Heritage Presbyterian Church

Love Grows Here

Sunday’s Sermon – Incarnational Living – Hebrews 13:1-8

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How are you doing today? It’s a question we tend to answer multiple times a day, so much so that it’s become a cursory response. “fine” “good” “ok” “busy, but good” are all culturally acceptable responses, and they may indeed be our true answers. But what about when we have other answers to give? What if we have accomplished something incredible and we want to share how proud we are. What if life is going really well and we have a lot to celebrate. Those responses seem to go over pretty well. And then, there are the other answers. The ones that answer the question just as honestly, but are not really what the asker is looking for. What if we are tired because we have been going non-stop for who knows how many weeks now and we are desperate for a break. What if we are struggling with the weight of the world and our lives in such a way that just getting dressed and out the door was a challenge. What if we are angry and irritated because we’ve just had a fight with a loved one. What if we are anxious or worried because we don’t know how a situation in our lives is going to work out. Typically, I’ll venture that many of us conceal these types of answers, and substitute a “fine” when asked, because we know that the one asking was just making polite conversation, and probably doesn’t want us to go into the whole answer. And, as a result, we engage in routine transactional conversations like this day in and day out, seemingly forming relationships with each other based on reciprocity.

“Let mutual love continue.” This morning, I want to offer that the writer of Hebrews calls us to a different level of engagement with each other. This isn’t just a “hey- ask each other how they are doing, then smile and nod and be on your way.” It is a radical call to be in community with each other in ways that reflect honesty and solidarity. If the rest of the letter is filled with what it means to “do good” and “be good” and follow in the footsteps of the legends of faith, here the author concludes with an earnest plea that this way of living not be solitary, and outlines ways in which that is lived out with these words about community.

The illustrations are striking: offering hospitality to strangers, no doubt referencing Abraham and Sarah’s welcoming of the 3 visitors in Genesis, and spending time with those in prison or who are tortured, along with a note about a marital bed. All have one thing in common: they are places where people, where we, are the most vulnerable.  And that is a hard place to be. I’d venture a guess that’s the reason we hesitate to dig deeper into that “how are you doing” question; because it comes in times and places where we don’t want to make ourselves vulnerable, or slow down to really just be with each other.

Do you have someone in your life to whom you can honestly answer the question “how are you doing?” Or, perhaps even more importantly, when you ask that question are you prepared for the fullness of possibilities it brings? Can those you ask give you their most honest answer? If so, you’re on the way to mutual love. Seeking to go deeper in relationships with others, it is said that John Wesley would open small group meetings with the question “how is it with your soul?” Cursory answers don’t quite fit that. Instead, it’s a deep look in the eyes of another person, and following up that social exchange with “but really. How are you?” Such a question opens the door to truly being in a community with each other that is marked by mutual love, because it opens the door to hearing and holding the challenges others experience in life.

This kind of listening is difficult. More often than not, we approach those experiencing challenges or vulnerability with sympathy. We feel sorry for their situation and attempt to offer some sort of condolences, support, or pity. Doing this is a start, but also continues to keep us at a distance. What the writer of Hebrews pushes, I think, is a more engaged and relational way of being with each other.

Dr Brené Brown is a best-selling author, speaker and research professor. She has spent the past decade studying vulnerability, courage, worthiness, and shame[i]. She argues that the best way to ease someone’s pain and suffering is not sympathy, but empathy. The Royal Society for the encouragement of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce, whose mission is to enrich society through ideas and action, put some of her words with animation to explain the distinction between sympathy and empathy, and what it means to have a genuine empathetic connection, or, as I would offer, a genuine mutual love connection. Let’s check it out:

https://www.thersa.org/discover/videos/rsa-shorts/2013/12/Brene-Brown-on-Empathy

What makes something better is connection. That is Hebrews 13 in a nutshell, maybe even the whole letter and in some ways the sum of all of our scriptures. As people of God, we are a connectional people – not just on some surface passing on the street level, but on a meaningful and significant level as siblings in Christ. Theologican Dietrich Bonhoeffer said:

We belong to one another only through and in Jesus Christ[ii].

He continued to note, as you see on your bulletin cover, that through Christ, we have been given this gift of community with God and with each other, and called to actively participate in it[iii].

In Jesus Christ, God modeled what mutual love was all about. Rather than just look down from a cloud and say “wow, that’s a pretty messed up world. You want a sandwich?” God became flesh and lived among us. Literally came down into the world so that God would know what the human experience was like firsthand. God didn’t just have sympathy for the way things were in the world. God had empathy. God was present with God’s people, just as God had been since the beginning when God led the people of Israel through the wilderness with a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night (see Exodus 13). In Jesus, God continues to be faithful. God sits next to us when we are overwhelmed. God stops to listen to whatever answer we have to that question “how are you?” God promises us that we will never be alone, to the end of the age. We know this as the incarnation, and it sets the tone for how we relate to God, and how we relate to each other.  When we live in empathy, we live out an incarnational theology, reflecting a God who comes alongside us and is present with us as we seek to come alongside and be present with each other.

Maybe it starts by truly asking each other how we are doing, and taking the time to listen. Maybe it continues by finding spaces where we can be brave and vulnerable in ways that open us up to answering with the most honesty we can muster. Maybe then we will be entertaining angels. At the very least, children of God.

Let mutual love continue . . . And, how are you doing today? Amen.

Sermon by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, Heritage Presbyterian Church, September 1, 2019

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[i] https://www.thersa.org/discover/videos/rsa-shorts/2013/12/Brene-Brown-on-Empathy

[ii] Bonhoeffer.

[iii] “Christian brotherhood is not an ideal which we must realize; it is rather a reality created by God in Christ in which we may participate.” Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together: The Classic Exploration of Christian Community, trans. and introduction by John W. Doberstein, (New York: HarperOne, 1954).

 

 

Sunday’s Sermon – Looking to Jesus – Hebrews 11:29-2:2

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It started in middle school. About this time every year, just after the school year began, so did our soccer season. But there were a few weeks before coaches could technically lead practices, so in my school, the middle and high school teams combined and were led in “training and conditioning” afternoons. After school we would gather outside of the locker room and the senior team captains would announce the plans for the day. Almost always we began with a long run through the school’s neighborhood. It was southern Alabama. In August. Hot. Humid. You get the idea. Miserable. And few of us had done much running over the summer, so it was pretty brutal. As some of you know, I’m not a runner. I’ve heard of this so-called “runner’s euphoria” that people exhibit after running a few miles and getting into “the zone,” but it has not been my experience. Instead, sheer survival has been my approach. I survived those soccer conditioning days with grit and clinging to the idea of focusing on what was ahead. Quite literally. An older player taught me that, instead of looking down the loooong stretch of road we had to cover (and then come back), to just look a few feet in front of me at a time. Then, to look at the light poles, and focus on running just to the next pole. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, one light pole to the next. That’s what it takes to finish the race set before you; knowing where to look.

I wonder if the writer of Hebrews would give similar advice. This general epistle is written to an early group of believers who are, well, struggling with the process of getting in shape to follow a new faith system. They need a pep talk. As John Shelley describes it:

The writer of Hebrews has introduced the idea of faith as the courage to endure, in an effort to stiffen the spines of the little band of Christians struggling with hostility, ridicule, and shame[i].

Throughout chapter 11, he gives a long litany of heroes and heroines from the Hebrew Scriptures. This is a famous listing of names, from Abraham and Moses to the names we read this morning. It’s like a “who’s who” of the earliest parts of Scripture, no doubt names and stories familiar to this letter’s readers. It is a Cliff’s notes version, summarizing thousands of years of history into a few phrases each time, as if to jog the memory of those who know the fuller story. Together, they make up this amazing cloud of witnesses.

You know that long road I mentioned? It had a dead end. That meant that we ran to its end, then reversed the path to get back to our school campus. If you were in the back of the group, you would see others coming your direction, meaning that turn was near. But more encouraging than this, was the regular practice of high-fives from those leading the way, and the shouts of encouragement that we could pick up the pace. That’s the kind of work that the cloud of witnesses do for us in faith; this listing is one high five after another from those who have walked the road of life before us in faith, giving us confidence to do the same.

To those new to the faith, the writer points out “hey, look! Here’s a whole host of people who have come before you, who have had tremendous obstacles and challenges, too, and by faith, have made it through. If they can do it, so can you!”

What has helped God’s people deal with discouragement since the beginning is the knowledge that we are not alone. We follow in the footsteps of people from the earliest biblical times who were unsure of what the future held for them. We follow in the footsteps of saints who along the way chose to trust God anyway. We follow at God who does not abandon us in times of trouble[ii].

The penultimate example of this of course? Jesus Christ. He is the “pioneer and perfecter” of our faith, running the race before us, blazing the trail, and setting the pace and cadence. He is the experienced runner who jogs along beside us, effortlessly, with words of encouragement. He is the one who reminds us of the fundamentals: to breathe in through our nose and not our mouth, and what part of the foot to put on the ground first. And if we get distracted, or aren’t quite sure where the course lies, he provides direction and guidance, keeping our eyes focused on what is ahead – not too far, not too near. And, at the risk of ruining this metaphor, he’s probably also the water station and medic, ready with supplies in case of an emergency or injury or to scoop us up if the race becomes too much for us, and who stands cheering at the finish line saying “see! I know you could do it!” The idea of Jesus as the most elite athlete of faith and coach is not hard to wrap our minds around, and provides the kind of pep talk that we may need to keep going.

This morning at our 11:00 service we will/have baptize a wonderfully sweet child of God, Jackson. In this sacrament, we celebrate that Christ has won the race and is victorious over everything, even death. We affirm that we belong on God’s team, and that nothing can separate us from God’s love because of the one who claims us in these waters. We welcome those who are baptized into the family of God, and promise to be the cloud of witnesses for them. By faith, we affirm they belong to God. By faith, we promise to walk alongside them as parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, friends, and the church universal, encouraging them to keep going in their journey of faith. We do all of this because, by faith, we believe in the power and example set in Jesus Christ, and look to him above everything else. Jesus Christ is that light pole to look toward, marking our lives step by step, moment by moment, with God’s grace. Baptism puts us on the starting blocks of our lives of faith, trusting Jesus to carry us from there.

What I love about the writer of Hebrew’s metaphor of the race in relation to faith in Christ is that it encompasses the fullness of the ups and downs of life. The writer reminds us that Jesus’ road was far from easy with the inclusion of the shame of the cross that he endured. But rather than dwell on the violence and the horrors of it, we are pointed to Jesus’ approach as one of focusing on the joy at the end. It seems that finding a focal point ahead is the key to enduring challenges along the way. Mary Foskett writes:

Life is difficult and the Christian life is no exception. In fact, discipleship will likely entail new challenges and unanticipated costs. The key for the author of the letter to the Hebrews is that faith discerns where real life is to be found, knows which values are true and which are counterfeit, and endures hardship in the face of divine promise[iii].

Our text for today focuses our lives again on being faithful to a God who is faithful to us. With Christ as our focal point, we are able to put one foot in front of the other and continue on the race, even if we are moving slower than a turtle through peanut butter. Everything comes into perspective.

Faith allows [us] to see beyond what is right in front of [us], [our]daily problems, to see what God is doing in [our] midst, to see what God has done throughout the ages, and to see the future joy God has in store for us[iv].

There’s an old spiritual that captures this truth. It begins “In the morning, when I rise” which leads to the ask, “give me Jesus.” But it doesn’t end there. The verses continue “and when I feel alone”; and “when I come to die.” In all of these, and presumably everything in between, the singer reflects a deep longing for the one who will bring us life. All along the way, one post at a time, we need Jesus. When things are new and fresh like a morning, and our lives seem brimming with potential and excitement for what might be, in hope we need Jesus. When things are isolating and challenging, and our cries seem to echo around us without response, in pain we need Jesus. When things come to an end and we feel all of those mixed emotions, in grief and in peace we need Jesus.

That is the heart of the Hebrews message – to look to Jesus in all times, especially when the road gets long, for it is our faith in him that will lead us forward and give us the courage to just take one. more. step. The road is laid out before us. A cloud of witnesses is cheering us on. May we have the faith to look to Christ and run in his direction. Amen.

~Sermon by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, August 18, 2019
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[i] John C. Shelley, “Theological Perspective: Hebrews 11:29-2:2,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).
[ii] David E. Gray, “Pastoral Perspective: Hebrews 11:29-2:2,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).
[iii] https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=4153
[iv] David E. Gray, “Pastoral Perspective: Hebrews 11:29-2:2,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

Sunday’s Sermon – On Trial – Isaiah 1:1, 10-20

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“May it please the court.” Though not in every case, these words often begin courtroom proceedings. Throughout high school and college, they were part of a standard for the mock trial teams I was on as we addressed the fictitious courtroom in competitions. They established a rhythm and guided us into the argument. This morning, as we approach our text from Isaiah, it’s appropriate to parallel it with the patterns of our legal justice system, for the verses we find in this chapter are just that: a courtroom scene.

Isaiah 1:1 is essentially the “May it please the court.” It is the introduction that locates this prophet within a certain place and time. Namely, that this is a vision given to a particular person from Judah, the southern kingdom of God’s people, during the reign of particular kings, making the historical timeline around the 8th century B.C.E. From this we know a bit more about how to locate this text among the first hearers of its message:

The Assyrian campaign of 701 BCE has left Judah devastated. The nation is sick. From head to toe, the body does not have a single healthy, sound spot. . . Only Jerusalem is left, and that city’s condition is tenuous[i].

To these people of God comes Isaiah, whose name is a combination of the root words in Hebrew for God and salvation, and can roughly be translated to mean “God has saved” or “God will save.” From the start, we get a sense that his prophecy will include a recurring theme of God’s saving sovereignty over history and all the nations. And indeed it does. These parallels are why it is such a meaningful book in the Hebrew scriptures for us as Christians who believe that Jesus Christ is the fulfillment of the prophecies for the coming of the Messiah. What might seem just a cursory introduction verse for us actually tells us quite a bit about what we will hear next. The verses that follow are like the prosecutor’s opening statement, telling us what to look for in the evidence that will be presented. They illustrate the prophet’s passion for God’s message of salvation as well as God’s concern for justice, laying the groundwork for the beautiful and challenging poetry that will come.

With the stage set, the prophet launches into the brutal honesty of the facts. Verses 2-9, which are skipped in the lectionary, present some harsh evidence about what my study bible labels “the wickedness of Judah.” The charges are read, if you will. A courtroom parallel might be that these are pre-trial stipulations. That is, that both sides have agreed that a certain set of statements are true. In the case of God vs. the people of Judah, the picture looks pretty bleak from the start.

Verses 10-20 unleash God’s response. To get a sense of what he’s saying, hear again part of this passage as it’s relayed in Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase:

Quit your worship charades.
 I can’t stand your trivial religious games:
Monthly conferences, weekly Sabbaths, special meetings—
 meetings, meetings, meetings—I can’t stand one more!
Meetings for this, meetings for that. I hate them!
 You’ve worn me out!
I’m sick of your religion, religion, religion,
 while you go right on sinning.
When you put on your next prayer-performance,
    I’ll be looking the other way.
No matter how long or loud or often you pray,
    I’ll not be listening

And do you know why? Because you’ve been tearing
    people to pieces, and your hands are bloody [ii].

Yikes. This is a tough message to swallow. This, in some ways, is the point. Isaiah presents a powerful and scathing message, meant to jar listeners to change their behaviors. And for those of us sitting in the sanctuary for worship this week, with no less than THREE committee meetings on our calendar of events, we might be shifting in our seats in a bit of uneasiness or even outright shock, wondering if we have parallels with the 8th century BCE after all. Those places of uneasiness, I think, are the Spirit that encourages us to examine and critique our own lives, so that we might grow to be more faithful.

As we consider this text in relation to our lives today, though, we might get hung up on one of the things that Isaiah identifies as being particularly problematic – the unworthy sacrifices being offered that God rejects. As Christians, we tend to not have a good understanding of their role in ancient Jewish practice, so Anna Case-Winters offers us a quick summary to catch up. She notes that:

There are different kinds of offerings. Some are understood purely as gifts to God. Peace offerings are meant to signal a reconciled relation with God. Other offerings are intended as expiation for breaches of ritual committed in ignorance. Forgiveness of other kinds of wrongs or wrongs done knowingly is never related to sacrifice, but is dependent upon repentance and confession. There is no understanding of divine forgiveness being “purchased” by sacrifice (propitiation)[iii].

In other words, the sacrifices and offerings that the people were making comprised a majority of the same components that we address with our acts of worship: our offering of praise and thanksgiving through hymns and affirmations of faith; our reflections on the Scripture, and yes, the admission of our shortfalls with confession. The issue here is not that the people of God have missed something they were supposed to be doing in order to receive God’s favor. God doesn’t work on a system of quid pro quo. Forgiveness is always the gracious act of God, even in the Hebrew scriptures.  However, it seems that God’s people have tried to make it this way.

The priests in Jerusalem had been highly successful in increasing religious display. They apparently taught the people that the more sacrifices they made, the greater the chance that their desires would be grated. The fatter the animal, the better the reward[iv].

The people of Judah have been attempting to manipulate God’s goodness and favor with sacrificial offerings, as if God could be bought or bribed. And when this becomes what happens, the sacrifices become less about God, and more about the self-centered people who offer them.

We hear similar messages in Psalm 50, and also in Amos, Hosea, and Micah. All push against the offering of sacrifices or other worship rituals done for show or simply done out of obligation. They insist that they are idle exercises unless true change happens within. Put quite simply, the prophetic witness tells God’s people, over and over again, that our faith is not just about going through the motions and doing all the right steps or saying the right things. It has to be about something more.

Isaiah is calling out the people of Judah’s hypocrisy. What he has observed is that even those claiming to be the most pious have gotten caught up in the pageantry and display of worship, or of going through the motions, and have lost sight of the relationship that their worship has to their lives and their hearts. What really is “on trial” here, then, is not so much the methodologies of sacrifice and worship practices, but the hearts of the worshipers themselves. Isaiah is not suggesting that we not worship. But rather, that we pay better attention to our lives outside of the sanctuary; because what happens in the world shouldn’t be separate from what happens in our worship. That separation is what is so offensive to the prophet and to God.

We can’t simply go through the motions and assume that everything will be magically right with the world. Our worship, in order to be pleasing to God, must be linked with the lives we live. When it isn’t, our faith is emptyhanded. In the wake of yet another round of mass shootings, there has been sharp critique for those who offer “thoughts and prayers” to those experiencing tragedy in El Paso and Dayton. Every time I hear someone blow off genuine expressions of sympathy I get pretty cranky. After all, as a Christian, I believe we are indeed called to pray for those who are struggling. Last week, I heartbreakingly read the names of countless cities who had been impacted by gun violence with multiple victims; a staggering list in just one week’s time, with 2 major stories in the 24 hours preceding our worship. In times of tragedy and fear and terrorism, sometimes the only thing we can think to do is pray. And that is a good and faithful response. But the thing is; prayer can’t just be the only thing we do. If we truly take Isaiah’s words to heart, we must consider that our prayers beckon us into real, tangible action in the world. Otherwise, they are offered up almost in vain and leave us emptyhanded with a hollow faith.

This text convicts the parts of us that try to separate our lives to the point that we end up with “Sunday morning selves” and “rest of the week selves.” Not good enough, says the prophet. If we want to truly worship and offer ourselves to God, we have to do the work outside of these walls, too. This is the work of the people of God. In our communion prayers we ask that we be living and holy sacrifices. That means we are committed to being a part of God’s work in the world, not just thinking or praying about God doing it. Fortunately, Isaiah gives a pretty good listing of ways in which we can marry the two. As The Message puts it:

Say no to wrong.
    Learn to do good.
Work for justice.
    Help the down-and-out.
Stand up for the homeless.
    Go to bat for the defenseless[v]

It is when we do these things that we live into the covenant God created with us.

When it comes to a trial, the general advice is that the attorney should always end by asking the judge or jury for the verdict they desire, so that is the final thought. In Isaiah 1, God’s final word is not one of condemnation, but one of grace.  “Come, let us argue it out,” God says, inviting us into reconciling conversation. The verb in this verse even:

comes from the language of the law court, and it refers to the kind of discourse that results in the disclosure of the truth[vi].

But rather than a dramatic trial in which God takes all of our offerings and shows how flimsy they really are, God offers words of promise and reconciliation. Nothing is beyond God’s redemption. In fact, God can and will transform everything into its pure state. Here, God shifts from prosecutor into arbiter, offering a path to forgiveness. God offers grace. It is not a cheap grace, but grace offered in the midst of our mess, from one who longs for us to be rehabilitated and restored once again.

This passage puts our lives, even and especially our spiritual lives “on trial” from start to finish. Isaiah deftly navigates the complexities of the lives of the people of Judah, and us today, with a beautiful poetry that weaves together a tight and concise case. The evidence is overwhelming; the offenses made clear. His words should prompt, then, a sharp examination of ourselves up against the vision God has for us as God’s own people, during which we likely discover the many ways in which we fall short and screw things up.  But then comes the final offer of proof and request not for a punishment, but for reconciliation and the opportunity to turn things around. God is not finished with God’s people yet. Would we dare to accept this as the verdict?

That is the question left to the people of Judah, and to us today. Knowing of God’s displeasure with some of our choices and simultaneous desire to be in relationship with us to right these wrongs into a new way of living, how will we respond?

~Sermon by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, August 11, 2019

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[i] Gary W. Light, Isaiah, Interpretation Bible Studies, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001).
[ii] Eugene Peterson, The Message.
[iii] Anna Case-Winters, “Theological Perspective: Isaiah 1:1, 10-20,” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010)
[iv] Gary W. Light, Isaiah, Interpretation Bible Studies, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001).
[v] Eugene Peterson, The Message.
[vi] Charles B. Cousar, Beverly R. Gaventa, J. Clinton McCann, James D. Newsome, “Proper 14” Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary based on the NRSV – Year C, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1994)

Sunday’s Sermon – Great Christological Hymns- Philippians 2:1-11, Colossians 1:15-20

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The context for this sermon is within a “hymn sing” worship service, where congregational favorites are sung throughout the liturgy, and the majority of the sermon is also sung by the congregation.

Do you hear the people sing?
Singing a song of angry men?
It is the music of a people
Who will not be slaves again
When the beating of your heart
Echoes the beating of the drums
There is a life about to start
When tomorrow comes[ii]

This iconic song marks a turning point in the classic musical Les Miserables. It is a song of people coming together for revolution, proclaiming their truth in a cadence that builds into powerful chorus. It will likely make you want to sing along, and may get stuck in your head. Sorry. This, along with other power ballads, is a testimony to the fact that through song, we proclaim our truth. As Christians, this is especially true, and experienced in the power of our music and hymns.

Hymns, more than just being nice ways to break up a long-winded preacher, are ways in which the church have proclaimed those things that are most central to our faith. It’s no surprise, then, that so many of them are about Jesus Christ. The story of Christ’s birth, life, death, and resurrection is the most powerful truth that we tell, and worthy of as many songs as we have breath. Amen?

The passages we read this morning as examples of perhaps how the early church professed its faith in lyric. Both seem to be additions by Paul into his respective letters to the Philippians and Colossians, adopted from an emerging tradition. Each presents the most important aspects of the story of God incarnate in ways that, hopefully, became a tune that would develop into the song of the people.

To sing about Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, as God incarnate, as the first-born of all creation and reconciler of all, and also humble and a servant; well, those are pretty big and audacious claims. They are bold assertions that are meant to rock the boat and challenge the status quo. That is what it means to proclaim the gospel after all. To say these words in some sort of early church recited liturgy was like the hushed whisper in which the song begins in Les Mis. And one by one, the chorus grows, until all are singing together in strength and joy.

As 21st century Christians, we don’t often think about our hymns as being particularly revolutionary. Indeed, many push-back at the idea of any change to our tunes with “new hymns”. If we’re honest, we might admit that we grow a bit complacent in our singing, enjoying the melodies and familiar lyrics and the opportunity to stretch our legs a bit. This morning, I’d like to challenge you to pay attention a bit more to the hymns that we sing and the power they contain, especially those that we sing about the one we say is Lord. These are hymns about power and transformation, both within us, and within our world. And friends, both within us, and within our world, we need the revolutionary power of Jesus Christ. The good news is; we know it is possible. We have experienced the empty tomb and therefore can sing the fullness of the story, confident and hopeful for God’s power and presence not just on the horizon, but here with us now. In Christ, a new day comes! And so we sing.

That famous song appears a second time in Les Mis at the end of the show in the Epilogue, with slightly changed lyrics that echo the joys of revolution in such a way that you could even wonder if they were also singing about faith, too. It goes like this:

Do you hear the people sing
Lost in the valley of the night?
It is the music of a people
Who are climbing to the light.

For the wretched of the earth
There is a flame that never dies.
Even the darkest night will end
And the sun will rise.

They will live again in freedom
In the garden of the Lord.
We will walk behind the ploughshare;
We will put away the sword.
The chain will be broken
And all men will have their reward.

Will you join in our crusade?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
Somewhere beyond the barricade
Is there a world you long to see?
Do you hear the people sing?
Say, do you hear the distant drums?
It is the future that they bring
When tomorrow comes[iii]!

Will you, too, be the people that sing? About the world we long to see and know to be possible because of the power of Christ? I invite you to rise in body or in spirit, as we sing the hymns of revolution this morning, proclaiming the good news of the gospel of Jesus Christ in song. And may our songs carry us into lives that are a part of the uprising God’s kingdom brings. Let us sing!

~Homily preached by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, August 4, 2019

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[ii] “Do You Hear the People Sing?” from Les Miserables, written by Alain Boublil, Herbert Kretzmer, Claude Michel Schonberg and Jean-Marc Natel.

[iii] “Do You Hear the People Sing?” from Les Miserables, written by Alain Boublil, Herbert Kretzmer, Claude Michel Schonberg and Jean-Marc Natel.

Sunday’s Sermon – Starry-Eyed – Galatians 3:23-29 – Scriptures and Seuss

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This July, our summer sermon series pairs Scripture texts with well-known and loved books by Dr. Seuss as modern parables to deepen our exploration of faith in the world together. This week our Dr. Seuss classic is The Sneetches.

Last week for Heritage Plays, 23 of us met up at Suntrust Park to enjoy a baseball game. Matt, Andrew, and I got to the stadium just before the game began. A few steps past the gate, I began to notice fans carrying the kids giveaway for the night: a Braves backpack. They were no longer giving them away at the gate, and I wasn’t surprised, assuming we’d missed it. But, just in case, I talked Matt into letting me walk towards another gate to see if they still had any. He convinced me that was a fool’s errand, so we began to head toward our section. But I kept seeing people with these backpacks. More and more of them. I even saw one of the employees holding two of them, so I asked him if perhaps I could have one (he told me, “no” – he was holding them for some other fans in a reserved seating area). Every time I saw someone with a backpack, something poked at me inside. I wanted one. I noticed they weren’t even the totally cheap-o ones either. And everyone seemed to have them. More and more. Like they were giving them away nearby even. My internal monologue was getting a little ridiculous as I looked around. I begrudgingly followed Matt back up the stairs, and then, right by the gate where we had entered, I noticed something. Everyone had a backpack. I looked again. There were a few stacks of them, and employees giving them away. I walked over, prepared to persuade with my very cute infant. Before I could get out a sentence, one was in my hand and I was saying “Thank you!”

Now, I don’t need this backpack. In the words of my wise husband, we don’t need this backpack. Another backpack. Even if it does have an “a” on it and a place for water bottles. And he’s right. But my sense of jealousy at what others were carrying around, and my pride at having one of my own in my hands was palpable. Probably in ways beyond what it should be. All for a “free” giveaway at a ball game.

Sometimes, we get caught up in wanting what other people have, don’t we? There was a cartoon devoted to this idea, illustrated by Arthur R. “Pop” Momand, it ran in The New York World and other papers from 1913 until 1940. It featured a couple, the McGinis family, who were social climbers and struggled to “keep up” with their neighbors, unseen characters who never appeared in any comic, named “The Joneses.” This is one theory on where we get that idiomatic expression, “keeping up with the Joneses”[i]. Whether it’s out of a sense of keeping up with the Joneses (or Kardashians, or anyone else), we tend to pay attention to what others around us have. We are jealous of the newest phone or latest model of car; we wish our haircut would look half as good as hers, or that we had half the hair that he does. And we play a comparison game: we wish our haircut would look half as good as hers, or that we had half the hair that he does. And you know, we do this at church too. We notice that their cookies don’t look misshapen and burnt at the potluck; we see that they not only attend worship each week, but also go to Sunday School and volunteer at the food pantry; we stand for a hymn and realize that while we can’t carry a tune in a bucket, they are singing notes we can’t even read in beautiful harmony. It seems, no matter where we fall on some social ladder, we look at those around us and it seems they have it more together than we do, and we are jealous. And while a lot of times this becomes about material possessions, the “stuff” in our lives and our ability to get our hands on it, the root of the issue is not so much the stuff, but our obsession with who is “in” and who is “out,” and our ego’s deep need to be “in.”

The early church also struggled with this question. Following the radical whirlwind that was Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, Christ-followers and new believers set out to figure out what it meant to be the church. We see glimpses of it in the gospels, but the real meat of their predicaments (pun intended) is found in the book of Acts and the epistles. One of the central questions? What it meant to reconcile a new faith community that included both Jews and Gentiles. These were not small questions, either. Mark Douglas notes that:

How much like a Jew does a Gentile need to be in order to be a Christian? . . . is the central moral question for the early church because it is a deeply theological question. God made promises to Abraham and Abraham’s heirs. Gentiles are not natural heirs. So how do God’s promises apply? If the promises apply to Gentiles, God seemingly treats Israel in an arbitrary way. If they apply to Jews, then how does the crucified Jesus matter to Jews? . . . On the one hand, the new church could worship a God who is willing to break promises – but that will take them away from their claim that Jesus is Emmanuel, God with us. On the other hand, they can pursue a vision of the continuing faithfulness of God’s promises to Abraham – which seemingly excludes Gentiles and makes the new gospel of the crucified Lord irrelevant to Jews[ii].

Imagine, if you will, that the early Christians, those Jews who believed that Christ was the Messiah, were like the Sneetches with stars on their bellies. They had their rhythms and routines figured out, and stuck together. They were the chosen ones, set apart. They’re not too keen on anyone else joining what they have. Or maybe they’d be willing to accept newcomers, as long as they began to look and act just like them.

James Kemp offers:

This story is rich with social commentary about how fallen human beings search for ways to make divisions among themselves. It also makes a statement about those who have a vested interest in keeping people divided and at war because they can sell their products to both sides[iii].

If we follow Seuss’s story, it’s pretty clear that the truth of the matter is we like to be set apart and special, and don’t like when things disrupt that status quo.

But, now, how in the world will we know,” they all frowned,
“if which kind is what, or the other way round?”[iv]

We are so quick to provide those answers, aren’t we? And we’re willing to go to some pretty extraordinary, and expensive, lengths to keep things the way they are. Instead of being focused on what unites us, we too-often become “starry-eyed” and obsessed with those things that may or may not set us apart and certainly divide us.

I think that’s because, at the heart of it, we are afraid that we aren’t enough, and so we let our fear drive us to put others down so we won’t feel like we’re on the bottom. One of my favorite devotional sites, d365.org, begins with a thought-provoking “pause” each day. The theme this week was “fear less,” and began with these words, which I think challenge the “starry-eyed” parts of us:

            Our world appears to thrive and profit from our fear –
            Fear of those different from us,
            Fear of insignificance and isolation,
            Fear that our secret shames might come to light.
            Could there be another way to live?
            Is it possible to fear less?[v]

The early church was living in a time of fear, when everything in their world, religiously and secularly, were shifting in dramatic ways. For a community set up against the challenging context of the Roman Empire, the Galatians had to rethink both their theology and their politics as those from the secular world became a part of their faith, or of some new faith that was emerging. All of a sudden, the church was full of people juggling multiple, and often conflicting, identities, with different understandings about things like what to eat, and what do with their bodies (i.e. circumcision). Paul spends a lot of time sorting out what no doubt were long lists of contentious questions about how things were supposed to work, rooted in a sense of the early church wanting to remain special, starred, rather than invite everyone in.

Our text for today is the high point of Paul’s letter. You get the sense that he is at a point of exasperation, following detailed conversation about nuances of the law. It’s as if he throws his pen across the room, and grabs his hair screaming at them for their obsession with the details. “GROW UP!” he might have shouted, noting that their quest for who is “in” and who is “out” was like teenage girl cliques or childhood clubhouses. They can’t see the forest for the trees. Or, quite literally, I wonder if Paul adopted the phrase that I have started using when I get in the weeds of minutia myself in ministry, “Jesus Christ did not die for this.” So Paul comes back to the central point of the gospel: that in Christ, God was doing a new thing. A new family has been formed, one that breaks down every boundary imaginable. Social distinctions are obliterated.

Paul says that Christ alone matters: Christ our unity, Christ our focus, Christ the line of energy along which relationships run, Christ the beginning and the end, Christ the cause for which we live, Christ from which nothing can take us, not even death – especially not death[vi].

Paul writes:

Among us you are all equal. That is, we are all in a common relationship with Jesus
Christ[vii].

Dr. Seuss says:

Sneetches are Sneetches and no kind of Sneetch is the best on the beaches. That day, all the Sneetches forgot about stars and whether they had one, or not, upon thars[viii].

This is a vision for the church of the future; to truly be one in Christ Jesus.
Proclaiming and celebrating unity in the church means learning from our differences instead of allowing them to divide us. It means encouraging others and not boasting about our own accomplishments. It means courting a spirit of gratitude instead of pride. It means that we cannot separate love for God from love for one another[ix].

Living this way is not just for Christians or the church exclusively. This is the approach to community that should be our goal; to recognize that people are people, and that every. single. person. in this world is a beloved child of God. That doesn’t mean that we don’t notice our differences. Indeed, that’s also dangerous and detrimental. We don’t need to ignore the things that make us distinct. But we shouldn’t let those things that make us different be what drives us apart. Why? Because the God who created us, the Savior who died for us, and the Spirit who both scatters and gathers us together, is so much bigger than that.

And because we are brought together in the one who is indeed that big, we need not be afraid of anything; not those things that make us different from each other, not those forces in the world that are pushing against us, not the thing that keeps us up at night, or is that we can’t even bring ourselves to say, not even death itself. So maybe, just maybe, we can be as smart as the Sneetches, and recognize that there are McBean’s all around us, seeking to divide us and make money off of our fear,  but that, in the end, it doesn’t matter if we have stars on our bellies or not. Realizing that is realizing God’s overwhelming grace. A grace so powerful that it allows us to step out of the relentless lines going in and out, and instead embrace a new reality and identity as children of God. Together. For in Christ Jesus, we are indeed one. May we be smart enough to realize this is the truth, and go and live like it. Amen.

~sermon preached by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, July 28, 2019

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[i] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keeping_up_with_the_Joneses
[ii] Mark Douglas, “Theological Perspective: Galatians 3:23-29,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).
[iii] James W. Kemp, The Gospel According to Dr. Seuss, (Valley Forge, PA: Judson Press, 2004)
[iv] Seuss.
[v] “Pause,” www.d365.org, week of July 22-28, 2019, written by Joshua Hays
[vi] Carol E. Holtz-Martin, “Homiletical Perspective: Galatians 3:23-29,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).
[vii] Galatians 3:28, The Message
[viii] Dr. Seuss, The Sneetches and Other Stories, (New York: Random House, 1961).
[ix] Kemp.

Sunday’s Sermon – Creation’s Cries – Romans 8:18-25

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This July, our summer sermon series pairs Scripture texts with well-known and loved books by Dr. Seuss as modern parables to deepen our exploration of faith in the world together. This week our Dr. Seuss classic is Horton Hears a Who!

Have you heard the expression “mom brain”? It’s usually a joking-but-true phrase we use to ascribe the phenomenon of how after having children, a woman sometimes loses the ability to keep things straight and are forgetful, to say the least. This is particularly true in those early, sleep-deprived months, but its effects are surprisingly long-lasting. The parenting load is no joke, and the struggle is real. But, truth-be-told, the idea that having children changes things is a scientifically proven fact.

Research shows that pregnancy changes the architecture of the brain for at least two years in areas that govern the understanding of the thoughts, feelings, beliefs and intentions of others[i].

One of the ways this is seen is in a woman’s response to her crying baby.

Researchers from the National Institutes of Health watched the behavior of 684 mothers who had infants approximately 5 months old in North and South America, three countries in Western Europe, two in sub-Saharan Africa, one in the Middle East and two in East Asia. Mothers in all of those places were more likely than not to do the same thing when their infant cried in distress: they picked them up, held them and talked to themi.

And while this might seem like a common response, the neurological responses showed a much different reaction between mothers and other women without children. In mothers,

these responses were deeply wired into the nervous system at a level that is typically associated with instincts. . . the crying of babies triggered the moms’ brains to move and prepare to talk, even before the mothers had necessarily processed what was happening and what they needed to doi.

In summary, those who were parents had an innate instinctual connection with those crying out, and a response of care almost before they could even think about it.

If such a connection is hard-wired into us as humans, how much more must it be hard-wired into God’s relationship with us as Creator? The entire witness of Scripture reveals a God who longs to be in relationship with God’s creation. Over and over again, God seeks out covenant with God’s people, offering grace and love in the Hebrew and New Testament scriptures alike. And here, in Paul’s letter to the Romans, we are reminded of God’s care and presence for what God has created even in the midst of creation’s cries.

N.T. Wright describes this Spirit-inspired prayer as “the beating heart of [Paul’s] whole sequence of thought[ii].”

No matter what, Paul says, God is listening and preparing to free God’s people from bondage and usher in a new age of redemption, where cries will be no more. Through Christ, God responds to the cries of creation for wholeness.

Just as God led God’s people through the wilderness to freedom, so the Spirit leads all of God’s children to a life of freedom.
. . .
Paul’s claims are expansive: everything will be redeemed – all of creation, our bodies, the substance of this earth[iii].

The knowledge of all of this leads Paul into a description of hope; a hope for what is not yet seen. Blair Alison Pogue notes that we don’t really live in a world of hope, saying:

Most Americans are optimistic, but not hopeful[iv].

In the midst of struggle, we want things to work out for the best, but aren’t necessarily convinced that it’s really possible. Vaclav Havel, 20th century Czech writer, statesmen and former president, talked about hope as prophetic and more as:

an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart. It transcends the world that is immediately experienced, and is anchored somewhere beyond its horizons[v].

Put this way, then, hope is about anchoring our hearts beyond ourselves. This is what Paul was writing about to the Romans. For Paul,

Christian hope is not pie in the sky; it is hope rooted in what Paul calls “the first fruits of the Spirit” (v. 23). This metaphor of the first fruits means that in Christ we already have come to know the power of life over death. We already know freedom. We already know love. We have tasted the first fruits, and they have whetted our appetite for the final banquet. We do have out-of-hand expectations. Because we know the first fruits, we rejoice at the loving, the living, and the freedom. We hunger for more, and we cry out wherever love is absent, life is shortened, and freedom is taken away. The church of Jesus Christ is the community of sisters and brothers who live in anticipation of a new birth of freedom, a new day of loving, and an inheritance of life abundant[vi].

What does it look like to live in this kind of community? Horton the elephant gives us a clue in the Dr. Seuss classic, Horton Hears a Who!. In the midst of his everyday life, this elephant pauses to listen for a call to help. And rather than ignore it, or pass it on as someone else’s problem, Horton makes it his mission to protect and care for that little voice on the speck of dust, because “a person’s a person, no matter how small.” He goes to great lengths, extraordinary lengths, to attend to what we learn is not just one little voice, but a whole people down in Whoville who are at risk. He embodies what it means to be a caretaker of God’s creation, even at the risk of his reputation and at times his safety. He is mocked and ridiculed by others who cannot, or perhaps choose not, to hear the cries of those small voices. He goes out of his way, quite literally, to seek out the speck in a whole field of clover, determined to not let it get lost now that he is aware of its presence. And he endures harsh treatment and even imprisonment for daring to advocate for the smallest of the small, all while trying to encourage their voices.

Where are the “specks” in our world? The list is likely larger than the three million clovers Horton sorted through in that field to find his friends. I wonder if that scene might remind us that there are countless issues and concerns, the majority quite worthwhile, but that some will quite literally call to us more than others, and be the ones the Spirit is nudging us to be passionate about. Throughout Scripture, we hear such calls, to care for and attend to the lost and the lonely, the widow and the orphan, the stranger living among us. Those, along with others on the margins of society, were the ones Jesus himself spent the most time with, and are the ones that are crying out, waiting and longing to be heard. And creation needs, God needs, Hortons in the world to hear and respond: to the older adult who feels forgotten, to the prisoner whose family can no longer visit because he’s been moved even farther away, to the child at the border who does not know if or when she will see her mother again, to the young adult who is struggling with addiction, to the child terrified to go back to school because of bullies. For these, and all of those instances where creation is crying out, who will listen? Who will respond?

This morning, I have a present for each of you. I have a basket full of “specks” and invite you, following worship, to take one home with you. Carry it around for a while, kind of like Horton did, as a prompt to engage in active listening for who God might be calling you to hear. Living in this kind of anticipation puts us into an active relationship with the world, not just as we know it, but in the fullness of all who is. And we might just be able to hope for things we do not even see as a result.

Vaclav Havel reminds us that:

Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously headed for early success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good, not just because it stands a chance to succeed. The more unpromising the situation in which we demonstrate hope, the deeper that hope is. Hope is not the same thing as optimism. It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out. In short, I think that the deepest and most important form of hope, the only one that can keep us above water and urge us to good works, and the only true source of the breathtaking dimension of the human spirit and its efforts, is something we get, as it were, from ‘elsewhere.’ It is also this hope, above all, that gives us the strength to live and continually to try new things, even in conditions that seem as hopeless as ours do, here and now[vii].

So may we listen, and act, and live into being the good caretakers and stewards of creation that God intended us to be – for all of God’s children and all of God’s world. Even when it seems impossible or futile, even when it means we’re putting ourselves out there. May this be our call: not just being satisfied with the present, but living into the future promised by God. For this, all of creation cries out. Amen.

~Sermon preached by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, July 21, 2019

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[i] Belinda Luscombe, “Here’s How Mothers Around the World React When Their Babies Cry,” https://time.com/4992130/motherhood-crying-babies/, accessed 7/20/19

[ii] N.T. Wright, “Romans,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible (Nashville: Abingdon, 2002), 10:591. As quoted by Karen Chakoian in “Exegetical Perspective: Romans 8:12-25,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011).

[iii] Karen Chakoian,“Exegetical Perspective: Romans 8:12-25,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011).

[iv] Blair Alison Pogue, “Homiletical Perspective: Romans 8:12-25,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011).

[v] Vaclav Havel, Disturbing the Peace, as quoted by the Vaclav Havel Library Association, https://www.vhlf.org/havel-quotes/disturbing-the-peace/, accessed 7/20/19.

[vi] David M. Greenhaw, “Pastoral Perspective: Romans 8:12-25,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011).

[vii] Vaclav Havel, Disturbing the Peace, as quoted by the Vaclav Havel Library Association, https://www.vhlf.org/havel-quotes/disturbing-the-peace/, accessed 7/20/19.

Sunday’s Sermon – Sent – Luke 10:1-11

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This July, our summer sermon series pairs Scripture texts with well-known and loved books by Dr. Seuss as modern parables to deepen our exploration of faith in the world together. This week our Dr. Seuss classic is Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

“Congratulations! Today is your day!” our book this week begins. It could also be a modernization of Jesus’ instructions to his disciples. While often we think about Jesus sending the disciples out into the world with the Great Commission in Matthew 28 which called us into worship this morning, our text from the gospel of Luke reveals another sending of the disciples that is equally compelling. On his way toward Jerusalem, Jesus sends out disciples to spread the good news to all the world. And did you catch the number? It’s more than “the 12” we tend to cite. It’s 70, and that number is significant. It mirrors the number presented in the list of all nations in Genesis 10 alongside the story of the tower of Babel. Thus, we are meant to understand it to be complete. It is a monumental moment in the gospel, furthering Luke’s insistence on sharing stories that reveal God’s desire for the gospel to truly be for all peoples and all nations, a theme that continues well into the book of Acts. One step further, this is a story about what it means to be in community together. The disciples are even sent out two-by-two. Mitties McDonald DeChamplain offers that:

Jesus is clearly affirming that proclaiming the good news of the kingdom is not a solo performance, but a communal and relational activity – a concert of the whole body of those commissioned. The message is ever inclusive and expansive[i].

But, before the disciples can race on their way, Jesus has some words of wisdom for what they might expect. He lays out the possibilities for them for the road ahead. You know the countless locker room scenes shown in tv, the movies, or even real-life sporting event coverage? The coach tends to have an uplifting, inspiring speech. The players are captivated and focused, and everyone leaves cheering because of how pumped up they are? Yeah – this isn’t quite that pep talk. You see, Jesus lays out for them not just the exciting and wonderful good news that is the message they will deliver; he also tells them to brace for things that are difficult. They’ll have to figure out their way without carrying much of anything with them. But more disturbing, they may face total rejection. Here in 11 verses, Jesus describes what life looks like as a disciple, and it’s full of ups and downs.

Dr. Seuss’s last book, published in 1990, was Oh! The Places You’ll Go!. It quickly became a best-seller and reached #1 on the New York Times Bestseller list. It still remains near the top of those lists, especially in the springtime, when there is a bump as it’s purchased for its words of wisdom to new graduates. Ready for the roller coaster? The book begins with that uplifting notion, quite literally with a hot air balloon soaring. But then bang-ups and hang-ups happen. You can be left in the Lurch. Confusion sets in on which way to go. You get stalled out in the tediousness of waiting. Until you don’t, and then you’re barreling ahead to fame and fortune. Or the bottom can fall out and leave you lonely, or scared. Surrounded by fears that threaten to overwhelm. And you get mixed up with all sorts of strange birds. But you can, and will, do amazing and marvelous things in the end. Whew! It’s a whirlwind of experiences, all wrapped up neatly in rhyme. But, isn’t it also a depiction of the realities of the journeys of life?

That same kind of comprehensive description of the way things might be is what Jesus gives to the disciples in Luke’s gospel. I love that Jesus paints such a realistic picture of life. He doesn’t look at the crowds that have been following them and promise them something that is perfect. He doesn’t promise riches or good health or any form of guaranteed benefit for doing this work. Being a disciple of Jesus Christ is not a guarantee of “the good life” here and now. In fact, sometimes it’s quite the opposite. DeChamplain continues saying:

The reality that many things can devour and diminish the commitment of Jesus’ disciples, and the likelihood of rejection on the journey is strong. Those commissioned, however, are not to be people pleasers but God bearers – offering God’s peace to all[ii].

Some days, that will be received well, and community will be formed. Meals will be shared, people will be healed, and the kingdom of God will be glimpsed. But other times, well, it’s just not pretty. And when that happens, Jesus calls his disciples to leave, and not even take the dust from that place with them on their feet. Move on, there is more journeying to do.

We often like to imagine that beautiful mountaintop scene from Matthew, with discipleship being all about going out, preaching the gospel, baptizing babies, and celebrating God’s presence with everyone joining hands and singing happily. But Luke’s version of the kingdom of God is grittier than that, reflecting that life as a disciple can be a bit of a roller coaster. Personally, I find that kind of honesty about life refreshing, because it carves out space for God to be a part of every aspect of our journeys, with us at every twist and turn in the road. And if we know that to be the case from the start, it might be easier for us to find God in the midst of the “Great Balancing Act” we know as life. And if we can do that, we might have a chance at this thing called discipleship.

We know that living a life of faith has its ups and downs. Some days, we are filled with the Holy Spirit and enthusiastic about spiritual practices. Our prayer life feels focused, we are eager to read the Bible or some other devotion. We serve others with love and compassion. We might even come to church with a spring in our step, excited about participating. The music is uplifting and the sermon really hits home with us. Other days, though, it’s not so easy. Our Bibles gather dust on the shelf because life is too chaotic. We rush through prayers or forget them all-together. We would rather hit snooze or go to brunch than attend worship. Or maybe the sermon is a dud. It happens. Or, we want to engage in fellowship, but feel disconnected from others. Maybe we fight some with each other, or grieve the loss of what once was in our faith communities. The list goes on. If we took stock of our lives, attentive to the faith aspects, I imagine we’d also find it full of ups and downs. The good news of today’s text, I think, is that Jesus tells us that’s normal and to be expected. He also calls us to go anyway.

Robert Short gives us wisdom for the journey, saying:

To get lots of mileage, you must have a great mission. If you really want to go great places, then you’ve got to have something great to go for. The greater the goal, the farther you’ll go . . . Furthermore, if you really want to be unconquerable in this quest, if you want to be a winner no matter what happens, then what you are going for must also be unconquerable. It must already be the winner[iii].

He then reassures us that all of this can be accomplished (yes, we’ll do great things! Move mountains even!) – not because of us, but because the work has already been accomplished in Jesus Christ. We are simply called to take that message into the world and share it in as many ways and in as many places as we can, trusting that God has been, is, and will be, responsible for what happens from there.

Two lesser-known theologians, Jake and Elwood Blues quipped “We’re on a mission from God!” Being disciples is not just about coming to worship and professing faith in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. It’s about recognizing that our Lord and Savior launches us into the world. We were not meant to be stagnant beings just biding the time until Jesus comes back. No, we are to go ahead and proclaim his coming. That’s what the seventy were sent to do in Luke, and two thousand years later what we are called to as well.

I think we often forget this part of discipleship – the going part. Especially as a community of faith. Sometimes we treat the church too much like a destination and endpoint for our faith, an offramp instead of an on-ramp on which we accelerate into the world. Carol Howard Merritt challenges us on this complacency, saying:

Too often Christians are shut up in sanctuaries, concerned about leaky roofs and outdated boilers, counting the attendance, and wringing their hands because people do not seem to be worshiping God as they did in the past. Congregations spend so much time caring for their own and feeling anxious about their demise that they sometimes forget that they, like the seventy, have been sent out with the gospel of God’s love and justice and mercy. How can we get out of the pews and join in the mission of God to the world? How, like the seventy, do congregations recognize and embrace their active participation in the reconciling work of God beyond the narrow confines of their own fears and needs?[iv].

The answer, I think, lies in our ability to simply keep going, and stay focused on the call we have been given as disciples. Ultimately, that’s what Jesus tells his followers to do. Don’t carry extra things that will distract or weigh you down, rejoice in the message you’ve been given without trying to bounce around from place to place, and if things happen that block or impede the message, just move on.

In addition to the words from Jesus and Dr. Seuss, this morning we might borrow the lyrics of another poet, Frank Lebby Stanton, who was a popular editorial columnist for the Atlanta Constitution who was named Georgia’s first Poet Laureate in 1925. Among his many writings is a turn of the century poem titled, “Keep a’Goin.” It reads:

If you strike a thorn or rose, Keep a-goin’!
If it hails or if it snows, keep a-goin’!
‘Tain’t no use to sit and whine when the fish ain’t on your line;
Bait your hook an’ keep a-tryin’- keep a-goin’!

When the weather kills your crop, keep a-goin’!
Though it’s work to reach the top, keep a-goin’!
S’pose you’re out o’ ev’ry dime, getting’ broke ain’t any crime;
Tell the world you’re feelin’ prime – keep a-goin’!

When it looks like all is up, keep a-goin’!
Drain the sweetness from the cup, keep a-goin’!
See the wild birds on the wing, hear the bells that sweetly ring,
When you feel like sigin’, sing – keep a-goin’![v]

No matter what, we are called to keep going on the mission Christ has given us – to go into the world, our topsy-turvy, chaotic, ups and downs world, and share what we know to be good news, the very gospel itself. So, let’s do it. We’ve got writers giving us inspiration, Christ himself cheering us on, and we aren’t alone; we get to do this together. Today is our day! With God’s help, we’re off to great places! So, let’s get on our way! Amen.

~Sermon preached by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, July 14, 2019

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[i] Mitties McDonald DeChamplain, “Homiletical Perspective: Luke 10:1-11, 16-20.” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

[ii] Mitties McDonald DeChamplain, “Homiletical Perspective: Luke 10:1-11, 16-20.” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

[iii] Robert L. Short, The Parables of Dr. Seuss, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).

[iv] Carol Howard Merritt, “Pastoral Perspective: Luke 10:1-11, 16-20.” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

[v] https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/7b/KEEP_A-GOIN%27_by_Frank_Lebby_Stanton_1c.jpg

Sunday’s Sermon – Picky Eaters – John 6

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This July, our summer sermon series pairs Scripture texts with well-known and loved books by Dr. Seuss as modern parables to deepen our exploration of faith in the world together. This week our Dr. Seuss classic is Green Eggs and Ham.

How many of you consider yourselves “picky eaters?” I asked this question on my Facebook page earlier this week, asking for rankings on a scale of 1-10. A few placed themselves midway, weighing various dietary choices and decreeing certain foods as anathema, from peanut butter to green peas, while others admitted to all out pickiness at the top of the scale. But the majority of my friends seem to rate themselves a 1 or 2 on a scale of 1-10, many claiming they “eat anything.”

I wonder how the disciples would have answered, particularly after hearing Jesus’ lengthy description in John 6. These almost 40 verses, some of which we read this morning, are known as the “Bread of Life Discourse.” They come in the gospel text following familiar stories like the feeding of the 5,000, and Jesus walking on water. Now, Jesus settles in the synagogue in Capernaum and tries to explain to those who have gathered what is going on.

“I am the bread of life.” It is one of seven “I am” sayings in John’s gospel that unveil who Jesus is. They echo God’s voice from the burning bush in Exodus, revealing the presence of the divine. Throughout the gospel, Jesus himself lays out that God’s ancient promises are being fulfilled, noting that the ability for all to come to him depends only upon hearing and learning[i].  The people have been following with many questions, eager for additional proofs so that they might believe. Here, Jesus provides with, as David Hull describes it, a symbol that would have had rich meaning and immediate understanding to his audience. He notes:

Today we use utensils to move the food from a plate into our mouths. Bread is often served at meals, but it is seen as a “starter” or a “side.” Many who are watching their diets choose to forgo the bread. Therefore, when we hear that Jesus is “the bread of life,” we can too easily think in terms of a metaphor for something that is as optional as a dinner roll. . . The way that Jesus and his contemporaries ate was radically different from the way most Westerners eat. No utensils were used. A person ate with his food or her hands. Bread was usually used to dip into the food and bring the food from the dish to the mouth.  . . The Western mind-set allows us to think of bread as an extra that we can take or leave; but Jesus was operating with an image that was essential to the process of eating.  . . . Bread, then, was not an extra to be chosen or omitted; it was how persons accessed the food that was placed before them. According to John’s Gospel, then, the incarnation is the means by which we can access and partake of the life that God offers us. . . . Life is the main course. The “bread” is how we are able to receive the main course[ii].

In this passage, Jesus connects all of the dots, and lays it on a platter, if you will, almost literally for those who would listen, and invites them to join the feast. His words are graphic and visceral, carrying weight and impact that would have made those listening take notice. The fullness of God presented in dramatic fashion, ready for the taking.

But did you catch the response of those who heard it? Of the religious leaders and even his own disciples who had been following him? They are full of doubts and speculations, and scrutiny. It must have looked like trying to get a baby to eat green beans. In a study just over 10 years ago by researchers Forestell and Mennella, they introduced pureed green beans to a group of infants for the first time. Their reactions were as you might expect:

95% of the babies squinted

82% waggled their brows

76% raised their upper lips

42% wrinkled their noses

In short, babies looked disgusted, and the more disgusted they looked, the more slowly they ate[iii]!

Here Jesus is in John 6, spoon-feeding the very words of life to all who will hear, offering them that which will sustain, and they are turning up their noses at it.

As 21st Century Christians, we like to imagine that we would have seen Jesus and immediately known that he was the Messiah. We call ourselves disciples, indicating that he is the one we would have chosen to follow. We have the great benefit of knowing more of the story, and with 20/20 hindsight we can easily claim we would have been believers. If Jesus had shown up and said “I am the bread of life” in front of us, we would have gobbled it up, right? Maybe, or maybe not. Those who followed Jesus, even those closest to him, pushed back in this passage as they tried to make sense of it. You see, what we often forget is that Jesus was so provocative and innovative that he often stunned those gathered crowds. He left them scratching their heads, trying to figure out what it all meant. Jesus was in the business of change, and that wasn’t always readily accepted. He might as well have been offering them, well, Green Eggs and Ham.

In this classic by Dr. Seuss, the unnamed resistor is adamant about not trying what is offered to him from the enthusiastic Sam-I-Am. And so, Sam gets creative, offering different ways of hearing it and experiencing it in hopes of enticing him to take a bite. But each time, the creature resists. He doesn’t even list excuses or reasons. He simply repeats his dislike for green eggs and ham under any circumstances. He is, for the majority of the book, unable to even entertain the possibility of such a new dish that is unlike anything he knows or likes.

If we’re really honest, rather than jump in with two feet at what Christ himself would call us to do, we are a bit more like that character in the book. Writer James Kemp offers:

So many times in life we, like Sam’s friend, initially resist something that ultimately we might like, or something that ultimately we need whether we like it or not. We are hesitant to try new things, resistant to hearing new ideas or perspectives, especially when those new perspectives make us uncomfortable . . . It’s far easier to insist that we don’t like green eggs and ham than it is to try on a new way of looking at things, especially if the new message might reflect negatively on what we’ve been doing up to now[iv].

And so we resist change. We resist things that put us outside of our comfort zones. We tear things apart and seek to discredit rather than open ourselves to the possibility of learning something new.

Anne Lamott wrote that “the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty[v]”. Sam’s friend was sure that he knew he would not like Green Eggs and Ham, even though he had never tried them. His certainty blocked his ability to have faith in what Sam might have been offering him. Have you ever resisted something simply on principle? Simply because it was new? Could you imagine what that might be like in your faith life?

Today, I’d invite you to consider what spiritual foods Jesus might be offering you that you have either flat our refused, or have been pushing around your plate for some time. Maybe it’s a spiritual practice, or way of prayer. Perhaps it’s some nudging that you keep getting a sense you’re supposed to do as a way to live out God’s love in this world, but just haven’t been able to get the fork to your mouth, so to speak. Or maybe it’s something you just can’t imagine working for you at all. Would you like it here or there? Could you, would you? What would it mean for you to test out those waters and stretch yourself in faith.

A word of caution here: I’m not suggesting that anything goes, or that you’ll like everything. I’ve heard of homes where people take “no thank-you bites”; in my house you take the number of bites equal to your age before you see if you do or don’t like something. But here’s the thing – you don’t know until you try. And sometimes, especially if you know that it’s something that is good and healthy for you, it’s worth the discipline of trying.

Remember those babies who were given green beans? They survived. In fact, after gentle introduction and offering those green beans to the babies eight to ten days in a row, it appeared they got over their initial dislike of the vegetables. It just took time. Just over a week later, those babies were eating three times as much pureed green beans as they did on their first experience[vi]. Other studies have had similar findings, prompting the advice for parents to *gently* introduce new foods multiple times, a dozen or more even, rather than give up on a particular food after one refusal. Persistence, it seems, pays off a bit.

Maybe this is why Jesus spent almost 40 verses repeating himself about being the way in which God was revealed to the world. Maybe this is why he continued to teach using parables and sit with people in the synagogue and heal and perform miracles. He used every way possible to get the disciples and others who had gathered to understand what was going on and what God was about. And maybe of the best truths about the good news of Christ’s resurrection is that God isn’t done with the world yet. Jesus continues to move among us, surprising us and demonstrating God’s power in this world. Course after course, God delivers us the bread of life. Over and over it is offered to us, the feast of grace and wholeness, the transforming possibility of new life. We get a taste of it every time we gather together as God’s people; every time we come forward to this table.

This meal, known as Communion, or the Lord’s Supper, is also called the Eucharist, which simply means “thanksgiving.” It is our moment, as those who have experienced the gospel of the gospel, to come together and say, as the character does at the end of the book, “Thank you, thank you, Sam-I-Am!” It is a meal of grace, where we offer our praise to God. It is also a time when we get another taste of the good news God has to offer.

Through Jesus Christ, the feast has been prepared, and we are all invited. So may we not be so quick to protest; instead, may we dare to come and eat, to taste and see that the Lord our God is good. Amen.

~sermon preached by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, Heritage Presbyterian Church, July 7, 2019

 

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[i] Richard Manly Adams, Jr, “Exegetical Perspective: John 6:41-51,” Feasting on the Gospels, John, Volume 1, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015)

[ii] David W. Hull, “Homiletical Perspective: John 6:41-51,” Feasting on the Gospels, John, Volume 1, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015)

[iii] https://www.parentingscience.com/how-to-start-babies-on-solid-food.html; https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18055673

[iv] James W. Kemp, The Gospel According to Dr. Seuss, (Valley Forge, PA: Judson Press, 2004)

[v] Anne Lamott, Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith, (New York: Riverhead Trade, 2006), 256-57., as quoted by Margrey R. Devega, “Pastoral Perspective: John 6:41-51,” Feasting on the Gospels, John, Volume 1, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015)

[vi] https://www.parentingscience.com/how-to-start-babies-on-solid-food.html; https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18055673

Sunday’s Sermon – Called to Freedom – Galatians 5:1, 13-25

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Freedom is a word you are likely to hear a lot this week, especially on Thursday as we celebrate the 4th of July. In the midst of cookouts and fireworks, parades and pool parties, is the reminder of our country’s history. On this holiday we celebrate that we have the freedom to speak, think, worship, and act without hindrance or restraint. With freedom comes the hope and promise for everyone to have an equal opportunity for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That is certainly something worth celebrating. And worth contemplating a bit; specifically, to consider what exactly we mean when we talk about “freedom.”

In his State of the Union Address on January 6, 1941, then President Franklin Delano Roosevelt outlined a vision of four fundamental freedoms. He described them in this way:

The first is freedom of speech and expression—everywhere in the world.

The second is freedom of every person to worship God in his own way—everywhere in the world.

The third is freedom from want—which, translated into world terms, means economic understandings which will secure to every nation a healthy peacetime life for its inhabitants—everywhere in the world.

The fourth is freedom from fear—which, translated into world terms, means a world-wide reduction of armaments to such a point and in such a thorough fashion that no nation will be in a position to commit an act of physical aggression against any neighbor—anywhere in the world.

That is no vision of a distant millennium. It is a definite basis for a kind of world attainable in our own time and generation[i].

It’s a pretty good list, right? It offers more than just a dictionary definition of “freedom,” and instead a thoughtful expression of what freedom looks and feels like not just for individuals, but for a society as a whole. And yet, as good as this definition, and other philosophical and political ideations of freedom that both predated and followed this are, today I’d offer that one of the most compelling understandings of freedom comes in our biblical texts. Namely, in Paul’s letter to the Galatians.

The Galatians are arguing about the law, specifically the Mosaic law, and how it did or did not apply to their life together as followers of Christ. This was particularly important to figure out, as the community was a mixture of gentiles and Jews. Many practical and pressing questions arose, which Paul addresses throughout the letter. Perhaps the most notable was the question of circumcision for the gentile believers, which Paul replies to in a significant way in the verses immediately before our reading. Throughout the whole letter, it seems, Paul references the idea of freedom in Christ and the gift that it gives to the church to live out her faith. In Chapter 5, though, Paul offers an even more detailed description that serves as a powerful definition of freedom.

For Paul, freedom is less about freedom from something, and more about a call to or for something else. He is quick to point out that the freedom won for believers in Christ is not just license to do whatever we please, but rather is something that brings us together. Mark Douglas describes it like this:

The idea that freedom means the absence of encumbrances may be popular but it does not hold weight. Freedom is not the absence of entanglements; entanglements are the means by which freedom becomes meaningful . . . Freedom is not separation from relationships; it is a feature of relationships that becomes especially apparent as a result of our relationships with Jesus Christ[ii].

Put simply, freedom draws us into community.  Galatians 5 describes more of what that looks like. The call to freedom, according to Paul, and according to Christ is a call to love. The word for love Paul uses is agape. And it’s a tall order.

This kind of love goes far beyond what the law demands. It is an all-encompassing way of life, constantly seeking to serve the neighbor[iii].

It is pure and self-less, an embraces a universal, unconditional love that transcends and persists regardless of circumstance. Agape love is the highest form of love that reflects the love God showed to the world through Jesus.

I have little doubt that Paul chose this word quite intentionally. In the midst of bickering and power struggles in the church in Galatia, Paul needed to do more than just call on the people to say they were sorry and play nicely with one another. He could have used the word philia for that, representing “brotherly love” of getting along. Instead, Paul pulls no punches in calling them out for their behavior toward each other and reminding them of the exceedingly high calling they have to each other as Christians. He is pointing them, and us, to the biggest picture possible about what it means to not just live together in coexistence, but to truly embrace the freedom given to us to live together in a community marked by Christ, a reflection of the kindom of God.

Paul knew such love wasn’t easy, and that humanity is prone to use our freedom to dominate others in systems of oppression rather than in systems that hold each other in this kind of mutual holy love. He addresses the baseness of our selves with a discussion of “the flesh,” which for Paul was a way of defining the motivating factor for our actions or inactions. For Paul, living by the flesh was a self-centered living, in direct opposition to the God-centered living a life guided by the Spirit would bring. And it doesn’t seem like there is much middle ground. He pushed the Galatians to pick a direction, arguing you can’t be both for yourself first and for God first. It just doesn’t work that way.

Sounds a little like Jesus, doesn’t it? Paul goes on to a direct quote with the inclusion of what Jesus himself put as the greatest commandment, to “love your neighbor as yourself.” That, for Paul, answers the questions about legalities that were being raised in the community. The whole law summed up for Paul is that we have been freed to love one another. And that means setting aside our own ambitions, our own desires to be first, and instead serve one another (ahem, we might add to this – as Christ served us).

This is our calling. To freedom. To love. It came to the disciples and those who followed Jesus; it came to the Galatians and virtually every other church community to whom Paul wrote; and it comes to us, still as relevant as it was in the first century. Two thousand and some years later, we as God’s people are still trying to figure out what it means to live into this freedom of grace that we were given by Jesus Christ. Over and over again, we fall into those traps of the “flesh,” and work ourselves into systems that only serve to bolster ourselves while others are oppressed; we become obsessed with who is “in” and who is “out” and argue over the rules for inclusion in our communities. This, I think, is one of those examples of corporate sin, which we participate in on different levels as individuals, but seems to be a reality of our communal existence here on earth. There are so many things in our world, so many examples, where we have fallen woefully short of our calling to freedom.

One in six children in the United States suffers from real hunger, not sure where there next meal will come from[iv]. According to Feeding America, 523,000 of them are in Georgia, including 10,000 in Cherokee County[v]. Our three school food pantries that serve 8 local schools served 151 children in the month of May with backpacks of food to help sustain students over the weekend. This summer, MUST Ministries is planning on serving 6,500-7,000 lunches every day to children in need in six counties in our area. That’s what we will be a part of helping with this afternoon. I am so glad that we are a part of what I believe is truly live-saving and life-changing mission ministry. But at the same time, I am appalled that we live in a world, in a country, in a state, in a community, where so many people are lacking one of life’s most basic needs. We can do better.

And what about a place to live. A total of 552,830 people, were experiencing homelessness on a single night in 2018, just under 10,000 of whom were counted in Georgia[vi]. Over 36,000 of those in the national count were youth. The Trevor Project estimates that around 40% of that number, about 14,400, are LGBTQ+ youth who have experienced discrimination and family rejection and have nowhere to go. This, among other factors, makes them 60% more likely to attempt suicide. This week marked 50 years since Stonewall led to a unified struggle for LGBTQ rights and freedom from fear of hatred, and it is far from realized. We can do better.

On that same night of counting, 37,878 of those experiencing homelessness were veterans[vii], a number slightly lower than the 40,000 estimated by the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD). That’s 11% of the homeless population, and the National Coalition for Homeless Veterans reports that within that group, 50% have serious mental health issues, including PTSD, 70% struggle with substance abuse, 51% have some sort of disability, and 50% are under the age of 50[viii]. Even with the good work of the VA and other organizations, those who have served our country, who have given their lives so that we can continue to claim “freedom,” are underserved and unappreciated on even the most basic level. We can do better.

Our southern border reflects an international humanitarian crisis. I have heard heartbreaking and gut-wrenching stories through organizations in Guatemala that reflect horrors no one should have to endure. From these, it is not difficult to see why families might be forced to flee for their very lives. I cannot even begin to imagine how desperate my life circumstances would have to be in order to risk everything for the hope of sheer survival, not just my own life, but that of my children. And yet, that is what is happening. And when this wave of asylum seekers comes pleading for assistance, we are ill-equipped and unable to handle such a cry from our neighbors. At least six children have died in federal custody[ix]. And the stories of the conditions in which they are living are reprehensible. My heart absolutely breaks at the thought of children being taken from their parents, and young children left to fend for themselves in large rooms with only aluminum foil-like blankets and concrete floors and constant light that prevents sleeping. In my house, either Matt or I tell a certain 5-year-old boy to either “brush his teeth” or “wash your hands . . . with soap” about 2 dozen times at minimum every day. Now, each time I do I have a knot in my stomach, because there are not only no parents to offer this reminder; there are no toothbrushes or soap. I appreciate that many things related to this are political, and we can agree or disagree on legalities and regulations and responses within our criminal justice system about how to approach immigration. But I also hope that we can agree that children, who have no more say in where they are taken than my own did this morning, should be kept safe and healthy. We can do better.

We have to do better.

If Paul were writing to us today, I think he could deliver much of the same message as he did to the Galatians, and to the church today he might say, “you were called to freedom for so much more than this! You were given freedom as a gift from God in order that you might love as Christ loved. So get with the program. You call yourselves Christians? Then live like it. Let love lead you. This is what it’s all about. Love your neighbor as yourself.”

In verse 25, Paul encourages us to both live and be guided by the Spirit. In these instances where the world is so far from where it should be, the Spirit stirs within us. It is the Spirit that nudges us, that creates in us an uneasiness and a hunger for justice that we cannot ignore. The Holy Spirit, that one let loose on the world at Pentecost, is a holy troublemaker that shakes everything up and makes it so that we cannot just continue with life as we know it. Us “decently and in order” Presbyterians will be glad to know that living by the Spirit isn’t code for some sort of loosey-goosey, anything goes kind of approach. The verb stoichomen has military connotations of standing in formation or marching in line. In other words, “since the Spirit leads us, let us keep in step with the Spirit.”

How do we keep step? Perhaps we could use the famous “fruits of the spirit” list Paul includes as a check-list of sorts for what happens when we live into freedom. In our discernment of what we are supposed to do next, what would happen if we asked ourselves: is this a response of love? Joy? Peace? Patience? Kindness? Generosity? Faithfulness? Gentleness? Self-control? I don’t know about you, but I imagine if I ran through this list every time I was trying to respond to a difficult situation or a difficult person, I might save myself from some less than stellar decisions, and my relationships with others would probably be a lot more loving.

Above all else, we as Christians are called to love, an agape love that models the kind of love God has for us. It is the basic fabric not just of our society, but of our understanding of what it means to follow Christ. The extent to which we live into this calling is in itself the measure of our discipleship. So, may we be so faithful and bold as to try to live into it each and every day. May we love our neighbors, and do nothing from selfish ambition, but instead mark our lives with love. For this is the freedom we have been given in Christ. This is what we are called to do. Amen.

 

Sermon preached by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

Heritage Presbyterian Church

June 30, 2019

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[i] Franklin Delano Roosevelt, “January 6, 1941, State of the Union (Four Freedoms),” https://millercenter.org/the-presidency/presidential-speeches/january-6-1941-state-union-four-freedoms, accessed 6/29/19. (both audio and written transcript available).

[ii] Mark Douglas, “Theological Perspective:Galatians 5:1, 13-25,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 3,  David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

[iii] Elisabeth Johnson, “Commentary on Galatians 5:1, 13-25,” Working Preacher https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=612, accessed 6/27/19.

[iv] https://www.feedingamerica.org/hunger-in-america/child-hunger-facts

[v] https://patch.com/georgia/woodstock/thousands-cherokee-county-don-t-have-enough-eat

[vi] https://endhomelessness.org/homelessness-in-america/homelessness-statistics/state-of-homelessness-report/

[vii] https://endhomelessness.org/homelessness-in-america/homelessness-statistics/state-of-homelessness-report/

[viii] http://nchv.org/index.php/news/media/background_and_statistics/

[ix] https://www.latimes.com/nation/la-na-migrant-child-border-deaths-20190524-story.html

Sunday’s Sermon – What Are You Doing Here? – 1 Kings 19:8-15a

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Have you ever gotten somewhere and forgotten how you got there? We do it all the time with daily routines, going into auto-pilot mode for our most mundane tasks or daily excursions, so much so that sometimes we stop paying attention to what is happening until something out of the ordinary happens and gets our attention. Or, better yet – have you ever gotten somewhere and forgotten why you were there? Maybe it’s the grocery store or Target, or even your living room. You know you went in there for a reason, but for the life of you, you can’t remember what it was. Some say it’s a sign of aging, which is in part true, but it can also happen when we are stressed out or tired, and lack the capacity to retain information any longer.

This is where Elijah finds himself in our text. He is stressed out to the max, and on the run from Jezebel, longing for relief. He even asks the Lord to take his life; he is at his end. He finds himself revived in the wilderness, thanks to the attentiveness of angels sent from the Lord with bread and water. And while that sustains him physically, his spirit is still depleted. We hear earlier in the story of how Elijah is down and out, convinced that he is a failure as a prophet. Choon-Leong Seow describes his state this way:

This chapter is blatantly honest about the humanity of God’s servants . . . He appears to be totally worn out, fatigued . . . He complains. . . He needs to be told to eat. His view of reality is distorted. He is quick to blame others for the situation in which he has found himself. He feels all alone. Given his attitude, one should expect a divine rebuke. There is not one, however. Instead, there is a series of epiphanies . . . God does not let him go simply because he is burned out and depressed[i].

God responds in the opposite way, providing him the very basic things he needs to survive: bread and water, and calls him instead on a journey through the wilderness. Now, this is not the first time God has called a prophet into the wilderness. The Israelites hearing this story would have immediately connected the journey to that of Moses in Exodus, spending 40 days and nights with God on Mount Sinai. Here, God leads Elijah to Mount Horeb, which is the name used for Sinai in Deuteronomy. Such leading reminds us that:

when forces in the world threaten us, when our bodies or spirits turn against us, there is One who seeks us, One who meets us, One who heals us, whose love washes over us and sets us free for joy. This One is the Lord[ii].

God calls to Elijah with a question, “what are you doing here, Elijah?” (verse 9). It’s that moment of awakening, when you blink and come to your senses and try to orient yourself. ?” It’s as if God is displeased by Elijah’s flight, and wants Elijah to reset the course. We all need to hear this kind of call-out questions in life now and again. Sometimes we can offer them to ourselves; other times we need to hear them from others, and we hope they come from those who love us and have the best intentions in mind, rather than call-outs that are intended to shame us into correction.  When done well, they become our re-orientation points, invitations to gain perspective and reevaluate our purpose so that we can pick back up the difficult everyday tasks of life and make it through. Sometimes our reflections on them are short-lived, but other times, as in the case of Elijah, they represent major turning points in our lives. Elijah is not only having a work crisis, but a spiritual one as well. In theological terms, we call this experience in the cave one of discernment – the process through which we seek to understand God’s will and then try to figure out how we can take a part in it.

But it’s not just limited to Elijah, or those on a hike in the wilderness. Such an experience is open to us, too. Our text this morning can be seen as an invitation to experience God’s unexpected encouragement for perseverance in the daily mazes of our lives, whether we are facing abundance, adversity, or dulling routine[iii].

When our souls are “disquieted within us” as the Psalmist says, we are invited to take refuge in God and hope in God, trusting that even in the midst of confusion about who we are, and who we are called to be, God is with us still.

In the Hebrew scriptures, the God of Israel often appeared in fantastic and dramatic ways. When we seek to encounter God with our questions, we yearn for those clear signs. Have you ever begged God for a burning bush, or some other direct divine revelation about what you are to do? I have. In seminary I would somewhat jokingly say that God would have to send a great fish, a la the Jonah story, to get me to figure things out. And yet, none of those tremendous things has happened to me, not yet anyway. Sometimes, it seems, God works in more subtle ways. This is what Elijah finds in 1 Kings. Did you catch the phrase that repeats after the wind, the earthquake, and the fire? “but God was not in” that tremendous sound. That is not to say that God never does those things. Indeed, we know God has from other Biblical narratives. But rather here, God acts in a new and perhaps more challenging way. God is heard in “the sound of sheer silence.”

A quick Hebrew lesson for you:

The words translated “a sound of sheer silence” (qol demamah daqqah) can have more than one meaning . . . Qol can mean either sound or voice, demamah can refer to a whisper, silence, or stillness (see Ps 107:29), and daqqah can mean thin, small, fine, or sheer. . . . In contrast to the thundering presence of the storm god Baal, Israel’s God is now present in “a sound of silence,” as in the sound of calm after a storm[iv].

It can be translated many ways, including “the sound of fine silence,” or conveying the sense of a hushed whisper.  Such a sound allows for a centering, a meaningful pause. In the literary world, it might be classified as a “pregnant pause,” one that has energy brewing behind it, just on the cusp of something to be revealed.

This morning, I want to invite you to place yourselves in this story with Elijah, to join him in sitting with this question “what are you doing here?” and reflect on your sense of God’s presence in your life and the direction in which the Spirit might be nudging you.  To help us truly engage in this moment, I will read part of our text again slowly with some help from Denise to capture the movement. Our time will include some significant moments of silence, during which I ask that you remain in that stillness and silence as best as you are able, allowing God’s presence to wash over you. Let us prepare to hear God’s Word anew to us:

11He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord,

[Denise plays – something swirling]

but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake,

[Denise plays – something with lots of rumbling]

but the Lord was not in the earthquake; 12and after the earthquake a fire,

[Denise plays – something that resembles “crackling”]

but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.

[Significant pause]

13When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

[Shorter pause]

What was this like for you? Take a few moments to check in with yourself.

The silence in this story is striking, particularly because it comes from God. Sometimes, we don’t know what to do with such a pause, or perceived silence from God. Renita J. Weems reflects on this in an autobiographical memoir, saying:

No one is ever prepared to endure the long silence that follows intimacy . . . no one is prepared to face it when it follows a season of intimacy with God. It is the hardest thing to talk about, and it is the hardest thing in the spiritual journey to prepare for[v].

She’s right. We don’t tend to like silence in our faith. It seemingly calls immediate attention to all the things we don’t know about God, or about ourselves – it highlights all the questions that we have about our faith and lives, and even in times of discernment, can bring about more questions than answers. And yet, embracing these moments are a crucial part of the faith journey, alongside a fervent trust that God is with us in these moments of silence, just as God was with Elijah. Weems continues by saying

Perhaps God is not silent but rather is waiting – waiting for human beings to gather their thoughts, compose themselves, regain their speech, and find their way back into the give-and-take of intimacy with God[vi].

Maybe that’s truly what discernment is all about; not so much discovering a specific set of actions we are supposed to do, but discovering how to reconnect with God when we are jolted out of a faith lived in auto-pilot, and forced to renew our understanding of purpose.

In the Superman movie, Man of Steel, a young Clark Kent becomes overwhelmed by all of the chaos in a school classroom. To escape his sensory overload, he literally bolts from the room, and is found hiding in the quiet comforts of the janitor closet. With teachers and students gathered outside, urging him to come out, his mother bursts into the hallway. Calmly, she kneels down by the door, and softly speaks to her son. She asks if he hears her voice. He responds yes. She tells him to focus on that, just her voice, to make it his island and swim toward it. After some time and lots of determination, Clark emerges and is immediately embraced by the loving arms of his mother.

After the sound of silence, Elijah emerges from the cave, humble and ready to hear what God would reveal. Here he experiences a bit of de ja vu, with God asking again “What are you doing here?” and Elijah offering the same response. Such repetition reminds us that even in times of discernment, we can come out in a similar place. And yet, God doesn’t leave Elijah there. God provides direction, specific directions about whom to anoint as the next king, and to whom Elijah is to pass on his mantle of leadership.

In other words, God tells Elijah to go back to work. Elijah does not have to give up his frustration, but God will not let him give in to it[vii].

The same is true for us today. In the midst of difficult decisions and discernment, and when confronted with challenging situations in our lives and our world, God does not just let us throw up our hands, declare it all doomed, and go hide in a cave. Instead, through the Holy Spirit, God nudges us into contemplation and reflection with the question “what are you doing here?” Such a question prompts us into active response to the world, and reminds us that we have been created for a purpose. There is work for us to do. Sometimes discovering what that is involves pausing, and listening that hushed whisper. Because it in we know that we are not alone. The God who is alongside us in our chaos, who accompanies us into the wilderness, and who sits with us in the cave, is also the God who leads us out and remains with us, in whirlwinds, in earthquakes, in fires, and yes, even in the sounds of sheer silence. May we find God, and ourselves, there. Amen.

 

Sermon Preached by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

Heritage Presbyterian Church, June 23, 2019

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[i] Choon-Leong Seow, “1 Kings 19:8b-18” New Interpreter’s Bible, 145.

[ii] Feasting on the Word: Worship Companion, Liturgies for Year C, Volume 2, Kimberly Bracken Long, editor. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).

[iii] Carrie N. Mitchell, “Pastoral Perspective: 1 Kings 19:1-4 (5-7), 8-15a.” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 146.

[iv] Kathleen A. Robertson Farmer, “Exegetical Perspective: 1 Kings 19:1-4 (5-7), 8-15a.” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 151.

[v] Renita J. Weems. Listening for God: A Minister’s Journey Through Silence and Doubt. (New York: Simon & Shuster, 1999), 25.

[vi] Weems, 67.

[vii] Haywood Barringer Spangler, “Homiletical Perspective: 1 Kings 19:1-4 (5-7), 8-15a.” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 151.

Food Pantry

Food distribution has been changed to the 1st Saturday of the month at 10:00 am and the 3rd Wednesday of the month at 12:30 pm.

The next Drive-Up Food Pantry is scheduled for Saturday, May 3 at 10 am.  Accurate pre-registration is strongly encouraged to ensure volunteers pack accordingly.
Please sign- up here!

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Church News

Volunteers are needed to help pack family boxes on Monday, April 27th and Monday, May 19th at 10 am in the Fellowship Hall. We welcome all volunteers.  

Food Pantry distribution volunteer opportunity Saturday, May 3 registration here!

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