confession – Salvaged Faith

Sing! Play! Summer! – Chainbreaker

Posted on June 16, 2019Leave a comment

Text: Isaiah 58:6-9, Psalm 107:10-16

For the first 20 or so years of my life, I understood salvation as one concrete idea: that Jesus died for my sin on the cross.
Substitutionary Atonement is what we call it. Jesus took our place. He was our substitute and paid the price for our sins so we could go to heaven.
But before too long, I discovered that I was terribly mistaken.
Not about Jesus dying for our sins.
But about thinking that was all salvation meant.

In its fullest sense, “Salvation is ‘God’s deliverance of those in a situation of need… resulting in their restoration to wholeness.’ It is restoration because salvation does not offer something new; it is God’s original intent for creation.” (Introduction, The Lord is Our Salvation)
The best word I can find to describe that original intent, the life that God intends for each of us is the word shalom.
It means completeness, wholeness, well-being.
And God’s work of salvation in Jesus Christ rescues us from whatever hell we might experience in our lives that has destroyed shalom, so we might experience life and life abundant once again.

Christ dying and paying the price for our sins is one piece of that work of salvation. But it isn’t the only one.
In fact, in the Western world, there are three major understandings of what the cross means, all different ways of talking about how Jesus saves us.
These are called atonement theories.
They describe how we become at-one again with God… how we are brought back into shalom… how we experience wholeness once again.
The first is the one most of us grew up being familiar with – a Forensic understanding of salvation. These theories say we are like a defendant on trial and have been found guilty of breaking our covenant with God. So, a penalty must be paid. Jesus knows we are guilty and out of love, pays the price for us. He satisfies the debt we owe.
The second is called Moral Example. This grouping of theories claims that the cross is the natural outcome of the life of Jesus, who spoke truth to power and dared to love those who society rejected. And in his life and death, Christ shows us how we should live, too.
The third of the major groupings is called “Christus Victor” – Christ as the Victor! This theory talks about an eternal battle between the forces of this world… good and evil, life and death, abundance and scarcity. We find ourselves trapped and imprisoned by sin and destruction, but Christ comes to set us free and restore us to wholeness.

In Psalm 107, this story of God’s redeeming love is told.
Some wandered away and found themselves lost and starving, but God rescued them from their trouble and led them back home.
Some were foolish and stumbled down a destructive path, but God rescued them from death itself and healed them.
Some set out to make their own way and their own pride became their cage, but God rescued them and brought them out of their distress to safety.
And some became prisoners, sitting in darkness, suffering in iron chains because they rebelled against God’s commands. But God rescued them and broke away their chains.

We were lost, but now are found.
We were trapped by addiction, but now we are free.
We were dragged down by our addiction, but we have been lifted up.
We were drowning in our fears, but we have been brought back to the shoreline.
We needed freedom and saving, but we’ve got a prison-shaking Savior.

For a couple of years now, we have been singing, Chainbreaker, in our contemporary worship service. Written by Zach Williams, it captures those redemptive stories of Psalm 107 and invites each of us to tell the story of how God has invited us into a better life.
Williams had been doing prison ministry through his church and wanted to speak to what God had been doing through the lives of the people he worked with… but his own life as well.
He had found himself for years walking a dead-end road and kept hearing a voice that said he wasn’t going to make it. That he was a failure. That he wasn’t good enough.
And to be honest, that is all of us. We are not good enough. We are trapped by our own mistakes and failures. We buy into the lies of this world that tell us we cannot fully claim our identity. We let our worries and our addictions and our pride bind us up like chains.

As we say in our prayer of confession before communion:
We confess that we have not loved God with our whole heart.
We have failed to be an obedient church.
We have not done God’s will.
We have broken the law.
We have rebelled against God’s love
We have not loved our neighbors.

We are those prisoners, suffering in iron chains, sitting in darkness.

But then comes the line we pray after we ask for forgiveness:
Free us for joyful obedience.
Free us for joyful obedience.
Free us.

Williams found himself trapped by that voice in his life that told him he wasn’t good enough… until Christ came along and set him free from the weight of the guilt and the chains that he was carrying around.
He found a liberating freedom and joy in surrendering his life to Christ.
But he also realized that this freedom was not a personal gift.
No, it was meant to be shared.
And there is great joy and life that is found when we in turn head back out into this world to set others free.

In Isaiah chapter 58, the people have been trying to please God in their own way, but the prophet reminds them of what God wants from them.
This is the kind of fasting that God has chosen:
“to break the chains of injustice,
get rid of exploitation in the workplace,
free the oppressed, cancel debts.
What [God is] interested in seeing you do is:
sharing your food with the hungry,
inviting the homeless poor into your homes,
putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,
being available to your own families.
Do this and the lights will turn on, and your lives will turn around at once.”

This morning, we sent out volunteers from our church to be in mission in Memphis. As they make that long drive today, they are heading out to souls that are hungry and burdened and stuck.
Our friends and neighbors and family have the opportunity this week to tell their own stories of God’s saving love, but also help to break some chains themselves.

But you don’t have to go on a mission trip to joyfully obey God’s will.
Right here in Des Moines, you can help us tackle hunger with your food pantry donations.
You can work to honor the dignity of women and girls and speak out against human trafficking.
You can volunteer with local refugee support groups.
You can donate your funds to our annual Peace with Justice Sunday offering – which is used to help effect change in a broken world.
This offering is used to support ministries like a peace ministry on Arizona border communities and address civil rights violations in Liberia.
In North Georgia, it helped provide resources to help low-income students attend preschool.
Grants from this offering have supported the Alaska Innocence Project, that helps to exonerate wrongfully convicted individuals.

This is what God wants for us.
God wants to rescue us from the hell we experience in our lives.
Jesus wants to save us from our guilt and addiction, from our sin and temptation, from our fears and our failures.
And then the Holy Spirit empowers us to turn back around into our communities and neighborhoods so that we can help take away pain, make a way for the lost, and break the chains of all who need freedom.

The story of salvation… the story of how we are made at-one with God… is about far more than a personal debt being paid.
It is also the story of coming home… of finding our place… of being rescued from anything that holds us back so that we can be restored back into the abundant life of community God desires for us.
That better life that waits for us is not simply a heavenly destination beyond the grave…
There is a better life right here and right now, for all of us, because Christ has set us free.

We Have Found the Messiah

Posted on January 15, 2017Leave a comment

“I am not the Messiah”

That’s probably pretty obvious to all of you. Of course, I’m not the Messiah.

But I wasn’t talking about me.

These were the words of John the Baptist as he started his ministry.

He was out there, talking to people about the coming Kingdom of God, preaching, inviting people to repent… well, actually, doing things that I typically do as a pastor.

And people started to wonder about him.

Who are you?

Are you Elijah?

Are you a prophet?

Are you the Christ?

“I am not the Messiah” he answered.

“I’m just a voice, crying out in the wilderness, making the Lord’s path straight.”

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it might mean to make the Lord’s path straight and I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s really about making it easier for people to connect with God.

If you go back to the origins of the phrase from Isaiah, the Hebrew word used in this passage actually means to clear the land… to remove the rocks and roots and everything that gets in the way so that something new can be planted, so that something new can be done.

John was someone who was called to help clear out the obstacles that prevent people from experiencing God. To clear the way for God’s salvation.

And so in our passage today, we hear about what happens when the Messiah does show up. John is out there, doing his job and Jesus comes to be baptized… by him! He has this amazing experience and vision and realizes that THIS is the Messiah. THIS is the one they had been waiting for.

But John’s job isn’t finished.

No, John’s role is to keep pointing to Jesus, to keep making it easy for people to come and discover the Messiah for themselves.

And so the next day, John is hanging out with two of his own disciples. And when he sees Jesus walking by, he cries out: “Look! It’s the Lamb of God! That’s him! That’s the one I was telling you about!”

And so these two start to follow Jesus. And then they reach out and invite others to come and see. “We have found the Messiah!” they tell their friends and neighbors and siblings. “Come and see!”

In many ways, the beginnings of the church was a pyramid scheme.

You find one person, and that person finds two people, and then those two people each find two people, and then those two people… and before you know it, there are 2.2 billion followers of Jesus Christ in the world.

The question I want to explore this morning is how you and I are called to keep this church going. In many ways, our job is simple. We have found the Messiah! We don’t have to BE the Messiah. We don’t have to save this world all by ourselves. We don’t have to single handedly run this thing or be perfect or fulfill every obligation.

We have found the Messiah. We already have someone who can do that.

No, I think you and I have two jobs.

First, it is state loudly and clearly to all the world that “I am not the Messiah.”

Will you repeat that with me? “I am not the Messiah”

Let’s say it like we really mean it: “ I AM NOT THE MESSIAH.”

That might seem like a strange exercise, but the truth is, we aren’t perfect. We are totally unworthy of this calling. We will make mistakes all the time.

In fact, we are only 15 days into this year and I have already made a bunch of small mistakes and a couple of big ones. But I learn from them. I keep going. I try to grow and do better the next time. That is all that we can do.

One of my own failings is that sometimes I set the bar too high. And I’ve heard from some of you, who are overwhelmed that you don’t feel like you are good enough or can do enough for the church. And I’ve heard from some of you that you are burnt out and tired and trying to do all that you can, but you simply can’t do any more.

You know what? None of us are the Messiah.

None of us are good enough to be here. And we all have some kind of brokenness in our lives – be it a broken relationship or our bodies are broken and letting us down or we’ve broken promises to ourselves or others.

We aren’t perfect. And we aren’t supposed to be. We are not the Messiah.

But we ARE here today, because we think we have found the Messiah.

I am part of the church, not because it’s a community of perfect people who never make mistakes or let one another down, but because I believe that this is a place where broken people find healing.

I am part of the church because this is where I hear the stories of Jesus Christ and in the midst of the brokenness, I meet Jesus all the time.

Rachel Held Evans is a Christian writer and blogger and recent talked about why people come to church. And she said:

You can get a cup of coffee with your friends anywhere, but church is the only place you can get ashes smudged on your forehead as a reminder of your mortality. You can be dazzled by a light show at a concert on any given weekend, but church is the only place that fills a sanctuary with candlelight and hymns on Christmas Eve. You can snag all sorts of free swag for brand loyalty online, but church is the only place where you are named a beloved child of God with a cold plunge into the water. You can share food with the hungry at any homeless shelter, but only the church teaches that a shared meal brings us into the very presence of God.

What finally brought me back, after years of running away, wasn’t lattes or skinny jeans; it was the sacraments. Baptism, confession, Communion, preaching the Word, anointing the sick — you know, those strange rituals and traditions Christians have been practicing for the past 2,000 years. The sacraments are what make the church relevant, no matter the culture or era. They don’t need to be repackaged or rebranded; they just need to be practiced, offered and explained in the context of a loving, authentic and inclusive community. (https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/jesus-doesnt-tweet/2015/04/30/fb07ef1a-ed01-11e4-8666-a1d756d0218e_story.html?utm_term=.14f389a46dd4)

And so our second job is to make it easier for people to come and meet the Messiah. To clear the way. To invite our friends and neighbors and siblings to join us on this journey. To ask them to come and see what it is that we have found here: life in the midst of death, healing in the midst of struggle, hope in our despair, forgiveness in our mistakes.

Our Administrative Council has been wrestling over the last few months with what we want to set as goals for this church in 2017. And part of what we have been doing is looking forward as well to what God is calling us to as a church.

We’ve had a vision for the last four or five years to “Live a life, in Christ, of love, service, and prayer” and part of what I have been pushing them, and us, to think about is so what?

What is going to be different in this world because we have done so?

You know, the meaning of “salvation” is “to heal.” It is God’s deliverance of those in a situation of need, resulting in their restoration to wholeness.

Taking what is broken and making it whole.

That’s the business God is in.

What if that is the business we were called to be in?

We are not the Messiah, but we are here, because we have experienced God’s love, grace, and healing power.

So what if we lived in such a way, if we loved in such a way, if we served in such a way, if we prayed in such a way that we could clear a path for others to come and find Jesus here, too.

In a few minutes, we are going to take a moment to remember our baptism. We are going to remember that we have been saved and healed and are being made whole by the Lord Jesus Christ.

And part of this rememberance is being honest about just how fall we have fallen short. We have ALL fallen short. None of us are perfect. We are not the Messiah.

But we will also be invited to make anew some promises to God.

Because, we might not be the Messiah, but we, the church, believe that God can use us and use our gifts to help make it easier for others to come and find Jesus, too.

And so our covenant prayer simply places our lives in God’s hands. It invites us to remember that we are not the Savior, but that we are willing to let God work in our lives this year.

I am not the Messiah.

You are not the Messiah.

But we have found the Messiah.

Thanks be to God.

The Beloved Community

Posted on August 7, 2016Leave a comment

Today, we enter the world of Micah… a prophet from the late 8^th century… just over 700 years before Christ.

And to put ourselves in Micah’s shoes, I want you to imagine with me for a moment a world that is under great stress.

Imagine pressure coming from an aggressive empire or state that believes their success is determined by how far they expand their influence and power and who will stop at nothing to do so.

Imagine attacks upon nations’ capitols. Imagine an influx of refugees. Imagine increased social stresses. Imagine those attacks that were far away and in other places suddenly taking place in your own homeland.

Maybe we don’t really have to imagine, do we.

Like Isaiah, Micah wrote from the Southern Kingdom, Judah, and witnessed the downfall of the Northern Kingdom, Israel. And also like Isaiah, there are sections of this short book of scripture that seem to come from AFTER the time of Judah’s own destruction and exile two hundred years later, possibly updated by others.

And that is because Micah, like so many of our prophets, is lifting up a timeless theme that is just as relevant today as it was 2700 years ago. We, too, could update the names of nations and rulers and find ourselves right here in this text, right now.

The judgments and accusations against Samaria… against Jerusalem… those capital cities of these ancient nations… they could be leveled against Washington, D.C. or Des Moines, Iowa as well.

So let us hear them… Let us hear these judgments and lift up our confession

We seek God in all the wrong places (1:5)… like Pastor Jennifer said last week, we often turn to everything but God in order to fill that God-shaped hole in our heart. Whether it is the abuse of drugs or sex, Netflix binges or self-help books, we have a spiritual hunger that we seek to fill in so many ways EXCEPT by seeking God. Forgive us, O God.

We exploit the work of others and we tear down their homes… even the meager homes and tents of the most vulnerable among us (2:1-2). Here in Des Moines, we know the homeless are among us and yet our official city policy is to keep evicting the homeless camps, knowing that there is nowhere else for these people to go. We do not have enough beds and shelter spaces or a long-term strategy in place. Forgive us, O God.

We turn to prophets who say all the things we want to hear, instead of what we need to hear (2:11). I think one of the biggest symptoms of this is the echo chambers we find ourselves in… only paying attention to the news or science or reports that we agree with and only being friends with those who share our opinions. Forgive us, O God.

Our public officials who should guard justice are corrupt and take advantage of the very people they should be serving (3:2-3). No matter which sides of the political spectrum we are on, we recognize politics is a dirty business. Unlike the political landscape of Micah’s day, we live in a democracy and have the unprecedented opportunity to hold our public officials accountable through our votes and yet, so often we choose not to exercise that right. Forgive us, O God.

The pastors and religious leaders serve the highest bidder, yet claim to be serving and proclaiming God’s will (3:11). Too often, our religious leaders try to whittle all of scripture down to a single issue and claim this is the only issue that matters above all else, and then use that one issue to influence our people and our politics. I believe in doing so, we are neglecting the breadth and depth of God’s call to us as God’s people. So for the times I have done this, Forgive me, O God.

What the prophet Micah offers to us are not simply words of condemnation and judgement, but also a vision of what true community in God could look like. Micah calls us to a different way of living and being in this world. Micah paints a picture of the beloved community… a sort of antidote to all of the spiritual, political, and economic sins of our day.

That term, “beloved community,” was often used by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. as a description of the ends sought by the civil rights movement. In that time of turmoil and unease, he relied upon the wisdom of the prophets to help show the way forward. And because the goal of the movement was redemption and reconciliation, the only path forward, Dr. King believe, was a path of nonviolence. It was the only means that would seek the ends of God.

He proclaimed: “the end is reconciliation; the end is redemption; the end is the creation of the beloved community. It is this type of spirit and this type of love that can transform opposers into friends…. it is agape which is understanding goodwill for all men. It is an overflowing love which seeks nothing in return. It is the love of God working in the lives of men. This is the love that may well be the salvation of our civilization.”

Now, that passage is from his 1957 message called, “The Role of the Church in Facing the Nation’s Chief Moral Dilemma.”

Right now, as a nation have a moral dilemma. We have neglected the vulnerable. We demonize our opponents. We are afraid of one another. We are unable or unwilling to speak out when we see our neighbors oppressed.

And, we, the church, are called to say something… to do something… to be active agents of God’s redemptive power in this place.

We, too, need to hear again the call of the prophets, the vision of God’s kingdom so that WE can live in the kind of way that might bring salvation to our civilization.

And in Micah’s vision, there are three things that we, the church, can do.

First, we need to stop waiting for our leaders and we need to go to the house of God, to learn from God and walk in God’s path.

We have to get deeper into our scriptures. We need to sit with our bibles and in prayer and ask for God’s guidance. If Pastor Jennifer is right, and I believe she is, that the moral famine of our world is preceded by our spiritual famine, then we need to start being fed once again by God’s word. So make Sunday mornings a priority in your family and come to not only worship and fellowship, but get involved with a study. Participate in a life group. Find a friend and pray together once a week. Ask daily for God to guide you.

Second, we need to set aside violence and bloodshed and stop being afraid.

We might not walk around with spears or swords, but our own weapons today include more than guns. As Bishop Jonathan Keaton preached at our North Central Jurisdictional Conference, social media has allowed for daily combat. We fire off shots like snipers towards unseen and nameless others. We bully and taunt with a few taps of our fingers. And we escalate conflict, learning war and hatred from one another instead of seeking the ways of peace.

Seeking nonviolent interaction with our neighbors or enemies is about more than refusing to physically strike them. It is also refusing to impart spiritual or emotional blows. It is about choosing to see your opponent as a child of God. It is about choosing love over fear or hate.

And finally, we can live a life of worship. A life, in our language, of love, service, and prayer.

Micah describes this life of worship, not in rituals meant to appease God, but in every waking moment we live out the greatest commandments… to love God with all of our heart, soul, mind and strength and to love our neighbor as ourselves.

We worship by doing justice.

We worship by loving kindness.

We worship by walking humbly with God.

Or as the Message translation puts it: Do what is fair and just to your neighbor. Be compassionate and loyal in your love. And don’t take yourself too seriously… take God seriously!

Will the entire world be transformed if we do these things? Not overnight. But we can never get to that beloved community… we will never see God’s kingdom lived out right here on earth if we never take the first step.

If you are seeking an instruction manual or the blueprints for the beloved community it’s right here:

God’s made it plain how to live, what to do, what God is looking for in men and women.

Do justice.

Love kindness.

Walk humbly with God.

Serve. Love. Pray. Every single day. Amen.

Posted on February 28, 2016Leave a comment

I confess…

Tonight our confirmation students were asked to state their faith. To imagine that they had been arrested for their faith and had to write their confession for their “crime”.

And, it’s important for all of us as adults and teachers and mentors in the faith to do the same.

As I think about my confession, I really do believe in the power of God to transform this world.

I see signs of love and mystery all around me in creation and in the lives of other people. And I see so many ways that we have completely failed to take care of the gift of this world and one another.

I confess that I have been part of that failure. I confess that my church has been part of that failure. And I confess my sincere desire to live differently.

I confess that I believe God wants to help us find abundant life and sent leaders and prophets, strong men and women to speak a word of hope and possibility. I believe that God came to show the way as Jesus… Flesh and blood and as much as the world wanted and needed the message of transformation, we crucified him. But our NO to God was trumped by God’s YES to us… And not sin or death can stop the love of God.

I believe Jesus rose from the grave and I believe eventually we will die and will rise again. I believe in between, we have a chance to do the best we can to learn from and to follow Jesus every day of our life.

I believe through the Holy Spirit we can heal. I believe we can conquer addictions and sins. I believe God has called me to be light to the world and yeast in the lives of others and to make trouble for those who are making trouble for the least of these. And if I get arrested for those things… Then I’m probably doing exactly what God has called me to.

And I confess that not having been arrested for my faith, I sometimes feel like I’m probably not doing enough and I’m probably a bit too comfortable and fearful to really step out and stand up against evil, injustice, and oppression.

You know… The things we are asking our youth to stand and say on confirmation Sunday.

Two Texts: Privilege and the Beloved Community

Posted on August 30, 20152 Comments

In my life, I have been pulled over by a police officer perhaps half a dozen times. One was for a broken taillight and the rest were for speeding.

Every single time, my heart rate rose and my palms got sweaty. I was nervous. I felt guilty. I knew I was in trouble.

But never, ever, did I fear for my life during a traffic stop.

Never have I ever felt unsafe in the presence of an authority figure.

And never, after one of those stops, have I received a ticket.

Contrast my story with that of a woman named Sandra Bland, who was pulled over for failing to signal a lane change on July 10 this summer.

Maybe her palms got sweaty. Maybe her heart rate started to rise. Maybe she was nervous or had feelings of guilt. Maybe she knew she was in trouble.

Maybe she feared for her life.

Maybe she felt unsafe in the presence of an authority figure.

Maybe her fight or flight instinct kicked in.

As the conversation between her and the officer escalated, Sandra Bland was arrested.

Will you pray with me.

Gracious God, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts and minds be holy and pleasing to you, O God, our Rock and our Redeemer.

Three days after Sandra Bland was pulled over for failing to signal when she changed lanes, she was found dead in her jail cell.

It was my first day back in the office after my renewal leave, and I decided that morning that I wanted to do this series in worship.

Because we live in world where I, a white woman, am pulled over for speeding and I am sent on my way without a ticket, and where another person, an African-American woman, is pulled over and ends up dead.

Maybe she took her own life. Maybe she was murdered.

I honestly have no idea. And I’m not sure that it matters, because either way, the result is the loss of her life.

And to be honest, I can’t know the heart of the arresting officer to know if he treated her differently based on the color of her skin.

The problem is, I have heard her story too many times.

In November of last year, Bishop Julius Calvin Trimble, our bishop, shared his story as part of lecture at Cornell College:

In 1974, when I was a second year college student, I, along with my younger brother James, went to visit our older brother in California. He lived near Palo Alto, California and was working for Hewlett Packard as a computer engineer. While traveling to his apartment in his Volkswagen Beetle we were stopped by police who questioned my brother and asked for license and registration. Even though he produced his license, registration and work identification we were still told to exit the car with hands up. Additional squad cars arrived and with guns drawn on them, three young African American men were handcuffed and taken to jail. We remained handcuffed for about 45 minutes and were then released after being told that my brother’s car was not stolen but we looked out of place and suspicious driving in that community. My older brother, John, now a college professor, was, at the time of the incident, a graduate of Northwestern University and Stanford University. 1974 was a long time ago, but thousands of African Americans have similar stories. A recent CNN special highlighted one college student in New York who had been stooped and frisked over 100 times. (http://iowabeencouraged.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2015-01-06T11:01:00-06:00&max-results=1&start=6&by-date=false)

What I do know is that this is not the regular experience of my white brothers and sisters.

What I do know is that this is not about conflict between African Americans and police officers. That might be one facet or symptom of what is going on, but that’s not what this is about.

We, all of us, have stopped seeing the image of God in the eyes of another person.

We have become comfortable in our own stories and situations, in our own class or race or gender, and we have stopped reaching beyond them to be in real relationship with other people.

We have started to believe that their lives don’t matter to us.

Perhaps Jesus saw this happening around him when he told a story to a man who would have been his disciple:

There was once a man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. On the way he was attacked by robbers. They took his clothes, beat him up, and went off leaving him half-dead. Luckily, a priest was on his way down the same road, but when he saw him he angled across to the other side. Then a Levite religious man showed up; he also avoided the injured man.

A Samaritan traveling the road came on him. When he saw the man’s condition, his heart went out to him. He gave him first aid, disinfecting and bandaging his wounds. Then he lifted him onto his donkey, led him to an inn, and made him comfortable. In the morning he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take good care of him. If it costs any more, put it on my bill—I’ll pay you on my way back.’ (Luke 10:30-35, MSG)

The priest decided that the life of this man didn’t matter.

He responsibilities to attend to and couldn’t defile himself.

The Levite decided that the life of this man didn’t matter.

He had an image to maintain.

They had other things to worry about.

They were special.

They were different.

And that man didn’t matter.

The Samaritans were mixed race people who were often thought of as lesser than their Jewish cousins. He would have been bound by the same rules as the priest and Levite when it came to touching a bleeding, dying man.

Yet the Samaritan stopped.

The Samaritan believed that this life… that every life… holds the image of God and is of sacred worth.

The Samaritan went out of their way to show love and care and mercy towards this person.

Privilege can be defined as a right, immunity or benefit enjoyed by someone beyond the advantages of most.

It can be defined as the position someone holds that exempts them from burdens or problems.

Privilege is always social. It describes our relationship to other people and how we are either the beneficiaries of that position, or we are the group that privileged status is being compared to.

Religious Privilege is being a Priest or a Levite instead of a Samaritan and feeling like you are immune from having to stop and check on the welfare of another human being.

Male Privilege is making 17% more money working the same job than your female counterparts.

Class Privilege is being able to choose to eat healthy food if you want, because you live in a neighborhood with grocery stores or you own transportation to get you there and back.

Ability Privilege means that as a healthy person, you don’t have to think about your daily pain level when planning activities and events.

Racial Privilege is getting a cut, opening the first aid kit, and the flesh-colored band-aid matches your skin tone.

And what we discover in this world is that we are never simply one of these things.

Some of us experience multiple advantages and privileges based upon who we are.

Some of us experience a mixture of them all.

Some of us find ourselves at the intersection of multiple social disadvantages and burdens.

Our world today is not the Beloved Community envisioned by Dr. King or the Kingdom of God lifted up by Jesus and described by Paul.

It is not a place where Jewish and Palestinian kids can go to school in peace.

It is not a world where transgender women and straight women experience the same judicial system.

This is not a country where black boys and white girls will grow up with the same opportunities.

And the biggest problem is that we who experience the advantages often don’t even realize the privileges we hold.

We are so caught up in our own experiences that we don’t see that of others.

Just this last week, I got an email from our Commission on Persons with Disabilities in our annual conference. In the process of planning annual conference worship, I tried hard to include people who spoke various languages, genders, ages, ethnicities… and the email was a gentle reminder that no one who led worship had a physical disability.

Privilege is looking up at the stage at annual conference or up in the front during worship and knowing that the person who is there looks or talks like you.

I know how important that is, because I remember when I looked up at the stage and saw a woman preaching and I thought… I could do this.

Yet, because of my social location, providing that same opportunity to someone who was differently abled didn’t even cross my mind.

But it does now.

In our video this morning, Bishop Warner Brown, the President of our Council of Bishops tells us that:

Hope occurs in the places where we meet people. It involves where people live, where they work, where they face the challenges of life.

Hope occurs in the places where we meet people who don’t look or talk or move like us.

Hope occurs when we let love and not fear rule our actions.

Hope occurs when we cross over the road to where we see someone who is at a disadvantage – whether they have been injured or oppressed or are struggling or are behind – and we stop to see the image of God in them.

Hope occurs when we shed our own privilege and step out of our comfort zones to meet someone where they are.

Hope occurs when we listen more than we speak about our life experiences.

As we hear in 1 John, chapter 4:

This is love… not that we loved God, but that God loved us and sent his son to sacrifice his life for us.

And if God loves us in this way… so we should love one another in this way.

Love without fear.

Love without privilege.

Love without question.

Love.

True Worship

Posted on May 31, 2015Leave a comment

“We keep a troubled vigil at the bedside of the world,” writes Howard Thurman, “Thus we clutch the moment of intimacy in worship when we become momentarily a part of a larger whole, a fleeting strength, which we pit against all the darkness and the dread of our times.

I want to invite you to think for a moment about some of the darkness and dread that hangs over our world today…

When in worship have YOU felt a part of something bigger? When have you been given the strength to face those struggles in the world?

The idea that worship itself is a moment of intimacy when we become part of a larger whole is a powerful and timeless truth.

In our scripture this morning, we read about Isaiah, and the very reality of reality was presented to him when he met God in his vision of worship.

To set the stage, to understand just how important his experience was, we need to look at the first words of verse 1:

In the year King Uzziah had died…

King Uzziah was ruler over the southern kingdom of Judah and he came to be king at only 16 years of age. According to both 2 Kings and 2 Chronicles, he did what was right in the sight of God and had a powerful and successful reign over Judah for fifty-two years.

But then something happened. All of the success that God had brought the nation went to King Uzziah’s head. In the wake of military victories, Uzziah provided top of the line armor and weapons for his soldiers and fortified the city of Jerusalem with towers and archers and traps. But in these things, he was demonstrating trust in the hands of man, rather than in the power of God.

Our God is on that would take a whole army of the ready and send only three hundred into the battle. When you fight on God’s side, you don’t have to fight with anything else!

But King Uzziah forgot this. His pride became such a problem that he entered the holiest place in the temple… that special room at the very center that only the high priest was allowed to enter and he walked in like he owned the place and burned incense to the Lord.

Now, today, we wouldn’t consider that a big deal. But in the days of King Uzziah, there was a strict boundary between the people and God and just as important of a boundary between the authority of the priests and the authority of the King. This was the separation of church and state for its time… and Uzziah crossed the line.

He snuck into the temple and had just lit the flame to burn incense to the Lord, when 80 priests came pouring into the room. The chief among them cried out, “Get out of the sanctuary, for you have trespassed! You shall have no honor from the Lord God.”

Instantly, leprosy came upon Uzziah as a consequence of his prideful action and he was a leper until the day of his death.

It is in the midst of this culture of pride and success that Isaiah receives his vision from God.

Beginning in chapter 1 of the book of Isaiah, we hear…

What should I think about all your sacrifices? says the Lord… ¹²When you come to appear before me, who asked this from you, this trampling of my temple’s courts? ¹³Stop bringing worthless offerings. Your incense repulses me. …¹⁵When you extend your hands, I’ll hide my eyes from you. Even when you pray for a long time, I won’t listen. Your hands are stained with blood. ¹⁶ Wash! Be clean! Remove your ugly deeds from my sight. Put an end to such evil; ¹⁷ learn to do good. Seek justice: help the oppressed; defend the orphan; plead for the widow.

True worship, worship that is pleasing to God, is a moment of intimacy.

It is a moment where we are connected, as Thurman writes, to a larger whole.

It is a moment not where we show God how great we are, but we offer ourselves, with all of our flaws and weaknesses, and let God’s greatness strengthen us.

After Isaiah has vision after vision of the failings of his nation, of the people and the bloodshed and the oppression his people have created, King Uzziah dies and Isaiah – in the midst of this moment of transition and change – is mystically transported into God’s presence.

In eight verses, we receive the pattern of a life of worship. We find the structure we need in order to let the spirit of God connect us with reality at large.

These four movements help us keep worship from being all about “me.” They pull us and stretch us and teach us what it means to be faithful.

I want to invite you to pull out your bulletin and look with me at the headings for each section. Each one of these represents a movement we discover in this passage from Isaiah this morning.

We begin with Gathering Together… a time of praise .

I saw the Lord sitting on a high and exalted throne, the edges of his robe filling the temple. ²Winged creatures were stationed around him. Each had six wings: with two they veiled their faces, with two their feet, and with two they flew about. ³They shouted to each other, saying:

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of heavenly forces! All the earth is filled with God’s glory!”

Isaiah finds himself in the temple and he is not alone. The seraphim have joined him and they sing praise to the one who has gathered them all together.

Most importantly however, worship begins with the presence of God.

As we gather with one another, we do so in the name of God, in the presence of God, and in our call to worship, we remember that God is here before us. Whether we are worshipping in the sanctuary or outside or in the park or at home, we gather in God’s presence.

But another key aspect of this gathering is that we are praising God. We acknowledge… no, we can’t ignore WHO it is that is before us. The seraphim are moved to sing in this awesome presence. We, too, begin our time of worship with a song of praise.

Each week, as the hymns and songs are chosen that will begin our time of worship, the first one we sing always points to the God who has called us here.

As we think about what this gathering time means, we can see clearly just how far King Uzziah crossed the line. He entered the temple for his own selfish reasons, rather than to praise and honor God.

As we return to our bulletin, the next heading is a time of confession…

The doorframe shook at the sound of their shouting, and the house was filled with smoke.

⁵I said, “Mourn for me; I’m ruined! I’m a man with unclean lips, and I live among a people with unclean lips. Yet I’ve seen the king, the Lord of heavenly forces!”

How many of you have had worship moments where you felt God’s glory filling the room?

Maybe it was during a hymn being sung or a scripture passage or some moment of prayer… whatever it was, in the presence of God’s glory we can feel so uplifted and close to the Lord.

But the flip side of being in God’s presence is realizing just how NOT like God we are.

When Isaiah stood there in the temple with the hem of God’s robe surrounding him and the seraphim singing and the sound of it all so overwhelming that the door frame shook… he felt pretty small.

Instead of trying to prove ourselves to God, like King Uzziah, instead of trying to stand on our own righteousness, true worship is a time to confess who we really are – both individually and as a community.

Confession is a time to lay bare the truth about ourselves. It is a time when we don’t have to pretend. It is a time when we are forced to see difficult truths about ourselves we might not otherwise admit.

We are human. We are weak. We are selfish. We need the Lord.

And in worship, we experience the Lord our God.

Then one of the winged creatures flew to me, holding a glowing coal that he had taken from the altar with tongs. ⁷He touched my mouth and said, “See, this has touched your lips. Your guilt has departed, and your sin is removed.”

⁸Then I heard the Lord’s voice saying, “Whom should I send, and who will go for us?”

After we stand before God, vulnerable, open, knowing fully who we are and how not like the Lord we are, we hear God’s word proclaimed.

You are forgiven.

I love you.

I have a job for you!

Now… these might seem like simple words – and they are! – but they are also words we proclaim in our time of worship in a hundred different ways.

Through song and scripture, through the cross above us, through our actions and bodily motions, through painting and dance, through sermons and images, through the smell and taste of Holy Communion, through the touch of a neighbors hand or the smile on a strangers faice, through a burning coal that touches our lip and makes us clean… This is the gospel that is proclaimed over and over and over again:

You are forgiven. I love you. And I have a job for you!

You see, in the very same moment God is helping us get over the past and our failings and weakness, God is getting us ready for the future God has planned.

In the words of Anne Lamott – God loves you right where you are and loves you too much to let you stay that way.

And when we come face to face with God in Christ, we hear that message, too. When we are touched by Christ in the breaking open of the word, we are forever changed.

Worship, therefore, is a time when we let God set the agenda, rather than barging in to tell God what we think, as King Uzziah did.

Finally, we respond in faith.

I said, “I’m here;

send me.”

God said, “Go…”

When we open ourselves up and let God in, when our lives start to change – then we can’t help but respond to God’s call.

In our response to God’s word, we begin to realize that it is not about us. Isaiah’s plans don’t matter anymore.

His problems and failings don’t matter any more

The money he was saving to buy a new donkey doesn’t matter anymore.

When God asks, Isaiah responds – Yes.

In worship, we respond to God’s invitation with prayers. We lift up our own lives and those of others that God has called us to care for.

In worship, we respond by offering our whole selves in love and service and by giving back even a piece of what we have been giving.

In worship, we hear hymns that call us back into the world that is full of darkness and dread with a renewed strength and a word of hope.

In worship, we are sent out into the world, not alone, but with the Holy Spirit as our guide.

Confessions before General Conference

Posted on April 18, 2012Leave a comment

In the past few weeks, between holy week services and fundraiser dinners and youth group and church meetings and the normal day to day business of pastoring, I’ve been trying to get a handle on the general conference legislation.

It is actually difficult to try to digest it all. There are 1400+ pages in the Advance Daily Christian Advocate. There are different proposals about the same items. There are nuances. There are huge, crazy, dramatic statements.

And my blood pressure has been rising.

I have been focusing much of my effort on the materials related to restructuring and changes to the understanding of ministry. Which means that I put off the section on church and society. In part I was afraid to look. But I did. Monday night, I dug deep in those two sections and realized why I was so afraid to even look.

One of the reasons that I am United Methodist is because we have such a rich heritage of taking progressive stances in areas of war, poverty, work, and relationships. And for the first time, as I read through legislation, I began to worry that we might take huge steps back this year in our areas of social witness. Now, I have very little historical perspective under my belt. This is my first General Conference, my first rodeo, so to speak, and so perhaps these are issues that have come and gone before. Maybe there are always people making waves and trying to take us back to the way things were before.

But I do not have that history. And my shackles started to raise. I found myself wanting to yell at the pages and the proposals. I began to see familiar names repeated… legislation that would roll back some stances on worker’s rights, the death penalty, our positions on war and peace, and they were coming from the same few people.

Confession time: I started to feel bad thoughts towards those people. Until I realized that they were merely the secretaries of the conferences that those pieces of legislation were arising from. And then I really felt bad.

If we are not even at conference yet, and I’m feeling this defensive, territorial, angst filled… God help us all.

I closed my files. I took a deep breath. And I prayed for forgiveness.

In this particular General Conference, I get to travel on behalf of my conference as a reserve delegate. And this means that while I will not be voting on every issue, I will be in the midst of it all. And my prayer is that I can help remind us of the spirit of unity that brings us together as disciples of Jesus Christ. I want to surround my delegates with prayer and support. I want to be a calm, non-anxious presence for them and for all who gather. I want to breathe deeply and remember that this is the Body of Christ in action. I want to see the best in every person, hear their best intentions, and prayerfully discern together. I am going to lay aside my own anxiety, my own agendas, my own desires and truly hope that God will speak through us.

My friend, Anna Blaedel, wrote on facebook today: “holding the pilgrims making their way to Tampa in prayer… for courage… grounding… webs of care… for surprising in-breaking of Justice and Joy”

Amen, Anna.

Instead of expecting the worst, I’m looking for God. I’m looking for where God surprises us, and breaks in to the ordinary time and the ordinary practices of debate and decision to bring holy unity and powerful witness. I’m looking for joy and courage and stories of resurrection and hope.

I repent of my divisiveness of spirit. I repent of my anxiety. And I pray that Christ would help us all remember – Peace.

Feasting, not fasting…

Posted on February 23, 2012Leave a comment

Mark’s gospel is known for its haste. Jesus is here and then there and everything is so urgent and busy. We spent four weeks in Epiphany just in chapter one because everything happens in such a short span of time. Life is all crammed in and there is no time for details.

That could also describe my entry into the Lenten season. In a whirlwind of activity and meetings and work and hospital visits and writing, there wasn’t time to breathe! I think on Ash Wednesday I actually might have had two pots of coffee just to get me through. Go, go, go. Rush, rush, rush.

But then, we got to worship. Everything was finally set and we were sharing in familiar liturgy, age old hymns, quiet moments of reflection and confession and challenge.

We had 27 people in worship that evening… And while that might not sound like a lot, it was double what we had any other year I’ve been around. As people began to trickle in, as they came forward and I placed those ashes on each of their foreheads, as we broke the bread and shared the cup, it felt like home. A family gathered to remember we are human. A family gathered to say that we were sorry. A family gathered to start putting our lives back together… Together.

We always have a meal after Wednesday worship and before youth group starts, so we told folks to bring a dish to share. We feasted together on Ash Wednesday, and it never felt more right. Marked with the ashes, we knew we were mortal. We knew we had fallen short. But we also couldn’t stay there because the good news of God was also our story that night.

I sat with a couple who ocasionally attend our church – when they aren’t off being caregivers for aging parents. We shared stories. We talked about our hopes for the young people all around us. And they shared with me that even in these last few months, something is happening in our church. God is moving and the excitement and eagerness is building.

I learned two things last night.

1) all that rushing and moving was worth it. There is urgency in what we are doing because it is important and there is not a moment to waste

2) but we also have to stop and remember why. We have to slow our hearts and really listen.

Ash Wednesday has always had such a somber and holy and serious personality in my practice and theology. It was a day of darkness and despair, wailing and pleading.

But last night, when I stopped to look at all of us gathered around those tables in fellowship, I realized just how joyous Lent can be.

We trust in a God who brings light out of darkness, life out of death, strengh from weakness. I know, liturgically we have a few weeks to sit in our repentance… But God is good… All the time.

So pass the pie, and the baked beans, and the pistacio salad… Happy Lent!