relationship – Salvaged Faith

They Stood Up

Posted on August 7, 2022Leave a comment

Text: Numbers 27:1-11

Friends, can we all admit that this is a very big book and that 99.9% of us don’t know its stories from cover to cover?

We understand the overall arc of scripture… from creation, through the time in Egypt, the exodus and claiming of the promised land.

We know the big picture story of how the tribes of Israel became a nation with a king and then fell apart and were carted off into exile.

And we know about how they returned and how Jesus came to continue the story of God’s redemption and form us into God’s people, sending the Holy Spirit as God’s message exploded across the world.

But every story? Every name?

We fail to dig deep into the nitty gritty of the text and skim over some of the most interesting… but maybe also most disturbing… parts of our past.

What we miss when we do so are the bold and untold stories of ordinary folks who have great lessons to teach us.

We can’t all preach like Peter or pray like Paul or lead like Solomon… but God can use our voices and our actions to make a difference in this world.

Over the next five weeks as we wrap up summer, we will be diving into the details of scripture as these little known people come alive for us.

We start today with the daughters of Zelophehad: Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah.

Their names are so unfamiliar to our tongues today that I find myself stumbling over pronunciation.

And yet, as Wil Gafney notes in her book, Womanist Midrash: a Reintroduction to the women of the Torah and the Throne, “their story is so important that they are mentioned in five different places… Only the prophets Miriam and Moses are mentioned in more books in the Hebrew Bible.” (page 156)

“They Stood” | Lauren Wright Pittman | A Sanctified Art | sanctifiedart.org

The story of Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah is a story about land and inheritance and patriarchy.

We are introduced to them in the middle of a census that is being taken amongst the Israelites to determine who is available to go to war with Midian as they seek to enter the promised land.

They come from the line of Jospeh, through his son Manasseh, and their father Zelophehad had no sons. (Numbers 26: 29-34)

As Gafney notes, Numbers chapter 26 connects the military census with the distribution of land to come. We are told that the first generation of those who left Egypt will not make it out of the wilderness… only their children and grandchildren will.

But how will this new land that they will take be divided?

The census lists the names of those second-generation families… well, the second-generation families headed by men, who were eligible to go to war.

Gaffney writes: “only males were entitled to inherit the inhabited Canaanite land that God had promised the Israelites under this schema… only patriarchal households counted…” (p. 158)

It was an exclusionary practice that was uncommon among other surrounding cultures, but also meant that men who died during the war and left women as the head of their households would be left out of the allocation.

As soon as this detailed census and explanation was read to the people, Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah step forward.

This is described as taking place right outside of the meeting tent – where the ark of the covenant was contained.

In front of Moses, Eleazar the priest, all of the chiefs… the entire community… they challenge the distribution and demand to be given land as well.

They had no rights.

They had no power.

They had no authority.

But they stand up and make their voices heard.

These five women are of the second generation.

Their father, Zelophehad, was among those who left Egypt, but he has died along their journey.

No mention is made of their mother, but Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah have no brothers.

AND, as the narrative will tell us later, they are unmarried.

As they heard the census and the names of all of their cousins and other second generation families that would inherit the promised land, they recognized that the lineage of their father was being excluded.

As Lauren Wright Pittman writes, “The text says the women came forward; they stood, they spoke, they questioned, and they even demanded. Any one of these actions alone is difficult for the unseen and the unheard. All they wanted was the receive the inheritance of their father and to keep his name from fading. I’m sure the pain of their father’s death was potent, but they needed to be recognized, valued, and seen as human beings in order to survive.” (Faces of our Faith Study Journal)

They demanded that their family be given a share, just as their father’s brothers would be given.

Now, this is in direct contradiction to the instructions that God had just handed down to Moses in chapter 26.

They were not just challenging their leaders, but the very word of God.

The entire community had just experienced a devastating plague that was blamed on the men of Israel disobeying God by marrying Moabite and Midianite women, which often led to idolatry and the worship of the gods of these other cultures.

When an Israelite brought a Midianite wife into the camp, the son of the priest Eleazar, Phineas, killed them both and the plague stopped.

But, you know, killing the daughter of a leader of neighboring people has consequences and the war with Midian was a direct result of the initial disobedience and then later death.

So… maybe this wasn’t exactly the time to challenge what God has said…

To his credit, Moses does not immediately dismiss their complaint out of hand.

It would have been completely understandable for him to say, “This is the word of the Lord.”

Or, “I’m sorry, but this is the law.”

Instead, he listened.

And instead of rendering judgment himself, Moses took their case to God.

The Lord replies, “Zelophehad’s daughters are right in what they are saying. By all means, give them property as an inheritance among their father’s brothers.”

And then, God goes on to change the law so that if a man dies without a son, his daughter would receive the inheritance.

When we look deeper into the text and the language here, what we find is surprising.

Wil Gaffney notes that God doesn’t just say they were right. He declares that they are righteous in “a powerful affirmation, without peer in the canon for women or men.” (159)

And if you look at the Hebrew, the words God speaks do not imply a passive response by which these women would now have land.

It demands corrective action on the part of those who would have denied them their inheritance.

As Pittman writes in her artist statement of her piece, “They Stood,”:

God heard the voices of these women. “They are right,” God said. The old law was no longer suitable, so God made a way for change. Though the laws were probably carved into stone, God shows us in this text that the law is living, breathing, adaptable, and changing. This text invites us to come forward, to stand, to speak, to question, and to demand change when we experience injustice.

A couple of things to note here.

First, when we believe we are experiencing an injustice or are troubled by a law or a command that we find within scripture, the example of Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah tells us that it is a good thing to speak up.

Even if our voice trembles.

Even if we are unsure if anyone will listen.

Even if we have no authority or power.

Second, this scripture is one of many places where God makes a way for change.

From the Lord’s declaration after the flood that there would never again be a complete destruction of the earth in Genesis…

to the new vision of the clean and the unclean that comes to Peter in Acts…

and this text…

we find examples of how the cries of people and changing circumstances in the world lead God to act and respond in new ways.

Our God is not distant from us, handing down decrees that are unchanging.

God is with us, listens to us, walks with us, hears our cries, experiences our pain, and knows our hope.

God desires abundant life and chooses to act in new ways to demonstrate love and mercy and to create and recreate possibilities within our midst.

God is in relationship with us… and a relationship is a two-way street.

But the third lesson here is that it is not our job to declare something is right or wrong, unjust or fair.

We also learn from the example of Moses, who took it to the Lord.

So part of our responsibility, either as someone who is experiencing injustice or as someone who is in a position to act, is to notice the places that trouble our souls.

Our job is to listen and to explore and understand the problem.

And part of our responsibility is to pray and search the scriptures and to listen for God.

If the ways of God, the laws of God, the commands of God can change in response to human need and action, then we need to be prepared.

As the Lord cries out in Isaiah 43:19: “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”

Our job is to look, to listen, to pay attention and be ready to see where and how God is acting in this world.

And then… to figure out how to get on board.

I mentioned that the five daughters of Zelophehad show up not once or twice, but five times in the scriptures of the Hebrew Bible.

And part of this reason for their continued presence in the life of the people was that this new command of God was not immediately followed.

God commands a new law for Moses to implement among the people – that women without brothers shall inherit the land of their father.

Yet when we get to chapter 36 in Numbers, the war with Midian is over and they are preparing to enter Canaan and as the allocated land is being discussed, the daughters come up again.

Only this time, they are not the active participants in their own story.

Their cousins stand up and speak out and are concerned about the distribution of land to these unmarried women, because when they marry, the land will no longer be a part of the tribe of Manasseh.

Moses… without consulting the Lord… modifies what God says in chapter 27 to declare that they are only allowed an inheritance if they marry within their father’s tribe.

Mahlah, Tirzah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Noah act according to these new conditions and marry kin within the tribe of Manasseh.

More time goes on.

The people cross the Jordan River and enter the land of Canaan.

Moses, who we are told disobeyed the Lord but not about what specifically, dies before he is able to enter the promised land and the leadership falls to Joshua.

Here is where the rubber meets the road, as the people now are in possession of the land and parcels are being handed out for each tribe.

When we get to Joshua chapter 17, the land for the tribe of Manasseh is being determined and the text tells us that “an allotment took place for the rest of the clans of Manasseh – for the people of Abiezer, Helek, Asriel, Shechem, Hepher, and Shemida. These were the sons of Manasseh the son of Jospeh, the male descendants by their clans.” (17:2)

Did you hear it?

There is no mention of the daughters of Zelophehad.

And once again, Mahlan, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah stand up and speak out.

Once again, they approach Eleazar the priest, Joshua the leader, and the other clan chiefs.

Once again, they fight for their inheritance.

“The Lord commanded Moses to give us a legacy along with our male relatives,” they declare.

Gaffney notes, “They do not say, ‘Moshe failed to obey God and died.’ There is no need. The implication is clear.” (p. 163).

Joshua acts where Moses did not.

The tribe of Manasseh is granted ten parcels of land, one of which would belong to the daughters of Zelophehad.

And these daughters are later accounted for in the listing of the family lines in the book of Chronicles.

But that was only possible because of their courage.

Their persistence.

Their willingness to stand up and speak out.

In our lives today, we might not always have power or authority.

But we do have a voice.

And when we see something that is unjust or wrong, we too can stand up, stand together, and speak out.

We can let the community know about what is going on so that we can seek God’s direction and act.

And if we do have power and authority, we can choose to listen, to pray, and to respond.

May the bold and too often untold legacy of Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah guide us for the future. Amen.

Recognizing the Messiah

Posted on January 19, 2020Leave a comment

Text: Isaiah 49:1-7, John 1:29-42

It only takes a spark…

As I’ve shared with you in the past, my extended family has often been to Hawaii together. My grandpa and grandma were fairly blessed in their life and made the decision long ago to spend their money bringing us together than leave money to be fought over.

So growing up, what made these trips awesome was not just the location, but the uninterrupted week or two with family – playing, swimming, hiking, laughing.

One of our favorite adventures to do each trip is to hike the Diamond Head crater.

According to the souvenir t-shirt, the hike is:

0.7 mile long trail which is unpaved and has an uneven rock and dirt surface that may be loose and slippery in places. It leads through a dark tunnel and involves climbing a steep, 99-step concrete stairway and narrow spiral staircase inside an unlit bunker. The hike took about an hour up and 45 minutes back down.

Now, in reality, that’s not a bad trip… but when you consider that we normally make the hike with kids under the age of six, the trek suddenly becomes much longer.
Little feet get tired quickly and usually by the time we get a third of the way up the crater, someone wants to be carried.

So, I decided to start singing.
A simple call and response song the kids could repeat and had energy to keep their feet moving.
“the littlest worm”

Others chimed in and pretty soon, our whole group was singing our way up the crater.
We sang all sorts of camp songs and before the kids knew it, we had made it all the way to the top of the crater – and no one had been carried!

All it took was someone singing that first note and lighting the spark.

In many ways, that is what John the Baptist did so many years ago.

As we read this morning in the gospel, John saw Jesus walking by and said something.

Well, he didn’t just say something – John the Baptist called out: Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! Quite an introduction if you ask me!

The next day, John saw Jesus again and he shouted again, “Look! Here is the Lamb of God!”

And when his disciples heard it… they started to follow Jesus.

Not just that day. They stayed with him and then they too began to tell others the good news about Jesus.

It only takes a spark.

What does it mean to recognize the Messiah?
What does it mean to catch a glimpse of the light to all the nations?
And what does it look like to not just recognize this light, this Messiah, but to follow?
Does our encounter with this light of the world shape how we interact with others? How we share the good news?

In David Kinnaman’s 2007 book, unChristian, he presents research from the Barna Group on how young adults view Christians. Words like “antihomosexual”, “judgmental”, “hypocritical”, and “old-fashioned” top the list.
And not by slight margins. Over three-quarters of those interviewed would use those words.
We just can’t downplay, Kinnaman writes, “how firmly people reject – and feel rejected by – Christians.” (p19)

Those words might be surprising to you, but I’m married to someone has often said those exact things. Our friends are mostly outside of church circles, looking in, and they would say the same things.

And I think it is because somewhere along the way, we lost that first spark of John the Baptist and Andrew and Peter.

We find ourselves living in one of two extremes…

Sometimes the church claims to have the truth and light and acts with moral superiority over those who do not. Our light shines for others, but it is like the cold light of a neon sign – barking out truths, but not sharing the warmth of God’s love with them.

On the other hand, sometimes the church is turned inward on itself and afraid of what people will think if we talk about God. We are like those who have hidden their lamp under a bushel basket and the world can’t see the grace and mercy of our faith, because we are too timid to share it.

When you think about which of those two extremes gets more media coverage… which is more in the face of people who are outside the church and maybe it’s not so hard to see why those stereotypes of Christians among young people exist.

I think in many ways, this congregation is more like those in the second extreme.

I know that if people on the outside really got to know you and how you love and follow Jesus those adjectives wouldn’t be the first things that came to mind.

But are we actually out there, breaking down those barriers and stereotypes?
Does the fact that we follow Jesus make a difference in how we treat others?
Or, have we kept the good news locked up tight in our hearts?

Today is Human Relations Day and we remember that the church is called to: “recognize the right of all God’s children in realizing their potential as human beings in relationship with each other.”

On this day we remember that the light within us was meant to be a light to the nations and every person is a beloved child of God.

It is a reminder that the love of God that flows through us must be shared through actions as well as through words.

It is a reminder that a spark becomes a blazing fire only when we seek out others for the journey.

Look at those first followers of Christ, who selflessly loved other people and shared the light of God with them.
Daniel Clendenin at Journey with Jesus writes about how they chose to follow Jesus in words and deeds.
Like the Christ that they followed, they broke down social barriers.
They ignored religious taboos that judged people as clean or unclean, worthy or unworthy.
They subverted the power structures of their time that separated people by wealth, ethnicity, religion and gender.
And they didn’t allow their own interests to cloud the message about who Christ was, and is, and is to be.

First, look at John the Baptist.
He selflessly proclaimed Christ to the extent that his own followers left him.

While we sometimes think of John the Baptist as a solitary radical who lived in the wilderness and ate locusts, he had disciples.
These were people who believed his message and committed themselves to learning from him and supporting him.
Yet John did not allow his own interests get in the way of his message.

When he cried out that Jesus was the Lamb of God, his own followers stood up and literally began following Jesus down the road.

This spark that was let loose could not be controlled and like John the Baptist, we must be willing to let people follow another road and to go a different route if that is how they can best be in relationship with Christ.

I was a chaplain at a hospital one summer and met a woman newly diagnosed with leukemia.
She was terrified of death, of her “unfinished business” and wanted to know about God.
I had many conversations with her over the weeks and then months as she waited for a bone marrow transplant. We talked about Jesus and heaven and prayed through the psalms.

I felt like her pastor… but one morning I walked in and another was standing by her bed.
He was the pastor at her grandma’s Baptist church in her hometown.

I have to admit… I was a bit jealous and territorial at first. But as heartbreaking as it was, I knew it was better for her to build a relationship with this pastor. By doing so, she could follow Christ more closely and have a church community to walk with.

Like John the Baptist, I had to let her go.

Sharing the good news of God isn’t about numbers or competition in how many followers we have.
It’s about working together to bring about the Kingdom.
And so John let his followers go.
He knew the light of Christ was bigger than his one small spark of light.

Second, look at how Christ himself invited those first disciples into a relationship.

When they heard this was the Lamb of God, they ran down the road to catch up to him.
And Jesus turns around and simply asks them: What are you looking for?

He doesn’t spout off four essential things you need to know to be a Christian.

He doesn’t make them pass a litmus test on what they believe about him.

He doesn’t ask them to join in the “sinner’s prayer.”

He asks them what they are seeking.

What are we looking for?
What do we hope to find?
Their response was really simple… maybe because they didn’t really know what to expect:
I want to know where you are staying.

And Jesus says: Come and See.

This short exchange between two seekers and Jesus tells us a lot about how the light of Christ can shine in our lives.
They are curious. They don’t have all the answers.
And Jesus gently affirms that reality.
He invites them to dip their toes in. To check it out for themselves.
He welcomes them into his life, knowing that by being in relationship with him, their lives will be transformed.

We don’t have to have it all together to follow Christ.
We don’t have to have a blazing fire built up in our hearts.
It only takes a spark.
Just a spark of curiousity.
Just a spark of desire for the God who created us.

This spring, I attended a continuing education event with Rev. Lillian Daniel, who leads a congregation in Dubuque.

She talked about how there are a lot of people in this world who identify as nones, who have no faith community they might identify with.

Some of those folks she describes as “dones.” Maybe they were part of a church. Maybe they were harmed or pushed away by people inside the church. But for whatever reason – maybe even those adjectives and stereotypes mentioned before – they are done with the church.

But there are others who are “nones” but maybe could better be described as “not yets.” They don’t know what they are missing. They are curious. They might walk into a church building and have no idea what a hymnal is or when to stand or sit and what they should wear.

But that doesn’t mean they aren’t curious.

That doesn’t mean they don’t have question.

That doesn’t mean a spark isn’t ready to ignite in their hearts.

If we follow Jesus, that spark will be enough to get us started.
Along the way, the more we see and experience and share our lives with God, the more the light of Christ will grow in us.

What I find amazing about this story is that after just one night in the presence of Jesus, Andrew decided he had to tell someone about his experience.
That little spark of light within him began to burn, began to glow and shine for others.
Andrew ran home and found his brother Simon.
And he didn’t just tell Simon about Jesus.
Andrew actually took Simon to meet him.
He helped Simon experience Jesus for himself.

Think about that difference.
That difference between telling someone about the love of God and helping them to experience it.

When we invite other people to ‘come’ – do they ‘see’ Jesus in our congregations?
Do we live our lives out there in the world in a way that others don’t just hear about Jesus, but actually experience the light of God through us?

Relationships are the primary way we share the good news of God with others.
And when we are truly in relationship with others, those negative stereotypes fall away.
We can be present, listening to their questions more than sharing our answers.
We can be honest about our own struggles, rather than worrying about appearing perfect. Because let’s be honest… we aren’t perfect and pretending to be so is where that whole “hypocritical” stereotype comes from.

During the season of Lent, coming up in about six weeks, we are going to explore together what it means to take that light out from hiding under the bushel basket.
What does it mean to unbind the gospel, to let the good news loose in our lives?
I’m really excited about the opportunity we are going to have to pray together and to learn new ways of sharing our faith with others.

Because you see, when we have a relationship with Jesus… when we follow him… it is not just something we have chosen to believe.
It is something we have experienced.
And it is a spark we can’t help but share with others.

I think in many ways, that tendency to want to hide our light under the bushel basket, to keep it locked up tight is precisely what Christian author Marianne Williamson was thinking of when she wrote:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small doesn’t serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

That spark of light is within you… don’t hide it.
You are a beloved child of God.
So let the love of God shine out through you!
Through you, through us, through this church, God’s salvation can truly reach the ends of the earth.

Grounded in our Neighborhoods

Posted on November 17, 2019Leave a comment

Text: Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7; Matthew 22: 34-40

Next week is the premiere of “A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood,” the new movie about Mr. Rogers. I grew up with Mr. Rogers welcoming me home in the afternoon from school. We entered the land of make-believe and I heard him speaking to me and my child-like worries and curiosity. But I also saw Mr. Rogers walk around and interact with his neighbors.
Growing up on a farm in the country, I never felt like I was part of a neighborhood. At least not in the way I saw it on television. After all, there was only one house within half a mile of our own.
But we did know our neighbors. We would help one another mend fences or bring in crops. The neighbor kids and I rode the bus together. We’d do the farmer wave as we passed by … and sometimes even stop the cars in the middle of the gravel road to catch up on gossip.
Throughout this month, we are exploring what it means to be grounded in God through the relationships of our lives.
We looked at the ancestors who have grounded us in a sense of persistence, strength, and identity.
David helped us think last week about our homes and families and the sense of belonging and love we find there.
And today, we are turning back to Diana Butler Bass and her book, Grounded, and thinking about how God shows up in our neighbors.
When we think about neighborhoods today, fewer people feel like they belong in the same kind of way. Even if we live closer in proximity, we feel more and more isolated. As Butler Bass writes:
“Although we live near to one another in neighborhoods, we do not feel that we necessarily belong to one another, that we have neighborly relations with either place or people. We might live in a particular location, but it is hard to sense that our lives are with others. In a way, a neighborhood is simply the space where people reside near others; the challenge of re-creating vibrant, healthy neighborhoods is building connections between people and, in the process, turning isolated individuals into neighbors. Thus the meaning of “neighborhood” is intimately caught up with an important question, one fraught with spiritual and ethical implications: who is my neighbor? “ (p. 204).

I actually have a question for you.
Who is your neighbor?
Literally.
Do you know their names?
Do you know their stories?
Each of you, when you came in today, was handed a map. And we are going to come back to that, but I want to invite you to turn it around and grab a pencil or pen or crayon… whatever is handy.
Draw a box to represent your home… whether it is an apartment or house or condo.
Now, draw a box to represent the neighbors to your left and right.
Draw a box to represent those who are across the hall or across the street.
Draw a box or two to represent any who might live behind you.

Here is my drawing.
Now… who lives in those homes?
Who are your neighbors?
Take a minute and write down as many names as you can

I must admit, I began working on this exercise and felt a bit of shame that I didn’t know all of the answers.
I could think of at least one person on those homes, but not the whole family. I couldn’t remember Cheryl’s wife’s name. Or Chad’s. Or Mitch or Rusty’s.
And to be honest, Mitch and his family moved out a couple of months ago and I still haven’t met the new couple that moved in.
I have no clue what the names are of the people who live behind us.
And if I don’t know their names, how could I possibly know their stories?
How could I possibly begin to pray for them, much less love them as Jesus commands me?

There is a strange phenomenon that has impacted our neighborhoods architecturally. Our homes used to have front porches on them and parking was on the street. Now, neighborhoods like mine have large two car garages. We open the door, drive our cars in, and never really have to get out and interact with our neighbors.
Apartments or condos can function the same way.
We don’t take the time to get to know, or spend time with, or open our lives to the people around us.

There is that old adage that good fences make good neighbors, but the truth is, maybe good tables make good neighbors.
Hospitality and open doors make good neighbors.
In a world of increased tribalism, where we live in echo chambers and online digital communities of people who are just like us, maybe we need to go back to our scriptures and explore how ancient tribal societies interacted with one another.
Over and over again in scripture, we hear the call the be neighborly.
To be hospitable.
To open our homes and our tables to others.
To reach out the immigrant, the widow, the orphan.
To provide help to those who are in need.

Henri Nouwen, a Catholic priest and theologian noted that our society tends to look at the stranger with suspicion, expecting others to do us harm.
Instead, he talked about how our world needed to convert hostility into hospitality and turn the enemy into our guest.
Then, “guest and host can reveal their most precious gifts and bring new life to others… [hospitality] as a fundamental attitude toward our fellow human being.” (p. 220)

This is the spirit that Jeremiah invited the people of Israel to embody in Babylon.
Their nation had crumbled. Their temple was destroyed. Their identity was gone.
And their enemy had carted his people off to a strange and foreign land.
How would they live in this new place?
What would they do?
Jeremiah has incredible advice for those who are finding themselves living in the worst moment of their life…
Dive deep into your new neighborhoods and keep living.
As he wrote to these exiles who had been dragged from their homeland to a faraway place, instead of this being a letter full of lament or sorrow or anger, it is a word of life.
In this strange land, in this place of exile and hopelessness…
Build houses.
Plant gardens.
Fall in love.
Have babies.
Make yourself at home.
Don’t let this time of chaos and turmoil keep you from thriving.
Jeremiah’s advice focuses in many ways on what individuals can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, but he closes this passage with one additional piece of advice.
Work for the well-being of whatever new place we find ourselves in.
He was asking the exiles to focus not just on their own well-being… but that of their oppressor, Babylon, as well.
Because their future depended upon its welfare.
He was asking them to be good neighbors.
He was asking for them to invest their time and energy into making that place the best it could be.
Not just for themselves… but for all who share this place with you and whomever might come after you.
Keep on living.
And keep on creating space for life and life abundant to happen for others.

I want to invite you to pull out that map again.
Because this is a map of our neighborhood.
This is where this congregation has been planted.
We might not all physically live here anymore, but our future depends upon its welfare.
And we are called, as a church, to invest our time and energy into making this corner of the world, our corner of the world, the best that it can be.

And so I have a challenge for you this week.
I want you to pray for this neighborhood.
I want you to pray for the people here.
I want you to pray for the businesses that share this space with us.
I want you to pray that God’s will might be done in this place
And I want you to ask God how we can better invest our lives in these people and this place.

There are a couple of ways you could do this.
After church today or later this week you could physically walk around in this neighborhood and pray for the people and places you pass.
Or, you could take this map and sit in a quiet place and run your finger slowly along the roads.
Imagine in your mind the houses and the people and pray for them as you journey along.
Choose a different route each time you sit and pray.

You can do the same thing with the neighborhood you live in.
What would it be like if you not only got to know them… their names and what they worry about and what makes their heart sing… but also if you prayed for them.
What if you prayed for your neighbors every day?

So many of us have superficial relationships with these folks.
We are afraid to talk about the things that matter to us, thinking we might offend or put them off. But what if saw our neighbors as beloved children of God who might be yearning for the same kind of spiritual connection that we are?
How might we have different kinds of conversations?
How might we share God with them in new ways?

This Is Love: Friends of God

Posted on May 19, 2019Leave a comment

Text: John 15:9-17

On the last day of school in seventh or eighth grade, six friends walked home from school together. Some of us had known each other since kindergarten. Others came into our lives along the way.
But our friendship was forged in those awkward and complicated years of middle school. The drama of boyfriends. The stress of school work. The cattiness of who was in and who was out.
The six of us spent that afternoon on the last day of school planning an amazing summer and spent nearly an hour rearranging the first letters of our name to discover the perfect acronym for our little group: JSTACK. Jana, Stasia, Theresa, Anna, Cara, Katie.
Together we survived high school and more than a few relationship ups and downs. We thank God every time we get together that YouTube wasn’t invented yet, because we made the silliest videos on sleepovers and no one needs to see them. We celebrated one another’s successes even as we pushed each other on.
And now, more than twenty years later, we still try to get together on a regular basis. We have busy lives, our own relationships and professions and children… but we know that those five other individuals will always be someone that we can turn to. They might live halfway across the country… but they are also only a phone call or a text away.
When I am really struggling with something… they are the first people I turn to.

Have you had friends like that in your life?
People who have always been there for you?
The ones that you have walked through fire with and come out on the other side?

When the great theologian C.S. Lewis wrote about love, he turned back to the Greek words that all get subsumed in our one English word today. In doing so, he helps us to recapture the rich complexity of relationship.
One of the types of love that he lifts up is philia, or companionship. This kind of love usually revolves around some common interest or activity that draws individuals together for a common purpose.
Think back to high school. All of the groups and cliques that formed were a result of philia, some kind of shared love. There were the jocks and the band geeks, the popular crowd and the nerds. These relationships, whether we liked it or not, were to some extent exclusive. The jocks and the nerds rarely showed up at the same parties. The very nature of philia or being drawn together for a common purpose, it means that others who don’t share in your love will not be a part of the group.

And for the most part, that’s okay because we have multiple circles of friends: our golf buddies, and the people we play cards with; our co-workers.

Philia love, however, is deeper than mere camaraderie. When you and others share philia love, you are passionate about the things you do together. You can’t wait for your next opportunity to be with one another.

In romantic love, two people stand face-to-face, eyes on one another. But in philia love, you stand shoulder-to-shoulder, facing the world. You find your place alongside others and their strengths become your strengths. You urge one another on to accomplish something larger than yourself.

In this season of Eastertide, we have been exploring the depths and heights and breadth of the love of God.

Love that is stronger than death
Love that stewards life for future generations
Love that pours out amazing grace

Today, as we dive into this passage from the farewell address of Jesus in John’s gospel, we hear about the greatest love of all: to lay down your life for your friends.
In fact, we are commanded… we are charged… we are urged to embody with one another the kind of love that Jesus has shown us.
We are invited to abide in that love… to make our home and persevere in that love.
And when we do… Jesus calls us not servants, but friends.

For a couple of weeks now, I’ve been wrestling with this passage and what it means for us to be called a friend of God.
It is an honor reserved for very few within the scriptures…
Abraham is named as a friend of God in both James 2:23 and Isaiah 41:8.
David also seems to have this very special place in God’s heart.
Were they perfect people? No
But they embodied the same spirit that Jesus invites us to embody… a spirit of obedience.
As Jesus tells the disciples in “If you keep my commands, you abide in my love.”

Keeping commandments…
Obeying orders…
These sounds to me like things that a follower, a servant, or a slave might do.
And yet it is clearly in this context that Jesus says we are NOT servants.
What gives?

I think when we go back to our experiences of friendship in this world that we find a way to navigate this difficult passage.
Friends, after all, are those people with whom we have chosen to throw in our lot with.
They are the ones that we stand with – shoulder to shoulder – facing the world.
Our friends are the ones we walk alongside through triumphs and tragedy.
Our friends know us intimately… and we know them intimately in return.

This is the kind of relationship that Christ wants to have with us.
He wants us to throw in our lot with him, to abide in him, to give 100% of our lives to this cause.
He wants to stand side-by-side with us, shoulder-to-shoulder, working to build the kingdom.
He wants to help us navigate the ups and downs of life and believes that when we walk together, our joy might truly be complete.
He knows us intimately… and he wants us to know him fully…. Every plan, every detail, every reason and rationale.

In a relationship between a master and slave, you obey out of fear or out of duty. You obey because your life or your work or your livelihood depends on it. It is an entirely self-serving and self-interested kind of response. You don’t see the bigger picture, merely the next step in front of you.

But when we see the great love that God has for this world and we choose to abide in that love, our self-interest fades away.
We see the journey of redemption and new creation that God has initiated in Jesus Christ.
We find our joy and our hope in that vision of the Kingdom of God, where all people are invited to the table, where death is no more, where we are finally free from the power of sin.
We obey not out of fear, but because we have claimed that vision and made it our own.
We obey because we, too, want to share that love with others.
We are willing to set aside our own self-interest, move out of our comfort zones, and step forward, with Jesus at our side, to share love and hope and healing and life with others.

Christ has chosen you.
He picked you out of the crowd and declared – you are my friend.
And when we respond and stand by his side, abiding in, remaining in his love,
Then we truly are friends of God.

Surrounded #gc2019

Posted on February 22, 20191 Comment

I’ve been here in St. Louis for two days now because of some committee responsibilities and it is hard to imagine that we are here and ready to get started. We have been talking about this special called conference for a long time. And a big part of me really just wants to be on the other side. To know what the answer will be. To know what everyone needs to do next.

But between now and then, there is an awful lot to do.

There will be disagreements.
There will be harmful words.
There will be tears and laughter.
There will be frustration.
There will be moments we get mired down in the minutiae of Robert’s Rules instead of the movement of the Holy Spirit.

But I also know and am surrounded with glimpses of holiness and resurrection and hope.

I’ve shared meals and broken bread with colleagues from across the world as we talk about what we see and experience in our local churches and the hopes we have there. I hear all around me the excitement of disciple-making and the way people have been pushed into having deeper conversations and engagement with scripture because of this work. We all know that the church will be forever changed by whatever happens… and we know that God is doing and will continue to do amazing things in our communities and that work does not stop because the institution makes a decision. We are surrounded by fields of ministry, just waiting to be harvested.

I’ve stopped and talked with a few homeless guys on the streets. It’s not as cold as it is back in Iowa, but the air is still frigid. As I think about our local church work with Joppa, I’ve been ever more aware of these neighbors among us who so often are disregarded and avoided. So I’m pushing myself to stop and listen and look these folks in the eyes. It was good to be able to share my leftover pizza with Ben and to talk about the day with Clint. We are surrounded by people who long to be seen and to know that God loves them… whether they are homeless, or speak another language, or because of their gender identity or sexual orientation.

I’ve spent more time than I should on my phone… but facebook and twitter and email has been filled with an outpouring of love and support and encouragement. I’ve read posts that really are more like love letters to their denomination – urging us to be the best we can be and reminding us of who we are. I’ve read posts from colleagues from other denominations who just want to let us know that they are in prayer for us. Even some of my fellow gym members have reached out with encouragement and prayers, even though we haven’t ever talked about more than deadlifts and insane cardio. I’ve had people reach out to ask how they can offer support from afar and even had a care package show up in my hotel room from our fledgling, ecumenical “millennial minister” group in Des Moines. We are surrounded by people who are praying with us and who will walk with us long after this conference is over.

And I’m amazed at how quickly relationships form and friendships that sustain time and distance are born. I went up in the St. Louis Arch this morning with members of my Committee on Reference – this quiet little committee that had such important work to do this year. We bonded in a unique way over those days and it was wonderful to have some fun together. But I also have had time to visit and greet and hug people that I served with at General Conference in 2016, or the North Central Jurisdictional Committee on the Episcopacy, or Global Ministries, and as we looked across the room we saw those familiar faces and had to reach out. I even chatted for a few minutes with a colleague from Iowa with whom I disagree about desired outcomes from this weekend and our desire to remain friends no matter what happens… but what it has reminded me is that we are surrounded by love and compassion and grace, even if/when we aren’t sure we agree about who and what the church should be about.

Like a Child: Say You’re Sorry

Posted on June 3, 2018Leave a comment

Text: Matthew 18:21-35

Last week, Pastor Todd helped us to launch our series, “Like a Child,” by reminding us of how Jesus welcomed little children in not one, not two, but three of our gospels.
In each place, Jesus reminds the disciples, and us, that unless we humble ourselves or have the faith of a child, we will not enter the Kingdom of God.

So as we start summer here at Immanuel, we thought that we might explore deeper what it means to have faith like a child.
What does it mean to shed the bad habits and baggage that we have learned to carry as adults.
What can we learn from the little ones in our midst about what it means to love God and love our neighbor?

I am the proud aunt of eight nieces and nephews.
And I’m the type of aunt that is often found on the floor, playing with the cars, painting nails, and reading books, than watching from afar.
So, I’m often in the middle of it all when a younger sibling takes a toy that someone else is playing with or throws a fit when they lose a game.

I try not to do too much policing myself, as an aunt. Mom and Dad usually have a better understanding of when to intervene and what type of correction they would prefer to be using in the moment.

But as I thought about all of the times that either their parents or myself have intervened to calm a situation, I realized that the words that always come out of our mouth are:
“Say you’re sorry.”
It doesn’t matter who was in the wrong.
Both kids usually have to say sorry.
Typically, both are also redirected away from the source of the conflict and towards something they can either all use together or that will keep them a part.

Do you know what I realized?
I don’t think we ever have to teach children to say: “I forgive you.”

The dictionary defines forgiveness as when we stop feeling angry or resentful towards someone for an offense, a flaw, or a mistake.
In our gospel reading this morning, the word translated to forgiveness comes from the Greek aphiemi (a-fee-a-me), which means to send away or to give something up; to let it be or let them have it.
Forgiveness is about release.
Forgiveness is about restoration of relationship.
And forgiveness is almost always about the person wronged.

You see, as adults, when someone offends us or hurts us or takes away one of our toys, animosity builds in our heart towards that person.
We not only remember and take note of the wrong… we allow it to come between us.
Forgiveness is when we let go of that anger or frustration or resentment and enter back into relationship with that person.

But you see, kids don’t have to learn how to forgive.
One afternoon, my nephews were fighting over a Transformer and whose turn it was to play with it.
Both had their sticky little fingers on it, and to be honest, none of us adults could remember who had it first or how long they had it. All we knew was that tears were about to flow and the pitch of their voices kept rising.
What we feared is that either they would break this toy they both coveted or one of them would end up hurt from the struggle.
So, my brother called a time out, the Transformer got put on a shelf until another time, and their dad declared it was time to sit and read books for a while.
“Say you’re sorry”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry.”
Both kids crawled up onto my lap and we started reading my favorite about the monster at the end of the book.
No more anger.
No resentment.
Right after the book was finished, they went off to play, together, with their cars.
Children don’t need to learn how to forgive, because children don’t allow mistakes, offenses, or wrongs to come between them.
You simply say you are sorry and you move on.

Adults need to practice forgiveness because we have lost that child-like faith in one another.
Somewhere along the way, as we grow we learn how to hold on to their hurts.
We remember wrongs done to us and nurse that pain until it grows.
One afternoon, my brothers were playing with action figures and one of them decided that to keep his sibling from playing with their favorite one, a batman figurine, he was going to bury it somewhere the other couldn’t find it.
There were two problems with this scenario.
First – Tony forgot where he buried the Batman and it was forever lost to both of them.
Second – Darren never forgot that Tony forever lost his favorite toy.
To this day… as we find ourselves sitting around as family, the lost Batman story comes up.
I think that Darren finally forgave Tony a few years ago, when he received a three foot tall Batman figurine from him for Christmas.
Of course, this small thing was not something that really came between them or damaged their relationship. But there was a moment when that child-like ability to instantly move on faded for them and for all of us who are grown. The offense stuck with them enough that it kept coming up in conversation even 25 years later.

How do we recapture that child-like faith?
How do we go back and rediscover that spirit of mercy and patience and love that allows us to say we are sorry and move on?

First, children don’t carry grudges because they don’t live in the past.
They are focused on what is right in front of them… the activity, the people, the relationships.
Yesterday’s hurt has no place in today’s relationship. Forgiveness requires that we stay in the present moment.
So taking a deep breath and focusing on the person rather than the past will allow us to let go of the anger and the pain as we forgive.
Peter tries to address this by asking a question of Jesus in our gospel reading this morning.
“Lord, how many times do I have to forgive someone who has wronged me?”
Peter is starting to get what it means to follow Jesus.
He knows that the gospel is about grace and mercy and love.
So he knows that people deserve more than even a second chance.
“Should I forgive them seven times?” he asks.
Seven times.
Seven chances.
Seven times you have been hurt or offended or wronged by someone.
Seven moments where you let the pain that you feel, the anger and the hurt go so that you can enter back into relationship with them.
Seven times!

To be honest, that sounds like a lot.
I know people today who have unfriended someone on facebook because of a single comment or have left a church because of a single instance of hurt or pain.
Our response these days to hurt rarely involves giving someone a second chance.
We take our toys and we leave and we allow the anger to become a gulf between us.
Peter is going far above and beyond what the standard is for forgiveness in society today.
But Peter isn’t going far enough.

Scholars debate the translation of Jesus’ response here. Seventy-seven? Seventy times seven?
However you read the text, Jesus is telling Peter to stop counting. Stop looking to the past. Stop keeping a record of wrongs.
Simply forgive.
Always forgive.
Never stop forgiving.

The second thing we need to remember is that children don’t calculate the costs of revenge.
Instinctually, they might lash out and hit back if they are hit, but more likely they will turn to tears or go running to the nearest adult to solve their problem.
Their sense of self recognizes that to get over this situation, they need more than their own resources.
What I find fascinating about the response of Jesus to Peter is that he is inviting us to open our scriptures and remember the Torah. In Genesis, chapter 4, Lamech proclaims that where his ancestor Cain was protected with a seven-fold vengenace, if anything happened to him, God would avenge Lamech’s death seventy times seven over.
This connection with ancient scripture reminds us that vengeance is the Lord’s.
Cain had murdered his own brother and yet it was not the job of humanity to take his life. God sent him away, but God also protected him from the wrath of others.
You and I are not called to exact revenge or carry resentment or seek to end someone’s life or livelihood as a result of pain.
Our job is always to forgive.
And forgiveness means letting go of vengeance because it belongs only to God.

Finally, children don’t have learn how to forgive because they know that their life depends on relationship.
Their home, food, clothing… everything they have depends on the people around them.
To allow hurt and pain to come between you and another person might result in the loss of something that you need to survive.
In that sense, children are also extremely vulnerable and cannot fight back or run away from serious harm inflicted by those who are supposed to care for them the most.
As adults, we believe that we are independent.
We believe that we can live without others.
And so rather than forgive and enter back into relationship, we cut ourselves off from on another.
A child-like faith is reclaiming that we are all part of the same body of Christ.
We need one another.
I need you.
You need me.
And that means that we have to forgive, to let the hurt slip into the past, so that we can move forward in relationship and ministry together.
As Jesus continues to respond to Peter, he shares a parable about the forgiveness of debts.
No matter how large or small the offense.
No matter how many times we have been wronged.
Our job is to forgive. To let go. To let be.
So that we can enter back into relationship with one another.

And, so that we can enter back into relationship with God.
For you see, when we allow something to come between us and our siblings, we have also allowed something to come between us and our Lord.
Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who have trespassed against us.
When you send away the anger that has come between you and another person, you will discover that you have also torn down the wall that was separating your heart from God’s never-failing love.
And friends, we need that love.
We need that relationship with God.
Our very life is sustained by the One, who in the words of Psalm 103, forgives all our sins and heals all our diseases and redeems our life from the pit.
the Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in love.
God does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities.
As far as the east is from the west, so far as God removed our transgressions from us.
God sent them away. Let them go.
God has forgiven you.
So, our job is to forgive others.
Oh… and don’t forget to say you’re sorry.

You Are Family

Posted on April 29, 2018Leave a comment

As a child, when I feel down and skinned my knee, there was nothing I wanted more than to be held in the arms of a parent. Their soothing words helped me to know that this moment of crisis was only temporary and that I would be okay.

When I was a bit older, I suffered an injury of my own making. I had decided to stand on the landing of the staircase and leap! trying to determine just how far I could jump. I was old enough I should have known better. I was old enough that I shouldn’t have needed a parent to offer comfort. And yet, even when you know its your own fault or when you think you are too big, the comfort of a parent is still welcomed.

As we grow up or as the hurts and wounds of our lives increase, that feeling doesn’t necessarily change. In those vulnerable moments of our lives, we want to be surrounded by people that are our family… whether our biological or our chosen family. When my own dad lost a couple of fingers in a workplace accident, countless relatives made the trip up to Mayo in Rochester, Minnesota to visit him and to sit with my parents during that long recovery.

And Pastor Todd and I have joined so many of you and your loved ones around hospital beds, in pre-surgery suites, and at home, as you have navigated illness and injury as well. I always find myself incredibly honored to be able to join in those moments. They are spaces of vulnerability and intimacy, holy spaces, and it is a joy to be able to name and lift up the presence of God that accompanies you on your journey.

Marcia McFee reminds us that we feel “at home” whenever we are in a place and surrounded by people where it is safe to be vulnerable. Where we can bring our full selves – wounds, scars, faults and all, and we are still loved and accepted. There, in that space, among those people, we are family.

You accidently back the car into the garage, but you know you will still be loved.

You fail a test at school, but there will still be dinner on the table.

A difficult diagnosis comes at the doctor’s office and there is someone beside you holding your hand.

You lose your job, but there are people who have your back and will support you until you are back on your feet.

You can share your struggles and you know they will be heard and that somehow you will be okay.

But, many of us have not experienced family in that way.

The homes some of us grew up in were not safe spaces.

Maybe it was the constant demand for perfection…

Or Alcoholism…

Neglect…

Or maybe even just that Midwestern work-ethic… Iowa nice… that invited you to always put on a smile because we don’t talk about our problems.

Or perhaps there has been a disagreement or a conflict that grew so impassioned that no one feels safe to authentically be themselves or to speak more than surface level small talk – fearing rejection or the dissolution of relationship.

My heart grieves when I hear about young people who are on the streets because they have fled from a home where they are not safe or where they have not be accepted.

I lament the brokenness of so many of our homes… that busyness and conflict have turned so many families into strangers that simply share space with one another.

And I am particularly saddened when I discover ways that this family, this community – the church, has turned their back on one of their children or has not been there in a time of need.

The church is like any human institution. It is full of imperfect people who make mistakes.

And yet, we claim to follow Jesus, and that is supposed to make a difference in the way we love and treat one another.

Perhaps that is why the disappointment is even greater… I expect more of us.

Today, and throughout this week, the bishops of the United Methodist Church are gathering to be in a time of discernment around how we might continue to live together as a family. I invite you to join with me in prayer about how we might truly, authentically, bring our full selves into relationship with one another and how we might offer love and acceptance to even those with whom we mightily disagree.

It is not an easy time for our church or for this particular church.

But when I think about where we lose our way and why we might have forgotten what it means to be a family, I begin to wonder if maybe we have forgotten who we follow.

Maybe we have become so preoccupied with rules…

So busy thinking about physical structures…

Too worried about how something sounds or how long we have been gone…

We have stopped paying attention to the one who called us here in the first place.

In the epistle this morning, this first letter from John, we are urged to consider the kind of love that the Father has given to us. “What marvelous love the Father has extended to us! Just look at it – we’re called children of God! That’s who we really are… and that’s only the beginning. Who knows how we’ll end up! What we know is that when Christ is openly revealed, we’ll see him- and in seeing him become like him. All of us who look forward to his Coming stay ready, with the glistening purity of Jesus’ life as a model for our own…”

We see God’s marvelous love through Jesus Christ. The one who was born into a human family. Who took on our flesh. Who relied upon the care of a mother and a father. Who created a family of disciples. Who reached out to touch people in their brokenness and offer forgiveness and healing. And who ultimately took our sin and our shame to the cross and who died for our sake.

We are called to keep our eyes on Jesus.

And when we do so, we remember that although his heart was pure, his body was far from perfect.

He bore within his very skin and bones the wounds of God’s love for us.

When he appeared among the disciples after his resurrection, those wounds were not something to be hidden and they did not magically go away.

No, Jesus invited them to reach out and touch his hands and his feet.

These disciples were the same ones who had rejected him and turned their backs.

They had not caused his physical wounds, but they had certainly caused harm through their actions.

And yet, Jesus shows up, right there in their midst, offering love, forgiveness, and acceptance.

Not hiding how he has been hurt, but through is hurt, sharing God’s love.

Henri Nouwen, in his reflection on the Wounded Healer reminds us that “nobody escapes being wounded. We are all wounded people, whether physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. The main question is not, ‘How can we hid our wound?’ so we don’t have to be embarrassed, but ‘How can we put our woundedness in service of others?’ When our wounds cease to be a source of shame, and become a source of healing, we have become wounded healers.”

In the church, there are certainly wounds that abound among us. Physical illness. The damage of an unkind word. And unintentionally brush-off. Mistakes and missteps. The pain of being gone too long. The feeling that we are not good enough to offer our gifts or our talents. But if we truly were to follow the example of Christ in this building, in the United Methodist Church, in our Christian families, then those wounds, that brokenness would find safe space here. We would find that we are able to be present with one another and offer peace and forgiveness. We wouldn’t hide our illness, but would invite others to journey with us and pray for us. We would not be ashamed of physical limitations, but would celebrate the ways we can serve. We would speak truth and peace to those who have hurt us – just as Jesus invited us to in Matthew chapter 18.

In a family, among loved ones, wounds are healed. Hurts are forgiven. Faults are accepted.

And God our Parent, Christ our Brother has called you into this place so that you might know that love that so far surpasses any earthly love you might ever experience.

And as our God loves us, we are called to love and accept and offer healing and forgiveness to one another – one family, united by Christ.

May it be so.

The Spirit of Healing

Posted on July 23, 2017Leave a comment

A few years ago, I was in Tampa for a church conference in a part of town that had a lot of homeless folks around. I have to be honest that when I saw the folks standing on the street looking for handouts, I didn’t stop to respond. I spent a lot of time diverting my eyes, or politely saying I’m sorry and moving on quickly.

Until a man on a bench asked me for some money for food.

I went through my usual explanation – I don’t have cash, I’m in a hurry, I’m sorry… and kept moving.

But I got about 25 feet from him and I stopped.

I knew that I could help him. I knew there was something I could do.

The Holy Spirit filled me up and turned me around and before I knew it, I was introducing myself to Fred and taking him across the street to Quiznos.

I really was in a hurry, but I stood in line there with him and he ordered a nice hot sandwich and we talked about his life. He had lost his job and had moved here looking for work. He hadn’t found any. He was waiting for his unemployment check to catch up with him and until it arrived he had nothing, so he was staying in a shelter.

He was hoping to be back on his feet in a week or two… but I had the feeling that this was only the beginning of a tough road for him.

I knew I couldn’t fix all of his problems… but I could get him a nice, hot dinner. As we parted ways outside the door, he gave me a huge smile and said, “God bless you.”

As we heard in our scripture this morning, a lame man was carried to the temple every single day to beg for the resources that would sustain his meager life.

He was begging for bread and water and shelter.

And when Peter and John encounter him – his life is turned upside down and would never be the same again.

It wasn’t a sandwich that stirred his blood – it was the power of the Holy Spirit and the name of Jesus Christ that strengthened his weak legs. This broken man stood up leaping and laughing.
He ran in through the temple gates and made a joyful exuberant scene – praising God for the chance at new life.

I want to invite us to look at this story from a couple of different angles this morning.

First, from the perspective of Peter and John.

After the ascension of Jesus, these two had found themselves leaders of a small movement – three to four thousand people were now following their guidance and were committing themselves to the way and the teachings of Christ.

Each person had given up everything they knew before in order to support and care for and nurture this precious new community. They had gone all in with their time, money, and talents.
One of the primary things they did together was to worship and pray. One of the customs of the Jewish faith is to pray three times a day – morning, afternoon, and evening – as a way of keeping your whole life focused on the Lord.

And so it is not surprising that these two are on their way to the temple for the 3:00 prayer.

They walk to the temple, passing through the same gate they may have entered hundreds of times before, passing the dozens of beggars who would often gather along the way.

I think to fully understand this story of healing, we need to understand the culture of begging that would have been present. It was present in downtown Tampa, some of our participants on the VIM Trip to Memphis experienced it, and it would have surrounded Peter and John at the temple.

Bob Deffinbaugh describes his experience with a begging culture in India this way:

There were so many beggars there was no way one could respond to all of them. The solution was often not to “see” any of them. But the beggars made this difficult. Those who were mobile would press themselves on you. They would approach your taxi at an intersection, tugging at your sleeve and pleading for help. Those not mobile would call our for charity. The beggar would be aggressive, something like the salesmen as you try to walk through the appliance section at Sears. You would concentrate on not seeing them as they converged on you, and you hurried to get through the section before you were trapped.

Living in the midst of this culture, you train yourself to ignore them, because you simply cannot respond to the needs of all.

Maybe you occasionally stop and help one person to make yourself feel better.

But you don’t make eye contact. You keep moving.

Peter and John are walking along the same road they do every day and they see countless beggars along the path.

What is different about today? Why do they stop? Why do they reach out to this particular man?

I think Peter and John felt that tug on their heartstrings that caused me to turn back in Tampa. It is the feeling we get when we encounter someone that God is inviting us to help – even if we might not have the confidence, or money, or resources to do so.

Peter and John felt that tug of the Holy Spirit and knew there was something they could do for this man.

They had not a dime in their pockets, no food to offer, nothing that could satisfy this man’s earthly needs, except for their faith in Jesus Christ.

These two disciples knew that was enough.

They had once been sent out to preach and heal and teaching with nothing but the clothes on their back. They had learned through practice that God truly can be depended on, that God is our very present help in times of trouble. They knew that faith could move mountains… and if it can move mountains than it can certainly help this lame man to walk.

They looked him in the eye, they reached out their hands in faith, and the lame man leaped for joy.

Every day, you and I pass countless people who are broken and hurting.

They may not be sitting on the street corners and their pain might not be visible to the naked eye, but if we look closely – we can see the strain of tension by the eyes, we can hear the waver in the voice, we feel the frustration and despair in the way they move and live in this world.

And because it is so common, we keep walking. The world we live in is begging and crying out for healing and we don’t have the heart to pay attention because it might overwhelm us.
Listen to those promptings of the Holy Spirit that stop you in your tracks.

God will give you everything you need to share with that person the hope and faith and love you have experienced through Jesus Christ.

You know, sometimes we have the opportunity to be Peters and Johns – going through our daily lives and coming across the opportunity to heal someone.

But we are also the lame beggars who sit by the gate.

Each of us has a whole host of problems – aching backs, sore knees, family disagreements, conflicts in our marriage, struggles with our children, sinful pasts and temptations in the present, stress around deadlines and finances, cancer, disease, death.

You name it, this community has experienced it or will experience it.

But unlike the lame beggar, we tend to hide our struggles. We don’t sit with them out in the open for all to see, but hold them close to our hearts and silently wait for an answer.

This lame man knew he couldn’t remain at home and do nothing. So every day, he convinced someone to carry him from where he slept to the Beautiful Gate.

For nearly forty years he had done this daily.

He went to the temple, to the place of God, and begged.

I wonder if sometime during the last year or two, he heard rumors of Jesus passing by.

I wonder if he had heard about the miracles taking place all around Jerusalem.

Maybe Jesus had walked through that very gate, but that man was too weak or too quiet, to catch his attention and to ask for a miracle for himself.

Maybe he didn’t feel worthy, like a lost cause, a hopeless mess.

It doesn’t matter how sick you are, how broken or how sinful; the grace of God has time for you.

The Holy Spirit has time for you.

And so even though our beggar could not even look them in the eyes, Peter and John stopped in front of him and healed him.

He leapt for joy.

Some of us have experienced miracles, healing, and forgiveness… and we know that when we have, we cannot go back to life as it was…. nothing will ever be the same.

I must admit, I always have a deeply engrained “BUT” on the tip of my tongue whenever I talk about the power of healing and the miracle of faith.

I know too many people who have prayed for miracles that have never come.

Earlier this week, I got word that Greg Leonard passed away. We have been praying with the Harvey and Leonard families without ceasing for healing in his life and yet no cure was to be found.

I have watched with agony as so many friends and so many of you have prayed for healing for loved ones that did not come in this lifetime.

One summer, I worked as a hospital chaplain and watched one young woman healed and watched another die within a week. Both had leukemia and both were clutching their faith.

Sometimes, I think we hide our problems, our disease, or our sins because we are afraid that we will be found wanting.

We are afraid that if we tell the truth, everyone will know we “didn’t have enough faith” for the answer we desire to come to pass.

Friends, prayer is not magic.

It is not an incantation we can repeat over and over in order to get what we want.

Prayer is a relationship with God. A two-way relationship.

And sometimes the answers we receive are not the ones we initially begin praying for.

Sometimes we receive the gifts of peace and comfort instead of cures.

Sometimes we hear a calling to be strong and to share our faith with others in spite of the pain we are experiencing.

Sometimes the answer to our prayers is that we ourselves have to change – that we need to forgive or give up a lifestyle that was harming us or move away from a difficult relationship.

But in the miracles of healing in the scripture and in my experience, Jesus or the disciples never told someone to go out and find more faith and THEN come back and be healed.

No, the words the Holy Spirit speaks into our hearts are: “be still and know that I am God… trust in me and my goodness… I am with you… Do not be afraid…”

Sometimes, as is the case with our lame beggar, the healing comes in the present moment.

Sometimes, complete healing and wholeness only comes after our time on this earth is over.

But still we pray, and still we have faith, and still we trust, because we have a relationship with the One who is able to bring some goodness and beauty out of the brokenness of our lives.

Today, we are both disciples and beggars.

We can both offer prayers of healing for others and we can ask for healing in our lives as well.

One of our primary gifts, one of our strengths, a huge piece of our vision is prayer… and this room is filled with people who believe in the power of miracles and that God truly can work for good in our lives.

I want to invite us to claim that gift today and before you leave the sanctuary this morning, I encourage you to take time to talk with someone, to listen to their prayers, and to pray with and for them.