Tuesday, December 24, 2019

Peaceful Joy


4th Sunday of Advent
December 22, 2019
Isaiah 7:10-16; Matthew 1:18-24

            This week’s theme is peace and it’s been hard to think about peace this week. I looked it up and discovered that last year I had trouble preaching on peace, too, because the times don’t feel very peaceful. The kids are excited to be on winter break! News pundits and politicians are in an uproar. Retail outlets are clamoring for your last dollar. And time is running out on your to-do list. Christmas is only 3 days away. So, in the middle of all that, let’s talk about peace. On the one hand, your reaction may be like Jeremiah when Jerusalem is under siege, “They dress the wound of my people as though it were not serious. ‘Peace, peace,’ they say, when there is no peace.”[1] Saying peace when there is no peace. Except we know where peace can be found, even in the midst of turmoil and chaos, because the Prince of Peace is being born again in our hearts this day. There is a way to be peaceful even amidst the storm. It’s a deep, inner peace. It’s tapping into that deep well of joy that we’ve talked about this Advent, because in that deep well of joy you can also find peace. And remember what Paul says about God’s peace – it’s a peace that passes understanding.[2] So you can be calm in the middle of the storm, and it may not make sense to those around you who want you to be just as frantic and scared as they are. But when you’re connected to God’s peace that is beyond understanding, well, the rest of that phrase that Paul writes is that God’s peace “will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” And you can calmly respond to what’s going on around you, picking out your priorities, without getting caught up in the whirlwind and the chaos. Because you have inner peace, the kind that only comes from God.
            What’s that look like? Well, it does not look like King Ahaz in our Isaiah reading this morning. King Ahaz of Judah is under siege by Ephraim and Syria because he wouldn’t join their alliance of small nations to unite against the mighty Assyrian Empire around the year 735 BC. If we were to have read the beginning part of the chapter, it says that “the hearts of Ahaz and his people were shaken, as the trees of the forest are shaken by the wind.”[3] Now, the trees of the forest are not shaken easily. They have strong roots and tall trunks. And because they’re all together in a group, it’s harder to shake them than one tree by itself. But King Ahaz and his people are shaken, like trees in a forest shaken by a wind. This is bad. And the Lord tries to give Ahaz some hope. The Lord says, “Ask me for a sign. Any sign. You can even ask me for the moon!” God’s really trying here. But Ahaz says no, and quotes Scripture that says, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”[4] Well, Scripture may say that, but when God says test me, ask me, I want to give you sign, don’t you think you’d better ask?
            But, here’s the problem. Ahaz doesn’t really trust God to save him. He gives the Sunday school answer, quoting Scripture, and already has in mind a different savior. Ahaz, who’s under attack because he wouldn’t join an alliance against Assyria, calls on Assyria to protect Judah! And Assyria does, but then Assyria doesn’t leave Judah. They take over and conquer Judah. Ahaz was shaken and he was leaning on his own knowledge and understanding. God invited him to a different way, a way of faith, and Ahaz said no. He chose not to lean on that rock of ages and connect to that deep inner well or joy and peace. God says, “I’ve got this!” and Ahaz says, “No thanks. I can handle it.” Can you imagine? Yet how many times do we do that? God says, “I’m here. I’ve got this.” And we reply, “No thanks. I’ve got it.” And then it snowballs. And gets out of control. When we really should have just turned it over to God in the first place! Oh we of little faith.
            Yet, the curious thing is that God gives Ahaz a sign, anyway. I told you, God was determined to give this sign. It’s like Ahaz says no and Isaiah says, “Too bad! You’re gonna get one, anyway! The young woman will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Emmanuel, which means God is with us.” Isaiah gives an unwanted, unasked for sign that affirms life in the midst of certain death and destruction. The enemy is attacking, I am shaken to my core, I have my own plans for my escape, and God gives a sign of life and hope. God offers a reminder that God is with us. That’s what Christmas is each year: a reminder that God is with us, Emmanuel. And that can draw up that sense of deep inner peace. God is with me. God is with you. Ahaz didn’t listen to it, didn’t trust it, didn’t want it. His loss.
            And so God saves that sign and gives it again in a different time and place, to a man named Joseph, whose family was from Bethlehem. Now, Joseph is a person of peace. He’s engaged to be married but his fiancée has turned up pregnant and the baby isn’t his. Rather than raise a fuss about it, rather than publically humiliate Mary, rather than turn it into this big tabloid scandal, which he could have done, he decides he wants to spare Mary from all that. Joseph is a good man. And even though Mary has shown up pregnant before the wedding night, he doesn’t want to expose her to public disgrace. He wants to keep things quiet, although he doesn’t know how exactly. One night, while he’s trying to figure it out, he has a dream. An angel of the Lord appears to him in the dream and tells him, “Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” This is to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Emmanuel.” God gave Joseph the same invitation to trust and to faith. And Joseph accepted it. After he woke up, he did what the angel said. He took Mary as his wife, and when she gave birth, he named the baby Jesus. Jesus, which means “the Lord saves.” A promise and a sign that God is with us. And we never hear Joseph fuss. Even later, when God appears in another dream to tell Joseph to take Jesus and Mary and flee as political refugees to Egypt, Joseph just does it. He doesn’t say, we don’t have the papers. He doesn’t ask how they’re going to cross the border. He just does it. Joseph is connected to that deep well of joy and peace, at least as far as what we’re told about him. He takes Jesus as his own son, teaches him his trade of carpentry. Is it any wonder that the Catholic Church canonized him into Saint Joseph? He’s the patron saint of families, fathers, expectant mothers, explorers, pilgrims, travelers, immigrants, house sellers and buyers, craftsmen, engineers, and working people in general.
            While it’s easy to canonize Joseph and demonize Ahaz, the point is that God issues this same invitation to trust and to faith to each of us, too. We’re also invited to receive this sign of life in the midst of chaos and endless to-do lists. We’re also invited to draw water with joy from the wells of salvation.[5] To connect to that deep well of joy and peace, knowing that what is going on around you does not have to affect your level of peacefulness. As we heard our Peaceful Advent candle say, “We can shift from joining the chaos to being in the quiet eye of the storm where Emmanuel, God with us, has set up residence. And we can be Emmanuel for each other when the storms threaten to overtake the people, community, and creation around us.” It’s easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of this season, but that’s the commercialism. God is not inviting you to a whirlwind, but to a manger, to a setting of all is calm, all is bright, to a season of peace and joy.

[1] Jeremiah 6:14, 8:11
[2] Philippians 4:7
[3] Isaiah 7:2b
[4] Deuteronomy 6:16
[5] Isaiah 12:3

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Tuesday, December 17, 2019

Unabashed Joy


3rd Sunday of Advent
December 15, 2019
Isaiah 35:1-10; Luke 1:46b-55

Last March southern California’s desert experienced what is called a super-bloom. You see, when the desert blooms, it goes all out. It’s not just a few flowers here and a few there, half-hearted and partially hidden. Oh no, when the desert blooms, it does it abundantly. And this past spring, it was so abundant that the super-bloom could be seen from space! Here’s one of the pictures of it on the screen. 

This was a rare super-bloom, created by the perfect storm of what individually are two quite harsh and undesirable conditions.[1] First, these plants have to have prolonged dormancy, as in many wildflower seeds must remain asleep through many seasons and decide to wake up at roughly the same time after a long hibernation. So, all these flowers stayed dormant for years, and didn’t bloom for years, and then decided to all bloom again at the same time. The other major factor was that southern California had an extra-long rainy season, followed by an unusually cold winter which locked the moisture in. So, plants that don’t bloom for years combined with extra rain and extra cold (nothing there that sounds good), and yet they produce this super-bloom of flowers in the desert. They create this beautiful picture of joy, unabashed joy. The poet John Keats wrote “a thing of beauty is a joy forever.” There are more pictures online, if you want to google them after worship. They are amazing.
            And they give you a visual for what Isaiah’s talking about in our passage this morning. Isaiah 35 begins with the desert rejoicing and blooming, “The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing.” Here [gesture at screen] is what that looks like. The desert isn’t really a place you think about blooming and blossoms, you tend to think sand and cacti and barrenness, but here it is, definitely not always barren. Now, it’s really weird, Isaiah chapter 35 seems out of place from its surrounding chapters. Chapters 34 and 36 are not sunshine and rainbows, or flowers. Chapter 34 is about judgment and desert creatures meeting with hyenas. Chapter 36 is about Assyria attacking and conquering Judah. Yet here in the middle is this chapter, it’s only the ten verses we read this morning, and it’s about flowers in the desert and rejoicing in the wilderness. This chapter doesn’t make sense in its context. It interrupts the desolation going on around it. It’s as if, as one commentary put it, “The Spirit hovered over the text and over the scribes: “Put it here,” breathed the Spirit, “before anyone is ready. Interrupt the narrative of despair.” So, here it is: a word that couldn’t wait until it might make more sense.”[2] This picture of beauty in the desert refuses to wait until things are better. And so in the midst of a story of desolation and wilderness, here is chapter 35 with a chorus of creation saying to one another, “Be Strong. Do not fear. Here is your God.”
I have to tell you, I love those words. Right there in the middle of the chapter, “Say to those who are of a fearful heart, ‘Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God.’” They were life-changing to my family six years ago. They were an answer to prayer. Six years ago, my husband and I were faced with the decision of whether or not to move from North Carolina to Maryland. He’d been offered a promotion with his company to a position we knew he was ready for and would enjoy far more than what he had been doing. We were given a weekend to decide, the weekend of the 3rd Sunday of Advent, when this Scripture reading is assigned. At the time I was an associate pastor at a large church in Chapel Hill and one of my duties in worship was to read the Scriptures at all three services. So, three times, I read this passage. “Say to those who are of a fearful heart;” my husband and I were fearful. Our oldest was 16 months old. We knew we wanted a second child. Most of our family is (still) in North Carolina. I had a couple contacts in Maryland from when I’d lived here years ago, but we didn’t really know anyone. And God says, “Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God.” Once we took fear out of the equation, it made sense to move. This passage is the reason I am your pastor; otherwise, we’d still be in North Carolina! So, “Say to those who are of a fearful heart,” those who are in the wilderness, in the desert, those who are discerning the next step, those who are in the midst of desolation and despair, say to them “Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God.” Isn’t that the word we all need? In the midst of chaos and grief, the desert will conspire to bloom. The wilderness will rejoice. It’s odd, it doesn’t make sense given the context, but it will happen. There will be joy.
            At the end of the chapter, it says “A highway will be there, and it will be called the Holy Way… it shall be for God’s people; no traveler… will go astray.” This highway for God’s people is the way home, the way of salvation. “Everlasting joy will be upon their heads. Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away.” Talk about unabashed joy. There in the blossoming desert will be a highway for God’s people where joy will abound. Joy will crown their heads. And they will be overwhelmed, not by lists or medical bills or loneliness or grief or insecurity, no, they will be overwhelmed by joy. Isn’t that good news? Isn’t that a promise to hold on tight to? Yesterday may have been wilderness. Tomorrow may be wilderness again. But today is chapter 35, today is the day when the desert blooms and you are overwhelmed by joy and it’s a good day. 
            And isn’t that good news for Mary, who’s in a wilderness of her own, pregnant and unwed. She knows what the Holy Spirit told her, and she knows what others are saying, anyway. Her heart could be quite fearful, and yet she sings out with unabashed joy this song called the Magnificat, from the first word in Latin. “My soul magnifies the Lord. My spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” God is great. God has done and will do great things. Holy is our God. That’s what Mary is saying as a pregnant, unwed teenager. She’s singing about joy. It takes courage and love to sing our songs of joy while in the midst of suffering and in the wilderness. It’s not the easiest thing to do and it probably gets her just as many weird and dirty looks as her pregnant belly does. Yet her song is truly one of joy. It’s not like those unhelpful sayings that seem to be joyful, but actually aren’t. Do you know what I mean?
            Artist Emily McDowell was 24 when she was diagnosed with stage 3 Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. After 9 months of chemo and radiation, she went into remission and so far is still cancer-free. However, she received some terrible responses after her own diagnosis that now she designs irreverent greeting cards that say things like, “There is no good card for this. I’m so sorry.” Or,             “When life gives you lemons, I won’t tell you a story about my cousin’s friend who died of lemons.” Because that’s not really helpful, is it? Yet when we hear about lemons, or whatever it is, our brain naturally connects with what else we know about lemons and then usually it’s out of our mouths before we’ve stopped to think about whether we’re saying something helpful and kind. The motto for Emily McDowell’s greeting cards is that they’re “for the relationships we really have.”[3] Another one of my favorites says, “Thinking about you is like remembering I have ice cream in the freezer.” I don’t know if you like ice cream like I like ice cream, but that gives me the warm fuzzies. Or, in other words, a feeling of comfort and joy. It’s not a trite saying. It’s not one that makes you question your faith in God. Another of Emily McDowell’s empathy cards says, “No card can make this better. But I’m giving you one anyway.” It’s the acknowledgment that words sometimes fail us in the wilderness, or reaching out to someone else in the wilderness. And all we really want to say is, “I’m here for you. I love you. I’m not going anywhere. And God has not abandoned you, either.” Mary knew God had not abandoned her. And in the middle of this unexpected pregnancy, with all the usual discomforts of pregnancy, Mary sings with joy. She focuses on joy.
We like to think that if we can get through the suffering, then joy will come, that it’s an either/or. After the operation, the pain level will go down to zero. After I get through this marathon, then I get to relax. We like Psalm 30 that says “Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.” And we tend to read it as either/or: weeping or joy, when it’s really a both/and. The truth is that these deep feelings get tangled up together. That’s why we cry tears of joy. That’s why this scene of unabashed joy in the desert is found in the desert. Strong emotions have more in common than a strong emotion and a lukewarm emotion. Joy is a strong emotion. And there are times when that’s what we feel even when it makes no sense with our surroundings. We have a great day in the midst of a bunch of lousy ones. Sometimes that makes us feel guilty. Sometimes that one great day is what gets us through all the lousy ones. I don’t know what your wilderness is, whether it’s medical-related or relationship-related or just having a fearful heart. In the midst of that, hear these tidings of comfort and joy; true, unabashed joy that interrupts your “regularly scheduled programming.” Thank God!
             

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Tuesday, December 10, 2019

Loving Joy


2nd Sunday of Advent
December 8, 2019
Isaiah 11:1-10; Matthew 3:1-15

            We began our Advent series last week with Hopeful Joy and preparing room for Jesus to be born. This week is about love and the phrase from “Joy to the World” to “repeat the sounding joy.” Have you ever thought about what it means to “repeat the sounding joy”? That second verse is about all people and nature singing and repeating the sounding joy. This is getting at the power of music and singing together. Singing is created by our breath and vibrating sound waves, that’s how your voice box works. It’s all reverberations that literally pass through your body. That’s why we often have a physical response to music, whether it’s clapping or dancing or singing along. Even if you’re just listening, these vibrations still resonate within your body. That’s why there’s something powerful about lifting our voices together. There have been studies done showing that singing in a choir has physiological benefits including making you feel happier, helping to forge social bonds, and just overall improving your sense of well-being.[1] Now, back to “repeat the sounding joy” – this is reverberations of love spreading throughout the world. It’s repeating and passing on the good news of love, of God loving the world so much that God sent Jesus. And before we get to the cross and Easter, one atonement theory is that God saved us when Jesus was born. Becoming incarnate, God becoming man, putting on flesh, being born here among us, begins the story of how Jesus saves us. That’s the good news of Christmas! Jesus is born! Gloria in excelsis deo! Now there’s a tune that reverberates within your body and everyone around you! Most music has a memorable phrase and melody. The phrase and sound that should be vibrating through you so that you know it and those around you can feel it is one of love: God’s radical, unconditional love for all people. God loves you. And God’s love often shows up in radical and unexpected ways.
            Let’s look first at Isaiah. “A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; and a branch will grow out of his roots.” This is new life, a shoot, coming from something that appears to be dead. Right? The stump’s what’s left after you cut down the tree. It’s not good for much, other than to spark a child’s imagination when they play on it. Picture a stump you’ve seen in your mind. Have you ever seen a new branch come out of it? Yet that’s what God’s saying here. From Jesse’s family tree, this great family tree that you can find in Matthew chapter one, and includes Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, includes King David, apparently the family tree has stopped growing. It’s been cut down to a stump. Yet a new shoot is going to come out of it. New life is going to grow in a place that is not only unexpected, but a place that we had given up on new life happening. It’s like John the Baptist’s parents. They were old. Elizabeth was post-menopausal. And Elizabeth and Zechariah in their old age become pregnant. We have a tendency to decide too soon where something can’t grow. Whether we’re impatient, or just decide we’re being realistic, when something looks dead, we don’t expect new growth out of it. We give up on it. Too much has happened. Too much is broken. It can’t be fixed. It can’t become life-giving again. Now, here’s what’s true. It may be unfixable. And it will never look like what it did before. But God is at work here. New life is emerging and that stump, instead of anchoring a tall, strong tree, is now anchoring a new branch that needs just as much love and care as the big tree did. God will make a way where there appears to be no way. Watch if he won’t!
            Can you think of times when you saw something growing that shouldn’t have been? A plant that came up between the cracks. A house plant you thought was dead and then suddenly has a new shoot on it. A couple who has struggled with infertility finally getting pregnant. Life will find a way. In the Pixar movie, “Wall-E,” Eve the robot’s one job is to find signs of biological life among all the trash and debris left on Earth. The only sign of organic life you see previously in the movie is a cockroach (because cockroaches can survive anything). Then Eve finds a small plant. One small plant, and it changes the course of the movie. 
The plant Wall-E and Eve find is growing in an old boot
What image do you have of something growing where nothing should grow? Where had you lost hope, only to have hope restored by new life? That’s God’s radical love showing up. God doesn’t let you go, ever. Instead, “The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them.” What a vision of radical love!
            Another vision comes in John the Baptist, not just in his roots, but in his ministry. John the Baptist has one basic message, which is the same as Jesus’ when he starts preaching, “Repent, the kingdom of heaven has come near.” Repent. Turn back to God. Do something that shows you’ve changed your hearts and your lives. Why? Because the kingdom of heaven has come near. Jesus has come near. God has bent low. And John doesn’t preach and baptize the people out of anger, although he’s certainly pretty angry with the Pharisees and Sadducees. They only came down to the river to be baptized because it was the popular thing to do. They don’t intend to change their ways at all. But John, out of deep love for God’s people, is standing in the river, with them, in the waters of baptism with them, for the sake of their salvation. John is the voice of one calling in the wilderness, God is at work here. New life is emerging here. Here in the wilderness, here in the darkness, here in the desert, here in your brokenness, God is at work. John is meeting the people in the wilderness of their lives, meeting them where they are, yet loves them too much to not encourage them to change their lives, to draw close to God, who has literally drawn close to you. It’s like that phrase you may have heard, God loves you as you are, unconditionally, and God also loves you too much to leave you the same. I love you. I want what’s best for you. And these things you’re doing that are life-draining are not what’s best. These things you’re doing that are drawing you away from God are not what’s best. Seek after those things that are life-giving, those things that draw you closer to God. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness.” John has such deep loving joy for God’s people that he feels compelled to share that love, to share that God has bent low, that God is still at work, that God is bringing forth new life where you thought there was none. That’s John’s radical love for God’s people. That’s what his refrain means, when he says, “Repent, the kingdom of heaven has come near.” That’s the love that reverberates through his action of baptizing the people and encouraging them to reorient their lives back to God.
            One final example that I’ve been saving til the end, because I didn’t want you thinking about it for the whole sermon, is Judy Duvall. Many of y’all knew her much, much better than I did, as I only met her once, when we Christmas caroled at her house last year. The end of her obituary says, “In lieu of flowers, the family asks for you to love everyone you meet without conditions. Just, be kind to one another.  She would have wanted that.”[2] Love reverberates out and spreads. Kindness is contagious. It’s like the story of the passenger smiling at the taxi driver who then smiles at a lady walking by who then arrives cheerfully at work. The reverberations keep going. And not just in this day and age but also at this time of year, make sure your reverberations of full of love and kindness. People are more stressed. People feel more pressure with 4th quarter and end-of-year reports. People are busier with holiday gatherings and events. We’ve got to-do lists that are a mile long and what feels like very limited time to get them done. What happens when overwhelmed people meet overwhelmed people? Raised voices, miscommunication, and hurt feelings. And those spread to the next people they interact with. Instead, find your favorite Christmas music and sing along. OUT LOUD. Take a deep breath before responding because what feels like a criticism may be intended just as a comment. Choose to be kind and gracious. Assume the best of others. Love them unconditionally and let those reverberations spread out from you. And lest you forget, this isn’t just giving off good vibes. These are reverberations of love that come from the deep joy that you’re connecting to during this season. We talked last week about that being why we do many of the traditions and rituals during Advent: because they’re a way to tap into the deep joy of knowing you’re unconditionally loved and accepted; because it’s time to draw near to God, who is drawing near to us in this baby about to be born. Repeat the sounding joy. Connect to that well of deep joy and love found in Jesus and share it, with everyone you meet. Have more patience in the parking lot and on the roads and in the store. Greet people you don’t know with a smile and a welcome, as if you’re about to invite them over to your house. Feel the loving joy that runs through your very being. And repeat the sounding joy of God’s radical love for all people.


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Hopeful Joy


1st Sunday of Advent
December 1, 2019
Isaiah 2:1-5; Romans 13:11-14

            There is a movie coming out on Christmas Day about World War I called “1917.” The first lines in the preview are from the actor Benedict Cumberbatch who plays Colonel Mackenzie. He says, “I had hoped that today might be a good day. Hope is a dangerous thing.” Hope is a dangerous thing. There are times when we don’t dare to hope, because we don’t want to risk being disappointed. There are times when we don’t want to get our hopes up, because we’re trying to be realistic. Yet it seems reasonable to hope that today might be a good day. Now, what happens when we combine hope with joy? Our theme for this Advent is joy, as we’re celebrating the 300th anniversary of “Joy to the World.” When we add joy to hope, what does it look like? What does it feel like? Joy that is hopeful is active. It looks like a smile and an upturned face. It’s expectant and anticipatory, much like many of us are sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner or like little kids on Christmas morning. Hopeful joy.
            This is joy that cultivates and nurtures hope. Take a look at our Isaiah reading for an example. Isaiah chapter 1 is a realistic picture of what’s actually going on in Judah – violence, bribery, unfaithfulness, desolation, trampling on the poor. God’s people not following God’s laws. God calls for repentance, tells the people to “Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of those who have no one to speak for them. Plead the case of the poor.”[1] Yet by and large, God’s people are rebelling against God, doing as they please, and criticizing those who need help. That’s chapter 1. So chapter 2 feels almost like Isaiah is starting over again: “That’s what I observed right in front me. Now this is the vision that the Lord gave me of what will happen in the days to come. People of every nation will stream to Mt. Zion, God’s holy mountain, including those who were enemies of Israel and Judah. God’s word will go forth from Jerusalem; God will judge between the nations. The people will be transformed by this teaching. Can you see it? They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.” This is where joy cultivates hope. It looks like a temple high on a mountain that all people come to and where weapons of violence are turned into tools for cultivation and farming. That’s a vision of hope, and not just of hope but of hopeful joy.
All people coming together. That’s been one of my guiding visions for my ministry, although I usually draw on Revelation 7 where John’s vision describes all people, from every nation, tribe, people and language, coming together to worship God together. It’s a vision of hopeful joy. All people coming together. And regardless of differences, worshiping God together. And adding in Isaiah 2, not just worshiping together but also offering up their weapons, placing them on God’s altar, and receiving back those same instruments now transformed into plows and shovels and rakes and hoes. It sounds like good news for our community. If we were to offer up violent words and actions that do harm, whether they’re intended to or not, and receive back tools for nurturing and cultivating. What would our community look like then? What would our church look like? That’s a vision worth pursuing. And it is a dangerous thing, because the enemy does not want us to have hope. Satan doesn’t want us to change or to be more purposeful in our actions. The enemy doesn’t want us to come together. He’d rather we stuck with violence, with racism and sexism, with divisions. That’s why this vision of hopeful joy is dangerous: because it can change the world.
            And doesn’t our world need changing? Doesn’t our world need hope? We know things are not as they should be or could be. Christian author Sarah Bessey wrote a blogpost last week called “Does Advent even matter when the world is on fire?”[2] She writes, “How do we celebrate or ‘get cozy’ or turn towards Christmas when our hearts are broken by Syria’s refugees, by Hong Kong’s protests, by Brexit, by the U.S.A. impeachment proceedings and detention camps, by broken treaties, by one another? When, in response to every crisis, our communities seem splintered and divided even in how to bind up each other’s wounds and careless words are flung like rocks at our own glass houses? When perhaps we are lonely or bored or tired or sick or broke or afraid? When we are grieving and sad? In these days, celebration can seem callous and uncaring, if not outright impossible. But here’s the thing: we enter into Advent precisely because we are paying attention.” Advent is a season of hope and anticipation. It is hope in the midst of all that’s going on. Hope knows that all is not as it should be. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have hope for something better. You don’t hope for peace when life is calm. You hope for peace when there is conflict and violence. We celebrate this season of Advent because we know that all is not as it should be.
            My new favorite Advent song is called “Waiting for You” by The Many. It begins, “The earth cries out/ Nothing feels right/ The world cries out/ No justice in sight/ Fires burning everywhere/ Too many, too hot, too bright/ We are waiting for you. We are waiting for you. We are waiting for that Gloria in excelsis Deo, Gloria in excelsis Deo,” that chorus from “Angels We Have Heard on High.” We’re waiting for Christmas and for the angels to sing again. We’re waiting for Jesus to be born again. We’re waiting for all to be made right with the world. Yet we don’t passively wait, sit back and put our feet up. Mark down the days on our Advent calendar. No, hopeful joy is active. And so finding joy, choosing joy, and recognizing things that spark joy is how we act out hopeful joy.
One good way to connect to that deep joy, where joy always lives, whether we’re tapped into it or not, is through rituals. This is a time of year that has a lot of rituals. Decorating for Christmas, which some of our neighbors did well before Thanksgiving. Putting up the Christmas tree. Playing your favorite Christmas music. Participating in our community cantata. Going Christmas caroling. Going to the horse parade. Baking Christmas cookies. Decorating gingerbread houses. Coming to worship during Advent as we light one more candle each week and Christmas Eve worship. These are all activities that have become traditions for so many of us because they help us tap into that well of deep joy. We do them each year, not usually out of a sense of obligation, but because we feel happy when we do them. They bring us joy. They are life-giving. We do these rituals each year because they’re a way to act out our hope, because they are places where joy lives. They help our hope turn into reality.  
            Our Romans reading this morning begins by saying, “You know what time it is.” And we respond by thinking, yes, we know what time it is. The busiest time of the year. The time I make a super long checklist to get everything ready. The time when I don’t want to schedule one more thing or commit myself to one more thing. The time when I have lots of shopping to do. Or, I don’t have to shop, but there are too many good sales to pass up. So, it’s time to spend money. But that’s not at all what Paul is getting at. We don’t read this passage about what time it is on the first Sunday of Advent because the time is the holiday season! Paul’s not saying wake up and go shopping! Paul’s saying, wake up from complacency. Wake up from accepting the status quo. Wake up from hopelessness. Wake up from the little things you do that cause or further division. Wake up and get dressed, not to go participate in capitalism but to go participate in God’s work of loving the world, bringing hope, sparking joy. “Paul knows what time it is: it is time to wake up and look forward to what God will do in the future and what God is beginning to do now in your life and mine.” It’s not time to go through the motions of Advent and Christmas. If that’s what you’re doing, if long-honored traditions are no longer bringing you hope or connecting you to deep joy, then don’t do them anymore. Find new traditions that do spark hope and joy. You’re allowed to do things differently and stop doing things that are life-draining. If a family member takes issue with it, then tell them just that. That old tradition doesn’t bring me joy anymore, it’s actually extremely draining, and so I thought I’d try this instead. And chances are, they will say ok. Your favorites are allowed to change. Your traditions are allowed to change.
            What time is it? Time to connect yourself to deep joy. Time to be hopeful, not just in attitude but in your words and actions. Time to actively live into that vision of hope. Hope is a dangerous thing. Nobody likes to be disappointed. Colonel Mackenzie has to hope the message gets there in time to stop 1,600 soldiers from walking into a trap. What do you see? Not just what’s right in front you, but what do you see that could be? What’s the vision you see? Do you see what I see?

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Tuesday, November 26, 2019

Kind of King


Christ the King Sunday
November 24, 2019
Jeremiah 23:1-6; Colossians 1:11-20; Luke 23:33-43

The kingship of Christ tends to rub our American sensibilities the wrong way. Our ancestors fought a way to get away from a king and set up a different kind of government where power was shared and with a system of checks and balances. We’re really not sure about kings today, unless they’re figureheads, like many of the world’s remaining monarchs, or they’re the fathers of Disney princesses like King Triton and…, well, how many Disney kings can you name? Even in fairytale kingdoms, they’re still mostly figureheads. And I think that’s why we have trouble relating to and understanding Jesus Christ as King. If he’s like the kings of old, we’re not sure we want him to have all the power and none for us. Or, if he’s a figurehead, he’s basically pretty useless and powerless. I was reading this past week a book that suggested that part of why so many of our churches are having trouble moving forward are because so many people who claim to be Christian are actually functional atheists. The accusation stung, especially this sentence: “Instead of believing in the manna that came from God’s hand, the church learned to set its own table and provide its own feast.”[1] As in, we think we have to produce all the resources (people, dollars, and influence) in order to make ministry happen. We believe we have to provide it! That’s functional atheism. It’s acting as if God doesn’t exist. As if God doesn’t provide. As if God doesn’t give us enough. The truth is God provided manna for the Israelites in the wilderness, enough for each day, and God provides enough for us, too, our daily bread. Christ the King is not a powerless figurehead. He is all-powerful, almighty – the difference from the kings of history is that he doesn’t abuse his power. Instead of using it to oppress people, he uses it to lift up the lowly.
Let’s start with our Gospel lesson this morning. The place is Golgotha, which means the Skull, also called Calvary. The scene is Jesus’ crucifixion. Jesus is hung on the middle cross and there is a criminal hung on a cross on each side of him. Jesus is mocked three times that this King of the Jews cannot save himself. Because kings are supposed to be powerful, right? And yet this king’s power is called into question, not just once but three times. What they don’t know is that by not saving only himself, this king can now save everyone. But before he gets there, look closer at what King Jesus does right before he dies. In Luke’s Gospel, this is Jesus’s last action before dying. He forgives. This is a King who forgives. First, he forgives those who crucified him! On your death bed, and you forgive what’s causing you to die. Some people do. Some people are at peace with it. “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” They think they know what they’re doing. They think they’ve got this troublemaker, this person who would dare to defy the Roman Empire, this self-proclaimed blasphemer Son of God right where they want him. They don’t know what they’re doing. And even in agony and pain from the nails in his hands and his feet, because crucifixion is truly a painful way to die, Jesus forgives them. That’s what kind of King he is.
But he’s not just done there! Then there are these two actual criminals on each side of him, who know that their actions deserve punishing. One man joins in the mockery of Jesus’s power, “If you are who you say you are, if you are the Messiah, the Savior” (can you hear the sarcasm?), “then save yourself and us.” Before Jesus can respond, the other man criticizes him, calls him out on his functional atheism, because the first man does not truly believe that Jesus can save him. The second man points out that the two of them are getting what they deserve whereas Jesus is not. Jesus is innocent. And he says those beautiful words, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” This second man is a believer, and he recognizes that Jesus is the Christ, the Savior, the King. Jesus says yes, in effect forgiving this man who’s on the cross next to him, whose sins needed forgiving. That’s the kind of King Jesus is. He didn’t come for the do-gooders, for those who are sinless. As Jesus says earlier in Luke’s Gospel, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”[2] And he’s doing it even here, on the cross.
Another description of that is found in our Colossians reading this morning. It said, God “has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.”[3] God saved us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into Jesus’s kingdom. It’s like that great verse from Isaiah that we read during Advent, “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.”[4] We move from the kingdom of darkness and sin, where those things are in control and have power, to Jesus’ kingdom of light and love and forgiveness, where Jesus is King.
To add in our Jeremiah reading, Jesus is “a king who will reign wisely and do what is right and just.” Jesus is a King who gathers the flock, who seeks us out, and invites us to come back to the fold. Come home. It’s like that old hymn, “Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, calling for you and for me; see on the portals he’s watching and waiting, watching for you and for me. Come home, come home; you who are weary, come home; earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling, calling O sinner, come home!”[5] That’s the kind of king Jesus is. He does not force you. He does not say my way or the highway. He says, “This is the way that leads to life.” He says, “Follow me if you believe God’s kingdom is at hand.” He says, “I want you with me, in my kingdom. I like having you with me. You are important to me.” He says, “You do not need to be afraid any longer. You do not need to run or hide any longer. I love you.” This is the kind of king Jesus is: the kind who knows your name; the kind who will leave his throne and personally come find you; the kind who loves you no matter what and says there’s always a place for you at his table. This is a different kind of king than the world has ever experienced.
This is a king of love, as we sang in our middle hymn. And not only are we to feel and know the security and comfort of this king’s love and forgiveness and belonging, we are also to emulate this king. We are to love others as Jesus loves us. We are to forgive others as we have been forgiven (that’s actually part of the Lord’s Prayer!). We are to make space for others at our table. We are not part of a clique or a country club, we’re the church! We’re a hospital for sinners: you, me, everyone who walks through that door or turns down our driveway. This should be a safe space, where you are not judged or critiqued because of your sin or your looks or anything else! This should be a safe space, where all feel welcome and heard and included and safe. That’s what it means to share the love of Jesus. That’s what it means to be rooted in Christ, rooted in Jesus’ love, in order to nurture our community from that unending well of love. Christ the King isn’t a figurehead and we who bear his name as Christian shouldn’t function as atheists. Our words and our actions should proclaim Jesus as the Lord of our lives, Lord of our church, Lord of our country, and Lord of our world! Too many of us, and I’m talking to you inside these walls, not to those out there, too many of us here don’t live that way. We think our actions are what save us. We think we need to go find other resources than what God has already given us. Beloved, others aren’t going to save us. That work has already been done, on a hill far away. Jesus could have climbed down from the cross and saved only himself. Wouldn’t the people loved to have seen that! Instead, he stayed so that all could be saved, so that all sins could be forgiven, so that all might know how much God loves them.
As you go forth this week, as you sit around Thanksgiving tables, add an extra chair and place setting, so that you’re ready for one more. If you know someone who may not have a table to join, invite them to yours. It’s better to have ten invitations than zero. Remember, Jesus seeks out the lost and the lonely. That’s part of the work he invites us to join him in. And in today’s world, there are more lonely people than ever. I was talking with some of my clergy colleagues who also serve this area and it was mentioned that while some people move to this area to be alone, to live a little more secluded, to have more space, one unintended consequence is that sometimes they then become more lonely. Being alone can be good or bad or neutral. Being lonely means that you want someone to notice you, to see you, to include you. The Beatles wrote “Eleanor Rigby,” “look at all the lonely people,” over 50 years ago, and it’s more true today than it was then. This week, seek someone out. Include someone. Invite someone. Entertain angels unawares, as the book of Hebrews says of welcoming strangers. And if you’re the one feeling lonely, this is my invitation to you, call me. Come to my house for lunch today. Or let’s meet for coffee or lunch next week.
The other hymn I was thinking of while writing this sermon is the one called “Freely, Freely.” It’s 389 in your red hymnal. I invite you to join me in singing. “God forgave my sin in Jesus' name, I've been born again in Jesus' name, And in Jesus' name I come to you, To share His love as He told me to. He said freely, freely, You have received, Freely, freely give, Go in My name, And because you believe, Others will know that I live. All pow'r is giv'n in Jesus' name, In earth and heav'n in Jesus' name, And in Jesus' name I come to you, To share His pow'r as He told me to. He said freely, freely, You have received, Freely, freely give, Go in My name, And because you believe, Others will know that I live.”

[1] Quietly Courageous: Leading the Church in a Changing World by Gil Rendle, p. 77
[2] Luke 5:31-32
[3] Colossians 1:13-14
[4] Isaiah 9:2
[5] UMH 348

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Thursday, November 14, 2019

Courage


22nd Sunday after Pentecost
November 10, 2019
Haggai 1:15b-2:9; 2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17

            You may have noticed a theme in the All Saints songs we sang last week, something that’s spelled out in the All Saints song we sang this morning: saints are patient and brave and true. Every song about saints talks about how they are bold and courageous. The passage in the Bible we tend to think about when we hear the phrase “strong and courageous” is when the Israelites are getting ready to enter the Promised Land. Their 40 years of wandering in the wilderness is at an end. Moses sinned and his punishment is that he’s not allowed to lead the people across the border. In one of his last speeches, he tells the new leader Joshua, in front of all the people, “Be strong and courageous, for you must go with this people into the land that the Lord promised to their ancestors to give them, and you must divide it among them as their inheritance. The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”[1] Those are Moses’ parting words as he passes the torch of leadership to Joshua. Then, after Moses dies, the Lord speaks to Joshua and says, “[Get ready to cross the Jordan River into the Promised Land.] As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you. Be strong and courageous, because you will lead these people to inherit the land I swore to their ancestors to give them. Be strong and very courageous. Be careful to obey all the law my servant Moses gave you; do not turn from it to the right or to the left, that you may be successful wherever you go… Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”[2] Three times, be strong and courageous, and that reminder to not be afraid, because the Lord your God is always with you.
            This is the same refrain that the Lord tells Haggai hundreds of years later as Haggai prepares his people for something new. If you remember, Israel lived in the Promised Land for quite some time, ruled by judges and then kings. The kingdom split after King Solomon and into Israel in the north and Judah in the south. Then came the conquering armies: first the Assyrians who conquered Israel and later the Babylonians who conquered Judah. God’s people were taken into exile and their homes destroyed. The prophets stayed with God’s people throughout the exile, like Jeremiah who told the people to settle down in exile and build homes there and have families. The exile lasted about 70 years when “King Cyrus of Persia announced that the peoples who had earlier been exiled by the Babylonians could return to their homelands. They could settle in, rebuild, and worship as they wished. Persia would retain ultimate control, but Judea would have some modicum of say in the everyday order. So, exiled Judeans, though mostly their descendants, returned to Jerusalem and set about the difficult work of rebuilding a city. It was not a wholly peaceful time as those who returned had conflict with those who had remained among the rubble and those who had moved in during the interim” (like Nehemiah who had gone back to rebuild the wall and the city gate).[3] One big source of conflict was rebuilding the temple. The original one had been built by King Solomon and was a thing of grandeur and beauty. It was destroyed when Babylon invaded. Rebuilding has begun, but some people think it’s moving too fast, they can’t afford it yet.
Haggai is the first prophet after the exile and his book is only two chapters long. In chapter 1, he reminds the people that they have homes and are quickly acquiring wealth. Surely they must have something for their God, too. They built their houses; it’s time to build a house of worship, too. Yes, they can afford it. In fact, they can’t afford not to.
In chapter 2, what we read this morning, the word of the Lord came to Haggai and said, “Go talk to Zerubbabel, the governor, go talk to Joshua, (different Joshua), this one is the high priest, and go talk to the people. There are a few who still remember the old temple in all its glory. To them, the new temple does not seem enough: big enough, fancy enough, good enough. Tell them to take courage, to be strong, and work, for I am with you and my Spirit remains among you. Do not be afraid!” That mandate to be courageous is repeated three times, just like with Joshua getting ready to enter the Promised Land. This time, it’s rebuilding God’s temple, which is going to look different than before, and God commands, “Take courage, Zerubbabel, the governor. Take courage, Joshua, the high priest. And take courage, all my people, and get to work.” Do it, anyway. It doesn’t matter whether you don’t think you have enough resources. It’s not going to be like Solomon’s temple, anyway. That was then, this is now. Now, rebuilding this temple represents your priorities and your allegiance to God who sustains you. Be brave, be strong. Don’t get sucked into the mindset of scarcity and not enough. There is enough. You have all you need. So be strong and courageous and bold, and get to work.
Our reading from 2 Thessalonians is similar in this way to Haggai. These Christians in the early church believed that God could do anything, but they were doing nothing to help.[4] They were just passively waiting for Jesus’ return, which the early church believed would be soon. In the meantime, all they wanted to do was watch and cheer from the sidelines. They were unwilling and hesitant to get involved in the church. It’s like an end of the world scenario, right? The end is coming, so why bother with anything? Some people turn into the “frozen chosen,” even though God says to keep working. As we read in Luke, “God is not God of the dead but of the living.”[5] So, Paul told the early Christians to stand firm and be encouraged and strengthened. God is with you. God says that great things are going to happen and that your help is needed. So, be strong and courageous and get to work!
There are times when we’re afraid to take that next step, whether it’s entering the Promised Land or rebuilding or getting more involved. I was talking with a colleague last week about that moment between when I get ready to preach, and I open my mouth. It’s terrifying. But I trust that what I’ve prepared was inspired by the Holy Spirit. I trust that the Holy Spirit can work through me and my nervousness and my flaws and the limits of language. And I trust that you will hear the Word from God that you need to hear today, if you are open to receiving it, whether it’s something I actually say or not. I take a deep breath, and I just do it. There’s a reason why Nike was so effective with that slogan. It’s about overcoming fear. It’s about being courageous and brave. And that’s what God calls us to do, too. To have courage to live. To have courage to do what we know we need to do. It goes back to that passage from Hebrews I quoted last week about how because all the saints surround us, this great cloud of witnesses, then we can throw off everything that hinders us, like fear, and run the race set before us.
Sometimes we need the courage to face the fact that life is different than it used to be and there’s no going back. It’s not going to be like it was before a major medical diagnosis or a natural disaster or job loss or any other major life event. The new temple isn’t going to be like the old one, so it’s not helpful to compare the present to the past, which we usually idolize, anyway, rose-colored glasses and all that. The past isn’t usually as great as we think it was. Have courage to live in the present and have hope for the future. Trust it will be ok. In this case, comparing the present with how things used to be isn’t helpful; in fact, it’s downright harmful. Because this is a new time. Today is a new day, one we’ve never seen before and a day we’ll never see again. Today, will you be bold and courageous? Will you live into your calling as a saint of God, to be patient and brave and true? Will you have courage to face whatever it is you need to face, knowing, deep within you, that God is with you? That’s the meaning of Emmanuel, which we’ll hear and sing more about next month during Advent as we prepare for the coming of our Savior.
            This morning I’d like to end a little differently. I’d like to ask you to reflect first on last week and when last week did you have to be courageous. [Pause.] Then, where this week do you need courage? [Pause.] Now, turn to your neighbor and tell them so that they can pray for you. After each of you shares, I expect you each to pray for each other.


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Tuesday, November 5, 2019

Inheritance


All Saints Sunday
November 3, 2019
Ephesians 1:11-23; Luke 6:20-31

            In 2003, a new book burst on the fantasy/sci-fi scene, similar to Lord of the Rings and Star Wars. The big difference was that the author was only 20 years old and had started writing the book at age 15. The book, “Eragon,” is the first book in a four-book series called the Inheritance Cycle, and it tells the story of an orphaned farm boy named Eragon, who finds a mysterious blue stone in the woods. The stone turns out to be a dragon egg, and the series follows the adventures of Eragon and his dragon as they fight against the evil king and Eragon learns of his true inheritance. His parents had not simply abandoned him to be raised by his aunt and uncle, as he’d believed. His father was a famous dragon rider who’d gone into hiding and his mother had died shortly after his birth. Eragon becomes a famous dragon rider in his own right, although there is no happy ever after in this story. At the end, Eragon and his dragon leave their home to go train with other riders and dragons elsewhere.
            How many times have we received an inheritance that we’re not even aware of? I remember a friend in my early 20s who, after meeting my mom, pointed out that I sit the exact same way that she does. It’s easy to identify the physical things that we inherit because we can see them and hold them, like a piece of jewelry. It’s easy to see in my children the abilities they’ve inherited, from my daughter’s art skills that are already better than mine (she gets them from her dad) to my son’s love of baseball and throwing arm, that goes back generations on my dad’s side of the family. It can be harder to name the things we can’t touch, the things we can’t see. Here in the church, we have received an inheritance, also, with some tangible pieces, like a church building, and some pieces that are intangible, like our faith. We have received an inheritance that spans 2,000 years of church history, and even longer when you consider the whole story of God and God’s people, going back to creation. 
Did you know that the first definition of tradition isn’t “a long established way of acting and thinking” and it’s not “a continuing pattern of cultural beliefs and practices”? Tradition, at its root, is “the handing down of statements, beliefs, legends, customs, information, from generation to generation.” The root is Latin, “traditio,” which means to hand on. Our inheritance in the Church is something that’s been handed on to us, the next generation. I’m sure most of us can name people in our lives who were instrumental in our receiving this inheritance. Sunday school teachers, godparents, pastors, other adults in the church all taught us about our faith and showed us how to live our faith. They passed it on to us. The Church is a living tradition as each subsequent generation inherits the faith and tradition of those who have gone before. Does it mean we do it exactly the same? No. Each generation practices it in their own way. It’s the same inheritance being pass on, the same Christian faith. Yet it looks a lot different to be a Christian today than it did 50 years ago, and different from 150 years ago, and different during the Protestant Reformation and different during the Middle Ages and different in the early church. Same faith, same inheritance passed on from generation to generation, and the origin of it is Christ.
In Ephesians we read, “In Christ we have received an inheritance.” The version we read this morning says that “in Christ, we were chosen.” Chosen for what? To receive an inheritance. And the pledge of our inheritance, the sign of it, the guarantee or down payment of our inheritance is the Holy Spirit. Verse 13 says, “When you believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit.” What’s that mean? When you were baptized, wherever it was, the pastor made the sign of the cross on your forehead, marking you and sealing you as Christ’s own forever. And the Holy Spirit was present there at your baptism, sanctifying the water, making it holy. If you are baptized, then you have received this inheritance that was marked by the Holy Spirit. If you’re not baptized and feel the Spirit nudging you that you’d like to be, give me a call this week and let’s talk, because this is the inheritance waiting for you.
Now, let’s talk about the why. Why do we receive this inheritance? Or perhaps, why does God through Christ Jesus and the Holy Spirit offer this inheritance to us? So that you may know hope. Paul tells the Ephesians, “I pray that the eyes of your heart may be opened in order that you may know the hope to which God has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people, and his incomparably great power for us who believe.” God has called you to hope. This is the glorious inheritance of God’s people. That in the face of loss, in the face of suffering, in the face of tragedy and evil, we might still have hope. We know that death is not the end. That’s part of why we celebrate All Saints every year. We know that there is this great cloud of witnesses that surrounds us and encourages us and supports us and nurtures us. And this great cloud is both people here present with us as well as those who have gone before us.
Kate Bowler was finishing her doctorate in church history at Duke while I was in seminary there. Not long after we each graduated, she was diagnosed with stage IV cancer. She’s about my age. She has a son right around my daughter’s age. In the midst of dealing with all of it, she wrote a book to her son that she considered to be a goodbye letter. It’s called “Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Lies I’ve Loved”; it’s good, it’s short, I highly recommend it. Well, she’s still around, she’s received tenure at Duke, and she’s begun a podcast called “Everything Happens,” interviewing people about what they’ve learned during dark times. One of these was a father whose two year old daughter died in a random tragedy and one of the things he said that has stuck with me is that “just because there isn’t a body doesn’t mean there isn’t a relationship.”[1] Just because there isn’t a body, just because a person has died, doesn’t mean you don’t still have a relationship with that person. Many of you know that my last grandparent died this fall. Does this mean I’m no longer a granddaughter or that my grandparents are no longer my grandparents? No! It changes the relationship but it does not eliminate the relationship. Furthermore, I believe I’ll see my grandparents again in heaven. They are still part of the great cloud of witnesses that surrounds me, that surrounds us. That never changed.
And continuing in Hebrews, where that great cloud of witnesses is found, it says because they surround us and support us and nurture us, let us throw off everything that hinders us, get rid of everything that gets in the way, and run with perseverance the race that is set before us. Last week Paul said he had finished the race, he had fought the good fight, he had kept the faith. He knew his time was near and he was reflecting back on what he had done with his inheritance. He’s now part of that great cloud of witnesses and because we have this long history of the Church, because we have all these saints who have gone before us, we can keep the faith, too. We can run the race that is set before us, encouraged and with determination.
Also, because we have received this inheritance, we have a responsibility to hand it on, also. The tradition doesn’t stop here with us. The Church doesn’t end here, with us. We are here to pass it on to the next generation. And in case you haven’t noticed, Millenials are now all grown up. I’m talking about the next generation, which I’ve heard called Generation Alpha. We went through X, Y, and Z, and now what’s old is new again. One of my mom’s favorite hymns, to speak of things inherited, is one by Charles Wesley called “A Charge to Keep I Have.” It begins, “A charge to keep I have, a God to glorify, a never-dying soul to save, and fit it for the sky. To serve the present age, my calling to fulfill, O may it all my pow'rs engage to do my Master's will!”[2] This is our charge, too. Our job is to hand on the story, the old, old story of Jesus and his love, and the next generation will tell it in their own new way. Even that hymn, “I Love to Tell the Story,” recognizes that the story gets told in repeatedly new ways. It ends, “And when, in scenes of glory, I sing the new, new song, ’Twill be the old, old story, That I have loved so long.”[3] It’s going to take on different forms, and that’s ok. It’s for the sake of keeping the story alive. It’s because we serve a God who is ever doing a new thing. Our brains are trained to notice what’s different and be alarmed by it. However, each generation has always done things their own way. Church in 50 years isn’t going to look like church today, and that’s a good thing. Our job is to pass along the message in a way that the next generation will receive it. The form does not matter so much. In fact, sometimes the form can get in the way of the message.
We have received an inheritance that we are to pass on. We are the saints for the next generation of Christians. We’re only here because of those who have gone before us. And this isn’t an inheritance that can get used up and once it’s gone, it’s gone. Oh no. We pass on the same inheritance, the same story of Jesus and his love. It’s made a difference in your life. I know I would not be up here if not for the inheritance I received and for the saints who have gone before, nurturing, teaching, encouraging, and loving me.  So, let us rejoice in God’s saints and thank God for them!
Lisbon UMC altar on All Saints Sunday 2019

[1] Jayson Greene: The Language of Grief, on “Everything Happens” with Kate Bowler, https://katebowler.com/podcasts/jayson-greene-the-language-of-grief/
[2] UMH 413
[3] UMH 156

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