation with someone.  Or it may be a healing.  Or it might be teaching others about God's ways, and seeing the lights go on in their faces.  You are helping them get it!

That's the kind of "in" that many of you are living.  In an adventure.  Living an adventure with God.  You are "in" life, not "out of life", out of synch with God and God's ways.

The next word is "everything."  Everything.  This may be the hardest word in the phrase, because when Paul says "everything," he means, everything.  The good and the bad.  The beautiful and the horrifying.  When we hear the word "everything", that's where we usually go—to the horrible side of everything.

We put all our experiences on a continuum.  On the far side are the experiences that fill us with ecstasy and wonder, amazement and total goodness.  On the other end of the spectrum is the gut-punching, life-sucking, endless emotional pain, kinds of experiences.  That's the end we think of first, because it is so difficult to marry gratitude with grief.

When I lived up in Nebraska, I went through a 12 week class called, "Grief Recovery."  I took the class for a couple of reasons.  One was, I wanted to lead such a group myself in the church I was at, so I wanted to see how this one was run.  And I took the class to work through, in a group setting, some of my own long held on to grief that I needed to find a way to let go of.  It met once a week for the 12 weeks.  There were about 50 people in the class.  I wasn't prepared for what happened.

For the first few weeks, at the opening, we all had to sit in a circle in a big room, and at the start, speak out loud why we were there.  We had to introduce ourselves with our name and then say what our loss was.  It wasn't so hard for me to speak my loss, but to hear everyone else's.  It was overwhelming.

Parents whose teenagers were friends killed in an auto accident on graduation night.  One man's daughter was raped and murdered.  There were at least two families whose family member had taken their own lives.  One man's adult daughter died of AIDS, that she had gotten from her husband because he was cheating on her.  One young woman's husband, a few days after they were married, was killed in an auto accident.  And on and on it went around this circle of 50 people.

The collective grief filled the room with tears until the level was up to the ceiling and I thought I might drown in that liquid grief.  When I think back to that class, and then try to speak out loud these words of Paul, "In everything give thanks," it's like my mouth and throat can't do it.

But I know the Paul, who wrote these words, didn't just put them out there as some kind of Joel Osteen platitude.  Paul had been beaten several times to within an inch of his life, had been stoned nearly to death, imprisoned several times, shipwrecked, all simply for preaching the gospel.  And at the end of his life he realized he was going to be beheaded.  If someone like that can write, "In everything give thanks," then I can certainly listen.

Remember, I just said our life experiences are on an everything continuum, which means there are some really great things that happen to us.  That "everything" means "everything"—which means all the great stuff too, as well as everything in between.  And even then, in response to the great things on the everything spectrum, we aren't very good about saying thanks.

It's like the story of the 10 people who were healed by Jesus of their leprosy and only one returned to Jesus to say "Thank you."  Think how the lives of the other 9 had been changed for the better!  What an amazing thing to be released from that death sentence of an awful disease where body parts rotted and fell off.  Now they were whole and cured and able to see their family and friends.  They got their lives back.  That was an opposite end of the spectrum experience from the bad stuff that can happen to a person, and still they were thankless.  So on either end of the everything experience spectrum, we aren't very good at being grateful people.

In everything.

In everything GIVE…  Not receive; give.  Throughout the history of the Dear Abby column in the newspaper, one of the main themes of the letters she'd receive, was about this very issue.  Somebody did something for someone else (gave them a gift, did a good deed) but no thanks was given back.  The person writing in to Abby ended up being resentful and angry.  How dare someone not give thanks!  To us!  It's a sign of our ever deepening narcissism that we are more concerned about getting thanks, than giving thanks.  We would rather put someone in our debt, than being indebted to someone else.

It's part of what's wrong with our relationship with God.  To "give" thanks means you are giving thanks to some one else.  You have been given to, and so you are responding to the giver with thanks.  So, in order to give thanks, you have to acknowledge that you've been given something, by someone.

That is the understood, but invisible object of Paul's statement:  In everything give thanks.  But to whom?  To whom do we give thanks?  For Paul, of course, the answer is God.  In everything give thanks (to God).  If we are to give thanks to God in everything, that means everything is a gift from God.  All that we have, all that we experience, all that we are, is a gift from God, deserving our thanks.  So give God what is his due, for everything that comes our way.  Don't wait to read God's letter to Dear Abby, before you give God that gratitude.

Lastly, is the word, thanks.  In everything give thanks.  Now this will be the hardest part.  I've already said, at the start of the message that giving thanks for the most awful experiences seems nigh impossible.  But what I want to try and explain now is going to seem really counter intuitive, and equally impossible.  So you're going to have to listen well to this part.

Remember the continuum of great things on one end and really awful experiences on the other?  What we all hope will happen with our lives is that we will end up with more good experiences on that end of the continuum than bad things on the other end.  We think life is about collecting more thankful memories than grief-filled, resentful memories.  If life doesn't end up that way, we are sure we will not come to the end of our lives with much of a thankful heart.  No one wants to end up feeling that way.

Now comes the hard part.  Gratitude in everything is a way to reclaim your past.  It doesn't make sense, does it?  But what if gratitude is a way to redefine your past, including rejections, abandonment, loss, and failures?  Can we be grateful to God in everything, and through that thankfulness, celebrate how we gained a heart for deeper love, stronger hope, and broader faith?  Can we trust, and therefore thank, God no matter what?

When our gratitude for the past is only partial, or we are grateful for only part of our past, our hope for a new future can never be full.  If we are not grateful for everything, then we will miss how God can make even the worst of our experiences into something good.

Another way to look at being a totally converted person—as I believe Paul was— is to gather up all of your past, and to express your gratitude to God for it all.  It is seeing how God has taken all of your experiences and by God's hand, transformed them all into ways that makes you grateful.  Everything becomes wrapped up into an expression of God's grace, and thereby something for which we may express our gratitude to God.

In everything give thanks.

Monday, November 14, 2016

Saying Grace: Living a Life of Gratitude

"Grace Descending; Gratitude Ascending:
Saying Grace: Living A Life of Gratitude"  (part 2)
Luke 24:30-31

Dinner, the evening meal, was the only meal my growing up family ate together.  We sat in our chairs at the dining room table, my father turned on the TV in the next room, where he could see it from his dining table chair, and we ate the standard meat and potatoes meal my mother had cooked.

My mother almost always served some kind of fruit out of the can with our dinner.  A favorite of the family was fruit cocktail.  All of us 5 kids made sure that someone else didn't, by the luck of the scoop, get more cherries than anyone else.  The cherries in the fruit cocktail were the most valuable thing at our family dinner table.  And therefore the first thing eaten.

But we couldn't eat until we had said the prayer at the table, which was usually offered by my mother.  We all had to fold our hands and bow our heads, and close our eyes in reverence during the prayer.  When the prayer was done, all of us kids would unfold our hands, grab our spoons, open our eyes and lift our heads, all as quickly as possible, and eat the cherry out of our fruit cocktail.

Except me.  Mine would be gone.  During the table prayer, my father would steal the cherry out of my fruit cocktail and eat it.  He thought it was funny.  He'd always laugh.  Ha ha ha ha.  I always thought it highly irreverent that he would steal something during the prayer—especially MY cherry.  It always made me mad he'd steal from my bowl, simply because I had the bad misfortune to have to sit next to the guy.  I think he enjoyed making me mad and disappointed when we had fruit cocktail.

That was just one of the many dysfunctions at our family dinner table.  The fact that it happened during the most sacred part of the meal—the dinner time grace for our food—forever gave me a tinge of anger at every table grace since then.  That memory has tainted for me what should have been something holy, expressing gratitude to God, but ending up making me feel entirely ungrateful.

Mine was not the only table where the table grace had become twisted.  In one episode of "The Simpsons" the family was voted family of the year.  So news and camera people followed the Simpson's around for a day.  At the end of the day, they are gathered around the dinner table, Homer asked Bart to say grace, the TV cameras are humming, while Bart prayed, "Dear God, we bought all this stuff ourselves, so thanks for nothing.  Amen."  To which everyone sucked in an air-filled gasp.

It was my daughter Kristin who saved the table prayer for me.  I never liked the rote table graces, and so, like my mother, would offer a prayer for our food.  When Ryan and Kristin got old enough, they wanted to say the prayer for our food.  Kristin was probably about four or five, and she would start praying.  Kristin's meal time prayer went on and on and on, thanking God for everything her wonderful little heart could think of at that moment.  And it was a long list.  Every family member by name, her friends at kindergarten, all by name, the church, birds chirping outside, our dog Jake, the shirt she was wearing that day.  And on and on.  Sometimes Ryan and I would open just one eye and look at each other and smile, wondering when her thank-full monologue was going to be over.  But I just let her go on, because I loved it, and treasured her prayers.

Kristin saved the table prayer for me because her prayers had three qualities of gratitude that I will share with you, in the hopes that your gratitude will find these qualities and you would make them a part of your grateful living.  I think the the table grace can model the larger life of gratitude to God.

The first quality of her praying gratitude was simplicity.  Even though her prayers were long, her gratitude was simple.

When Alan Luttrell and I first started getting together for breakfast once a week 4 years ago, before Rod and Rex joined us, we'd have these conversations.  One conversation I remember was around this question:  "Is faith and belief simple or complicated?"  Is the Christian faith simple or complicated?  I think, if I'm remembering that conversation correctly, we both came down on the side that believing is really simple.

I'm of the opinion that faith in God and all this, when looked at from God's perspective, is really quite simple.  You believe or you don't.  You act in faith or you don't.  You take God at His word and heart or you don't.  For Alan, it all came down to (as he said last week in his moment for mission), "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind and strength; and love your neighbor as your self."  It doesn't get any simpler than that.  We are the ones who make faith complex and muddy.

Kristin's simple prayers of gratitude opened that quality of simplicity up for me.  Karl Barth, was a German theologian during the Nazi era. He wrote a multi-volume work of Christian theology titled, Church Dogmatics.  It's so complex and wordy in it's writing that just one of Barth's sentences may go on for 5 pages.  Years later, in a seminar attended by an American audience, Barth was asked to summarize his beliefs into one sentence.  Barth started singing: "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so…"

Our beliefs are not that complex.  Our faith is as simple as, "Jesus loves me…"  Expressing our gratitude to Jesus is that simple, because it's simple gratitude expressed out of a simple, yet powerful faith.

The power of the simplicity of gratitude is discovering it is the one thing necessary.  I've preached before about getting caught up in so many things that seem like they are necessary for us to have a good life, and we try to do them all and we wear ourselves out chasing them.  But being grateful to God is one of those simple and necessary things that causes ripple effects through so much else in our lives.  That's what we need to look for—the ripple effect qualities, not just the one splash qualities.  That's the power of being simply a grateful person—that gratitude to God casts ripples throughout our whole lives, affecting so much.


The second quality of Kristin's meal time gratitude was spontaneity.  Her prayer-full gratitude flowed spontaneously out of her little girl heart.  She couldn't hold back.  Everything, and I mean everything, was an object of gratitude for her, and she couldn't wait to thank God for every bit of it.  She didn't write it out on paper ahead of time.  She didn't memorize it.  She just let it flow, in a wondrous gush of uninhibited prayer.  She wasn't worrying about what I or Ryan was thinking of her—she just let go.

I talked a bit last week about how gratitude doesn't seem to be part of our natural make-up as human beings.  We have to coax gratitude out of our children—"Did you tell grandma thank you for giving you that K-State toilet seat cover?"  It seems we have to teach, or model to our children a sense of obligation for being a person of gratitude.

That's why those moments, like when Kristin prayed at the meal time table, that she had no sense of obligation.  "Who want's to pray?"
I never heard, in response, "I guess I'll do it, so we can get it over with, so we can eat."

Kristin had none of that kind of obliged drudgery about having to be made to say thank you to God for every little thing.  For her, that spontaneous gratitude was like listening to improvisational jazz music.

A couple of years ago, I went to a concert at Johnson County Community College with Ryan and his wife Amanda.  It was a concert of Miles Davis music.  Miles Davis was one of the great jazz trumpet players, and known for his gift of improvising.  Throughout this concert, the performer would stop and talk about the genius of Miles Davis' music, because he would improvise—that is he would compose music on the spot, while other musicians carried the melody and rhythms of the song underneath Davis' improvising solo's.

That's what Kristin was doing when she was 4 years old:  Improvising her gratitude.  Her grateful prayers were the solos she'd play, layering them at the dinner table over the rhythms of her 4 year old life.  On and on she'd pray out of her amazing spontaneous thankfulness, and I got caught up in the sheer originality of her composing on the spot, right there at our mealtime table.  That's what gratitude opens up for our lives and living.

The third and final quality of Kristin's grateful table grace was unrestrained delight.  She loved to pray out her gratitude.  She'd be disappointed if I said the prayer, or asked Ryan to pray.  She delighted in saying the table grace.

The word in Latin for our English word, gratitude, is gratia.  It literally means, pleasure.  Gratia is the taking pleasure in some gift or relationship.  Gratia, or gratitude is the way of finding pleasure in all things.  The reason we are able to find pleasure by offering thanks for all of life's occasions is because we don't know which will turn out to be, possibly, one of our greatest blessings.  Even our worst experiences, as they start out, can suddenly change by the hand of God.  Then we find ourselves overwhelmed with gratitude because we didn't see the good God planned coming.   The only proper response is gratefulness, expressed in unrestrained delight.

Think of the scene of the Last Supper.  It's somber.  In a few hours, the betrayal of Jesus will take place and the whole trial and Crucifixion will be set in motion.  Jesus announced that one of the 12 was going to betray him and the disciples are all wondering who that was going to be.  Each of the disciples is wondering, silently, "Is it me?"  Into that dreadful scene, Jesus says a table grace.  He takes the bread, he breaks it, he blesses it, and says thanks to God.

How do you look upon such a scene and say, "Thanks"?  How do you live in the midst of such a dour experience and break bread, and speak blessing into such an experience?  How do you change your facial expression from anxiety to unrestrained delight?  The only way is to do as Jesus did, to speak thanks, to give blessing, to express gratia—pleasure—knowing that to do so is to transform that occasion and all of life with gratitude.


That's the power of the table grace—to let that one prayer be the symbol for living a life of gratitude.  It's such a common prayer.  It's the one kind of prayer that most people pray, even if they don't pray any other kind of prayer.  But to pray at the table, in the simplicity of faith, spontaneous, and with unrestrained delight, is what overlays all of life with gratitude to God, no matter what.

Sunday, November 6, 2016

Grace Descending; Gratitude Ascending

"Grace Descending; Gratitude Ascending"
Colossians 4:2

A Jewish mother is at the beach playing with her young son.  She is standing on the beach not wanting to get her feet wet, when all of a sudden, a huge wave appears from nowhere and crashes directly over the spot where the boy is wading. 

The water recedes and the boy is no longer there. He simply vanished. She holds her hands to the sky, screams and cries, "Lord, how could you? Have I not been a wonderful mother? Have I not given a tenth of all my income to you? Have I not tried my very best to live a life that you would be proud of?" 

A minute later another huge wave appears out of nowhere and crashes on the beach. As the water recedes, the boy is standing there, smiling, splashing around as if nothing had ever happened. A loud voice booms from the sky, "Okay, okay, I have returned your son. Are you satisfied?" 

She responds, "He had a hat."

Some people just don't know how to be grateful.  Or maybe it's that they are only partially grateful.  They show gratitude, but…  They are thankful, but…  There's that "but…" always in there that keeps them from embracing full gratitude.  They know they received a certain measure of some unmerited gift, and they say thanks, but they also, in the back of their mind, think they deserved more.  Or they can't get past their critical nature that keeps them from being fully thankful.  "Thank you for saving my son from the wave, but don't you think you could have returned him with his hat intact?"

Being thankful means overcoming our resistance to not be grateful.  It doesn't appear that we are born with the innate ability to say, "Thank you."  When you were a child, and you had received something from someone, what did your mother always ask you?  "Tell them, 'Thank you,'" or some such thing.  We have to be told or taught to be people of gratitude.  A boy said to his father, "Guess what?  I can say please and thank-you in Spanish, German or French."
His father responded, "How come you never say it in English?"

It is remarkable, isn't it, that it's not in our human nature to be grateful.  It's more in our nature to take things for granted.  Or, out of some narcissistic sense of entitlement, to think that what we received was not all that great, and we certainly should have received more.  Or to look upon the task of writing "Thank You" notes as sheer drudgery.  Or we are so self-centered, how do you say "Thank you" to yourself?  Like the guy who in his bedtime prayer said, "Dear God, is there some way you could help me, but make it look like I did it myself?"

There is a resistance there, isn't there, to not be a person of gratitude.  Which means it has to come down to a conscious decision on each of our parts to be thankful people.  Just google "quotes on gratitude" and you'll get list after list of such inspirational material about gratefulness.  Some of them may fill you with the motivation to move towards being a thankful person.  For a day or so.

William George Jordan once said, “Ingratitude is a crime more despicable than revenge, which is only returning evil for evil, while ingratitude returns evil for good.” Why?  Why are we so resistant?  Why does it seem like we have to be convinced to become people of gratitude?  And how do we become convinced?

The apostle Paul linked, in several letters, the attitude of gratitude with prayer.  As our verse for the morning says:  "Persevere in prayer, with minds alert and with thankful hearts" (Colossians 4:2, REB).  Because having "thankful hearts" is so difficult for us as human beings, Paul emphasizes that to move toward that goal, we need to persevere in prayer and have our minds alert.  Think of gratitude as both a process and a goal in the Christian spiritual life.

A thankful heart keeps a person alert in prayer, wrote Paul.  Alert for what?  Alert not only for God, but also for the gifts of God.  Two women were walking through a park one bright Spring morning.  One of the women was not much of a believer in God.  The other woman was a believer.  The non-believer, overwhelmed by the park's beauty said, spontaneously, "I'm so grateful for the beauty of this day."
Her believing friend replied, "Grateful to whom?"

That's the alertness that gratitude in prayer helps with.  Maybe our problem is not that we are ungrateful, or that we are somehow beyond an exclamation of thankfulness.  We just don't know, because of our lack of or limited faith, who we are supposed to be thankful to.  We may be thankful for a number of things, but who are we thankful to?  Life?  The universe?

Alertness in prayer, Paul wrote, is what focuses our attention.  Alertness to God.  Alertness to the movement of God in our lives.  Alertness to the blessings of God that come our way every day.  Alertness to being aware of the many occasions during even the most ordinary of days, that would inspire us to say, "Thanks be to God."  That is one of the main works prayer—to be alert every day for the instances when we saw the hand and movement of God, and we can't help but say, "I'm so grateful, and I know the One to whom I am grateful."

A man stood at the front of the congregation and humbly announced that he and his wife wished to donate $5000 toward a new stained glass window in memory of their son who was killed in Afghanistan.  A woman in the congregation then nudged her husband and quietly whispered, "Let's do the same thing."
"What?" the husband whispered back.  Our son wasn't killed in Afghanistan."
"Yes," she replied, "I know."

Both couples, alert to God, decided to do the same thing, respond in the same way, because they were thankful for two opposite reasons: a son's ultimate sacrifice in war; and a son who didn't have to be faced with such a moment.  It is that prayerful alertness that has to happen in order that gratitude may be the response to Godly action, no matter what that action is.

That's where I got the sermon title for this series, "Grace descending; Gratitude Ascending."  In other words, God acts first.  God is moving about in our lives and in our world.  We see that action, when we are alert to it through our praying.  And once we see it, we respond.  God's grace falls upon us like the sunshine.  God acts first in some descending activity.  Once we see it, once we catch a glimpse of it through our praying alertness, we respond with "gratitude ascending" to such a giving and amazing God.

Our verse for today had one more element of gratitude:  "Persevere in prayer, with minds alert and with thankful hearts."  The word is "persevere."  To have an alert and thankful heart is not something that comes at the snap of the fingers.  Such a heart can only happen when we persevere.  Cultivating a thankful heart, alert to God, takes a lifetime.

One author was the guest of honor at a writer's club.  He declined to give a speech, but agreed to answer any questions the club members might have.  One lady raised her hand and asked, "Tell me, to what one thing do you attribute your success?"
The author paused for a moment and answered:  "I can best answer that by telling a story of a Swede in Alaska.  He was the owner of several rich mines, and all his friends wondered how he had managed to become so successful.  So finally, one of them asked the Swede their question.  'Ay never told anybody before,' the Swede replied, 'but Ay vill tell you.  Ay just kept diggin' holes.'"

I talked at the start of this message about our resistance to be people of gratitude and overcoming that resistance.  Being an overcomer means having that perseverance in prayer.  It means having not just the attitude of "keep diggin' holes," but actually doing the work.  The Swedish miner didn't have good intentions about diggin' holes.  He did it.  And he kept digging, and he kept digging, and he kept digging.

The result of that kind of perseverance in prayer is intimacy with God.  That's the only result of persistent prayer: growing an intimate relationship with God.  All three of Paul's qualities work together to build that kind of faithful relationship.  If you are keeping your mind alert for the activity of God, if you are responding to the activity of God with a grateful heart, if you are persevering in prayer, even in the times you don't feel like praying, when you just keep at it, you just keep diggin', the result is a long intimate relationship with God.  When you then come to the end of your life, you know the one whose hands your are laying your spirit into.

Even when you get to the end of your life, whenever that is, because of your prayers and alertness and thankfulness, you can gratefully turn your soul over to our amazing God, with whom you have walked your whole life.

One grandmother was talking to her granddaughter.  "I hope you like the dictionary app I got for your iPad for your birthday.
Her granddaughter replied, "Yes, and I just can't find the words to thank you."

All that we have to live a wonderful life has been given to us by our God-of-all-gifts.  It is simply our task to receive those gifts, to recognize and be alert to those gifts, and then to find the words to let our gratitude ascend to that most amazing God.