discipleship – Page 4

Sunday’s Sermon: The Law of Love – Romans 13:8-10, Psalm 119:33-40

September 11, 2017 Leave a Comment

How many of you would say you “love” the law, or at least rules? Are you sticklers for things like speed limits? Does it make you crazy when people are turning left at the intersection and don’t pass each other first, or don’t take turns at a 4-way stop? What about when watching sports? Do you find yourself explaining or arguing with other fans about technicalities, or try to beat the referees to the call? Rules and laws are something that we tend to have decided opinions on, sometimes strong ones, or at least deeply engrained behaviors, such as what speed we will travel in relation to the speed limit. Admittedly, I am on one of the rule followers. I like structure and boundaries and order in my life and in the world around me. It makes me a good Presbyterian, with our detailed polity and systems and procedures. Rules and regulations bring me a sense of comfort and security. While I am absolutely willing to push back against rules that I don’t agree with, that generally also takes the form of following the system to change the rule, rather than just outright rebellion. When those around me aren’t following the same set of rules, I feel anxious and irritated. Yes, I’m the person that mentally counts items the person in front of me has in the 10 items or less line if it looks like it’s getting close. It would be fair to say that I love rules.

So does the Psalmist. The Psalmist writes a beautiful prayer about delighting and loving the law of the Lord. Such an ode to God’s instructions is comprehensive. At 176 verses, it is the longest chapter in the entire Bible. The verses assigned to us today from the lectionary cycle emphasize one of its major themes; the joy of following the commandments God has given, naming them as life-giving and uplifting. This is an acrostic Psalm, meaning each of the 22 stanzas (of 8 verses each) begins with a different letter, in Hebrew from Aleph to Tav, in English it would be from A to Z. Perhaps it could have been used to teach. One traditional legend in the Orthodox church, who actively uses this Psalm regularly even suggests that King David used this Psalm to teach Solomon not just the alphabet, but an alphabet for the spiritual life. The Psalmist does a pretty good job in laying out the importance of the Torah, the sacred law of God’s people Israel. Verse 97 flat out says “Oh, how I love your law!” The Psalm is a beautiful poetic homage to God’s power and role as teacher, and gives us a clue as to how we are to relate to God as well. Verse 105 reads: “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (verse 105). The Psalm reminds us that one of the purposes for God’s laws is to have relationship with how we live our lives. If we truly love God, and love the instructions that God gives, we will live into them, with God’s help.

The Apostle Paul had a lot of ideas about how that looked in the first century, and his writings can help inspire us today, to consider how we are applying those ancient laws captured in our sacred texts to the world we know. Throughout his letters, Paul wrestles with what to make of the law in light of the grace shown in Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. He wants to be clear that the early church understands that their actions are not going to be what makes the difference to their salvation – it’s the grace of God that does that. Nevertheless, though, what they do does matter. Repeatedly he calls God’s people to live in ways authentic to the faith they profess. This is especially true in his letter to the Romans. Our text today from Romans 13 is the heart of Paul’s treatise on Christian ethics, the integration of life and faith. David Bartlett offers that:

Roman 1-11 spells out the first part of the commandment: “How do we love God with heart, mind, soul, and strength?” Clue: have faith in Jesus. [Then,] Romans 12-14 shows the various ways in which we live out the second part: Love your neighbor as you love yourself. The summary is itself good news[i].

In these verses, Paul emphasizes a well-known refrain, made clear in Leviticus (19:18) and by Jesus himself with the giving of the Greatest Commandment (Matthew 22:36-40). If there is only one thing that we are to remember about how we are to live it should be this: the law of love. This is the identity marker for us as Christians, what makes us who we are.

It is easy to misinterpret this law. Our first inclination is to get wrapped up in the Hollywood and Hallmark illustrations of a saccharine-sweet and unrealistic set of amorous feelings for the whole world. We treat love as an emotion, something we’re just supposed to feel, that makes us all smiley and happy because, well, we just love everyone. Sometimes, this becomes a hypothetical ideal that we can never really achieve, much like a notion of “world peace.” But Paul doesn’t mean for it to be inaccessible. He uses the Greek word agape for love in this passage, which is not the kind of doe-eyed mushy stuff sense of love. Rather, it is a love that is related to doing things for the benefit of another person, an unselfish concern for others and willingness to seek the best for them. In Paul’s instructions, the law of love, he is calling for love that has tangible signs. It is:

the difficult task of real love for real people who are met in everyday life, not theoretical love for humanity as a whole[ii].

For Paul, love is about action, not just emotion. Love needs to be a verb, THE verb, for how we live as those who delight in God’s law and seek to fulfill it.

Right now in our world, I think LOVE is what is at stake, and how we respond to it will make all the difference. As those who believe in the life-changing power of the love of God through Jesus Christ, we have to live like it matters. We have to follow the law of love. And in times when love is threatened or challenged, that is even more important.

Just over a year ago, in the wake of the senseless and heartbreaking attack on PULSE nightclub in Orlando, Florida, one Tony Award winning speech broke through some of the darkness with words of light. Lin-Manuel Miranda, a composer, lyricist, playwright and actor, won several awards for his creative work in Hamilton, including Best Score. Take a moment to see how he thanked and inspired the crowd [start video clip around 1:40]:

[I’m not freestyling. I’m too old. I wrote you a sonnet instead.

My wife’s the reason anything gets done.
She nudges me towards promise by degrees.
She is a perfect symphony of one.
Our son is her most beautiful reprise.
We chase the melodies that seem to find us
Until they’re finished songs and start to play.
When senseless acts of tragedy remind us
That nothing here is promised, not one day
This show is proof that history remembers.
We live through times when hate and fear seem stronger.
We rise and fall, and light from dying embers
Remembrances that hope and love last longer.
And love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love;
Cannot be killed or swept aside.
I sing Vanessa’s symphony; Eliza tells her story.
Now fill the world with music, love, and pride.
Thank you so much for this]

In the face of struggle and tragedy, love is what is going to make the difference. Love is what brings us together in community with each other. “Love does no wrong to a neighbor,” Paul writes (Romans 13:10). It’s not a trick we have to figure out. Look around you. Those are your neighbors. Think about another person, another group, as far away as you can imagine. Those are also your neighbors. All of God’s children are your neighbors. That means everybody. So, wherever we are, there will always be neighbors around, and with them there will be countless opportunities for us to embody the law of love.

You can do it here in our Sanctuary – consider our youngest worshipping neighbors, the ones who sit on the steps with me each week. Love is being the body of Christ to them, and not just saying they are welcome here, but creating a space in our Sanctuary for them in the PRAYground where they can engage in worship in meaningful ways to them. Love is greeting them, passing the peace, asking them what they learned about God today, or even what they might teach you. The law of love means that everything we do in relation to our children in this place comes from love- our love of them, our desire of them to know God’s love through us and through hymns and scriptures and sermons and communion, and most of all, our hope that they will develop a love for Jesus here.

Opportunities for practicing the love abound for our lawmakers. Right now, they face the monumental task of working together across party lines to address critical issues of immigration for those who arrived in our country as children. They are charged with financial decisions about debt ceilings that impact aid given to hurricane flooding victims and countless other programs. We need to pray for their conversations to be filled with love so that they can work together, and that love will infuse their decisions. And we need to act, to encourage our representatives to create rules and regulations and systems that practice the law of love for our neighbors.

And the law of love is already at work in many places.

The law of love is up the hill – as cars drove through our parking lot yesterday and were filled with produce for the mobile food pantry. As donations of clothing are examined and tagged and displayed as a store-like shopping experience to bring dignity to those in need.

The law of love is in Texas. Do you know about the Louisiana Cajun Navy? (https://www.facebook.com/LaCajunNavy/) It’s an informal, ad-hoc volunteer group of private boat owners who assist in search and rescue efforts. They formed in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in 2005, and resurfaced last year after flooding in Louisiana. Two weeks ago, they lined the highways heading towards Texas with bass boats, johnboats, air boats, and other shallow-draft craft that can navigate flood waters to bring relief and rescue. The motto on their facebook reads “We the people of Louisiana refuse to stand by and wait for help in the wake of disasters in our State. We rise up and unite and rescue our neighbors!” A similar sense of fellowship is happening here in Georgia, as those from the coast evacuated up 75 and find welcome and shelter.

The law of love is in the responses of the Presbyterian Disaster Assistance, too, not just in Texas and those in the path of Irma, but in other places impacted by flooding, including the South Sudan, Sierra Leone, Madagascar, Malawi, Columbia, and Peru. PDA’s work also extends beyond natural disasters, providing relief and support to refugees, war-torn places, those struggling with famine and hunger and more. Our fish banks and offerings to One Great Hour of Sharing at Easter help support these ministries, and there may be opportunities coming for us to take part in their relief efforts.

This is what fulfilling the law of God looks like. It’s not rigid and legalistic, stuffy or boring; it’s engaging and active, alive and full. It is love as a verb. In big and small ways, there are moments where you can practice this kind of love, a love of action, that actively promotes the well-being and good of another person. Any other person. When we love our neighbors, we fulfill the most core aspect of the law by which God intends we live. And when that happens, I think it’s more than just us who are delighted. God is as well. May it be so. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
September 10, 2017

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[i] David L. Bartlett, “Homiletical Perspective: Romans 13:8-14,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 4, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011).

[ii] Walter Brueggemann, Charles B. Cousar, Beverly R. Gaventa, and James D. Newsome, “Proper 18,” Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV – Year A, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995).

Sunday School at its Best

September 6, 2017 Leave a Comment

When you grow up as the daughter of the pastor and Christian educator, you tend to log a lot of hours in Sunday School. I have countless memories of wonderful dedicated volunteers who taught me the love of Jesus throughout my life. They read to me, played and did crafts with me, helped me learn memory verses, and taught me songs of faith that I am now singing with my own child in the mornings on the way to preschool. In all of this, they surrounded me with God’s Story, and an appreciation of the ways God’s story was ongoing in my own life.

Sunday School at its best, though, came for me in high school at Bellevue Presbyterian Church in Nashville, Tennessee, as I got to know Mrs. Judy during my sophomore year. While many teachers assumed that as the PK I knew all of the answers to the lesson’s questions (and often they weren’t totally wrong), Judy assumed I had questions. She created space for me and others to be who we were in that moment, complete with all the struggles we had as we wrestled with our understandings of who we were and who God was. She allowed me to be me, free from any labels of assumptions at a time when I needed it the most. And, as a result, I was able to grow in my faith, deepening my relationship with Christ and finding a fulcrum in the balance of faith and uncertainty.

At its best, our time together learning in faith is an opportunity for us to be our most real and authentic selves, bringing the tough questions of our world and lives and allowing our responses to them to be shaped by the Word of God. This is what happens each week on our church campus during Sunday School (and at other times through Bible Studies and Presbyterian Women Circles) as brothers and sisters in Christ meet to wrestle with our questions together. Our conversations are strengthened by our diverse experiences, and we want you to be a part of them. When you do, I think you will find that often you will both have something to offer and something to learn. Join us. There is room for you at the table.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
September 2017 Newsletter

Sunday’s Sermon – Tough Conversations – Matthew 15:10-28

August 20, 2017 Leave a Comment

“We need to talk.” These four words are a call to attention and have the potential to immediately strike fear in the ears of the listener. Rarely do they mean something positive. “We need to talk” is not often followed by “I love your new haircut” or “I want to give you good news.” Instead, “We need to talk” is followed by the delivering of difficult news: it is the classic introduction to a break-up conversation, a revelation that you have been caught red-handed for some transgression, an indicator that you have done something that is out of bounds, or bad news is going to be delivered. It indicates that something big is happening and a tough conversation is coming.

“We need to talk” should be the header of the second half of today’s text in our Bibles. A woman presents with an urgent plea, shouting for Jesus to help her daughter, and what follows is perhaps one of the toughest conversations recorded in our gospels. And it almost doesn’t happen. The response from Jesus and the disciples initially is silence, ignoring her cries. And when Jesus does respond? It isn’t pretty. In fact, it almost doesn’t sound like Jesus at all. “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” It is at best a brush-off, a sending away of this woman who does not merit his time or attention. Such a statement is counter to our most basic understanding of Jesus. Where is the Jesus who says “let the little children come to me” and who seemed to pause at every bend in the road to speak to people, much to the disciples’ dismay. Where is the Jesus who stops when a woman who is bleeding touches the hem of his coat, taking time to respond to her needs and offer healing? The one who doesn’t send the crowds away, but instead tells the disciples to give them something to eat? I would like that Jesus, please. Because what we have seems far from it. Then, he makes it worse, not just insinuating, but flat out calling the woman a “little doggie,” a diminutive, derogative term, not worthy of what is given to the privileged children (to be read as the people of Israel) at the table. This is not the Jesus we put on Sunday School classroom walls. In fact, it’s a presentation of Jesus that will get under our skin and make us frustrated and exasperated. It seems callous, mean, and coldhearted. These are not usually words we put with our Lord and Savior.

Perhaps we can find out what is going on by turning our attention to the woman, who isn’t given name, but is described by her ethnic identity. In the version of this story that we find in Mark’s gospel, she is labeled as a gentile, specifically a Syrophoenician (see Mark 7:24-30), identifying her as an outsider. But Matthew’s gospel takes it one step further, identifying her differently, with the label of Canaanite. Such a marker is significant, and would have been especially so to those in the 1^st century. You see, it is a biblical reference. There were no Canaanites living in the first century, so:

The label evokes historical conflicts and thus defines the woman in terms of age-old prejudices a first-century Jewish audience would understand[i].

Such tension was inherent to the cultural context of the day, and it reveals a very sobering mirror to those listening, including us. We like to think of Jesus as above all of this, but here we see him at his most fully human. And in this picture of Jesus, we might see ourselves and our own prejudices revealed. We certainly feel the tension that comes in difficult conversations with those with whom we would prefer not to associate.

The writer of the gospel of Matthew places this encounter in a strategic place in the gospel that sets the stage for the woman to enter. After all, Jesus has just finished telling the scribes and Pharisees that it isn’t a strict adherence to purity laws or dietary regulations that makes one part of the covenant; it is the interplay between what is in the heart and the words that come from it. The Canaanite woman’s plea becomes an illustration of this instruction, without losing the inherent tension. It isn’t meant to be an easy application. It is supposed to catch the readers off guard and ruffle their feathers. As pastor Michael Lindvall notes:

Matthew doubtless framed the story he had borrowed from Mark in a way that would help his readers grapple with the tension between those members of his community who understood the gospel of Jesus to be the way for Jews to be faithful Jews and those members who believed that the gospel was intended by God for the whole world. That Jesus effectively articulates both perspectives in this passage served to name the tension and to recognize the truth inherent in both viewpoints[ii].

The struggle in this story, then, is necessary for it to be powerful, because it sets the stage for a new narrative to happen that changes understandings, for both Jesus and the disciples, and the listeners to the good news.

The woman persists. When things are difficult, when disparaging remarks are made, when attempts are there to silence her voice, when the harsh realities of the world are spoken in plain language, the woman does not shy away from the tough conversations that need to happen next. She addresses her need once again, engaging in a sharp and provocative response to Jesus that pushes against all that stands between her and the grace and mercy she seeks. She kneels at his feet and speaks again. Even the dogs get the crumbs. These words, spoken truth to power, along with her faith, enact real and meaningful change. Now we see the Jesus we have come to expect: “Great is your faith!” and healing for her daughter seal the moment.

Lewis Galloway offers that this story “wakes us up from our biblical slumbers” and puts us outside of our comfort zones. He argues that we need to see the Canaanite woman not as an annoyance, but as what he calls a “divine disruption” meant to teach us something. He maintains that:

Disciples of Jesus learn and grow when they brush up against people whose lives, needs, dreams, and struggles are different from their own. The effect of such a relationship is like the effect of sandpaper on a piece of rough wood. It smoothes out the undisciplined edges of life and makes his followers serviceable for some new purpose[iii].

For the first century believers, this story reveals a very rough spot in their understanding of what it mean to live as disciples of Jesus Christ, particularly in contemplating who could or could not be a part of the salvation offered by the Messiah. And Matthew gives them a tough conversation to help illustrate his point and open them to new possibilities. The totality of these verses would have been sandpaper to those who heard it, and it should be the same for us today.

Brothers and sisters, we need to talk. There are countless things happening and going on in the world that prompt us to have conversation with one another. But more often than not, we are silent or dismissive of those things that disrupt our lives and beckon our attention. The issues that have been raised in the wake of what happened in Charlottesville last weekend are not new. They are simply the most recent instance or example. Almost two and a half years ago I was serving a church in Baltimore and watched the news stunned with scenes that were only a few miles from our house. These tensions weren’t new either. Baltimore is a city with a long history of racial tension and struggle that still has implications on a daily basis for its residents. Many tough conversations had already been happening, but these events sparked an opportunity for more people to become a part of sustained conversation about what had brought the area to this breaking point, and what could be done about it going forward. If the news cycles are going to constantly be disrupted by tragedies from the same sin of racism and the same challenges it presents in our country, we need to be less dismissive of them and instead listen for what God might be trying to tell us. Maybe we can embark on these tough conversations before it becomes another headline.

I learned this week about a man who has, for over thirty years, made tough conversations his mission. Daryl Davis[iv] is an accomplished rock musician, with a resume that includes playing piano with the legendary Chuck Barry. But beyond the stage, he engages in tough conversations. Namely, as an African-American man, he has made it an objective in his life to have conversations with and befriend members of the Klu Klux Klan. He has been featured on many newscasts and last year was the focus of a documentary about this work titled “Accidental Courtesy: Daryl Davis, Race, and America[v],” which you can find on Netflix, among other places:

His story is fascinating, as he reveals that his guiding question is and has always been simple: “How can you hate me when you don’t know me?” He models a very different way of engaging issues of racism around the country, which has led to several dozen KKK members leaving the clan, and leaving him with their hoods and robes. He seeks to enact change by establishing dialogue, saying “when two enemies are talking, they’re not fighting.” His work is provocative, and not without controversy or criticism. It has certainly given me a lot to think about, along with many “sandpaper moments.” But, there is one thing about which there is no question; Daryl Davis is willing to have some tough conversations.

Friends, it does not take much for us to be put in positions where we might have some tough conversations. Look around you in this space. We are, by my accounts, what you would call a “purple church.” The political and ideological positions of those who sit in our pews cover virtually the entire spectrum. And that makes it hard, particularly when tensions escalate around us and even within us. Frankly, it’s easier when those around you share your viewpoints. But writer Diana Butler Bass notes that there is great potential for congregations like us. She notes that:

Purple is more than a blend of red and blue, a right-left political hybrid with no color of its own. Purple is an ancient Christian symbol. . . . Christian purple – the color of repentance and humility – represents the kingdom birthed in the martyred church, unified around a crucified savior, and formed by the spiritual authority of being baptized in a community of forgiveness. . . . For Christians, purple is more than a blending of political extremes, a mushy middle. Purple is about power that comes through loving service, laying down one’s life for others, and following Jesus’ path[vi].

Purple, it seems, might have something to do with the vision set forth by the Psalmist in Psalm 133, “How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity!” It is a psalm that expresses the deep longing and hope for reunification of the Northern and Southern kingdoms. It’s something that hasn’t yet happened, but is yearned for with all of the psalmist’s being. And I believe it is something we yearn for as well. The only way we can possibly get there is to actually talk to each other about it. Even if that is tough.

Tough conversations take many forms. In the case of Daryl Davis, it comes in the way of establishing friendships and simply listening. That’s a great place to begin. In fact, you don’t even necessarily have to talk about those “hot button” issues with each other at first. Just get to know each other’s story. Then, as the friendship develops, you can delve into those deeper waters. In the case of the Canaanite woman, tough conversations come by stripping away pretense and naming difficult realities that push boundaries and place the woman at risk. It’s the proverbial “speaking truth to power,” and is a type of honest engagement that has the ability to bring about lasting change. Both are different methods, but both faithful ways of embodying a faith that allows us to be fully present with each other. Our work right now is not in the easy. It’s in the difficult, heartbreaking, soul-searching, seemingly impossible work of having tough conversations with each other.

Today’s text reminds us that we are called to engage in the tensions and difficult conversations of our time. As people of faith, I would encourage us to try to make these tough conversations ones that are theological. The issues we wrestle with in the world, particularly those of equality and justice, need the theology and love of Jesus Christ infused into them. That’s the model of the Canaanite woman and Jesus. The woman evokes theological terms like “Lord” and “Son of David.” The tough conversation she brings wasn’t just a hot-button issue; it was a crisis of theology. Her begging wasn’t just to have her daughter healed; her begging was a persistent insistence on being included in the love and grace and mercy offered by Jesus Christ. That must be the root of all of our approaches as well.

The work of faith is hard. Tough conversations are all around us. May we not be silent.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

August 20, 2017

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[i] Marilyn Salmon, “Commentary on Matthew 15:[10-20] 21-28,” The Working Preacher, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=125, accessed 8/17/17

[ii] Michael L. Lindvall, “Theological Perspective: Matthew 15:21-28,” Feasting on the Gospels, Matthew, Volume 2, Chapters 14-28, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).

[iii] Lewis F. Galloway, “Pastoral Perspective: Matthew 15:21-28,” Feasting on the Gospels, Matthew, Volume 2, Chapters 14-28, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).

[iv] http://www.daryldavis.com/#

[v] http://accidentalcourtesy.com/

[vi] Diana Butler Bass, “Not Red, Not Blue…Purple Churches http://www.beliefnet.com/columnists/godspolitics/2006/11/diana-butler-bass-not-red-not.html#t3xkWVFOMuoMdpGe.99, accessed 8/17/17.

Sunday’s Sermon – Get Out of the Boat – Matthew 14:22-33

August 13, 2017 Leave a Comment

Seven years ago I took an amazing trip to Guatemala. In addition to some time spent volunteering at Cedepca, my friend Dania and I took a vacation north to the highland region of the country.

Part of this trip included a visit to Tikal, incredible ruins nestled in the rainforest which was the capital of a conquest state that became one of the most powerful kingdoms of the ancient Maya with architecture that dates back as far as the 4^th century BCE. Similar to the pyramids in Egypt in scale, Tikal is larger than life and almost unbelievable. We soon found ourselves at one of the largest temple ruins, Temple 5, where visitors were invited to climb to the top.

Dania quickly dismissed the idea, but I jumped at what I imagined might be a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She agreed to wait and held my bag as I made my way to the base. Because the steps were very narrow and worn, the only way up and down was a wooden staircase that was more like a ladder, affixed to the crumbling ruins.

I began to climb. The structure began to shake. I looked up, following many tourists who were ahead of me. My grip tightened. The ladder creaked. About halfway up, the movement on the stairs slowed and my stomach got pretty heavy. Then I made a critical mistake – I looked down. I have a relatively healthy fear of heights, and in just a few moments convinced myself that this was the most foolishly dangerous thing I could have ever possibly done, and surely I was moments away from slipping and falling without anything to stop me but the people and stones below. I became almost paralyzed with fear. But I was also in the middle of a ladder with nowhere to go but up.

So I held on for dear life, praying I could figure something out. Then, I noticed something ahead of me at the top of the stairs. An older gentleman was being encouraged by his family to complete his climb. With their help, he reached the top, and then, pressed tightly against the wall of the ruins, began to encourage me. He helped me take the last few steps, and then find a spot next to him where I wouldn’t fall off the ledge and could take in the view.

In moments, he had become my best friend. He shared how important it was to him to follow his grandchildren up and take in this sight. He was 70 years old, but this was his first visit to Tikal. We marveled at the view, and at the people down below. We discussed how we could avoid having to go back down those wooden stairs. The storm inside me calmed. And eventually, with his encouragement again, I was able to return safely to the ground. We celebrated together.

Moments that take us outside of our comfort zone have the potential to be exhilarating moments that are exclamation points on the adventures of our lives. Our gospel reading today is not exception, featuring an overeager, passionate disciple who makes a pretty dramatic leap.

Peter is perhaps the most enthusiastic disciple. When Jesus asks for something to happen, it is Peter who has his hand up first to volunteer. He may not get it right all of the time, ok, a lot of the time, but his effort is inspiring. He is what we might describe as being “on fire” for the Lord, and he wants to be a part of everything that Jesus is doing right away. You know how dogs get all excited when their owner comes home, racing towards them with tails wagging? That’s Peter when he sees Jesus coming on the water.

To be sure, Peter’s decision to jump overboard was pretty foolish, particularly in the midst of a storm. It’s the very definition of “throwing caution to the wind.” As Pastor Andrew Foster Connors notes:

You do not step out of a boat in the middle of a storm. You batten down the hatches, put on your life jacket, hunker down in the belly of the boat, and pray that the waves do not get any bigger and the winds to not get any stronger. . . . The safest way to avoid getting hurt seems to be to stay in the boat: 92 percent of the disciples do exactly that in this story[i].

Most of us would stay in the boat, too. And in this way, the boat becomes a metaphor for how we try to keep ourselves safe, comfortable, and sheltered, particularly when things are rough. Our boats are numerous, and they are literal and physical as well as spiritual. Writer and Pastor John Ortberg identifies them to us in this way, saying:

Your boat is whatever represents safety and security to you apart from God himself. Your boat is whatever you are tempted to put your trust in, especially when life gets a little stormy. Your boat is whatever keeps you so comfortable that you don’t want to give it up even if it’s keeping you from joining Jesus on the waves. Your boat is whatever pulls you away from the high adventure of extreme discipleship[ii].

Most of us would stay in the boat, but not Peter. Peter embraces the call to discipleship and hears Jesus’ invitation to come. He anticipates that something exciting is going to happen. And, like a child standing on the side of a pool wanting to jump in, he yells out to Jesus “are you ready?” asking permission to take the leap. Jesus responds with a simple command, “Come,” urging Peter to join him. And that simple invitation is all it takes to get Peter walking on water.

What would it take for you to walk on water with the Lord? That is one of the questions John Ortberg asks in his popular book. In it, he offers that God often calls us to get out of the boat in a variety of ways, and he identifies four indicators that can help us identify God’s call and motivate us, too, to get out of the boat.

First, he identifies the indicator of fear. Those things that cause us the most anxiety and nervousness, he argues, might be the places God is most calling us to grow. Second, he suggests an indicator of frustration in our lives that comes with the gap between the fallen reality and our sense of God’s desires. These are the moments where we might be prompted to action as we try to reconcile the world as it is with the world as we believe God intends. Third, there is the indicator of compassion, those things that tug at our heart strings and compel us to respond with demonstrations of love and care for one another, both strangers and friends. Finally, he speaks of the indicator of prayer, recognizing that we may not always see the path clearly, but that through prayer we might uncover deeper understanding. He suggests a minimum of a six month daily commitment to prayer as a way to invite reflection and discernment. All of these indicators work both individually and together to help us get a sense that there is some presence, the one we know to be Jesus himself, who desires that we get out of the boats we have constructed for ourselves and instead try to walk on water.

Yesterday, in Charlottesville, Virginia, thousands of people were motivated to get out of their boats of comfort and speak out in the face of hate and injustice. Among them were hundreds of clergy and other Christians who joined together to bring message of hope and light to the darkness on display by those who were gathering in outrageous displays of the sin of racism and white supremacy. As I watched the news unfold, I was numb. I heard stories and saw countless pictures and videos, some of which were from seminary classmates and colleagues who were sharing them firsthand, and my heart became heavy. It was a day full of sobering moments. I firmly believe they were doing the work of witness, the kind of get out of the boat discipleship work that Jesus calls us to do. And at the same time, I found myself glad to be so many miles away, distanced from the reality of it being a decision I would make myself. I would like to think that if this had happened here in Acworth, or Marietta, or Atlanta, that I would have gotten out of the boat and been there, too. But just the thought of it engulfs me with a sense of fear that might have kept me silenced and on the sidelines. But then I read Peter’s story again, and hear Jesus calling us out of the boat, even in the midst of a storm. Brothers and sisters in Christ, the storm of racism in our country is real, and it is not just isolated to Charlottesville, Virginia. We must be attentive to the calls placed on us to get out of our boats and dispel hate with that love of Jesus that does not discriminate or favor. Overcoming fear, naming frustrations with broken systems, speaking with compassion, and praying can motivate us into active work in Jesus’ name. We must look outside the boat and see where Jesus is calling us to go. There is work for each of us to do.

Stories like this put us on the edge, and prompt us to action. Getting out of the boat means taking a risk, trusting in something bigger than we can see, in a radical act of discipleship. But doing so can be terrifying, as illustrated on the silver screen almost twenty years ago by Harrison Ford in the classic Indiana Jones trilogy. Consider this, the final of 3 tests as Indy seeks the Holy Grail as he tries to save his father’s life:

Getting out of the boat is a leap of faith. Fortunately, we aren’t just stepping off into thin air, nor are we being completely thrown in the deep end without help. Jesus is there, calling to us and encouraging us to step out. And if we get scared and start to sink, Jesus is there to hold us up so that the waters will not overwhelm us. After all, he is the one who has come to us saying, “don’t be afraid,” for the great I AM, the one who spoke over the waters of creation, through the burning bush, in the words of the prophets, has also come to us in the flesh, and over and over again demonstrates the power over the chaos that threatens to consume us. Jesus doesn’t just appear when the waters have been calmed; Jesus has the power to walk with us over the stormy waters, and gives us the abilities to do things beyond anything we could ever imagine. And all of this is possible with just a little bit of faith. The little faith that is the size of a mustard seed and can still move mountains (see Matthew 17:20). The little faith that gets Peter, and us, out of the boat. Looking to Jesus, may we be willing to take a step overboard. Amen.

~Rev Elizabeth Lovell Milford

August 13, 2017

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[i] Andrew Foster Connors, “Pastoral Perspective: Matthew 14:22-36,” Feasting on the Gospels, Matthew, Volume 2, Chapters 14-28, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).

[ii] John Ortberg, If You Want to Walk on Water You’ve Got to Get Out of the Boat, (Zondervan, 2001).

Sunday’s Sermon – What’s In Your Lunchbox? Matthew 14:13-21

August 6, 2017 Leave a Comment

It is that time of year again. Both Cherokee and Cobb counties are back in school. All this week I saw wonderful pictures of first days, from sweet little kindergarteners starting their journey to bittersweet posts about a senior in high school’s last first day. And among these pictures was one from a friend who said she had almost missed packing her children’s lunches this summer; complete with the picture you see on the bulletin cover this morning. So I asked for a few more examples, and some proud parents shared these, complete with encouraging notes. (I should also note that several indicated they should just send me a shot of some lunch money in hand). Somewhat surprising to me, not much has changed, with school lunches since I was packing them just a few years ago. There are some standards that have stood the test of time. As I shared with the children a few moments ago, Little Debbie snacks were always a highlight for me, along with Capri Suns and other special treats. For class field trips I often got to have a Lunchable, a prized selection to be sure. Now, I was fortunate to grow up in a home where lunch was always available, but the best ones were the ones my dad packed. I’m not sure if he realized he was packing for a child, or just wanted me to have lots of options, but whenever he packed my lunch, it was full, almost double what I really needed. I always had a snack for the way home, and usually a few things that could be saved for the next day on top of that.

Perhaps that’s the kind of lunch that was unpacked on the hillside that day long ago when the crowds followed Jesus. That’s the end image, after all; baskets overflowing with leftovers, twelve baskets of them, after more than 5,000 people were fed (the 5,000 just accounted for the men, so you might imagine how quickly that number climbs when you add in women and children who surely would have been present, too). But that image doesn’t match the presenting problem at the beginning of our story, as the disciples come to Jesus and remind him that they are in the middle of nowhere and the people are getting hungry. There isn’t a McDonald’s on every corner, or even food trucks popping up for the large gathering. And, from the context here, it appears that no one had really thought about provisions for themselves when they began to listen to the great teacher. And hunger doesn’t seem to dissuade the crowd. This is significant, as one commentator suggests:

Perhaps there is some hunger of the soul that causes people to continue to pursue Jesus even after their stomachs start growling[i].

Such a situation reminds us that there truly is something compelling about what Jesus is offering to the crowds. It also sets the stage for a miracle to happen.

This is among only a handful of stories that is captured by all four gospels, and aside from the Resurrection, is the only miracle, which tells us it must have been of some importance to the early church. Some even suggest that this story was told as a regular part of the church’s gathering to celebrate communion together. Many of us are most familiar with the version in John’s gospel, which features a little boy bringing his little lunch forward to share. But here in Matthew’s account, we find some different distinguishing features that highlight a different aspect of the story, namely, what it means to be a disciple.

The disciples go to Jesus to fix the problem, and his response is not immediately to just make food appear (which clearly God has the power to do, as evidenced by countless stories in Scripture, with God giving manna in the wilderness as a prime example). Instead, he simply instructs the disciples to give the crowd something to eat. Apparently one answer to “What Would Jesus Do?” is tell the disciples to do it. Jesus doesn’t just function like some sort of holy vending machine. Instead, he gives the disciples agency and calls upon them to use their skills and abilities to be a part of the solution. They have come up with the five loaves and two fish, and it doesn’t take a mathematician to see that those numbers aren’t going to add up. The need was too great, and the resources were too few. I’m sure the disciples thought it was a hopeless cause. What they had wasn’t enough.

Even as Jesus’ disciple, it’s easy to feel like what we bring to the table isn’t enough. Sometimes it’s the result of humility, but often we express very real feelings of inadequacy, particularly when it comes to doing things that involve our faith. We are afraid of saying yes to teaching Sunday School, even to children, because we “don’t know enough about the Bible,” despite reading it and coming to church for years. We shy away from singing in the choir because we don’t think our voice is as good as everyone else’s. We hesitate to volunteer to help with the mobile food pantry because we don’t think we’re strong enough to do anything. And, of course, it’s true with things outside of the church. We don’t speak up often enough when we witness injustice because we don’t think we’re eloquent enough to say anything worthwhile. We stay sitting or pressed against the wall at a wedding reception because we are convinced that we have two left feet and our dance moves would embarrass us. We avoid pictures because we don’t think we look good enough in the moments we want to remember; or we apply filter after filter to cover up our distorted sense of reality. We stay silent in the midst of a friend’s grief or crisis because we think there’s nothing we can do to help. You get the idea. Like the disciples, we look down at what we have and determine that it’s not enough.

Unless. Unless Jesus, the Messiah, God incarnate, could take what we have, even if it’s a meager amount, and do something more with it. What if this story is about more than just a little lunch? What if it’s about all of those things, those inadequacies and small portions, and how God can transform them into something amazing? Jesus’ first miracle in the story was to encourage the disciples to get away from their small thinking and instead consider that what they had could be more than enough. With a blessing from Christ, even what was small could be multiplied. Jesus was inviting the disciples to be a part of the miracle. Likewise, God is entrusting us to be a part of the miracles God is doing each and every day.

Answering this call means looking at what we have in our own proverbial lunchboxes, and considering what it is that we might be able to share with the world. Yes, on one level I think this is absolutely about food. The biblical narrative and gospel witness are full of calls to feed the hungry, and we know all to well that there are countless lunchboxes in our world, even in our own community, that are left far too empty. Later in the service you’ll hear more about some of the ways we as a congregation are working within our community to change that circumstance for many children. So the giving of our tangible and physical resources does matter. When we have leftovers in our lunchboxes, we are called to share them. If you can, add in just a few items to your grocery cart each week to donate to our food pantry; anything helps, and some of our most needed items each month are listed on the back of the bulletin. If you’re picking up school supplies, or just walking by the display the next time you’re at Target, maybe get a few extra things for a local school, too. In doing this, you are taking the blessings you have been given by God, and allowing God to multiply them and bless others. And that’s a pretty big part of being a disciple.

But the sharing doesn’t just have to be about the things we can hold in our hands. God has given us countless gifts that aren’t tactile, but need to be shared. Consider the gifts and abilities that you have. Maybe you’re really organized and good with numbers, or you love to paint or draw. Perhaps you’re particularly handy and love working with your hands, or you have the ability to quickly get to know people and develop relationships. Maybe you find it easy to talk about your faith and pray with others, or you have a knack for writing and communicating in creative ways. Whatever it is, find ways to share them, in this community and beyond. Don’t just leave the work to others that might be “more” qualified than you. Trust them to Jesus in a spirit of prayer, and see if just maybe he might be calling YOU to use them to be a part of what God is doing in the world, reaching out to others in compassion and love. Don’t leave those gifts in your lunchbox.

Do you know what happens if you leave something in the lunchbox too long? Especially in this Georgia end of summer heat? It spoils. It smells. It becomes unrecognizable and likely inedible. It ends up wasted in the trash. The same is true of the gifts we have if we just tuck them away in a box, never to see the light of day. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather have baskets of leftovers than a lunchbox of spoiled remains.

Friends, God has packed our lunchboxes full. We have more gifts and skills and abilities than we realize. Even if all we can look down and see is two fish and five little loaves of bread. God sees something bigger, and God can do big things even with the smallest gifts. As disciples, we continue to go to Jesus with the problems of our lives and our world, and Jesus responds time and time again not just by waving some magic wand and fixing things, but by engaging us and working through us to make incredible things possible; things like an entire hillside full of people fed. Our job is to open our lunchboxes and share what’s inside: with God, with each other, and with the world. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
August 6, 2017

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[i] Dock Hollingsworth, “Homiletical Perspective: Matthew 14:13-21,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011).
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Benediction: from Saint Teresa of Avila:

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

Disruption Happens; Pastor’s reflections on Montreat Youth Conference 2017

August 2, 2017 Leave a Comment

Disruptions happen. Sitting in Anderson Auditorium with our youth a few weeks ago at Montreat, the morning keynote presentation began with saccharinely sweet music and several youth frolicking about with one another. A few moments later, the screens on the side blurred to that snowstorm or ants marching look of static, and the music blared an assault on the eardrums of chaos and screaming and anarchy. Those on stage began to turn over boxes and move in jarring, almost violent ways. You could feel the 1200 or so bodies in the pews shift from relaxed swaying to stiffening stillness. Posters began to appear on the stage: Illness, War, Anxiety, Discrimination, Divorce, Death, Natural Disaster, Leaving Home, Grief. The gaps in between were filled in with the words in our heads and hearts and the painful sighs when brokenness evades even our language.

The theme for Montreat’s youth conference this year was “A Missing Peace.” Planned many months ago, it served as an ample ground for deep conversations in the midst of a world marked by disruption after disruption on all levels of our existence. As I leader, I thought this theme held tremendous potential, and had eagerly approached this week with eyes toward the opportunity to talk about the things that really matter in our world and in our lives of faith, and perhaps to gain inspiration for the difficult work of peacemaking to which I deeply believe we are called, even though often I feel clueless as to how to go about it. But I found myself sitting in that auditorium on Thursday completely depleted of all my energies, my spirit struggling with the weight of it all. One thing after another had taken its toll, and I felt a palpable resistance among many of our youth, and even within myself, to truly be disrupted.

Disruptions happen, and we scatter. It seems that while we all know they exist, we’d rather pretend like they don’t, or distract ourselves and look in other directions when they rear their heads. This is particularly true when you are at a place like Montreat. Nestled in the mountains of North Carolina, this small town is home to one of our denomination’s national conference centers, which hosts a myriad of events throughout the year, offering spiritual renewal and a “place set apart” for retreat for the many who come through the gates. Montreat becomes a sacred place for many, myself included. It is a place we identify as a “thin place” where we feel wonderfully close to God, and expect a spiritual high that will sustain us until we can make it back up the mountain. If we’re really honest, most of us go to Montreat for that reason. We want the sugary, feel-good experience of faith that is comforting and familiar.

We don’t like it when things disrupt our faith experience. Whether it’s an unfamiliar hymn, someone sitting in our pew, or a different perspective of Scripture, we as Christians tend to be resistant to things that don’t neatly fit into our expectations of what “church” should be. And so we guard these kinds of experiences, whether that’s a youth conference at Montreat or a worship service on Sunday morning. No disruptions allowed. Eventually, though, that paradigm has to shift, because frankly God is not in the business of the status quo and maintaining. God is in the business of transformation. God doesn’t intend for us to leave the same way that we came. And that requires disruption. So perhaps instead of pushing back so much against it, people of faith might be wiser to respond in a different way, and consider that our own discomforts might be the spirit’s nudging to see and experience things in new ways, or at least provide an opportunity for us to reaffirm those things that are central and core to who we are, and reinvest our energies in those roots. Even and perhaps especially in the midst of disruption, we can find God. And maybe, if we can learn to experience God’s presence in the arguably small disruptions to the comforts of our faith experience, we will be more able to experience God’s presence in the midst of the disruptions of our lives beyond the sanctuary walls.

As our keynote presenter, Rev. Paul Roberts (president of Johnson C. Smith Theological Seminary in Atlanta), said, disruptions can lead to discipleship. Throughout the witness of our Scriptures, this has been how God has operated. God disrupted the lives of the Israelites and the life of Moses to lead God’s people to freedom. God disrupted the life of Mary to become incarnate in our world through Jesus Christ. God disrupted believers at Pentecost and out of chaos, the church was formed. Disruption, it seems, is going to happen. And when it does, God is going to come calling. Our job is to figure out what part we can take in the work God is doing in the midst of those disruptions to use them for good. This, I think is more what Romans 8:28 is talking about; that God is able to work for good in any situation, and that God will always work for good. Sometimes, often, this happens through the answered call to discipleship of God’s people.

And maybe that’s the answer to the “missing peace” we so often identify as an issue in our world; a willingness to embrace the life of discipleship that Christ modeled and calls us to join; a willingness to be disrupted, and to let God work in and through us for something bigger.

At the end of that keynote, the signs were flipped, signaling the ways God flips the tables and disruptions in our lives and out of chaos offers hope. Illness to Courage, War to Rebuilding, Anxiety to Empathy, Discrimination to Acceptance, Divorce to Blended Family, Death to Birth, Natural Disaster to Rainbow, Leaving Home to New Start, and Grief to Healing. I don’t know about you, but that’s the kind of peacemaking work that I want to be a part of; and that’s exactly the kind of work that God does out of the disruptions in our lives. May we be bold enough to be the disciples who join in.

For more information about Montreat Youth Conferences, check out http://www.montreat.org/montreat-youth-conference/.

Sunday’s Sermon: The Law of Love – Romans 13:8-10, Psalm 119:33-40

Sunday’s Sermon – Tough Conversations – Matthew 15:10-28

Sunday’s Sermon – Get Out of the Boat – Matthew 14:22-33

Sunday’s Sermon – What’s In Your Lunchbox? Matthew 14:13-21

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