Wednesday, May 8, 2019

E-I-E-I-O


Rogation Sunday
(3rd Sunday in Easter)
May 5, 2019
Genesis 2:4-15; Psalm 8; John 21:1-19

(Or watch here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YrW-KKCATp4 )

We had planned a blessing of the tractors for the end of the service, but it was too wet.
            I’ve shared with some of y’all before that this is the most rural place I have ever lived.  Some of y’all have heard some of the culture shock my family and I have gone through as we’ve adjusted to life here. It is very different from the cities and suburbs I’m used to and the learning curve has been steep. In fact, I started keeping a list of all the things I’ve learned since moving here:
1.      Weeds are plants that are growing in the wrong place.
2.      Dirt is soil that’s in the wrong place.
3.      Steer are castrated bulls.
4.      The name for a female pig who has not had a litter of piglets is called a gilt.
5.      Horses need coats during the winter to keep them warm. Cows do not need winter coats because they have more fat.
6.      Sunflowers bloom for about two weeks.
7.      A field that I think is empty, or lying fallow for this season, is actually growing hay.
8.      Corn that appears to me overdue for harvesting is actually being left in the field to dry out to become animal feed.
9.      A Judas sheep is one that has been trained to lead the other sheep to the slaughterhouse.
Those are just the highlights from the past two years. I can’t wait to learn what y’all will teach me next! I expect this list to continue to grow. I’m related to some farmers, but it’s different living in a farming community.
            Now, you may have noticed in our Genesis reading that God was the first farmer. After God made the heavens and the earth, after God made Adam, God planted a garden in the east, in Eden. God grew trees in the garden and made sure there was a river to provide irrigation. And once God got it all set up and started, then God put Adam in the garden to work it and take care of it. The original Hebrew words for “work it” and “take care of it” are avad and shamar. They literally mean “to serve” and “protect.” So in the beginning, God’s idea was for people to serve and protect creation. It sounds a bit like being a police officer, to serve and protect. When my kids see a police officer out and about, they often ask why the police officer is there. I tell them that police officers’ job is to make sure we all stay safe. Adam’s job was to keep the garden safe, to grow it, cultivate it, and protect it from things that might destroy it. They may say that prostitution is the oldest profession in the world, but in fact, it's actually farming, since Adam’s job was to be a farmer.
Psalm 8 also says that God made us to be farmers. God made human beings “rulers over the works of [God’s] hands; …put everything under [our] feet: all flocks and herds, and the animals of the wild, the birds in the sky, and the fish in the sea…”[1] We were given the task of being stewards of creation, taking care of it, serving and protecting it. Overall we’ve had some mixed results at being successful with that, but one of the corners of creation where that is being done well is right here. More so than in cities and suburbs, one thing we understand well is that we are co-creators with God and given the responsibility to take care of creation. God put us in charge over creation. How well are we doing? How are the animals? How are the crops? I know, because I’ve learned, that planting time is coming up. Some of us have already been out in our gardens; soon it will be time to be out in the fields. God put it all under our care. What a responsibility! What a privilege. Not everyone gets to be a farmer. If we only had farmers, there would be no computers or hospitals or churches! God does not call everyone to be a farmer. God has clearly called this community to be one centered around ag life, to work the land and take care of the animals.
What’s interesting is that in our Gospel this morning Peter is also told to take care of animals, specifically Jesus’ sheep and lambs. This reading comes right after last week’s with Thomas and is commonly thought of as Jesus reinstating Peter. During the events on Holy Week, if you recall, Peter denied that he knew Jesus three times. Here, Jesus asks Peter three times if Peter loves him, once for each denial.  While denying Jesus had to hurt, Peter broke down and wept afterwards, it also must sting that Jesus asks three times, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter gives the same answer all three times, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” It’s like a conversation with a young child where they ask you a question, you answer, and they repeat the question again. You may either answer again, or you may say, “I already answered that. Do you remember what I said?” To which the answer is invariably, “No,” which is why they’re asking again. This happens a bit with my four year old. However, Jesus is not four years old. He has not forgotten Peter’s answer nor did he fail to listen to Peter’s answer. Jesus asks three times, Peter answers three times, and Jesus gives the direction three times to “Feed my sheep.”
We know from earlier in John’s Gospel that Jesus is the good shepherd, who lays down his life for the sheep, the shepherd who protects the sheep from the wild animals, the shepherd who knows his sheep and his sheep know his voice. In this case, we are the sheep. After all, people are part of creation, too. We need taking care of, serving and protecting. Things try to destroy us, also. We need nurturing and cultivating so that we might reach our potential, just like any crop or animal.
Jesus tells Peter, “Take care of my sheep.” Even in the fishing scene that comes right before this conversation, Peter is emerging as a leader among the disciples. He wants to go fishing, and the other disciples join him. After Jesus’ ascension, Peter becomes the leader of the early church and apostolic succession, the uninterrupted transmission of spiritual authority, is linked all the way back to him. The Catholic Church, which we trace our Methodist roots back to via the Church of England, considers Peter to be the first Pope. Peter was a shepherd, not of sheep that say “baa,” but the sheep who are God’s people. Ag life does not mean we have nothing to do with people. It means that just as we cultivate the land and crops and animals, we also are called to nourish and serve and protect the people in our community.
Feeding Jesus’ sheep is a tangible way of showing our love for Jesus. It’s putting our faith into action. After all, the single idea the book of James is most known for saying is that “faith without deeds is dead.”[2] You can’t have faith without acting on it. Then it’s not faith, it’s just an idea. But real faith compels you to act, convicts you to live differently, to serve others, to be good stewards of all of God’s creation. While most churches have a fondness for food, y’all really like feeding people. The wagon gets loaded up each month with food for St. Michael’s food bank. I ask for candy for the Easter egg hunt and you provide an abundance. Two different people asked me this past week if we were continuing the youth group bake sale this Sunday, because they wanted to contribute to it. There is something special to y’all about Jesus’ words to “feed my sheep,” to take care of people, in particular by feeding them. And feeding sheep, whether the ovine kind or the people kind, is living out your faith.
Farming is a vocation, just like being a nurse or doctor or teacher or lawyer or pastor. They’re all calls that God places on your life, and you either respond or you ignore them. Y’all have clearly responded. Why else would you get up at 3 a.m. to milk cows? Why else would you put in long hours of near backbreaking work to produce something from the land? Chickens aren’t any more likely to say thank you than little children are. But God has called you to this work. God has given you the tools you need to do it. God’s given you a pastor who had never lived in a farming community before and occasionally gets culture shock or asks silly questions, like “What’s beef field day?”. But in an ag community, you’re not just taking care of the land and the plants and the animals, you take care of the people, too, and I don’t want you to lose sight of that.
The world needs farmers. Always has, going all the way back before Adam, to when God planted the first garden. The world needs food, both the physical kind and the spiritual kind. The mission agency I served with in Nicaragua before seminary is called Food for the Hungry. Its goal is to end physical and spiritual hunger worldwide. The name comes from Psalm 146, the Lord “upholds the cause of the oppressed and gives food to the hungry.” It is through you that God gives food to the hungry; through your work both in the field and outside of it. People are hungry, not just for food, but for opportunity, for resources, for their humanity and dignity to be recognized. We have a big job to do. It begins in the garden and it ends in the kingdom of heaven. Y’all have been uniquely gifted and placed and called to help meet those hungers, one person at a time. That’s why we’re here. That’s why Lisbon is here. This morning we’ll come to the table and be fed ourselves and then we’ll go out to feed others, serving and loving in the name of Jesus.




[1] Psalm 8:6-8
[2] James 2:17, 26

Wednesday, May 1, 2019

Peace, Doubts, and New Life


Holy Humor Sunday
(a.k.a. 2nd Sunday of Easter)
April 28, 2019
John 20:19-31

            Two weeks ago, on Palm Passion Sunday, I made up coloring packets for the children to use in worship, one page to go with each Scripture reading. After worship that day, my husband said that our son didn’t like it very much because all the pictures were sad: Jesus on the cross, Judas betraying Jesus, Peter crying because he denied he knew Jesus. I think the least sad one is Jesus praying in the garden of Gethsemane. We who live 2,000 years after the resurrection, who have always known the end of the story, don’t always quite realize the depths of sadness and despair and guilt that the disciples felt. They truly thought the story was over on Good Friday. After having three great years with Jesus, it was time for life to go on. They didn’t know Sunday was coming. And then Sunday comes, and the women, who went to the tomb to prepare Jesus’ body, instead come back with a wild story about no body and angels saying he’s alive again. Mary Magdalene even says she meets Jesus in the garden. Peter runs and sees the empty tomb. The disciples know the tomb is empty, something has happened to the body. They know what Mary and the angels say, that Jesus is alive. I’m not even going to speculate on what they think or believe at this point. That the body’s been stolen? That Mary has gone crazy? That they want to believe Jesus is alive? I would imagine their thoughts are all over the place. And so later in the day, that same day, they gather together and make sure the doors are locked. Their emotions have been all over the place, and they’ve been strong emotions, so yes, the doors are locked. Nothing else can happen to them. Not today. Not this week. Not this year. They’re done.
Aaand… Jesus shows up. Behind those locked doors, as they’re trying to make sense of what’s going on, in comes Jesus. And the disciples are overjoyed. They’ve just gone from the lowest low to the highest high. A week of strong emotions, roller coaster emotions, indeed. Now, there are many different Easter greetings. The most common one we said last Sunday was “Happy Easter!” At other churches you may hear, “Alleluia! The Lord is risen! He is risen indeed. Alleluia!” Jesus has a different Easter greeting. He says, “Peace be with you.”[1] Jesus doesn’t come in and say “Yay!” or “Ta-da!” or “I’m baaaack!” He says, “Peace be with you.” Jesus doesn’t even begin by rebuking them or criticizing them for their lack of faith or their fear. He’s done that before, if you remember, such as when Peter tried to walk on water. “Ye of little faith, why did you doubt?”[2] No, Jesus doesn’t criticize them at all over their reactions to what’s happened. He simply offers them peace.
Now, “the greeting of peace can sound trite, an echo from the 60’s.  However, Jesus’ greeting is no mere Hallmark sentiment.  He has literally been to hell and back in order to reconcile lost human beings with God.  His peace is not peace as the world gives.”[3] It’s not conditional or superficial or an empty hand gesture. Instead, it is a peace that “surpasses all understanding,” as we read in Philippians 4:7; it’s a peace that is the fruit of the Holy Spirit, listed in Galatians 5; it’s a peace that is connected to justice in Psalm 85. Jesus’ peace is different. And when you feel that peace in the midst of the storm, when you find that still, small voice after the whirlwind, you can take a deep breath and exhale, calmer, more peaceful, knowing God’s got this. There’s those disciples, locked in because there’s just been too much going on, they can’t handle it, can’t process it. And Jesus breathes on them. Puts them at peace. Offers them the Holy Spirit. And reminds them to forgive anyone who has wronged them. It’s a bit calmer now, isn’t it?
However, there were only ten disciples hiding in that locked room. Jesus started with twelve. Judas betrayed him, and then was so overcome by what he did that he killed himself. And Thomas, for some reason or another, isn’t there, either. We’re not told why.  Maybe he was sick, maybe he was visiting family, maybe it was taking him longer than usual to care for his animals.  Maybe he misplaced his iPhone and didn’t get the message that this is where the disciples were gathering that night.  We don’t know why Thomas wasn’t there, but that’s not what’s important.  Instead, we see what happens when everyone’s not all together, for whatever reason, and what happens is that seeds of doubt are sown.  Thomas wasn’t there, and he feels left out.  He missed a Jesus sighting! Perhaps the ideal response would have been a sincere, “Oh, that’s so great, I’m so happy for you! How cool that you got to see the Lord!” 
That's why the Easter bunny made an appearance a week later - to offer eggs to any kids who missed out the previous week. It's never fun being left out, whether you're a kid or an adult. Jesus came back a week later just for Thomas.
However, if we’re perfectly honest with ourselves, it would have been really hard for any of us to respond that way.  Instead, for whatever reason, we missed this great event, we’re jealous that we missed it, we feel left out, and so it’s human nature to respond with doubt and disdain, “Unless I see for myself, I won’t believe.” There’s a part of all of us who identifies with what Missouri Congressman Willard Vandiver said in 1899, “I come from a state that raises corn and cotton, cockleburs and Democrats, and frothy eloquence neither convinces nor satisfies me. I'm from Missouri, and you have got to show me.”[4] This is the same thing that Thomas says, “Unless I see Jesus for myself, complete with the marks on his hands and his feet and his side from where they pierced him, I won’t believe.” Now, Jesus is kind of a nice guy, he has compassion, and so he makes sure to appear again when all of the disciples are present and he responds to Thomas’ feelings of jealousy that he missed out by inviting Thomas to do more than the other disciples did.  Jesus invites Thomas to touch him, to put his hand in the hole in his side. Jesus gently and kindly invites Thomas to stop doubting, to stop being jealous, to stop feeling left out, and instead, to believe.  Thomas often gets a bad rap, and the nickname of “Doubting Thomas.” Yet the truth is any of us could be Thomas. No one likes to be taken in or made fun of. No one likes to be left out. Of course Thomas has doubts and becomes a classic Missourian, saying, “You have to show me.” The good news is that doubts do not disqualify us from discipleship any more than anxiety does. Take a deep breath. It’s okay to have questions. Actually, it’s good to have questions. You may not get answers, but a good question can renew you and give you some new life.
You see, the Gospel of John adds on at this point a nice little closing statement, even though it’s not actually the end of the Gospel. “Jesus performed many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not recorded in this book. But these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.” Two of the things the Gospel of John is known for are all the signs and wonders that Jesus did and for what Jesus said about himself, those “I am” statements. “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”[5] “I am the resurrection and the life.”[6] “I am the good shepherd.”[7] John wrote all these things down in order that you may believe, and that by believing, you may have life. Jesus told Thomas, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” That’s us. We did not live with Jesus in Palestine 2,000 years ago. It means we were not quite as heartbroken and in the depths of despair as the disciples were on Good Friday. And yet we believe. Faith is not certainty. If we were certain, there would be no room for faith.
I remember a ropes obstacle course I went on with my high school youth group. At one point in the course, I told God, “Ok, my trust is in you and this little piece of blue rope.” I really wasn’t sure that little piece of blue rope was going to get me across. I was sure that there was a high likelihood of me falling off the course down to the ground. But you know what? I didn’t. There was another time I fell in youth group. We did that exercise where you close your eyes and fall backwards, having to trust in your friends to catch you. Well, I knew they would catch me, and so I just fell, deadweight. Guess what? They didn’t catch me. Faith and certainty are two different things. Thomas asked for certainty, and he got it. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe. Blessed are those who have life in his name, because they believe. When you fall down, you can choose to be embarrassed, maybe even hide it with anger, maybe even lash out looking for someone to blame. Or you can laugh at yourself. Let it roll off. Try again. After all, blessed are those who can laugh at themselves, for they shall never cease to be amused.


[1] John 20:19
[2] Matthew 14:31
[3] Easter 2019 email from the Center for Reconciliation at Duke Divinity School
[5] John 14:6
[6] John 11:25
[7] John 10:11 and 14

Tuesday, April 23, 2019

New Life


Easter Sunday
April 21, 2019
Isaiah 65:17-25; Psalm 118:14-24; Luke 24:1-12

            The original work of fiction exploring the idea of an ideal society was the novel Utopia published by Thomas More in 1516. This book is also the first recorded instance of the word, ‘utopia.’ It has its roots in Greek words that mean “no place” and “good place.”[1] The opposite, dystopia, then means a “not good place.” Dystopian fiction dates back to the French Revolution of 1789 and began as a response to utopian fiction. Many classics of the 20th century are considered to be utopian or dystopian fiction: Brave New World, 1984, A Clockwork Orange, Animal Farm, Fahrenheit 451, We. These all describe societies in which what was thought to be best went horribly wrong. The 1990s saw the first young adult dystopian novel, The Giver by Lois Lowry, and it saw the rise of apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic movies, scenarios that can cause a dystopia, like Independence Day, Armageddon, The Matrix, even Jurassic Park, as a theme park turns deadly.
Since then, there have been a plethora of books, TV shows, and movies about dystopian worlds: The Hunger Games, The Walking Dead, Falling Skies, Battlestar Galactica, the Divergent series, The Maze Runner series, and so many more. The genre has really taken off. They’re based on worst-case scenarios: zombies, alien invasion, plague, nuclear bomb, a complete depletion of the earth’s resources, and then what is life like after that happens? Often the protagonists are teenagers with no memory of what life was like before; this dystopian world is the only one they’ve ever known, and they struggle to make it better. They don’t want to make it necessarily utopian; they’re just working to make it just and fair with a more equal sharing of power and resources. There is no going back to how it was before. It’s impossible. They can’t “look for the living among the dead,” as the angels accuse the women of doing in our Easter Gospel reading this morning.[2] Instead, in this post-Apocalytic world, they have to find a new way forward. The worst has happened. You survived it. Or maybe you were born after it. Now, how do you live in this new world?
In our psalm this morning we read the declaration, “I shall not die but I shall live.” It implies living is a choice. You can decide to live, or you can decide to wither away. It’s an interesting idea, because we had no choice over our conception or the world we were born into. But we can choose to live. It’s not a utopian or dystopian movie, but a romantic comedy that came out around the same time is My Big Fat Greek Wedding. The main character, Toula, is worried about upsetting her father by marrying someone who’s not Greek, and her mother tells her, “I gave you life so that you could live it.” It’s similar to what Jesus says in the Gospel of John, “The thief comes only to steal, kill, and destroy. I came so that you could have life, so that you could live life to the fullest.”[3] Whether you see the world around you as utopian, dystopian, or somewhere in between, it’s still up to you to choose to live abundantly, to declare, “I shall not die but I shall live.”
How? First, don’t look for the living among the dead. That is a fruitless search that will get you nowhere. Change can be hard. I imagine being born into a dystopian world would be a whole lot easier than living through the transition. Yet we are here, living in a time of transition. Life changes all around us, as crops are planted, grown, and harvested. Children grow. We change and grow, too. It’s interesting when meeting again someone we knew long ago to see how each of us has changed, and to allow room for that change. Who we are now is not who we were 20 years ago. Our loved ones are not who they were 20 years ago, either. We go looking for the living among the dead when we expect others to stay the same, when we refuse to allow them to change. We go looking for the living among the dead when we hold tight to former visions of ourselves or our church, as if we might suddenly become again who we once were. I’ve had rheumatoid arthritis for 13 years now, and I can get nostalgic thinking about how great my health was at age 25. But it’s never helpful for life now, much less for the future. My body is not the same. That’s who I was, and what I could do then. But you know what? I can do a lot of other things now that I couldn’t do then. My pre-RA life is over, and that’s why Isaiah says, “The former things will not be remembered, nor will they come to mind.”[4] I am creating a new thing. It’s a “challenge to stop hanging on to the dead and to move into new life.”[5]
The antidote, when you find yourself looking for the living among the dead, is remembrance. The angels tell the women at the tomb, “Remember how he told you, while he was still with you.”[6] In fact, the angels’ question about looking for the living among the dead directly echoes Jesus’ words. In Luke 20, some teachers of the law, the Sadducees, who don’t believe in the resurrection, try to trick Jesus with a question about Mosaic law: a man’s brother dies and leaves behind a wife. The man is obligated to marry her. But say there are seven brothers and the first one dies, too; in fact, each brother marries her and dies. So, at this resurrection which we don’t believe in, whose wife is she? Jesus replies that marriage happens in this age, but not in the age to come. And, in the age to come, people will no longer die. They are God’s children, and God “is not the God of the dead, but of the living, for to [God] all are alive.”[7] God sent Jesus so that everyone who believes in him might not die but have life. Because God is God of the living, and you will find life among the living, not among what is dead. Remember what Jesus has told you.
Another way to choose to live is what the protagonists in young adult dystopian literature do: work towards transforming the world into a more just and peaceful place. Consider the vision of the promised kingdom we read in Isaiah. “Never again will there be an infant who lives but a few days, or an old man who does not live out his years… No longer will [you] build houses and others live in them, or plant and others eat… [You] will not labor in vain, nor will [you] bear children doomed to misfortune; for [you] will be a people blessed by the Lord, [you] and [your] descendants with them.”[8] There will be longevity. There will be work that is rewarding and rewarded. There will be blessing and joy and delight. Furthermore, relationships will change. “The wolf and the lamb will feed together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox, and dust will be the serpent’s food. They will neither harm nor destroy on all [God’s] holy mountain.”[9] Wolves no longer eat lambs, they eat with the lambs. The lion turns into an herbivore. There is no more predator and prey. Instead there’s harmony and cooperation. And while you may feel sorry for the snakes because they get dust, think of them a little more metaphorically. The snake also represents original sin, back to the Garden of Eden when the snake tricked Eve into eating from the tree God said not to. So, sin becomes dust and is remembered no more as it blows away in the breeze. This is the kingdom of heaven. This is the new creation.
This is what Easter is all about. Easter is considered to be the 8th day of creation, when everything is made new. It’s not a brand new creation, it’s the restoration of the old one where cracks are filled in, chips are painted over, and somehow, in the restoration, instead of looking identical to the original, it looks better, brighter, sharper, wholer. This is what is possible thanks to Christ’s victory over death. “Resurrection is God’s power to create a new reality for all creation.”[10]
Children will not be doomed to misfortune. We will not labor in vain. Things will be put right. And we don’t just sit back and wait for that to happen. No. This “promise of a new creation [is] God once again calling all [of us] to practice compassion, justice, and loving-kindness and to commit ourselves once again to a way of life that yields peace and security for all people.”[11] We watch for those glimpses of heaven on earth and we join God in the work of bringing heaven on earth. We work towards ending dystopias. We learn a lot about ourselves and grow when we go through horrible times. Yet a friend pointed out to me that what one person considers a dystopia may be someone else’s reality. Some people live under dictators or with famine or on land that’s been on the receiving end of a scorched earth policy. General Sherman burned Atlanta in 1864; yet look at that city now. It has grown back and is flourishing. It took time and a lot of work and rebuilding.
            In dystopian worlds, it’s often survival of the fittest, or at least the one who can think quickest on their feet. They are stories of choices and consequences and they don’t always have a happy ending.[12] In contrast, God says there will be no harm or destruction in the promised kingdom. There will be no more weeping or crying, and no more death, because God is God of the living. A utopian society tends to be seen as impossible and unattainable ideal. Yet God’s kingdom is possible and real and we are invited to work to make it happen here on earth. The women were not expecting resurrection. They thought they were looking for the dead among the dead. Too often we don’t expect resurrection, either. And either way, we find ourselves among the dead and things past. But Jesus came so that we might have life, and have it abundantly, both now and in the age to come. And it does not take away from my abundant life to help you live your abundant life. We are here together. No predators and prey. Instead, as the Servant Song says, “We are pilgrims on the journey. We are travellers on the road. We are here to help each other/ Walk the mile and bear the load.”[13] There are so many little things we can do to show the signs of God’s new creation: a cup of water, a phone call, a hug. These all help bring new life to someone who’s been looking for the living among the dead. But Jesus is not there. What you’re looking for is not there. The new life, better life, the peace you’re seeking, the acceptance you’re seeking, the love you’re seeking – you’re not going to find it among things past. That isn’t going to help and it’s not healthy. Instead we turn to Jesus, who is among the living. Jesus is not dead, but is risen. That’s the Easter surprise. Go looking for the living among the living. Go looking for things that give life. Claim the new abundant life that Christ offers you. Show signs of new life and love to all those around you.
           



[2] Luke 24:5
[3] John 10:10, CEB
[4] Isaiah 65:17b
[5] Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 2, p. 351
[6] Luke 24:6
[7] Luke 20:38
[8] Isaiah 65:20, 22, 23
[9] Isaiah 65:25
[10] Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 2, p. 354
[11] Preaching God’s Transforming Justice, Year C, p. 218
[13] The Faith We Sing 2222

Thursday, April 11, 2019

New Things


5th Sunday in Lent
April 7, 2019
Isaiah 43:16-21

(Or watch here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQx3YPOTF18 )

I’ve shared a little bit before about my call to serve God in Nicaragua and how from there God called me back to the States and to seminary and to become a pastor.  Well, when I first got sick and the rheumatoid arthritis had inflamed so many of my joints that I was put on bedrest, my country director, Kim, was out of the country.  I’d shared with her, as had my colleagues, about how bad it was and how many people, both Nicaraguans and Americans, were advising me to return to the U.S.  But Kim hadn’t seen me or talked with me in person yet.  And it wasn’t that she doubted the severity of the disease, it was that simply having an illness doesn’t necessarily mean you pack your bags up and move.  Many missionaries stay in the mission field with a variety of diseases.  The difference for me was that through the arthritis, God was calling me to leave Nicaragua and return home.  The difference was God speaking this verse we read in Isaiah to me, “Look!  I’m doing a new thing!” Before approving my early departure, Kim asked me to meet with Joel, a fellow American missionary, although serving with a different mission agency.  Joel had also developed a chronic disease, something similar to my arthritis, I think, during his time in Nicaragua, and had stayed on and worked through it and figured out how to treat it there.  We shared our stories, and I had one question for Joel, which was to ask if in the onset of his disease God had told him God was about to do a new thing.  Joel said no.  And that was the difference for me.  I didn’t end my time in Nicaragua early because folks advised me to, or because I could get better health care in the U.S.  I left before my contract ended because God said God was about to do a new thing, and when I asked God, are you sure, and I set out three fleece tests, just like Gideon did in the Old Testament book of Judges, God answered all three of them.  God was indeed about to do a new thing, and I obeyed and came to the U.S. I tell my husband he was like the cherry on the top, because it was after I returned, as I was applying to seminaries, that we started dating and got married a year later.
When God originally spoke this word through Isaiah, it was to a people who were being carried into exile, people being carried away from their homes by a conquering army. The situation in which Israel found itself “is a timeless one, not because all of us today understand the experience of exile… but rather because we all have experienced the grim shadow of past tragedies, the way in which those ghosts of past loss, shame, and grief swirl around us and cloud our vision, preventing us from seeing anything but darkness and despair.”[1] We’ve all had “sudden deaths, broken relationships, bad decisions, cruelties” done by others or even by ourselves, or some tragedy, and “these things [can] linger about us and hinder our ability both to see the future and to move into it. What’s more… they cause us to doubt the promises we have received in Jesus Christ: divine forgiveness, new life, and the love of God.”[2] And so Isaiah reminds the people of all that God has already done for them.  God is the one who made a way through the sea, a reference to the parting of the Red Sea when the Israelites escaped Egypt.  God is the one who can make a way in the desert and the wilderness, providing food, manna, and water for their survival while wandering for forty years.  God is the one who made us and will not forsake us. Yet as soon as we get this great image of a path through the mighty waters with the army never to rise again, God says, “No. Those are the former things. Don’t dwell on what happened long ago or cling to things of the past.”
So then, what do we do with the past? We want to honor what’s come before, and we can do that faithfully. Here’s the thing about memory, and remembering former things. Memory can be a strength.  Knowing how we got here, remembering where we came from so that we can honor our roots and our ancestors in the faith is a good thing.  Remembering the past can help you survive.  Knowing about past mistakes can mean you don’t repeat them in the future and can lead to even greater future successes.[3]  Memory can be our reference point for interpreting events and life circumstances.[4] Memory tells us who we are and helps us respect our past and how we got here.  However, unfortunately, memory can also be a hindrance.  You’ve heard of folks who are stuck in the past?  That happens when you continue holding on too tightly to the past.  Or people who view the past through rose-colored glasses, where they only remember the good and forget the mistakes. Clinging too tightly to a memory can cause you to misinterpret life.[5] If someone from the 1950’s were to show up in our congregation this morning, they’d be appalled by how many of us ladies are wearing pants, by any of us who are wearing jeans or sneakers, and by a female preacher.  They’d recognize that we’re in a church, but they might not be sure what else is going on.  “If you hold too tightly to former things, you will not be able to embrace new things.”[6] There’s gotta be room for something new to spring up, much less flourish.
It’s like when you come home from the grocery store, and you want to carry all the groceries in at one time, and so you load up with big armfuls.  Anyone else do that?  Now, what happens when you get to your front door?  You have to put some of the groceries down in order to open it, don’t you?  You don’t usually have to put all of them down, but at least one hand has to be free to unlock and open the door.  God’s not saying forget who you are and where you came from.  God’s not saying to forget the past; God says don’t cling to it, don’t dwell on it.[7] Keep some memories with you, and go on to the next thing.  There’s gotta be room for the new.  I had to leave Nicaragua to go to seminary.  In my case, I had to physically move in order for there to be room for the new thing. So remember, “what God has done for you before, God will do again; hold on, trust in the Lord, and keep faith. What God has in store for you is as miraculous and satisfying as water in the wilderness.”[8]
Instead of the image of crossing the Red Sea escaping from Pharaoh’s army, God says, “See, I’m doing a new thing! Now it springs up.” It’s a new image of a new plant sprouting up from the ground. 

Now, as you all well know, farmlands are not wild. Farming is an organized activity where seeds are planted in straight rows a set distance from each other. Animals are kept in fields that are fenced in. So, a new plant sprouting up suggests civilization to me. Yet then God says, “I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. The wild animals will honor me.”[9] So, this new plant sprouting up is in the wilderness and the wasteland and has wild animals around it. I don’t know about you, but it makes me wonder what happened to civilization and why not tame animals. Why is the new thing in the wilderness and with wild animals? Why is the new thing wild, and not tame or organized? Why in a wasteland? Does it mean we can see it better because there’s higher contrast between it and its surroundings? Except a new plant is small, it can be hard to see. And if it’s surrounded by a wilderness with so much going on, it can be especially hard to spot, like “Where’s Waldo?”
This new thing sprouting up is in the wilderness, the wilderness of our lives, the wilderness of Lent, the wilderness Jesus spent 40 days in before beginning his ministry, the wilderness Israel spent 40 years wandering around in before reaching the Promised Land. It doesn’t seem fair that to reach the Promised Land you have to go through the wilderness. To get to Easter, you have to go through the cross.
So this new thing is sprouting up like a new plant, it’s small, it may be hard to see in the wilderness. Yet God asks, “Do you not perceive it?” The question suggests we should be able to perceive it, that it should be obvious. Yet new things aren't always immediately obvious or easily identifiable. New things, like new plants, start off small and hard to see. Yet we're supposed to perceive it. Jesus says many times, “Whoever has ears to hear, let them hear.” It means we have to pay close attention to be able to catch a glimpse of the new thing God is doing. There’s a saying that the last seven words of a church are “We’ve never done it that way before.” It’s a sentiment that means we can’t perceive the new thing that God is doing now. Some churches won’t try a new thing, and they die. Other churches choose to follow those seven words with: “but we can try it.” In doing so, they become something new and God does a new thing in their midst.
 We know God has done this before.  God did a new thing for Israel, bringing them out of exile.  God did a new thing when God sent Jesus into the world.  God did a new thing on the cross and in the grave. Easter was a brand new thing. God has done this before.  And we know that God has acted in our midst before.  God has acted here in our church, before.  God did a new thing in planting this church here.  God did a new thing in the previous ministries of this church.  God did a new thing when this church grew enough to support their own pastor.  God has done all this before.  We’ve seen God do new things before. We’ve seen God make a way where there is no way, and we have faith God will do it again. “God makes a way where there is no way, and God leads us into a bright future that we are able neither to see nor to create for ourselves.”[10] This is like the refrain of the Hymn of Promise, it’s “unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.”[11]
One of my favorite ways to reflect on life is by thinking about it in terms of what liturgical season you’re in. If you’re in a season of waiting, you’re probably in Advent, that time of waiting and preparing for Christmas. Is nothing special going on? Then you’re in Ordinary Time, the season that goes from Pentecost Sunday in June all the way til Advent. This church has been in Lent, a time of pruning, a more solemn time, the season of waiting and preparing for Easter. Easter is a new thing, yet the seeds for it are sown during Lent. We get ready for the celebration. We have an Easter egg hunt. We hold a prayer vigil on Good Friday and Holy Saturday keeping watch for the new thing that is coming on Easter.  God's doing a new thing at Lisbon. I can perceive that. Seeds have been sown. A small shoot is coming up. But I couldn't describe it. I couldn't define it or narrow it down. God's doing a new thing, making a way in the wilderness. I don't know where the way leads to, apart from to God. I don't think I'm catching all of the markers of the way in the wilderness. But I know God's doing a new thing here in this place, just as God has before. Lord, give us the eyes to see and the ears to hear. Amen.



[1] Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 2, p. 124
[2] Ibid.
[3] Preaching God’s Transforming Justice, Year C, p. 161
[4] Ibid.
[5] Ibid.
[6] Ibid.
[7] GNT and CEB translations
[8] Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 2, p. 124
[9] Isaiah 43:19b-20a
[10] Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 2, p. 126
[11] UMH 707

Wednesday, April 3, 2019

A New Thing in the Wilderness: A Reflection

A Reflection on Isaiah 43:16-21

I start off wanting to draw a picture of the sea and the path through the mighty waters, with the chariots and horses and army. But then God says, "No. They're extinguished, snuffed out, never to rise again." And I picture a defeated army on the sand by the ocean, with fallen soldiers and horses lying on their sides. And I feel sad, and like I was set up. Here was this great image building... and God says, "No. Those are the former things. The past. Do not dwell on them. Forget that."

Instead God gives a new image - a new plant sprouting up (which suggests civilization) and then wilderness and wasteland and wild animals. Wild animals? What about tame ones? And wilderness? What about civilization? Why is the new thing in the wilderness and with wild animals? Why is the new thing wild? And not tame or organized. Why a wasteland? So we can see it better? Higher contrast? "Do you not perceive it?" suggests we should be able to, suggests it should be obvious.

But new things aren't always obvious or easily identifiable. New things, like new plants, start off small and hard to see. Yet we're supposed to perceive it? If we have eyes to see...

God's doing a new thing at Lisbon. I can perceive that. But I couldn't describe it. I couldn't define it or narrow it down. God's doing a new thing, making a way in the wilderness. I don't know where the way leads to, apart from to God. I don't think I'm even catching all of the markers of the way in the wilderness. But I know God's doing a new thing here in this place. Lord, give us the eyes to see...