faith – Page 2

Sunday’s Sermon – Grace, Gratitude, and Good Works – 1 Chronicles 17:16-27

June 24, 2018 Leave a Comment

How would you define “grace”? It’s a theological word we throw around often, particularly in our Reformed Presbyterian tradition. It’s used repeatedly in our scriptures. You hear it in both my opening words and closing benediction each week, in keeping with the traditional greetings and closings used by the Apostle Paul. Professor and theologian Rolf A. Jacobson offers this definition:

The free gift in which God gives everything—eternal life, forgiveness, purpose, meaning— to human beings, who respond by trying to earn it[i].

Grace is central to our understanding of salvation and who God is in relation to the world. It reminds us that we have a God who is merciful and slow to anger, who offers compassion and forgiveness instead of condemnation. Grace comes alongside love and is the means through which God accomplishes all things.

Throughout his letters to the early church Paul hones in on the importance of grace. Some of my favorite passages include those in Romans and the verses in Ephesians which we read a few moments ago. In Ephesians, Paul wishes to make it clear to the people that grace is a gift that brings us salvation. Our unity with God in Jesus Christ is not because of anything we have or have not done, our pedigree or geneology, or any particular turn of luck or accomplished skill. It is, as the reformers said, solo gratia, only grace that grants us this eternal status. Friends, this is good news. Because, as Paul also said in another letter, all of us have sinned and fall short of the grace of God. So, if you remember nothing else about grace, remember that it is a gift. It is not up to us to earn it; all we can do is respond to it.

These are the roots of the story John Newton, the author of the hymn Amazing Grace, who experienced grace in a dramatic way during a particularly stormy voyage in March of 1748. One night, a storm overtook the ship without any time to prepare, and Newton began to cry to the Lord. The next day, in great peril, he cried to the Lord. He later wrote, “That tenth of March is a day much remembered by me; and I have never suffered it to pass unnoticed since the year 1748 – the Lord came from on high and delivered me out of deep waters[ii].” Newton was the captain of a slave-trading ship, and for the next several years he continued, trying to justify his work by seeking to improve conditions as much as possible, even holding public worship services for his hardened crew of thirty each Sunday.

You may have noticed in the stories of hymn backgrounds this summer that many of the authors experienced some sort of conversions, or had nefarious pasts. In this way, they are in good company with many of our biblical heroes, whose stories often reveal less desirable aspects of their lives. I think these stories remind us of God’s incredible ability to do amazing things with even imperfect people. And perhaps, it’s these imperfect people, so aware of their shortcomings, who are able to be more fully aware of God’s grace and its role in their lives. One biblical example of this is King David, who moves in the biblical story from shepherd boy to king with a lot of questionable choices along the way. But rather than focus on this past history, 1 Chronicles tells the life of David through an encouraging lens, leaving out the stories of his personal sin and failure and life before he became king, and instead focusing on the accomplishments he left behind for future generations, including his central focus on worship.

First Chronicles was written for Israelites living centuries after David . . . to help them get in touch with what Israel had once been and could become again[iii].

In short, Chronicles was written to help orient God’s people to respond to God’s grace and mercy, using David’s awareness of it as inspiration. Our text from today comes following David’s interactions with the prophet Nathan, who has guided him in understanding what God would have him do next. David had offered to build a temple for God, but Nathan delivers the message that God has something else in mind. David responds with this earnest and heartfelt prayer that model him as a humble ruler even in his success. He accepts the news from Nathan with meekness and thanksgiving. Rather than boast in God’s grace, David chooses to be grateful.

For both King David and John Newton, responding to God’s grace is about gratitude. It is an awareness of all that God has done, is doing, and will do, and an earnest desire to set their own interests aside in following God. Both men offer powerful prayers of thanksgiving, and because of God’s grace are able to find a new way in which to live in gratitude. Grace prompts us to say “thanks” to God. Each week in worship we confess our sins, and are reminded of this grace, and we respond with a song of thanksgiving to God – giving to God all the glory of this moment.

Grace also prepares us for discipleship. As our text from Ephesians reminds us, we are what God has made us, and God indeed has made us for a purpose – for good works. When we are aware of God’s grace, and lead lives marked by gratitude, we naturally will extend that grace and love to others with our actions. This is the intersection of good works and grace. Good works are not the way to grace, but the natural response to lives aware of its presence.

For John Newton, it changed his entire life path. Despite his efforts to improve his slave-trading ships, after several years he felt convicted of the inhuman aspects of this work and left the seas for dry land. At age 39, he was ordained by the Anglican Church and began his first pastorate in the little village of Olney, near Cambridge, England. During this time, he grew tired of the same old rote hymns provided in the Psalter, and sought to write new hymns that provided straightforward messages about scripture in ways that people could connect to, and so he began to write his own. That’s right, John Newton was responsible for many newfangled hymns. He collaborated with his friend and neighbor, William Cowper, and together they published a collection of 349 hymns in the Olney Hymns hymnal in 1779, with 282 of them by Newton[iv].

Among those were six stanzas of a hymn titled “Faith’s Review and Expectation,” based on Newton’s study of 1 Chronicles 17. It is the hymn later set to an early American folk melody which we know by its opening stanza, Amazing Grace.

John Newton’s contribution to faith communities in Olney and these hymns are certainly an impressive example of the impact that a recognition of God’s grace can have on one man. But the more compelling part of the story for me is what happened next in Newton’s ministry. Because leading lives in response to God’s grace is about much more than becoming a minister and writing good hymns. In the case of John Newton, grace led him to take a stand for something far more important. It is captured on his tombstone, which he himself wrote:

“John Newton, clerk, once an infidel and Libertine, a servant of slavers in Africa, was, by the rich mercy of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, preserved, restored, pardoned, and appointed to preach the Faith he had long labored to destroy.”

After serving fifteen years in Olney, Newton became pastor of the influential St. Mary Woolnoth Church in London. During this period, he mentored several influential leaders and clergymen. Most notably, he established a strong relationship with William Wilberforce and other political leaders engaged in the crusade for the abolition of the slave trade. His experience as the captain of a slave-trading ship haunted him, but he also felt compelled by his experience of God’s grace to make changes for the good of the world. It is worth noting that the year of John Newton’s death, 1807, also marked the year the British Parliament finally abolished slavery through all its domain.

In 2006, the story of William Wilberforce’s crusade against the slave trade in the British Parliament was captured in a movie titled Amazing Grace. It is a compelling story about the struggles of leaders in the midst of tremendous changes, and it features several scenes in which Wilberforce engages with his mentor clergyman, John Newton. In one memorable scene, Newton notes the line from the hymn “was blind but now I see,” and notes the irony of how he, almost blind and late in life, had finally seen what was good and right all along, after years of being blind to the sins of which he was a part. Then Newton adds: “Although my memory’s fading, I remember two things very clearly. I’m a great sinner and Christ is a great Savior.” The driving force for him continued to be his faith and understanding of grace, and his willingness to do something with it.

The film also depicts William Wilberforce struggling with whether he should enter the ministry (like Newton) or go into politics. He makes a display in a card game after another player wagered a slave, returning to sing the first verse of Newton’s hymn. Later his friend, William Pitt urges him to make a decision, and asks him “do you intend to use your beautiful voice to praise the Lord – or to change the world?”

While I understand the set-up in the film, I don’t think such an answer is either/or. In fact, a life marked by grace demands that we do both – praise the Lord (show our gratitude) AND seek to change the world, joining in the work of God’s kingdom that we were created for through Jesus Christ. Grace can and should prompt us to good works, to actions that make a difference in the world – not for our own gain, but for God’s. In this way we become extensions of God’s gift of grace to others. This is the work of discipleship: becoming aware of God’s grace, giving thanks for it, and doing something because of it.

That is the work that our denomination’s General Assembly undertook this week, which you will hear about in more detail in just a few moments, and it is a challenge to all of us sitting here in the pews. Each week, we come together to celebrate God’s grace – through word, sacrament, prayers, and song. But it has to lead us somewhere, too. The book of James reminds us that “faith without works is dead.” The story of John Newton should, I think, inspire us to action. To root ourselves in an understanding of God’s love and mercy and reorient our lives in response. For him, that meant a total life shift and committing himself to a cause deeply grounded in a theology that we are all made equally in God’s image and should be treated in that way. This morning, I invite you to sing this hymn in praise to God, but also as a prayer asking for God’s guidance for the work that is yours to do, trusting that in word and song, the Holy Spirt can and will lead us into action. All because of a grace that is so amazing we cannot help but respond. Let us sing:

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
June 24, 2018

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[i] Crazy Talk: A Not-So-Stuffy Dictionary of Theological Terms, Rolf A. Jacobson, editor, (p. 99). Fortress Press. Kindle Edition.
[ii] Robert J. Morgan, Then Sings My Soul: 150 of the World’s Greatest Hymn Stories, (Nashville, TN: W Publishing Group, 2011).
[iii] NRSV Student Bible
[iv] Kenneth W. Osbeck, 101 Hymn Stories: The Inspiring True Stories Behind 101 Favorite Hymns, (Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel Publications, 1982)

Sunday’s Sermon – Faith Like a Child – Matthew 19:13-14

June 17, 2018 Leave a Comment

Most of what I really need to know about how to live, and what to do, and how to be,
I learned in kindergarten.
I learned: share everything, play fair, don’t hit people, put things back where you found them, clean up your own mess, don’t take things that aren’t yours, say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody, wash your hands before you eat. Flush. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you. Live a balanced life – learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some. Take a nap every afternoon. When you go into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together. Be aware of wonder[i] . . .

This was the first essay of a collection of 50 published by author and minister Robert Fulghum in the now classic book in 1988, which stayed on the New York Times bestseller lists for almost two years. Its premise was simple; to consider those first lessons taught to us at the beginning of our education and consider how the world might be improved if adults adhered to the same basic rules as children. Even thirty years later, its message holds. So many things in our lives and world are based on the most basic of lessons we learned, or should have learned as children, particularly in regards to how to get along with one another. Have you ever sat in a room of presumed adults in conflict, and imagined it to be much like toddlers in a sandbox fighting over toys and flinging sand through the air, just waiting for them to throw a tantrum or cry because sand was in their eyes? I often want to reply to people with learning songs from Daniel Tiger, not just because they’re what we use in our house, but because they are so spot on. Sometimes, the best way we can grow into the kind of mature beings I believe we generally hope to be, is to remind ourselves that it doesn’t always have to be so complicated and dramatic. Sometimes it’s just going back to the basics.

I think the same is true for our lives of faith, and this week in our series want to spend a little time thinking about those songs of faith that we might assume are reserved only for children. They are the ones you will hear echoing in the hallway of the education building each week at the beginning of the Sunday School hour from our Praise Kids. If you pay close attention, you’ll catch snippets of them as Denise plays when the children come and go from the steps in worship. They’re what gets stuck in your head after a week of church camp or VBS, and chances are, if someone starts to sing one you know, you’ll jump right in:

Halle-lu, halle-lu, halle-lu, halle-lu-jah! (Praise Ye the Lord!)

Deep and Wide, Deep and Wide, (there’s a fountain flowing deep and wide)

The B-I-B-L-E (yes that’s the book for me! I stand alone on the word of God, the B-I-B-L-E!)

He’s got the whole world (in his hands!)

Zacchaeus was a wee little man, (a wee little man was he!)

This little light of mine, (I’m gonna let it shine!)

We could go on, couldn’t we? There are a ton of these little songs. At first it seems like it would be easier to come up with some simple summary or phrase, but let me tell you, putting things into such a concrete, clear way that it can easily be understood by a child is a huge task. Anyone who has ever explained anything to a child has likely experienced the following: you give your best, most heartfelt, most accurate explanation of something, and just as you are thinking about your triumph, you get a skeptical face who either 1) dismantles your entire argument in one sentence, or 2) asks the start of a never-ending question: “why?” To answer things for children, you really have to be on your toes. The same is true for these songs. They offer so much more than just a fun little tune or rhyme to teach to kids. They pack a theological punch. The writer of 1 Timothy encourages the young leader to not be dissuaded by his youth, and today I encourage us to not just dismiss those Sunday School children’s songs, because they are meant for the younger set. They provide a distillation of our faith that takes us back to the foundations of our faith. And taking them to heart, no matter our age, reminds us that we are all still children of God.

Children have a lot to teach us about faith. They approach God with a sense of wonder that many of us have lost as we have gotten older (and perhaps wiser) and have encountered the complexities of life. But don’t mistake a child’s wonder with simplicity. Children don’t have any less of the number of theological questions (Where is God? How big is God?) – they are just more comfortable living in the mystery of them. And they aren’t afraid to ask if they don’t know. In this way, they are profound theological thinkers, absorbing the facts and reasonable components of faith as presented, and also gazing into the distance of all the possibilities and ambiguities, and they hold those not in tension, but in harmony with each other. I wonder if this is the truest reflection of what it means to have faith.

Perhaps that’s why Jesus took time to welcome children – because they “get it” in ways that many of us adults just can’t. That picture of Jesus’ welcome appears in all 3 of the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), each with its own unique characteristics. In Matthew’s version, it is a gentler than the conflict found in other accounts; simple, but weighty[ii]. The theological meat of the story comes with the profound and counter-cultural claim that children are to be welcomed. At the top of the list of reasons for why is the simple fact that Jesus himself said it and modeled it. He saw them, quieted his cranky disciples, and welcomed them into his presence. He laid hands on them, a sign of approval, of blessing, and of commissioning. Children belong, and perhaps the marker of how the world, the church, receives them, is an indicator of how well or not we are exhibiting the kingdom of God here and now. Biblical scholar Judith Gundry-Volf affirms that:

the Gospels teach more than how to make an adult world kinder and juster for children.[They] teach the reign of God as a children’s world, where children are the measure, where the small are great and the great must become small[iii].

To the most vulnerable and weak, Jesus offers welcome. He exhibits signs of blessing and protection. As Olive Elaine Hinnant summarizes this moment:
He will keep little ones safe. They have a place to belong if the world does not seem to care[iv].
Sound familiar? She connects this story to the words of perhaps the most well-known children’s song of all: Jesus Loves Me.

These words were written first in 1860 by Anna Bartlett Warner, who collaborated regularly with her sister Susan to publish 18 of their combined 106 literary works. They were highly educated and deeply devoted Christian young women who lived along the Hudson River, and for many years taught Sunday School classes for the young cadets attending West Point. In fact, they are the only two civilians who are buried in the military cemetery there and were laid to rest with full military honors. Their writing careers came by necessity after their father died, and this particular song comes in a heartbreaking novel titled Say and Seal, a best-seller second only to Uncle Tom’s Cabin at the time, where the character Mr. Linden comforts a dying child, Johnny Fax, with the reminder that he is loved by Jesus, who watches over him. It is a poignant moment in the text that solidifies a foundation in faith that carries us not just through childhood singing but into the final moments of our lives as well. The poem inspired Dr. William B. Bradbury to compose music for it and add the chorus, which he presented in 1862 in his hymnal publication The Golden Shower. You may know some other hymns by Bradbury: “He Leadeth Me,” “Just as I am,” and “Sweet Hour of Prayer” are among those significant contributions he made to the development of early gospel hymnody in our country[v].

This hymn stands the test of time, and is loved by not just children in age, but by all children of God. It quickly gained universal appeal and is one of the most commonly taught first hymns by missionaries because of the central claim it makes to faith. It’s words bring us comfort about whose we are, those who have been claimed and loved by our Lord and Savior, who welcomes us in our most vulnerable state, and promises that even to us, the kingdom of God belongs. When we lay hold to this claim for ourselves, we find ourselves in the embrace of Jesus, who welcomes us as children, however we come, and who promises blessing and a place for us. Everything we need to know about our faith rests on this central claim in our lives, that Christ has claimed us as his own forever. To sing “Jesus Loves Me” is more than just repeating a childhood song – it is stating the core of our faith that enables us to love and serve Christ and each other. Our ability to do that, I think, lies in our willingness to have faith like a child and find our place in the kingdom of God. So may we sing this song of faith together, in humility and meekness of the one in whose presence we come, and in celebration and joy for the welcome we will find there:

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
June 17, 2018

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[i] Robert Fulghum, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, (1988).
[ii] Gary Neal Hansen, “Theological Perspective: Matthew 19:13-15,” Feasting on the Gospels: Matthew, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, Editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).
[iii] Judith Gundry-Volf, “Jesus and the Children: “To Such as These Belongs the Reign of God,”” Theology Today 56, no.4 (January 2000): 480, as quoted in Joseph R. Jeter, “Homiletical Perspective: Matthew 19:13-15,” Feasting on the Gospels: Matthew, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, Editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).
[iv] Olive Elaine Hinnant, “Pastoral Perspective: Matthew 19:13-15,” Feasting on the Gospels: Matthew, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, Editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).
[v] The background for this hymn comes from Kenneth W. Osbeck, 101 Hymn Stories: The Inspiring True Stories Behind 101 Favorite Hymns, (Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel Publications, 1982) and Robert J. Morgan, Then Sings My Soul: 150 of the World’s Greatest Hymn Stories, (Nashville, TN: W Publishing Group, 2011).

Sunday’s Sermon – On the Vine – John 15:1-8

April 29, 2018 Leave a Comment

A few years ago I went to a fundraiser for a local charity with some of my church members. It was sponsored by one of those groups that does paint nights, where you start with a blank canvas, and then an artist guides you step by step through a series of strokes, one section at a time. By the end of the night, viola!! You have a beautiful painting that looks like you knew what you were doing . . . most of the time at least. Painting is not my skill set, so I was rightly apprehensive about this endeavor, but I was assured that it would be fun regardless. I’d seen amazing results from friends, posts of pictures of scenic skylines and still life. The picture for the evening was relatively simple, and I picked up a paintbrush and tried very hard to follow what the leader was both saying and showing. Here is my end result. Not too bad actually. Definitely something I would never have been able to do on my own, though, even if I had seen the sample image to copy. But, when guided through it step by step, I was able to produce something that looked halfway decent. The key, I learned, was not necessarily to get ahead of myself, but instead follow the artist leading me, offering the next step and gently suggesting edits for when I had missed the mark. The end result came about because I was willing to trust the process.

In many ways, this is similar to the illustration Jesus uses in today’s passage. He speaks about the growing process of a vineyard, the step-by-step work of the vinegrower that is necessary in order for the end result to be good. Just as the artist leading us didn’t just hand us some paint and tell us to go to town, the vinegrower doesn’t just toss out some seeds and hope for the best. It takes time, tending and pruning, attending to different growth needs, and trust in the process. While not a perfect metaphor, it is a beautiful and complex one with many applications. This week I spent a little time looking at some comprehensive videos produced by the Monticello Wine Company about a year on the vine. It was fascinating. One of the introductory notes from the narrator was “the key to great wine is great fruit[i].” That is where the vinegrower puts their attention if they want to be successful. It is a quite lengthy process, too. Did you know it can take up to three years before a grapevine will produce fruit that is even worth considering to be made into wine? It’s fascinating timing considering this story, as its assumed Jesus spent roughly three years in ministry. What is more, many vineyards wait another two or more years to reach optimum quality. So perhaps, with this text, Jesus is helping to prepare the disciples for continued maturation by setting them up for a process through which they might continue to grow, and hopefully bear good fruit.

This text comes in the midst of his final discourse, or teaching, to his disciples, and he utilizes a common image of the day – the vineyard – to help the disciples understand what living as Christ’s people would look like. It is important to note that this is not just any parable or allegory, but rather is what is known as:
a mashal, a Semitic form that includes and image and its application to real life[ii].
Such a format would have been common in the Jewish religious tradition, as evidenced by its recurring presence in the Talmud. As Osvaldo Vena summarizes:

The vine was a common image used in the Hebrew Bible to speak of Israel as God’s people and conveyed the ideas of divine love and divine judgment. We can see this in Isaiah 5:1-7, the song of the unfruitful vineyard, where instead of grapes (justice) God finds wild grapes (bloodshed). The same idea is present in Jeremiah 5:10 and Jeremiah 12:10-11, but not so in Isaiah 27:2-6, where a reversal of the earlier song occurs, and now Israel is depicted as a fruitful vine[iii].

With such a reference, Jesus would have tapped in to the richness of the tradition with such an image, interpreting it in a new light for his disciples. The vinegrower is still God, but the vine is no longer Israel; it is Jesus. Again, the gospel message expands a far and as wide as the vine can grow. The writer of the gospel of John masterfully crafts the image of something well known in order to bring deeper understanding. Jesus Christ changes everything, and it is connection to him that will bring life, new life, life abundant. This text is one more opportunity for the disciples to root themselves in Christ and prepare for the good news that is to come with the resurrection in just a few more chapters.

The same message is true for us today, as those who seek to follow Christ. We often comment that we want to “grow in faith” or “bear good fruit,” and texts like this one help us remember where to start. We need to be on the vine, connected to Jesus. To put ourselves in this position, the one that will help us grow, is not without risk or challenge. The imagery reminds us that on the vine we will be subject to pruning. Now, I don’t think this means we will be cut off from the vine itself, but the parts of us that aren’t bearing fruit may need to be trimmed away in order for us to truly thrive. That is part of the work of discipleship, as we let go of those things that are not bringing us life or drawing us closer to God, creating space in our lives that growth might happen. In another part of the video from Monticello, the grower notes that one of the things that often contributes to growth is stress. That’s right, stress. In response to stress, the plant will often focus its energies on its progeny, the grapes, to make them as desirable as possible to birds and bees, in order to survive. Likewise, we might note that in our own lives of faith, it might be in times of stress and change, both positive and negative, where we experience the greatest amount of growth in our relationship to God. So perhaps, we might benefit by putting our lives of faith under a bit of examination and open ourselves up to processes of pruning in order to grow. Change certainly won’t be easy, but it may just be what we need to help us bear the best fruit.

This text invites us to trust in the process, even when it is difficult and takes us out of our comfort zone. To do so means we must be brave. Consider this poem by Micky ScottBey Jones:

Together we will create brave space

Because there is not such thing as a “safe space” –

We exist in the real world

We all carry scars and we have all caused wounds.

In this space

We seek to turn down the volume of the outside world,

We amplify voices that fight to be heard elsewhere,

We call each other to more truth and love

We have the right to start somewhere and continue to grow.

We have the responsibility to examine what we think we know.

We will not be perfect

This space will not be perfect.

It will not always be what we wish it to be.

But

It will be our brave space together,

And,

We will work on it side by side[iv].

This should be our vision for the church; a brave space in which we might be “on the vine” together, being pruned and growing in faith all at the hand of God through the life-giving vine of the Holy Spirit. That is the image I hope we might see when we gather here. This weekend our incoming officers spent time together, learning and laughing and preparing for another year of leadership with our returning officers. We made new connections with each other, and I hope with God as well. In one of the videos we watched, we were reminded that at the heart of what it means to be Presbyterian is that we do this thing called faith together. The good news is, that work is never done alone. I have yet to see a vineyard with only one little plant. There are rows and rows of them, with buckets full of fruit that are smashed together to create a delicious end result, whether it’s the Welch’s in our communion cups or your favorite vintage in the cellar. Collectively, we are a vineyard, growing together in Christ. We are called into connectional relationship with one another, and at the root of it all, if we have any hope of thriving, is our individual and communal relationships with Christ, who is the head of the church. It is Christ who invites us into this intertwined relationship, just as he invited his followers long ago as recorded in John 15. So let’s join together, on the vine, and be bearers of good fruit for the glory of God, who planted seeds in us long ago, and isn’t done tending to us. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
April 29, 2018

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[i] “Making Wine: In the Vineyard – Anatomy of a Grapevine,” Monticello Wine Company, posted February 9, 2016, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9aCFjEc1rgY, accessed 4/25/18.
[ii] Osvaldo Vena, “Commentary on John 15:1-8,” Working Preacher Website, April 29, 2018, https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3631, accessed 4/25/18.
[iii] Ibid.
[iv] Micky ScottBey Jones, “An Invitation to Brave Space,” The peoplessupper.org, https://static1.squarespace.com/static/595e51dbd1758e528030285b/t/5978dca7d7bdcee0e2be6a99/1503506626330/FAQ-brave-space.png, accessed 4/25/18.

Sunday’s Sermon – Ghost Stories – Luke 24:36-48

April 15, 2018 Leave a Comment

Christ is risen! (Christ is risen indeed!) Even though all of the Peeps and chocolate bunnies are now in the 75% off carts, we are still in the liturgical season of Easter, which spans 50 days from the Resurrection to Pentecost. It’s important that we think about Easter as more than just one day of celebration; a whole season of Eastertide prompts us to maintain the energy of those who first ran from the empty tomb. That’s why last week we participated in some “Holy Humor,” to keep the joy and energy of Easter alive. Even two weeks later, we should be brimming with excitement over the news of Christ’s resurrection. In fact, most theologians remind us that every Sunday is truly a celebration of the Resurrection, although practically speaking it can be hard to sustain that level year-round. Once the initial joy of the announcement fades, what happens next? That is what we explore in these 50 days.

For the disciples, the days after Christ’s crucifixion were a mixture of emotions. Many of them had fled the scene at the garden of Gethsemane and foot of the cross. We might imagine they huddled together in the shadows, trying to stay under the radar and out of sight lest they meet a similar fate. John’s gospel reveals them shutting out the rest of the world in a locked upper room, presumably from fear. But we know the gospel message continued to spread. Do you remember the refrain from Andrew Lloyd Webber’s famous rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar? The apostles sing “what’s the buzz? Tell me what’s a happen’” over and over again. Post-resurrection we might imagine it being a bit more hushed, but with even more anxiety as they try to put the pieces of it all together. In Luke’s account of these days, just before this morning’s text, two disciples travel to Emmaus, and a stranger joins them to talk about it all. That stranger, of course, turns out to be the risen Christ, revealed in the breaking of bread. Almost immediately, Cleopas and the other disciple race back to Jerusalem, a 7 mile trip, to proclaim that “The Lord has risen indeed” (verse 34). This is the buzz where our text begins.

And, as if a stranger turning out to be Jesus isn’t exciting enough – in the appearance in today’s lesson, Jesus almost appears out of nowhere. “Surprise! Here I am!” aren’t quite his words, but rather words of peace, a reassurance for their anxiety and fear. Can you imagine? You know how when you’re talking about someone, even something good, and then they walk into the room unexpectedly? You are probably left a little speechless and lose your train of thought. Multiply that and you have a tiny sense of this moment. The disciples probably froze, and turned sheet white, as if they had seen a ghost. Because, despite the news they had been talking about, that is exactly what they perceived as happening; the development of yet another overwhelming ghost story.

Admittedly, I’m not too keen on the idea of ghost stories. I still get chills when I think about the many paranormal activity tv shows that used some semblance of science to examine abandoned haunted places, complete with shadowy images and ominous music in the background. There was even a show on Nickelodeon when I was a kid called Are You Afraid of the Dark? which involved a group of teenagers who formed “The Midnight Society” and each week told a different scary story to the group around a campfire, with nods to the classic Twilight Zone. Yeah, I couldn’t even watch that in the light of the afternoon. That said, I do love a good mystery or plot with twists and turns, and have enjoyed more than one historical ghost tour, as history and rumor intertwine. There are numerous kinds of “ghost stories,” almost to suit every taste, from classics like The Haunting to suspense like The Sixth Sense. Some people live for this kind of uneasiness and apprehension as the lines between fiction and reality are blurred. In fact, that’s what makes the most effective ghost story; when it is so close to being possible that it just might be true.

But there’s a flip side. In many cases, the stories unravel. Like at the end of Scooby Doo when a mask is pulled off and the monster is really a shopowner, or you go to investigate the scratching sound only to realize it’s a tree brushing against the window. Skepticism and closer examination often expose wild imaginations and outright fiction. I think, in part, this is why a story like we have in Luke 24 matters to us. For although the disciples think Jesus is a ghost, their assertion is proven wrong; not once, but twice. First, Jesus invites them to touch him and see that he is flesh and bone. This is not some apparition. They aren’t going to wave their arms through him. He is fully present with them. Here, Jesus affirms the incarnation. God isn’t just with the disciples in a spiritual sense; God dwells among them, and this includes the risen Lord too. In the flesh.

There is a bit of debate among theologians about what to make of the gospel claims of bodily resurrection. Some, like Marcus Borg, argue that the physical presence of Christ isn’t what is at stake with the resurrection, but rather the importance of the experienced reality of the post-Easter Jesus as the inspiration for the claim “Jesus is Lord.” In this perspective, a ghost story would have just as much significance for the disciples, and still leads to the same kind of new existence for those who believe in Christ. If the bones of Jesus were discovered somewhere, it would not shake the foundations of this faith, because it’s not the literal bones that matter. For others, though, this tangible nature of the risen Christ is essential. N.T. Wright notes that it matters because:

Resurrection implies at the very least a coming back to something that had been forfeited, that is, bodily life. . . [and] The deepest meanings of the resurrection have to do with new creation. If the stories are metaphors for anything, they are metaphors for the belief that God’s new world had been brought to birth[i].

He goes on to note that the return of the physical Jesus matters in the context of debate among first century Judaism about the notion of Resurrection, for the first Christians, certainly the disciples, would have framed their understanding of this even in light of their Jewish faith. Wright notes:

There was a spectrum of belief about life after death in first-century Judaism. The Sadducees, the ruling elite, denied a future life of any sort . . . Many Jews believed in a continuing life after death, but in a disembodied state that neither needed nor expected a future reembodiment. . . [while] Resurrection, for Pharisees, was thus part of their belief both in the goodness of the created, physical world and in the ultimate triumph of the justice of God.

As such, the understanding of Jesus’ bodily resurrection would have made a clear separation between this a simply a renewal movement within the Jewish faith, and a distinctly new way of understanding God’s fulfillment of the promises of the prophets. For this, among other reasons, Wright and others stand firmly behind the bodily resurrection as central to an understanding of the meaning of not just the Resurrection, but faith in Jesus Christ. It’s a spectrum of belief, really, and know that wherever you are you are in good Reformed theological company. And, if you’ve never really thought much about it one way or the other, or are content for it to simply be one of those things left to the great mystery of faith, you’re in good company as well. But texts like this open us to think about it a bit more. And while we don’t have to land on a definitive answer, in fact I’d argue that’s impossible, it can be helpful for us to identify where we are and how that may impact the framework of our experience of Easter and of living as one who professes Jesus Christ as our risen Lord.

In all conversations, the importance of the resurrection is affirmed. And, as Stephen Cooper notes:

To insist on the reality of the resurrected body is to demand that we accept our present reality as the place where transformations of ultimate significance take place[ii].

I think that’s what Jesus was trying to prove in his offering of his body to the disciples. That this wasn’t just some figment of their imaginations or hopes in the midst of despair. It was true and real. This matters to us, today, too. Our faith should not be something lost in fantasy or fiction. It should be grounded in the real and tangible experience of Christ among us. Our faith isn’t some theoretical idea. It is something we can touch.

So the disciples touch him and their joy begins to grow. But they still aren’t sure. You can imagine a glistening in their eyes, a turn of the head as they look at him again. Could this really be true? Jesus offers a second offer of proof, asking for something to eat. And he eats some broiled fish. Clearly this is something a ghost could not do. Now the disciples get it. Jesus puts the ghost story to rest, because there are other things he needs the disciples to hear. His offers of proof remove the distractions that otherwise would keep this as simply a fantastic ghost story of inspiration and wonder.

Just as Jesus is present with them, he calls them to embody this good news of resurrection and build upon what they know from scripture and his teachings and become witnesses to all that has been proclaimed, including the resurrection. Barbara Brown Taylor offers that this is how Jesus ushers in their new way of being. She writes:

After he was gone, they would still have God’s Word, but that Word was going to need some new flesh. The disciples were going to need something warm and near that they could bump into on a regular basis, something so real that they would not be able to intellectualize it and so essentially untidy that there was no way they could ever gain control over it. So Jesus gave them things they could get their hands on, things that would require them to get close enough to touch one another[iii].

He calls them to take on these teachings as a way of life together. Just as he has been transformed, resurrected, they too are to be changed in ways that impact their way of being in the world. That is the point of the gospel after all. That is the aim of Easter. To give those who would follow Christ, even the church, new life. One that is marked by tangible engagement with the Word, not just read and studied, but lived and breathed. And when we do that, we fully reflect the image of the risen Christ. As Barbara Brown Taylor notes:

In our embodied life together, the words of our doctrines take on flesh[iv].

For me, this is why it matters that our story in Luke isn’t just another ghost story or idle tale. Because if it is, we let it gloss over us like another fairy tale or fantasy. But doing so misses the impact of the resurrection. It trivializes it and makes it just some other moralistic tale. Instead, the risen Christ comes among us and calls us to reach out, touch and see that this is no ghost. Because if we can allow for a God who puts on flesh himself, even after death, we might just have a faith that we can touch, too. May it be so.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
April 15, 2018

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[i] Marcus J. Borg and N.T. Wright, The Meaning of Jesus: Two Visions, (San Francisco, CA: HarperCollins, 1999).
[ii] Stephen A. Cooper, “Theological Perspective: Luke 24:36b-48,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[iii] Barbara Brown Taylor, “The Practice of Wearing Skin: Incarnation,” in An Altar in the Word: A Geography of Faith, (San Francisco, CA: HarperOne, 2009).
[iv] Barbara Brown Taylor, “The Practice of Wearing Skin: Incarnation,” in An Altar in the Word: A Geography of Faith, (San Francisco, CA: HarperOne, 2009).

Sunday’s Sermon – Extravagant Faith – John 12:1-8

March 18, 2018 Leave a Comment

This is, in my estimation, one of the best times of the year, especially if you are a college basketball fan. The only thing better than a great game? Four games at once, especially if an upset is involved. More is better. Is your team is up by 10? Don’t just sit back and coast through the second half. You cheer for them to keep going and make it 20, a more impressive victory to strike fear in your next opponent. Beyond basketball, this quest for “more” seems to be a part of our culture. Value is placed on getting the “mores” in our lives: purchasing a vehicle that gets more gas mileage, having one more item to add to our collection, being more successful than our coworker, taking one more day of vacation, getting more “likes” on a post. Whatever good we receive, it seems that we always want more.

Our text from John’s gospel presents us with a slightly different understanding of what living with a “more” mentality might mean as a disciple of Christ. In the spirit of thanksgiving, Martha and Mary give a dinner for Jesus and his disciples, in celebration for the incredible miracle that has just happened as Jesus raised their brother Lazarus from the dead. It must have been an overwhelming moment for this family. How could they possibly thank Jesus for such a gift? There must be something “more” they could do.

Mary comes forward with a gift – a pound of costly perfume – and liberally pours it on Jesus’ feet. This is a moment of abundance, rich with symbolism. It was not just a few drops, but a considerable amount of fragrance. In fact, it is one of the few times in the New Testament where smell is even mentioned, and it is a significant reversal. As Frances Taylor Gench describes it:

a fragrant smell and grateful love now fill a house that had once been filled with mourning and the smell of death’s decay[i].

There is more to this story than just a fragrance. This is a moment that foreshadows the events that will come. The only other time the evangelist John uses the words “dinner” or the “wiping” in his gospel happen in John 13 during the meal Jesus shares with his disciples in the Upper Room[ii]. Mary’s action, then, parallels Jesus’ washing the feet of his disciples in an incredible act of servitude and love. This moment also foreshadows Christ’s death, and the anointing with oil and spices that would have followed.

William Carver says “nothing begins a conversation like an extravagant gift[iii].” Mary sparks quite the conversation. After her act of devotion, Judas jumps in, essentially asking “is there a thing as too much?” That is the question at the heart of our quest for “more” in life, isn’t it? We are pushing the limits of our capacities. For some things, we would argue that no, there is never too much – for example, I could argue that there is no such thing as too many Girl Scout Cookies, or too many pairs of shoes. For other things, though, like salaries for star athletes or the amount of sugary cereal a child pours into a bowl, we may find ourselves saying “that’s too much.” When we fall into the latter mentality, we tend to label things as “extravagant”: over the top, not necessary. This is the voice of Judas, who immediately responds to Mary’s gift with skepticism, offering the practical view of things, even if of dubious genuine care for the poor.

Although clearly he has missed the symbolism, I think he does raise a valid point. There is a tension between extravagance and our quest for more. At some point, we have to say enough is enough. Set some boundaries, and be content with what we have. This is true in our lives and even within the church, as we contemplate new ideas and make decisions about how we live. We can’t say yes to everything, even the good and worthwhile endeavors; we’d all be exhausted and would end up with activities going 24/7. Instead, we pray about and talk about what God is calling us to do right now. It’s about deciding when to say yes, and when to say no. We call this process discernment. And part of this discernment involves using our resources wisely, so as not to be wasteful with what we are given. In some ways, this is what Judas points to in his commentary on Mary’s action. He reminds all who are present of just how extravagant this moment is – perfume worth three hundred denarii, nearly a years’ wages for a laborer. There is a cost to extravagance, and it is steep. Judas is, in essence, asking those gathered if it is worth it. Clearly he thinks it is not.

Jesus responds with a differing opinion. He justifies the cost, speaking up for Mary and instructing Judas to “leave her alone,” revealing the fast-approaching reality of his death. In this moment, Jesus again praises Mary for her faithful devotion.

In Mary, then, the reader is given a picture of the fullness of the life of discipleship. Her act shows forth the love that will be the hallmark of discipleship in John and the recognition of Jesus’ identity that is the decisive mark of Christian life[iv].

The faith that Mary models, to Judas, the disciples, her family, and even to us, is a faith marked by extravagance. It is a faith that always seeks “more.”

In contrast to Mary, I think many times faith is a part of our lives that often gets shortchanged in our quest for “more.” We want more sleep, so we hit the snooze button on a Sunday morning. We want more time for our hobbies, so we put off reading our Bibles for another day when we “have more time.” We want more money to get the latest gadget or take that vacation, so we adjust our giving just a bit. In short, we let our need for “more” become the priority over our faith. We spend more time worrying about the challenges and issues in our lives, more time trying to figure out our relationships and schedules, more energy and resources on material things, and, because something has to give, less time on our relationship with God.

Instead of letting our faith take a backseat, perhaps we should reframe our understanding of “more,” and, like Mary, seek to live with extravagant faith. Such a faith may seem ridiculous to others, wasteful even. But we rest assured that our Savior encourages us to continue even in the face of adversity, for we have a Savior who believes in extravagance, over-the-top actions. That, of course, is one of the messages of the cross, the overabundance of love that God had for the world.

Of all the things that Mary’s gift represents, particularly to fulfill the gospel writer’s theological connecting points in the greater narrative, I think the most compelling is that Mary’s extravagant gift was one of love. In this, she models the most important aspect of our lives of faith: love. Love is what overwhelms Mary. Love is what prompts her to do something more. Her actions convey what cannot be spelled out in words or even in thought, they are only ones that can be demonstrated through an act of the heart. This story invites us to consider what our love for God might inspire us to do.

Having faith that is extravagant means being willing to truly love God with all that we have: minds, bodies, and heart. It means making the first “more” in our lives our relationship with God. Going above and beyond into something deeper still, and trusting that there is always something more to be learned, more to experienced, about the one who first loved us. This “more” is not about a transaction or monetary value. And it’s not about how many events we attend, or committees on which we serve. Extravagant faith is about how we live into these faith practices, and more importantly, about how God works through them to bring us restoration beyond anything we can imagine. Extravagant faith is about giving God all that we have, not just settling for the bare minimum. When we are overwhelmed by our love for God, we are apt to do wild and radical things, the kind of things that truly label us as Christ’s disciples.

It was love that inspired St. Patrick to return to Ireland. It was love that inspired volunteers to spend a Saturday afternoon loading groceries into cars yesterday. It is love that leads us to speak out where there is injustice – to stand up to the bullies of the world and proclaim that all deserve to be treated with love and respect. It is love that helps remind us to spend a few extra minutes checking in with someone we know is having a tough time. God’s love leads us to extravagant faith.

Some moments of extravagant faith, much like the perfume Mary poured, might seem temporary or fleeting. After all:

lots of extravagant gifts are put into the air, where they soon evaporate. A church choir labors to prepare an intricate anthem, and three minutes later it is gone. The teacher prepares the lesson, stands to deliver, and then class is adjourned. Mourners provide large arrangements of flowers to honor those whom they grieve. Saints donate large sums of money for their congregations to spend. Why do they do this? Love has its reasons[v].

But perhaps these aren’t as short-lived as we might think, for once we break open the jars of extravagant faith, “the fragrance of love’s actions is carried on the wind to places we never see[vi].”Acts of love and extravagant faith have the potential to grow into more, as generosity inspires generosity. Imagine how extravagantly-filled our lives could be if we all lived with a little more love, a little more faith. That is the hope of the Psalmist, and the encouragement of Jesus. To live a little more, for with God, the possibilities are endless. No act of faith is too small, and no act of faith is too large, when inspired by our love for God.

So let go a bit, of whatever holds you back from giving all that you have, all that you are, from God. Let God’s love wash over you and carry you to something new. Seek to be “more” of a disciple, and prepare for the overwhelming fragrance that comes when we live with a faith that is extravagant, worshiping a God whose grace and love is indeed always “more” than we could ever dream. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
March 18, 2018

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[i]Frances Taylor Gench, Encounters with Jesus: Studies in the Gospel of John. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2007), 95.
[ii]Gail R. O’Day, “John 11:55-12:11,” The New Interpreter’s Bible: Volume IX: Luke John (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995).
[iii]William G. Carter, “John 12:1-8, Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, Editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 140.
[iv]O’Day, 703.
[v]Carter, 142.
[vi]H. Stephen Shoemaker, “John 12:1-8, Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, Editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 143.

Sunday’s Sermon: First Responders, Mark 1:14-20

January 21, 2018 Leave a Comment

Without fail, the same prayer was lifted at the end of each Session meeting at a particular church: “Lord, thank you for those who serve in our military and the first responders.” It was the contribution of the same elder each month as we made our way around the circle. And even though I had come to expect hearing it, it was never offered as merely routine. It was always spoken with a deep sense of gratitude and appreciation and a passionate plea for God’s blessing and protection for those who serve. It made me take notice more of those who were serving in these roles, whether it was the volunteer fire department chief who was also around the table or an officer in uniform. I am impressed by the dedication of these public servants: from firefighters to police officers to EMTs to those who serve in the National Guard or have enlisted in a branch of the military. When things go wrong and people are in trouble, they are often the first to respond. More than that, even, they go to work every day expecting that this might happen, anticipating that they will rise to the calls placed before them, sometimes putting themselves in extreme danger. They don’t know what crisis is in store, but are willing to go and serve. Such service, I think, is an act of courage, compassion, and faith, and can serve as an inspiration for us to respond in our own ways to opportunities for service.

Our gospel text today is about first responders; those who took enormous risks to answer a strange man calling to them from the shoreline. Like our modern day first responders, the disciples answer a sounding alarm, particularly in Mark’s telling of the story. This is the gospel that begins not with a sweet birth narrative, but with a wild man from the wilderness, John the Baptist, shouting words from Isaiah. In just a few short verses, we have a whirlwind of activity, as Jesus is baptized, then spends 40 days being tempted in the wilderness (captured in two verses). The messenger from God, John, is removed from the narrative by arrest, and Jesus enters again. These verses are full of markers of time, which almost make the start to the gospel read as a sounding alarm; a high-level alert that something big is happening. Jesus spells it out clearly: the time has been fulfilled and the kingdom of God is at hand.

This proclamation brings a dual sense of alarm and reassurance. On one hand, everything is about to change. A new day has dawned, and like we discussed last week with the story of Samuel, it is time to wake up and pay attention. On the other hand, there is comfort in knowing that the fullness of time has come. It brings a reassurance that the outcome is already known or at least anticipated. As Ted Smith notes:

Jesus does not just announce the time. He fulfills it, in word and in flesh. And he calls people to respond. . . . As Mark tells the time, God takes the initiative. The reign of God is not the product of discipleship, but the precondition of it[i].

Jesus’ first words in our text don’t just introduce the scene; they test the footings of the foundation and provide the assurance that everything is ready to go.

As is common in Mark, the word “immediately” punctuates the responses of these two sets of brothers. Like the people of Nineveh repent immediately after Jonah’s very short sermon, the disciples’ response is complete and almost instant. Commentaries are quick to remind us that:

Nothing in vs. 16-20 tells us why the fishermen do what they do, why they leave their nets and the hired workers and follow Jesus. Somehow they are compelled to follow him, a man whom they cannot understand, on a journey that will perplex and confuse them to a destination as yet unspecified. The fishermen, now disciples, act in faith – not a faith that understands, takes only calculated risks, or seeks after reward, but a faith that responds to a call from outside, a call that must remain unclear and even frightening . . . Responding to Jesus provides the disciples with no answers for their life struggles, but only questions. It provides them with no security, but rather with rejection and even danger[ii].

What we do know is that these four men responded. They don’t appear to have superhuman characteristics, or even be particularly qualified for such a calling as they received. In fact, John Calvin described them as “rough mechanics,” meant to illustrate that the story was not about who they were, but about who God would help them become[iii].

The translation of the call in the NRSV, and the one many of us quote, is a bit misleading. It has Jesus implying that he will teach them to fish, an action. In reality, Jesus promises in the Greek to make them fishermen. It’s a noun, not a verb. This story is not about teaching a particular set of skills, but about transforming the lives of these first responders in a way that shapes their very identity, so that following Jesus would not just be something they clock in and do, but a part of the central core to who they are. They are not called to just add one more thing to their busy lives, and pencil Jesus in for a shift every so often. No, they were called to embrace a whole new way of life, one that even involved leaving their livelihood and their families. And immediately, even with the full weight of their entire identity at stake, they left their nets and followed him.

This is a story about more than just four fishermen. It is also about us, now, and what we are going to make of the realization that the kingdom of God is near. As professor Lamar Williamson writes:

Jesus’ “Follow me” confronts us all with a decision that lies deeper than the question of earning a living. His call to discipleship focuses on the question of life’s ultimate loyalty, a question more basic than that of vocational choice. It speaks to Christians whose lives are humdrum, whose discipleship has degenerated into a preoccupation with things like nets and boats and hired servants.

This text calls us to consider whether or not we might identify as first responders in faith.

On a more personal level, this is a basic question of belief. Who are we following? Some of us may identify a specific moment in which we decided to call ourselves Christian, kind of like those first disciples. Others might not have an exact date, but an ongoing sense of God’s nudging along the journey, with moments of articulation. Either way, we know that our faith is always a response to the initiative of God. That’s how it works. God lays the foundation, brings things into fullness, opens our eyes, sounds the alarm, and we respond to that grace. We do this by singing Jesus Loves Me and other hymns of praise; through wrestling with scripture and asking tough questions; and when we walk in the door on a Sunday morning hoping to hear the good news again so that when we walk out we are changed. Every time we open our Bibles or begin to pray, we are responding to God in faith. We are saying we have decided to follow Jesus. We are identifying ourselves as disciples.

But it doesn’t stop there. Elton Brown says:

Christianity is always both for now and for the long haul; both a moment and a lifetime[iv].

Being a disciple of Jesus Christ requires ongoing, daily work. It’s easy for us to get caught up in the tangled nets we hold, ones we might need to drop in order to most fully live into the realities of God’s kingdom. It is easy for us to let others bear the burden of the work of discipleship because we are too busy, or not qualified, or tired, or just disinterested. We can become apathetic about this calling. To those dull places, Jesus comes again, and offers a refreshed identity and understanding of ourselves with the promise that we can become something different.

Our text for today offers us the opportunity to begin, or renew, our identity as disciples of Jesus Christ. To scan our eyes on the horizons of our lives and see where God breaks into even the most ordinary moments of our existence, and invites us to be something more.

As Eugene Peterson phrases it in The Message: “Time’s up! God’s kingdom is here. Change your life and believe the Message.” (Mark 1:15)

May we be first responders in our lives of faith, on our feet and leaping into action, immediately reacting to God’s presence among us. Then, we can truly call ourselves disciples. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
January 21, 2018

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[i] Ted. A Smith, “Homiletical Perspective, Mark 1:14-20,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, Editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[ii] Walter Brueggemann, Charles B. Cousar, Beverly R. Gaventa, and James D. Newsome, “Third Sunday After Epiphany,”Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV – Year B, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1993).
[iii] John Calvin, Commentary on a Harmony of the Evangelists, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Vol. 1, trans. William Pringle (Edinburgh: Edinburgh Printing Co., 1845), 242-44., as referenced by Lee Barrett, “Theological Perspective, Mark 1:14-20,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, Editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[iv] Elton W. Brown, “Pastoral Perspective, Mark 1:14-20,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, Editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).

Sunday’s Sermon – Digging Holes – Matthew 25:14-30

November 19, 2017 Leave a Comment

Last weekend, Matt and I found ourselves in a pretty deep hole, and it was our own doing. While on our camping trip to Raccoon Mountain near Chattanooga, I had the bright idea that caving would be a fun adventure. So we signed up, filled out a lengthy waiver, put on recommended clothing and headed to the Cavern entrance to meet our guide for our “Waterfall Dome” tour and three and a half hours or so of exploring. We soon veered off from the walking, lit portion of the caverns, and after a slippery walk and belly crawl took a short break. Our energetic young guide, Ben, jokingly asked “so, who here is afraid of heights?” I felt my body stiffen. I had not bargained on heights while deep in a cave. He went on to describe the “y-body position” move we’d need for the next section, angling ourselves “like you see in Ninja warrior” over an opening which he guessed had a drop of anywhere from 8 to 20 feet depending on the section. Then he smiled and asked who was ready to go. I was not. I was trying to figure out if it was possible to go back the way we came; after all, we’d only been going for about half an hour. Then I remembered the notes from the website that said the minimum age was 8 and everyone had to be 56 inches tall. How did 8 year olds do this? They must not have any fear. Fortunately, I have a great partner who saw my panic and reassured me he was there to help me get through it. So we moved forward and made it through. In fact, you couldn’t really see the depth of the drops because of the darkness of the cavern, and it wasn’t nearly as dramatic as our guide had made it out to be. Difficult? Yes. Unnerving? Absolutely. But doable. At the end of the day, you have to overcome your fears if you want to get out of the cave.

In today’s parable, only two servants would have made it out; the third servant would still be sitting in the muddy cavern with his one talent. In the first century, this was the largest unit of currency available at the time. Some scholars guess that it would have been worth between 15 and 20 years’ worth of a salary for a day laborer. The exact figure isn’t as important for understanding as it is that this was no small pocket change. Do some quick math – double your current annual salary. Now add a zero to it. Imagine it in front of you, a stunning amount that doesn’t belong to you, but is now in your care. Of course the servant dug and hole and buried it to keep it safe. His actions prompt us to ask:

What’s so wrong with being cautious? Discretion and deliberateness are virtues, not vices. But with this third servant virtues become vices. Prudence and wariness easily become self-protectiveness and restraint. Inhibition turns to fear, and the servant ends up refusing the risk of trading in the marketplace[i].

The third servant simply waits for the master to come back, so he can return it, perhaps like a hot potato, saying “Here you go – it’s all there. Every penny accounted for, just like you left it.” Nothing new to see here.

And yet, when the master returns, the prudent decision of the servant is not rewarded. It seems there were some better options for how to pass the time while the master was away. The first two servants had invested their sums, 5 and 2 talents respectively, and each doubled the amount. They are rewarded and given additional responsibilities as a result. Then, the master turns to the third servant, who immediately begins offering explanations and notes that he was afraid to do anything but hide what he had been given in the ground. And the result isn’t pretty. The master is harsh, calling the servant lazy, saying he at least could have put it in a basic interest bearing account. And then he is punished, banished to the darkness where there is weeping and grinding of teeth; one of the most harsh treatments of anyone we read about in Scripture. It’s a hard story to swallow. It’s not like the third servant squandered these funds away on gourmet dinners and fine wines. He didn’t buy an iPhone 10 or go on an all-night shopping spree on Black Friday. He just maintained what was there; a reasonable and safe venture. And that seems to be the heart of one issue Jesus is trying to teach in this parable. As John Buchanan notes:

The point here is not really about doubling your money and accumulating wealth. It is about living. It is about investing. It is about taking risks. . . The greatest risk of all, it turns out, is not to risk anything, not to care deeply and profoundly enough about anything to invest deeply, to give your heart away and in the process risk everything. The greatest risk of all, it turns out, is to play it safe, to live cautiously and prudently[ii].

This parable is the third in a series of four Jesus tells in Matthew about the end times (eschaton) as he nears Jerusalem and the final events that will lead him to the cross. The tension of this journey is palpable, with a sense of urgency and importance. Here, Jesus expresses what he hopes and expects of them after he is gone while they wait for his coming again. This is a parable about what it means to be a follower of Jesus, faithful to him, even when he’s not there to show you firsthand how it’s done. And so, it is a parable about you and me as well.

Often we hear this parable and think about it as a stewardship lesson of investment, or a reminder to use those skills that we have rather than hide them away. And while these are reasonable and worthwhile perspectives, they fail to capture the larger picture and drama of the context of this parable about the end of time, kingdom of God, and judgment. We might, as Matt Skinner suggests, think about it more as a parable about callings, the “positions in which God has placed you to make a difference; opportunities to be influential[iii].”

The third servant had the opportunity, the calling, to take what had been put before him and do something for the glory of the master. And instead of building up, he dug a hole in fear. Skinner continues:

This parable is about more than just what you can do, or what God has gifted you with, but it’s a parable about what are you going to do in those moments where you clearly know what it means to represent Christ in a moment and you don’t do so[iv].

From the first century until today, God’s people have had trouble stepping up to live fully into Christ’s call to live actively as disciples. In the 1940s, German pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer struggled with this as he wrote in the midst of the Holocaust. He offered “that the sin of respectable people is running from responsibility[v],” as he wrestled with his own sense of responsibility to speak out against Hitler and the Nazi party, which led to his arrest, internment in a concentration camp, and execution. Running from responsibility looks a lot like digging holes.

This is what Martin Luther King, Jr. railed about in his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” lamenting and calling out those who, like the third servant, did nothing. King wrote:

I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection[vi].

The middle ground, you see, the ground of inaction and passivity, of the third servant, of the hiding in a hole, is no ground to stand on at all.

This pattern infiltrates our daily lives as well. Fear overtakes our desire and ability to do the things we know are good and right. We don’t speak up when things don’t seem right because we don’t want to create waves. With Thanksgiving on the horizon, this will be tested repeatedly as families with diverse opinions gather. We hesitate to volunteer because we aren’t sure if we have the abilities, or are selfish with our time and afraid it will take away from the other things we want to do. We don’t want to be inconvenienced. The holes we dig for ourselves are all around us. And, even when confronted with it, we keep digging. Have you ever realized you were wrong about something, but then became even more insistent on your wrong notion, or kept talking and saying things that only made something worse? It seems we think that the holes will somehow protect us a bit, but most of the time they end up burying us instead.

The good news is, we have this parable to inspire us to choose another way; to stare fear in the face and stand on the side of Christ; to be bold enough to take a stand in the face of what tries to render us helpless and say, “not today.” In the wake of yet another story about a shooting during a service of worship, our very gathering here today is a witness to the power of the gospel to triumph over fear. This is what it means to be the church. Our Book of Order even helps define it this way, saying:

The church is to be a community of faith, entrusting itself to God alone, even at the risk of losing its life[vii].

As people of faith, we are called to take risks, not dig holes. This is one of our greatest callings as those who follow Jesus and live in anticipation of his return. To live into the kingdom of heaven that these parables describes means being ready to present ourselves to God not as maintainers of the bare minimum, but as faithful investors who lived fully into the lives God gave us.

As poet Marianne Williamson reminds us:

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

Rather than throw each other shovels to make the holes of fear and insecurity greater, let’s throw some ropes down, join hands, and help each other navigate those caverns and holes together, until we all are brought back up again. And in the midst of the darkness we are in, may the light of Christ shine our way, so that we may be bearers of light to the world with good news, the kind the doubles what we have been given. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
November 19, 2017

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[i] Walter Brueggemann, Charles B. Cousar, Beverly R. Gaventa, and James D. Newsome, “Proper 28,” Texts for Preaching- Year A, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995).
[ii] John M. Buchanan, “Pastoral Perspective: Matthew 25:14-30,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011).
[iii] Rolf Jacobson, Karoline Lewis, and Matt Skinner, “Sermon Brainwave Podcast #570 – Twenty-Fourth Sunday after Pentecost,” Working Preacher.Org, Posted November 11, 2017, http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=948, accessed 11/15/17.
[iv] Matt Skinner.
[v] As referenced by John M. Buchanan.
[vi] Martin Luther King, Jr, “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” April 16, 1963, https://www.africa.upenn.edu/Articles_Gen/Letter_Birmingham.html, accessed 11/16/17.
[vii] Book of Order 2017-2019, Presbyterian Church (USA), F-1.0301.
[viii] Marianne Williamson, “Our Deepest Fear” from Return to Love, as printed in Imaging the Word: An Arts and Lectionary Resource, Volume 3, (Cleveland, Ohio: United Church Press, 1996).

Sunday’s Sermon – Who Taught You That? Matthew 23:1-12

November 5, 2017 Leave a Comment

“Who taught you that?” When it follows an impressive feat or display of skill, such as a delicious home cooked meal, the tone is quite positive and full of admiration. “Who taught you that?” It can also be skeptical, with an eyebrow raised, questioning the accuracy of a teaching or method. Sometimes it comes when a parent discovers a mischievous child’s surprise (good or bad) – then it manifests as humorous denial. Regardless of tones, this question beckons the rest of the story. It invites us into explanation for our actions and to provide rationale for our skills. It’s like putting a citation in a paper for a class. As teachers are known to say, it is important to “give credit where credit is due.”

In today’s text, it seems the scribes and Pharisees were overly anticipating such a question; and they wanted to be the answer. After all, it was their role to teach and instruct the people on God’s will. They are the experts, and have spent countless encounters with Jesus in Matthew’s gospel, quizzing him on his knowledge of scriptures, perhaps trying to corner him into a moment where the second tone of disapproval might raise the question “who taught you that?” Our opening verses indicate that they have gotten so caught up in their status within the community that they merely spout off their knowledge and righteous answers without actually living in a way that reflects them. Here, of course, is where Jesus takes issue. He is quick to call out those who have become lazy in their ivory towers of religious authority. While their teaching may indeed be sound, they have missed the point.

It is tempting for us to read these passages of conflict between Jesus and the religious leaders of his day and make them out to be the villains of the gospels. We gleefully join in hisses and boos when they enter the scene, and smile all too knowingly when they are rightfully called “hypocrites” and “brood of vipers.” In this text, we hear Matthew’s detailed descriptions of their ostentatious display of religiosity and pat ourselves on the back to be on the side of Jesus, knowing just how awful these people are. But, what if, these same tendencies of the first century religions leaders aren’t so far removed from our own? Perhaps the vanity, hypocrisy, and arrogance that trouble Jesus are more universal human characteristics that we all embody more than we’d like to admit.

The lure of power is great for us, too. We all have things we yearn for in life: success, money, status, or simply being liked by others. And in those moments when we accomplish steps towards them on any level, we feel pretty special. We must have done something right to deserve this, right? God must be smiling on us, rewarding us for our goodness. Patrick Gray says:

“It is so easy to confuse our interests with God’s purposes, our power with God’s sovereignty, our standing with God’s glory[i].”

After all:

“human beings like to matter, to be important, to be honored. We all want to be known and loved; this is what it means to be human . . . How important is it for all of us to feel as if we matter and are appreciated! We want promotions, raises, bonuses, good grades. We are the “they” – the finger points back to us, because we are all human[ii].”

To these authorities in the first century, and to us, it is as if Jesus saying, “who taught you that?”

This passage calls us beyond ourselves. For the Pharisees, Jesus is pointing them to the heart of their faith, and reminding them that they are not God. In our own day to day lives, we sometimes need those reminders, too. We get caught up in the excitement of our own accomplishments and are blinded to others as we beam with our own pride. This passage, though, calls us off of our pedestals to consider that it’s really not about us. For behind any of our accomplishments are a host of individuals who have loved us, nurtured us, taught us, and supported us along the way.

Who taught you that? It’s the question answered in acceptance speeches for awards, as actors and athletes thank their parents, coaches, teachers, friends, and other important people in their lives. As we reflect on our own lives and accomplishments, I imagine we also come up with a list of others to thank. It is particularly appropriate on this All Saints Sunday of the year to reflect on those who have made us the people that we are. One simple definition of a saint is someone who has shown us the way, often by example, and usually in a way that helps us be better people. Today we give thanks to God for them in our lives. We will lift them in prayer this morning during our worship service – if you have not already, write down their name on a prayer card or scrap of paper and give to an usher during the next hymn. You can also say their names out loud during the prayer as well.

After a death, I have the privilege of being with families as they grieve, and love hearing stories about their loved one. Almost without fail, the stories are not about “stuff” or even “power”; they revolve around how much of an impact the individual had on others, his or her positive example of how to live, and of his or her self-giving spirit. This humility is a common trait among saints, who gave of themselves in big and small ways that taught us more about love and life, and did not put themselves above others in doing so. Saints model how Jesus calls us to be at the end of this passage – the greatest among us who have been servants. On this day especially, we remember that even though they are no longer here with us, they have been exalted in heaven, rejoicing as saints in God’s presence forever. This is the image the Bible gives us over and over again of saints: endless praise at the throne of God. For you see, it isn’t really about the saints either. Saints point us to an even greater “who”– God.

As we honor and remember the saints in our lives, we really are giving thanks to God for the gifts and abilities God gave each of them, and for putting them in our lives. We acknowledge that God is the master creator, ruler of heaven and earth, and proclaim that in life and in death we belong to this amazing God. This is what Jesus is getting at, I think, in his insistence that there is only one father, God in heaven. Everything begins and ends with God. This is the message we proclaim at every memorial service or funeral. We hold our loved ones close to us, yes, but more than anything else, we remind ourselves of the heart of our faith as we gather for worship services that witness to the resurrection – the power God has beyond life on this earth to be in loving relationship with us forever.

Who taught us this? The one instructor and rabbi, Jesus Christ. Through Christ, the power of death is shattered. Because of Christ, we have eternal life, and can be bold enough to say that the saints who have gone before us, our loved ones, are indeed with God. This hope extends to us on earth as well, as we join them in the communion of saints, believers united in every time and place. It is part of what we celebrate every time we gather around the communion table. Our celebration of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper is our rehearsal for that time when we are united with all the saints at Christ’s table, our glimpse of what it might be like. Our preparation for this, though, should extend beyond a small cube of bread and cup of juice. It should be modeled in every moment of our lives. As the Saint Theophane Vernard says, “the life of a Christian should be a perpetual jubilee, a prelude to the festivals of eternity.”

This is what All Saints Sunday is truly about: a celebration of the communion of the saints – all people of faith here today, those who have gone before us, and even those who will come after us, connected together by the one who taught us what God’s love was all about, and who led us by his example, and who continues to teach us through his Word. So let us give thanks for the ones who have gone before us, and then humbly take our seats as students of the one true God. Because we still have a lot more to learn. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
November 5, 2017

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[i] Patrick Gray, “Exegetical Perspective: Matthew 23:1-13,” David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 4 (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011).
[ii] Jacqueline J. Lewis, “Homilectical Perspective: Matthew 23:1-12”, 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).

Sunday’s Sermon – That’s Not Fair! – Matthew 20:1-16

September 24, 2017 Leave a Comment

Being the oldest of three children is not always as glamorous as it seems. On one hand, you tend to get a good bit of attention early on, and sometimes get privileges because you are the oldest. On the other hand, though, you’re the Guinea pig for your parents as they learn the ropes. This means, at some point, you will watch your younger siblings get to do things you never would have been able to do at that age. Somehow, they get to stay up or go out later, watch more grown up tv shows, and generally be way less supervised. And they never get in nearly as much trouble. Admittedly, as I observed my brothers growing up, multiple times I found myself exclaiming, “that’s not fair!!!”

That’s not fair could be the title of today’s story in our Bibles. It’s the exclamation of those who have worked all day, long and hard, and get to the front of the line to receive exactly the pay they’ve been promised, likely a small amount, but the going rate that was fair for a day’s pay. If you consider just their experience, such a cry seems odd. They came, agreed on a price, worked as agreed, and got their reward. So why are they so cranky? Because from the back of the pay line they have seen the landowner paying others, those who had worked far less. Based on that pay, they’ve come to expect more than was promised. Surely they had earned it. And yet, they only get the original amount promised. Just like those who arrived last.

It’s just not fair. And actually, that’s kind of the point of the parable, illustrated plainly in the conversation with the landowner, who reminds those laborers that he has fulfilled his promise to them in full; why are they resentful for graciousness shown to others? Jesus introduces this as an example of what the kingdom of heaven is like. Emile Deith, former president of Montreat Conference Center, used to greet conference attendees with a joke about such an image. He’d comment that “Montreat is a lot like heaven; you see a lot of people you didn’t expect to see.” The joke fit, reflecting the connectional, small world nature of the Presbyterian church, where you smile as you see friends you haven’t seen in a while in that holy mountain spot beyond the gate. But what if you said it as a summary of this parable: “in the kingdom of heaven you will see people who haven’t worked as hard or as long as you but get the same reward?” Well, that almost offends us if we’re honest. This parable rubs us. Something doesn’t seem right about it. That’s because we’re probably the most like those all day workers, and it’s hard to reconcile the gracious generosity of the landowner. We, too, might be equally envious and grumble a bit. So were many of the original listeners.
Commentator Patrick Wilson reflects that:

We may be entrepreneurial enough to agree that the owner of the vineyard can run his business any way he pleases, but we cannot rest comfortably with his payroll policies…. If the master is determined to be generous, why not pay those fellows who worked all day a bonus? That also would be fair. The way generosity gets passed around in this tale abrades our sense of justice[1].

Considering that this is a parable, and clearly the landowner is meant to represent God, we might quickly conclude the following: God’s not fair. The parable is great news to those hired at the end of the day, promised to be paid what was fair, and even to those hired midday, with the same unnamed but just amount promised. It’s harder to hear it as good news if we’ve been there all day. We take the exchange and salary for granted, not truly wrapping our heads around the gift that it is.

We are too close to ourselves, too wrapped up in our own skins, too bundled in our own terrible needs, to see truly what God gives us. What God, in goodness and generosity, gives us we are likely to assume is our due, something we have earned, a goodness we have fabricated for ourselves. We see other people more clearly than we see ourselves[2].

And in this context, our cries of “that’s not fair!” more likely than not expose our own warped sense of entitlement; or at least our privilege and our resistance to sharing it with anyone else.

The workers protest that in his decision, the landowner has made the later in the day workers “equal” to them, and you can imagine that word “equal” said with a dirty taste in the mouth. It seems the workers, and us, rely on systems of inequality in order to maintain our own sense of self-worth and value. Work is more than just earning a daily wage; it determines whether or not we are considered successful or a failure, superior or inferior. It is a source of division and competition[3]. And the landowner upsets the apple cart by showing generosity to everyone.

In my family, my brothers and I would jokingly compete for the title of “favorite child” with my parents. We used it as a tool of persuasion and a way to harass each other. It was a game to us most of the time, but also reflects a very real part of our nature to want to be the chosen one. That’s why this parable offends us so much I think. If the landowner, if God, is going to be extravagant and generous, why not towards us? We want to be the favorite children of God.

Here’s the thing- we are all “favorites”. In showing generosity to the other workers, the landowner wasn’t taking away from the first workers. He was simply adding to those who would be blessed. It’s not like God was giving out one pie, and dividing it into smaller and smaller pieces of pie because more people were there. Everyone was getting pie.

This parable reminds us that there is an ongoing tension between our sense of justice and fairness and our understanding of God’s radical and abundant grace. And it’s a story that plays out over and over again in our scriptures:

Jonah sat on the brow of the hill outside of Nineveh and pouted when God spared the city. The elder brother thought his father a doting old fool when his father invited him to join the celebrating at the prodigal’s return. The Pharisee at prayer thanks God that he is not like the sinful publican. Divine grace is a great equalizer which rips away presumed privilege and puts all recipients on a par[4].

Parables are meant to turn the mirror on us, and beg us to put ourselves in the story. No matter where we are in the payment line, this parable asks us to consider how we might respond to God’s grace, whether expected because of a relationship established long ago, or something that comes in the middle of the day or even at the last minute.

If we find that we are among the grumbles, this parable might just be calling us to check our privilege, and ask us why we are so guarded about others receiving the most basic daily needs. The landowner asks those who grumble to take a different perspective. The literal translation of the question he asks about envy reads “is your eye evil?” The struggle in the text isn’t about the transaction between the landowner and those later laborers. It’s about the struggle with the lens through which the original laborers are viewing the situation. Perhaps, if they can understand the true beauty of the grace shown to those they deem undeserving, they might realize that the same measure of unbelievable, unmerited, loving grace is what has been given to them all along as well.

Grace is something we talk about a lot, but never really know what to make of or what to do with it. Renowned Southern writer Flannery O’Conner wrestled with it in her fantastic short story titled “Revelation,” which details the scene of a well-to-do woman, Mrs. Turpin sitting in a doctor’s waiting room, passing deplorable judgment on those around her, not just in her head. After some time, a young woman finally explodes from the confines of her own chair and lunges after the protagonist, screaming that she is a “wart hog from hell.” The final moments bring Mrs. Turpin to consider what truth these words might be, even considering her charity to the less fortunate and church-going ways. She brings her wrestling to God. O’Conner writes:

What do you send me a message like that for?” She said in a low, fierce voice, barely above a whisper but with the force of a shout in its concentrated fury. “How am I a hog and me both? How am I saved and from hell too?[5]”

Such a moment calls attention to the ongoing need for us to examine ourselves, to realize that perhaps we aren’t really as deserving of the privileges we hold, and instead are completely reliant on God’s grace alone. Such a revelation on our part will bring about some hard questionings about our own priorities and opinions about others. It will mean we have hard work to do. It will cause us to push back. As O’Conner herself noted:

All human nature vigorously resists grace because grace changes us and the change is painful[6].

But if we can get past our resistance, if we can get past the grumbling, we might just discover a better response to grace – gratitude. For what God gives to others, and for what God gives to us as well. That is what the parable is driving us towards.

And then, we can truly proclaim those words of the Psalmist that we called ourselves to worship with this morning:

The Lord is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
The Lord is good to all, and his compassion is over all that he has made.

That’s not fair! May we have the faith for that cry to shift from envy to joy. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
September 24, 2017

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[1] Patrick J. Willson, “Homiletical Perspective: Matthew 20:1-16,” Feasting on the Gospels: Matthew, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).
[2] Patrick J. Willson
[3] Based on work by Warren Carter, Matthew and the Margins: A Sociopolitical and Religions Reading, (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2000), 394, as quoted in Charles Campbell, “Homiletical Perspective: Matthew 20:1-16,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 2, David L. Bartlet and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011).
[4] Walter Brueggemann, Charles B. Cousar, Beverly R. Gaventa, James D. Newsome, “Proper 20,’ Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV – Year A, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995).
[5] Flannery O’Conner, “Revelation,” http://producer.csi.edu/cdraney/archive-courses/summer06/engl278/e-texts/oconner_revelation.pdf
[6] Flannery O’Conner, as quoted by Skip Johnson, “Pastoral Perspective: Matthew 20:1-16,” Feasting on the Gospels: Matthew, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).

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).

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