Over the past eight months, I have learned a lot about the people of Immanuel UMC. I had heard you were friendly and welcoming, hospitable and that this was a caring church, but those are really just words until you see them lived out in people’s lives. And having a fresh set of eyes – an outsiders eyes – I want to share just a few things I’ve learned. I’ve learned that you are quick to show up at the bedside of a friend and have often have visited before either of us pastors hear someone is in the hospital or is sick. I’ve discovered the joy filled welcome that so many greeters offer to those who walk in the doors on Sunday mornings. I see the care that is taken to make this a hospitable and welcoming place – from the pots of coffee that are prepared to the flexibility to adapt and use this space differently, like you did with the nursery and library moves. On the sign outside our building, it says “All Welcome!” and you really want everyone to feel welcome here. But I must share that I also come as an outsider that looks and talks a whole lot like many of you do here in the church…. And on the surface, whether we intend for it to or not, that is itself a barrier for people who may not look or speak like the majority of those in this room. Being a part of this church, I can now see and name the multitude of ways we are diverse. We have a wide range of ages – from four week old babies to 104 year olds! We are people who are wealthy and who are struggling financially. We are healthy and we are in need of healing. Some of us have been educated by the streets and some of us have taught in universities. We vote republican and we vote democrat. And perhaps the most striking dichotomy of all: Some of us are Hawkeyes and some of us are Cyclones and some of us are Panthers and some of us don’t fit into any of those categories, but we still somehow are able to worship together 😉 We have made room in this place for all of this difference. God is good! Yet, there are still people missing from our midst. There are still people in this neighborhood and in this larger community who do not know that they would be welcome here. Even inside this caring, loving community, there are still people who feel like they simply don’t quite belong. Our sign outside might say, “All Welcome…” but do we truly live that out with every fiber of our being? In our gospel reading for this morning, the question of who belongs is lifted up. One afternoon, Jesus is hanging out with some of his disciples… who were all Jewish, both ethnically and religiously. In other words, they would have looked and talked the same. Philip and Andrew were out and about in the community when they encountered some Greeks who were in town for the festival. And these Greeks approached the pair and asked if they might see Jesus. What is interesting is that these are the same words that were used when Philip and Andrew first met Jesus… He asked them to “come and see.” So, these Greeks want to do more than just meet Jesus – they want to become followers OF Jesus. I can imagine Philip and Andrew turned to each other and started whispering. “They want to see Jesus?” “But they are Greek!” “Um…. Let’s go ask first…” What was the big deal? First of all, in the gospel of John, the disciples understood themselves to be part of a Jewish movement. They were traveling the countryside, preaching good news to the poor, but most of those people looked remarkably like them. Yes, there had been that one encounter with a Samaritan woman, but for the most part, this was a Jewish movement for Jewish people. This is only the second time in John’s gospel that Jesus encounters gentiles, people outside the Jewish community. Second, I have always found the disciples to be a bit thick. It takes them a little longer to catch on than we would like. They tried to keep the children from Jesus, but he welcomed them. They watched as he embraced sinners and prostitutes and outcasts. Yes, the ethnicity of these Greeks set them apart from Jesus’ disciples. At a minimum, their accents would have distinguished them. But maybe they dressed different and had a lighter hair and fairer skin. But Jesus had shown again and again that all sorts of people were welcome. Can you picture it? They walk up to Jesus, with the Greeks standing not too far behind them and they ask: “Hey Jesus, do you want to see those people, or should we send them away?” We want Jesus to answer with something like –“ Sure! Have them come over!” or “You guys just don’t get it… of COURSE I want to see them.” But he doesn’t. Jesus instead, for all to hear, starts talking about how you have to die to bear fruit. That he is going to give up his life and anyone who wants to follow him must give up theirs as well. When we think of it in the context of this diversity, Jesus’ words make a bit more sense. Standing before him are Andrew and Philip, the first Jewish disciples… and behind them are those who might become the first Greek disciples. Will they be able to get along? Will they be able to set aside their differences to follow him? Or will their pasts get in the way of the future God has planned for our salvation? This parable of sorts that Jesus offers is all about their identity. They can cling to their heritage and their labels, but if they do so they will always remain strangers. They will remain in their differences and never be lifted up with Christ. But if they let go of their worldly identity… their distinctions as Jews and Greeks… then they will come to know true life in the community of Jesus Christ. Jesus is asking them, and us, to declare our allegiance. Jesus invites us to let go of our labels – Jew or Greek, male or female, young or old and to take on a new identity as the servant of Christ… to identify ourselves not by any characteristic of this world, but to claim our identity in Jesus’ death and resurrection. I am white. I am a female. I am American. I am United Methodist. But first and foremost and more important than any of those other labels, I am a disciple of Jesus Christ. And the question raised by this parable is what kind of sacrifices do we need to make… what do we need to risk… in order for the world to know that is the core of our identity? Whether we want it to or not, all of those other identifying characteristics can get in the way of the world knowing the love of God in Jesus Christ. The color of our skin can be a barrier. The way we talk can be a barrier. Our nationality can be a barrier. And if we want others to see Jesus in us… If we want others to know and follow him who died to save us all… then it is up to us to cross whatever barriers might exist and be present with people where they are. Recently, Samsung put together an ad that describes the kind of hospitality and love that helps someone who feels like they are on the outside experience what it might like to be in. Muhareem is deaf and his primary language is sign language. Yet as he encounters neighbors and strangers in the world, they don’t speak his language. But what if they did? What if a whole neighborhood decided to cross a barrier and meet Muhareem where he is? What sacrifices can we make? What risks can we take? What barriers can we cross to help others see Jesus? God loves all sorts of people who live outside of these four walls. Single dads. Drug addicts. The homebound elderly. Children who are competing for first place in a contest. Folks who partied too much last night. So the question I leave us with today is what might Jesus be asking us to do to cross a barrier and share the love of Christ with them today? What might we, as a church, let go of, so that the world might know Jesus?
Posts Tagged with risk
Breathe
Shortly after we moved into our new home, there were a number of big, scary storms. It was cool for June, so we had opened the windows to let the cool breeze blow in.
Our cats typically LOVE to sit in the open windows. They look out, smell the world, and watch the birds.
But when those storms rolled through, the curtains blew everywhere. The breeze going through the house was strong enough to move things off the table. I thought it was crisp, cool and refreshing… but the cats were not pleased.
With each gust of wind, my cat Tiki’s ears laid back and he would meowl. He was a bit overstimulated. He didn’t know where to look or what to do. You could just see chest rise and fall with each panicked breath. So, I spent about half an hour petting and reassuring him that morning. The other cat, Turbo, refused to even make an appearance.
The blowing of the wind always makes me think of the Holy Spirit. She blows where she will, she stirs things up and creates a ruckus, and we can either be comforted or agitated by her presence.
When we are ready for the Spirit to blow, it is a refreshing change of pace…. We breathe in deep and enjoy the ride.
But when we are not ready for that change, when we are not looking for the Spirit and she shows up, well, then we feel like trouble is brewing. We complain about how we’ve never done things like that before. We might try to fight back and then when it’s obvious the change is here to stay – we might just hunker down in the middle of the floor and give up.
In our scriptures today, we find two different groups of people who are in the midst of some powerful Holy Spirit changing winds.
In our first story, Elijah is dealing with the shifting winds of culture and a changing political situation. His whole world has been tossed upside down and he feels threatened and afraid. He isn’t sure what he is supposed to do in response and cries out to God for help.
In our second story, the disciples find themselves in a strange in between time. We talked last week about how their friend and colleague John the Baptist had just been executed. They are being led deeper into more dangerous territory in their faith and being encouraged by Jesus to take bigger risks than ever. Their entire understanding of who God is has radically been changing. They are completely unsure where their faith will lead them next.
And in both places, a powerful wind shows up and helps remind them that God is always with them.
As we think about these two stories, it is helpful to imagine ourselves in their shoes.
Sometimes, we run away to a place of safety like a cave. This sanctuary can feel like such a refuge, with its cavernous space and the warmth and protection it offers.
The disciples, were sheltered from the storms in their boat. A boat much like this church…
![20140818_093323[1]](https://i0.wp.com/69.195.124.149/~salvagh0/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/20140818_0933231.jpg)
You may think I’m talking about some symbolic and imaginary boat. You might picture yourself floating down the Raccoon River or on a pontoon out on Saylorville Lake. But believe it or not, we have all, literally, gotten into a boat this morning!
The part of the sanctuary where you are sitting is officially called the “nave.” The word comes from the Latin navis, which means a boat or ship. This sanctuary is constructed, on purpose, to look like an upside down boat. The rafters are the frame and the wooden slats become the hull of the ship.
So we are all together, in the boat this morning. We are all in this boat called church doing our best to be faithful and follow Jesus.
The problem is, sometimes the winds start to blow. And when that happens… well, we can’t always be sure where we will end up!
In the gospel, the wind picks up and pulls the disciples from the shore. Their boat is battered around on the water. The winds whip around and blow the lake water into their faces. It’s not a pleasant way to spend the night.
Out there on the water, they not only sense the breeze, but also the winds of change. Their fears and hesitations and feelings of inadequacy about this journey of faith creep in. In the wee hours of the morning, they start to feel alone, lost, and afraid.
That’s how Elijah was feeling too. Alone. Afraid. The winds of change were against him and he alone was left of the prophets of God. Ahab and Jezebel, the rulers of Israel had turned against God and God’s people and Elijah had done everything he could to try to get them to follow God again. Nothing he did worked. He felt like giving up. He wanted things to go back to how it was before. He wanted the land to be full of God’s power and blessing again.
It is a common experience. Whether it was Elijah looking backwards or the disciples wanting to stay near the shoreline.
It is the tension between wanting to stay near to the shoreline, where we know Jesus has been, and allowing the winds of the Holy Spirit lead us into different waters and a new mission field.
The shoreline is where we are safe and comfortable.
The shoreline is where we have experienced Jesus.
Just close your eyes for a few moments and breathe in deep.
As you breathe in and out, think about where that shoreline is in your life. That experience of Jesus. A Sunday school class, a worship service, a bible study….
PAUSE
The shoreline is our cherished past. It is where we KNOW God has been. So we try as hard as we can to stay near to that shoreline, or to find one just like it in another place. We don’t want to venture out into the world without Jesus by our side, so we want to hang on, right there, and wait.
If the disciples had their way, they would have stayed right by the shoreline, all night long.
That’s what many of our churches try to do. They tread water, anchored in one place, doing their best to stay afloat and keep things as they are.
But sometimes, the winds of change start to blow. The Holy Spirit starts to move us. And like the disciples, we find ourselves drifting farther and farther from where we are safe and comfortable.
Some of those winds might be cultural shifts that move news and conversations online instead of in print or in person.
Some of those winds represent the migration of people and the changing demographics of the state and this very neighborhood.
Some of those winds are changes in styles and preferences of those who would worship with us.
Sometimes those winds of change are finding pink slips in our bulletins instead of those familiar green pew pads.
It can be scary and disorienting to be led somewhere new by the Holy Spirit.
I remember I had this sense of absolute terror when I was called by my district superintendent to go to my first church. I had no idea what the future would bring. I didn’t know what the people would be like. I didn’t know whether or not I would fit in. All I knew were the churches of my past, the familiar boats I had worshipped and been taught in.
The winds of change were blowing and I had two options. I could embrace the call – take a deep breath and hope and pray that the Holy Spirit was truly working through the process. Or, I could try to hunker down and resist and probably would have been miserable. I chose to trust that no matter where the Spirit of God took me, Jesus would be there. And he was.
I think the mistake the disciples made in our scripture today is that they tried so hard to stay by the shoreline, where they knew Jesus had been… that when the winds drove them to the middle of the lake, they believed they were in a place Jesus couldn’t possibly be.
With the breeze swirling around, in that unfamiliar territory, they felt overwhelmed by the chaos of it all.
Their boat was the only thing they had left.
Without a shoreline to cling to, they took a deep breath, said a prayer, and hunkered down.
For Elijah, his mistake was constantly trying to go back to the old king and make them change. Do you remember the saying that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? Well, that was Elijah. Trying to convert Jezebel and fight her religion instead of moving on and looking for new people to minister to.
There is a temptation, when the winds of change are blowing, to retreat into a building like this. This church can become the center of our attention. It is that place we keep returning to, the familiar boat we hold on to for safety.
And so when those winds pick up, we retreat to our cave or hunker down in the boat.
Sometimes, it’s hard to get a sense of when we are being blown by the Spirit and when we are simply being tossed and turned by the breezes of popular opinion.
So, we focus on our people and our ministries And then we get into the rut of doing the same things over and over again, and wonder why it isn’t working any more.
But the biggest danger in doing so is that we no longer recognize Jesus when he shows up out there in the wind and the waves.
All around us are churches that are perishing because they have stopped paying attention to their neighborhoods and the world around them. They are dying because they no longer recognize Jesus when he’s standing out there in the winds of change.
When Jesus came out to the disciples, rocked by the winds on the lake that night, they didn’t know who he was. They were so startled by his presence, they thought he must be a ghost – an apparition – not their Lord and Savior.
Because why on earth would Jesus be out there?
“Hey! It’s me!” Jesus calls. “Don’t be afraid.”
Peter takes a deep breath and raises the courage to respond. He shouts into the wind at this dark figure approaching.
“ Lord! Is that really you? If it’s you… well…. If it’s you, then, tell me to come to you! “
And Jesus says, “Come.”
Take a deep breath and take a step out onto the waters.
Take a deep breath and step out of the cave.
I have new places to send you.
I have a new direction for you to go in.
Take a deep breath and step outside of these doors.
God is waiting. God is patient. And God has plans for us.
When we let the winds of the Holy Spirit move us, we go where our Creator calls us, we will experience amazing and miraculous signs of God.
The winds… they aren’t going to stop blowing.
Change will keep coming.
The Holy Spirit is alive and active in this world.
So pull up the anchor, take a deep breath, and enjoy the ride.
Driving Behind a Trooper
I hopped on the interstate, fresh from an invigorating meeting, ready to put the pedal to the metal and get home. I had an hour and forty minute drive ahead of me, so with an energy drink and a bag of pretzels in my passenger seat I was prepared to settle in, set my cruise control at 76 and go.
Yes, I speed. Not excessively, but fast enough. Six or seven over…
And on Interstate-80, many do.
My dad always told me that if you aren’t going with the flow of traffic you are a hazard to other drivers.
So I flow.
I picked up speed coming from the onramp and fell in pace behind a number of vehicles. I set the cruise. I turned up NPR.
And then the tail lights ahead of me started turning red.
Slowing up.
Cautious.
State Trooper.
And not a trooper that sits in the median and everyone slows down for a few minutes and then keeps right on going…
No, this state trooper was driving, with the rest of us… at 71 miles per hour.
The cars traveling ahead of me gradually got into the right hand lane, directly behind the state trooper.
No one was passing.
And then there would be that vehicle coming up from the left, going 75 or 77 and they would zoom on by only to hit their own brakes, and slow up, and sheepishly get in line with everyone else.
I followed that state trooper for an hour and fifteen minutes, so I had a lot of time to think about how we behave when we think “big brother” is watching. When the authorities are present. When we suddenly feel the need to fall into line and be on our best behavior.
Having just come from a meeting with pastors and the Bishop, I thought about how we do this in ministry.
We may not have speed limits or fines for going too fast, but we sure do know how to stiffle creativity and cause people to fall in line.
Many times I have watched as things were just gaining momentum… Just as we start putting the pedal to the metal with risky new ministries, someone speaks up: you can’t do that. We watch someone else stumble and falter and fear creeps back in and we don’t take the risk. We slow down and take baby steps, rather than charge ahead.
And just like on the interstate… when everyone is going 71 mph, driving in the right hand lane, behind the state trooper… the passion, the energy, the thrill of the open road is gone. We get stagnant. We get in each others way. We get anxious. Brake lights come on over and over again. No one wants to get in trouble… but secretly we hope someone does so that the rest of us are off the hook for a little while. We are constantly aware of someone watching us and it limits what we are able to accomplish.
I’m not saying we need to break the rules… well, maybe… depends on what the rules are!
What I’m really trying to say is that we need to create room and space for risky ministry…. for open and free ministry… for ministry that is okay with failure and taking chances and trying things. We need to not be so concerned with the authorities who are watching and we need to feel free to do something creative and new in our local churches.
Who is going to be courageous enough to drive 73 or 74 and pass the trooper?
These things we try… they might not work. We might find ourselves a bit down the road and have to switch gears. That’s fine! But then, we need “authorities” who encourage and support those who are feeling the wind at their back and the spirit blowing them forward.
At one point on our drive, the trooper slowed down to 68 mph as he found himself behind a semi-truck. But he stayed there longer than he needed to.
One by one, cars moved into the left lane and picked up a little speed.
They passed.
They weren’t pulled over.
I think that might be called grace.
A little breathing room. Backing off a bit so that others can move forward freely. Flexibility. Awareness. Making space.
The open road awaits.
foolish vigor
Deprecated: preg_match(): Passing null to parameter #2 ($subject) of type string is deprecated in /home4/salvagh0/public_html/wp-content/plugins/jetpack/jetpack_vendor/automattic/jetpack-image-cdn/src/class-image-cdn.php on line 682
While I might be young, I’m also a bit daring. I have found myself in recent events at the front of the room instead of the back. Maybe it is my naiveity, but even standing at the front or on a committee, I wonder where the hope has gone. I wonder where the risk has gone. This isn’t even a commentary on my denomination, the United Methodists… I have had many ecumenical conversations recently and I am sideswiped by “we can’t do that, or get away with that” comments.
It sometimes feels like the church has lost its foolish vigor. We have neglected St. Paul’s call to forget the ways of the world, forget success by earthly standards, and to just take a chance and stand with the cross. We have neglected the call to take up our cross and to follow Jesus – because we are scared of where the cross takes us. It isn’t just fear, or temptation to suceed, sometimes it is just down right laziness and the tedium of daily tasks that keep us from diving in.
I think I’m able to keep going, because in the midst of all of the “safe” choices and the call to “increase numbers” and the forms I have to fill out… I hear about a few folks are taking risks.A local presbyterian church held a Christmas Eve service this year at a bar in town. They took the risk and were invited back for next year. It wasn’t a success numerically – but they were out there, in the world, and if even one person thought in a different way, they were successful.
A group of young pastors gathered in Washington, D.C. for an event I attended. We gathered in the chapel at the capital building and prayed and sang. We have found some courage from one another to try new things, to apply for grants, to start programs and to ask questions. We are putting ourselves out there – and we do so knowing that there is a small community of support to help us.
Congregations in Cedar Rapids are responding to the changing communities around them and are throwing open their doors for native African congregations to meet in their midst.
The churches who have joined mine for the Co-Missioned transformation process are all taking risks and trying to pay attention to what the Holy Spirit is calling us to be and do. We have had to let go of some things in order to embrace this time of listening and waiting. It is hard, and it is scary to let go of what we think works for us. But every time we do so, we have been blessed by God’s movement.
I want us to be more foolish. To be more daring. And to trust where the Spirit calls us. Don’t be afraid to step out there. Don’t let your head tell you “no” when your heart is screaming “yes.” Don’t get caught up in this world’s definitions of success – numbers and money and power… just go where God tells you, wipe the dust off your feet if people don’t respond, and then go to the next place. Don’t be afraid of failure. Don’t worry about looking stupid. Take up your cross, with foolish vigor, and follow.
Christ-Colored Glasses
Parker Palmer is someone who often writes about life changes and how to navigate them with faith. In college, his book, “Let your Life Speak” became required reading for all students as they thought about what vocation was calling their name. And in his book, The Active Life, he writes about a moment of insight and transformation in his own life:
I took the course in my early fourties, and in the middle of that course I was asked to confront the thing I had fears about since I had first heard about Outward Bound: a gossamer strand was hooked to a harness around my body, I was backed up to the top of a 110-foot cliff, and I was told to lean out over God’s own emptiness and walk down the face of that cliff to the ground eleven stories below.
I remember the cliff all too well. It started wit ha five-foot drop onto a small ledge, then a ten-foot drop to another ledge, then a third and final drop all the way down. I tried to negotiate the first drop; but my feet instantly went out from under me, and I fell heavily to the first ledge. “I don’t think you have it quite yet,” the instructor observed astutely. “You are leaning too close to the rock face. You need to lean much farther back so your feet with grip the wall.” That advice went against my every instinct. Surely one should hug the wall, not lean out over the void! But on the second drop I tried to lean back; better, but not far enough, and I hit the second ledge with a thud not unlike the first. “You still don’t have it,” said the ever-observant instructor. “Try again.”
Since my next try would be the last one, her counsel was not especially comforting. But try I did, and much to my amazement I found myself moving slowly down the rock wall. Step-by-step I made my way with growing confidence until, about halfway down, I suddenly realized that I was heading toward a very large hole in the rock, and- not knowing anything better to do – I froze. The instructor waited a small eternity for me to thaw out, and when she realized I was showing no signs of life she yelled up, “Is anything wrong, Parker?” as if she needed to ask. To this day I do not know the source of my childlike voice that came up from within me, but my response is a matter of public record. I said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
The instructor yelled back, “Then I think it’s time you learned the Outward Bound Motto.” Wonderful, I thought. I am about to die, and she is feeding me a pithy saying. But then she spoke words I have never forgotten, words so true that they empowered me to negotiate the rest of that cliff without incident: “If you can’t get out of it, get into it.” Bone-deep I knew that there was no way out of this situation except to go deeper into it, and with that knowledge my feet began to move.
No matter how old we are, or experienced we are, or how familiar with the world we may be, there is a moment in each of our lives when something shifts – when we begin to see things in a whole new and transformed way. A moment where we let go of our fears and our old way of seeing things and suddenly the whole world opens up.
In many ways I had one of those moments at Annual Conference this year. For the most part, it was your regular old, run of the mill conference. We debated issues and voted on little keypads, we worshipped together and got to spend time with colleagues. But there were a few moments – here and there – where my world got turned upside down by the turn of a phrase or by a challenge issued forth from the pulpit or lectern, or a passage in the book that I took along with me.
After worship today, if you are able to stick around for our Administrative Board meeting, I’m going to be sharing a few of those challenges with the congregation. But for this morning – in light of our scripture readings I want to focus on just one… something that Bishop Trimble said from the pulpit…
“I don’t want you to tell me what’s impossible.”
Bishop Trimble was asking all of us to take a leap of faith, to take a risk and to step out on behalf of the God that we worship and to stop saying the word can’t. Things like…. We can’t start a ministry with the local Hispanic community because none of us know Spanish… He doesn’t want to hear it. We can’t grow our church because we live in a dying and aging county… He doesn’t want to hear it. We can’t be renewed and revitalized and transformed because we are a church that is already here and doing what we are supposed to be doing… He doesn’t want to hear it.
That last one is actually my own take on our Nicodemus story from this morning. In John’s gospel, this religious leader seeks Jesus out in the middle of the night to ask him some questions. He’s curious. He probably believes in many ways that Jesus – the young upstart that he is – has something to teach him. He’s willing to listen. But when Jesus starts talking metaphorically about being born again, suddenly this inquisitive Pharisee puts on his jaded glasses of disbelief and doubt.
What on earth are you talking about? You can’t be born again after you have grown old already? What, am I going to crawl back into my mother’s womb?
And Jesus looks him square in the eye – Don’t tell me what’s impossible.. Yes, you HAVE to be born of water and the Spirit to enter the Kingdom of God. You have to be reborn, replenished, revived by God’s grace… you have to accept the gift of life that I am offering you. All you have to do is say yes… and it’s yours. Don’t tell me what’s impossible.
Judith McDaniel suggests that this passage in John is as much about our ruts of disbelief and doubt as they are about those of Nicodemus. “we collect pennies from heaven when what is being offered is unimagined wealth… the very kingdom of God,” she writes. “Jesus is telling Nicodemus, and us, that God’s kingdom is here. The kingdom of God is not some far-off goal to be attained, for there is nothing we can do to attain it. The kingdom is present now, as a gift from God. Only God can gift us, can beget us as a totally new being in a new world.”
In other words, just take off those jaded glasses of disbelief and doubt and try these ones on for size. These Christ-colored glasses of truth and reality will open you up to the radical transforming power of God’s Spirit and I promise you… everything will be seen in a new light.
“In fact,” Emmanuel Larety writes, “to be in tune with God’s reign and presence we all need a transformative overhaul of our traditional ways of seeing and being… knowing and experiencing the world… [and] when this happens, it is as if we have begun life all over again.” (46, B-4)
As I think about what is happening in this congregation, I absolutely see signs of rebirth and awakening. And you know what the first clue was for me… Not once has someone said to me… We can’t. Not once has any committee or group or person said that we couldn’t do something – that it was impossible.
But I think that transformed way of seeing started long before I ever got here. I think that the summer before I arrived, when you were seriously contemplating with one another what the future of this church would be, you found yourselves on the side of the cliff with Parker Palmer. You were stuck dangling there by a thread, not being able to go back to the way things were before… perhaps not even wanting to, but also not quite knowing the steps to take next. And that motto from Upward Bound comes to my mind… “If you can’t get out of it, get into it.”
And so you dug your heels into it and took the leap of faith and were willing to find some way to move around on that cliff. That step of trust happened long before I got here, and in many ways, it is that transformation in the way you see and experience the world that has allowed me to do what I need to do.
So we definitely are on track for the first part of the Bishop’s challenge… and for responding to Jesus plea with us and Nicodemus from our gospel reading today. We are open to the possibility of transformation, of being made into something different. We are ready to say – Yes, Lord… Melt us, Mold us, Fill us, Use us… just send your Spirit upon us!
I think we are ready to see ourselves in a new light… but this morning, I want to extend that call just one step farther… I want to challenge us to look at the world and its people in this new light too.
That’s the challenge presented to us in our letter to the Corinthians this morning. Paul is begging his brothers and sisters not just to see themselves as transformed, but to see everything in a whole new way… For the love of Christ, Paul writes, urges us on, because we are convinced that one has died for all; therefore all have died. And he died for all, so that those who live might live no longer for themselves, but for him who died and was raised for them… From now one, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view… if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation; everything old has passed away; see everything has become new!
What Paul is saying is that if you are in Christ, if you are wearing your Christ-colored glasses, the whole world and everyone who is in it is transformed before your eyes. As John Stendahl puts it, if we see in the imagination of our hearts, ourselves, our foes, and this old world all thus transfigured by the death of Christ, will we not deal differently with each? (138, B-4)
If we are going to be transformed… if we are going to be the living Body of Christ in this community… then we have to see everything differently. We need to see that cliff we are on not as a challenge, but as an opportunity. We need to dig in our heels and dive in deep to this part of the world that we find ourselves.
This past week, we had a horrible tragedy in our community. In fact, as we were driving home from Annual Conference late on Sunday afternoon, we drove right by the house on L Avenue where the unspeakable happened. And I got to thinking about the theme of our whole conference – radical hospitality – and what it means to invite and welcome people into our midst.
As your pastor, I knew that there were people hurting in this community following this tragedy. I knew that there were people feeling forsaken who needed to be surrounded in prayer. I knew that we were lost in how to respond. And so I set up a space for prayer here in the building. And I contacted a few of the people I knew who had been personally affected and let them know about it.
I had no idea if anyone would show up. I had no idea what I could possibly say or offer – except I knew that Christ was here.
I’m not sure that anyone physically showed up. But I know people were affected by the fact that such a place even existed – that there was a place – whether they decided to come or not – where they could go. A place where people who were lost and hurting would be welcomed with open arms.
That is after all, how we started this worship service… with a cry to gather us in.
Here in this place, new light is streaming
now is the darkness vanished away,
see, in this space, our fears and our dreamings,
brought here to you in the light of this day.
Gather us in the lost and forsaken
gather us in the blind and the lame;
call to us now, and we shall awaken
we shall arise at the sound of our name.
Getting out of the Boat
Sermon Text: Romans 10:5-15, Matthew 14:22-33
Hymns for the Day: Many Gifts, One Spirit; You Are Mine; Here I am, Lord
Some mornings I feel very inadequate standing up here. It’s not that I’m unprepared, or unqualified in the worldly sense… it’s that I’m unprepared and unqualified in the godly sense. Who really is ready for the awesome feat of proclaiming the word of God? Most Sunday mornings I have reached a place where I’m able to focus not on my words that I have printed before me, but I can just let it go and let the Spirit take those words and do whatever God wants to with them.
This was a busy week for me and so for many reasons, I feel more inadequate than ever. I got up at 5 am this morning to go back over what I had written, to read some of my colleagues sermons and thoughts, and to clear my head and let some things go.
But then I remembered that it was precisely in that dark hour – during the fourth watch of the night, or sometime between 3 and 6 in the morning, that Jesus came walking on the water towards Peter.
I’ve shared with many of you my morning routine – how I like to get up and sit in the early morning sunrise with a cup of tea. Well, there was no sunrise this morning – only dark. I had to turn the lights on to see. I practically stumbled into the kitchen and with my eyes half shut began to make a pot of tea.
This morning, I felt like a disciple in a boat. Sent by Jesus to head off and get ready for some new ministry venture, but kept awake by all the stuff going on outside of the boat and just wishing that Jesus was there. Hoping and praying that by some miracle, Jesus shows up sometime before worship this morning.
The truth of the matter is, we are all disciples in that boat. We are all here because at some point in our lives we responded to the call of Jesus Christ on our lives and so we showed up. And we got into the boat, knowing who was steering the ship, but not knowing where we would end up.
You may think I’m talking about some symbolic and imaginary boat. You might picture yourselves floating down the Iowa River or in a little john boat on Lake Iowa. I’m not talking about something imaginary here. We have all – literally – gotten into the boat this morning!
In Nashville, I worked at a church who liked to use the fancy names for all of the parts of the sanctuary. For example: This place where I am standing is called the chancel area. It’s called the “chancel” because it describes the screen that used to separate the rest of the church from the altar area. Especially in older Catholic or Anglican churches, you can still see the dividing screen or intricate ornamentation that used to hide the altar and sacraments from the people. The communion rail here is the closest we have to that sort of a dividing line today.
This place out here is called the “nave” – and it’s why all of you have gotten into the boat. You see, the word comes from the Latin navis which means a boat or a ship. There are many churches that you can visit today in which the architecture actually makes that apparaent. In some of these places, the entire nave area is built to look like an upside down boat. Look up the next time you are visiting another church and see if there are rafters are curved to resemble the frame of a boat. The chapel at Simpson College is one of those churches.
So we are all in the boat this morning. We are all in this boat called the church doing our best to be faithful and to follow Jesus. The problem is, as we hear from this morning’s scripture: Jesus isn’t always in the boat!
Today, Matthew tells us about how Jesus sent his disciples out by boat to go to the other side of the lake. He does so because he needs some quiet time to pray and to think after all that miracle working (after all, he has just healed and fed 5000+ people!) and so he sends the disciples out with a task. Head out, and meet me on the other side.
And so the disciples get in the boat. But you know what… I think that the disciples, like most of us in the church, really wanted Jesus to come with them, to be with them, so they tried as hard as they could to stay near the shore and to wait for Jesus to return. They didn’t really want to venture out into the world without Jesus by their side, so they tried to wait. They tried to hold on.
Oh, how many churches in the world today are treading water, anchored in one place, doing their best to just stay afloat and waiting for Jesus to come back. It’s easy to do. It’s what happens when we don’t trust that God has sent us out and given us gifts and expects us to do something with them!
I truly think that if the disciples had had it their way, they would have been sitting in that boat, right by the shoreline, all night long, waiting for Jesus. But, as the scriptures tell us, the wind was against them and the waves were against them and try as they might, the boat kept drifting farther and farther from where they wanted to be – from where it was safe and comfortable.
In some ways, I think that is where our church is right now. We are still in the boat that has kept us safe and we have stayed afloat after many years of struggle. You’ve been trying your best to keep your head above water and you have succeeded. But the winds of the spirit have been blowing and have been moving among us, and I think that in many ways, we are now finding ourselves in uncharted waters – we are just a little ways from the shoreline that we are used to.
And trust me, I understand that feeling. It can be scary and disorienting to be led by the Spirit of God. I remember the this sense of absolute terror I had when Jim Hanke called me up when I was still in Nashville and told me that he had a church in mind. I had no idea what the future would bring, what you all would be like, whether or not it would be a good fit… all I could do was hope and pray that the Spirit truly was working through the process. And I had to trust that no matter where the Spirit of God took me, Jesus would be there
I think that is the mistake that boatful of disciples made. You see, they tried so hard to stay by the shoreline and wait for Jesus, that finally being driven out to the middle of the lake they got to a place where they thought Jesus couldn’t possibly be. On those stormy waters, in that unfamiliar territory, they felt overwhelmed by the chaos of it all.
Those overwhelmed disciples were so terrified of the wind and the waves around them that they didn’t even recognize Christ when he came to them. At least not at first. They were so surprised that they could possibly be met out there by Jesus that they thought of all things that he was a ghost – some apparition – and not their Lord and Savior.
Why on earth would Jesus be out there? Outside of the boat? Out in those scary unfamiliar waters? Because that is precisely where Jesus is needed.
In college, I was one of the student leaders for the Religious Life Council at Simpson, and there I stumbled upon some poetry and reflections by the late Eddie Askew. I can’t remember today which book this is from or even what the title is, but it makes me think about what the disciples must have been thinking to themselves when they saw Jesus standing out there.
He writes:
And, suddenly, I notice with unease, you standing with them, outside the boundary wire of my concern. Not asking that they be admitted to my world, but offering me the chance to leave my warm cocoon, thermostatically controlled by selfishness, and take my place with them, and you. At risk in real relationships, where love not law, defines what I should do.
Ever since I read that poem, I have been looking for Jesus. It’s not that I don’t believe Christ comes into our midst each week in worship. It’s not that I don’t believe that where two or three are gathered, Christ is there. But it’s that I also know Christ shows up where I least expect him, in the lives of people I’m not paying attention to, in the words of a stranger.
So as we find ourselves moving and growing and changing as a church – as we find ourselves in this boat of faith being led by the Spirit – we need to keep our eyes open for Jesus to show up in unlikely places.
Last week, the Ministry Action Team for Iowa County met and we talked about ministry to young adults in our communities. Eric Guy, the Leadership Development Minister for Young Adult and Generational Ministry shared with us a few stories from scripture and how they represent different ways of reaching out to young people. In the first story – that well known story of the prodigal son – Eric said that often the church thinks of itself as home, as the place that the younger brother gave up and left when he fell away to big city living…. And the church is therefore the place that the younger brother has to come back to in order to be whole.
If we translate into boat language this morning – the church as the boat is the only safe place to be. It is the only “good” place to be. And so our goal as disciples is to float around and get other people into the boat. We sit there in the boat, high and dry, and send out invitations and put ads in the newspaper and say to the world – COME! Come to us, get in, and we’ll have a nice drive.
And we thought that sounded okay… Until Eric shared with us another story. Another story of someone who left home – Jacob. You see, Jacob also had a brother and he also left to start a new life, but the thing about the Jacob story, is that he found God out there. God came to him in visions and in dreams, God was with him as he worked for nearly a decade in order to marry the love of his life, and God was with him on his journey back to home.
Eric challenged us to think about ministry to young people in this way, and I think this can translate to all people who are outside of the church today. Instead of seeing them as fallen away and in need of saving, we instead should think of them on their own journey. Out there, they are experiencing God, have questions of faith, and are looking for answers. But they might not be ready to come back to the church… at least not yet.
Translated into boat language. The church is a boat in the midst of stormy waters and the people we are called to be in ministry to are out there. Just like in Eddie Askew’s poem, Jesus is standing in the waters with them.
The question is, do we see Jesus out there? And do we have the courage to step outside of these four walls and go to them?
Out of all the disciples in that boat, Peter is the one who speaks up. He shouts out into the wind at the dark figure… Lord – if that is really you – tell me to come to you!
And Jesus says, “Come.” Come out into the waters. Come out into the lives of these people. Love them. Care for them. Share your story with them. Don’t be afraid to leave that boat, because I am with you!
Lectionary Leanings
After preaching last week on who is missing… I feel obligated to listen for God’s word on how we reach those that we have named.
This week’s lectionary readings, have me thinking about going to where people are – instead of waiting for them to come to you.
Romans has this great two step plan for salvation: believe and you will be justified, speak and you will be saved. Well, speak not just anything… but speak the truth about God. That Christ is Lord.
One of the scariest questions (in my opinion) that had to be answered on our examination questions for ordination is “How do you interpret the statement ‘Jesus Christ is Lord’?” I have often hesitated to use that statement because of the way I have heard others use it. I hear it used in militaristic and political ways that seem to have no connection with the Jesus who speaks out of the scriptures. I hear it used solely as a means of gaining salvation, as the defining measure – rather than as a beginning point for a whole life lived in faithful action. I hear it in ways that separate and promote Christ from the Trinity.
What I realized is that the question is really about HOW Jesus is Lord and finally was able to write that we can only call Jesus, “Lord” in the context of the Kingdom he proclaimed. A Kingdom that is for the poor and oppressed, a Lord that walks along side the people and offers them life, rather than ruling from above. When we claim that Jesus is Lord, we are proclaiming a kingdom that is not of this world – that seeks peace and wholeness rather than power and domination. We proclaim that our final allegiance doesn’t lie with our family or the state, but with God.
In my lectionary discussion group, we spent quite a bit of time bemoaning the crazy and chaotic world around us… and I heard many laments about the downfall of Christianity in America. But I am more than prepared to say that living in a post-Christian America may in fact be exactly what we need to more fully accept Christ as our Lord. Living in a post-Christian America means that we no longer are Christian by default, but that we now have the ability to choose to deeply commit our lives to this way. And it means that there are new opportunities to share this gospel with people who are disheartened by the world – to offer them a future of hope that lies now within our modern politics, but with God’s kingdom. We offer an alternative to the world as it is – not rose colored glasses – but a connection to something that is bigger that our current struggles.
I’m also thinking a lot about Matthew and Peter’s venture out onto the sea in connection with a poem by the late Eddie Askew. I can’t remember the title or which book its in, but here is the piece of the poem I have:
And, suddenly, I notice with unease, you standing with them, outside the boundary wire of my concern. Not asking that they be admitted to my world, but offering me the chance to leave my warm cocoon, thermostatically controlled by selfishness, and take my place with them, and you. At risk in real relationships, where love not law, defines what I should do.
I keep thinking about how often we tell people to come to church, rather than take church to them. I think about all of those people who will never on their own accord set foot in our large brick building. I think about the people who are in the bars in town – or working at the grocery store or the dollar general or the gas station. And I think about Jesus standing with them out in the storms of their lives.
While the storm was raging on that lake, the disciples were relatively safe in their boat. It seems they were more startled than anything else by this figure that appears and Peter doesn’t really believe it could be Jesus… what on earth is he doing out there? Why doesn’t he stay where it is safe… either get in the boat or stay on the short! He is outside the boundary of where Peter thinks he should be. And so to make sure it is really him, Peter wants proof. If it’s you Lord, command me to come to you. And Jesus says, Come.
Peter gets out there, but its scary to be in the world without all of the safety of the church (ahem, I mean boat). and so he falters and Christ picks him up and helps him back into the boat. It is new and terrifying to try to proclaim Christ out in the world, rather than just in the safety of the church, but we are called to do so. Not because Jesus tells us to (after all, Peter is the one who suggested it)… but simply because that is where Jesus is.
wow…
I am just awe-struck by this video! and I’m trying to think about the possibilities for worship…. trust in God? firm foundation? never being afraid to move forward? I’m kind of at a loss for how to use it, but I’ll get there.
I’m especially floored by the way the person goes over those areas where there is no concrete floor. he just moves so cautiously yet surely and firmly over those single pipes – one foot in front of the other – and when he knows he has made it, he moves on and resumes his normal pace.
there is also something here about things that you and I may never experience but that we can hear about and learn about and see through the lives of others. maybe re: witnessing?