Bless Me, Too!

10^th Sunday after Pentecost

August 17, 2014

Genesis 27:30-38; Matthew 15:21-28

            God bless you!  It’s what we normally say when someone sneezes, right?  Did you know in other languages that they say other things?  Gesundheit in German and salud in Spanish both mean “health,” not God bless you.  In fact, my Grandpa actually refuses to say “God bless you” when someone around him sneezes.  His rationale is that doesn’t God bless you all the other times, too?  Or just when you sneeze?  And he has a point.  God doesn’t only bless us when we sneeze, or when someone tells us, “God bless you.”  This morning we read two stories about people begging for a blessing.  We didn’t follow the Joseph story we started last week, but instead jumped back to Esau and Jacob and what caused the division between them that we talked about a couple weeks ago.  That Sunday we talked about wrestling with God until you receive a blessing.  Today’s stories are about pleading for a blessing.  The Canaanite woman in the Gospel text is in front of Jesus, on her knees, begging Jesus to save her daughter.  It reminded me of Esau begging his father Isaac to bless him, too, which is why I wanted to read that Old Testament story this morning.  Isaac was tricked into giving Jacob, the younger son, the blessing he had reserved for the older son, Esau.  You can hear the desperation in Esau’s voice when he cries, “Do you have only one blessing, father? Bless me too, father!”  It’s not too different from this Canaanite woman who kneels before Jesus and says, “Lord, help me!”  You’ve helped others, you’ve blessed others; surely you can save my daughter, too!  Surely there is room in your kingdom for me, too!  Please, Lord! 

            Have you ever found yourself in that position?  Begging the Lord to have mercy on you, too?  Surely I’ve been through enough.  Surely things can’t get any worse.  Surely the Lord will hear my cry and come and deliver me!  In this Gospel story, we are the woman, laying it all out there, prostrate at Jesus’ feet, begging for him to have mercy on us, too.  The disciples have already told her to go away.  Jesus calls her a dog and tells her no.  But she stays there, in that vulnerable position, and continues pleading with Jesus. 

            There have been many reasons to beg before Jesus this week.  We’ve learned about another suicide, this time a Hollywood celebrity who we loved and cherished for making us laugh.  And we find ourselves saying, “Lord, help us.  Not another suicide.  Lord, we can’t take any more.  Won’t you deliver us?”  It’s only been two months since Pastor Dan’s death and already we’re hearing about another suicide.  I didn’t know Pastor Dan, and so I don’t feel like I can talk about him.  However, about twenty years ago someone close to me committed suicide, and every September I remember him, the month he died.  He was my godfather.  That’s right, a person whose faith and walk with Christ was exemplary enough that my parents chose him to be a godparent to my sisters and me.  I remember the phone call, at 7 a.m., from the lawyer telling us about his death.  I remember that my sisters and I were the only children at the funeral service.  And I remember with gratitude all that he did for us, from sending us educational materials like a globe and maps, to finding summer camps for us to attend, to funding our college educations.  He made a huge difference in my life, for the better.  And yet, what happened at the end?  I don’t know.  It had only been three months since we’d last seen him, for my confirmation.  What happened was depression and the feeling that he was all alone and couldn’t escape the ghosts of his past. 

Mental illness isn’t one of those sicknesses that can be cured; it’s a chronic disease, something that’s treated and managed.  Those suffering from it need to know that they are not alone and that we are working to fight the stigma attached to it.  They do not need to be ashamed.  They do not need to be alone.  And the word of hope that came from The United Methodist Church communications office this week was “the affirmation of faith that nothing, including suicide, separates us from the love of God.”[1]  That is what we believe and where we start.  The statement also said that “We deplore the condemnation of people who complete suicide, and we consider unjust the stigma that so often falls on surviving family and friends.”  When we plead before God for those who have committed suicide, for those who attempted it, and for those who are the surviving community, we remember and claim those verses from Romans 8, that nothing can separate them or us from the love of God.  And we pray, Lord, won’t you bless them, too?  And the answer is YES.

The other horrifying national news this week was from Ferguson, Missouri about an unarmed teenager who was shot by a police officer and the ensuing week of violence.  Again, we cried out in horror, pleading with God to have mercy.  All life is sacred, because each of us is a child of God.  No one deserves to lose their life, under any pretense.[2]  The response from United Methodists in the St. Louis area was and is to be peacemakers.  Our fellow United Methodists are holding peace vigils, helping with cleanup, providing grief counseling, praying, and even providing childcare when the local school system cancelled classes.[3]  I hope and pray we will do the same when our community needs our support, for any reason.  And we pray, Lord, bless our sons and daughters, too.  And he is, through the church’s faithful response. 

However, the news from Ferguson also highlights our own sin of racism, which we don’t like to be reminded of and would prefer to think that we’ve moved past.  But we haven’t.  We don’t live in a post-racial world and this week was a painful reminder of that.  And so we pray, Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.  My sister was in town this past week, taking the train up from North Carolina.  Driving to and from Penn Station in Baltimore, the GPS took us through city streets where I didn’t see a single white person, where many houses were boarded up, where the poverty and the blight both saddened me and scared me.  I’ve been the only white person in a room before, in a classroom, in a church, in other countries.  But somehow being an unknown white person, or not knowing anyone around me, makes me a little tenser than I know I should be.  I’m guessing many of you can relate.  And all we can pray is Lord, have mercy on us, too.  Teach us to love our brother and sister.  Teach us not to live in fear of one another. 

Especially this week, we are the Canaanite woman in the Gospel story.  We are the one the disciples want to dismiss and send away.  We are the foreigner coming to a person of a different race, of a different faith, and yet recognizing that our salvation is in him.  The woman knows she needs Jesus’ help and intervention to save her daughter.  She knows he’s the only one who can do it.  Even though Jesus may have been sent only to the lost sheep of the people of Israel, and she is not part of that people, she knows that Gentiles need this bread of heaven, too.  Even though Jesus calls her a dog, she persists, and says that “even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”  She is in a weak, vulnerable state, with no hint of arrogance or confidence whatsoever, and she continues to beg deliverance from Jesus.  Jesus recognizes her faith, and grants her the salvation she yearns for. 

What is going on in your life that has you pleading with Jesus?  Disease?  Work?  Lack of work?  Money?  Strained family relations?  Strained friendship?  Deceit?  What has you crying out for a blessing this week?  What is causing you to fall on your knees, at Jesus’ feet, begging him to have mercy on you, too, or to have mercy on a loved one?  The Canaanite woman is there on behalf of her daughter, who is tormented by a demon.  Are you being tormented by a demon?  Or are you pleading on someone else’s behalf?  What is Jesus saying to you?  Keep in mind that 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.[4]  Sometimes God will continue to humble us before he says YES and remind us that our salvation comes from him alone. 

It’s reminiscent of the parable Jesus tells about the persistent widow and the unjust judge.[5]  The widow continually presents her case before the judge, and although the judge doesn’t care about justice, eventually he grants her justice against her opponent.  Luke, in whose Gospel this story is found, tells us that the purpose of the parable is to teach us the need to pray always and not to lose heart or become discouraged.  Even an unjust judge will eventually be worn down by a persistent cry for justice.  Jesus ends the parable by asking, “And will not God also grant justice to his people, who cry out to him day and night?” 

Continue crying out.  Continue begging and pleading.  Continue humbling yourself before your God until he hears your case and grants you justice.  It will come.  The answer may be NOT YET before it is YES, but God will hear your cry. Our middle hymn this morning begins “Just as I am, without one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me, and that thou bidst me come to thee.”[6]  Christ bids us come to him, which is why we continue to come, continue to cry out, and continue to plead that he have mercy on us, too.  Our closing hymn is written by someone who I have no doubt cried out to God.  Horatio Spafford lost his family in a trans-Atlantic voyage from England to the U.S.  When he later made the trip, he asked the ship’s captain to stop over the spot where the previous ship had gone down.  From that spot, he wrote the words to this hymn.  “Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control, that Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and hath shed his own blood for my soul.”[7]  In this promise we trust and believe, on this promise we stand, “that Christ has regarded my helpless estate and shed his own blood for my soul.”  Thanks be to God.  Amen.

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[1] http://www.umc.org/what-we-believe/the-nurturing-community#suicide , emphasis mine

[2] http://www.umc.org/news-and-media/church-leaders-strive-to-be-peacemakers-in-ferguson

[3] Ibid.

[4] This sermon is heavily influenced by Dr. Willie Jennings’ course on “Christian Identity and the Formation of the Racial World,” lecture on “Reframing Gentile Existence: The Contours of a Theological Identity,” class notes September 14, 2009

[5] Luke 18:1-8

[6] “Just as I Am, Without One Plea” by Charlotte Elliott, UMH 357

[7] “It Is Well with My Soul” by Horatio Spafford, UMH 377

Wind and Water and Waves, Oh My!

9^th Sunday after Pentecost

August 10, 2014

Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28; Matthew 14:22-33

            It had all the makings of a perfect storm.  My husband was out of town.  I was preparing to be out of town for four days at Annual Conference.  We were moving in three weeks.  I was seven months pregnant.  And my daughter’s sitter called: she had a fever.  And not a low-grade fever, but the highest one she’s ever had in her short life.  I left the church immediately to go pick her up.  The fever was the only symptom the first day, and I knew the doctor couldn’t do anything for it, so I just stayed home with her.  The fever didn’t break for 24 hours and we were up repeatedly during the night.  I learned that “I Love Lucy” comes on at 5 a.m. and Isabel prefers that show to the early morning news.  After the fever broke came the other symptoms and so I finally called the pediatrician to get a sick visit.  She squeezed us in at the end of the second day.  I was still hoping for something simple, like an ear infection, something that can be treated with medicine and you see improvement pretty quickly.  The pediatrician was hoping for that, too, and apologized that it was not that kind of sickness, which she would prefer, because then you can treat it and be done with it.  But, no, it was hand, foot, and mouth disease, a virus common in little kids and with no treatment, other than to wait it out as it runs its’ course over ten days or so, keep her hydrated, and make her as comfortable as possible.  Until I finally offered her Gatorade, Isabel had pretty much stopped drinking.  She also learned about popsicles that week.  Meanwhile, I was still supposed to go to Annual Conference.  The sitter couldn’t keep her, because she had her own two year old, and Isabel was contagious as long as she had symptoms.  My mom was out of town.  My sister who lived nearby had work engagements she couldn’t break.  And our other friends all had little kids we couldn’t risk getting sick.  My youngest sister, however, lives in the town where Annual Conference was held, and while she had to work in the morning, she had the afternoon off and Isabel and I could meet her as soon as she got off work.  I missed the opening session of Conference, but that afternoon was the executive clergy session, and so I made that one.  Isabel and I returned home afterward, and then once Lee got home at the end of the week, I drove back for the last day of the Conference.  It was a hectic, overwhelming, exhausting week.

            When times get tough, when the sea gets stormy, we turn to each other for help.  Our family and friends, including our church family, are those we count on when the storms of life are raging.  They’re the ones we rely on to help us through the tough times, whether with moral support or a hug or advice or whatever it is we need to weather the storm.  There’s a reason why the Bill Withers’ song, “Lean On Me,” is so popular: because we can identify with it.  When you need help moving, you call your friends.  When your boyfriend dumps you, you call your best girlfriend and tell her to bring some ice cream, STAT.  When you need help replacing the kitchen garbage disposal, you call your dad.  And when there’s something strange in the neighborhood, you call the Ghostbusters.  It’s ok, though.  I ain’t afraid of no ghost.

            We are a community of faith, which means that we get through the tough times together.  The Christian journey is not one we do by ourselves.  We walk with each other, celebrating together when it’s time to celebrate, and mourning together when it’s time to mourn.  One of my favorite bible passages on friendship is from the book of Ecclesiastes: “Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up the other; but woe to one who is alone and falls and does not have another to help.  Again, if two lie together, they keep warm; but how can one keep warm alone?  And though one might prevail against another, two will withstand one. A threefold cord is not quickly broken.”[1]  Here in the church we provide that support for one another. 

            When times get tough, we also turn to God for help.  Sometimes family and friends cannot help.  Peter was out there in the water all by himself.  The other disciples couldn’t throw him a life preserver.  They couldn’t steer the boat over to where he was to pick him up out of the water.  The only person Peter could call on to save him was Jesus.  Likewise, in our Old Testament story this morning, it was Joseph’s brothers who sold him into slavery in another country.  His family betrayed him.  But God had plans to use that betrayal for good, in the end using Joseph’s presence in Egypt to save Israel.  While “Lean On Me” is the pop song that talks about relying on friends when we need help, it’s counterpart in the hymnal is “Stand By Me,” hymn 512 if you want to look it up.  “When the storms of life are raging, stand by me; …in the midst of tribulation, stand by me…  When I’ve done the best I can, and my friends misunderstand, thou who knowest all about me, stand by me.”[2]  Even if family and friends, or God forbid, the church, forsake you, God will not.  God is faithful and will see you through.

            Now, there are times when it may seem like God is absent, too.  The “dark night of the soul” is a lonely place to be, when you’re going through a really rough time and you’re not sure even God is there.  I have a friend who claimed that God wasn’t there for her when she was going through a divorce and the only person she could rely on was herself.  I pointed out to her that God gave her that ability to rely on herself, gave her her intellect and stamina and saw her through it, even if not in obvious, direct ways.  All that we have is from God, and that includes more than just material things, but our very beings, as well.  We can rely on God.  He is faithful and will see us through, regardless of what we believe about him.  Even “if we are faithless, he remains faithful; he cannot deny himself.”[3]  God does not go back on his word and every one of his promises comes true, even if sometimes we have to wait a long time before seeing its fulfillment, or may never see its completion.  God is faithful and calls us to be faithful as well. 

Faithfulness in tough times is not easy.  It’s much easier to ask where God is in the midst of suffering and pain and hate.  I’m reminded of the answer given by a Holocaust survivor, which was that God was there, too, in the internment camps.  God suffers with you, God is present in the midst of your struggle, in the hospital room, in the totaled car.  He doesn’t save us from tough times, but he does stand by us through them. 

            The psalmist says that ““Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.”[4]  Once we have gotten past the storm, the appropriate response from us is to praise God.  The gospel story ends with everyone on the boat worshipping Jesus: “Truly you are the Son of God.”  Worship reminds us that we are not God; only God is God.  We come each week to worship to regain whatever perspective we have lost during the week, to remember who we are and whose we are.  We were made for worship; it is our proper response to God, it is our proper posture before our creator.  The disciples recognize what Jesus has done for them, are grateful for it, and have grown in their faith because of the ordeal they went through.  Their deeper faith manifests itself through worship.

Tough times can cause us to grow closer to God, if we remain faithful in spite of our doubts, or to draw apart from him, if we let the winds and waves of doubt drown us.  There are times where faith is simply a choice: I choose to believe that no matter what’s going on, God is in control of it.  That doesn’t mean God caused it, but God will take care of me through this current storm.  He does not abandon us in tough times.  Exercising faith may be more challenging than we thought, taking a step of faith is always risky.  Remember the third Indiana Jones movie, in search of the Holy Grail?  He has to step out of the cave into what looks like thin air, into what looks like he’s going to fall thousands of feet to his death, to take a leap of faith.  And even after he crosses and looks back, he still can’t see the path he took until he throws sand on it.  There are rough patches we can look back on and wonder how we made it through.  If the path were clear, there would be no faith involved.  Instead, we step out in faith, trusting to that which God has called us to do and to his faithfulness, because he will not let us down.  Thanks be to God. 

Let us pray:

Lord, if it's you, we need to hear from you

When we are alone
When we go away to pray
When we have little faith
When we are battered by the waves
When the wind is against us
When we get in the boat
When we're terrified by our ghosts
When we seek you on the mountain
When we cry out in fear
When we start walking on water
When we begin to sink
When we are far from land

Lord, if it's you,
speak to us,
calm our fears,
calm our storms
Strengthen our resolve
Remind us who you are
Walk to us
Call to us
Save us
Reach out your hand and catch us
Quiet the wind around us

Lord, if it's you, we worship you for “Truly you are the Son of God.”[5]

Amen. 

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[1] Ecclesiastes 4:9-12

[2] “Stand By Me” by Charles A. Tindley, UMH 512

[3] 2 Timothy 2:13

[4] Psalm 30:5

[5] http://www.gbod.org/resources/we-call-on-the-name-of-the-lord-a-21st-century-worship-resource-for-the-eig

Pink Is the Color for Funerals

I officiated at my first funeral this week.  I’ve helped with a half a dozen or so since seminary, but this time it was just me.  It was for an older (95 years old!) church member who I had not yet met (and now will not meet this side of glory).  I got the call Monday morning that she had passed, and then a second call, asking me to officiate at the service.  I met with two of her sons that afternoon, and they took me over to her house, just half a mile from the church.  It is a pink house, her favorite color.  I had my 23 month old with me, and she roamed around the yard, as the sons explained that once upon a time their family had owned and farmed many of the surrounding acres that I saw. 

I had my daughter with me again at the viewing.  She explored every crevice of the room, climbing in to each and every chair and amusing the grandkids and great-grandkids.  At one point she went over to the open casket, and I watched to see what she would do.  First, she sat down on the kneeler next to it, as it was just the right height for her to sit.  Then, she pointed at the coffin and asked me, “Who’s that?”  After I answered her question, she said, “Night, night.” 

The sons had asked for a short and simple service, and so it was.  I was thankful for a friend’s text that reminded me to “trust the liturgy and trust the Holy Spirit.”  I read the prayers and the chosen Scripture reading and gave a (very) short homily. 

The funeral director offered me a ride in the hearse over to the burial site, which I accepted.  I was amused that an Ozzy Osbourne song was playing when I got in the car!  Also, the pane of glass behind the front seat was reflective, so that you could not see into the rear.  (Perhaps this normal, I don’t know; it was my first time riding in a hearse.)  The director is a native of the area, and so the drive was part tour, part history lesson, and part tourism as he recommended a favorite farm to visit in the fall for fresh-pressed apple cider and activities for children. 

At the cemetery, I led the gathering in the prayers for committal, and that was that.  Short, simple, to the point, not many people gathered outside of the family (since she had outlived almost all of her contemporaries).  The family thanked me and I thanked them for allowing me to a part of this time in their lives. 

Not So Crazy After All

8^th Sunday after Pentecost

August 3, 2014

Genesis 32:22-31; Matthew 14:1-14

This morning, mamy preachers will be covering the familiar story of Jesus’ miracle of feeding thousands of people with five loaves and two fish.  You may have noticed, however, that we didn’t read that part of Matthew 14, and, in fact, stopped just before it.  That’s because I want to focus on what Jesus did just before he fed the five thousand.  It starts with the death of his cousin, John the Baptist.  The fact that a prophet met such a gruesome end as a beheading is not surprising.  But look at how Jesus reacts to hearing the news.  “When Jesus heard the news about John, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself.”  Jesus took time away.  He took time to himself.  He needed to grieve his cousin’s death and he created the space to do so.  He withdrew to a lonely place by himself.  Now, it didn’t last long.  The crowds followed him to this deserted place.  But how did Jesus respond?  He didn’t get upset and tell them to scram.  Instead, after taking a little time to himself he had compassion for the crowds and cured their sick.  Did he get as much time as he wanted to grieve?  Probably not.  But it was clear that the crowds who followed him needed him, and rather than respond with irritation at their constant need for him, he responded with love and compassion.  He knew that was his purpose, to love them. 

Jacob, in contrast, had to persevere first.  He was on his way to meet his twin brother, Esau, for the first time in many years.  You may remember that Jacob and Esau didn’t exactly get along growing up and that Jacob stole Esau’s blessing from their father, Isaac, by pretending to be Esau.  Jacob and Esau parted on the worst of terms.  And today’s story comes the night before they reunite for the first time.  Jacob is seriously worried about how this meeting is going to go.  He sends ahead of him lots of presents, hoping to appease Esau, because he really has no idea how Esau is going to react and seems to expect Esau to still hold a grudge after all these years.  So, the night before they meet again is when Jacob wrestles with a man until daybreak.  All night long they wrestle.  Neither one gains an advantage until the man dislocates Jacob’s hip, and then we have their conversation.  Apparently, even with a dislocated hip, Jacob is still not releasing his hold on this man.  But it’s daybreak, it’s time for him to go.  And Jacob will not let him go; he insists on a blessing.  In response, the man asks Jacob to identify himself.  In the Old Testament, names have a lot of meaning, and Jacob means trickster, or “he supplants,” or “heel grabber,” because he was born grabbing onto his brother Esau’s heel.  This is who Jacob has been.  Deceitful.  Tricky.  A con artist.  Jacob has to own up to what he has done and who he has been.  However, and here comes the redemption, the man gives Jacob a new name.  He effectively says, “Yes, this is who you have been.  This is no longer who you are.  You are now a new person and your new name is Israel.”  Israel means “the one who strives with God.”  Jacob’s past no longer defined him because he persevered until a new path was opened up to him.  He kept wrestling until he received a blessing, and in that blessing discerned God’s purpose for him and was able to meet his brother a new man. 

You persevere until you discern God’s purpose.  You have to keep wrestling through the hard times.  You don’t grow when things are easy.  It’s when things are hard that you learn the most about yourself and about God.  You push through it.  You keep wrestling until you get your answer from God. 

I mentioned a few weeks ago that before seminary I was a missionary in Nicaragua.  What I haven’t shared with very many of you is the story of how and why I returned to the U.S.  The simple answer is that God called me to return.  However, for me to discern that that was what God was saying was a hard and literally painful process.  I went to Nicaragua clear that God had called me to serve him there.  The mission agency I served with required a three year contract, which I happily agreed to, and actually considered extending to more years, because I knew without a doubt that I was in the place where my greatest joy met the world’s greatest need, to paraphrase Fredrick Buechner.  However, just shy of completing my first year I developed rheumatoid arthritis.  I think it had been building up over a couple months, but things came to a head when both my knees swelled up at the same time and I could hardly walk.  The doctor there put me on bed rest for ten days, so that I didn’t injure anything while so many joints were swollen.  And I decided to take the time as a personal retreat, to pay closer attention to God and discern what he had to say while I was on my butt that I couldn’t hear him say when I was up and about.  The word that came through, the purpose he had for me, was to return to the U.S. and go to seminary, to become a pastor.  It was literally a painful process.  And I persevered until I was positive I had heard God right, because it didn’t make sense to me.  After all, a disease doesn’t disqualify you from serving God in any setting, including a foreign country.  But I wrestled with God for those ten days.  It felt like I had dislocated my own hip.  And at the end, God sent me in a new direction, which a couple years later even involved a new name since I re-met my husband shortly after I returned to the U.S. and changed my name when we got married.  The other new name I received is “pastor.”  I identify a little bit with Jacob in this story.  I know about wrestling with God and I'm sure many of you do, too.  It is not easy.  It is not for the faint of heart.  But it is well worth the blessing at the end. 

Of course, the blessing isn’t actually the end of the story, either.  You persevere until you discern God’s purpose and then you serve God and others. The blessing isn’t the end of the story.  As God told Abraham, Jacob’s grandfather, you are blessed to be a blessing.  Once you discern God’s purpose, the last step is to act on that purpose and serve God and others.  After Jacob finally received his blessing, he was ready to meet with his brother and their reunion goes very well.  Jacob approaches Esau humbly.  And Esau is ready to let bygones be bygones.  They can start a new relationship, one not tainted by their past history.  I left Nicaragua, went to seminary, and am now a pastor.  And Jesus, who already knew his purpose, left his isolated spot and returned to the crowds to heal them and to feed them.   Wrestle until you receive the blessing, and that may be where you still are, wrestling.  But once you receive a blessing, then share it with others.  God doesn’t call us to be a reservoirs of his grace and love.  We are to be conduits, letting God’s love and light shine through us so that others can see him through our lives. 

They say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  Well, wrestling with God all night long, or for days on end, may seem crazy to the world, and many people would give up.  We in the church, however, faithfully continue wrestling, because the blessing is worth it and is worth sharing with the world.  Eventually, Jacob got his blessing and reconciled with Esau.  Eventually, I got my confirmation that it was time to leave Nicaragua and I returned to the US.  Eventually, with a little perseverance, our path forward will be revealed, too, and we will follow it.  So maybe, just maybe, a little insanity isn’t so crazy after all.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.