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Sunday’s Sermon – Through the Waters – Genesis 7:6-16

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Note: This is an outline of the sermon preached by Cassie Waits on February 18, 2018

At our house, there is no toy as useful as a large box.  Time and again, my children gravitate – not to the latest toy from the store – but to the simple, humble box.

A box is full of possibilities! It can be a house, a stage, a table, or a car. If you’re re-enacting the story of Noah, that very same box works nicely as a boat.

When it comes to the story of Noah’s Ark – you really do need a boat. Now, we know that Noah was building a boat because we’ve seen the picture. You know the one – it includes Noah and his family, standing in front of the giant boat and all the animals hanging off the top and the rainbow arching overheard.

That’s not the only picture either. Faithful Christians have been trying to paint, draw and otherwise replicate the ark for centuries.

In the pictures we see and in the replicas we visit, we notice one thing: the ark is a boat.

Is it a boat though? Have you ever wondered about that?  Why does the Bible insist on calling it an ark? The word “ark” is a bit…archaic in English.

Why not use boat? Why not use ship? The Old Testament has plenty of ships. We find ships in Genesis and Deuteronomy, Judges, Kings, Isaiah, Ezekiel, Psalms, Job, Proverbs, Daniel, Chronicles…ships are everywhere.

Then, we might remember Jonah! God called Jonah to prophecy to the Ninevites and Jonah said, “Sure!” Then he got on a SHIP headed in the opposite direction. The Bible is very clear that Jonah was on a SHIP. Jonah was not on an ark.

Why would God ask Noah to build an ark? What’s so special about an ark?

We might start with the word ark.  Merriam Webster’s dictionary says an “ark” is:  a boat or ship like the one in which Noah’s family was preserved from the Flood. Of course, we already knew THAT. We want to know what else does “ark” mean?

If we dig a little further, we learn that “ark” comes from a Latin word that means “box.”

This is more helpful. In Genesis 6, we find that God gives Noah exact specifications for the ark.  It should be 300 cubits long, 50 cubits wide and 30 cubits high.  That’s all God says. We notice that this doesn’t sound like a boat.  It sounds like a box.

Is the ark a kind of box?

We could dig still deeper. We could find out that the Hebrew word behind “ark” is tbt (pronounced TAY-vot). As you might have guessed, tay-vot is not the same as the Hebrew word for “ship.” Actually, tay-vot is a rare word. It only occurs in two places in the Bible:  in the life of Noah and in the life of Moses. (Remember that basket Moses was placed in as a baby? That’s the other tay-vot.)  Both Moses and Noah are saved through a tay-vot. An ark.

Maybe the ark is a kind of basket. Or a place of protection.

We might look a little further though. We would find that there’s still more to this word tay-vot. This word has an interesting history.

In English, we have what’s called a loan word. These are words we borrow from other languages.  déjà vu – comes from French and jalapeno comes from Spanish. Ancient Israelites had loan words too. Tay-vot is a loan word. It comes from Egypt.

The Egyptians had a word tbt (pronounced ta-BOOT) The Israelites borrowed it and began to incorporate it into their language. Over time, ta-boot became tay-vot. The Israelites began to use this word in their stories. Then we translated it as “ark” and now we use this word.

What does ta–boot mean? In a general sense, it means “box.” No surprise there.

But more specifically, and more surprisingly, ta-boot means COFFIN.

So, what IS Noah building? We begin to sense the real uncertainty in the story. God has called Noah to a task and it is not altogether clear what the end of that task will be or what Noah’s end will be.

We might understand a little of how Noah feels. We face our own floods in life.

Sometimes the flood we face is an actual flood. It sure doesn’t take a lot of water to ruin a basement.

Sometimes the flood is financial. We don’t know whether we’re right-side-up or up-side-down.

Sometimes the flood is relational. One day all is well, and the next our relationships are breaking and our social support is crumbling.

Sometimes the flood is our health. A minor ache turns into a major issue from which we fear we will not recover.

The floods come and we are powerless to stop them. We are engulfed by chaos. We feel like everything that is certain and real in our lives is being washed away.

We wonder – with Noah – what EXACTLY did God mean by the word tay-vot?

Will Noah’s ark be a place of death?  At this moment in the text – it is not clear. It can be hard to sit with that uncertainty. Hard to sit with Noah as the rain begins to fall. Hard not to know where the journey will lead.

We are fortunate. We do know the end of the story. What we find and what Noah finds is that the ARK is the place where God overturns all expectations. For God, this is NOT a place of death, but a place of deliverance.

What we find is that the path to salvation leads us precisely where we DO NOT WANT TO GO. We are saved – not by our safe perch above and away from the flood – but by entering into the very heart of danger and chaos and being carried THROUGH the water – held fast by the hand of God.

When Noah, and later Moses, emerge from the ARK they are REBORN.

The ones who should have been dead find they are very much alive.

When he enters the ark, Noah enters a sacred space. In some sense, it is both a tomb and a womb. The old life has passed away and a new life has begun. But that new life requires Noah to faithfully follow God’s instruction – even in moments of great uncertainty and fear. It requires Noah to be patient, to wait, to give up any hope of steering himself through the storm, and to trust that God will deliver him – not FROM the waters, but THROUGH the waters.

Today is the first Sunday of Lent. During this time, we remember the last days of Jesus and his last long walk to Jerusalem.

The disciples walked with Jesus in his last days. They had followed Jesus and listened to Jesus and learned from Jesus. And yet, like Noah – they also did not really know what was to come. Even to the last hour, they did not recognize how God might be at work.

During Lent, we walk with them. In the uncertainty, in the fear, in the doubt.

Noah walks into the ark with his family. It seems like a dead end. How can they could they possible survive this? How could any person survive? Jesus walks toward Jerusalem and it seems like a dead end. He is crucified. He is laid in a tomb.

And yet, just as Jesus’ tomb could not hold him, neither could the ark hold Noah.

Where we see a box, God sees a boat.

Where we see a place of death, God sees a place of deliverance.

The journey of Lent is our own journey. As we draw to the end of Jesus’ life, we are reminded of the end of our own.  On Ash Wednesday, we receive the mark of ashes with these words: “from dust you came, and dust you will become.”

At the end of our days, our dust will be gathered into an ark, but we remember that the ark is more than a box, more than a basket, more than a boat, more than a coffin. It is a place of transformation. A place of radical reversal.

Where we see death, God sees life.

So it was for Noah.

So it was for Moses.

So it is for Jesus.

May it be so for us.

Amen.

~Elder Cassie Waits, M.Div., February 11, 2018

Cassie is a member of Heritage Presbyterian Church, currently under care with Cherokee Presbytery as a candidate for ordination it the PCUSA. She graduated from Columbia Theological Seminary with a M.Div in 2017, and is currently pursuing a Master’s of Theology from Emory University.

Ash Wednesday Sermon – God’s Return Policy – Joel 2:1-2, 12-17

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One of the realities of living in a consumer-driven culture such as ours is that inevitably at some point, we end up purchasing something and then realizing, for whatever reason, that we need to return it. From unwanted or duplicate gifts to things that don’t fit to products that are defective, life leads us to the customer service area and the return line. And, as long as you’re not in too much of a hurry, it’s a pretty good system. One of the keys to a successful trip, and to not holding up the line, is to know something about the store’s return policy. Receipts can be a saving grace, but if you’ve lost that little strip of paper, stores can now look up your purchase if you used a credit card.  Without some record, you might be stuck with the lowest retail price from the past 90 days, the opportunity for an exchange, or simply store credit. Reading the fine print, a store’s return policy gets quickly complicated. If you’ve made your purchase online, you add another layer of complexity, even if they have retail stores nearby. Sometimes the long lines and hassle can make you wonder if it’s even worth it to make the return, or if you should just cut your losses and keep what you have.

Our experience with returns might help us as we begin the season of Lent. This is a time when we’re called to closely examine our lives and seek to be more faithful followers of Christ. In doing so, we are likely to find aspects of our lives that need to be changed or eliminated entirely – exchanged or return, if you will. Consider it standing in line for God’s customer service – a 40 day line (not including Sundays) where you think more about what it is that you are carrying, and prepare to lighten the load at the counter. To make this analogy work, we have to understand God’s return policy. To do so, we turn to Scripture.

The prophets have a lot to say about returns. In fact, it’s one of their most popular words of instruction to the Israelites. “In Hebrew, this verb means ‘to arrive again at the initial point of departure.’ Here it suggests that one had been originally with God, had moved away from God, and was not returning to God[i].” Return is an about face, a change in direction, and a reorientation to the world. It is a word of hope and a word of covenant, trusting that returning to God will bring about restoration for God’s people. Joel follows this understanding of return, calling God’s people to it in the text we read tonight. Throughout this short book, he suggests that Jerusalem has forgotten who God is, and calls upon God’s people to rediscover the identity of the one true God. Verse 13 reminds God’s people of the true divine nature. This description is ancient – going all the way back to promise of God to Moses in Exodus 34 after the people had created a golden calf. It is the perfect, concise example of God’s return policy: that God is “gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.” All of our questions about returning to God rest on this truth.

Joel speaks of return in the context of imminent disaster, perhaps a natural one with a plague of locusts. The beginning of our reading tonight indicates something looming on the horizon, which Joel attributes to calamity brought about by “the day of the Lord.” Something big is going to happen. One commentary refers to this text as “an alarm bell in the darkness of the night[ii].” Joel’s language would immediately register with the Israelites in Judah; it is a call to attention and to action. Given this policy, we are called to get our items, and ourselves, in order quickly. Don’t just leave your returns on the kitchen counter or lost in your trunk, a procrastinated item from the errands list. Pay attention to them and get it done. This is the work of return. This is the work of Lent. Lent is about letting go of those things that get in the way of our relationship with God and with others. It is about sorting through all the “stuff” that we have in our lives and make decisions about what should stay and what should go. This is why some people “give up” things for the season, and others take on new practices or focus on things in a new way.

But more than just “giving something up” for a season, I think our passage tonight asks what do you have to return to God? Those things in your life that you would like to change, but need help to make it happen. Those things that just aren’t working for you to grow in the ways you know God is calling you to. Those things you wish you hadn’t bought into and would like to give up. Those things that you simply have too much of and don’t really need. Take inventory over these next 40 days, and don’t be afraid to bring them to God for return. There’s no limit on what God will take back. In fact, God invites us to bring it all – even the things we are too embarrassed to talk about. God is always ready and waiting, open 24 hours a day if you will, to hear us.

Sometimes, the return process includes naming why we are returning or exchanging a particular item. Some of the options include: didn’t fit (too big or too small), wasn’t what was expected, changed my mind, the product was defective, and so on. This naming is important for us to do in Lent. It helps us do more than just identify our sins – it calls us to understand where they came from in order to make the changes needed to hopefully avoid repeating them in the future. It enables God to work with us and make us into new creations. It’s God’s exchange process at work, a process that utimately isn’t dependent on anything we have done or can do, but reminds us that we are solely reliant on God’s love and grace. In the midst of what is very difficult and sobering work, this is good news. God not only takes back our returns, no matter what – God works in us to make us right with God once again. Returning to God, as Joel outlines in verse 13, is more than just a transactional return; this is a process of transformation.

Lent calls us to read the fine print God’s return policy. It allows us to test it out, carefully and thoughtfully. We do so confident in who God is. And if the words of prophets like Joel aren’t strong enough to convince us, there is one more guarantee in place. In the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, God’s grace was revealed to the whole world. In Christ, the promises of God from the very beginning were sealed forever. In life and in death, we belong to God. This is what we gather to remind ourselves of tonight, receiving crosses on our foreheads to indicate whose we are, symbolized in ashes to remind us of our own mortality and our utter dependence on God for all things. We get in line, not only to confess our sins and humble ourselves, as covering in ashes symbolized in the days of the prophets, but also to return ourselves to the one who created us from nothing, and loves us through anything.

The return line begins here, tonight. Bring what you have, who you are this evening, and know that you can continue to return what you need to over this season of Lent and beyond. There is no return too big or too small. There is no return that God will not accept. For God already knows everything we could possibly bring, and has chosen to love us anyway. So come, Return to the Lord. Trust that God is gracious, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love, and always ready for your return. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
Ash Wednesday, February 14, 2018

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[i] Dianne Bergant, “Joel 2:1-2, 12-17, Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[ii] Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary based on the NRSV, Year C. Charles B. Cousar, Beverly R. Gaventa, J. Clinton McCann, Jr., James D. Newsome, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1994)

Sunday’s Sermon – The Gift of a King – Matthew 21:1-11, Psalm 118

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When something big happens, our natural inclination is to celebrate. This Monday night, after UNC beat Gonzaga and in the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament Final Championship game, Tarheel fans all over cheered. In Chapel Hill, they believe that 55,000 fans rushed to the famous Franklin Street. It was a wave of people, students and others from the community of all ages, gathered to unite behind the same good news – UNC had won its sixth national championship. It looked something like this:

http://wncn.com/2017/04/03/franklin-street-packed-in-chapel-hill-as-tar-heel-fans-celebrate-championship/

Admittedly, I’m a bit biased on this one, but it does make for a good illustration on this Palm Sunday. Today is a day of celebration! Have you ever been a part of such a parade? Have you ever found yourself caught up in a cheering crowd? It is an experience unlike any other, to be surrounded by such positive energy and blissful joy. It is a rallying cry and unifying moment for many, all pointed in one direction. Our gospel text from this morning paints this amazing picture as Jesus triumphantly enters Jerusalem to a cheering crowd. It is a ticker-tape parade, as the crowd parts to make way for the honored guest.  They roll out the red carpet for Jesus, laying their coats on the ground. It is an entrance fit for a King, and indeed that is how Jesus is welcomed.

It is significant that he is entering Jerusalem, the city made great by his ancestor David. Remember David? The Cinderella story of the youngest son of Jesse, the shepherd boy who was anointed by Samuel? He went on to become one of the greatest kings the people of Israel had ever seen.

Under David and his son Solomon, Israel experienced the greatest period in its history. The country was united, all twelve tribes under one king . . . David was the just and righteous king. He became associated with goodness, power, protection, and justice; he was the ideal shepherd-king, the apple of God’s eye, even God’s son. The time of glory, the ideal time, was remembered. So revered did David become that the hoped-for future deliverer, the messiah, was expected to be a “son of David,” a new David, indeed greater than David. And this new David, this son of David, would rule a restored kingdom from Jerusalem[i].

While Jerusalem was once a great city, in the centuries after David, it was fraught with conflict and decline. By the first century, we see Jerusalem in conflict, struggling to balance both secular authority from Rome and religious leadership. The expectation of the crowd is that the Messiah will overthrow these powers, and bring Jerusalem, and by proxy all of Israel, back into glory. The crowd cheers as the victor comes home. They proclaim him as king. He is the “Son of David,” the Messiah they have been waiting for.  On this final Sunday of Lent, we rejoice along with the crowd that God has given us an incredible and much anticipated gift – a King!

But, instead of singing “We Are the Champions,” this crowd has another chant – “Hosanna!” This is a unique word in Aramaic, found only in this story in the gospel accounts given by Matthew, Mark, and John. It is a shout of praise, but literally means “save (or help), I pray.” It is a phrase that would have been familiar to the Jews as a part of their worship practices, described beautifully in our Psalm from this morning (Psalm 118:25). This cry  is familiar to us, too, especially in these final days of Lent, a time in which we are even more aware of the many places in our lives that need saving. We shout Hosanna: for all that we personally need to be saved from in this world. For our own personal sins, the mistakes we have made, the things we have left undone, all the ways we have failed to be the disciples we claim to be. We shout Hosanna: for the sins of the world that need divine presence – whether we are directly involved or indirectly watching from a distance. For the ways we have exploited our natural resources and have caused harm to the earth. For conflicts that have escalated to chemical attacks, missiles, and talks of war. For the ways in which we have failed to care for our neighbors and have abandoned the least of these. We shout Hosanna: For all of this and more, the things we dare not say out loud, but in our Lenten journey have discovered in the dark corners of our lives. Our cries build, gently and humbly at first, penitent, then turn into shouts with an energized fervor and deep longing for something to change. Palm Sunday is no ordinary parade. It is the culmination of who God’s people are and a cry out for what they need, both in the first century and today.  “Save us” is a powerful thing to shout. It’s not the usual cheer at a celebration rally. It points to a much deeper truth about the crowd and what it is looking for.

What do you think of when you imagine a king? Chance are, something like the hopes and expectations of the Palm Sunday crowd; an all-powerful Messiah who will overthrow secular powers and bring the people back to their glory. Almost a superhero, if you will. A few years ago, I told this story to a group of preschoolers, using a method of storytelling known as Godly Play, which is the same as Pam tells each week in our Children’s Chapel. After sharing the story using simple wooden figures, the children are invited to wonder and engage with the story. After the palm branches had been laid and Jesus entered the city gate, I sat back and asked “I wonder, what kind of king Jesus would be?[ii]” The children answered with great ideas – a kind king, a nice king, a strong king, and so on. Then, one little one gave my favorite answer of all time. “The king of silliness!” she exclaimed gleefully and then dissolved into giggles.

Her answer might have been one of the best to describe this particular story. Matthew’s telling in particular is rich with satire and irony. Did you pay attention to his instructions to the disciples and how he comes into the city? Riding 2 animals: a donkey and a colt. It is a hysterical image to consider. Mary Hinkle Shore suggests that it “resembles a circus trick more than a royal procession[iii].” The description of his entry suggests layers of meaning. Shore continues to compare the entry into Jerusalem as:

an event that today we might call performance art. Jesus enacts a prophetic word that looks toward the arrival of one who will rule God’s people in a time of peace[iv].

In contrast to expectations, and other processions of Roman guards and governors, Jesus enters on the humblest of animals – both of them. It is a dramatic statement, meant to send a message about what kind of king he would be. It is meant to make us think, even among our cheers, that we should probably begin to expect something different than a mighty warrior. In this act, Jesus flips the script, and those in leadership begin to take notice. The brightness of the parade is contrasted to the shadows that begin to appear, ominous foreshadowing for where Jesus is heading. This tension emerges again, even more so if we pay attention to the irony and threat Jesus’ entrance as “king” really presents.

Andrew Lloyd Weber and Tim Rice tried to convey this in their magnificent rock opera, Jesus Christ, Superstar, which debuted in 1971. The story is loosely based on the Gospel accounts of the last week of Jesus’ life, but highlights and extrapolates a lot of political and interpersonal aspects that go beyond our text, which in some circles made it quite controversial. Nevertheless, the depiction of his entry into Jerusalem is a great picture, visually and melodically. As the title suggests, the whole show plays with the idea of Jesus being a celebrity with rock-star status.  It also balances the outlandish nature of the crowd and their hopes combined with the ominous undertones of what would come. It captures what Matthew describes in verse 10, with “the whole city was in turmoil.” Take a look, and imagine yourselves again in this parade with this scene from the more recent film, produced in 2000:

“I wonder, what kind of king Jesus would be?” Would it look like this? Or is there more to the one who enters Jerusalem than just some superstar status. Matthew’s gospel closely connects Jesus with the Jewish understandings of the Messiah from the Hebrew Scriptures. Here, he includes reference to Zechariah. Chapter 9, Verse 9 indicated the dual animals of a donkey and a colt, symbols of peace and reconciliation. Reading further from the prophet, we find that the rest of the Zechariah passage details what kind of king this will be. Verse 10 reads, “He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war-horse from Jerusalem; and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations (Zechariah 9:10).

Rather than a mighty warrior king, Jesus is the kind of king who brings about peace. This is the fulfillment of the scriptures. And I think the crowd understood that a bit, especially those who had been following him. Jesus, after all, has up to this point presented himself as nothing other than a teacher and healer, a “miracle-making philosopher/rabbi whose only firepower is his compelling presence and word[v].” And that was enough to draw a crowd.

The crowd of Palm Sunday represents the height of the excitement over who Jesus was on earth, and hints at the possibility of what his kingdom might bring. Those who gathered along the sides of the road that day longed for a Savior. There was so much in the world from which they needed redemption and peace. This was more than just good fun on a Sunday afternoon; it was an urgent plea for their very lives. This is what Palm Sunday is all about. A people’s deep longing for something more. It is a story rich with drama and full of spirit, the perfect text to usher us into this Holy Week. Of course, we know where this story leads – by the end of the week our King will wear a crown of thorns. And yet, with this knowledge we still dare to praise him and lift him up above all others. We share in the hope of the people gathered that day long ago, because we are those people, too.

This is why we still shout, “Hosanna!” And we rejoice that our shouts will not just echo into the abyss. For God has given us the gift of a King. Jesus Christ is our Savior. The Messiah has entered the gates triumphantly, and goes before us. Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

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[i] Marcus J. Borg & John Dominic Crossan, The Last Week: What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus’s Final Days in Jerusalem, (New York: HarperOne, 2006).

[ii] Sonja M. Stewart and Jerome W. Berryman, “Jesus the King,” Young Children and Worship, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1989), 187.

[iii] Mary Hinkle Shore, “Exegetical Perspective: Matthew 21:1-11,” Feasting on the Gospels: Matthew, Volume 2, Chapters 14-28, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).

[iv] Ibid.

[v] Michael D. Kirby, “Pastoral Perspective: Matthew 21:1-11,” Feasting on the Gospels: Matthew, Volume 2, Chapters 14-28, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).

The Roller Coaster of Holy Week

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One of my favorite things to do at amusement parks is to ride roller coasters. I have a slight fear of heights, so the initial climb is sometimes harrowing, but the thrill of racing downhill, twists and turns, and even going upside down makes it all worth it. My favorite kinds are the ones where your legs swing freely, which for me brings back the fun sensation of swinging on a playground. I didn’t always like roller coasters, though. As a child, I had to be coaxed to even try them, and I remember gripping the lap bar with white knuckles. The first few rides were rough. I didn’t know what to expect with each new style of coaster. The first time a standing coaster was introduced, I was convinced it was my last ride ever because the seat didn’t fully lock into place until just before the first drop. Things were new and unfamiliar, which in some ways added to the fun, if I was able to convince myself that things would all be fine in the end. Now, I look forward to these attractions, and even like riding the same coaster multiple times in a row, trying out different spots to have a different perspective or experience of the ride.

If we think about the season of Lent as the slow initial climb, then Holy Week is our roller coaster ride. Packed into only a few days, we experience the most dramatic twists and turns of our faith story. Palm Sunday takes us to the top height with a glorious celebration of Christ as King, marked with the waving of palms and the shouts of Hosanna. On Maundy Thursday, we coast alongside the disciples at the Last Supper, and then experience the twists and turns of the betrayal and Jesus’ arrest. Good Friday plummets us down to the lowest point as we grapple with the darkness of the crucifixion. The ride jerks to a halt in that darkness, letting the gravity of the moment truly sink in. Then, on the third day, we are vaulted and propelled into the light of Easter morning. The tomb is empty – Christ is Risen! Breathless, we are able to celebrate that all of the wildness of our journey has come to an end, and has led us to a place of peace and security.

Like a roller coaster, this week can be a wild ride. It can be uncomfortable and even scary in places if we allow ourselves to be fully drawn into the richness of the story. But doing so can deepen our faith and make us more appreciative of that moment when the ride is over and our feet are again on solid ground. This year, as a congregation we will have several special services to guide us through this ride. I invite you to consider joining us for each service, so that you can experience all of the twists and turns that our gospel story has to offer, and proclaim the good news on Easter morning with the spirit of one who has been along for the ride. I guarantee you the end result will be worth it.

Peace, Elizabeth

Sunday’s Sermon – The Gift of Breath – Exekiel 37:1-14, John 11:1-45

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“Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” One by one, worshippers lined up on Ash Wednesday, here in our Sanctuary and in churches around the world, to hear these words and receive the sign of ashes pressed into a cross on their foreheads. These words, which come from Genesis, served as a reminder of our sinfulness and mortality, and ushered in the season of Lent. These 40 days for us are meant to be a time when we carry that cross of ashes into our daily lives, and examine ourselves more closely. As Jesus spent 40 days in the desert facing trial and temptation, we embark on a dry, dusty journey ourselves. And just when our bulletin insert hints of the promise of the celebration that is to come at the end of the season, our lectionary texts firmly place us back into stories marked by the frailty of life. We still have work to do before we can be Easter people.

Ezekiel beckons us to look at the valley.  More than just swirling dust and dryness, here we are again confronted with the reminder of our mortality, gazing over a valley of dry bones. Death itself looks us in the face. The entire book of Ezekiel is both dramatic and disturbing. Barbara Essex describes it as:

a motion picture director’s dream. Not only does the book lend itself to all kinds of psychological analyses, it also is perfect for computer-generated graphics and animation. Ezekiel is filled with vivid descriptions and impossible feats of power complete with sound effects. Ezekiel is victim to hallucinations and weird behaviors. With the opening lines (see Ezek. 1:1-3), we know we are in for quite a ride. Ezekiel sees visions, hears voices, and acts out his prophecies to the point where we wonder if he suffers some kind of mental illness[i].

These cinematic images, of course, are meant to speak to the real situation of God’s people, Israel. It is believed that Ezekiel was written during the time of exile, and it is likely that he was a priest taken into captivity to Babylon towards the beginning of the 6th century, BCE. His role as priest continues, turning into prophet as he speaks to a people devastated and trapped.

Ezekiel’s vision is given for a people who have lost heart, who are suffering a death of the spirit, a living death in exile in a foreign land. Their temple has been destroyed, their holy city plundered, their leaders maimed and put in chains, their soldiers put to the sword, their young men and women either killed or dragged off into a foreign land. Ezekiel witnesses the soul of his people gradually wither and die, becoming as lifeless as a valley of dry bones[ii].

This text prompts us to stand in the valleys of our own lives, our own worlds, and examine those dry, desolate, and even dead places. Those places that have lost all life-giving energy and are run to the ground. Perhaps this is a description of areas of your life, or even the entirety of your life right now, where you are just completely worn, burned out, drained, and depleted. Maybe it’s a relationship that has lost its spark or become dusty from neglect. The idea of a “dark night of the soul” is familiar to us, and Ezekiel puts the spotlight on those areas of our lives. The places where we are struggling the most, and where life seems to be sucked right out of us. Beyond our own personal lives, there are many valleys of dry bones that exist in our world, too. Places that have been torn apart by violence and war quite literally become graveyards. We know countless people struggle with mental illnesses and other psychological battles that isolate and threaten what is life-giving. This is particularly true and especially sad for many veterans who have served our country as they return from service. So many issues swirl in our country and world that seem to have no hope for a future. The political divides seem too wide to allow anything to have life. And although we live in one of the wealthiest countries in the world, we have children who are hungry and people without shelter. Dry bones are everywhere. The valleys are full.

Our gospel text reveals a similar finality. John 11 tells the story of the death of Jesus’ friend, Lazarus, the brother of Mary and Martha. We read of how the news that Lazarus is sick is conveyed to Jesus, who remains out on the mission field for several more days. By the time he gets to the house in Bethany, Lazarus is dead. Grief invades this story. Here is where the shortest verse in all of scripture is found, “Jesus wept.” In this, the form for the verb used is one of the strongest possible. It indicates a fierceness beyond parallel, the kind of overwhelming, gut wrenching, violent crying that comes in our darkest moments. Some commentators suggest that this moment is about more than Lazarus. Jesus is experiencing the very human grief of losing a friend, and at the same time lamenting the state of the world and all of its darkness; the reality that death still has its hold on the earth[iii]. This would be fitting particularly in the fourth gospel, and also suits the placement of this story within John, as the hinge point between stories of Jesus’ signs and wonders and the passion narrative. And Martha’s words of guilt hang heavily around Jesus in this moment by a closed tomb, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

A closed tomb. A valley of dry bones. Such images are finite. The literal end of the road.  It is hard, almost impossible, to have hope in these moments. In the many instances that lead us to these places, we are left with a sense that anything we do is futile; we are helpless, subject to the gloominess that surrounds and even engulfs us. The closing line for the sermon Ezekiel is preaching could come with “and then everyone dies.” It is as bleak as it can get. The question comes to Ezekiel, “Can these bones live?” For us, “can anything be done to change this reality of lifelessness and hopelessness?” The cynical answer, as well as the realistic one when looking over a valley of dry bones, is no. What is done is done. It is what it is. Dry bones cannot live again. Why would God ask such a fruitless question?

The wise prophet replies with the only answer possible – only God knows. The story of Ezekiel reminds us that life itself is utterly and totally reliant on God. And it offers a glimmer of hope that the work of God is to bring new life, even when things seem to be completely dead. Here, in this ancient text from our Hebrew Scriptures, we read some of the first hints of resurrection.  God instructs Ezekiel to prophesy, to preach, to these dry, brittle, dusty, well beyond life bones. This is not the end of their story.  And we see it come to life, as sinews and muscles and skin again cover the bones assembling together. As the old spiritual goes, “Dem bones, dem bones gonna rise again. Now hear the word of the Lord[iv].”

So the bones are assembled. But they aren’t complete. God has more work to do. The final step, and the most important one, is the gift that God gives to these bones. From the four winds, God breathes new life, new spirits, new breath, into these bones. Ruach in the Hebrew. The same wind that was breathed into the first humans is again breathed into these dry bones. And they stand up, fully assembled and now, full of life. We might even imagine them dancing in what once was a graveyard. Hope is restored. Life has returned. And the only way any of this is remotely possible is through the gift that God gives – the gift of breath.

The vision Ezekiel conveniently comes with an interpretation – that dry valley of bones was Israel, dried up and cut off, sinful and punished in exile, taken to the point of death. But God is a God who can even open the graves, and breathe new life into what seems lost. God gives the people Israel another chance at life, with the promise that they will return to their homeland.

Just as God breathed new life into the valley, putting the lives of God’s people back together, God’s promise to us today is new life. As preacher and speaker Nadia Bolz-Weber says:

God simply keeps reaching down into the dirt of humanity and resurrecting us from the graves we dig for ourselves through violence, our lies, our selfishness, our arrogance, and our addictions, and God keeps loving us back to life over and over again[v].

It comes to us from the gift of breath. And it comes to us in the darkest, driest, most dead places in our lives. That is what resurrection is all about.

You know how you hear the emergency instructions before you take-off on a flight? The flight attendants will always reference, that in the case of the loss of cabin pressure, air masks will come down from the ceiling for you to quite literally be able to breathe. You know the instructions. Put on your own mask, and then help others. God’s gift of breath can be our oxygen masks, particularly in times of distress or trouble. God’s gift of breath can rescue us from even the hardest places in our lives, the places we thought were lost causes, and breathe new life back into us. One more thing about those oxygen masks to keep in mind – the flight attendant will remind you that the bag may not fully inflate, but to trust that oxygen is still flowing. This is much like our work of faith sometimes, especially trying ones. We may not be able to see God’s work in our lives, but in faith we trust that God’s breath is flowing.

Jesus looks to Martha and declares, “I am the resurrection and the life” (John 11:25).  In this pivotal statement, the air mask falls, and Jesus invites Martha to take a breath. But although she does, and agrees to the assertions he makes, she isn’t ready yet to fully embrace all that breath implies. She still clings to those dry bones, mindful of the realities of death. She laments that her brother is dead and stays in the valley. Then, after Jesus instructs those present to “take away the stone,” (v. 39) she protests again, with the practical reality that a sealed tomb with a several days old body will absolutely stink. She holds back from the possibilities that Christ provides for change, even though it is change that she wants. In many ways, Martha is in a tomb of her own. And I think the words Jesus speaks to Lazarus and to her, and to anyone trapped and confined by death in any of its forms, are meant to be a freeing breath, “COME OUT!” (v. 43).

We worship a God of resurrection, even though we ourselves may be in valleys of dry bones or tombs of darkness. The good news is, to these difficult places where hope seems lost and all seems to be at an end, God gives us breath. Life-giving breath. As we enter these final days of Lent, my hope and prayer for you is that you will take that breath, and ask God to renew your spirits. That you will remember that God breathes even into the most difficult places in your life, and offers hope. Breathing the breath of God is the first step to experiencing the powerful, life-changing, transforming resurrection that we will celebrate in just two weeks. And doing so can be as simple as taking a breath. Your breath can become your prayer, heightening your awareness of God’s presence in your life. So take deep breaths. Lots of them. And as you do, may God’s breath be a gift to you, and may you have life. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

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[i] Barbara J. Essex, Bold and Brazen: Exploring Biblical Prophets, (Cleveland: Pilgrim Press, 2010).

[ii] James A. Wallace, “Homiletical Perspective: Ezekiel 37:1-14,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

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

[iv] “Dem Bones,” Written by James Weldon Johnson. First recorded by Bascomb Lunsford in February 1928. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dem_Bones

[v] Rev. Nadia Bolz-Weber, as quoted by the Clergy Coaching Network Facebook Page, April 1, 2017 (https://www.facebook.com/clergycoachingnetwork/photos/a.553233241362454.130264.546972935321818/1496180503734385/?type=3&theater).

Sunday’s Sermon – The Gift of Acceptance – 1 Samuel 16:1-13

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It is no secret that I am a huge college basketball fan. From filling out brackets to cheering on my Tarheels, March Madness is one of my favorite times of year. And while it’s exciting, of course, for my team to win, the thrill of the NCAA tournament often comes through those teams who weren’t expected to go very far, but then take us all by surprise. Any enthusiast knows to pick a 12-seed to beat a 5-seed, but there are always others who become highlighted as that year’s “Cinderella story.” In 2011, it was VCU who made it all the way to the Final Four as an 11 seed, a feat only 21 other teams below the 4 seed have done since the expanded format of the tournament[i]. Last weekend, we saw a good number of higher seeds fall, including favored teams like Villanova, who won it all last year. Even casual watchers get drawn in by the underdog stories, as eyes turn to teams like South Carolina as potential Cinderella stories, wondering if they will end up with a glass slipper that fits. These stories do more than entertain. They give us hope that anything is possible. And it can be kind of fun to root for the little guy.

In many ways, 1 Samuel 16 is a Cinderella Story. Here, we have a literal line-up for God to select the next king through the prophet Samuel. The sons of Jesse line up, and parade in front of Samuel almost like a beauty pageant, eager to be selected. In the end, the one chosen isn’t even on the radar. It’s the youngest boy, David, who has been relegated to the medial role of tending sheep. Brought in, he is the one named by the Lord, anointed and filled with the Holy Spirit to lead. As we know, David became a mighty and powerful king. Though not without some considerable faults, his story dominates the next 55 chapters of the Bible. Our text for today is a watershed moment in which much of Israel’s history is put into motion, and it begins with an unlikely boy chosen for the most important role in the land – a Cinderella story in its finest. And it won’t be long, the next chapter in fact, that we learn just how mighty this young man can be, as he steps into battle and defeats the Philistines with a sling and a stone, Goliath falling to the ground. This action leads him to find favor with the king Saul, eventually moving to live with the King and provide him comfort.

Did you catch that? The one anointed to be king in 1 Samuel 16 then meets the king in the next chapter. This is not normal. It is not like an election where the new president is greeted by the outgoing one as a part of a peaceful transfer of power. In these days, new kings either took power by some sort of coup, or more often, were chosen after the death of a great leader. To understand what is happening here, we need to remember the history at play. Saul, who has been chosen to be king by God and anointed by Samuel in 1 Samuel 9, has not exactly done well as king.

Saul had early victories and did win the approval of his people; but he let the prerogatives of power go to his head. Kingly control emboldened Saul to assume authorities not ascribed to him in his anointing: his call and covenant with God and the people[ii].

By 1 Samuel 15, God regrets making Saul king (see 1 Sam 15:11, 35), and Samuel delivers the message to the king that God was going to go in another direction. That is how we get to today’s text.

Samuel is grieved by this rejection of the king he himself was in part responsible for, but is approached by God in our passage today to make a new start. Even through his frustration and disappointment, Samuel follows God, although we might imagine he did not know to expect such a surprising next step from the divine. A king would have been someone from a strong line, like that of Jesse, who presented clear signs of strength and vigor. Saul was noted as being tall, an unusual trait seen among the people of God. Samuel would have expected a similarly equipped leader to follow. But God is a God of surprises, and instead sends David.

God gives good reason for this selection. Rather than looking at physical appearances, God is judging by different criteria. God’s perspective is drastically different than ordinary human perception. It is outlined in verse 7 – God “looks on the heart.” It is from this place where knowledge, decision making, intentionality, and compassion reside. The heart is the seat of all that is, the very core of who we are. Today, we are more apt to use the term “soul” to describe this all-encompassing part of our beings. From our text we know that God sees what is there with David, and from there bestows on him high honor.

We aren’t sure exactly what it is that God sees in David, but as David Hester notes:

though we are not explicitly told what God seeks in the heart of those whom God chooses, implicitly we are invited to remember what we’ve heard to this point from our Deuteronomic writer. The theme that dominates this history, from its beginning to its end, is the covenant call to the wholehearted love of God, demonstrated in the whole-hearted obedience to the commandments of God and, negatively, in watchful avoidance of showing devotion or loyalty to things that are not God[iii].

We might assume, then, that what God saw in David as a young boy was a purity in heart and a devotion to God, markers of what we come to know as his gentle spirit from the Psalms, and characteristics that will lead him to develop a deep faith even in the midst of trying times.

God’s selection of David is a beautiful story to read in the Season of Lent. Just four weeks ago, we began our journey together with Psalm 51, ironically attributed to David much later in his life after his interactions with Bathsheba. In it, we offered our prayers of confession and begged for God’s mercy, but perhaps most importantly, in Scripture and then in song we said, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me” (Psalm 51:10). Our intention in Lent is to search our own hearts, our thoughts, our actions, everything that makes us who we are, so that we can be more faithful to the one who created us. In Lent, we ask God to look at our hearts and clean up the mess. And we trust that God will do this, because we believe that our God is a God of grace, who sees who we are, even into the depths of our being, and offers mercy.

In Lent, we are preparing ourselves for the good news that through Jesus Christ, we are forgiven and freed from all that would hold us back from our relationship with God. Our text from 1 Samuel reminds us that rather than keeping a chart of our good and bad deeds, or looking at our appearances, God judges by looking at our hearts. Perhaps this is because, as those God has created, we are close to God’s heart. And that’s good news.

In Ephesians, Paul writes about what it means to be close to God, as beloved children who have been claimed by Christ. He speaks about the importance of living into the covenant relationship God intends, as understood in God’s commandments. Then, he presents us with the verses we read today, a clear distinction of how we have been chosen by God, and brought into the light.

Paul’s description lines us up, much like the sons of Jesse were for Samuel, and tells us that it is time to pick teams. How many of you remember doing this during recess in the school yard? In elementary school, this was how we started every recess by picking teams for kickball. Of course, we all know how it plays out: the athletic and popular kids are picked first. And there is always the same kid that is chosen last. Many adults still carry scars and hurt from this selection process. But, if we apply our texts from today to this metaphor, we realize that the ways God selects is all-together different from other team captains. God looks beyond popularity and physical prowess, and sees into the heart.

In Lent, we, too, line up, but are surprisingly chosen to be on the team, even though there are others around us who we might think are more capable or qualified. God accepts us. This is the gift our texts reveal today. The gift that God accepts us, and loves us beyond compare. We are children of light, now, claimed and loved by God. For many of us, this moment was signified with our baptisms. Sometimes it happened so long ago that we may have forgotten what it means to be a part of God’s team. Lent is about recovering that basic identity, which includes returning our hearts to God in humility and faith. There, we will find acceptance beyond compare.

This is a gift, though, with some pretty big implications for those of us who have received it. As children of light, we are called to live like it. We are called to trust in God, the team manager, in Jesus Christ, the coach and in the Holy Spirit, our cheer squad, to make the decisions and guide us. This means we have to get on board with their game plan, and see the court the way that God does.

It starts by trying to see others the way God sees them. This means letting go of our pre-conceived notions about who is favored, or even who God loves, and instead try to look beyond the superficial and see into the heart. David Hester says that:

This, I suggest, is the logic of seeing through the eyes of faith and a logic that participates in the divine point of view. Christians practicing faith by this logic of “heart-seeing” are looking at others and at life through a storied perspective that pays special attention to the heart of God made flesh in Jesus Christ. Such “heart-seeing,” conversely, pays less attention to wondering about the character and behavior of others in the human community and the created order, to who we are sent as Christ’s disciples[iv].

This is what God called Samuel to do. To let go of what he had done and seen in the past and instead pay attention to how God was seeing the world. He did this from a position of grief, and perhaps from a place where he felt totally unqualified. After all, the one that he had sought out and stood beside, Saul, had not worked out. I wonder if Samuel doubted his ability to even see or hear anything God was calling him to do. But God promises to sit alongside him, if he will be open enough to let his eyes be God’s eyes. And he does, and in that allows God to point him to the most unlikely scenario. Samuel is presented with the opportunity to practice God’s gift of acceptance, extending that to David, the unlikely king.

There is a church up the street from us that I pass almost every day. Their sign lists some sort of theological quip or inspiring comment. Recently, what has been posted is something very close to “Do not judge by mere appearances, but judge righteously.” Admittedly, this got under my skin a bit the first time I saw it. Yes, we shouldn’t judge by appearances, but generally the idea of judging others isn’t one that I find particularly helpful in my life of faith. The preacher from Montreat this summer challenged us at being “Judge Judy” in our lives, looking down and judging others for a number of reasons. I am admittedly guilty of this, from appearances to decisions others make. It is something I struggle to keep in check. I’m not helped by the instruction to judge, even righteously. This sign even has bothered me after I realized that it was quoting scripture (John 7:24). But, given 1 Samuel 16, I am seeing it in a new light this week.  Rather than being legalistic and divisive, what if the “right judgment” is the kind of judgment God shows through Samuel to David? The kind that looks at the heart, through the eyes of the one we know looks at us with love, so much so that life was given for us. The kind that leads to acceptance?

We are called, like Samuel, to listen and discern where God is leading us, ready to offer acceptance ourselves to others that we may meet, even when they are the smallest or youngest or last in line. Cinderella stories like David’s selection as king remind us that there is more to success or selection than meets the eye. Just because a team is bigger, literally taller, or stronger or more experienced doesn’t mean they will be victorious. Of course, the author in our text notes that while being the youngest, David was ruddy and handsome. So while you could be good looking and chosen by God, the two aren’t necessarily connected. The chosen by God part has to do with far more than outward appearances. Given this, we must look beyond the superficial and use different criteria than the world would otherwise demand. We have to look with our hearts, and see with our hearts. Then, we might be prepared to accept others who are also God’s children. We might also be able to find our own place in God’s story, hearing our own name called and taking our place alongside others who are children of light. In both, we might begin to understand the radical nature of God’s gift of grace and love. God’s acceptance marks the start of our Cinderella story, but it is just the beginning.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

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[i] http://www.sportingnews.com/ncaa-basketball/news/march-madness-2017-ncaa-tournament-first-round-upsets-1-vs-16-odds-final-four-sweet-16-elite-eight/137gk4v5k3lzv1e9cxsj6aqjxv

[ii] Donald P. Olsen, “Pastoral Perspective: 1 Samuel 16:1-13,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

[iii] David C. Hester, Interpretation Bible Studies: First and Second Samuel, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2000).

[iv] Hester.

Sunday’s Sermon – The Gift of Living Water – John 1:1-42

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Throughout this Lenten season, our texts reveal some pretty incredible ways in which God reaches out to us, and gives us different gifts to help us understand and grow in faith. Last week, we heard of how the Psalmist reminds us that God is here with the gift of help. This week, Jesus himself offers a tremendous gift.  He pauses to take a rest on a long journey north from Judea to Galilee, which takes him through Samaria. In the heat of the day, a woman comes to draw water from the village’s well. It is startling that he would even speak to her. First of all, she is a woman, and beyond that, she is a Samaritan. The conflict between the Samaritans and Jews was more than 200 years old at this point, stemming from a disagreement over the proper place to worship, and evolving over the years to reach the point, as our text says, where Jews and Samaritans wanted nothing to do with one another[ii].  In fact, many Jews would have taken an alternate route than Jesus to avoid any such encounters with the Samaritans. But not Jesus. He crashes through multiple cultural boundaries with a profound moment that reveals the very essence of what he is about. And what follows is the longest conversation Jesus has with anyone in any of our gospels.

There are so many things to focus on in this text that it is enough to make us dizzy. Over the years, many get drawn into the scandal of the story and become particularly focused on the woman’s history. We are quick to pass moral judgment on the only thing we know about her beyond her identification as a Samaritan – that she has had 5 husbands and is now living with a sixth man. We mark her as some sort of wanton woman, and use this story to demonstrate how Jesus, yet again, reaches out to those sinful and lost people and offers them salvation. Admittedly, this is one of the first perspectives I thought of when I saw this text come up as one of the lectionary options. But as I’ve read it this week, I am struck by the reality that although this is mentioned as a fact, nowhere, not once, does the text label her as sinful, or really explore any of the details surrounding her circumstances. We do not hear Jesus offering words of forgiveness, or telling her “go and sin no more,” as he does with others.  Some commentators even wonder if perhaps she was widowed multiple times, married to a series of brothers in term as the law of Moses would have required. But any of this is guessing. We simply don’t know. Perhaps, then, this little detail is more of a red herring for us than anything else, and we should turn our attention instead to what the woman says and does at the well.

On the surface, it’s a pretty ordinary daily chore. Going to the well for water was routine in the 1st century, although many did it in the cooler morning hours. Here, the woman comes in the hot noon-day sun, perhaps because she has run out of water or perhaps to avoid others coming to draw water. She brings her water jug, of course, and seeks a basic essential for daily life. Although this act may seem like a bit of a novelty to us, it likely was as mundane of a task as we have doing laundry or washing dishes. She encounters a stranger, though, who interrupts her day with a favor. More than this, though, he starts speaking about water in strange and different ways. He lays it out for the woman, how this will be water that sustains and means that a person will never be thirsty again.

At first, she can’t get beyond the literal. Like Nicodemus, she is trapped by her own understanding of how the world works, and isn’t thinking in the kind of metaphor and symbolic tone that Jesus is using to teach and reveal God’s work. She points out that this man has no bucket and the well is too deep. She offers a reminder that their location is not just any well, it is Jacob’s well, Israel’s ancestor, and a sign of God’s promise and providence in its own. The conversation begins to shift, though, as the thirsty man starts to talk about “living water.” Here, the woman begins to see that this stranger at the well might be more than meets the eye. Perhaps he is one like her ancestor Jacob, through whom God provides miracles of water. A never-ending water jug would certainly make her life easier. She wouldn’t have to make the long and difficult journey every day. And so she asks for this life-giving water, still not fully comprehending what it means, but sensing that such an abundant supply would certainly make her life easier. Her focus is on having her bucket filled.

As people of faith, we often use this metaphor of filling a bucket to describe our experience of God on Sunday mornings. Worship becomes our well, and we say that we come to be filled. If we aren’t careful, this leads us to think about our worship experience as simply a routine chore of our faith, one that can become quite mundane. It can also be pretty self-centered, “my bucket is empty, so I come to get what I need,” leading us into a consumeristic mindset about our faith. But, if we’re attentive to the metaphor, it can be helpful to us. This morning is the third Sunday in Lent, and in this season we might take a good hard look at those buckets in our hands. When I was in Girl Scouts, I learned one of those annoying camp songs that begins, “there’s a hole in my bucket, Dear Liza, Dear Liza, there’s a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, a hole.” The next line goes “then fix it, dear Henry, dear Henry, then fix it dear Henry, dear Henry, fix it.” The song goes on and on, and on, quite a while with different suggestions, ultimately returning to the same reality that there is a “hole in the bucket.” I wonder sometimes if we are carrying buckets with holes in it. Some may have just a few little cracks and weaknesses that cause slow little trickles. Some may have buckets that are more like colanders. Or, maybe your bucket might be fine, but is carried so fast that water sloshes out from the top, or something from the week trips you up and all of the water spills out. And so we return, week after week, to get our buckets patched up and refilled.  We are like the Samaritan woman, coming to get water. But rather than a simple transactional encounter at the well, the woman encounters Christ.

Throughout their conversation, Jesus works to push the woman out of her literal, consumer mindset that is focused on the water. He is talking about something bigger and greater. He tips his hat by revealing to her things that a stranger certainly wouldn’t know, which gets her thinking, this guy just might be a prophet. Now, the theological conversation can begin. And it does, immediately leading to the disagreement between their peoples regarding worship. Gently, but firmly, Jesus points away from the literal discrepancy with the response that worship is more about spirit and truth than any physical location. Likewise, the dots are connected that perhaps living water is more about the literal well – and instead about something related to spirit and truth.

Jesus’ gift of “living water” pushes against the Samaritan woman’s and our understanding of what it means to come to the well. Rather than something transactional, he speaks of something that is living and moving, bubbling and constantly changing. Living water is associated with our understanding of the Holy Spirit, who moves among us and inspires us to a new way of living[iii].    This beautiful story in John’s gospel challenges this metaphor for our spiritual lives, and suggests that what Jesus has to offer means we don’t need a bucket at all. Living water breaks us from looking at faith as simply something we consume, and instead looking at faith as something that consumes us.

The conversation between the woman and Jesus ends when the disciples come back, although they stand speechless at the scandal of the situation. The text gives a dramatic pause, during which we might imagine all that has transpired soaking into the woman’s mind, as she draws some pivotal conclusions and rushes to share her story with the rest of the town, asking “could this be the Christ?” (verse 29). In her exit, John notes an important fact in verse 28. In leaving, the woman’s jar for drawing water remains at the well. Frances Taylor Gench offers that this fact:

teases our imaginations and is open to varied interpretations. Perhaps it conveys the woman’s enthusiasm and haste to share her news; perhaps she has no further need for it as she is now in possession of living water and will never thirst again (4:14); maybe even she herself has become a vessel for the gospel. Alternatively, some see it as the Johannine feminine counterpart to the Synoptic presentation of male disciples leaving their nets and boats behind to follow Jesus, or more simply, as an indication that the woman intends to return to the well. Her story is not finished yet[iv].

But her encounter at the well means that her life is forever changed.

The woman at the well becomes one of the first witnesses in John’s gospel to Jesus as the Messiah, the promised one. She is an outsider in virtually every way we could slice it, and yet is the bearer of good news. Her identification as a Samaritan brings life to the promise of John 3:16 that indeed the Savior has come for all “the world.” Even the Samaritans. In fact, it is her witness that brings the Samaritans to believe in Jesus. It is a great illustration of what it means to be a witness to Christ – to share our story and our experience of the one who knows us and could tell us everything we have ever done, and invite others to experience that as well. Her invitation, like that of Jesus throughout this gospel, is to “come and see.” Her story invites all to experience Christ, which in turn leads them to belief. This text sets the pattern for how countless others will come to faith throughout the gospel.

This text also helps set the pattern for how we should approach worship. The gospel challenges us to remember that coming to the well is about so much more than just filling your own bucket. At the well, we are met by Jesus Christ himself, who offers us the gift of living water. And once we get a taste of it, we cannot help but race away to share that with others.

In 2004, the Christian band Caedmon’s Call took a journey with several mission organizations who work in impoverished areas around the world, particularly in India and Brazil. The result of their journey is a beautiful album titled “Share the Well,” which reflects the rich diversity of rhythms and sound of the world, along with inspirational lyrics that put the gospel into action. The title track, “Share the Well,” draws from our text in John 4 and the reality that not all in the world have access to water. Our role then, quite literally, is to work to share the well that we have, helping to make sure all of God’s children have clean water to drink. Going further, I think it also serves as a powerful metaphorical message about our role in sharing our experiences of Christ, the living water. I imagine it could have been a song the Samaritan woman sang. The chorus goes like this:

Share the well, share with your brother
Share the well my friend
It takes a deeper well to love one another
Share the well my friend[v]

The gift of living water is also a call to discipleship for those who have tasted it. So friends, drink deeply, that all of your thirsts might be quenched. But don’t let it stop there. May that water become a bubbling spring in you, leading you to become living water yourself, sharing the love and grace with others, so that they, too, will experience the Messiah. Like the Samaritan woman, share the gifts Christ has given us; share the well. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

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[i] Facts shared during Time for Young Disciples that help lays some of the background for the importance of water: Water is essential to our well-being. Our brains are 75% water, and our bodies are composed of a little less than that percentage. Water regulates the temperature of the human body, carries nutrients and oxygen to cells, cushions joints, protects organs and tissues, and removes wastes. While you can live without food for almost a month, you won’t live more than a week without water. Ask any nutritionist or doctor about improving your health, and drinking more water will almost always be among their recommendations. The classic guide is to start by drinking 8 glasses (8 ounces each) each day, adjusting for weather, exercise, and other health factors (http://www.mayoclinic.org/healthy-lifestyle/nutrition-and-healthy-eating/in-depth/water/art-20044256.)

Of course, water is connected to more than just our physical beings. It is a part of virtually everything we do. We use it for cooking and cleaning; it nourishes plants and flowers and helps all living things grow. Water keeps things cool or hot as a part of different HVAC systems, and even provides energy with hydroelectric dams. “Water is part of a deeply interconnected system. What we pour on the ground ends up in our water, and what we spew into the sky ends up in our water. . . and did you know that there is the same amount of water on Earth as there was when the Earth was formed? The water in our faucets could contain molecules that dinosaurs drank.” (https://www3.epa.gov/safewater/kids/waterfactsoflife.html; http://www.beg.utexas.edu/esw/answers/2001/a3.htm).

[ii] As Gail R. O’Day explains it: “The breach between Jews and Samaritans can be traced to the Assyrian occupation of northern Palestine (721 BCE; see 2 Kings 17), but the most intense rivalry began about 200 BCE. The source of the enmity between Jews and Samaritans was a dispute about the correct location of the cultic center (cf. John 4:20). The Samaritans build a shrine on Mt. Gerizim during the Persian period and claimed that this shrine, not the Jerusalem Temple, was the proper place of worship. The shrine at Mt. Gerizim was destroyed by Jewish troops in 128 BCE, but the schism between Jews and Samaritans continued.” Gail R. O’Day, “John 4:4-42, Jesus in Samaria,” The New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume IX: Luke, John, (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995).

[iii] Gail R. O’Day, “John 4:4-42, Jesus in Samaria,” The New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume IX: Luke, John, (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995).

[iv] Frances Taylor Gench, Encounters with Jesus: Studies in the Gospel of John, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2007)

[v] “Share the Well,” performed and recorded by Caedmon’s Call, Words and Music by Randall Goodgame ©2004 Mighty Molecule Music / ASCAP (adm. by Music Services)

Sunday’s Sermon – The Gift of Help – Psalm 121, John 3:1-17

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I don’t remember the topic or even the text, but I remember clearly the details surrounding the most difficult sermon I have ever preached. It was while I was serving as an associate pastor near Baltimore, Maryland, on a Sunday when the senior pastor was scheduled to be away. Sunday morning arrived, and I got to church and went about my normal routine of greeting people and making sure Sunday School was going smoothly. I took a bit longer than usual to get to my office, but otherwise was a normal morning. I turned on my computer and sat down, only to discover that our internet was down. This wasn’t totally surprising. I went to our router and reset everything, which usually did the trick. Not this morning. I tried a few other things, following what our tech savvy person had suggested in the past. Nothing. Worship was in about 10 minutes. My sermon? That one I’d spent time and thought putting together – was sitting in my e-mail inbox, and the only one saved on my computer was a really early draft that was pretty awful. No amount of coaxing or prayers brought our internet back that morning. But alas, I had a cell phone. I could get it on my phone at least. Surely I would remember it well enough. I had this. I was a preacher, of course, with years of seminary training under my belt. And I would look so up to date preaching from my iphone. I put on my robe and worship began. It was maybe 30 seconds into the sermon that I realized how colossally bad my plan was. I did not remember what I had written well enough, and could not read the tiny words on my screen that I swear got smaller the more I tried to discreetly look at them. Touching the screen to scroll meant I instantly lost my place. I bumbled through some semblance of a sermon, and thanks to the grace of the congregation, no one got up and left. Hopefully the Holy Spirit was speaking to them, because I was pretty sure that what I was saying was less than inspirational.

After the service, the husband of our senior pastor, Jack, came up to me. He had heard of my tech issues, and reassured me that it wasn’t all bad and things would be fine. Then he paused and said, “you know you could have called me. I would have been happy to help. I could have gone home and printed it out for you, or found someone who lived even closer to do it – we would have made sure it was there before the sermon started.” His words struck me. In all of my panic and anxiety of the situation, my reaction had been to try to take care of it all myself. As scared as I was of the idea of preaching without the words in front of me, I was more scared to admit that in the 11th hour, I didn’t have what I needed. I wasn’t fully prepared. I had made a mistake and didn’t have a back-up plan. My own stubbornness and fear stood squarely in the way of my asking others to help. My pride prevented me from reaching out to others and potentially making this a fun story rather than a nightmarish one. “I would have been happy to help,” Jack said. He was a friend, someone I respected and joked with, someone I trusted. I like to think that, had this happened again, I would have remembered our conversation and turned to him for help. Fortunately, that was never put to the test. Although I am sure he would have come through, I’m not sure I would have been humble enough to remember to ask for help.

Have you ever been in this type of situation? When something goes terribly wrong and you’re in a position where you probably should just ask for help, but for whatever reason you don’t? Many things seem to stand in our way of getting the help we need. In my case, it was stubbornness and pride. Kind of like when I try to carry in all the grocery bags at once, insisting it isn’t too heavy. We live in a culture that values self-sufficiency and accomplishment. We start this pattern at a young age. Stubborn toddlers take forever to get dressed or put on shoes, retorting “I can do it myself, mom.” Rather than ask for directions, we drive in circles or get lost, insisting we know the way. When putting together that new bookcase, the instructions are tossed aside. After all, how hard can it be? Surely we can figure it out on our own. No need for the helpful instructions that were provided by the manufacturer. If we’re lucky, the times we refuse help merely inconvenience us or make simple tasks take a bit longer. A successful businessman may boast that he is a self-made man. No one has given him anything. He has accomplished things entirely on his own. We wear this like a badge of honor, even though if we dug a bit deeper we might realize it’s never fully true.

This human tendency to refuse help or pretend we don’t need it can make for a difficult, if not impossible, journey of faith. You see, to have faith means, from the very beginning, that we acknowledge there is a higher power at work in the world, God, and that we are not him. The famous Reformed theologian John Calvin insisted that we as humans are “utterly dependent” on God. We can do nothing apart from God. That is at the core of what it means to journey through the season of Lent. It is a time when we become more and more aware of just how deeply we are reliant on God’s grace, and perhaps shift how we live our lives in response to what God has done for us. Lent prepares us for the good news of Easter by reminding us just how much we need God to overcome the powers of sin and death – because clearly we cannot do it on our own. Lent reminds us that we need help. The Psalmist reminds us where that help comes from.

Psalm 121 is part of a collection of 15 psalms (Psalms 120-134) that are labeled as “Songs of Ascents.” Many assume that this group of psalms were the songs and prayers sung by pilgrims on their way to celebrate one of the great Jewish festivals, such as Passover. One translation even labels them as “songs of steps[i].” They were the road trip songs of God’s people, ones that accompanied them along the way.

The psalm begins with a pilgrim looking to the hills. On one hand, this image is a poetic one, reminding us of the common idea that God is physically located in a high place, like a hilltop or cloud. That is, after all, where the people of Israel had most often encountered the divine. To begin the song this way means that the author is setting his sights on God for the journey. There is a focus and attention that reminds us of a spiritual journey, where God is front and center, where God is the destination. On the other hand, though, to look to the hills might also recognize that the road ahead is not necessarily smooth or easy. Hills require much more energy and physical strength to travel. They will give you more of a work-out, and require you to labor a bit harder. Hills are also known to be less safe. You can’t always see what is around the corner. In ancient times, hills and rocky passes left many places for robbers and thieves to hide. Going to the hills meant certain danger. Some commentators favor this view of the Psalm, as it explains why the question that follows is the plea, “from where will my help come?”

The Psalm continues with a strong affirmation that the God who created all that is, even us, will be the one who provides help. Whether the road is easy or tough, God is there. Our help comes from the Lord. This is good and reassuring news that we do not have to do it alone. Such a perspective reminds us that we believe in a God who is all-powerful and all-knowing, an all-encompassing God who will not abandon ship at the first sign of trouble. In fact, we worship a God who stares the dangers of the hills in the face and will not be moved. A God who is able and willing, and ready, to help. This week, Nathan has been singing a children’s song that goes “my God is so big, so strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do!”. That’s the gist of this Psalm.

The challenge, though, I think, is for us to actually let God be our helper. While the reminder of God’s power and might are inspiring, they can also be tough to embrace if we’re honest about it. We don’t often relinquish control over things, particularly our very lives, without a fight. Instead, we try our own way instead, refusing help even when it is readily offered. Our text today asks us to consider letting some of our own tightly held things go, so that we might have room for God to be a bigger part of our journey in the hills. That is the journey we make in Lent.

The first steps to discipleship, or deeper relationship with God, often involve letting go of ourselves a bit. In this way, we might find some helpful parallels with the process that 12-step groups have used for many years to assist those who are recovering from addiction. The first step is admitting that we are powerless and that our lives have become unmanageable. In other words, we admit that we need help. The second step is to come to believe that a Power greater than ourselves can restore us to sanity. In other words, that God can provide the help we need. The third step is to make a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understand Him. In other words, to lift our eyes to the hills and seek God’s help.

It isn’t always easy to ask for help. Sometimes we only have the courage to do it in quiet and subtle ways. If we had read the full context for our verses in John’s gospel this morning, beginning with chapter 3 verse 1, we would come across the story of Nicodemus, a Pharisee, leader of the Jews, on a nighttime journey. Under the secrecy and cover of darkness, he dared to come to Jesus with some very important questions of faith. Some scholars suggest that Nicodemus himself believed in Jesus, evidenced by his later involvement at the end of the gospel.  Regardless of intentions, though, his questions sought to better understand the God he worshiped, particularly the notion of entering God’s kingdom. I think it’s clear that, in a nutshell, Nicodemus is coming to Christ – to God – for help. And Jesus replied in ways similar to the affirmations made by the Psalmist. He reminds Nicodemus of God’s power and might, of the ways in which God is the very source of life itself. And, in case that isn’t enough, he says those famous words that foreshadow his death and resurrection: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” (John 3:16).

These words of promise are confirmation that God will always be there to help – throughout eternity. Going further, the next verse reminds Nicodemus that God’s way of helping is not through judgment, but through love and redemption. God won’t be that friend who claims to be helping simply by pointing out all of the things you have done wrong. Yes, God absolutely sees and knows the ways in which we are flawed and have made a mess out of whatever we have tried to do. But God also sees through that and into our hearts, and in love reaches out, over and over again, so that our mistakes are not the final word on who we are. This redemption is the work of Jesus Christ. That’s the whole message of the cross that we are journeying to this Lent. And if we don’t recognize just how much we need God’s help, we will miss how big of a deal this really is.

“But what about here and now,” you may wonder, “how does God actually help?” Ask the Psalmist. Six times in these 8 verses, the Psalmist talks about God as “keeper.”To be kept implies a level of care and attention that only comes from love. Writer Robert Fisher notes:

There is a big difference between having and keeping. For instance, I might have a favorite sweater. It is my possession. However, I keep my puppy dog. He is not merely a possession; he is my beloved dog. He is dear to me. Therefore, I watch over him not for my sake, but for his. I protect him from harm because if he suffers, it hurts me too. Likewise, God does not merely have us. God keeps us. We are God’s beloved, and immeasurably dear to God. We are not merely possessions in the eyes of the Lord, because if we suffer, it hurts God too. Psalm 121 celebrates the fact that the Lord is our keeper[ii].

God is that stronghold that will never fail. The steadfast friend who is always there to help. The one we can trust with even our biggest failures, and know that in the end, God will still love us. God is always there, hand outstretched, heart wide open, ready to help. This is a gift of grace. This is a gift of love. It is a gift of help, ready for us to accept. Our very lives depend on it. Amen.

 

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

 

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[i] John Eaton, “Psalm 121: The Hills of Hope,” The Psalms: A Historical and Spiritual Commentary with an Introduction and New Translation. (London: T & T Clark International, 2003).

[ii] Robert W. Fisher, “Pastoral Perspective: Psalm 121,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

 

Ash Wednesday Sermon – Where the Heart Is – Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

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“How is it with your Soul?” is the question John Wesley would ask at the beginning of a small group gathering. Wesley was an 18th century Anglican priest, better known as an evangelist who started the Methodist movement. He traveled to England preaching the Gospel on the streets to thousands of people, forming societies to disciple converts to mature faith in Jesus through an emphasis on holiness of heart and life. These societies formed small groups called Bands that met on a weekly basis to pray, worship, and discuss the spiritual condition of their hearts. Although the discussions varied, the starting question was always the same.

“How is it with your Soul?” This is such a personal, deep question. Educators know that you often have to warm up a small group, asking simple and safe questions to get a discussion going. Not so with Wesley, he dove deep from the very start, cutting to the chase and setting the tone for these group meetings – namely, that what they were talking about was both a serious and a personal matter.

Tonight, as we begin the season of Lent, this is the question that confronts us. We start a 40 day period of time, not including Sundays, that is designed to be an intense time of self-reflection and introspection. It reminds us of the time that Jesus spent in the wilderness following his baptism, described in the gospels as a time of trial and testing. Lent seeks to strip us down, remove those distractions in our lives, and helps us focus our attentions on what really matters in our lives – the very condition of our souls. Or, to put it in the words of Jesus at the end of our text this evening, where are our hearts?

For us, the word “heart” does not really carry the weight it did in Biblical times. We associate it with Valentine’s day and romantic love, and often leave it at that. In contrast, the word “heart” appears more than a thousand times in the Bible, and is seen as a comprehensive metaphor for the self. As Marcus Borg describes it, in Scripture:

The heart is an image for the self at a deep level, deeper than our perception, intellect, emotion, and volition. As the spiritual center of the total self, it affects all of these: our sight, thought, feelings, and will[i].

So, to identify where one’s heart is means identifying what is at the center of one’s core identity and motivations in this life. What is it that drives everything else?

Our text indicates that finding the location of our hearts is as easy as looking to where our treasures are. There are many things that we treasure, aren’t there? We first think about material possessions – our homes, cars, clothing, all the “stuff” that we have surrounded ourselves with to try to make us feel happy, successful and fulfilled. Other things we treasure because of their meaningfulness to us – a family heirloom for example, a childhood teddy bear. In my family of origin, there is an ongoing debate between my siblings and me about a set of plastic ketchup and mustard containers that look like pigs, and who will inherit them. They have minimal “real” value, but tremendous nostalgia for us – they are treasures. One commentator notes that:

“Treasure is defined by being a focus of attention, energy, imagination, and resourcefulness. While we often think of the treasures that Jesus warns against as material goods, “treasures upon the earth” is probably a wider category, encompassing not only physical possessions but such values as success, security, happiness, or even life itself [ii].”

We can treasure non-material things, too. Whether it is a focus on physical appearance, promotions at work, our reputation, or a gift or ability. There are many things in our lives that are important to us and that we value. Lent asks us to consider which of these “treasures” might be getting in the way of our relationship with God.

 

To help discern this, many use these 40 days as an opportunity to deny themselves something – from chocolate to soda to Facebook. I’ve even seen countless postings suggesting that people use this season to literally de-clutter their homes, from putting one item in a donation bag each day, to filling one bag each day, ending up with a pile of 40 bags of “stuff” that we no longer need.  These can be valuable ways to help us identify where we really are placing our time and energy. But, Lent is about more than just depriving ourselves of something we enjoy or kicking a bad habit. And it has to be more than about a good spring cleaning for our homes. It is about where our heart is in all of this. The key to any of these practices of “giving things up for Lent” is to remember that by freeing ourselves from the binds of these other “treasures” in the world, we believe we might be more open to deepening our relationship with God. Our hearts have to have this intention in order to make it a spiritual practice, rather than just a self-improvement tool.

There’s another way some approach Lenten disciplines, and that is by adding a spiritual practice. One of my friends is using these 40 days to intentionally take walks on her own and be more aware of the world around her. She intends for these walks to be a way of embodied prayer, making her slow down and spend intentional time on her spiritual life. Often, additions like these incorporate the three traditional spiritual practices of Lent – Almsgiving (or service), prayer, and fasting. These ways of living out faith have deep biblical roots, and have been practiced by Christians throughout the centuries as a way of drawing closer to God. However, sometimes our best intentions for these practices end up misguided. As Patrick Wilson notes:

God gives us the good gifts of almsgiving, prayer, and fasting so that we may draw near to God, and we anxiously transform them into performances[iii].

If we aren’t careful, we turn these practices into being all about us – how pious and good we are at being Christian. They become just like treasures to us, distracting our hearts from what matters.

This is the caution Jesus is giving in the Sermon on the Mount to those who are practicing their faith in ways that are more about showing off to others than showing up with God. Lavish displays of how much money is placed in an offering plate, boasting about how much one does for the church to get the recognition of others, prayers that are over the top and meant for others to overhear (perhaps more than God), and fasting done to such an extreme that it is paraded around to garner the sympathy and respect of others. All of these examples, Jesus indicates, seem to miss the point. They have become more about the person’s ego than about their relationship with God. Jesus shines the spotlight in these examples on our tendency to be self-absorbed, even in our faith practices. In these instances, the heart is misplaced in pride and self-interest.

In our desire to be “seen by others,” “heard by others,” and “praised by others,” we lose touch with the very theological foundations of this faith: communion with and the glorification of God[iv].

Lent humbles us out of these ways, and seeks to help us get our hearts back in the right place.

Because when we start to really look around us, we realize that our hearts are often surrounded by “treasures” that may in fact be building walls around us that close us off from God. And on top of those treasures, we see all those other instances of ways in which we have become separated from the people God has created us to be. We notice our sinfulness, a painful reflection in the mirror and looming tower before us. On Ash Wednesday, we begin to break down those walls and are left with a mess. The dust of our mess marks us as we place ashes on our forehead. We are reminded of our sinfulness and our mortality. At the same time, though, we are marked with the cross, a reminder of whose we are, a God who not only sits on the hillside with us, but went to that same cross that marks us this night for us, so that sin and death would never have the final world. On this night, we can be marked with a sign of death because we know that we worship a God who can overcome it. Our ashes are a witness to our belief that we cannot do this on our own – we are solely and utterly dependent on God.

And so we speak the words of the Psalmist in prayer, “Create in me a clean heart, O God,” expressing our desire to get our hearts in the right place again, and humbly asking God to help us in that task. In these 40 days of Lent, may we trust God to put a new and right spirit within us, so that the treasures we have in this world, and indeed our very hearts, might also be with the Lord. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

[i] Marcus J. Borg, The Heart of Christianity: Rediscovering a Life of Faith, (New York: HarperOne, 2003).

[ii] Stanley P. Saunders, “Exegetical Perspective: Matthew 6:19-21,” Feasting on the Gospels, Matthew, Volume 1, Chapters 1-13, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).

[iii] Patrick J. Willson, “Homiletical Perspective: Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

[iv] Douglas John Hall, “Theological Perspective: Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

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 Wednesday, July 16 beginning at 12:30 pm   

 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 welcome to help pack food boxes on Monday, June 30th at 10 am and Monday, July 14th at 10 am in the Fellowship Hall. 

Food Pantry distribution volunteer opportunity Wednesday, July 16 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)