table – Salvaged Faith

Taste and See God’s Power

Posted on June 12, 2022Leave a comment

Text: Luke 24:28-32

One of my favorite experiences while on vacation just now was sharing tapas with Brandon at Jaleo – one of Chef José Andrés’s restaurants.

From a perfect slice of toasted bread, brushed with crushed tomatoes and garlic…

To an incredible dish of fried eggplant drizzled with honey and lemon…

And beautiful cauliflower roasted with dates and olives…

I left incredibly stuffed… and very happy.

Food is my love language.

Whether it is feasting with friends around a table, baking in the kitchen with my mom, breaking bread as a church family, or gathering over a potluck, food is about bringing people together.

And the Bible is full of stories about food.

As Margaret Feinberg reminds us in her book, Taste and See, “God handcrafted humanity to be dependent on food. The Creator could have required us to survive on air or water apart from eating, but He designed the human body so food is not an option but a necessity.

Even more delicious, God creates food as a source of pleasure… God imbues us with the ability to delight in eating.

But food in the Bible is more than a commodity to be consumed. It is often sacred and symbolic, showing up both on tables and in temples… [it] plays a significant role in helping us taste and see God’s goodness in our lives… and something beautiful happens when we gather around the table.” (page 16-17).

I didn’t just want to eat at Jaleo because I knew it would taste good.

I also wanted to support the work of Chef Andrés.

His organization “World Central Kitchen” proclaims that food is a universal human right. He understands that food has the power to give dignity and life.

They are often the first to the frontlines, providing meals in response to humanitarian, climate, and community crises and WCK has served over 70 million fresh meals to people impacted by disaster around the world… including being on the ground in Poland as refugees were fleeing Ukraine the day after Russia invaded Ukraine.

But this is not a dump of free food into a disaster area. As WCK notes – “food is the fastest way to rebuild our sense of community. We can put people back to work preparing it, and we can put lives back together by fighting hunger. Cooking and eating together is what makes us human.”[1]

Food has the power to transform our lives.

A piece of fruit reached for in the garden…

The sacrificial Passover lamb…

The manna from heaven…

The call for fishermen to lay down nets and become disciples…

The countless stories of people being invited, welcomed, fed…

The miracles of provision and healing and new life.

Our scripture for this morning is just one instance of how lives are transformed and the power of God is proclaimed as people gather around a table.

Two disciples have left Jerusalem after the crucifixion of Jesus.

They are despondent and grieving and aren’t quite sure what to do next.

But along the way, the resurrected Jesus appears and walks with them.

They hear him, they see him, but they don’t know it is him.

But when they arrive at their destination, they offer to him all they have – a place to stay for the night and a place at their table.

We read that he took a seat by their side at that table.

And he took the bread…

And broke it…

And they ate it…

And suddenly, their eyes were opened and their understanding was transformed and they recognized Jesus right there among them.

They finally grasped the power of the resurrection… the miracle of new life… and the promise of all of scripture.

And it happened during a meal at a table.

In another resurrection story, some other disciples decided to go fishing.

But all night long, distracted by their grief, they caught nothing.

From the shore, they heard a voice calling out for them to toss their nets on the other side and suddenly the nets were so full they couldn’t pull them in!

Feinberg spent some time on the Sea of Galilee and had the opportunity to catch what is known as the St. Peter’s fish… or an amnon – a type of tilapia.

Because it feeds on plankton, this kind of fish can only be caught with a net, rather than a line.

And, it’s the most delicious catch in the Sea of Galilee… and therefore also the most valuable.

She writes in her book that they had caught very few that day, until one of the fishermen saw them a little near the surface.

I always thought it was strange in the scripture of the disciples at the seashore on this resurrection morning that the scripture says one of them was naked, but as Feinberg describes it, once they saw these prized fish, they sprang into action and leaped out of the boat.

Those who didn’t have fishing waders stripped down to their skivvies.

They marched through the shallow marshy water, setting a barrier between the beach and the sea with the nets and driving the fish in to be caught.

After just two hours, Margaret and her guides had 150 pounds of fish (p. 36-37).

The disciples themselves experienced a miraculous catch… and in this powerful moment, they recognized it was Jesus calling out to them and rushed to come in for landing, dragging their own heavy laden nets behind them.

There, Jesus had breakfast ready.

Some fish on a fire and some bread.

But more than that.

I can imagine that before that moment, Peter carried in his heart turmoil over how he had turned his back on God.

He might even have started to believe that God had turned away from him.

That meal was also about the power of transformation, for Jesus sat down with Simon Peter and turned his guilt over denying him into a call to ministry.

“Feed my lambs.”

“Take care of my sheep.”

“Follow me.”

Margaret Feinberg writes that “if you search your everyday life for the presence of Christ, you’ll begin to see the extra provision, extra might, extra grace that he’s slipping you. The way he provides an unexpected compliment from a friend. Or a familiar face that you weren’t expecting in a crowded place. Or a breathtaking sunset. These displays of God’s power are good and beautiful, like the fish the disciples caught. But the greatest miracle remains the one who sent them.” (page 45)

I know that our lives our busy.

We might grab a granola bar and eat it in the car on the way to work or school.

We eat drive-thru for dinner between soccer games.

More of our meals are eaten in front of the television than around a table.

And yet, what better way to remember God’s power and provision than to take a moment to be thoughtful and grateful when we eat?

This week, I want to challenge us to stop and pray before every meal.

It doesn’t have to be a long, spoken prayer.

It can be a silent thought in your head.

Or maybe something that you share with your children around the table.

And I want to invite you to think about all of the ways that God’s power and provision have made that meal possible…

Think of the fields and the rain and the sun that were necessary to grow that food.

Remember the farmer and worker whose sacrifice of time made your meal possible.

Look for who is sharing that meal with you or who you might be able to invite to pull up a chair.

As Feinberg writes, “eating reminds us that we cannot exist alone; we are created dependent on others…” (Small Group Book, p.31)

And not just in order to get a cracker from a field to your table.

Some of our deepest hungers are not for a morsel of bread, but for someone to truly seek us and know us. To love us and forgive us and laugh at our stupid jokes. To listen and help us start down a path of healing. To remind us of who we are and to assure us that we have an important role to play in this world.

In the ordinary and everyday meals that we share, we experience the extraordinary and transcendent power of God.

The power to create and sustain life.

The power to bring people together.

The power to open our eyes and call us to new ministries.

The power to feed and share and sacrifice in love.

Friends, the psalmist invites us to “taste and see that the Lord is good.”

As we worship together, and study together, and eat together over the next month or so, I think we will discover not just a new way of exploring scripture… but that God will transform how we see the extraordinary gifts of power and love that are all around us.

[1] https://wck.org/story

Who Is At the Table

Posted on October 4, 2020Leave a comment

Text: Philemon 1:1-17

On Monday night, our Administrative Council gathered to talk about how we are doing as a church and what we wanted to focus on next year.
One of the questions before us was: How has Covid-19 impacted your ministry?
Of course there were the obvious things… we’re worshipping online, we’ve adapted to challenges, we’ve built new caring connections lists to reach out in love.
But one of the things echoed something I’ve heard a lot about our church.
“Immanuel is like a family – and we miss getting together with our family.”

Our church is like a family.
And maybe not “like family” … we ARE a family.
Not only have we adopted one another as surrogate parents and grandchildren and the like… but we are all children of God.
We join together with Jesus and pray to “Our Father…”
We are brothers and sisters, siblings in Christ.
We are equal and beloved and valued within this family.
Doesn’t that language feel so natural to us today?

However, Carol Ferguson reminds us it was not always so.
Biological family was everything in the ancient world—Jewish and Roman alike. Wealth, occupation, legal status, citizenship—all these flowed directly along family lines. In our Hebrew scriptures, family language is almost always used in technical terms—a biological brother, an ancestral father.

What does this mean for our house/churches?
Well, a couple of weeks ago, I mentioned that typically an entire household would convert and become Christian together.
In this time in Roman culture, the family, or familia included everyone in the household.
But not everyone in the family was related by blood.
Some were servants or clients.
Some were slaves.
In the household, the familia, not everyone was equal or beloved or valued.

We get a glimpse of what that meant in the letter from Paul to Philemon.
Philemon and Apphia and Archippus hosted a house/church in their community.
Paul pours upon them lavish praise for their love and faithfulness and partnership in the faith.
Like other households of the time, everyone under their roof would likely have converted as they came to the faith.
Including their slave, Onesimus.

Somehow, although it is not explained, Onesimus came to be with Paul.
Maybe Philemon sent him along, handing him off and discarding him like he might a workhorse.
Maybe Onesimus ran away.
Maybe Paul requested his services.
Whatever might have happened, Paul believes it is time for Onesimus to return to the household of Philemon.

The question is… what will his status be in the household, the family, when he arrives?
Will it be as a slave?
Or will it be as a brother?

You see, there is an important shift that happens in the language of Paul that gets embedded in who we have become as the church.
He starts talking about people of faith with biological family terms.
We heard it last week at the end of Romans – three people are referred to as kin: Junia, Andronicus, and Herodion.
And then you have the mother of Rufus… who is like a mother to Paul.

In this letter, he calls Timothy his brother.
Philemon is his dearly beloved.
He refers to Apphia as his sister.
And then he calls Onesimus his child.

As Carol Fergeson writes:
… when the apostle Paul began to spread the gospel of Jesus Christ, he throws around family terms like its going out of style—everyone is his brother and sister, his mother, his children, he is like a father, we are all family in Christ. Across bloodlines, across geographies, across status, across faiths, across conflicts, Paul fashions all who believe in Jesus as the new chosen family of Christ…
None of these people share a bloodline. They do, however, share a Savior.

I’m reminded of those powerful words that Paul writes in his letter to the Galatians:
You are all God’s children through faith in Christ Jesus… There is neither Jew nor Greek; there is neither slave nor free; nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. (Gal 3:26, 28)
In Christ, we are all heirs of the promise.
Children of God.
Brothers and Sisters and Siblings one and all.

Today is World Communion Sunday, a day in which we open our hearts and minds and attention beyond just this local church and pay attention to the entire family of Christ.
A family extends beyond political divides…
beyond borders…
beyond economic status…
beyond race…
All are welcome at the table.

I hear a lot of you today asking why can’t we all just be children in Christ?
Why can’t we erase the labels?
Why can’t we gather around the table without these defining characteristics?

I think Paul named them, because the distinctions matter.
Onesimus was a slave. Philemon was a free citizen.
Their lives were different.

These distinctions of our gender identity, our race, our ethnic background, our socio-economic status…
They inform our experiences.
They tell the story of where we have been and what we value.
They paint the beautiful, diverse tapestry of the great multitude from every tribe and language that will stand before the throne of God in Revelation.

The distinctions don’t keep us from that presence of God.
But Paul specifically names them, because they call to mind disparities that exist in the world, and in the body of Christ itself.
As my classmate and pastor Mika Edmondson writes, “…the problem is not our distinctions; it’s our use of those distinctions to establish sinful disparities.” (https://corechristianity.com/resource-library/articles/why-the-bible-doesnt-teach-us-to-be-colorblind/)

Imagine with me, if you will, what it might have meant to be a part of a house/church, a household, that centered their lives on Christ.
Imagine that you were a slave in this context.
Imagine that you didn’t have a choice about converting.
Imagine that you prayed with this community to a crucified Savior while you yourself had the scars of the whip on your back.
Imagine you were forced to dry the floors after the community had poured the grace-filled waters of baptism upon one another.
Imagine that you stood in the distance and served others, while people read Jesus’ words to the poor and the hungry.

Paul sends Onesimus back to his master’s household.
Under one roof, in Christ, the slave and the free would live once again.
And while I wish Paul had commanded Philemon to release the man from slavery, he doesn’t.
I have to be honest, freeing Onesimus would not have changed his status within the culture at large.
He could never be a citizen… he could only ever be a freed slave.
Slavery would always be attached to his identity.
His social and economic status would not change.
But Paul begs Philemon to welcome Onesimus as more than a slave… as a brother.
To accept him into his home as he might accept Paul himself… as a cherished guest and partner in ministry.

What Paul is telling us in both of these places is that while the distinctions may continue to exist, the sinful disparities within the body of Christ, the family of God, are no longer acceptable.
Paul asks Philemon to accept Onesimus as a brother.
He begs him to consider him as a precious family member, a fellow human being.
As equal, and valued, and beloved.
To consider him as someone who truly matters.

We talk a good talk when it comes to World Communion Sunday.
It feels good to lift up and think about how we are all connected and part of the body of Christ.
But like Philemon and Apphia, the challenge before us is to actually live it out.
You see, there are great disparities that exist in this family.
Not everyone is equal or beloved or valued.
Not every life matters.

This week, I learned that our African-American neighbors are twice as likely to die of the coronavirus that our white neighbors.
When you examine the deaths of children from this virus, 78% of the children who have died are children of color.
78%!
And what you see behind those disparities are a whole host other disparities: unequal access to education and medical care, red-lining in housing, lack of generational wealth and representation in decision making.

And I haven’t even covered global disparities related to access to education and health and the climate crisis and economic opportunity.

It is easy to ignore these disparities when they don’t impact us.
But if this was the reality facing your brother…
If this was the disparity that existed for your mother or your child…
What would you do?

I think about the death of George Floyd and how he cried out to his momma… Paul would remind us… we are all his momma.
I think about the children in ICE detention, seeking a better life… Paul would claim them as his children… our children in Christ.
I think about the men who have been put to death this year by our federal government… five executions in two months after a seventeen year moratorium… Paul would beg us to think of these men as more than criminals, but as our brothers.

You know there is this incredible line in Paul’s letter to Philemon.
Paul writes that if Onesimus harmed you in any way or owes you money, charge it to Paul.
If there were any mistakes in the past.
If there were any laws broken.
If there were any faults in their character.
If you are tempted to turn these people away because you are angry with them.
If you want to discount them because of their sin.
If you don’t think they matter because of something they did that was wrong…
Put it all on me.
They matter.
They are important.
See their humanity.
They are your family.
They are part of this body.
Fight for them.
Love them.
Love them as Christ loved them.

Friends, today as we gather to celebrate World Communion Sunday, it feels kind of like we are going through the motions.
Because we are so broken.
We are so divided.
We do not see the humanity in one another.
Republican or Democrat…
Rich or Poor…
… we throw around those labels like insults.
The labels are not the problem.
How we treat one another is.
Where is the love?
Where is the grace?
Where is the mercy?
Where are all of those things that we have learned right here at this communion table?

Today, Paul is writing to us.
In our homes.
In our relationships.
If you really consider me to be your partner in ministry…
If you really follow Christ…
If you really abide in his love…
Then look at those that you would diminish…
Those you might discount…
Those you think are stupid because of something they posted on social media…
Even those who have harmed you…
See them.
Listen to their story.
Hear what they have to offer.
Consider them to be your brother… your sister… your sibling in Christ.
Pull up a chair at your table and let them know that they matter.
That they matter to you.

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?

Untitled

Posted on October 7, 2018Leave a comment

Text: Mark 9:38-41

Sometimes the best thing a preacher can do is to be real and authentic.

And so I’m going to confess that I’m really struggling with how to share this text with you this week.

This fall, we are loosely following the lectionary – the three-year cycle of texts that help us to explore the fullness of the scripture. Rather than just preaching on my favorite texts each week, the lectionary challenges us to think outside of our comfort zone.

But we also are building up to our Stewardship Sunday at the end of this month, and as we organized the texts and the themes, we wanted to ask the question – Are you able to support the ministry of others? Are you able to invest in the work of your fellow siblings in Christ – even if you don’t always do things the same way? Are you able to encourage people you disagree with?

I still want to preach that sermon.

But I admit that it is harder to preach today than it was a month ago or a year ago.

And that is because what we see all around us, in both the church and our larger political landscape and indeed in our world, is a whole lot of us vs. them mentality.

I was sitting at an event in Chicago two weeks ago with other members of the General Conference delegation from our jurisdiction. And there is this particular person with whom I have a very difficult time finding any common ground. They weren’t even sitting at the table with me, but I could see them across the room and every single time they caught my attention, I could feel my anxiety rise. My heart beat faster. My chest clenched up a bit.

I realized that I see this person as my enemy.

We are on the same team.

We both love the United Methodist Church.

And yet everything we believe appears to be so diametrically opposed… and not only that, but I feel like their position actually harms people I love within the church.

I don’t want them to win.

And I don’t know what to do about that and how it is impacting my own soul.

Politics is the social life that we share together and we have witnessed our political discourse crumble to pieces.

In these past few weeks, anyone who has tried to say something about what is happening in our nation, particularly around the Supreme Court – for or against it – is immediately swarmed by people who both criticize their position and criticize them for not going far enough.

We are so entrenched that we cannot even see clearly.

The red side and the blue side are enemies and the slightest mention of anything political and you can watch a room fill with tension as people discern when to engage and how in order to be victorious.

But, friends, there simply have not been any winners in these political battles.

We have all lost.

As we have been following the gospel of Mark this fall, we come to a moment of struggle for the disciples. They have worked so closely with Jesus and even though they don’t always get it completely right, they understand who their tribe is.

To use a sports metaphor, Jesus is the coach and they can point to the other eleven players.

They know who their teammates are.

But as our pericope begins, the disciple John tells Jesus about how he and some other disciples noticed these other people who were doing ministry in his name. Specifically, they were casting out demons, something that the disciples themselves had just failed to do successfully a few verses earlier.

What was their very first response to encountering these people?

Resentment. Hostility.

They tried to stop them.

If they aren’t part of our team, our tribe, we have to shut them down.

Into our tribalism and partisanship, into our entrenchment and division, Christ speaks.

From the message translation:

“No one can use my name to do something good and powerful, and in the next breath cut me down. If he’s not an enemy, he’s an ally. Why, anyone by just giving you a cup of water in my name is on our side.”

Whoever is not against us is for us.

Those are really hard words to hear when you feel like you are on the battlefield.

They are hard words to hear when you consider someone your enemy.

They are especially hard words to hear when you look at the actions or the policies or the attitudes of someone and you actually believe that they will harm you or people you love or things you care about.

And maybe that is why I have struggled so much with this text this week.

Because there are bigger issues out there in the world than simply accepting or encouraging the ministry of someone who sets up communion a different way that I do.

I think our division is so intense because we believe there are issues of life and death, holiness and faithfulness, justice and covenant, on the line as a result of the direction we take… from either side.

But I wonder if what Jesus is really calling us to in this passage is a different way of engaging those battles.

What if instead of seeing those on the other side of the aisle or the other side of the church or in another part of this world as enemies, we saw them first as allies.

Jesus says that you demonstrate you are on his side by giving others a cup of water, giving the hungry food, clothing the naked, comforting the mourning.

Not by destroying those with whom you disagree.

If we continue just a bit farther in this chapter, Jesus talks about how if your hand or foot or eye causes you to stumble, cut it off. And then he reminds us that everyone will go through a refining fire sooner or later… and we need to consider how our actions demonstrate our faithfulness.

I think Jesus is calling us to get busy doing good, to worry about our own actions and our own failings, and to let God sort out the rest.

I got to thinking about my friend, Doug, as I thought about this work.

Doug was a Missouri Synod Lutheran pastor in the community that I first served in Marengo.

While we are both Christian, our two traditions have very different understandings of communion, ordination, and the place of women in the church.

The very first time I met Doug, I admit I had a lot of anxiety.

This was a person whose faith taught him that I couldn’t and shouldn’t be a pastor.

Everything in my being was preparing for an argument or to figure out a way to defend myself and my personhood. I had already drawn lines in the sand. I had already thought of him as a potential enemy.

Do you know what Doug wanted to talk about?

He wanted to ask if I would be willing to join him and some other pastors for breakfast every Wednesday morning to talk about the lectionary.

He didn’t see my as an opponent or someone he had to convince, but as an ally, a colleague, a friend.

He was offering me a cup of water…. Or coffee in this instance, in the name of Christ.

He was doing ministry in Jesus’ name.

And he recognized that I was doing the same.

We shared breakfast every Wednesday morning for four years.

And when we are invited to this table, we are called to set aside our weapons and our armor and to see people we believed to be enemies as brothers and sisters.

We will not agree.

We will not do things the same.

We might even believe that the actions of another person might harm our witness or people we love and care about.

But if we engage one another in love…

If we greet them in the name of Christ…

If we offer them a cup of water…

If we open ourselves to allow them to do the same for us…

Then at the very least we are preserving that place in our own souls that dies a little bit every time we consider someone to be our enemy.

Once we allow someone to sit with us at the table and break bread and share a meal, we discover that there are new ways to have a conversation about our differences.

We find there are good things that we can do together in Christ’s name.

And we have a chance to build the kind of trust and relationship that will allow us to truly hold one another accountable for our actions. We will finally have the authority and respect in one another’s life to call out actions that are done in the name of Christ that harms the body. And we can do so in love, with compassion, trusting and knowing that we are on the same team and that if our sister or brother is calling us to account it is because they want what is best for not only our own soul, but for the church and the world that we share.

So are you able to invite someone you disagree with to the table?

Are you able to point out the good things they do in Christ’s name?

Are you able to encourage them and love them so that one day you can both hold one another accountable?

May it be so.

A Place at the Table

Posted on May 6, 2018Leave a comment

Yesterday, my husband and I took advantage of the beautiful day to do some work in the yard. One of our primary tasks for the day was to take care of some problematic trees and shrubs and to work on the perennials.
Needless to say, like the vineyard keeper in John’s gospel we did some trimming, pruning, and we removed a lot of dead growth!

The first summer we moved into our home here in Des Moines, we made some of those drastic cuts and changes as well. The backyard was fairly overgrown and crowded. Some of the bigger trees were unhealthy, but because they were so large, they were limiting growth of some of the smaller, more healthy trees. We had a company come in to help us trim the canopy and remove dead limbs.

We ended up with five cords of firewood, a lot more space and air and sunshine, and mulch for our flower beds. It was then that we could start making plans about what new life we wanted to add to the back yard.

I have to admit that there was a part of me that really worried about trimming back as much as we did. That first summer, things appeared kind of bare and I was afraid that we had made changes we couldn’t come back from or that cutting back that drastically would actually damage the trees.
But as I looked out at the yard yesterday morning, I realized that we had created space for other plants to grow and flourish and that all over the trees where we had removed dead, overgrown branches, there was new growth in all the right places.

You see, all of those trees and plants – the ones that were trimmed back, the ones that had been overcrowded, and the new ones we planted… they all were still connected to their source of life. They got sunshine and rain, were able to put strong roots into the ground, and there was space for them all to grow.

In John’s gospel we are reminded that sometimes in life there needs to be trimming and transplanting in order for there to be growth.

As I thought about our gifts and talents surveys, I’m reminded of that old adage that 20% of the people tend to do 80% of the work.
Sometimes, that is because this world is full of busy people.
But sometimes, it is because those folks who have a passion for the work – whether it is here at church or in some other volunteer organization – just scoop up all of the opportunities to serve. We are so quick to say yes and to jump in and do the task that sometimes we haven’t created space for other people to join in. Sometimes our big healthy trees need to take a breath and cut back just a bit so that there is room for new folks to join in or room for new growth in other places.
That’s one reason these surveys are so important. They help us to know what you are interested in so that we can personally invite you into new spaces and we can see where we need to create room for new voices and perspectives to be heard.
So please, fill them out!

What is important to remember – whether we are new to this community of faith or if we have been planted here for decades – is that we remain connected to God.
Remain in me, Jesus said, and I will remain in you.
Abide in me. Allow me to give you life.
I will lead you beside still waters and help you to rest in grassy meadows and will guide you through what seems like death and will protect you.
I promise, Jesus says, you will experience growth.
If you stay connected with me, you will bear fruit!

Bishop Laurie reminded me of two strange truths about this passage from John in her weekly blog this week.
The first is that “Jesus doesn’t say, ‘I hope you’ll choose to be a branch on my tree.’” We are already connected. Our very life and breath means that God is the source of our being.
We don’t choose to be a part of God’s community. We simply are.
We can run away from that community. We can cut ourselves off.
But God has already chosen us.
You have a seat at this table.

The second, is that just as we didn’t choose to be a branch on this tree… neither did we choose who the other branches are. The Lord is our Shepherd, but we are not solitary sheep in this flock.
Bishop Laurie shared a passage from Ralph Morton who wrote:

God has set us in inescapable community,
In our family,
In our neighborhood,
In all the relationships with others that life brings…
When we are enlivened by the Spirit of Christ
We accept community and begin to live
According to the laws of our being.

(Ralph Morton, This is the Day; Readings and Meditations from the Iona Community, Month 1, Day 15, Wild Goose Publications)

On any given day, we don’t get to choose who shows up for worship in this building.
We don’t get to choose who our family is.
They simply show up – brought to us by God.

Because they have been chosen by God as well.
There is a place at this table set for them, too.
As Bishop Laurie reminded me, “Inescapable community becomes real when we intentionally enter into the relationships that life brings to us…”

It made me think about those oh so familiar words of the Psalm – that God has set a table before me in the presence of my enemies.
What if that table is not simply there for me to feast and gain strength as people I disagree with look on?
What it that table is actually meant to be shared?
What if God has placed a table right there so that I might look out at love upon my enemies.
What if I’m supposed to remember that they are branches of God’s vine.
They are sheep of God’s flock.
There is a place set for them, too.

When we abide in Jesus, when we are enlivened by the Spirit of Christ, when we take our place at this table… we discover the others that God has already placed into our midst and are invited to love them, to serve them, to pray for them…
In doing so, we all find room to grow and bear fruit.
May it be so. Amen.

Quotes from Bishop Laurie: http://www.lauriehaller.org/inescapable-community/

Tables and Holy Experiences

Posted on February 3, 2016Leave a comment

I have a sense of my first Maundy Thursday service, but I can’t quite place where it falls in my history. I was not a child, but not yet fully grown. Perhaps it was high school, or maybe somewhere in my college years. I have a sense of a fellowship area, a place not just for worship, but for eating and laughing as well. Classmates and adult leaders alike are present as we strip off our socks, giggle about stinky feet and toe lint, and form a line to wash one another’s feet.

When I began serving in a congregation and had the opportunity to craft the service for my people, that sense of communal life was an important sense memory to hold on to. So we gathered around tables in our fellowship hall and worshiped with food on the table, candles lit, everything set as it might be for honored guests. There were dates and figs and olives, bread and apples, glasses of grape juice and almonds. It wasn’t meant to be authentic. Or a seder meal. It was meant to nourish your soul and invite you in to an experience of the table. We worshipped with prayer and singing, celebrated the great thanksgiving, washed one another’s hands, and feasted with laughter and stories and finger food.

There is immense joy and comfort in the Maundy Thursday celebration. As Jesus ate and drank with the disciples, he knew what was coming, but perhaps that only made the stories longer and the fellowship more sweet. It was a time to teach them, to be with them, to love them just as they were…. knowing fully that in mere hours they would fall away one by one. He knew they would fail, and yet he washed their feet. He knelt before them. He showed utter devotion and compassion. He left them with words and memories that may have seemed normal in the space of that moment, but would become so much more in the reality of their betrayal and his death and resurrection.

We cannot be bystanders to that kind of experience. We must dive into it. We must sit at table with friends and family and strangers and break bread. We must feel the cool water rush over our skin and the warmth of another human body as we slowly and deliberately and carefully take the time to wipe and dry away their fingers or toes. If we are going to sing “let us break bread together,” then we must take the bread and feel the crust and one by one tear off a section and give it to our neighbor.

Okay, maybe “must” isn’t the right word. But when we do, when we let ourselves be transported in worship and word and action and song from our day to day hustle and bustle of life to another physical/spiritual/emotion place… then we do encounter the holy.

This year, in a new church, I dug through my files and found the service that had sustained me all those years. With some flexible space at the front of our sanctuary (due to a few rows of pews being replaced by chairs) we made room for tables and gathered in that holy ground for some fellowship.

I watched as one or two couples reluctantly took their places at the round tables. They were longing for the comfort of the pew. The experience of sitting back at watching from a far. The distance. We don’t realize it is there at first, but it is when we are ten rows back with all of those wooden seats between us and the front.

But they sat down. And participated. And the moment took over.

As we pulled ourselves back together as a large group from table conversation and we were about to pray our prayer of thanksgiving following the meal, one of those women raised her hand.

“We should do it like this every time,” she said.

Not every Maundy Thursday… she meant every time we break bread together and celebrate the Lord’s supper.

“We might have to get rid of the rest of the pews,” I gently responded with a smile.

I’m not sure what is next or what the path forward might be, but experiencing one another and God and the divine mystery in that holy space opened up a world of possibilities about what it could mean for us to worship that has little to do with pews or hymn books or standard orders of worship.

I have been blessed to be a part of amazing worshipping experiences that grew organically from a community of faithful people. Some were traditional and some were emergent. But each was an outside of the box opportunity to personally and communally encounter God with sight and sound and smell and touch and taste. Each gave me the space to be fully present in mind, body, and spirit. What better way to worship the one who created us, inside and out?

No More Hunger or Thirst

Posted on July 14, 2012Leave a comment

Funeral Meditation based on Revelation 22:1-5 and John 14:1-3

On the inside of your bulletin is a beautiful passage of scripture from the book of Revelation.

If we want to know what this place is like… this place that Jesus promises he will take us… we need to look no farther than these pages. This life that awaits us will have room for many, and never again will we hunger or thirst. Never again will we be left without shelter or shade. Never again will we be on our own… the Lamb of God will be our Shepherd.

Now, knowing a little something about Doris Fry – I’m not sure that she would necessarily take kindly to being a sheep. Doris was really more of the shepherd sort, herself. She was an independent sort of lady who minced no words and told you how it was.

But perhaps, in the way that she loved you… in the way she cared for you and for others… we saw in her life a glimpse of what our life with God just might be all about.

Doris was born to William and Lina Turner on Feb 22, 1927. She went to the Cedar Rapids Beauty School and owned and operated her own beauty shop for many, many years here in Marengo. And along the way – she fell in love with a man named Gene and they were married in 1946 at the Methodist parsonage.

Family was very important to Doris and she loved to travel – especially down to Missouri and the Ozarks where much of the family was. But sometimes her home was the destination for others and her home was always open to family who stopped to visit. As Jesus promises there will be room for many in his father’s house… you might have caught a glimpse of how many could fit in a home and some of you gathered with family to fish and to laugh and to enjoy one another’s company.

I’ve also heard famous things about Doris’ table. Randy shared with me that Doris always cooked way more than anyone who was gathered around the table could possibly eat. She often would feed Gene and the men he worked with, and would make different sorts of dishes to make everyone feel loved and included. At Christmas, Doris used to make all sorts of candies and sweets and pile them on plates for people to take with them. When we imagine our future with God where we will hunger and thirst no more… perhaps you caught a glimpse of that future around a table where everyone could have their fill.

Doris Fry spent her lifetime serving others. While running her beauty shop she provided a place for women to gather and talk. Although as she spent time this last year with some of the men that Gene used to hang out with – she promises that there is more gossip flying around those guys than ever there was in her beauty shop.

She was also, I’m told, the unofficial team hairdresser for the Iowa Valley Wrestling team – in a time when hair had to be so short or the young men couldn’t compete, Doris would often be called upon to give the guys a trim right there in the locker room.

For many years, Doris cared for her own mother, Lina. She taught Sunday School at the church. She loved and enjoyed everyone who came into her life.

Doris is an example for many in her family about how to love deeply and strongly. I think one of the things that sticks in my mind about her is a time when I visited Doris and Gene in the hospital. They were sharing a hospital room… both in there for different reasons – but they were joking and enjoying one another and at the moment that was all that mattered.

In the midst of the ways that she cared for others, there was always a God who loves her moving in the background, always making sure that Doris was cared for and always preparing a place to which she would one day be called.

Jesus told his disciples that in his Father’s house there is room for many – and that a place was being prepared for them and for us. As you remember all of those things that you loved about Doris – all of the ways that she spent a lifetime caring for all of you, telling you the truth, and loving you – you can be assured today that she is today in the presence of our God and that she is home.

But also know that a place is being prepared for you. We gather today, because we believe in a God who walks with us through this dark valley. We gather today because we believe in one who will guide us through this valley of the shadow of death to the light of life eternal on the other side. This is the God who wanted to be with us and for us so much that he came to earth as a fragile infant, and lived and moved among us. This is a God who cares so deeply for us that he gave up his very life, so that we might all have life and have life abundant.

As we remember Doris’ life today and in the weeks and years to come, there will be times to cry and times to laugh. Times for joy and sorrow. And we need to let all of those emotions and memories to simply sit with us – to simply be… because it means that we remember and that we cherish what we have lost. But also know and take assurance in the fact that those who mourn will be comforted. The same shepherd who leads us through the valley of the shadow of death walks beside each of you today and as you leave this place and will walk with you until you arrive at that place where every tear will be wiped from our eyes and there will be weeping and crying no more. Amen.

Already/Not Yet

Posted on May 16, 2010Leave a comment

Every Friday night we have dinner with the family – as we all set the table and prepare for everyone to come to the table and sit, and especially as all of the food is there and we are just waiting for the time to pray, my niece and nephew like to sneak bites from the food being set at the table.

The table is one of my favorite images of the kingdom of God… a great big huge table where are all welcome, all are loved.

And the amazing thing about the Christian community that is born out of the ministry of Jesus is that we today are like those little kids at the dinner table – and here and there we catch a foretaste of the glorious banquet.

In the Acts of the Apostles, Luke’s entire goal is to write down what happens to the disciples after Jesus leaves them. His goal is to document those early days of ministry, the birth of the church, the in-breaking of the Kingdom of God.

And if you went home and spent some time just reading straight through the book – you would find that it reads a lot like a journal. While the beginning chapters recall the story of what happened before Luke joined up with the band of disciples, the rest of Acts is Luke’s personal account of what happens in each leg of their journey. It is his personal witness to the Kingdom of God that has already taken root in the world. And, it is his testimony that the Kingdom of God was not yet fully in this world.

Now, the Kingdom of God is a phrase that we hear quite often.

John the Baptist preached that the Kingdom of God was at hand… just as he was preaching that Jesus was about to enter their midst.

When Jesus healed the sick, he said that the Kingdom of God has come near you. (Mt. 10:7)

But also on the gospels we hear all sorts of stories and parables that tell us funny things like the kingdom of God is like a tiny seed, or like yeast, or a priceless pearl. (Mt 13)

We hear things like the kingdom is hard for the rich to enter, but that it already belongs to little children.

We hear that the kingdom is something we are supposed to seek out, but that it’s not necessarily outside of us, but within and among us (Luke 17).

But I think the most confusing thing is that the kingdom has already come among us… and that each week, we pray for it to come in the Lord’s prayer.

The Kingdom of God is already here, but not yet fully here. This morning, I want to help us to see three ways that the Kingdom of God is already… but not yet.

Our first already/not yet has to do with the one we worship.

Already… Christ, the bearer of the Kingdom has been among us.

As the Acts of the Apostles begins, Luke reminds his reader that there is a whole other book that was written about the ministry of Christ from the beginning until the day when Christ ascended into heaven. But just in case they forgot the last bit of that story, Luke tells it again.

Jesus suffered for us and died for us and then by God’s power he showed up again – alive as ever and for forty days he stayed with the apostles. And he taught them about his Kingdom.

It was a kingdom that they had witnessed when the hungry were fed and the blind were healed and the oppressed were set free. It was a kingdom whose power was Jesus. The kingdom was where Jesus was.

And after forty days, Jesus takes his disciples out of the city and they begin to think that this is the moment they had all been waiting for. One of them cries out – Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom?!

Not yet…. The response Jesus gives is that it is not for us to know the times for these things. Not yet is the Kingdom fully come. And as a sign of that fact, Christ is lifted up before their very eyes – not to initiate the Kingdom of God… but he is taken away from their sight. Not yet, is the Kingdom of Christ fully present among us.

What we are left with are promises… the promise from Christ that he will be with us always. The promise of the Holy Spirit – the comforter and advocate who bears within us the seeds of the Kingdom. And the prophetic witness we have in the pages of Revelation that remind us that just as Christ came to be with us once… In the new creation, God will come and be with us again. “See,” the prophet John writes, “the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with him.” (Rev. 21:3)

As the church, we are sandwiched between these experiences of God. We carry with us the memories of Christ’s life and teaching and death and resurrection and we witness to these things. We share the story. Just like kids at the dinner table who sneak a piece of broccoli out of the bowl and quickly pass it to one another – we are eager and excited about this glimpse. But at the same time, we wait. We long for the time when all things will be ready – when all will be present at the table, and when God Godself will be with us.

Our second already/not yet has to do with life and death in the Kingdom of God.

Already, the disciples have witnessed how Christ brought back to life children who were dead and his own friend Lazarus. Already, the power to heal in Jesus’ name has been transferred to the disciples. Miracles have been seen everywhere – including the most amazing miracle of all… Christ died for our sins and then was raised from the tomb. Sin, death, and evil have been defeated for ever more! As we follow the apostles through Luke’s account in Acts – we see signs and wonders of more healings and resurrections, of life and life abundant!

But not yet… Lazarus would eventually die once again. Each of those apostles would all be killed proclaiming the new life of the Kingdom of God. In our own lives today, we experience suffering and pain, death and loss. We grieve, we weep, we mourn.

Brandon’s great-grandma passed away on Thursday at the age of 99 years. She lived a long full life, but we have all been acutely aware for some time now that at some point, her body would fail and she would no longer be with us. Death is the reality of human life. And when it comes, it is not always a sad thing.

Not yet have the promises of the Kingdom of God been fulfilled. For we hear in Revelation that the time will come when the new heaven and new earth are among us. And in that time and in that place, Death will be no more. Reality as we know it, with its cycles of life and death and life again will be no more. There will only be life. Life abundant.

As the church, our foretaste of that life comes when we baptize little children and we place them in God’s hands. Our foretaste of that Kingdom life comes at the altar table when we eat the bread of life and the cup of salvation. Our foretaste of that Kingdom comes at every single Christian funeral… when we carry our fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters and friends across the threshold of death and place them into God’s hands. As the church, we proclaim the reality that death has been defeated, even as we are standing beside the grave. Like little children who stand on their tiptoes and peer over the edge of the counter, we see the dessert that awaits us. We know the truth of the end of our stories. This morning at our graduation breakfast, Wilda shared the story of a woman who wanted to be buried with her fork because she knew, that the best was yet to come.

Our final already/not yet has to do with the joy of the Kingdom of God

Already, we know that when we abide with Christ, when we join in the fellowship of other Christians that we experience joy. As Christ gathered with his disciples in the upper room before he was betrayed he breathed into them the spirit of peace. And we hear stories from the first books of Acts about the joy and the community, the singing and the fellowship that the early Christians experience.

Whenever two or more are gathered, there Christ is among them. We support one another in our walk of faith and together we know the good news of the Kingdom of God.

But not yet fully. There are difficult days. There are times when our church brothers and sisters drive us batty. We argue and fight. We have our ups and downs. We join together as the Christian community around the dinner table, but before we eat, we must confess all of the ways that we have hurt and neglected one another since we met last. Our lives are not yet perfect, and our joy is not yet complete.

And to be sure, there is much that takes away joy from our lives. There is sickness and pain. There is oppression and want in our world. We turn on the television sets at night and the last thing that we find there is good news. To put on a smile and pretend that everything is okay and that we are happy in the face of all of that trouble is dishonest and hypocritical.

In the inbetween time between the already and the not yet, the church has the blessed opportunity to find joy among one another. We share what we have and experience true fellowship. But at the same time, united by our faith and the joy of what God intends for us, we can confront the pain and suffering and injustice of the world with a rightous anger. We can speak out against those places where God’s joy and peace has not been made complete, we can weep with those who suffer, and we can hold forth a vision of the day that is spoken of in Revelation – the day when weeping and crying and pain will be no more.

We gather today as children before the dinner table. Gradually, pieces of the meal are being set for us. And here and there we catch a wiff of the banquet, we sneak a taste of the bounty, we eagerly await with one another the glorious feast that awaits us. But we wait… until what we see already becomes the glorious feast that is yet to come.