Freedom, For Christ’s Sake–Galatians 5

July 6, 2010 | No Comments

On Monday I typically post my sermon manuscript, hoping to perpetuate the illusion that first thing Monday morning I am able to quickly produce what for me is a week’s worth of thought and prayer. In order to keep this up, I need to type a sermon manuscript each and every week. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a manuscript for Sunday, and so goes the grand illusion.

. . . But for fun . . .

There’s nothing more American than . . . apple pie? baseball? freedom? I would say that there’s nothing more American than Weight Watchers. Think about it. It incorporates so much of what makes this nation great: Free Enterprise, Freedom, Community, and Apple Pie (albeit made with Splenda and fat free ice cream). The thing I love about weight watchers is that in lieu of providing a list of do’s and don’ts, they teach value. A list of what not to eat would not work for me; however providing me with food’s value gives me freedom to eat they way my body needs me to eat.

That’s the thing. Value offers freedom, or at least as Paul suggests in Galatians 5, Christian freedom reveals value, our value as a child of God. When we live in love, patience, kindness, generosity, there is no need for a Law. Law is great at giving boundaries, but the Law can’t figure out how to teach value. As Paul says, “There is no Law against such things.” This is one of the most profound sayings from Paul’s pen.

Sometimes we have a strange notion of freedom in my country ’tis of thee. I’ve heard it said that freedom is about doing what I want, where I want, when I want, with the stuff I want. As Paul says, “Don’t let your freedom be an opportunity for self indulgence.” To quote my friend, Dr. James Howell, “If freedom is simply a means of self indulgence, then our service men and women giving their lives for this country are paying much too high a price.”

Christ came so that we might be free, free from the self, free from solitary confinement. Christ frees us from the self, but for each other. We are no longer slaves to sin but slaves to each other to live in love. May you be free in the name of Christ.

I hope to see you Sunday, if not before.

Sharing . . . sort of

June 30, 2010 | One Comment

My three year old daughter, Isabelle, is learning the art of sharing. We try to make a big deal about it when she offers to take turns at the playground, or shares her crackers with a playmate. Recently she’s taken sharing to a whole new level . . . just not in the right direction. This morning I prepared our usual Wednesday morning breakfast for Isabelle and Annaleigh (our one year old)–strawberries and cheese (my wife thinks this is an odd breakfast, but I disagree and digress).

“Here you go, girls, strawberries and cheese.”
“Daddy, I don’t want cheese”
“But this is your breakfast, honey, strawberries and cheese.”
“But Daddy, I don’t want cheese.”
THIS IS YOUR BREAKFAST
DADDY, I DON’T WANT CHEESE

After a few moments I turn to make my own breakfast, Total cereal with a half cup of Fiber One (sometiems Weight Watchers is a drag). With my back turned, I hear, “Daddy, I share with her!” I rejoin the table to see that Annaleigh now has a large lump of cheese in the middle of her plate.

Yes, it’s sharing, but it certainly misses the point. I find that some things don’t change when we get older. How often in the Church, when we go out into the world to provide for our brothers and sisters in need, do we simply get rid of the old, broken, distasteful things in our lives. Sharing is hard enough in our consumer-centric lives, without confusing charity with spring cleaning. The perversion would be to stop sharing all together. Likewise, buying new things for others seems to also be missing the point. It’s time that we take recycling seriously, not cans, bottles, and newspapers (though these items as well), but taking the old, reinventing it, and sharing it to those in need.

Not giving it, but sharing it, which takes much more intentionality and Christian hospitality. Like my friend at the Benedictine Monistary says, “The monk with the keys is a happy monk.” They don’t take a vow of poverty, but they do vow to share what they have, all that they have, with all who are in need.

So, before cleaning out your garage and giving all of your unwanted stuff to the poor so that you can buy all new stuff, maybe we are called to open our homes and our lives to those in need so that we might share the good news and the good things of our lives.

Water, Water, Everywhere–Psalm 77

June 27, 2010 | No Comments

This is the Word of God for the people of God . . . Interesting that we say that after reading a Psalm: this is the word of God. Psalms began as words about God, words written by kings and priests, composers and artists. One of the things I love about psalms is their honesty. These ancient words are from the heart expressing joy, grief, praise, despair, almost as if we’re reading a diary . . . “You keep my eyelids from closing; I am so troubled that I cannot speak. I consider the days of old and remember the years of long ago . . . Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable? Has his steadfast love ceased forever? Are his promises at an end for all time . . . it is my grief that the right hand of the Most High has changed.”

This was written by a troubled soul who was not worried about God’s power or might; rather “it is my grief that the right had of the Most High has changed,” that God has changed his mind, that God has changed his promise. What drags this soul out of despair is a remembrance of what God has done: “I will call to mind the deeds of the Lord; I will remember your wonders of old. I will meditate on all your work, and muse on your mighty deeds.” (I love that—I will muse on your mighty deeds—who talks like that today. . . hmmm, shame).

These words about God recall the Word of God, the story of God, which brings peace and consolation to the soul. It’s what we do on Sunday mornings, isn’t it? We gather together to remember God’s story, to remember that through faith, our story is incorporated into God’s story of salvation, and as this psalmist muses on God’s mighty deeds, he goes way back to the very beginning and remembers God’s story with water.

“When the waters saw you, O God, when the waters saw you, they were afraid; the very deep trembled.” It was God’s primordial act. “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters”—God’s gonna trouble the water. Before there was light, there was water. There’s something basic and fundamental about water. It’s one thing on which scientists and theologians agree. If there is to be life, water must be. The converse is also true, that if you want life to cease, then muddy the water. We don’t have time to talk about this today, but I was watching CNN’s live coverage of the oil spill, you know, they have that live video feed in the corner of the screen. It just looked like the earth was bleeding. We have the technology to dig down deep into the earth, but we fail in closing or healing the wound. Should we blame BP or the President or myself for filling my car this morning? At the very least, it should give us pause.

In the beginning, God troubled the waters. God separates the waters and makes dry land, and this wondrous act in Genesis, happens over and over again as God brings order and salvation to the deep, dark places of the world. God separates the waters so the Israelites can cross to the other side. God parts the waters for Elijah and Elisha. Job stands before God while God asks, “Do you contain the sea or walk in its deep recesses? Do you make it snow or hail or rain?” You get the sense that throughout the Old Testament, water is a symbol of chaos, of darkness, something that ultimately God must handle. God holds back the sea, while letting some of the heavenly waters slip through his fingers so that we might have a harvest, so that we might find life.

Jesus, walking along the River Jordan, decides to be baptized, and when he comes out of the water, the Spirit descends and God speaks, and all who were there noticed that something remarkable has just taken place. There are several things that Jesus had to do before his ministry began. One of Jesus’ missions was to redeem Israel’s past, Israel’s story itself. The Gospel of Matthew reveals three episodes of Jesus’ life before his ministry begins. Wise Men from the east, from Babylon come to bow down and offer gifts to this kingly child. Babylon, the great captors of Israel now bow in humility and reverence, as if they are being forgiven. Immediately after, the Holy Family leaves Bethlehem for Egypt. For thousands of years, Egypt has been the land of oppression and slavery in Israel’s narrative. Now it has been transformed. This land has now provided safety to the Christ child. From oppression to protection. Egypt has been redeemed. The captors now forgiven, and the oppressors redeemed. There’s one more job to do. Jesus goes down into the water, the symbol of fear and uncertainty and chaos, and when he comes up with the spirit upon him and God’s voice proclaiming, the great symbol of Chaos has now become something with sacramental value. Chaos has been crucified so that through the waters we might be born into the body of Christ, the way of salvation.

Isn’t this what God is doing with us and the world? God accepts us as we are, but he doesn’t leave us as we are. Whether we are Babylon or Egypt or our lives are chaotically churning, God takes our story and exchanges it for his. God gives us a history, a purpose, a people. This is what the Psalms explain so very well. Human words about God are transformed to be the Word of God, by grace through faith, God’s story becomes our story.

Tom Long, in his sermon, “Through the Churning Waters,” tells a story of an Episcopal priest who used to love to tell the story about the woman in his congregation who was having terrible difficulty getting over the grief over the loss of her husband. She even went to see her physician and said, “You need to give me a prescription to help me with my melancholy. Every day I go to the cemetery and I put flowers on my husband’s grave, but it doesn’t help. It simply drives me deeper into grief. Give me a prescription to ease my pain.” Her physician said, “Before I give you a prescription, let me give you a suggestion. Instead of placing those flowers on your husband’s grave, why don’t you bring them to the hospital? I have many patients in the hospital who nobody ever visits and if you would visit them and bring them some encouragement in those flowers, it may be that you would bring a little joy into their lives.” Strangely enough, even though she was resistant, she decided to do it and found that this was the turning point for her own healing. As she showed encouragement to others, she was able to drink deeply from the well of God’s own encouragement. See, the Psalms are not just words about God, giving us permission to express our deepest emotions to God. They are not just the Word of God, reminding us of God’s story of salvation. They are words about God, as the Word of God, which guide our words to God and each other.

There are times when the only thing we can say is, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” “Create in me a clean heart, o God, and renew a right spirit within me,” “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.” These words have not been penned just for your own soul, but so that your words might be living water for your neighbor. For a moment, I’d like to meditate on the words of our closing hymn. Sometimes it’s hard to sing the words and hear the words . . .

Glorious things of thee are spoken,
Zion, city of our God;
God, whose word cannot be broken,
formed thee for his own abode.
On the Rock of Ages founded,
what can shake thy sure repose?
With salvation’s walls surrounded,
thou mayst smile at all thy foes.

See, the streams of living waters, springing,
From eternal love,
Well supply thy sons and daughters
And all fear of want remove.
Who can faint while such a river
Ever will their thirst assuage?
Grace which like the Lord, the give,
Never fails from age to age.

God, through Christ, in the power of the Spirit, forgives the captor, redeems the oppressor, transforms the chaos of the deep into life-giving water, which renarrates Israel’s story as one of salvation and reconciliation. This God who redeems Israel will forgive, redeem, and transform you. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Ordination!

June 21, 2010 | No Comments

I must admit that Monday’s Ordination Service is a bit of a blur. During most of those sacred gatherings in our life: weddings, funerals, baptism . . . the Spirit fills us with amazement, literally being, “Out of one’s self,” which tends to muddy the details, leaving us with lingering conviction rather than report of fact. No wonder the day of Pentecost was so strangely recorded. So, in keeping with our ancestors who penned the word, I write to you today as impressionist, not photographer.

As the processional of pomp and pageantry began, I felt like it was my wedding day all over again. I was in my finest attire, smiling at friends and family, waiting to say my vow to my beautiful bride. No wonder we have such powerful wedding imagery when God speaks of beloved Israel.

I sat in awe of Bishop Hutchinson’s sermon. As impressionist, I would not be honoring Bishop Hutchinson’s message with ill-remembered sound bites like, “Well, they first started with the salad,” and “I am a Universalist by hope,” and “God’s not going to stop the march of eternity for our unwillingness to keep up.” With truly anointed sermons, as Hutchinson’s tend to be, I felt as if he were speaking only to me. “Hi, my name is Bill, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” Funny how I felt the message was just for me with hundreds of other people in the room. No wonder the Gospels record Jesus to have met so many individuals.

Then knelt for the laying of hands. What an honor to have so many saints, by the power of the Spirit, place their hands upon me, yoking me with a mantle of graceful servant leadership, standing in support of the mission to which God appoints me. As I knelt, I wept. I’m not really sure why, but I guess if I must put it into words, I wept because I felt GRACE. I felt the Prevenient Grace of God saying, “I’ve been moving toward this moment before you knew how to move.” I felt the forgiveness of Justifying Grace acknowledging my failures and loving me anyway. I felt the strength of Sanctifying Grace of God saying, “This is a beginning, and I’ll be with you on this journey as you shepherd my people.” So, I wept. What else was I to do? No wonder she washed Jesus’ feet with her tears. Kneeling at the feet of Christ can be overwhelming.

As I walked back to my seat, I didn’t want anyone to look at me. I was a mess. I don’t cry pretty. As the recessional began, I felt my tears turn into a smile as I felt my soul cry out, “Hi, I’m Matt and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get you? Now, I might not provide the selection you want, but I can provide a seat at the table for a banquet with the one who supplies the only meal we need.”

Thank you for joining me on this fantastic adventure. I must confess that these last three years of resident ministry have been a blur. Having two children in three years will do that, but as I said before the Annual Conference body Monday afternoon, “Thank you, Broadmoor, for giving me the space and the grace to fail, to learn, and to grow.” I can’t wait to discern how God is calling us to serve together in the Kingdom this next year. May you be a blessing to those whom you meet today. May the peace of Christ be with you.

Forgiveness Isn't Opposite Gallilee

June 21, 2010 | No Comments

My daughter Isabelle is beginning to figure out how bargaining works. Some of her attempts are more successful than others. She’s discovered that the way one carries oneself affects whether or not people will give you what you want. “Daddy, some more goldfish,” said with a bright smile and blinking blue eyes. After saying no, her shoulders drop, her jaw juts out and she begins to wine, “Come on . . .” I don’t know where she gets this.

“Come on . . . come on, Jesus,” the demons reply as they beg Jesus to be left alone. Jesus has arrived in the country of the Garasenes, which Luke tells us is “opposite Galilee,” and it is in every way. Jesus was in a boat with his Jewish friends and he calms a storm. Now Jesus is on dry land with Gentiles and he is about to calm the spirit. He meets a man who is “opposite Galilee” in many ways. He is a Gentile. He wears no clothes. He lives in a cemetery in visual distance of swine herds. It would be difficult to be more unclean. He is “opposite Galilee,” in many ways.

When Jesus approaches, the man falls at his feet and thrusts about, screaming at the top of his lungs, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God, I beg you, do not torment me.” The spirits beg, “Jesus, leave me alone.” “What is your name,” Jesus questions. I wonder when the last time someone asked this man for his name? This question is part of the miracle. “Who are you, my friend? What is your name?” Healing has already begun. LEGION, the spirits reply. Now, one can argue that this is political commentary against Rome because factions of Roman armies were called Legions. Some argue that Legion is the name of a particular demon. Some say that Legion means the man is divided and pulled in lots of different directions, and we too are divided and busy and pulled in lots of different directions. But this morning, Legion simply means that this man’s name is no longer his own. His condition has stolen his identity.

Jesus commands the unclean spirits to leave the man, and the spirits beg Jesus a second time, asking not to be thrown into the abyss. It just so happens that on the hillside there is herd of swine feeding, and the spirits beg Jesus a third time saying, “Let us enter the pigs!” Jesus gives them permission, the spirits enter the pigs and the pigs hurl themselves off a steep embankment into a lake and drown. Now, if you’re a swineherd, you’re having a bad day! The swineherd ran to the town to tell everyone what they had just seen and the townsfolk get up to see it for themselves. I’m not sure what to make of this strange episode with the pigs running off the cliff, except to say that the swineherd did not run to town for the sake of the man whom Jesus had healed. It seems that his condition became common place or forgotten or hopeless, but when their livelihood, their possessions, their way of life, their backyard is aggravated, then they begin to take notice. The man’s condition wasn’t newsworthy until it affected their personal way of life.

The people were so upset by this they beg Jesus to leave. This is a curious reaction. At first blush I expected them to shout “Hallelujah! Amen! Do it again!” But no, out of fear, they beg Jesus to leave them alone. But who can blame them, really? Imagine being in a jail cell with someone like, Charles Manson. I would be afraid to be in a jail cell with Charles Manson. This murderer is out of his mind. Then imagine the warden walking near the entrance of the cell and Manson becomes reserved and quite and polite. I’m no longer afraid of Manson, I’m afraid of the warden “What did you do to him, and for God’s sake, don’t do it to me.” The townsfolk are seized with fear, and they, using nearly the same words as the unclean spirits say, “Jesus, leave us alone.”

Jesus agrees. He gets in the boat to return to Galilee. The man, whose name is never recorded, begs Jesus, “Let me follow you,” but Jesus says, “No, return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” The story is over. This strange story of demons and pigs and miracle and fear is over, at least what’s recorded of it. This is one of those stories in which I wish we had a continuation of the narrative. What happened after Jesus left? See, this story is fundamentally not about a theology of demons (do they exist, is demon really a psychosis they didn’t understand at the time . . . etc), nor is it essentially about changing your context and going to the other side of the lake to be with Gentiles—even though this is a sacred goal and one we should pursue, nor at its core is it about Jesus’ miraculous control over things seen and unseen—even though his divinity shines through these simple words on the page. This story is a sign in and of itself, which begs us to ask a question not explicitly recorded in the story itself. The heart of this story is forgiveness.

I would not be surprised if this man who has no name was Luke himself. For those of you keeping score, whoever put pen to paper used the word “beg” five times (well, four times, but one of them should be translated as beg), and someone in need of forgiveness knows this word. This man was healed, but Jesus’ miracle means little if the community withholds forgiveness and reconciliation and says to him, “We know who you are. It’s best if you keep to the cemetery.” Did this man have a wife, children, family? How did they react to this miracle? I’d bet they had heard, “But I’ve changed, I’m a new man” before. Haven’t you?

Forgiveness isn’t about forgetting the past. You don’t forgive the thief with a promotion to a local bank, or a cheater with a new position as World Cup Referee. Forgiveness doesn’t mean that you are to walked upon, let me be clear. Forgiveness isn’t forgetting the past or living without consequence. The resurrected Christ still had wounds to show to Thomas. The wounds had been healed, but the scars were still there. Forgiveness is about healing, not forgetting. Forgiveness is giving up the right to wrong the one who wronged you. It is Jesus refusing to crucify Thomas for his unbelief. Forgiveness is, “See my hands, see my side, and believe.” Forgiveness is God placing a bow in the clouds to remind him that the bow is pointed toward himself, should he choose to flood the world again.

It wouldn’t surprise me if Luke happened to be this man with no name. This story must have been remembered by someone who knows the meaning of the word, “beg.” I beg you, Jesus. I beg you, friends. I beg you, honey. I beg you, my son. This is a person who knows that forgiveness is difficult, that forgiveness takes time, that forgiveness must involve Christ because it is something we are incapable of doing without the church. Jesus told the man to stay and the spread his witness. See, Jesus didn’t come to heal this one man. He wanted to heal the whole Garasene community, the whole Jewish and Gentile community, the whole world, in fact. So, Dads . . . it’s your day . . . who do you need to forgive? Amen.

Forgiveness Isn’t Opposite Gallilee