Heritage Presbyterian Church

Love Grows Here

Sunday’s Sermon – Shout Outs – Luke 19:28-40; Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29 – Palm Sunday

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Have you ever been to a concert or other large group event, and had the leader on the stage either start or end the time with a “THANK YOUUUUUUUU!!!” and results in wild applause? When celebrities are interviewed on late night shows in front of live audiences, and mention where they’re from, invariably there will be a “woot!” from the crowd, or some exclamation that they appreciate or are from the same location. They are “shout outs”- public expressions of thanks or gratitude. Typically, the phrase is reserved for when it happens on tv or the radio, but I would offer they happen in other ways, too: from mentions and tags on social media to dedications in the covers of books to those named in acceptance speeches. They are positive ways that we name those to whom we are aligned.

This morning our text is a shout out. Specifically, from Jesus’ disciples to let people know who Jesus was. Each of the gospels tells of this entry into Jerusalem with a little bit of a unique spin. In the case of Luke’s gospel, there are no palms or tree branches, for which this Sunday is given its title. But we do have the disciples laying out their cloaks. They weren’t doing this to cover puddles; it was a sign of the utmost respect, usually reserved for royalty. By lining the road with their garments, they were declaring Jesus as king. This fits well, of course, with his entry on the humble donkey, a sign which the prophet Zechariah described almost exactly[i]. As he comes, the whole multitude of disciples begin to give him accolades, shout outs, along the way, echoing those of the Psalmist we heard a few moments ago.

Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord[ii].

It is a joyful celebration, as the crowd is swept into that energy.

Shouts and cheers are inevitable. It is how we respond to good news . . . with great joy. Sound familiar? Luke’s gospel is the one that recounts for us a choir of angels proclaiming the amazing news of Jesus’ birth to shepherds on a hillside. They break out in song and give a “shout-out” of glory to God. William G. Carter notes that Palm Sunday mirrors this proclamation, even down to the message:

When Jesus was born, the Gospel writer tells us that angels appeared to sing, “Peace on earth” (Luke 2:14)[iii].

This joyful parade is a response to the amazing news of the incarnation. Now, the disciples seem to get it. This is the long-awaited for king. The Messiah has arrived! Good news is contagious, and it builds. The community is celebrating!

Now, as Jesus rides his colt toward Jerusalem, the people look to the sky and sing, “Peace in heaven.” Heaven sings of peace on earth. Earth echoes back, “peace in heaven.”[iv]

Palm Sunday, he offers, is a liturgical act between us and God. It is similar to the feeling we get when we gather for worship, we stand and greet each other in Christ’s name: the peace of Christ be with you (and also with you). There’s a joyful bubbling up of talking and laughter as we engage with each other. It is a boisterous time in our worship service. So much so that it stands to wonder what would happen if Denise didn’t give you a musical cue to sit back down. Would we even get to the worship that is planned for the day?

SOME of the pharisees witnessing this event might have had the same question. They saw the energy brimming and were concerned. Perhaps they anticipated that there would be a riot; maybe they were unsatisfied over the cries that Jesus was king; or disturbed by the attention that Jesus and his followers might get from the Roman authorities especially with such a royal fanfare on display. They wanted Jesus to put an end to it. To get everyone back in line, to dull the roar.

But some messages can’t be silenced.

Jesus’ famous line “if these were silent, the stones would shout out.” (verse 40) echo the prophetic warning in Habbakuk 2:9-11, as the prophet declares that injustice will no longer prevail, for the very stones of the house built on corruption “will cry out from the wall.” This quote foreshadows what is coming up next in the gospel narrative, as Jesus will turn over tables and clear the temple, but also points to the bigger picture of the gospel as good news. Fred Craddock offers this on Jesus’ reply:

In other words, some things simply must be said; the disciples are expressing what is ultimately and finally true; God will provide a witness through every mouth be stopped; opposition to Christian witness cannot succeed; and the truth will come out, it cannot long be silenced[v].

Do you know the expression “if these walls could talk?” It usually refers to something that is going to be hidden. The stones shouting is the opposite of this idea. Jesus says this is a message that is not going away. It isn’t one that can be buried or hidden. In fact, it’s about to go viral. So much so that even if the disciples were quieted, the very stones that make up Jerusalem would shout it out.

The stones tell the story: lining the way into the city and celebrating the arrival of a king, crying out from the wall at injustice in the temple, leading up the stairs to a shared meal in the upper room, a resting place for clasped hands in the garden of Gethsemane, a wall to push against in a courtyard as the rooster crows three times, rough under the feet on the way to the cross, and finally heavy and large rolled in front of the tomb. Over and over again, the stones tell the story. Even if everything else is silenced, they shout out the fullness of what God is doing. They lead us, step by step, on the path into Jerusalem and into this most holy of weeks.

Can you imagine the story they could tell? William Klein suggests that:

The singing stones’ song on the day Jesus entered the city would sing, not just for joy at the coming of a gracious king, but also for grief and lamentation – like Rachel weeping over her children, like Jesus weeping over the city. Their song would be a cry rising from any boulevard of broken dreams across this planet where God’s people have suffered[vi].

In other gospel texts, the people along the road shout “Hosanna!” or “save us!” Even if the disciples are silenced, the stones will continue this cry and prayers for a Savior.

The history of God’s people is rich in the roads and walls of Jerusalem, something that was true in the first century and still is true today. When I was in seminary, I had the amazing opportunity to spend 3 weeks in a May term class traveling all over the holy land. Our final destination was Jerusalem, where we literally walked in the path of Jesus. On our first evening, we walked to the western wall of the old city. This holy place, also called the Wailing Wall, is a place devoted to prayer, from orthodox Jews to Christian pilgrims, many gather in different ways to offer their prayers at a place some believe to be the closest point to the holiest of holy places where God resides. One of the practices there is to write your prayer on a slip of paper, and slide it into the cracks of the wall. Many of us did so, and I can tell you the placing of a prayer into the wall is a surreal experience. I found myself drawn into a quiet and stillness. The only words that came to mind as I stood there in silence were the Lord’s Prayer, and I remember praying that at the wall, “thy kingdom come, thy will be done” alongside fellow pilgrims and those who were Jewish, and hearing the evening call to prayer for Muslims sounding. It was a profound moment of prayer, interlaced with stone.

The stones of Jerusalem continue to tell the story of God’s people, shouting out prayers of longing for a Savior and for God’s power to be revealed in this world. The stones of Jerusalem continue to cry out for peace, a peace that perhaps can only come from heaven. The stones of Jerusalem continue to shout in praise for a God through whom all things are possible, one who comes as king in the surprise of a humble colt. The stones will continue to shout even if all else is silenced. But may that not be so. May we be so bold, as we enter the stories of Jerusalem this week, to join in shouting out. For the king has come. Hosanna! May there be peace on earth . . . as it is in heaven. Amen.

~sermon by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, Heritage Presbyterian Church, April 14, 2019 (Palm Sunday)

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[i] “Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” Zechariah 9:9

[ii] Psalm 118:26.

[iii] William G. Carter, “Pastoral Perspective: Luke 19:28-40,” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009).

[iv] William G. Carter, “Pastoral Perspective: Luke 19:28-40,” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009).

[v] Fred B. Craddock, Interpretation: Luke, (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press 1990).

[vi] William M. Klein, “Theological Perspective: Luke 19:29-40,” Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014).

 

Sunday’s Sermon – Thirst-Quencher – Isaiah 55:1-9, 1 Corinthians 10:1-13

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When I was a teenager, my family and I were in Montreat for the 4th of July. It’s a day celebrated in big ways in true small-town fashion. There’s a parade, lawn games and activities including the infamous greased telephone pole, food to enjoy, and a barn dance in the evening. After the parade was finished, my parents, two younger brothers and I were debating what to do when the topic came up that my mother had never climbed Lookout Mountain, a popular hike. And so, clad in our matching Old Navy flag t-shirts, we decided to make a family event of it in the remaining morning hours before lunch. We headed up the hill from the Anderson Auditorium lawn and walked the half mile or so to get to the trailhead. It wasn’t very long on the trail where we realized the considerable flaw to our plan: no one had brought water. It was July 4th. The air was hot. Humid. Sticky. And while this hike is labeled as “moderate” hike and is about ¾ of a mile measured from the trailhead, if you are not used to hiking, and it’s the middle of July, it’s, well, difficult[i]. We made it to the top, but not without a lot of sweat and second guessing. Fortunately, the way back is all downhill, and we rewarded ourselves with cool treats at the end. Water never tasted so good. And we learned our lesson. My mother vowed to never again hike Lookout, a promise she has maintained, and I have always made sure to have water when hiking, especially when it’s a family trip. When you are going on a journey, whether it is a hike up the mountains or a trip through the wilderness, or even a road trip in your car, it’s vital to take water or other nourishment with you. Otherwise, you will end up, at minimum, thirsty or parched.

Our journeys of Lent, or just our journeys in life, can leave us feeling this way, can’t they? Demands on our time and energy are high.  Do you ever find yourself saying “when things slow down,” and then wondering if that will ever be the case, or if it’s just something you say to yourself to keep your sanity with the hope that there might be a break ahead? It seems we are living at a breakneck pace in a world that only pushes us to go faster. And that’s on our good days. There are also plenty of things that make our journeys harder: a spot shows up on an exam that needs more testing, a friendship falls apart after a major disagreement, a family member breathes their last breath. The big and small things in live can leave us longing for respite and hope; thirsty, if you will. And in these times, we often lean on our faith to get us through. In fact, we come to worship, or pray, or flip through the thing pages of our Bibles hoping for something that might revive us.

The promise of the prophet Isaiah is that life-giving water is waiting for us in God. Written to a people in exile in the 6th century, Isaiah builds upon the messages of the previous chapters to encourage the people of Israel to return to Jerusalem from Babylon, into a time in which anything might be possible. This chapter is brimming with hope and salvation; the excitement of an adventure to be had. The prophet wants to remind Israel just where they can find nourishment. This passage is a holy invitation into God’s covenant living with a simple message: drink up!

In Grand Canyon National Park there are signs strategically placed along the trails that remind you to stop and drink water. “Stop! Drink water. You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not.”  . . . Isaiah’s words are like the sign in a dry climate – “Stop! Drink water. You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not[ii].”

Many times, I think we take our relationship with God for granted. It’s something that is just sort of always there, hanging out in the background, until we have real need for it. It’s easy to put God on the backburner, or even take it off the stove altogether. And then, life takes its toll, and we find ourselves scrambling to find it. Sometimes, we need reminders to take care of ourselves before we get to a critical point. Isaiah calls us to do just that with our faith, seeking God while God is to be found, and assuring us that God is ready and waiting.

It should be an easy message, right? We know that drinking water is vital to our health. Some say 8 glasses of water each day; others the number of ounces equal to half of your body weight, which for most of us is more than 8 glasses. Either way, that’s a fair amount of recommended liquid consumption, and yet few of us get as much as we truly need. It is so easy for us to get caught up in the craziness of our lives that we don’t even realize we’re thirsty. Doctors and scientists would tell us that the hypothalamus is responsible for controlling our signals for both hunger and thirst. Sometimes, the symptoms are so similar that we mistake them. Early signs of dehydration, like inability to focus, being tired, or a little lightheaded, can make us reach for a snack rather than a drink, thinking it is what we need.

Our lives are much the same, and we often reach for the wrong things. We are caught in an endless pursuit of . . . . what? Do we even know any more? Is it money? Physical strength or fitness? Beauty? Social status? Business rank? Reaching a certain number of “lifegoals”? Being the perfect student, or parent, or grandparent? The bars are set impossibly high all around us and we jump and jump, frantically trying to reach them. It’s exhausting. We spend a lot of time seeking to feed our desires, sometimes in unhealthy ways that leave us mindlessly consuming junk.  In his letter to the Corinthians, Paul names it as idolatry; the prophet Isaiah offers the reminder that there is much we consume that does not satisfy. In his interpretation of verse 2 in The Message, Eugene Petersen describes it in this way:

Why do you spend your money on junk food,

your hard-earned cash on cotton candy?

Now hear me, I like cotton candy, but it certainly is lacking in nutritional value.

Both of our passages today call us to take a bit closer look at the nutritional value of our lives. In doing so, we might discover the things that need to be lessened, or eliminated all-together. That is the work of Lent, where we “clean house” to rid ourselves of the things that consume us more than they should. But it’s important to remember in this that we are doing it not so we can lose a few pounds or make space in our closets or be better people. Lent is about returning to what satisfies us: namely, a relationship with God. If you’re Lenten discipline – something you’ve added, or something you’ve “given up” – isn’t bringing you closer to God, or deeper into a relationship with Jesus Christ, then you are missing the point or doing something wrong! Lenten practices are meant to help us drink more deeply in our faith lives, so that we can better understand the abundance and grace of God in the midst of the wilderness.

The journey of Lent can be daunting. 40 days can seem like forever. But there is good news! Not counted in our 40 days are Sundays. That’s because they are days of little resurrection, times to remember that we are not in the wilderness of our lives alone. Rather, God is with us, a God who provides for us, who loves and cares for us, and who invites us to drink and eat, whether we have the funds to cover it or not. A God who will quench every thirst we have, even if we don’t realize we are thirsty. A God who is with us in the journey, and leads us into life. May it be so. Amen.

~Sermon by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, Heritage Presbyterian Church, March 24, 2019

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[i] http://montreat.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/TrailDescriptionsLegal.pdf

[ii] Daniel M. Debevoise, “Pastoral Perspective: Isaiah 55:1-9,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009).

Sunday’s Sermon – Waiting Rooms – Psalm 27; Luke 13:31-35

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Think about the last time you were in a waiting room. Maybe it was a doctor’s office, or hospital or surgical center. Maybe it was a car dealership or the DMV. Often times, they have a similar feel to them: rows or groupings of identical chairs, bad lighting, stacks of dated magazines. Instead of bad elevator music, there is often a television set to a never-ending stream of home improvement shows. We scan the room to find a seat and generally hope that whatever we are waiting for won’t take too long. Sometimes, we know it’s going to take a while, so we bring some provisions. Generally speaking, there are about a million other things we would rather be doing, or places we would rather be.

Waiting can be tedious and boring. The longer the wait is drawn out, the more restless we can become, and irritation begins to set-in. Waiting rooms can even breed anxiety, particularly in the face of fearing the unknown. Our time in waiting rooms, then, becomes give and take between hopeful anticipation and wrestling with the unknown. What a clever parallel to these 40 days of Lent for us. Lent is a time of waiting, where we are left to sit with our thoughts and ask deep questions about faith, even when we know we may not get clear or final answers. It is a time to have focused, intentional conversation with God, and to grow in our understanding of God’s presence in our lives and in our world. In Lent, we are bold enough to confront the gritty parts of our lives and world and try to make sense of it all in light of our faith.

That, in a nutshell, is the journey of the Psalmist in Psalms 27. Perhaps more than any other book in the Bible, Psalms speak to the experience of our lives with the full range of human emotion. This book of 150 includes joy, sorrow, anger, confidence and hope, confusion and despair. Its wide diversity is a powerful testament that we can talk to God under any circumstances. In our text for today, the psalmist balances fear and trust with a gritty honesty that speaks to our Lenten experiences.

The Psalm is bookended with affirmations of faith and trust in God. This is where the writer begins and ends. On their own, these verses “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?” (verse 1) and “wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage;” (verse 14) make for comforting phrases. But their true power comes by examining the verses in between. For the journey of the psalmist does not ignore the pain and challenges in his own life. In fact, it does quite the opposite, as the struggles are laid out before God in a lament.

The psalmist doesn’t ignore his suffering or minimize it. He does not check it at the door so to speak as he comes before God . . . Rather, he tells his story. He speaks of his pain. He calls out to God with all the rawness and honesty of someone who has been pushed to the limit. He doesn’t hold back. He pours out his complaint to God, not to push God away but rather, to plead for more, more of God’s presence, more of God’s instruction, more of God’s protection[i].

This week, the popular Tuesday night drama, This is Us featured an entire episode set in the waiting room of a hospital over the span of 26 hours or so. The tension was palpable throughout the episode, with each character responding to the events in their own way. One attempted to lighten the waiting with a game: name a food that is not improved by either chocolate or ranch. But it didn’t take long for their own life issues to come pouring out. Conflicts were sparked and the precarious nature of their relationships were on display.  Stories of truth were spoken.

This is the work of Lent, as we lift up the struggles our lives into God’s light. In this 40-day waiting room, we identify our own shortcomings and challenges, whether it is a broken relationship with a friend or coworker or those things about ourselves that we long to change but just can’t seem to figure out how to do it in ways that stick. Lent is a time for beginning to sort it all out, within ourselves, with each other, and even with God. And, going further, Lent is also a time when we are painfully aware of the hardships and brokenness that exists in our world. It doesn’t take long to find these examples, either. This morning, we might name those in Nebraska and other parts of the Midwest who are literally underwater; for farmers whose crops are gone, for those trapped on rooftops, and those who have now lost everything. We acknowledge the horrors experienced in a mosque during prayer on Friday in Christchurch, New Zealand, an act of terror that led to the death of 50 of God’s children. We lament the ways in which hatred takes hold and intolerance and fear become driving forces. Both in our world and our nation and our communities, there is much to call attention to.

These are also the cries of Jesus over Jerusalem in our gospel text, and his longing for wholeness in the midst of heartbreak. Jesus uses the image of a hen, gathering her brood under her wings, as an image for a God who longs to take this brokenness and pain and offer shelter and protection.

And while the gospel text has the children denying such an opportunity, the Psalmist finds a place in God’s shelter. The Psalmist is insistent on God’s presence in the midst of all that scares him. This psalm, then, “shows a courageous life lived amid the onslaught of bullies described as oppressors, enemies, and false witnesses[ii]. It dares to name the challenges and struggles of the world and then proclaim that they will be no match for God, and at the same time let surface those doubting questions of how that can be true. For the psalmist, faith and doubt become intermingled in the very real wrestling with what it means to live in God’s light and at the same time, the unknown of how or if things will go from there. Amanda Benckhuysen notes:

Confidence in God’s ability to overcome the darkest of evils does not require holding back our tears, our disappointments, our deep longing for more of God. Faith does not rule out doubt. Both trust and lament are proper expressions of faith in the context of hardship and suffering and often they go hand in hand. What they share in common is an unwavering conviction in the reality, the goodness, and the power of God, who is both worthy of our confidence but also attentive to our cries for help[iii].

In the end, the psalmist has a choice in the face of his fears. And rather than give into them, and into the spiral of reactionary choices made out of fear, the psalmist chooses to trust instead. And little by little, this choice builds into a renewed confidence of who God is, even as the psalmist begs for confirmation to be revealed. Richard Stern describes this as a psalm about when our intentions are put under pressure, and he leans into the ambiguity of how it ends, noting:

This is not a psalm about how God answers our prayers. It is a prayer, even a plea, for patience, for trust, for the ability and the endurance to wait for the Lord, even when there is no sign that prayers may be answered, when the Lord’s arrival is a long, undetermined way off[iv].

This Psalm tells the truth of life as we know it: even in the midst of deep faith, there are deep questions and many unknowns. Our lives, particularly in these Lenten weeks, are living in this tension, in the waiting room of what is and what will be. Here, may we name the things that are real. Here, may we trust in a God who walks in the grittiness of our lives with us. Here, may we find a way in the wilderness. Here, may we wait for the Lord, with a hopeful anticipation that lets go of our fears and trusts a new ending to God, who is our light and our salvation. Be strong, and let your heart take courage, for these 40 days and beyond. Amen.

~Sermon by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, Heritage Presbyterian Church, March 17, 2019

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[i] Amanda Benckhuysen, “Commentary on Psalm 27,” Working Preacher for March 17, 2019, https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3994, accessed 3/16/19.

[ii] Robin Gallaher Branch, “Exegetical Perspective: Psalm 27,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009).

[iii] Amanda Benckhuysen, “Commentary on Psalm 27,” Working Preacher for March 17, 2019, https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3994, accessed 3/16/19.

[iv] Richard C. Stern, “Homiletical Perspective: Psalm 27,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009).

Sunday’s Sermon – Tempted – Matthew 4:1-11, Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16

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I’m a big fan of game shows, especially ones where you can play along. Lately I’ve been enjoying reruns on the Game Show Network of Family Feud and a new show, What America Says. Both are survey-based, where contestants guess what a sample of people have answered to a given question. On this first Sunday of Lent, I want to invite you to play a round with me. The question, given to over 1,000 people, is “What is your greatest temptation?”

[allow time for guesses from congregation]

On Scout Sunday, this might be unfairly biased. How many of you thought about Girl Scout cookies? Six year ago, the Barna group actually did conduct such a survey, with results that I think still hold up today[i].

60% of Americans said they were tempted to worry or be anxious and the same number said procrastination or putting things off was a serious temptation for them. Nearly 55% were tempted to overeat. 44% say they were tempted to spend too much time with media, including the Internet, television, and video games. Relating to the media use, 1 out of 9 Americans said they often or sometimes feel tempted to express anger and “go off” on someone by text or e-mail. These top three temptations, worrying or procrastination, overeating, and overuse of media, in and of themselves are a commentary about our everyday struggles in the 21st century. Next on the list was laziness, followed by more “traditional” temptations of spending too much money (35%), gossiping or saying mean things about others (26%), jealousy (24%). And finally, perhaps underreported, lying, cheating, alcohol, and drugs, all come in at around the same percentage. The study also noted that the more serious a temptation or sin was, the less likely people were to admit to struggling with it. Surprisingly, there was parity between men and women’s answers, although women seemed more likely to admit they were tempted.

Generationally, there were not many differences, either. Older adults were more likely to admit to eating too much, with younger millennials being slightly higher on digital addictions, but on the whole the replies held true across the generations.

By this survey, one could conclude that we are surrounded by temptation; those dangling carrots that easily lead us astray. Pastor and Author Tom Hunter wrote a book in conjunction with this survey titled Our Favorite Sins: The Sins We Commit and How You Can Quit. In it he argues that “all temptations start with a desire for something good: tasty food, rest, intimacy. They become ‘disordered’ when they enslave people and spread pain throughout their lives, [and] disordered desires imprison us. . . in the end, they give us nothing – not one lasting shred of goodness, freedom, joy, or love[ii].”  As Christians, we easily make the connection with temptation and sin.

However, David Kinnaman, president of the Barna group, noted that “only 1% of Americans of any age are able to articulate that giving into temptation might be caused by sin. Most Americans think of temptation more as a steady stream of highs and lows that must be navigated[iii].”

Temptations remind us of the very real choices that we have in life. They are a part of our everyday existence, from the big to the small. From a theological perspective, they might reflect the choice between God and God’s way and something else.  Theologian D.T. Niles reminds us of the challenge of our predicament, saying:

Both make promises, both demand loyalty. . . If there were no real alternative to God, all [humanity] would choose [God]. Indeed, God is the more difficult choice to justify in terms of provable results[iv].

We would all be good at resisting temptation if it were easy. The trouble is, temptation is enticing. Sin can even be . . . fun.  The odds seem stacked against us. We are human beings, prone to sin. Reformer John Calvin even went so far as to call us worms, totally depraved, incapable of not sinning. This cynical approach is both appealing and discouraging, and can let us wonder if we are simply being set up to fail?

The answer, of course, is no. I don’t believe that God sets us up to fail. But I do believe that because God has given us the gift of free will, we, perhaps more often than not, are going to make mistakes and end up in hot water. That’s why stories like Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness are so important. They help give us a sense of what it means to have faith in the midst of the very real, troublesome, surrounded-by-temptation-and-sin lives that we know to be true.

This is how we begin the season of Lent, 40 days of our own wandering in the wilderness, just as the Israelites did for 40 years when they departed from Egypt, and as Jesus did for 40 days immediately following his baptism. As Evelyn Underhill states, “No Christian escapes a taste of the wilderness on the way to the Promised Land[v].” We begin with the reminder of how we are a people in need of forgiveness, with ashes on our foreheads. “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return[vi].” It is a season of preparation. While stores are busy preparing the aisles with wicker baskets and plastic eggs, we pause to take time to focus on whatever it is that we need to do to cleanse ourselves and reconcile ourselves to God.

This introspection and examination is a struggle, and more often than not leads us to confront that which tempts us. Hunter speaks frankly about the challenge of beating temptation, and also the reason it’s worth it, saying:

Beating temptation requires a struggle because it always involves sorting out rightly ordered desires for good and godly things from our disordered desires for wrong things. We often experience these disordered desires as our most powerful and deeply rooted desires. Uprooting disordered desires involves personal, psychological, and spiritual suffering. But this death produces life, life, and more life – life more abundant. However, a journey of focused, grace-enabled struggle is required to get there[vii].

Lent is our focused, grace-enabled struggle. Traditionally there are three spiritual disciplines of Lent: prayer, fasting, and the giving of alms. In these, we focus our attentions on developing our relationship with God. Through prayer, we increase our communication, both our talking and our listening, and increase our sense of God’s presence in our lives. Prayer works at any time in any place, even when you aren’t tempted. It perhaps is the single most impactful thing we can do to strengthen our relationship with God. Fasting can mean a number of things, whether it is “giving up” something for the season, or refraining from a certain behavior that leads you into temptation or separates you from God and others. Third, the giving of alms, which can also be seen in service and mission, reminds us of the many others in need around us. It draws us into relationship with others, and gives us a positive way to respond to the world.

In all of these things, though, we must be careful not to get too caught up in the “us” part of the Lenten disciplines. It’s not about how many things we can give up, how many things we can add to our spiritual practices, how many times we showed up for the Mobile Food Pantry and how good that made us feel. If we make our Lenten practices about ourselves, we’ve missed the point, and succumbed to the great temptation of egocentrism. Lent is not about us. Lent is about drawing closer to God. And we can do this even when we are tempted.

We worship a God who has gone into temptation before us, who has himself been exhausted, famished, and caught in vulnerable and weak moments. Some of you may remember the scene from the film The Last Temptation of Christ. It is dry, disorienting, and a little scary. The time in the wilderness is fraught with danger of every kind: physical, emotional, and spiritual. The devil appears, bent on coercing Jesus into activity that surely would be a departure from the path of God. And his offers are pretty good, attempting to at once force Jesus to prove his divinity, while appealing to his humanity, driven by the base desires we all have in life. And each time, Jesus demonstrates a resistance to choosing the easy path, often relying on Scripture and his understanding of God to do so.

In this, he gives us a model of what it means to have faith in the midst of temptation. Jesus chooses to turn to God and trust that God would get him through it. Defeating temptation, then:

is not a struggle against God,” wrestling with ideals we can’t possibly achieve, “but a struggle with God against [our] disordered desires, [our] default position of radical selfishness. God is with [us] in this struggle because [God] wants my transformation more than [we] want it. [We] simply cooperate with him. Together, we reorder [our] desires[viii].

Having faith doesn’t guarantee that we will never be tempted, and it certainly doesn’t guarantee that we will never sin. Faith does, however, assure us that God is always by our side, longing to be in relationship with us, loving us in spite of ourselves, and is ever ready to share with us a grace beyond compare. When we are tempted, it is that grace that pulls us through. And if we give into temptation, it is that grace that will be there for us to get us back on track. May we, in this Lenten season, have faith in that promise, even when we are tempted. Amen.

~sermon by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, Heritage Presbyterian Church, March 10, 2019

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[i] The Barna Group, “New Research Explores the Changing Shape of Temptation.”

http://www.barna.org/culture-articles/597-new-years-resolutions-temptations-and-americas-favorite-sins, published January 4, 2013. Accessed 3/5/2019.

[ii] John Blake, “Americans Reveal their 3 Favorite Sins,” CNN Belief blog, http://religion.blogs.cnn.com/2013/02/08/americans-reveal-their-3-favorite-sins/, published 2/8/13, accessed 3/5/2019.

[iii] Blake.

[iv] D.T. Niles in The Bible Through Asian Eyes, in Imaging the Word: An Arts and Lectionary Resource, Volume 1, Kenneth T. Lawrence, Editor. (Cleveland, Ohio: United Church Press, 1994), 150.

[v] Evelyn Underhill, The Fruits of the Spirit, in Imaging the Word: An Arts and Lectionary Resource, Volume 1, Kenneth T. Lawrence, Editor. (Cleveland, Ohio: United Church Press, 1994), 151.

[vi] Genesis 3:19

[vii] Tom Hunter, Our Favorite Sins: The Sins We Commit and How You Can Quit. (Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson, 2012), 3-4.

[viii] Hunter, 5.

Ash Wednesday Sermon – Selfies – Psalm 51:1-17

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Selfies. If you are on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram, you have no doubt seen thousands of these images. And they aren’t just from teenagers. From celebrities to your neighbors down the street, selfies are everywhere. It has become an art form unto itself, transitioning from photos made in a bathroom mirror to those taken at creative angles in perfect lighting. There is a certain vanity associated with selfies, and naturally we want to look our best. What used to require time with Photoshop or other software can now be done in your smartphone.  After the photo is taken, we can tinker with it, applying filters and special effects, text and other features to catch the eye. All of these possibilities are tempting, of course, because we want selfies to be impressive and garner comments and “likes” from our friends and fans. In fact, our obsession with this has gone so far that some people have two accounts on social media platforms like Instagram: their public Instagram, with those carefully crafted lifestyle images, and a private, “finsta” account, which stands for “fake Instagram,” and is a place you can just be unfiltered and silly for your friends, without pressure for likes or followers. Now, before you write this off as only being a trend with the younger generation, think about your own “outtakes.” Not every photo you take becomes one to go on the literal walls of your living room or on a Christmas card. The reality is our selfies and pictures, or whatever else we share with the world, are usually carefully curated to put our literal best face forward, in hopes that others will be impressed.

But Rev. Barbara J. Essex reminds us that “Although we can make ourselves look flawless in a selfie, we can’t fool ourselves into thinking that it’s an accurate depiction of real life[i].” Behind each well-composed selfie, there are the outtakes, sometimes a bit more true to who we really are. These are often rejected or deleted images, concealing the flaws we try to hide. But even our best filtered tricks won’t make them disappear from reality. Essex reminds us that while we live in a world of selfies now, the appeal to vanity is timeless. She suggests that, given the opportunity in biblical times, David would have been the king of selfies[ii]. As he rose into power, so did his ego. The story of David goes well beyond the shy boy with the sling who took out Goliath. As an adult, we see David making bold decisions, most of which raise a few eyebrows. Psalm 51, which we read just a few moments ago, is often considered his confession, with a preceding note in many Bibles that reads something to the effect of “a Psalm of David, when the prophet Nathan came to him, after he had gone in to Bathsheba.”

Barbara Essex offers that Psalm 51 reminds us that “we are never as perfect as we think2.” In the psalm, David prays for a pure heart with urgency. All the filters and edits are removed, and his own humanity is laid bare before God. Of course, God already knows what his true selfie looks like, for God has created us and knows us intimately. But in this prayer of confession, David is able to humble himself and put everything on the line, in the hopes that there will be grace and mercy, all while knowing what he actually deserves is judgment and punishment. In these verses, David asks for a re-set from the inside out, captured in the well-known verse 10, “create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.” David isn’t just concerned here with his reputation or external appearance. He is concerned with making what is inside of him right with God. He knows he can’t do it on his own. He needs help from the creator to restore him to this previous state and cleanse him from his sins. He’s asking God for a re-boot, a system restore, longing to return to those factory settings that bring him into close relationship with the one who called him from the fields as a shepherd. Suddenly, his selfie looks a bit more like a Lenten one – one that is more real and authentic, and opens him to the possibility of change for the better.

As we begin the season of Lent tonight, we are called into a 40 day journey of self-reflection and repentance. It is tempting to make our self-reflections more like selfies; to shine them up, and make them more presentable to others. After all, we’re not that sinful, are we? It becomes easy to justify or gloss over our missteps, particularly when we are surrounded with problems and sins in our world that are much greater. But Lent isn’t about comparing our selfies to others. It’s about comparing our selfies to the one God gave us in the very beginning when we were created in God’s image, and realizing how far we are from the people God calls us to be. Our Lenten selfies feature ashes on our foreheads. “Remember, you are dust, and to dust you shall return[iii].” The journey to restoration and forgiveness lies in our ability to acknowledge who we are, and asking God to help us change. Our worship tonight reminds us of the first step – confession. Confession allows us to clean up our profiles and edit ourselves in real and lasting ways so that our inner lives align with our outer presentations.

This is the call of the prophet Isaiah, who urges the people of God to engage in real, authentic, true worship, rather than mere idolatry. Isaiah reminds us that our quest for holy living is not about putting on a show for others and serving our own interests. Rather, it is about a humility that comes from stripping away our pretenses and being more authentic in our relationship with God, and with each other. The images on Isaiah’s feed are those that speak to justice: sharing bread, welcoming into your home, clothing the naked, and meeting the needs of the afflicted. That’s where the best pictures are made.

One of the biggest difference-makers, I’ve learned, between an ok photo and an amazing one is lighting. My friend Jackie, whose selfies are always gorgeous, repeats a very practical tip to do this: get in front of a window! The natural light coming in will often dramatically improve your appearance and make for the best shot. Isaiah gives much the same advice; by engaging in sincere discipleship, we find ourselves in God’s light, that light that breaks into our world like the dawn, that comes even in the darkness[iv]. In the selfies of our lives, God’s light is perhaps the best filter we could find ourselves in. With God’s grace and mercy, our sins are forgiven, and those imperfections and transgressions are wiped clean. The one who created us down to the very last detail, and who sees all that we are, and in spite of our imperfections and shortcomings, calls us good and loved. God’s filter is one of resurrection, that good news and promise for new life in the dawn of Easter morning and the empty tomb. And that is where we’re headed.

But first, before we see those glossed up images, we must face the reality of our current selfies, raw and imperfect, in desperate need of revision and editing. And so tonight, I invite you to sketch out some of what that looks like. Inside your bulletin you will find an insert with a silhouette outline, ready for your “Lenten Selfie.” As we enter into a time of silent reflection, write or draw the truest selfie you can make of yourself. Later, you will have the opportunity to bring these forward, placing them into the fire pit as a symbol of the ashes they will become, before receiving the symbol of ashes on your forehead. For now, spend time in reflection and personal prayer. Focus less on the physical attributes, and more on words or phrases you need to lift to God in confession. Search in the darkened, cobwebbed corners of your persona and bring them into God’s light, dirty as they are. Don’t worry about what others around you might say or think. In this time of prayer, there will be no re-tweets, no likes, no comments from peers, only the conversation you have with God in the silence of these moments. Be honest, be free, be open to receiving God’s mercy. That is what confession is all about.

 ~sermon by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, Heritage Presbyterian Church, March 6, 2019 (Ash Wednesday)

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[i] http://www.pcusa.org/news/2014/1/31/honest-selfie/

[ii] Personal Notes from sermon on Psalm 51 by Rev. Barbara J. Essex, given at the Association of Presbyterian Church Educators (APCE) Annual Event, January 30, 2014, San Jose, California.

[iii] Genesis 3:19

[iv] See Isaiah 58:8, 10

Sunday’s Sermon – We Wish to See Jesus – John 12:12-26

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When was the last time you went to a parade? When I was in middle school, my family moved to L.A., also known as “Lower Alabama” – Spanish Fort, to be exact. One of the highlights of community life each year was a few days of vacation from school marked for Mardi Gras. Little did we know that Mobile, just across the bay from where we lived, claims to be the birthplace of such celebration[i].  Regardless of location, though, parades are a sight to be seen. The floats are elaborate, with people working for months on end to create innovative and over the top displays that will move through the streets for only a few hours. And of course, there are the amazing florists and artists who work on the Parade of Roses floats in California, with all live embellishments. It is amazing. For Mardi Gras, of course, there is more than just watching. Parades are interactive. People follow along with the floats, screaming “throw me somethin’ mister!” in the hopes of being seen themselves, so that they will be showered with beads and moon pies and roses and all sorts of other toys. It didn’t take me long to learn to stick with friends who knew people in the floats, who would focus things your way. And, with two preschool-aged brothers, we learned making them visible meant even more toys launched in our direction. Parades fill the air with a spirit of celebration.

Similarly, the story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem is bursting with the same kind of energy, as crowds clamor around Jesus. He isn’t riding on a massive float, but rather a humble young donkey. Nevertheless, he is greeted by the masses in Jerusalem as a king. Perhaps they have been following him across the hillsides in Galilee, listening to him preach, teach, and perform miracles. Or maybe they have just heard about it and are coming to check it out. In John’s gospel, there is much reason for celebration at this point in the narrative. Jesus, only one chapter prior, has raised Lazarus from the dead. News like this – resurrection – spreads quickly. The crowd testifies to this good news, and with a display of power like this it is easy to see why many came to believe this was the long-awaited for Messiah, and they wanted to get a glimpse of the beginning of what surely would be a new age.

In John’s gospel account, we assume that the crowd was the common people of Israel. No description is given about any particular religious group or class of people. So we might assume, as Paul Barton does, that:

because we see in the Gospels that people from all walks of life approached and followed Jesus, . . . the crowd in Jerusalem included people from all economic, religious, and social groups within Israel[ii].

In other words, they were ordinary people, perhaps just like us, but also inclusive of the entire span of all humanity, sharing the news that the Savior has come. Such a crowd underscores the entire gospel message:

that God uses the humble, the oppressed, the vulnerable as the instruments of witness and revelation[iii].

The waving of palm branches is significant as well, because it tells us about the nature of this grand display. Palms have a political meaning, dating back almost 200 years before this event (circa 167-160 BCE), when the Jewish people revolted against a Seleucid Empire by refusing to worship Greek Gods, leading to a series of battles known as the Maccabean Revolt, recorded in the book of Maccabees, which is not in our biblical canon as Protestants, but is found in among the books in the Apocrypha, that is included in some other faith traditions.

In two passages describing the victories of the Maccabees over their Gentile overlords, palm leaves are used as markers of victory and celebration (1 Macc. 13:51; 2 Macc. 10:7)[iv].

Such symbolism would not have been incidental for the people in Jerusalem, nor for John in his writing of the gospel, which is rich with metaphor and meaning. In this moment, it is clear how the crowd sees Jesus. Their shouts of “Hosanna!” – Save Us – are earnest pleas for redemption, for this is their king.

On Palm Sunday, we join this boisterous crowd with all of its frenetic energy. We are as the Pharisees describe, part of “the world that has gone after him,” proclaiming Jesus as our Lord. The palms waving and crowds cheering bring a joyful tone to even a dreary day, a wonderful hint at the celebration that will unfold one week from now.  John slips in a comment about the disciples in verse 16, that they didn’t really understand what was happening until after the full events had transpired. How fortunate for us to view this parade with all the benefit of knowing the fullness of where this story leads – to the cross and the empty tomb. Nevertheless, we, too, might misunderstand the implications if we are only focused on the revelry and forget to look up and see Jesus for the fullness of his message to the world. Judith McDaniel calls us to attention, naming the ways our vision of Jesus on Palm Sunday might fall short. She writes:

When we proclaimed him to be all that we had longed for, we knew not what we said . . . We still exalt the forms of kingship, not the content of his reign. We focus on the outline of the concept without perceiving its substance. We look for a crown, while we have been given a cross. We still do not understand that he is not a kingdom of fame and achievement. His is a realm of service and sacrifice. His is not a political victory. It is a promise of victorious, abundant life now. His action is less a claim concerning himself than it is a sign of the presence of God’s kingdom[v].

To truly be “Palm Sunday” people, we must dig deeper in this story, and go beyond the parade. One way to do this is to expand our reading for the day to include what happens next. After all, none of our Biblical texts exist in some sort of storybook vacuum. They happen in context, as a sequence, and in the case of the gospels, a carefully crafted one to build upon greater themes to help us ultimately understand who this Jesus character really is, that (as John’s gospel indicates) we might come to believe (see John 20:31). Among the crowd, or at least those who followed, John introduces some outsiders, Greek, who speak to Philip and Andrew, the two disciples with Greek-sounding names from Galilee[vi]. Their polite request speaks to the heart of where I think our focus should be on Palm Sunday, or any Sunday for that matter. “We wish to see Jesus.”

It is a polite request, marked by social convention and respect. Of course, they mean more than literal “seeing.” It’s not that they were particularly short and didn’t get a good view. They wish to have an audience with Jesus; to meet and speak with him. Their request parallels the invitational phrase Christ himself has used throughout this gospel to the disciples and others who followed: “Come and See.” These words tip us off that, in contrast to some religious leaders like the Pharisees, and even the gathered crowd of people in Jerusalem, there are in fact people who are able to see Jesus for the fullness of who he truly is. What is more, these are outsiders – Greeks. They remind us of the broadness of the gospel message being truly “for all the world,” and at the same time humble those of us “on the inside” with the awareness that the best insights and understanding might come from sources other than ourselves.

Jesus’ response is dark and challenging, further indicating that the kingship longed for and cheered on by the massive crowd is going to look quite different in reality. Alexander Wimberly notes that Jesus’ response about the grain of wheat reminds us that:

The heart of Christianity is a bunch of unsettling truths: some things we are familiar with need to die, in order for new life to arise; the work of the Spirit will not be contained in set patterns; and anyone and everyone who wants to get involved should do so[vii].

Getting involved in Christianity is less about coming forward as part of a crowd caught up in merriment, and more about coming forward with the words offered by the Greeks, saying “we wish to see Jesus,” acknowledging the depth of such a request that may take us to places unexpected, and may ask us to let go of things and ideas we once clung to as sacred. It is the culmination of our Lenten practice – letting go of our own expectations, and preparing to embrace the realities before us.

Saying “we wish to see Jesus” opens our eyes to the world around us. It prompts us to ask hard questions, and investigate things more closely. It calls to pay attention to the ways Christ may be revealed even in unexpected places in our lives. Most of all, it sets an intention for living as followers of the one on the donkey, even if we don’t have it all figured out just yet, to seek a deeper relationship with the divine .

Saying “we wish to see Jesus” puts us on the road, not to jump from our Palm Sunday parade to Easter celebration next Sunday, but to travel the difficulty of this Holy Week. To remember the path Christ himself took to Jerusalem; to witness his fury in the temple; to hear his frustration with organized religion the way it was; to encounter the extreme reversal of our Lord kneeling at the dirty, dusty feet of his disciples and washing them as a servant; to wrestle with his commandment to love; to feel the weight of the cross on the way to Golgotha; to weep with the women as darkness descends. Holy Week gives us one of the most remarkable overviews of a multifaceted Savior, a multifaceted God. It helps us see the magnitude of the greater story, which leads us to a greater appreciation for the empty tomb, and plants in us a longing to repeat that refrain “we wish to see Jesus” as we look for the living Christ among us.

So may this statement guide our journey to the empty tomb. May we approach this week with eyes open, in celebration, yes, and in contemplation of the greatest story of our faith. Most importantly, may we, with every fiber of who we are, wish to see Jesus. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
March 25, 2018

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[i] http://www.al.com/news/mobile/index.ssf/2018/01/as_alabama_trolls_new_orleans.html
[ii] Paul Barton, “Theological Perspective: John 12:12-19,” Feasting on the Gospels: John, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015).
[iii] Paul Barton, “Theological Perspective: John 12:12-19,” Feasting on the Gospels: John, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015).
[iv] G. J. Riley, “Exegetical Perspective: John 12:12-19,” Feasting on the Gospels: John, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015).
[v] Judith M. McDaniel, “Homiletical Perspective: John 12:12-19,” Feasting on the Gospels: John, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015).
[vi] “Of the twelve disciples, only Philip and Andrew have purely Greek names . . . Both are from Galilee (1:44), which is, according to Matthew 4:15 (quoting Isa. 9:1), “Galilee of the Gentiles,” a district of Palestine that has long been majority non-Jewish. It may be that the Greeks mentioned here are also from Galilee and approach Andrew and Philip as fellow Galileans with familiar-sounding Greek names.” G. J. Riley, “Exegetical Perspective: John 12: 20-26,” Feasting on the Gospels: John, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015).
[vii] Alexander Wimberly, “Pastoral Perspective: John 12: 20-26,” Feasting on the Gospels: John, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015).

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

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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 – Snakes in the Wilderness – Numbers 21:4-9; John 3:14-21

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What are you most afraid of? Depending on the context and your frame of mind, the answer may vary. One poll from about ten years ago now indicates that 36 percent of all adults in the United States listed the same number one fear – snakes[i]. The clinical term for this is Ophidiophobia, which affects around 49 percent of women and 22 percent of men. It’s a fear that has been highlighted by movies like Snakes on a Plane, whose very premise makes my skin crawl a bit. And, of course, the character Indiana Jones is notorious for his fear and dislike of snakes, which seem to slip into many a scene in the classic trilogy. And while some of you might not be particularly wary of these cold-blooded creatures, my guess is few of us want to meet them in unexpected ways.

Because of this response, our scripture text from Numbers reads almost like another chapter in a story of suspense. The setting is the dry, hot desert, years into the Israelite’s journey from Egypt to the Promised Land. This story is the end of a series of “murmuring stories” where God’s people wonder if God is really leading them at all. They are tired and cranky, and become impatient about their destination. Their journey has seemed to cause them nothing but trouble, with one thing after another that makes things difficult. The deeper they get into the wilderness, it seems, the more romanticized memory they have of their lives as slaves in Egypt. Since chapter 11 they have longed for the “good ole days” when they at least had food to eat, like cucumbers, fish, melons, leeks, onions and garlic (see Numbers 11:4-6). Not mentioned, of course, was the oppressive rule and the demands for increased hard physical labor of building bricks and other abuse they endured as slaves (see Ex. 5:10-14). Instead, the focus becomes on the sparse supplies and jeopardy they seem to be in traveling across the desert. As one commentary notes:

Characteristically, in this unhappy situation, reinforced by the romanticized memory of how good it used to be, they quarreled, accused God of infidelity, and accused Moses of poor, failed leadership. (That is what people do when the economy fails)[ii].

The scene is set. Times are hard. The people are on edge. They are at odds with one another and with their leaders. You can imagine the soundtrack’s creeping music in the background, alerting us it’s about to get even worse. Cue the snakes.

If I were watching this film, I would want to fast forward past this part to get through the scary stuff. Or at the very least, I would cover my eyes and ask the brave person next to me to let me know when the bad parts were over. I’m guessing I’m not alone. Whether it’s snakes or some other fear, our tendency is to grit our teeth, hold on to the armrests, and make it through as quickly as possible, hopefully emerging on the other side without too many scratches on us. Perhaps this is how the Hebrews started their journey, in those harrowing moments as they passed through the waters of the Red Sea. But eventually that adrenaline wears out, and as they discovered, God was not always a safe and comfortable companion in the wilderness. In the midst of their journey, things literally jumped up and bit them.

Unfortunately, this is a fairly true reflection of real life. Hardship and difficulty sometimes spring up when we least expect it. Consider Kate Bowler, professor at Duke Divinity School, who recently published a book Everything Happens for a Reason, and Other Lies I’ve Loved. The book is a memoir about her journey as a 35 year old who appeared to have everything going for her – a thriving career, married to her high school sweetheart with a newborn son – all jarred by an unexpected diagnosis of stage IV colon cancer. In the midst of wrestling with her own mortality, she goes to Texas to hear an inspirational speaker during Lent, who confessed she didn’t like to deal with the heavy stuff, and was afraid of death and would rather not you talk about it either. Bowler, upset by this, said to a friend, “Everyone is trying to Easter the crap out of my Lent.” PCUSA Co-Moderator Jan Edmiston reflected on this quote from Bowler in a recent blog post. She reminds us that:

Lent reminds us that there is a world of suffering out there.  . . . This is the season when we remember that death is part of life and we are called to notice it.  We are called to face it.  We are called to let the reality of death re-prioritize our lives[iii].

 

That is why we begin this season with ashes on our foreheads, hearing the line from Genesis “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Our text from Numbers returns us to this aspect of our Lenten journey. It reminds us that we live in a world that is dangerous and often unpredictable. It gives us permission to not just rush into resurrection, but name the “snakes” in our own wildernesses. The things that strike fear in us. The things that are like poison to our bodies and our relationships. The Hebrew word to describe the snakes is often translated as “poisonous,” but literally means “fiery” or “burning.” The story asks us to consider the things that seem to bite us and leave a sting.

Jan Edmiston offers us some suggestions, reminding us that with these snakes comes a healthy “shaking-my-fist-like-the-Psalmist” anger tied to lament. She writes:

I am angry that my friends’ child is tortured by cancer.  I am angry that 18-year-olds in Florida can buy assault weapons and shoot other teenagers with them.  I am angry that the world has forgotten Syria.  I am angry that there is still no power in every corner of Puerto Rico[iv].

What might we add to this list? Perhaps the opioid epidemic across our country that strikes close to home here in Georgia. The CDC released a report this past Tuesday that indicated in just one year, overdoses from opioids have jumped by about 30 percent[v]. Or we might think about the accidental shooting during dismissal at Huffman High School in Birmingham, Alabama on Wednesday afternoon that killed a 17-year-old young woman. Or perhaps Thursday’s commemoration of the “International Women’s Day” would prompt us to consider the places of inequality that still exist in our world and the disproportionate violence committed against women. Whether globally, nationally, locally, or personally, we are surrounded by snakes. Naming them, though, is just the start. Jan Edmiston challenges us to do more than just lament; in Lent especially, she says, we are called to ask:

How are we offering ourselves to stand with those who suffer?[vi]

Our time in the wilderness is meant to remind us that our lives are more than just about us. And if we look around and discover that those with us on the journey have been bitten, we might want to try to do something about it; something more than just lament.

Looking back to the Israelites, we discover that, despite their complaining and perhaps doubts, they turn to God. They bring the brokenness of their experience, including the snakes, and beg for them to be removed. And God responds with an act of solidarity.
“It is notable that God does not remove the snakes, but provides a means for healing in the midst of danger. God brings healing precisely where the sting is the worst.”[vii].

God instructs Moses to take the poisonous serpent, the ones who have caused the people such pain, and set it on a pole that people might be healed. Elizabeth Webb suggests that this passage tells us a lot about the character of God:

Even in our worst failures and disappointments, God provides. God offers healing for our wounds, relationship for our loneliness, and faithfulness for our faithlessness. God doesn’t remove the sources of our suffering, but God makes the journey with us, providing what we most deeply need, if we but look in the right direction.[viii]

The staff of Moses provides the Israelites with a direction to look. Although we learn in later history it becomes an idol for them that must be destroyed during the temple reform of King Hezekiah (see 2 Kings 18:4), it is meant to be more of a sign and seal of God’s transforming power over anything, even death. Like our sacrament of communion, it could have been a reminder to the people to “lift up their hearts to the Lord,” to the one who was their salvation. In Jordan there is a metal sculpture, the one pictured on your bulletin cover, meant to represent this pole intertwined with a serpent, placed at Mt. Nebo, the final destination for Moses, who was able to look over the Promised Land, but not enter it. The Florentine artist, Giovanni Fantoni, intentionally crafted the design to also connect to the reference to this story in John’s gospel, with the upper arms of the staff extending horizontally, almost like the cross.

Like the staff, the cross proclaims God’s solidarity with a suffering world. To hear those familiar words from John’s gospel in tandem with this referenced text in Numbers enriches its meaning. It reminds us that God loved this world, this messed up, full of snakes, suffering world with all of its sin and pain. That it was to this wilderness of a world that God sent Jesus Christ, that we might lift our eyes and see love. And indeed, our Lord even spent time in the literal wilderness. 40 days in fact. Which means that even if we are in the midst of a pit of snakes, or worse, find ourselves bitten, we know that we do not have to travel this desert road alone. For we travel with one who has been lifted up and who indeed overcomes all evil with good. That, in the midst of the wilderness, is good news. Especially when snakes are involved. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
March 11, 2018

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[i]Barbara Brown Taylor, “Homiletical Perspective: Numbers 21:4-9,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008). In reference to a recent Harris poll on “What We Are Afraid Of”.
[ii] Walter Brueggemann, Charles B. Cousar, Beverly R. Gaventa, and James D. Newsome, “Fourth Sunday in Lent,” Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary based on the NRSV – Year B. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1993).
[iii] Jan Edmiston, “Don’t Easter My Lent,” blog post dated February 22, 2018, https://achurchforstarvingartists.wordpress.com/2018/02/22/dont-easter-my-lent/, accessed 3/8/2018.
[iv] Jan Ediston.
[v] Rob Stein, “Jump In Overdoses Shows Opioid Epidemic Has Worsened”, National Public Radio, All Things Considered, march 6, 2018, https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2018/03/06/590923149/jump-in-overdoses-shows-opioid-epidemic-has-worsened, accessed 3/8/2018.
[vi] Jan Edmiston.
[vii] Elizabeth Webb, “Commentary on Numbers 21:4-9,” Working Preacher, March 18, 2012, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1225, accessed 3/8/2018.
[viii] Elizabeth Webb.

Sunday’s Sermon – Check or Carry-On? – Mark 8:31-38

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Do you ever people watch at the airport? One of my favorite games to play is guessing where people are going, or where they’ve been. And you can often do it with only a few clues at the security check point, as bag contents are often spread out before you. It’s incredible what people take in their carry-on baggage. A few weeks ago in Galveston, Texas, I was next to a family laden down with Mardi Gras beads. One young woman had a necklace with large ornament softball size balls – apparently that wasn’t fitting in her checked luggage. A few years ago I watched a man talk at length with a TSA official about whether or not he was able to carry-on a box of Velveeta cheese. I’m still wondering about that one. What we pack says a lot about us, and it helps shape the journey we’ll have along the way. What are those things that we can’t live without, even for a few hours on a plane? Today’s gospel lesson from Mark brings a direct and startling instruction about what the disciples should make sure they have with them in their carry-ons: the cross.

In the first century, the mention of the cross would have some immediate connotations. This was a device of torture – usually reserved for slaves and political criminal – that represented humiliation and extreme agony. Crucifixion was extreme, and appropriately terrifying. It would have been an exclamation point or bolded underline of his statement just a few sentences before about the suffering the “son of man” would experience. Such an image would have rattled the disciples to the very core. Their jaws must have been on the floor.

In contrast, we don’t tend to have such a strong reaction to seeing the cross today. It sits at the top of a steeple, or looms large in the front of our church sanctuaries. We wear it as jewelry and put it on bumper stickers and decals on our cars. When we look at it, we are slower to connect it as a startling image of torture and suffering. Many theologians have tried to modernize this image for us today, saying that the equivalent in our society today would be something like putting a fully functional electric chair at the entrance to our houses of worship. That is a thought that could easily put pits in our stomachs and make words get caught in the lumps in our throats. If that’s the case, wouldn’t it be more comforting to replace our crosses with another symbol? Perhaps the empty tomb, or a smiling, thumbs-up “Buddy Christ” as in the movie Dogma to put a fresh face on our faith. It’s a tempting idea. We don’t like to think about the cross too much. Theologian William Placher offers that:

we do not think about its meaning because we want to call ourselves Christians while avoiding the thought that the implications of our faith might threaten our comfort[i].
But Mark’s gospel doesn’t let us off the hook that easily. Jesus calls his disciples, and us, to take up the cross, and consider all it implies.

The cross represents a pivotal moment of our faith – Jesus’ death.

the cross represents the culmination of the incarnation: divinity fully united with humanity. Christ did not take on a “higher” human nature while avoiding the tough side of it . . . The cross shows that in Christ God is with us, no matter what. Even when we doubt or disbelieve or think ourselves completely cut off from God, Christ has been there before us. Christ is, as the philosopher Alfred North Whitehead said of God, “the great companion- the fellow sufferer who understands”[ii].

On the cross, God’s love to us is realized. As Protestant Christians, our cross is empty, primarily because we anticipate the rest of the story – we know that Jesus wasn’t left on the cross. In this anticipation of the resurrection, though, we must be careful to make sure that our empty crosses are not empty of meaning, too.

In his teaching in Mark, Jesus helps the disciples, and us, connect the meaning of the cross to the foundations of discipleship. Verse 34 spells it out: Jesus says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” The instructions are bookended with the word “follow.” This reminds us that we’re not trailblazing something totally new. Rather, we are traveling a path with someone who has been there and will be there with us along the way – Jesus. Along the way we are to do two things.

First, deny ourselves. In Lent, you might hear a lot about this step, and as we near the halfway point, such instruction might be the reminder you need if you have given something up for the season. Denying ourselves, though, doesn’t just come from giving up chocolate or soda. It can also be about setting our own selfishness aside, and take seriously that part of the Lord’s Prayer that says “THY will be done,” and invest our time and energies on making GOD a part of our decisions. In short, it’s about focus –not on ourselves, but on God. In a world that often pushes us to be self-serving, this alone would be challenge enough. But Jesus isn’t done yet.

The second step is to take up our crosses. Remember, the cross is the symbol of our salvation. Note, Jesus doesn’t say “ok, now that you have faith, I’d like you to very carefully wrap up this cross in bubble wrap, tucking your socks and soft clothing around the joints to protect it, and put this central part of your faith in your checked luggage.” Jesus doesn’t tell us to check the cross and pick it up at the end of the journey. He tells us to do the opposite – take it up, in essence to put it on our carry-on luggage. Keep it with us as something that is vital and important to us – so important we wouldn’t want to let it out of our sight or possession. As the carry-on baggage sign at Southwest (the one on the cover of the bulletin) remind us, “if it fits, it’s a carry-on.” Perhaps our task, then, is to consider how well or not the cross “fits” into our lives. Or better, how our lives fit into our understanding of the cross.

For many, perhaps even some of us this morning, the idea of “take up your cross” is closely associated with a particular hardship in their life they must endure, because, after all, Jesus suffered, and instructed his disciples to take up their crosses. It’s not hard to see how we end up with this conclusion from this passage, but it breaks my heart to think of the implications of this theology taken to its end. To bring to mind those who are being oppressed, and are told they must simply endure it. To imagine the woman who is in an abusive relationship, but continues to return to the abuser believing that this is her cross to bear. Or a man who does not reach out to a sponsor or go to a meeting, thinking he has to battle addiction as his own cross. Let me be very clear here. Jesus’ instruction to “take up your cross” is NOT God’s instruction to us that we must passively endure discrimination or actively experience real harm from others in order to be in solidarity with Christ. That is neither the God I know, nor a God I could worship faithfully. That is not the God we find on the cross. Jesus did not die on the cross so that we could join him and suffer. Christ died on the cross so that we might have LIFE, and life abundant.  

Taking up the cross is not about being tied up in its suffering. Through the cross, God promises that suffering is not the end result. From death on the cross springs a new life, an eternal life, made possible through Jesus’ resurrection.  Reconciliation and wholeness is the end for which I believe God yearns and desires. And so, to take up our cross means to live our lives in a way that seeks wholeness and reconciliation for all of God’s children; to be a people who reflect the God we worship.

Carrying the cross marks us as God’s own, as Christians, and demonstrates God’s love for the world. We take up the cross when we speak words of compassion rather than words of hate at those who have frustrated us, and when we refrain from snarky comments behind their backs. We take up the cross when we work to make sure children do not go hungry. We take up the cross when we pray for our loved ones, our community, and our world. We take up the cross when we come to this table for communion, experiencing the real and powerful presence of Jesus in our midst as we share in bread and cup.

Sometimes carrying the label of Christian is easy and light; other times carrying the label of Christian can feel like dragging a solid wooden cross through the mud. And yet, we are called to take it up, each and every day. Tom Long reminds us that:

sometimes, frankly, the commands of Jesus and the demands of life – a job, a social setting, or a relationship – are in tension, if not outright conflict, and the workaday life of Christians is filled with a thousand moral dilemmas.[iii]

We need the cross with us on the journey to keep us grounded in our faith, rooted in the heart of what really matters.  As followers of Christ, we have been entrusted with the cross. But it is up to us to decide whether we will put it in our checked bags, or be brave enough to carry it on with us wherever we go.  Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
March 4, 2018

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[i] William C. Placher, Jesus the Savior: The Meaning of Jesus Christ for Christian Faith (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001). 111.
[ii] Placher, 128-129.
[iii] Thomas G. Long, Testimony: Talking Ourselves into Being Christian (San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, 2004), 89.

Sunday’s Sermon – Purpose-Driven – Exodus 20:1-17, John 2:13-22

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How would you define your purpose in life? Do you have a personal credo or mantra that defines how you approach the world? Some take on a particular verse in scripture, or favorite inspirational quote, in order to give themselves a sense of focus for both big life decisions and daily interactions with the world.  At the beginning of January, many of you drew a “star word” on Epiphany, meant to inspire and lead you throughout this year (if you have lost yours, or did not get one, the basket is sitting in the Narthex today).

If you are a part of a group, you might see it written out in particular phrases or mission statements. Scouting is a wonderful example of this practice, some of which you heard shared this morning[i]. These core values and ideals promoted by Scouting provide a solid framework of what it means to be a compassionate, thoughtful participant in the world. They are strong words to live by.

As a community of faith here at Heritage Presbyterian Church, we proclaim words of purpose each week on the cover of our bulletin through our church’s mission statement:  “called by God’s grace to make disciples, as we minister to the needs of a broken world.” Another is attached to the exterior of the M&M building up the hill: “love grows here.” These are markers for us as a church, and are meant to guide us into a faithful living out of our calling as Christ’s disciples in this time and place, so that all we do might be oriented in this direction.

In our first reading this morning from Exodus, we are reminded of another set of “words to live by” as Moses delivered to the Israelites an important list from God. 10 things, written on two stone tablets, that were meant to guide and shape how the people of God lived. Often, we view them as some sort of check-list to follow, or list of rules and regulations. And while certainly I would agree that following these is a good idea, I think this list is about more than just a bunch of “dos and don’ts.” It’s about what it means to be in relationship with God and others. As Barbara Brown Taylor Notes:

They express the purposeful will of God for God’s people. . . .
the teachings describe the way of life[ii].

In his famous book[iii], Rick Warren argued that the start to our understanding of ourselves and the world needed to begin with an understanding of God’s purposes for us. He outlines 5 purposes he believes, based on Scripture, that God has for us. The first is that:

We were planned for God’s pleasure, so your first purpose is to offer real worship[iv].

It seems Dr. Warren might have been reading along in Exodus. The first four commandments describe a way of life that is centered around God. They offer a focal point for all of our worship, and indeed our very rhythm of life, with God at the center of it all.

Let me add here, we’re not just talking about an hour block of time on a Sunday morning. Worship in this sense is meant to embody the essence of our approach to life as a whole. It happens when we gather for a worship service, or study, or service as a faith community, when we share laughter and break bread around a dinner table, and when we comfort each other during tough times. Worship is an awareness, acknowledgement, or even longing for God’s presence to be with us. It is a declaration that there is an inextricable bond between us and the divine; that God is our purpose.

When we are centered in a love of God, we naturally become drawn to love each other. Lives grounded in worship lead us into faithful community.  Conveniently, Rick Warren’s second identified purpose is that:

We were formed for God’s family, so your second purpose is to enjoy real fellowship[v].

Like worship, fellowship is meant here to be broadly understood. It’s not just about our relationship with our nuclear family or the people sitting next to us in the pews. It’s about our engagement with all of God’s children, near and far. Craig Kocher reminds us that:

Proper praise of God shapes our social responsibility; good theology is good ethics[vi].

Our lives of worship compel us to engage in the world in a different way, with actions that flow from our sense of God’s purpose for the world. In the Jewish tradition, the giving of the Torah is marked each spring (this year May 19-21) with the festival of Shavuot, a pilgrimage festival, where the tradition on the first night is to

[stay]up all night to study Torah, Talmud, and other sacred writings together. They offer this annual all-night gathering, known as a tikkun, for the mending of the world[vii].

For centuries, the practice of God’s people around these commandments involves celebration, study, and worship, which leads to real action in the world.

The final six commandments outline how we are to engage in relationship with each other so that true fellowship might come to life. The ways of life described in these somewhat detailed commandments highlight many of the guiding ethos that contribute to a community marked by honesty, respect, integrity, and truthfulness.

On this second Sunday of Lent, hearing these commandments again can help renew our commitments to living a life marked by God’s purpose. During these 40 days, we are called to closely examine how well or not our lives match up against the lives God has intended for us to live. In some ways, it’s a predictable answer – they have fallen short. Even our moments of triumph and success are mixed with faltering and missteps, or times when we have completely fallen on our face. In Lent we confess the ways in which we have either lost track of or intentionally abandoned our sense of purpose for living as children of God, and as a result the whole fabric of our relationship with God and one another is torn apart.

And Jesus enters the temple, on what should have been a holy time of preparation for the Passover meal, when many would have been traveling to Jerusalem, with:

Hearts and minds are focused on the exodus event and expectations of deliverance[viii]

One would expect some sellers of sacrificial animals and money changers with such a crowd, enabling pilgrims to participate in the rituals of worship and sacrifice; this activity may have even been seen as in service to the temple. But, as we see from Jesus’ reaction, all is not as it should be.

While the place appeared to fulfill its function, closer inspection revealed that it had forgotten its purpose[ix].

With all of the holy rage and force of the prophets of old[x], Jesus quite literally cracks the whip and turns over tables. He calls out the people of God with signs that cannot be ignored. It’s a startling first impression to make, as the gospel of John sequences this as Jesus’ first public appearance.

It’s a hard image to swallow. Most of us would prefer the docile, sweet-expression Jesus holding a lamb, or playing with children, or just staring off into the distance. But the gospels are rich with illustrations of a confrontational Jesus, one who speaks truth even when it is uncomfortable to hear; one who challenges our complacency and lack of purpose in direct and forceful ways. One who isn’t afraid to make a bit of a scene to accomplish his purpose in reorienting us to our own. Commentator Paul Shupe names it for us, that we:

feel queasy in the pit of the stomach when Jesus takes up his whip and drives the money changers from the temple. Queasy because along with the surge of righteous adrenaline that is produced when Jesus shifts into his prophetic mode comes the sneaking fear that we might have more in common with the targets of his judgment than with the righteousness of his cause . . . The text pushes us to imagine Jesus entering our own sanctuaries, overturning our own cherished rationalizations and driving us out in the name of God[xi].

That queasiness is the work of Lent, I think. It’s also the work of discipleship.

Rick Warren’s final 3 purposes are all related to this:

We were created to become like Christ, so your third purpose is to learn real discipleship . . . We were shaped for serving God, so your fourth purpose is to practice real ministry. . . . We were made for a mission, so your fifth purpose is to live out real evangelism[xii].

In order to live out these purposes, we have to be willing to let Jesus turn over the tables in our lives and in our society. Those things that we cling to; that have become like idols to us; those things that are keeping us from living the purpose-driven lives God intends for us – lives marked by a spirit of worship and a deepening of community.

This the purpose we are called to, as individuals and as communities of people in various configurations. It begins with a focus on God, and leads to the intentional and faithful building of relationships. That’s the summation of those commandments, underlined by Jesus – love God, and love others. That is our purpose. It is that easy. It is that hard. It is our work to do. May our tables be overturned, that we might be startled into a different way of being. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
February 25, 2018

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[i] The Boy Scout Oath promises: “to do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout law,” which is “to help other people at all times; to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.” Similarly, the Girl Scout Promise: “On my honor, I will try, to serve God and my country, to help people at all times, and to live by the Girl Scout law.”
[ii] Barbara Brown Taylor, “Homiletical Perspective: Exodus 20:1-17,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[iii] Rick Warren, The Purpose Driven Life, (Zondervan, 2013).
[iv] Rick Warren, The Purpose Driven Life, (Zondervan, 2013). http://purposedriven.com/books/pdlbook/
[v] Rick Warren, The Purpose Driven Life, (Zondervan, 2013). http://purposedriven.com/books/pdlbook/
[vi] Craig Kocher, “Pastoral Perspective: Exodus 20:1-17,”,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[vii] Barbara Brown Taylor, “Homiletical Perspective: Exodus 20:1-17,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[viii] W. Hulitt Gloer, “Homiletical Perspective: John 2:13-22,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[ix] W. Hulitt Gloer, “Homiletical Perspective: John 2:13-22,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[x] See Jeremiah 7:1-11 for additional background on Jesus’ language here. Also consider the relationship between worship and justice outlined in Amos 5:21-24, Hosea 6:6, Micah 6:6-8.
[xi] Paul C. Shupe, “Pastoral Perspective: John 2:13-22,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[xii] Rick Warren, The Purpose Driven Life, (Zondervan, 2013). http://purposedriven.com/books/pdlbook/

Food Pantry

Food distribution is scheduled the 1st Saturday of the month at 10:00 am and the 3rd Wednesday of the month at 12:30 pm.

The next Drive-Up Food Pantry is scheduled for Saturday, June 7th at 10 am.  Accurate pre-registration is strongly encouraged to ensure volunteers pack accordingly.
Please sign- up here!

For other pantry locations, go here
or text “FINDFOOD” to 888-976-2232

Church News

Volunteers are needed to help pack family boxes on Monday, June 2nd and Monday, June 16th at 10 am in the Fellowship Hall. We welcome all volunteers.  

Food Pantry distribution volunteer opportunity Saturday, June 7 registration here!

Worship Live Streaming and archives can be found by clicking the appropriate link under the worship tab.

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Upcoming Events

Worship

Sunday Schedule

9:00 AM
Responding in Faith Sunday School Class
     via Zoom with Barbara Jessee

9:15 AM
Bible University Sunday School Class
    with Dr. Tom Scott
Hybrid format (in-person & via Zoom)

Connections Sunday School Class
with Mark Bixler
Hybrid format (in-person & via Zoom)

Youth Bible Study (returns in August)
6- 12th grade

Kids Club – (returns in August)
Biblically-based Faith Formation Activities for Preschool – 5th Grade
Praise Kids Music on the 3rd Sunday of the month.

10:30 AM
In-Person Worship and Livestreamed via   YouTube.

Youth Group – the first and third Sunday of the month from 5-7 pm during the school year. (returns in August)