Forgiveness

16^th Sunday after Pentecost

September 24, 2017

Matthew 18:21-35

            The summer that I was 19 I bought my first car. It was a 1996 Honda Civic, silver, four-door, and stick shift. I drove it all summer long. A couple weeks before the fall semester started, we went to the beach for a week, in Atlantic Beach, North Carolina. The same week some relatives were at the beach in Garden City, South Carolina, just south of Myrtle Beach. My sisters and I wanted to spend time with them, too, so we planned to spend the first part of the week in Atlantic Beach and drive the four hours on Thursday down to Garden City. My car never made it to Garden City. Instead, driving through Myrtle Beach, another driver had turned left out of a shopping center and had paused in the median, waiting for traffic the other direction to clear. Except, he wasn’t completely in the median; he was partly in the median and partly in my lane. The median to my left was a ditch; the two lanes to my right were full of cars, so… I hit him head on. I left a good 12 feet of skid marks, although I don’t remember braking. I don’t remember the accident itself at all. What I know is that God had guardian angels all around my sisters and me. The first person on the scene was a good Samaritan, she told me her credentials, doctor or nurse or something, and she helped us until the police and paramedics arrived. My sisters got ambulance rides to the hospital. My first car was totaled. The police and insurance companies ruled that the other drive was completely at fault, and his insurance paid for everything: the value of my car, all of our medical bills, and additional money to my sisters for grief and suffering because they both had scars on their faces from their injuries. The police officer at the scene told me that he had seen people die in accidents that bad. And my Grandma, a long-time pastor’s wife, told me that the accident was now part of my story, part of my witness of what God has done in my life. There were guardian angels surrounding us that day, because we should have been hurt a lot worse than we were, if not killed. We shouldn’t have walked away from that accident. But God was taking care of us and protecting us. Grandma told me that this was now part of my witness of what God has done in my life and that I needed to share it. So, I do, from time to time.

            However, there’s one part of that story that I’ve never told, and that is about forgiving that other driver. Before we left the beach to come home, I went out one evening to walk on the beach by myself. And, this may sound a little crazy, but I felt like God gave me three curses to use on this other driver, this guy who had totaled my first car, who had caused such harm to my sisters and me, who had taken away a level of my innocence, since I’d never even been in a car accident before, much less one that bad. I was mad at this guy. And that night, at the beach, I cursed him, twice. This may not sound like much to you, but even before becoming a pastor, I never cursed. That’s just who I was. So, I used two curses that night, and saved one for later. Because human nature is like that, right? We like to hold on to grudges, we like to have vengeance. I held on to one. In college I was part of the Wesley Foundation, which is the United Methodist campus ministry. It’s part of what our apportionment money helps to fund. And at that point in time, we had a monthly worship service on campus. I don’t remember the details, whether it was the scripture or the music or something the campus minister said, or maybe a combination, or just simply God moving in my heart. But one night, at that monthly worship service, I broke down and I gave back to God that curse. I don’t know what caused it, if I’d been thinking about it, if I’d been looking for a good reason to use it, or a good reason to hold onto it, but God moved, and I released that last curse, without using it. I forgave the guy. And I’ve never shared that part of the story. I’ve always talked about God keeping us safe in the accident that should have seriously hurt us. I’ve talked about the guardian angels and the good Samaritan person at the scene. I’ve never talked about forgiving the other driver. Probably because the idea of God giving me three curses sounds a little crazy. But that’s the story of how I forgave the other driver who totaled my first car. I gave it back to God. I released it, and let it go.

            Our Gospel lesson today is one about forgiveness. Jesus and the disciples are still talking about life in community, about church life. Peter asks Jesus, “How often do I have to forgive someone who sins against me?” Seven is a holy number, the number of completion, so perhaps we are to practice perfect forgiveness. Yet Jesus says, “Not seven, but seventy-seven or seventy times seven times.” “Your forgiveness must be beyond perfect; it must be beyond counting.”[1] This is forgiveness without limits, infinite forgiveness, which is, after all, how God forgives us. Three things about forgiveness this morning:

First, forgiveness is not conditional upon the other person apologizing first. I never met the other driver in Myrtle Beach. We had zero communication. We didn’t talk at the scene of the accident, and we certainly didn’t talk after that. I only ever found out his name because it was on one of the insurance documents. He didn’t apologize to me. We tend to think that the other person should say or do something first before we have to forgive them. We tend to think that we’re owed something when we’ve been wronged, and only once we’ve received that reparation, then we can forgive the wrong. But that’s not how it has to work. And, considering you will never get apologies for some things, if that’s what you’re waiting for, then you’ll never forgive them. That, then, in turn, hurts you the most. When we hold on to past hurts and resentments, our emotional and physical health are deeply affected.[2] And we are hurt the most by our unwillingness to forgive.

Presbyterian minister and author, Marjorie Thompson, wrote, “To forgive is to make a conscious choice to release the person who has wounded us from the sentence of our judgment, however justified that judgment may be… Forgiveness means the power of the original wound’s power to hold us trapped is broken.”[3] Don’t let whoever wronged you control your life. Don’t let them live in your head and make you bitter and angry. Get them out of your emotional life. You’re hurting yourself by holding on to that resentment. Don’t wait for an apology. It’s not necessary. You don’t need one in order to forgive. Forgive them now and free yourself from that hurt.

Second, forgive does not always mean forget. In healthy relationships, yes. 1 Corinthians 13 does say that love keeps no record of wrongs. However, in unhealthy relationships, unstable relationships, abusive relationships, no. Shake the dust off your feet and move on. To forgive someone does not mean that you have to have a relationship with them. I said last week that there are some folks from whom we have to keep your distance in order to keep our mental and emotional health. People change, yes. As Christians, we believe in redemption and second chances. However, it’s not worth putting yourself at risk. Let the person be redeemed, reformed, changed and let them do it with new people in their life. It doesn’t have to be you. Let it go. It was 12 years before I returned to Myrtle Beach. Enough time had passed that when a friend invited me to the beach with her, I didn’t even make the connection with the accident until I was back on US-17 in Myrtle Beach. It’s okay to forgive and not forget.

Finally, “forgiveness means to release, to let go… [It’s] not denying our hurt,” or minimizing it or glossing over it. Something happened that shouldn’t have happened. We were hurt. Forgiveness requires us to “acknowledge the negative impact of another person’s actions or attitudes in our lives.”[4] We acknowledge it, scream about it, write about it, vent about it. And then we release it, so that it no longer has control over us. So that we do not begin to think that it defines us. One of my favorite parts of the Disney movie Moana is when Moana approaches the monster Te Ka with the heart that was stolen from her. 

Moana sings to her, “I have crossed the horizon to find you. I know your name. They have stolen the heart from inside you. But this does not define you. This is not who you are. You know who you are.” This evil thing that was done to you is not who you are. Te Ka calms down, Moana puts her heart back, and the lava rock of the monster falls away to reveal Te Fiti, the missing goddess. 

Let go of the hurt. Let go of the pain. It does not define you. It is not who you are. Whether or not you receive an apology, whether or not you forget as you move on, move on. Don’t let that limit you today. Forgiveness is important for your health and well-being. Even more, Jesus tells us that we are to forgive because we have been forgiven. Our forgiving others is in response to our receiving God’s forgiveness. In the parable Jesus told in response to Peter’s question about forgiveness, the king says, “Shouldn’t you have had mercy on your fellow servant just as I had mercy on you?”[5] In the Lord’s prayer we pray, “Forgive us our sins, just as we forgive those who sin against us.”[6] Forgiveness should cause more forgiveness. Those who have received forgiveness are to forgive others. And each one of us here has been forgiven. You have already been forgiven. You may or may not have accepted that, but you have already been forgiven.  Go and do likewise. Return to God the curses you’re holding onto, the grudges you’ve been nursing, your list of all the times you’ve been slighted. It’s time. Forgive yourself, forgive God, forgive your neighbor, forgive reality for being what it is. Forgive. I don’t do many altar calls, but this is one I feel called to do this morning. If no one comes, that’s fine. However, if there is someone on your mind this morning whom you have not forgiven, now is the time to do it. If you need help doing it, please come forward and I’ll come pray with you. Or raise your hand, and I’ll come to your pew. Let us pray…

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[1] Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 4, p. 69

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid., p. 70, 72

[4] Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 4, p. 70

[5] Matthew 18:33

[6] Matthew 6:12

Putting the Band Back Together

15th Sunday after Pentecost

September 17, 2017

Exodus 14:19-31; Romans 13:8-14; Matthew 18:15-20

In 1980 an action comedy movie came out called The Blues Brothers. It begins with the release of the older brother, Jake, from prison and he and his brother, Elwood, go on “a mission from Gahd” which requires them to put their band back together. While Jake was in prison, the other band members all moved on and took other jobs. Jake and Elwood have to go to each band member individually and talk with them and convince them to come back for one last show.  One member takes a little more convincing, but, eventually, he agrees. A band is much like a family, or any other group of people. They come together for a common purpose, and yet each bring their own personality, their own preferences, their short or long tempers, and they have to figure out how to work together.

Jesus says, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, there I am, also,”[1] and it’s a good thing because where two or three are gathered, there are also two or three personalities that are eventually going to disagree over something. Although, if we’re honest, we can have conflict just with ourselves, individually! Anyone ever said, “I’m conflicted,” or “I’m torn”? The thing is, conflict is normal and even healthy because it keeps us from growing stagnant.[2]  Either we change and adapt and grow, or we die.  So, rather than seeking the absence of conflict, what works better is to seek the presence of a just peace.  Conflict resolution doesn’t actually work all that well because then you expect a definite end to the conflict and a winner and loser.  Instead, working towards transforming the conflict means that we’re committed to staying in relationship no matter what, like a married couple for whom divorce is not an option.

            One of the things we read in Romans last week was Paul’s advice “to live in harmony with another.”[3] A harmony is not all one note. A harmony is made up of multiple notes that sound well together. If you look at our choir, they don’t all sing the same note. Each section has a part to sing: bass, tenor, alto, and soprano.  Not everyone sings the soprano part, and the sopranos don’t sing so loud so as to drown out the other parts.  We need all the parts to form the choir.  And because the parts are different, there is occasionally going to be conflict.  We’re not all always going to get along.  But if all the choir members are committed to the choir and committed to making beautiful music that honors God, then each one puts in the hard work of learning their part and knowing when to sing, what to sing, and how loud or soft to sing.  That’s what it means to be in harmony.

            Jesus’ advice this morning is what to do when someone is disharmonious, when someone is breaking up the harmony, intentionally breaking up the band, when someone has sinned against you. This isn’t just normal conflict or differences of opinion or being a little flat as you learn your part. And Jesus says, first, go and talk to the person, one on one. And if that doesn’t work then try bringing one or two others in as witnesses or mediators. And remember the goal isn’t to embarrass or belittle or criticize, but the goal is restoration. There’s a break in the relationship and the goal is healing. The story in Matthew immediately before this one is the one about the farmer with 100 sheep and one goes missing. You may think that 99 sheep are still enough sheep, what’s one more? But the shepherd leaves the 99 to go find the missing sheep, because without her, the flock isn’t all together.

            Now the end of Jesus’ advice seems a little harsh: if the person still doesn’t listen, then treat them as a Gentile or a tax collector. Now, there are some folks we are not going to get along with. There are some folks we’re going to have a hard time being in harmony with. And we’re not called to like everyone or to agree with everyone. Jesus says we are to love one another. Loving one another does not mean being buddy-buddy or seeing eye to eye on everything. And there are some folks whom we have to love from a distance in order to stay mentally and emotionally healthy. I have two dear friends whose first marriages ended because their spouses no longer wanted to make them work. There are some folks you dust the sand off your feet and move on in order to keep your sanity.

            We’re at the point in Exodus where Moses and the Israelites are finally leaving Egypt. Their time in slavery is at an end. Thanks to the 10^th plague, Pharaoh finally agrees to Moses’ request to “let my people go” and the Israelites are finally beginning their journey out of Egypt. Pharaoh goes back on his word and chases after them. God’s people find themselves between the Egyptian army behind them and the Red Sea in front of them. And God makes a way where there seems to be no way, having Moses stretch out his hand and parting the Red Sea so that the Israelites can cross thru on dry land. The Egyptian army gives chase behind them, and drowns as the waters come back together. This is the end of the conflict between Egypt and Israel, at least then. Israel, through Moses, kept trying to work things out. Egypt refused and refused and refused. It got to the point where they dusted the sand off their feet and moved on.

Yet think about this, if Jesus says we’re to treat a person who won’t listen as a Gentile or a tax collector… Jesus regularly interacted with Gentiles and tax collectors. Matthew, the guy who’s gospel we’re reading, was a tax collector and one of the twelve disciples. Zaccheus, the wee little man who climbed a tree was a tax collector. Then there’s the Samaritan woman at the well, the Canaanite woman we read about a few weeks ago, the fact that Jesus makes a Samaritan the good guy in the story of the Good Samaritan. Jesus never stops reaching out. He doesn’t write off anyone. Dust the sand off his feet, yes. Occasionally lose his temper with the Pharisees or with the moneychangers who set up shop inside the temple, yes. What’s holy should stay holy. God should be honored. And God sent his only begotten son because God “so loved the whole world.” So, even with those we disagree, even with those who rub us the wrong way, even with those who have hurt us, we are to err on the side of grace. We are to never stop reaching out. Like God, we always yearn to restore what was broken.

            I was talking with a colleague this past week and she reminded me that church is one of the last places in society where we regularly gather with people with different opinions. Church isn’t a club where all the members have a lot in common. Church is a family, where we all have one common denominator, that we’re all God’s children, we’re brothers and sisters. That’s why it hurts when there’s a rift, because each of us is incomplete without each other. The suffering of one person is the suffering of everyone. The joy of one person is the joy of everyone.[4] That’s why we share joys and concerns. It’s not gossip time. It’s so that we can be happy with you when you have good news and we can sit and mourn with you when you have bad news. We’re all in this together. We’re here for one another. That’s what a family is.

            The goal isn’t resolution, with a winner and a loser. The goal isn’t everyone always agree on everything all of the time. That’s not realistic. The Church is a place of mutual interdependence, so the goal is transformation. Together we are stronger and better and more faithful and more effective in our witness than we are apart. You can’t be a Christian by yourself. You need the body of Christ, warts and all. Scars and all. You see, even after restoration, even after transformation, there are scars. There are marks. You may not be able to see them, but things will not be exactly the same as before. You are different; the other person is different. Think of Jesus going through the crucifixion and resurrection. Even after he was alive again, he had the marks on his hands and his feet. He had a hole in his side. Things are changed, things are transformed. If God’s in the middle of it, then it’ll be better than it was before, yet still different.

            So, conflict is normal. It’s part of life. It doesn’t have to be avoided.

Conflict is natural because of the diversity of creation and because all of us who are created different try to live together and be in relationship with each other.[5]  Conflict is also necessary to overcome injustice, oppression, and evil.  There is nothing wrong with conflict in and of itself.  What’s key is our attitude toward conflict.  If we think it’s bad and should be avoided at all costs, then we’re not going to deal with it well.  But if we embrace it as a God-ordained consequence of diversity, then we learn more about God and how he made us. We learn more about ourselves. Jesus says the greatest commandment is to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind… And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”[6] Paul essentially restates that in his letter to the Romans that we read, “The commandments, “You shall not commit adultery,” “You shall not murder,” “You shall not steal,” “You shall not covet,” [want wasn’t isn’t yours] and whatever other command there may be, are summed up in this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Love does no harm to a neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law.”

Love does no harm to a neighbor, whether it’s a neighbor we like or don’t like, whether it’s one we agree with on a lot of issues or not, whether we have similar interests or not. Love does no harm. “Love is patient… [and] kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”[7] It’s always trying to put the band back together, knowing that the new music will not be the same as the old. Voices change. Skills change. Music changes. Thanks be to God for keeping the song going, and for the opportunity to always be able to join back in, because this is the love that will not ever let us or our loved ones go. Amen.

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[1] Matthew 18:20

[2] Much of this is from material from the JustPeace Center

[3] Romans 12:16

[4] Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 4, p. 44

[5] Also from JustPeace Center

[6] Matthew 22:37, 39-40

[7] 1 Corinthians 13:4-7

Who You Are

14^th Sunday after Pentecost

September 10, 2017

Exodus 3:1-15, Romans 12:9-21, Matthew 16:21-28

            Some of you may have noticed from the number of books in my office that I love to read. My new favorite fiction author is Fredrik Backman, a Swedish writer with two books that have hit the bestsellers’ list. His newest book is called Beartown, a fictional small town set deep in a forest in Sweden whose entire population is obsessed with youth hockey. Then there is a dramatic event which throws the whole town into an upheaval and sides taken and it’s a big mess. And there’s this line that Fredrik Backman wrote, that “One of the plainest truths about both towns and individuals is that they usually don’t turn into what we tell them to be, but what they are told they are.” It’s food for thought. Do we become who we are told to become, or do we become who we are told we already are? It’s like a child repeatedly being told they’re stupid, and so they start to believe it and internalize it and believe that they are stupid. Or my son repeating back to me the other day what I had told him in joking days before, that he was a monkey. Who are we told that we are? I’ve been told I’m a good preacher and I’ve been told I’m a lousy preacher. I don’t know which to believe, except that my goal isn’t good or bad, my goal is to be a faithful preacher, and realistically I know the delivery doesn’t always come across as it should. Who have you been told that you are? And who do you listen to when it contradicts with what someone else has said?

            Even though we only skipped 15 verses ahead from where we left off with Moses last week, a lot happened in that short time. Moses grew up in Pharaoh’s palace. One day he saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, and he killed the Egyptian. Pharaoh heard about it and tried to kill Moses, but Moses fled, becoming a political refugee, and went to the land of Midian. He settled there, got married, had children, and became a shepherd.

Moses is taking care of his father-in-law’s flock when he sees the burning bush. His response is to turn aside and check out why the bush is on fire but not burning up. The English poet, Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote about it in her poem, “Aurora Leigh”:

            “Earth’s crammed with heaven,

And every common bush afire with God:

But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,

The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries”

Moses is paying attention. He knows God has already been at work in his life. I’m sure growing up he heard the story about being drawn out of the water. His father-in-law owns sheep and is also a priest. God gets Moses’ attention, and rather than dismissing it, or using the fire to keep warm during the cold desert night, Moses decides to take a closer look. God calls him by name, “Moses!” and like so many others before and after him, Moses says, “Here I am.” “Do not come any closer,” God says. “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.” How often do we find ourselves on holy ground and we do not know it? There are so many places of holy ground, so many “common bushes afire with God”. Are we people who recognize it and take off our shoes, which is more like tread carefully, be gentle, acknowledge the presence of God in this place. Or are we those who just sit around and pluck blackberries off it? Moses is someone who answers when God calls, “Here I am.” Moses is someone who pays attention to the work of God in the world. Moses is someone who responds appropriately when told that he’s on holy ground.

            That part of the conversation he does well. But then God gives him a specific task: Moses is to go to Egypt to bring God’s people out of slavery. And Moses responds with a question: “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” Who am I? You can read it as, “Why me? I’m not anyone special.” Or you can read it as, “Tell me who I am. Tell me about me and why you’ve chosen me.” Either way, God doesn’t answer with Moses’ life story, a list of his spiritual gifts, or anything like that. God says, in effect, “You are someone whom God is with.” Yes, Moses has other good character traits and a testimony. But the most important thing is God is with him. Who am I? You are someone whom God is with, and will never leave or forsake, will not abandon or betray. God is with you. God loves you. That’s who you are. The beloved of God. Someone who belongs to God and someone who is loved by God.

            Now, why does this matter? Of course, for the sake of the world, for working with God in his work of redeeming the world. But we’re going a little more specific than that today. There’s a new line of thought about vision.[1] In the past, vision has been defined as a destination, where we’re going, and how we’re going to get there. That kind of strategy sounds familiar, right? And who we are are people on the journey to this vision of the future. Well, the argument is being made that we know less and less of what the future is going to look like. The future is becoming more and more unpredictable because the rate of change has rapidly increased. No sooner do you buy one gadget than you already need to update it. And how quickly technology becomes obsolete! The fact of culture changing faster makes it harder to predict what the future is going to look like. Are we going to end up like the Jetson’s? Like Star Trek? Like the Hunger Games? And so it becomes harder to discern a vision that has an end point, of what life and the church are going to look like five or ten years down the road. Instead, this new line of thinking that’s emerging is that vision isn’t so much a destination as vision is God’s kingdom coming, and the key question isn’t where is God calling us to go but who is God calling us to be. Instead of knowing where we’re going before we start the journey, this is “a vision of the kind of people we will be on the journey, which will in large part determine where we end up.”[2] That’s why we need to know who we are, and who we will become.

            Who have you been told you are? Who have you become? For a positive example, I think that’s why affirmation of parents is so important. Being told I’m a good mom helps me become a good mom. How about for you? Who are you? Who do you need reminding and affirming that you are? I’ve had three family members visit over the past two months that I’ve been here. Two were obvious, because they sat with my kids and my husband and his brother look a bit alike. The third was my stepdad, who was practically incognito without my children to out him as Grandpa. My brother-in-law, his wife, and my stepdad all said that Lisbon is a friendly and welcoming church. That’s who you are. Whether you believe it or not. Whether you’ve been told otherwise or not. You are friendly and welcoming. You are God’s people, beloved by God. Now, “given who we are, our unique identity in this time and place – in this [community] – what is God inviting us to do?”[3] Moses was invited to go free God’s people from oppression in Egypt. And then God invited him to continued leadership as the Israelites wandered the desert for forty years. And grumbled and complained about it, which we’ll get to in the coming weeks. Moses asked, “Who am I?” And God said, “I am with you. Now go free my people.” Moses believed God was with him. And with God at his side, Moses could go to Pharaoh, could do the signs and wonders of the ten plagues, could lead God’s people out of slavery.

            What about you? With God at your side. Believing God loves you and is with you. Believing that we are a friendly and welcoming church. Knowing that we are in the year 2017 and in the community of Lisbon. What is God inviting you to do? What is God calling us to do? We know who God is calling us to be, his people, beloved by him. We read in Romans that we are to love one another, to honor one another above ourselves, to serve the Lord, to share with those who are in need, to practice hospitality, to live in harmony with one another. And we read in Matthew that “if you want to follow [Jesus], you must deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow [him]. Those who want to save their life will lose it, those who lose their life for [Jesus’] sake will find it.”[4] That’s the thing about not having a destination for a vision. It means only God knows exactly where we’ll end up, just like only God knows what the future will look like. We trust God to lead us, to give us enough light for the next step, or to give us enough courage to take a step in the dark before we find the light switch. We are people who trust God and trust that God holds the future in God’s hands. And that trust may be in spite of knowing that God can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.[5] God can do more than we can dream of. That is both exciting and terrifying. And as God does more than we can imagine, we are people who are committed to journeying with God and together, paying attention to where God is already at work, listening to God’s voice and answering when God calls. That’s who we are. God’s people in this particular time and this particular place. Thanks be to God.

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[1] Much of this paragraph is from A New Day in the City: Urban Church Revival by Donna Claycomb Sokol and L. Roger Owens. In spite of the title, much of what the authors have to say is applicable to a church in any setting, not just in the city.

[2] Ibid., 27

[3] Ibid., 33

[4] Matthew 16:24-25

[5] Ephesians 3:20

Shall We Gather at the River?

13^th Sunday after Pentecost

September 3, 2017

Exodus 1:15-2:10; Romans 12:1-8

            One of the things I knew I was going to miss about leaving Eastern Baltimore County was its proximity to the water.  On the map, we were “this close” to the water. In reality, you almost never saw it because houses lined the inlets of the rivers and the bay. Going and being able to stare at water is something that has always brought me peace. It doesn’t matter whether it’s an ocean or a bay or a river, just sitting and looking out on the water brings calm to my soul. Now, we were reminded again last week that water doesn’t always bring healing. Hurricane Harvey brought record amounts of rain to Texas and Louisiana, measured in trillions of gallons. Water can do damage. We know that full well. Egypt knows that, too, as the Nile River used to flood yearly until they built Aswan Dam. Yet Ancient Egypt also couldn’t live without the Nile River, as it was their only source of irrigation for their crops. They counted on its annual flooding in order to water the fields that were farther from the river. The answer to the question of our last hymn this morning, shall we gather at the river, really seems to be that it depends. If the river’s flooding, no, we don’t really want to gather at the river. But if the river is the river of life that flows by the throne of God, a river that gives life, then, yes, let us gather with the saints at that river.

            We read Moses’ birth story this morning, and you may have noticed, he’s the only one with a name, but he’s not one of the main characters. Everything happens to him and around him, which I suppose makes sense, since he’s only a three month old baby. Continuing on from last week, Pharaoh is still so incensed over these Israelites that oppression and slavery and bitter labor aren’t harsh enough. He still feels so threatened by them that he commands that all the baby boys be killed, in fact, thrown into the Nile River. Yet there are some who fear God more than they fear the king, and two midwives get around Pharaoh’s edict. They claim that the Hebrew women are in labor for no time at all and the baby’s born before they arrive to help. Then, Moses’ mother manages to have him in secret. However, by the time he’s three months old, she can no longer hide him, and in her hope to save him, she turns to the river. Other babies are being drowned there, but she fixes a waterproof basket, puts Moses in it, and sets him among the reeds of the river. This river that is being used to kill, she is hoping and praying will bring life for her baby. Moses’ sister, Miriam, hides nearby to keep watch and see what will happen.

            What happens next is that Pharaoh’s own daughter comes down to the river to bathe. You get the impression that this isn’t the spot on the river where they’re putting the baby boys. Yet Pharaoh’s daughter must have known about that. She comes to the river that is being used to kill in order to clean herself. There’s a little bit of irony in this, or perhaps it’s that Moses’ mother and Pharaoh’s daughter both remember that the purpose of the Nile is life-giving, even if Pharaoh is twisting it for his own purposes. Pharaoh’s daughter finds the basket, correctly deduces that this baby must belong to the Hebrews, and has compassion on the baby. Miriam sees the compassion and bravely steps forward to offer to find a wet nurse. Pharaoh’s daughter agrees, and Moses’ mother is hired as a wet nurse for her own son. You wonder if there was any family resemblance among Moses, Miriam, and his mother? Pharaoh’s daughter probably suspected. Yet she, too, goes around her father to make sure this baby boy lives. Moses spends his early childhood with his biological family before being brought back to Pharaoh’s daughter, who adopts him. And it’s Pharaoh’s daughter who names him, Moses, because she drew him out of the water. Moses is similar to the Egyptian word for water, and similar to the Hebrew word for “draw out.” It adds some nice foreshadowing as Moses will one day draw the Hebrews out of Egypt. And the river did turn out to be a life-giving, life-saving place for baby Moses. His mother took a risk, and it paid off.

            In the church, we also turn to water for our salvation. In the waters of baptism we are marked, sealed, and named as Christ’s own. We become a member of God’s family, and not just any member but a beloved child. Yet in thinking about water in terms of life and salvation, we often think that means water shouldn’t be a means of death, or it’s being used wrongfully when it is. Water is necessary for life, and yet floodwaters are destructive. The truth is that both life and death are found in baptism. Baptism is dying to our old self, our old way of life, and being born again. The waters of baptism are both death and life. In fact, “the early church often built its baptismal fonts in the shape of tombs.”[1] Nowadays we tend to gloss over more of that side of baptism, and focus more on life and washing clean. For the early Christians, baptism meant a very definite marking of ending their old way of life. They didn’t live the same way after their baptism. Life changed. They didn’t worship the Emperor. They became part of a persecuted minority. It was a big deal to become a Christian. The waters of baptism are both death and life, just like the Nile River.

In his letter to the Romans, Paul wrote, “Offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.”[2] That is what happened to baby Moses and what happens in baptism. Moses’ mother offered him, a tiny, helpless baby, with forces at work that could well mean death and destruction for him. In a similar way, we offer ourselves as living sacrifices, go through the waters of baptism, and come out on the other side. It’s what happens when we come to church for worship; we offer ourselves again to God, to be used by him, shaped by him, focused on him and not on ourselves. That’s why it’s “our true and proper worship;” it’s focusing on God, not on our needs, our wants, our preferences. Paul continued in his letter, “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.” Only through your own transformation are you able to best discern God’s will. Transformation through baptism, through worship, they shouldn’t leave you the same on the other side. Water washes away and makes things new again. The early Christians had the symbol of the tomb for their baptismal font; ours are often eight-sided, representing the eighth day of creation and everything being made new. And the truth is, you need both to get the full picture. Moses’ mother put him in the river not knowing what was going to happen to him or who was going to find him. She just knew she had to try something.

            The last hymn we’re going to sing this morning, Shall We Gather at the River, was written by a Baptist minister, Robert Lowry, during the Civil War. He felt that there were too many songs focusing on the river of death and not enough on the river of life that flows from the throne of God.[3] That’s an image that comes from Revelation 22 and it captivated Robert Lowry. “The angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb.” And Robert Lowry had the thought, “’Shall we be among the privileged number who stand before the throne singing the praises of the Savior?’ Then he answered his own question, ‘Yes, we'll gather!’”[4]

            Moses’ mother and sister decided to gather at the river and brought Moses with them. Pharaoh’s daughter decided to gather at the river. The river of life, the river of death, both describe the Nile River. They’re two sides of the same coin. It’s the same river. Water can mean redemption or it can mean destruction. The Nile River was both. The Red Sea that the Israelites crossed and Pharaoh’s army drowned in was both. Baptism is both. Transformation is both. Pruning is both. Making room for new life and new growth means something has to go for there to be room. Transformation means you’re different afterward. Baptism means you’re different afterward, whether your parents chose for you like Moses and those of us who were baptized as babies, or whether you chose for yourself. It means we continually offer ourselves to God as living sacrifices for God to do with us as he will. We offer ourselves, just as Moses’ mother offered up him, not knowing what will come next. We trust that it will be plans to prosper us and not to harm us, plans to give us hope and a future. So, may we always gather at the river, where there’s room enough for all, like God’s table. May we always remember its power to transform, God’s power to transform. May we keep our eyes and our trust on him, and not on ourselves.  

My Dad and me on the Nile River in Egypt, ca. 1983. The Nile had again become a place of filth and destruction, full of Cairo's sewage. My Dad was among the corps of engineers who designed Cairo's first sewer system so that the wastewater would be treated before being dumped in the Nile.

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[1] Remember Who You Are: Baptism, a Model for Christian Life by Will Willimon, p. 94

[2] Romans 12:1, NIV

[3] http://etymologyofhymns.blogspot.com/2012/08/shall-we-gather-at-river.html

[4] http://www.christianity.com/church/church-history/timeline/1801-1900/robert-lowrys-ceased-composing-11630656.html

Messes

12^th Sunday after Pentecost

August 27, 2017

Exodus 1:1-14

            One of my favorite lines from Dr. Seuss’ The Cat in the Hat is when the fish says, “That is good, he has gone away. Yes. But your mother will come. She will find this big mess! And this mess is so big and so deep and so tall, we cannot pick it up. There is no way at all!” Part of what I have a tendency to do when finding myself in a mess that “is so big and so deep and so tall,” is to figure out how I got in that mess. What caused it? How did I contribute to it? What were other contributing factors? In The Cat in the Hat, you can go back through the pages and see how the mess got “so big and so deep and so tall,” but we don’t usually have written books about how we got where we are. And so we look back over the events and decisions leading up, try to determine what were causes and what wasn’t. My husband was a biology major in college and has spent a lot of time working in labs. One of his favorite phrases when I start to do this is “correlation does not equal causation.” In other words, just because some things are happening at the same time, does not mean they were a direct cause.

            In bible history, one of the causes that I think we often overlook is what caused the Israelites to go into slavery. How do we get from Genesis, where they’re not enslaved, and the stories of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to Exodus, or specifically, the exodus, where Moses leads God’s people out of slavery? How’d they get from being free people in Egypt, welcomed and invited in by the Pharaoh and Joseph, to being enslaved people? Usually, we skip right to Exodus 2 and the birth of Moses. But why was there a need for Moses? Why did God need to send Moses to lead God’s people out of slavery? It’s there in Exodus 1, “a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.” This verse was first pointed out to me by the senior pastor I served with when I was an associate. I had gone to my local Kroger, a mile and a half from my house in Raleigh, my usual grocery store where we did most of our shopping, and ran into a person who served high up at the Conference level. I knew who she was, of course, but I had no idea she knew who I was. And she greeted me by name! I shared this with my senior pastor, that I had run into this person at the grocery store and she knew who I was! And the senior pastor advised me to enjoy it, because “a new Pharaoh arose who did not know Joseph.” In other words, apparently, I’m known now, but who knows what will happen when leadership changes? And it’s always a when leadership changes, not an if.

            “A new king, to whom Joseph meant nothing, came to power in Egypt. “Look,” he said to his people, “the Israelites have become far too numerous for us.  Come, we must deal shrewdly with them or they will become even more numerous and, if war breaks out, will join our enemies, fight against us and leave the country.” The new Pharaoh had to have known at least some of the story of Joseph and how Joseph saved not only his people but also all of Egypt but storing up grain during the seven good years so that there would still be food to eat during the seven years of famine. Because of that, the old Pharaoh welcomed Joseph’s extended family into Egypt and the Israelites prospered in their new land. Yet rather than see that prosperity as good for Egypt, the new Pharaoh chose to assume the worst, that if it came to war, the Israelites would fight against Egypt, instead of with their host country. The new Pharaoh did not try to get to know the Israelites or talk with them. The only thing he knew was that they were numerous and strong, and so he saw them as a threat instead of trying to work with them. Think of how many lives – children's lives, both Hebrew and Egyptian, could have been spared had the new Pharaoh chosen to set aside his fear of people who are not Egyptian, not like him, and gotten to know them instead. A new Pharaoh arose who did not know Joseph, who chose not to get to know the Hebrews better. His response was to oppress the Israelites with forced labor and enslave them. That’s how God’s people became enslaved in Egypt. We’ll read next week about how that oppression extended into male genocide, as God’s people still flourished in slavery and so Pharaoh commanded that all the baby boys be thrown in the river. That’s what leads to the story of Moses. As I said, next week. This week we’re going to sit with this early story of Pharaoh and God’s people. A new Pharaoh arose who did not know Joseph.

            It reminds me of another Dr. Seuss story, one found in the book The Sneetches and Other Stories, called “What was I Scared of?” 

It’s the story of the narrator, who has never been afraid of anything, encountering a pair of pale green pants with nobody inside them. They meet first in the woods, and he runs away. Then they come across each other again in the town of Grin-itch. And then again as he’s fishing for Doubt-trout on Roover River, and again in a field. And each time, the narrator is scared out of his wits, screams, terrified of these spooky pale green pants with nobody inside them. Then, as he backs around a bush in the field, they come across each other, face to face. And he’s scared to death, and the pants begin to cry. He realizes that those pants were just as scared as he was. “I was just as strange to them as they were strange to me! I put my arm around their waist and sat right down beside them. I calmed them down.” And now, when they meet each other around town, they smile and say, “Hi!” The pants and the narrator didn’t know each other. Were scared of each other. Until they got to know each other. Imagine, if Pharaoh had just made a different choice, a choice to not feel threatened by a people who his predecessor had welcomed and invited into his land. God’s people wouldn’t have become enslaved. They wouldn’t have gotten into a mess from which they needed divine intervention and salvation. Pharaoh wouldn’t have gotten into a mess which cost him the life of the first born son, in the tenth plague.

And it’s all a question of, when you perceive a threat, what do you do? Do you run away? Do you call the police? Do you oppress the perceived threat before it can harm you first? Before you learn more about it? When the kids tell me there’s a monster, my first question is to ask if it’s a friendly monster. Or if they asked her name. Or what color she is. In other words, rather than assume it’s a bad monster or a scary monster, what if it’s more like Sully or Mike Wazowski from the movie Monsters, Inc.? A new Pharaoh arose who did not know Joseph. And so he decided to oppress them with forced labor and worked them ruthlessly and made their lives bitter with harsh labor. It’s all a question of what you choose to do. The new Pharaoh chose oppression. That’s how God’s people ended up enslaved. Pharaoh was afraid of them. Saw them as a threat. Perception plays a strong role in today’s culture. Sometimes perception is reality; sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it’s you acting from a place of fear. Pharaohs always had to be on guard against external threats in order to stay ruler of Egypt and for Egypt to stay Egypt. What’s a new Pharaoh to do? These are the facts presented him. The Israelites are numerous and strong. They live in Egypt and have for many generations. Rather than building a relationship with them so that they’d be part of his army during a war, he chose to see them as a threat to be squashed. A new Pharaoh arose who did not know Joseph. Who didn’t want to know Joseph, or Joseph’s descendants. Who chose not to know Joseph. We’re going to be reading over the next few weeks the rest of this story, how God saved God’s people in Egypt. This is where the story starts. How God’s people became enslaved. Pharaoh saw them as a threat, and responded accordingly. Before we get to the salvation, let’s sit this week with the oppression. 

Healing, Hospitality, and Mercy

11^th Sunday after Pentecost

August 20, 2017

Matthew 15:21-28

            I had wanted all week to talk about healing this morning. The gospel story is one of healing, how Jesus heals the woman’s daughter. The Old Testament story is one of healing in a family. What Joseph’s brothers meant for evil, selling him into slavery in another country, God used for good, putting Joseph in a high position in Egypt so that he could save up grain for the coming famine and thus save many people, including Joseph’s family, from starvation. However, the sermon never came together. It wouldn’t come together. So I read yet another commentary on the Matthew passage and this one pointed out that the woman didn’t ask Jesus for healing. She did not say, “Jesus, please heal my daughter.” She said, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is demon-possessed and suffering terribly.” She didn’t ask for healing; she asked for mercy. She didn’t ask Jesus to take away the demon from her daughter; she asked Jesus to show kindness and compassion to her.

            In my effort to focus on healing this morning, I even reread part of Henri Nouwen’s book, The Wounded Healer.  Henri Nouwen wrote that much of healing occurs through the gift and offer of hospitality. He said that many people suffer because they look for the one person or event or medicine that will take away their pain. Yet he wrote that it is a “false illusion that wholeness can be given from one to another.” I cannot offer you wholeness; I can offer you Jesus. A doctor cannot offer you wholeness; a doctor can offer you a treatment. A politician cannot offer you wholeness; a politician can offer you a course of action. What each of us can offer each other is hospitality, a place where you can share your pain. Not to take it away or to stifle it, but to say, “I hear you. I love you. You are not alone. You are loved.” Not thinking about what can I get from you or how can I use you, but focusing on that other person. Showing mercy, showing kindness and compassion and just sitting with that other person in all their hurt. Not for a pity party, not for a time of woe-is-me, but to listen. I found a quote, either from the author Robert Benson, or one I heard him share at a seminar, “Sometimes being listened to is much like being loved, and sometimes there’s no difference.”

            Let’s go back to our story with Jesus and the woman. Jesus is traveling since we last saw him on the lake last week and has now entered the region of Tyre and Sidon. He is greeted, he is shown hospitality, by a woman who is from there and who comes out to greet him. She’s a one-woman welcoming committee! And she already knows who he is. She knows he’s the Son of David. And she knows his reputation for healing, for compassion. So she addresses him practically by name, there is nothing anonymous going on here. Jesus doesn’t get to be incognito. Sign of a good host to know your guest, right? And yet then she asks her guest for mercy. She gets right to the point. Her daughter is suffering terribly, please have mercy. This man, this foreigner in her land, this person from a different background, different religion, she knows her people need this bread that comes from another country, from another religion, and this man is the only one who can offer it. She extends hospitality to him, and asks for it to be extended back to her. Not in a give-and-take or a I’ll-scratch-you-back, you-scratch-mine type of way. Simply a welcome, and a please have mercy. My daughter is suffering, and you are the only one who can help.

            And Jesus, who has been welcomed to a different country by this woman, who knows he can help, tells her NO. This is one of those stories where you really wonder at Jesus. That he saved Peter out on the lake, yeah, not a surprise. We expect Jesus to save, to help, to have compassion, to show mercy. But he tells her no! WHAT?! We’re not used to Jesus saying NO, to Jesus rejecting people, to Jesus calling someone names. That’s not the Jesus we know.

            I had a seminary professor who pointed out that our only place in this story is with this woman. We, at least most of us, are Gentiles. We are not Jews. Jesus saying he came only for Israel excludes us. We are the outsider, the foreigner, the immigrant, and we are on our knees with her, begging Jesus to have mercy on us, too! We show hospitality to those who are not like us, we listen, but we cannot offer wholeness, we cannot offer life. Only Jesus can do that. And I have no doubt that each of us, in some area of our life, could use wholeness. Could use compassion. Could use kindness. Could do with some mercy. Jesus, son of David, have mercy on us! Someone close to us is suffering. Maybe it’s us who’s suffering. Lord, we know we risk rejection. We know we risk being called names. Yet Jesus is the only one who can offer true life.

The NO comes first. It’s hard to say NO in this day and age, isn’t it? From Jack Bauer to Olivia Pope, the intense “I need you to do this” and figuring out how to get around or how to make people say yes to what you want, maybe what you need. Jack Bauer didn’t take NO for an answer. And you know? The woman doesn’t take NO for an answer, either. She persists. And so do we in our prayers. Lord, have mercy on me. Lord, hear my cry. How long, O Lord? Perseverance is one of the traits of love in 1 Corinthians 13 that famous chapter on love. In many other places, Paul and the other authors of the New Testament encourage the faithful to persevere. Persevere in the faith. Persevere in your prayers. Persevere during hardships. Persevere. Persist. Because the YES will come. Jesus says, “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.” And we’re told her daughter was healed at that moment.

Jesus’ nature is to show mercy. It is to have compassion. There are so many times we’re told he had compassion on the crowds and healed them or fed them or taught them or all three. Our God is a merciful God. Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the table. In a Jewish household, the dogs wouldn’t have been anywhere near the children while they ate. Gentiles, ancient Greeks, it’s more likely that dogs would have been household pets, getting fed under the table while the children ate.[1] Kids and dogs getting fed at the same time. And so Jesus relents and out of that initial NO, there’s a YES hidden inside. Jesus doesn’t always come through for us how we expect. Jesus first told the woman NO.  Martin Luther said that this is sometimes how Jesus helps us, by killing us to give us life, by hiding the YES inside the NO, which has to come first. Sometimes God will continue to humble us before saying YES and remind us that our salvation and wholeness comes from God alone. 

            Yet, the woman didn’t pray for wholeness; she prayed for mercy. Earlier in Matthew, Jesus told the Pharisees, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”[2] “I desire mercy, not sacrifice” is from the Old Testament book, Hosea, chapter 6. The chapter begins with God’s people saying, “Let us return to the Lord. God has torn us to pieces but he will heal us. He will revive us and restore us.” Then God speaks, “What am I going to do with you? Your love is like the morning mist, like the early dew that disappears. For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings.” Did you hear that? God doesn’t want us to focus on doing everything right! God doesn’t want us to make sure we’ve got every box checked on how to be a perfect Christian. God wants mercy. God wants us to acknowledge and remember that he is God and we are not. God asks for mercy, for kindness, for compassion. This is the opposite of hatred. This is the opposite of saying, we’re better than you. This is the opposite of the rudeness that is pervading our society. Jesus didn’t come to call the righteous but sinners, not the healthy but the sick. Jesus came for the sick. Jesus came for those in need of mercy. We are those in need of mercy. Our neighbor is those in need of mercy. The poor are those in need of mercy. The immigrant are those in need of mercy. The LGBTQI person is those in need of mercy. The person in jail is in need of mercy. The person on the street is in need of mercy. They are not in need of condemnation. They are not in need of judgment. They are not in need of criticism. They’re in need of those crumbs that fall from the table even to us. There are enough crumbs to go around, by the way. There is no shortage on Jesus’ love. One of the hymns I almost picked for today was “There’s a Wideness in God’s Mercy.” Listen to the first few of the original stanzas:

There’s a wideness in God’s mercy, 

Like the wideness of the sea;

There’s a kindness in His justice, 

Which is more than liberty.

There is no place where earth’s sorrows 

Are more felt than up in Heaven;

There is no place where earth’s failings 

Have such kindly judgment given.

There is welcome for the sinner, 

And more graces for the good;

There is mercy with the Savior; 

There is healing in His blood.

There is grace enough for thousands 

Of new worlds as great as this;

There is room for fresh creations 

In that upper home of bliss.

For the love of God is broader 

Than the measure of our mind;

And the heart of the Eternal 

Is most wonderfully kind.

Thanks be to God.

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[1] http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3360

[2] Matthew 9:12-13