Mustard Weeds...

When I was young, and I would ride to see my grandparents in Tuscaloosa, there was a long stretch of road through Coaling where the hillside, the buildings, the billboards, even the telephone poles were covered in kudzu. It was at once breathtakingly lovely, and a little frightening. If we slowed, if our car broke down, would the kudzu overtake us, consume us, smother us in its deep and beautiful green?

I wonder today: if we were to slow down our breakneck pace of forever working, forever striving, forever consuming, forever chasing stimulation and entertainment and immediate gratification, would the Kingdom of God overtake us, consume us, and smother us in its lovely, graceful embrace?

Mark 4:26-34

He also said, “The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come.”

He also said, “With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.”

With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in private to his disciples.

This is the Word of the Lord.

There are, in this world, words that don’t seem to go together. I’ve always been fascinated by the phrase “jumbo shrimp,” for example. And in today’s Gospel reading, we have another example: “the greatest of all shrubs.”

A shrub, great? Really? And what’s the big idea of associating the Kingdom of God with a bush, anyway? Why not a mighty fortress, like the hymn by Martin Luther? Why not a flash flood that covers the whole land, or a bright white cloud that expands from horizon to horizon? A mountain whose summit pierces into outer space! Something big!

But no. A shrub.

And it gets worse from there, really. In our culture, we think of mustard as a condiment: something that comes in a bright yellow bottle that you put on a burger or a hot dog or a soft pretzel, or if you’re like me, on everything humans consume. For the adventurous there’s spicy brown mustard, and for the truly daring, Chinese hot mustard.

But to those first-century Judeans gathered and listening to Jesus speak, it’s a bit of a comedy routine from the moment Jesus says that the mustard seed is sown. Planted. On purpose! Hilarious, because the mustard plant was a pervasive and despised weed. It popped up everywhere, encroaching on carefully tended land, offering no benefit whatsoever to the hardscrabble subsistence farmers who were listening that day. It was an insane comparison, the mustard seed would never have been sown! They spent a good portion of their energy keeping it from growing in the first place, for cryin’ out loud!

It would be exactly like going and cultivating kudzu, or seeding your lawn with dandelions.

But, you know, the more I think about it, the more this parable makes sense.

John Dominic Crossan suggests that “The point [of the parable]… is not just that the mustard plant starts as a proverbially small seed and grows into a shrub of three or four feet, or even higher, it is that it tends to take over where it is not wanted, that it tends to get out of control, and that it tends to attract birds within cultivated areas where they are not particularly desired. And that, said Jesus, was what the Kingdom was like.”

This Kingdom of God began gathering in small groups of prayerful people, huddled in the dark corners of synagogues or dusty courtyards, men and women, slave and free, Jew and Gentile and Samaritan. The rich and the influential were few and far between in these gatherings; rather, the message of new life in Christ tended to attract those who had nothing to love about their present existence of servitude and poverty. There were no towering cathedrals, television preachers, or building campaigns. Not a single pane of stained glass, no organs, no bulletins.

To the outside world, there was nothing attractive or useful about this ugly little band of slaves and women worshipping their crucified god, these pesky birds attracted to the shade of this mustard weed bush of a church. In fact, the idea that these little nobodies would dare to ignore all the perfectly sensible gods that kept the Empire safe and prosperous was offensive to the rich and powerful Roman authorities. They slashed and burned, cut and destroyed, dug up and decimated the weed of the early church, determined to stamp it out once and for all.

Yet the Kingdom not only grew but thrived, spreading even while its citizens were being tortured and killed by the rulers of the known world. Send one to the lions, and three hundred pop up over here. Crucify another, and three thousand show up over there. Like the mustard weed to the first-century Judeans, or the kudzu to you and me, the Kingdom of God was uncontrollable, unstoppable, pervasive.

It’s amazing, isn’t it? The very idea, that a shrub could be such a dynamic force.

And now here we are, two thousand years removed from the morning that Christ walked free of the tomb, dropping the chains of death like a discarded napkin. Christianity become first legal, then mandatory, then institutionalized, then fragmented.

And is that all there is to it? Is the Kingdom of God reduced to a jumble of fractured, disparate denominations, constantly warring within and outside themselves over points of doctrine or how wide to draw the circle of acceptance, alternately condemning or ignoring one another’s existence? Is this all that is left of the wild, offensive, unstoppable Kingdom of God?

Oh no. There is so much more.

Take away every church building, every pew and pulpit, every hymnal and offering plate, erase every doctrinal statement and theological treatise, and in the end you will find that you’ve removed nothing at all, because the Kingdom of God transcends all of these things.

In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus tells us that the Kingdom of God – this tiny mustard seed – is within us. And for this Kingdom at work within us, there is no limit. The words of the parable, planted within us, have the power to alter irrevocably not only our spiritual existence, but the trajectory of life for all those we impact with our words, our talents and treasures, our love and grace.

The Kingdom is alive and well, still rampant and rude, still persistent and inescapable.

The Kingdom within us calls out to each of us to realize that our lives are more than the sum of days lived and dollars earned. Life has meaning beyond the walls of home or church or workplace. Life means so much more than our own self-interest and ego. After all, we humans, we seedbearers, live in relation to one another and to the world around us. And in that relationship we find the meaning of the kingdom and the worth and value of our lives.

Annie Dillard once observed, “On the whole, I do not find Christians, outside the catacombs, sufficiently sensible of the conditions. Does any-one have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake some day and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return.”

This is the picture Jesus draws with the parable of the mustard seed. Even today, the Kingdom of God is exploding around us, and we seedbearers are called to sow God’s love, God’s grace, and God’s Word, to spread the branches of the mustard weed and draw the circle wide, to strap in, pull our helmets down tight, hang on, and live the adventure!

Palm Sunday: The Alabaster Jar

Thanks to Kathryn Matthews Huey, whose work informed this sermon, and to Jace Foster, whose advice helped this sermon stay reasonably on-target. This sermon also (once again) benefited from Jimmy Spencer Jr,'s incredible book, "Love Without Agenda." Seriously, go buy the book. Now. I'll wait.

The audio from the sermon:


Check this out on Chirbit

This song was playing in my head while I wrote the first part of this sermon...

Philippians 2:5-11

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death — even death on a cross.

Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

John 12:12-16

The next day the great crowd that had come to the festival heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him, shouting, "Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord — the King of Israel!”
Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it; as it is written: “Do not be afraid, daughter of Zion. Look, your king is coming, sitting on a donkey’s colt!”
His disciples did not understand these things at first; but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that these things had been written of him and had been done to him.

This is the Word of the Lord.

They shouted for a savior. They shouted for a king. They shouted because they hoped to see a miracle. They shouted because everyone else was shouting.

But, of course, none of them understood. None of them grasped that, by the end of the week, this man they had lauded as the King of Israel would be writhing in agony, gasping for breath, dying the excruciatingly gruesome, horribly slow, loathsomely humiliating slave’s death of the Roman cross.

I take that back. I think one person besides Jesus understood.

In the crowd that day, listening as Jesus spoke to the Greek visitors we met last week, was a woman. As is so often the case, we do not know her name. Perhaps she was one of the women who had joined with the group early on, perhaps she had seen Jesus raise Lazarus from the dead, or perhaps she herself had received healing from his hands. In any case, when she heard Jesus say, “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself,” and felt the shock and irritation of the crowd around her, she reacted differently.

Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan call this woman “the first Christian,” because she was the first person to take Jesus seriously when he talked about his suffering and death.

While everyone around her was arguing that, if Jesus was the Messiah they had just acclaimed him as, he couldn’t ever die, she somehow understood that this death, this being “lifted up,” was the whole point.

And as the storm clouds gathered, she was the first person to take action. I’m picking up the narrative in the Gospel of Mark, the 14^th chapter, first verse through the 15^th chapter, 47^th verse.

“It was two days before the Passover and the festival of Unleavened Bread. The chief priests and the scribes were looking for a way to arrest Jesus by stealth and kill him; for they said, ‘Not during the festival, or there may be a riot among the people.’

“While he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at the table, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment of nard, and she broke open the jar and poured the ointment on his head. But some were there who said to one another in anger, ‘Why was the ointment wasted in this way? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.’ And they scolded her. But Jesus said, ‘Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.’

“Then Judas Iscariot, who was one of the twelve, went to the chief priests in order to betray him to them. When they heard it, they were greatly pleased, and promised to give him money. So he began to look for an opportunity to betray him.”

We often focus on the argument that takes place surrounding this woman’s actions, and – like the disciples who were there with Jesus – miss the profound beauty, and deep truth, of what this woman is doing.

On the one hand, the Temple elite were brainstorming ways to have Jesus arrested and killed, while on the other, the disciples were still consumed with questions and power plays. Into this steps this unknown woman, offering Jesus love and attention, and lavishing him with generosity. While the criticism over her gift swirls, (“the money could have been given to the poor!”) writer Megan McKenna points out that Jesus was the poor! She writes, “He is the poorest man in that house.”

He is an innocent man facing a brutal execution, and before too much longer, most of his friends will abandon him. He will be left alone, naked, and bleeding, on display for the ridicule and mockery of all. This woman brings a gift equal in value to a year’s wages, an offering of breathtaking splendor, a luxurious indulgence… a gift of preparation for his coming burial.

Jesus was the poorest man in that house. He had given up so much, for so great a need…

“…though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death — even death on a cross.”

“And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”

Imagine the extravagance of going out, seemingly on the spur of the moment, and spending an entire year’s income on perfume. Imagine the reckless abandon of bursting into someone’s home, breaking open the precious vessel that holds the perfume, and emptying every ounce of it on the head of another person. Imagine caring that much. Imagine loving that much.

Now, think of this: Jesus Christ emptied himself. Every ounce.

Please understand: nothing, at any point in the life of Jesus, was forced on him. Jesus poured himself out on purpose. Jesus became a servant on purpose. Jesus became a human being on purpose.

Oh, and those priests and scribes, running around with their plans and their plots and their bags of silver? The Roman governor, Pilate? They may think they have the skills and the authority to force this travelling street preacher from the middle of nowhere into an early grave, but even that – even death – is something that Jesus will do on purpose.

What is more, all of this – God taking the form of man, living the life of a mortal, sacrificing himself for the sake of God’s creation, all of this was settled before anything was, in fact, created at all!

And despite this fact, the pain, the abandonment, the horror that Jesus Christ will feel, the cold and all-too-permanent reality of death, none of this is contrived. It is all very real. Imagine caring that much. Imagine loving that much.

All of our theological studies, all of our creedal affirmations, all of our doctrinal discussions and apologetic arguments boil down to one word, a central, burning truth which has forever changed the course of history, the trajectory of the universe itself: love.

One of the easiest phrases in all of Christianity is the phrase, “Jesus did this for us.” It’s easy, and it’s true… but it doesn’t go far enough.

It would be easy for Jesus to love the woman with the alabaster jar. It would be easy for Jesus to love the Apostle John, who stayed at the foot of the cross with Jesus’ mother all through that horrible afternoon.

But what about Judas? What about Peter, who denied him three times? What about the priests and scribes who dragged him before Pilate? And what about Pilate, who was too cowardly, in the end, to do what he knew was right? What about the Roman soldiers, who gambled away his clothing? Or that one particular soldier, who shoved a spear through Jesus’ heart after he died?

It’s easy to imagine God loving the people like us, dying for our friends and our family. But what about “them:” people who are not like us? People who look different than us, think differently, act differently, believe differently?

Imagine that year’s salary, spent on perfume, is your year’s salary. And imagine yourself  being able to choose anyone on earth to empty that incredibly precious perfume on… and choosing the vilest, most frightening and despicable human being on earth to receive that gift. A sworn enemy. A bloodthirsty rival. And imagine doing it with no assurance that this monster of a human being will in any way change?

That is exactly – exactly – what Jesus did. Romans 5:8 confirms this: “But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.”

And who is “us?” Every human being.

That’s right. There is no “them.” Jesus poured his life out for every person: the Trayvon Martins and the George Zimmermans, the death row inmates and their victims, the Mother Theresas and the Joseph Konys, the Fred Phelpses and the Billy Grahams…

As followers of the risen Christ, as people who know about this all-encompassing love, as the beneficiaries of that love, as the recipients of the outpouring of the Holy Spirit into our hearts, will we stand around like the disciples did when that alabaster jar was broken, shaking our heads at the waste, or will we instead shout “Hosannah!” in celebration of the gift?

Advent 1 - "Are We There Yet?" version 2.0

Much of this sermon first appeared on November 29, 2009. Please reference the link for original sources.  In adapting the text for 2011, I was blessed with the efforts of my good friends J. R. Daniel Kirk and Terry Ramone Smith.

Isaiah 64:1-9

O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence — as when fire kindles brushwood and the fire causes water to boil — to make your name known to your adversaries, so that the nations might tremble at your presence
When you did awesome deeds that we did not expect, you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence. From ages past no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who works for those who wait for him.
You meet those who gladly do right, those who remember you in your ways. But you were angry, and we sinned; because you hid yourself we transgressed.
We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away. There is no one who calls on your name, or attempts to take hold of you; for you have hidden your face from us, and have delivered us into the hand of our iniquity Yet, O LORD, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand. Do not be exceedingly angry, O LORD, and do not remember iniquity forever.
Now consider, we are all your people.

1 Corinthians 1:3-9

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that has been given you in Christ Jesus, for in every way you have been enriched in him, in speech and knowledge of every kind — just as the testimony of Christ has been strengthened among you — so that you are not lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ. He will also strengthen you to the end, so that you may be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is faithful; by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.

Mark 13:24-37

“But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.
Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven.

“From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

“But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Therefore, keep awake — for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”

This is the Word of the Lord.

“Are we there yet?”

It's a pretty universally accepted truth that if you put kids in a car and go on a journey of any length at all, that question (or one of its variations) will be asked about a hundred times per hour per child. The excitement of going someplace, the anticipation of what awaits, and the tedium of long car rides are a pretty bad mix, so it's no wonder so many cars and SUVs come equipped with DVD players.

Now, as a child I'm sure I asked that question a lot when we went places, but I don't remember that. What I do remember is, when we were headed to one set of grandparents or the other, looking for landmarks that would tell me that we were almost there. When we went to Huntsville to see Grandma Hazel, my mom's mom, there would come a point after we passed the Jetplex that you could see, off in the distance, the very tip of a Saturn V rocket. The bigger and closer the rocket got the closer we were to Hazel & Hunt's.

When we went to Tuscaloosa, to my dad's parents' house, my landmark was the “Burger In A Hurry” at the corner of University Boulevard and 15th Street, it was a small building with a v-shaped roof and a big sign promising fifteen-cent hamburgers. That's where we turned, so I knew we were getting close to Hilda and Red's.

Though I may have asked, “are we there yet? How much longer?” and things like that, in fact when I looked at the signs around me, be it the jetplex or the rockets in Huntsville or the miles of kudzu and the long-since-closed burger joint in Tuscaloosa, I knew we were almost there.

This is the first Sunday in Advent, and the first Sunday in the liturgical church year. The Thanksgiving turkey is almost digested, we've just about rested up from Black Friday, and we're entering in to a wonderful season of building anticipation, waiting for the birth of our Savior and King! The Wise Men are scanning the heavens, the shepherds are moving their flocks through the fields, the angels are tuning their harps.

Yet we start this season of new beginnings with a discussion about the end of time – the words of a Savior not very far from the whip, the crown of thorns, and the nails. Because Advent is not just about Christ who has come, but Christ who will come again.

It's a strange mixture, isn't it? The wise men, the manger, the tree and the ornaments, the gifts and the kids who wake before the sun is up to see what Santa's brought them, peace on earth and goodwill toward humankind – and are we there yet?

Signs in the heavens, stars falling, the moon and sun extinguished, and angels gathering the elect to Christ, who returns in clouds in great power and glory… are we there yet? How much farther?

My friend, J. R. Daniel Kirk, who is Professor of New Testament at Fuller Theological Seminary, worries that Advent has become too much about Christ’s first appearance, and not at all about the next, final appearance of Christ. He has a point.

He says that we too often slip into the language of “preparing for the arrival of the Christ child” rather than either preparing ourselves to celebrate the arrival that already happened, or preparing for the future advent for which we actually await. We’re celebrating Jesus, but the idea that we’re waiting for his birth too often takes center stage, so we go around shouting “Jesus is born!” as if it had actually just happened, as though the Messiah we’d been waiting for had finally come. In all the talk of “waiting” we too often use language which indicates a posture of waiting for the birth of the Messiah–something for which we are not waiting at all, it has happened! Worse, to say that we are is a denial of the good news itself!

Could it be that the message of Advent is not so much one of two arrivals, one past and one future, or of a great and glorious beginning and a cataclysmic and permanent ending, as it is about one thing: “God's passion, God's dream, for a transformed earth,” (to quote Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan)? I'm not suggesting just a transformed planet, some political Nirvana where wars have ceased and harmony prevails. This is what Crossan and Borg seem to envision in their book “The First Christmas.” Rather, I am speaking of a world full of transformed people whose needs have been met by God's people, and whose lives are defined and founded upon that Christ who has come, who has died, who has risen, and who will come again.

Are we there yet?

Crossan and Borg suggest that Advent is a season of repentant preparation – not “repentance” in the sense of being sorry you did something, confessing and promising to not do it again, as we have come to understand the word, but “repentance” in the original and most correct sense of the word, where we change something. Where we work to make what is into what should be, yes, personally, but also in a larger sense – in the lives and experiences of those around us and by extension everyone on earth.

When did the Christmas season become a time of stress and traffic jams, of holiday jingles playing and commercials running even before Halloween, of searching store after store for whatever the television tells us is this year's hottest gift, of endless shopping lists and Black Friday predawn sales, where all we're left with on December 26th is exhaustion and credit card bills and a stack of gifts to return? We buy things we cannot afford in order to give them to people who, in the grand scheme of things, don’t need them, often only because they are going to give us something that, in the grand scheme of things, we don’t need.

Where I part a bit from Daniel Kirk’s points is that I worry that this time of year is less and less about remembering the birth of the Savior, and more and more about the biggest gift, the newest gadget, the shiniest trinket. We have become so wrapped up in when and whether the next iPhone is coming out, how big a big-screen TV we can buy, what video game or DVD is the newest sensation, that we forget why December 25 is a special day in the first place.

I want to suggest to you this morning that Advent is not about commerce, but about worship: “It starts with Jesus. It ends with Jesus.” Is this not the approach God had in mind for Christmas? “A season where we are called to put down our burdens and lift a song up to our God. ...a season where love wins, peace reigns, and a king is celebrated with each breath.”

Are we there yet? I can't speak for you, of course, but for me the answer is “no.”
Can we get there from here? Yes!

It begins with a simple statement of faith – one which echoes Isaiah’s plea to the God who brought slaves from captivity into the freedom and prosperity that was Israel – “Yet…” that is, “but, however, nevertheless”… “O LORD, you are our Father…”

With God as our Parent, can we not once again find the balance between honoring our loved ones and friends with gifts, honoring the birth of our Savior, and actively waiting on that Savior’s return in glory?

I use “waiting” in the way that Terry Ramone Smith, one of the facilitators of Atlanta’s “Church of the Misfits” uses it – “waiting” in the sense of working for, attending to, providing for needs. Yes, we wait in the sense of patiently – and sometimes impatiently – watching, but we also actively wait, doing the things that Jesus saw as most important – the activities he himself listed in the twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew as the criteria for inclusion in the eternal Kingdom: Feeding the hungry, because every hungry person, be they a homeless man in downtown Bessemer, or a malnourished child in Malawi, is Christ. Providing water for the thirsty, because every thirsty person, be they a child on a playground in East Lake, or a mother of three in Mumbai, is Christ. Clothing the naked, because every person without adequate clothing, be they a coatless woman waiting on the bus in downtown Birmingham, or a shivering orphan on the streets of Bogata, is Christ. Visiting the lonely and the imprisoned, because every lonely and imprisoned person, be they on Donaldson Correctional Facility’s Death Row or in a bed in the nursing home down the street, is Christ.

This, more than trees and tinsel, more than gifts and carols, is the real message of Advent. It’s a time when we not only put down our own burdens, but we help others lay down their burdens as well. Where we show that love truly does win, peace most certainly reigns, and we celebrate the birth – and the return – of our King with each breath, and every fiber of our being, singing as one voice, as one actively waiting and celebrating Body, “O come, O come, Emanuel!”

Alleluia! Amen.

The Potter's Wheel Still Turns!

I know that writing a sermon is supposed to be hard work. Hours of toil discerning what God is saying to God's people in this particular passage, and so on. And sometimes it's like that for me, honestly.

Not tonight. This one was fun. Comments and constructive criticism welcome.

Jeremiah 18:1-11
The word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD: "Come, go down to the potter's house, and there I will let you hear my words." So I went down to the potter's house, and there he was working at his wheel. The vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter's hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as seemed good to him.
Then the word of the LORD came to me: Can I not do with you, O house of Israel, just as this potter has done? says the LORD. Just like the clay in the potter's hand, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel. At one moment I may declare concerning a nation or a kingdom, that I will pluck up and break down and destroy it, but if that nation, concerning which I have spoken, turns from its evil, I will change my mind about the disaster that I intended to bring on it. And at another moment I may declare concerning a nation or a kingdom that I will build and plant it, but if it does evil in my sight, not listening to my voice, then I will change my mind about the good that I had intended to do to it. Now, therefore, say to the people of Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem: Thus says the LORD: Look, I am a potter shaping evil against you and devising a plan against you. Turn now, all of you from your evil way, and amend your ways and your doings.

Luke 14:25-33
Now large crowds were traveling with him; and he turned and said to them, "Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, 'This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.' Or what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand? If he cannot, then, while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for the terms of peace. So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.

Philemon 1-21
Paul, a prisoner of Christ Jesus, and Timothy our brother,
To Philemon our dear friend and co-worker, to Apphia our sister, to Archippus our fellow soldier, and to the church in your house:
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
When I remember you in my prayers, I always thank my God because I hear of your love for all the saints and your faith toward the Lord Jesus. I pray that the sharing of your faith may become effective when you perceive all the good that we may do for Christ. I have indeed received much joy and encouragement from your love, because the hearts of the saints have been refreshed through you, my brother.
For this reason, though I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do your duty, yet I would rather appeal to you on the basis of love-and I, Paul, do this as an old man, and now also as a prisoner of Christ Jesus. I am appealing to you for my child, Onesimus, whose father I have become during my imprisonment. Formerly he was useless to you, but now he is indeed useful both to you and to me. I am sending him, that is, my own heart, back to you. I wanted to keep him with me, so that he might be of service to me in your place during my imprisonment for the gospel; but I preferred to do nothing without your consent, in order that your good deed might be voluntary and not something forced. Perhaps this is the reason he was separated from you for a while, so that you might have him back forever, no longer as a slave but more than a slave, a beloved brother-especially to me but how much more to you, both in the flesh and in the Lord.
So if you consider me your partner, welcome him as you would welcome me. If he has wronged you in any way, or owes you anything, charge that to my account. I, Paul, am writing this with my own hand: I will repay it. I say nothing about your owing me even your own self. Yes, brother, let me have this benefit from you in the Lord! Refresh my heart in Christ. Confident of your obedience, I am writing to you, knowing that you will do even more than I say.

This is the Word of the Lord.

The tiny book of Philemon is something of an enigma. While even the most skeptical scholars agree that Paul, indeed, wrote this letter, no one seems to have a grasp on what it’s all about. There are no immediately apparent Christological truths, no sweeping theological statements or doctrinal principals. There is only a letter, written on behalf of a slave, directed to a slave owner and the church which meets in his house.

I’ve heard arguments from people saying that the slave, Onesimus, had been sent to Paul to help him in his captivity; we see this being done in other places in the New Testament, so that isn’t impossible, but I tend to side with those who believe Onesimus to be a runaway slave.

For one thing, Onesimus being an escaped slave helps to explain Paul’s tone in this letter. A counselor I know once told me that the letter to Philemon is an example of “good” manipulation.” I’m not sure there’s any such thing as manipulating someone in a “good” way, but there’s very little question that Paul is exerting emotional and psychological pressure on Philemon throughout this letter. If Onesimus is an escaped slave, then what Paul is arguing is literally a life and death matter.

Living, as we do, in the twenty-first century Western world, the idea of slavery is not only repugnant, but a bit of a mystery as well. Even though slavery still exists today, and we may well be aware of it, it isn’t part of our everyday thinking.

In the ancient world, though, slavery was a way of life. The wealthier people owned slaves, and the poorest of the poor often had no choice but to sell themselves into slavery in order to avoid starving to death. One could hope for eventual freedom; in fact, it was a requirement of Jewish Law that slaves be regularly freed. Sometimes slaves in Rome won their freedom, and sometimes they were able to purchase that freedom. But while they were slaves, make no mistake, they were nothing more than property. They could be bought and sold with the ease of cattle; they could be beaten, starved, worked to death or even crucified with no fear of legal regulation or reprisals for the owners.

Who can blame Onesimus for running away, if that is what he did? Who wouldn’t want to escape the oppression of slavery, the humiliation of being the property of another person? And I hate to say it out loud, but I kind of have a problem with Paul sending Onesimus back to Philemon! Why would he put this man, who he calls “my child, my own heart” back to a man who has every legal right, and frankly every societal obligation, to nail him to a cross in his courtyard?

Now, what follows is going to sound a lot like a rabbit trail, but bear with me, because it’s the only way I can think of to get to the answer.

Our Old Testament reading, from the book of Jeremiah, speaks about the nation of Israel, as the covenant people of God, as clay in the potter’s hand. It’s a warning to them, but one of the things I find most interesting is that the potter, when he sees the vessel he’s making spoiled, doesn’t throw out the clay. Rather, he starts over. He reforms the clay. He makes it new.

If the parallel to the Old Testament covenant people are the New Testament covenant people, then the clay thrown on the potter’s wheel is the Church. God began forming this clay during Jesus’ earthly ministry. Our reading today is rightly included in what are called the “hard sayings” of Jesus: the things that are difficult to hear, difficult to comprehend, frightening to preach, nearly impossible to follow. Count the cost, because once we decide to follow Jesus, it’s all or it’s nothing. Perhaps the part that speaks loudest to those of us who populate the richest country in the world are his words about possessions: we have none. Everything belongs to God, or nothing does.

And perhaps it is no surprise that, even though the Gospel of Luke was most likely written following Paul’s death, these seem to be the words resonating most within Paul’s spirit as he writes these words to his friend Philemon. John Dominic Crossan asked, concerning the letter to Philemon, “Can Philemon, a Christian, own Onesimus, a Christian?”

Roman law aside, if the answer to Crossan’s question is “no,” then couldn’t Paul have been justified in simply keeping Onesimus there with him? He obviously enjoyed his company, and definitely needed his help. Onesimus, whose name means “useful,” was of much more use to the Apostle than he could ever be to the affluent Philemon.

Yet to keep Onesimus from Philemon would have been robbery. I don’t mean that Paul was stealing Onesimus from Philemon, no, this kind of robbery would have been much more serious. Much more deeply damaging to Philemon’s spiritual health and well-being. Philemon needed to own the knowledge that what he thought he owned, the rights he thought he had, the power he assumed to wield, all of these were nothing in the light and truth of the risen Christ.

Yes, Philemon had rights. Yes, he had the full weight of societal conventions and socially accepted practice and the Roman legal system on his side. Yes, he was merely functioning in the same way everyone else functioned, and had functioned for as long as anyone could remember. But Christ has risen, the potter’s wheel is spinning, and none of that matters anymore.

This is why Paul can write, in the book of Galatians, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” This is why Paul can write to Philemon and ask him to welcome Onesimus as if he were welcoming Paul: to treat Onesimus, in effect, not as a slave but as a beloved and revered and respected Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ! To not merely forgive Onesimus, not merely to free him (though that is an obvious expectation), but to welcome and love him as an equal member of the Body of Christ!

The potter’s wheel is still turning.

Now, understand that the point of Scripture isn’t to make us feel guilty for what we have, not directly. Rather, we are called on to change our attitudes going forward. The point of what Jesus says in our Gospel reading, and the point that Paul is making, forcefully, to Philemon and to us, is that no matter what name is on the bill of sale, whoever signs the deed, no matter which name is on the checking account, we really own none of it. It belongs to God, and we are merely caretakers.

The potter’s wheel is still turning.

Whatever our particular section of society tells us we should think or do, however our circle of influence expects us to act… whoever they tell us to regard above all others and despise more than everyone else, whichever group we’re told we are superior to, the Potter is continuing to wet the clay, forming we who are the people of the New Covenant in to an ever more excellent vessel – the Body of Christ.

The Advent Conspiracy

Thanks to Kate Huey, Heifer Project International, and The Advent Conspiracy for resources in writing the sermon.

Seriously, folks. Heifer Project, Advent Conspiracy, and Living Water International. Get on board.

Luke 21:25-36

"There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near."
Then he told them a parable: "Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
"Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man."

This is the Word of the Lord.

“Are we there yet?”

It's a pretty universally accepted truth that if you put kids in a car and go on a journey of any length at all, that question (or one of its variations) will be asked about a hundred times per hour per child. The excitement of going someplace, the anticipation of what awaits, and the tedium of long car rides are a pretty bad mix, so it's no wonder so many cars and SUVs come equipped with DVD players.

Now, as a child I'm sure I asked that question a lot when we went places, but I don't remember that. What I do remember is, when we were headed to one set of grandparents or the other, looking for landmarks that would tell me that we were almost there. When we went to Huntsville to see Grandma Hazel, my mom's mom, there would come a point after we passed the Jetplex that you could see, off in the distance, the very tip of a Saturn V rocket. The bigger and closer the rocket got the closer we were to Hazel & Hunt's.

When we went to Tuscaloosa, to my dad's parents' house, my landmark was the “Burger In A Hurry” at the corner of University Boulevard and 15th Street, it was a small building with a v-shaped roof and a big sign promising fifteen-cent hamburgers. That's where we turned, so I knew we were getting close to Hilda and Red's.

Though I may have asked, “are we there yet? How much longer?” and things like that, in fact when I looked at the signs around me, be it the jetplex or the rockets in Huntsville or the miles of kudzu and the long-since-closed burger joint in Tuscaloosa, I knew we were almost there.

This is the first Sunday in Advent, and the first Sunday in the liturgical church year. The Thanksgiving turkey is almost digested, we've just about rested up from Black Friday, and we're entering in to a wonderful season of building anticipation, waiting for the birth of our Savior and King! The Wise Men are scanning the heavens, the shepherds are moving their flocks through the fields, the angels are tuning their harps.

Yet we start this season of new beginnings with a discussion about the end of time – the words of a Savior not very far from the whip, the crown of thorns, and the nails. Because Advent is not just about Christ who has come, but Christ who will come again.

It's a strange mixture, isn't it? The wise men, the manger, the tree and the ornaments, the gifts and the kids who wake before the sun is up to see what Santa's brought them, peace on earth and goodwill toward humankind – and are we there yet?

Signs in the heavens and distress among nations, fear and foreboding and a roaring, unsettled sea, horsemen and trumpets and bowls and a great, final Resurrection, where every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord – are we there yet? How much farther?

Could it be that the message of Advent is not so much one of two arrivals, one past and one future, or of a great and glorious beginning and a cataclysmic and permanent ending, as it is about one thing: “God's passion, God's dream, for a transformed earth,” (to quote Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan)? I'm not suggesting just a transformed planet, some political Nirvana where wars have ceased and harmony prevails. This is what Crossan and Borg seem to envision in their book “The First Christmas.” Rather, I am speaking of a world full of transformed people whose needs have been met by God's people, and whose lives are defined and founded upon that Christ who has come, who has died, who has risen, and who will come again.

Are we there yet?

Crossan and Borg suggest that Advent is a season of repentant preparation – not “repentance” in the sense of being sorry you did something, confessing and promising to not do it again, as we seem to view it so often, but “repentance” in the original and correct sense of the word, where we change something. Where we work to make what is into what should be, yes, personally, but also in a larger sense – in the lives and experiences of those around us and by extension everyone on earth.

When did the Christmas season become a time of stress and traffic jams, of holiday jingles playing and commercials running even before Halloween, of searching store after store for whatever the television tells us is this year's hottest gift, of endless shopping lists and Black Friday predawn sales, where all we're left with on December 26th is exhaustion and credit card bills and a stack of gifts to return?

I want to suggest to you this morning that Advent is not about commerce, but about worship: “It starts with Jesus. It ends with Jesus.” Is this not the approach God had in mind for Christmas? “A season where we are called to put down our burdens and lift a song up to our God. ...a season where love wins, peace reigns, and a king is celebrated with each breath.”

Are we there yet? I can't speak for you, of course, but for me the answer is “no.”
Can we get there from here? Yes!

I always hesitate when I am about to talk about meeting needs in society and in the world, because I don't want to preach an unbalanced message. In the same way that the Gospel is not just about our personal salvation and our personal growth and personal relationship with the Triune God, the Gospel isn't just about feeding the hungry and clothing the naked and speaking out for the marginalized. However, in a very real sense, what we believe internally, how we conduct our prayer life and direct our study of Scripture is both shown in, and informed by, our outward actions. People not only see what we believe in how we act, but the things we participate in with our time, our talent, and our treasure – whether positive or negative activities – impact how we pray, what we study, and even how we think about God. One always feeds the other.

With all of that said, a few years back, a few churches got together and started a worldwide movement that has come to be called the “Advent Conspiracy.” The idea behind it is pretty simple: to go against the Christmas season stress and hype, and to restore something of the joy and adventure of the Advent season.

They asked the members of their congregation to buy just one less gift during the holiday season, and to give the money not spent on a shirt or a tie or a DVD player or an X-Box or a Tickle Me Elmo to an organization like Living Water International or the Heifer Project, or to a local shelter or food ministry.

Americans spend about $450 billion on Christmas every year... but $10 can provide clean water for a child for a lifetime, and a hundred dollars gives a family clean water for a generation. $20 can buy a flock of geese for a family, $120 buys a goat.

I want to invite you to join me in a conspiracy – an Advent Conspiracy. There are people you know who will be happier to get a card saying that a gift was given in their honor than they will with anything you could buy them. And in that space we create by giving a gift instead of simply buying a present, where we help a person or family we'll never meet to have a better life, in that space is where we can begin to fully worship this amazing Christ of Advent, who for us and for our salvation came to earth, lived, died, and rose, and comes again.

Thanks be to God.

Inaugural Post: Sermon for August 23, 2009

I never title my sermons, since they are all generally Saturday Night Specials. The Lord's Supper follows the sermon, which should explain the odd ending.

John 6:56-69

"Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever." He said these things while he was teaching in the synagogue at Capernaum.

When many of his disciples heard it, they said, "This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?" But Jesus, being aware that his disciples were complaining about it, said to them, "Does this offend you? Then what if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before? It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life. But among you there are some who do not believe." For Jesus knew from the first who were the ones that did not believe, and who was the one that would betray him. And he said, "For this reason I have told you that no one can come to me unless it is granted by the Father."

Because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him. So Jesus asked the twelve, "Do you also wish to go away?" Simon Peter answered him, "Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God."

This is the Word of the Lord.

I am indebted this morning to Cynthia M. Campbell, president of McCormick Theological Seminary, for her insights in preparing this sermon.

"Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me.”

The words echo off of the stone walls of the synagogue, and the confused, shocked, horrified murmurs of the gathered crowd rise in answer.

They came looking for another free meal. They came looking for an earthly conqueror and king. They came looking for a show. If Jesus had been politically astute, if he'd had advisers around him, speechwriters and spin doctors and marketing experts, he would have given them a little of what they want – more food, a quick water-into-wine or parting the Sea of Galilee or something. He would have spoken more carefully, he would have generalized and given “big-picture” answers, inching his disciples ever closer to the knowledge of who Jesus was. Over time, in carefully orchestrated moves, he would have eased the crowd slowly into understanding that Jesus had not come to give them a full belly and freedom from the Romans. He had come to bring them eternal life.

But sugar-coating isn't Jesus' style, is it? No, he lays it all on the line, and in words both shocking and unmistakeable: you seek the bread of death. I offer you the Bread of Life.

Soon, in that hall where hundreds had been crammed in, only thirteen remain. Some had left in anger, certain that this man, this charlatan, this heretic would be the downfall of the nation. Some left, disappointed that they hadn't gotten more free bread, but otherwise unchanged by the experience. A few remained, not because they understood what Jesus had said, but because they trusted the one who had said it.

And that is the key, because, as those arguing about what Jesus said that day acknowledged, the teaching is difficult, and it goes to the root not only of who Jesus is, but who we as followers of Jesus are.

In our post-Resurrection world, we tend to interpret Jesus as the Bread of Life in terms of the Lord's Supper, the bread and the cup, to greater or lesser degrees depending on the theological viewpoint of the person and body of believers who participates. Yet while the act of receiving the elements is a sacred one, they are symbols – reminders of who Jesus is, and what God in Jesus Christ has done to restore humankind to relationship with God. The deeper question of who Jesus is and what it means to eat his flesh and drink his blood – what it means to follow Jesus, to believe in Jesus, to be a Christian – remains unanswered. Or, put more precisely, it is a question that each age and generation has had to answer for itself.

Sometimes we've answered right – the Councils of Nicea and Chalcedon, for example, or the Reformation. Sometimes we've answered horribly wrong – slavery comes to mind, and the Inquisition, and the Salem witch trials.

But the point is that we are still asking, even today, who Jesus is and what it means to be a follower of Christ. Those who left the synagogue, whether they were angry or apathetic, never looked back to wonder what it all meant. They had all the information they needed and no further discussion was warranted.

Yet for those of us who, like the Twelve, remained behind because we trusted the One who spoke even if we didn't understand the words, the question is ongoing – not unanswered, but re-answered in the context of the needs and challenges of each new generation.

It is, after all, not so much a question of getting the right data (or getting the data right); it is a question of faith and of relationship. Each generation, in its own peculiar and particular context, will have new questions and new insights. There will always be mistakes, and all our our scholarship will sometimes lead to dead ends. But because each generation of believers enjoys the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, even the dead ends lead to new insights and fresh understanding.

John Dominic Crossan points out that one of the most popular visual representations of Jesus in the early years of the Christian movement was the feeding of the multitude. Long before Christians portrayed Christ crucified they showed him breaking bread.

Jesus and bread, eating and feeding, table fellowship and faith, food and life, these things go together.

And look! The table is ready! Let us join together now with that great cloud of witnesses across the millenia, men and women who, with the Apostle Peter, have said to Jesus, “You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”