Heritage Presbyterian Church

Love Grows Here

Sunday’s Sermon – Elevator Speeches – Luke 24:44-53; Ephesians 1:15-23

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Wear Sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it[i].

20 years ago, this spoken word piece by Baz Luhrmann dominated the radio waves as tassels were hung and mortarboards tossed. The original text came from a 1997 article in the Chicago Tribune by Mary Schimich, titled “Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young.” It was Schimich’s take on what she would say in a commencement speech if she were asked to give one, saying things like:

Don’t worry about the future or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra problem by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind – the kind that blindside you at 4 pm on some idle Tuesday. . .

[and]

Accept certain inalienable truths

Prices will rise

Politicians will philander

You too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize that when you were young

Prices were reasonable

Politicians were noble

And children respected their elders.

Respect your elders[ii].

Both the article and lyrics are rich with poignant advice about growing older, laced with nostalgia and sort of a shaking head wisdom that youth are rarely going to heed such advice, but the speaker will give it anyway. This time of year, you may even listen to such a commencement address, or at least hear snippets and quotes here and there of what famous speakers are offering to the next generation of graduates. And sometimes, as Morehouse College graduates recently learned, these speeches can bring quite the big pay-off[iii].

Our text for today is a final address, given by Jesus at the end of Luke’s gospel. Chances are, though, if you’re asked for Jesus’ final words to his disciples, you’ll likely turn to the end of Matthew’s gospel, that Great Commission:

19 Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20 and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.[iv]

It’s a great send-off, right? Clear and concise instructions; a roadmap for how to be disciples.

Luke’s account, on the other hand, is frankly less memorable. It follows classic stories of Post-Resurrection appearances, notably the revelation of the risen Lord on the road to Emmaus. Our text for today is sort of tucked into the end, offering a bookend of Luke’s gospel before the transition into the second part of the evangelist’s narrative in the book of Acts. In this story we encounter the story of Jesus’ Ascension. It is a day marked on the liturgical calendar 40 days after Easter (which, in case you weren’t keeping count, was this past Thursday). For Luke, the Ascension is a key marker to connect the story of Jesus as the promises from the Hebrew scriptures fulfilled. It also serves to identify Jesus as a prophet, one who reveals an understanding of God’s word, and is indeed swept up into a cloud like Elijah. The symbolism would not have been lost on the audience in the first century. Like those around the table in Emmaus, their eyes would have been opened and they would have recognized Jesus as the Messiah. But, if Matthew’s Great Commission is the penultimate commencement address, what do we make of Luke’s parallel? I’d offer this morning that Luke’s gospel has Jesus giving an elevator speech.

Are you familiar with the phrase?

An elevator speech is a clear, brief message or “commercial” about you. It communicates who you are, what you’re looking for and how you can benefit a company or organization. It’s typically about 30 seconds, the time it takes people to ride from the top to the bottom of a building in an elevator. (The idea behind having an elevator speech is that you are prepared to share this information with anyone, at anytime, even in an elevator.) . . . This elevator speech is: •absolutely not longer than 25 to 30 seconds •or – in words – approximately 80 to 90 words •or – in sentences – 8 to 10 sentences[v].

The American Library Association notes that:

An elevator speech [is] a message intended to spur decision makers to action. An elevator speech must be short, specific, and memorable. It is important to have your elevator speech rehearsed and ready because you never know when you’ll have an opportunity to use it![vi]

I would offer that in his final moments with his disciples, with the “elevator going up” if you’ll allow it, that Jesus maximized his final moments in this style in order to inspire his disciples into action. The ALA goes on further to give a guide for crafting such a speech, one we see reflected in Luke’s gospel account.

First, the message; what do you need your audience to know. This is where our text begins today, as Jesus opens their minds to the entirety of the Scriptures. Ok, so it’s a pretty big message, but the key here I think is that, echoing the experience on the Emmaus road, the disciples begin to understand what is going on, something that is radically new to their experience of discipleship. Light bulbs begin to go off, and we might imagine them nodding along, perhaps for the first time with a glimmer of understanding about what all of this means.

Second, the story and key data; connect the message specifically to your work, with a quick fact/data and story. Jesus gets to the point with a recap of the resurrection, and perhaps most importantly, the good news of the forgiveness of sins that should be proclaimed. The bottom line according to Jesus? Grace.

Third, the ALA would have you make an Ask; consider who you are talking to, what they care about, and what it is within their power to impact. Make a specific request. Jesus names those gathered as “witnesses to these things.” He promises them that the power of the Holy Spirit is coming to enable them to do this work, and instructs them to wait for it (spoiler alert- they only have to wait about 10 days – we’ll get there next Sunday on Pentecost). And when the time comes, they are to proclaim this good news to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.

There you have it – an elevator speech – short, personal, and memorable. As William Herzog II notes:

Up to this point Luke has been concerned with reinterpreting the Scriptures in the light of Jesus. Now his focus shifts to the outcome of Jesus’ ministry – the mission that the disciples will conduct in his name . . . The blessing occurs in Bethany. It is as though the risen Lord took the disciples to the trail head that would lead to the Gentile mission.

In this speech, Jesus reminds the disciples, after all that has happened, about what really matters, so that they might grab hold of it and continue his mission.

In the Roald Dahl classic book, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the candyman Willy Wonka takes some of the characters in a magical glass elevator. He explains that this is no ordinary elevator – it can go any direction the heart desires. At the very end of the book, when only Charlie and Grandpa Joe are left, the elevator breaks through the ceiling of the Chocolate Factory, giving them a view of the entire factory and city. From the sky, things can appear clearer. Wonka asks Charlie if he liked all that he has seen and experienced with him, and Charlie enthusiastically agrees. Then, the big reveal comes: Charlie is going to be Wonka’s successor. Everything will belong to him, and he will carry on what Wonka began.  Big things can happen on an elevator ride.

In these final verses in Luke’s gospel, Jesus takes his disciples up in the elevator, and then opens the doors for them to go out into the world. Because that’s what you do when the elevator ride ends. You get off at your floor! And, if the elevator speech has been done well, it will impact the steps you take next. Perhaps that’s why Jesus had to ascend; so that the disciples would start making connections on their own, living out the faith he had shown them, rather than just following along somewhat mindlessly and clueless. Here, Jesus is inviting them to continue exhibiting the reign of God in the world. It’s quite the offer, isn’t it?

It came to the disciples long ago, and it comes to us today. As those who have heard the good news and experienced the presence of Christ, what would we share with others on an elevator ride? Would we dare to share the gospel? May it be so. Amen.

sermon preached by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

Heritage Presbyterian Church, June 2, 2019

 

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[i] “Everybody’s Free (to Wear Sunscreen)” by Baz Luhrmann

[ii] Ibid.

[iii] https://www.ajc.com/news/just-morehouse-commencement-speaker-pay-off-class-2019-student-loans/XvMHlS1SVyJiG3mRp1WOWL/

[iv] Matthew 28:19-20, New Revised Standard Version

[v] http://sfp.ucdavis.edu/files/163926.pdf

[vi] http://www.ala.org/advocacy/advocacy-university/school-library-resources/elevator-speech

Sunday’s Sermon – Down the Shore – Acts 16:9-15

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This weekend marks the official start of summer for many Americans. Cookouts and time spent on the lake or in the backyard are the order of the day. School may have a few more hours for some, but on the whole children in our area this week are crying “freeedommm!” from studies. It’s a season marked by relaxation and recreation, and this weekend is often seen as a kick-off of such fun. In the first church I served, just outside of Philadelphia, I had a bit of a learning curve on what summer weekend life could look like when I first began in ministry. Almost every week from June until August, I heard people ask, “What are you doing this weekend?” “Going down the shore.” Down the shore. It took me a while to register the phrase that seemed odd to my Southern earns. It’s how those in the northeast, particularly those near enough to the coastline between New York and Delaware describe going to the beach. And the road from Philadelphia to the Jersey Shore, be it Ocean City or Cape May, was bumper to bumper every Friday afternoon. “Down the shore” was more than just about a destination, I learned. It was a way to describe getting away from it all to enjoy a time of rest or to let loose and breathe a little. For those who were living crazy busy lives in the city, it brought relief and much needed balance.

In today’s scripture reading, we have a story of going “down the shore.” Paul and his companions, Silas and Timothy, are on what we might call a European vacation, journeying throughout Roman colonies like Galatia and the district of Macedonia. We know from the text that they are following a vision from God, and have settled in the city for at least a few days to accomplish it. And then, the sabbath day comes, and they take a pause. They go to the river to pray, and find many kindred spirits present.

This part of Paul’s journey brings him into connection with a woman named Lydia. We are introduced to her as a “dealer in purple cloth,” which signifies that she is a businesswoman. And likely a successful one, as she is in charge of her own household. Her business dealings were with an extravagant material, reserved usually just for the elite class of Philippi. The very fact that she is named at all is significant to her place within the community and the story; and more she is presented with honor and recognition.

Lydia, on this day, has gone “down the shore.” We presume she is taking a break from her negotiations and is engaging in a time of prayer on the sabbath day. More than just a place to splash in the water or take a nap, the banks of a river are known throughout scriptures to be a place of nourishment and refreshment spiritually as well.  We know Lydia is a worshiper of God, distinguishing her from other Gentiles in the area, but at the start her motivations are unclear. As Ronald Cole-Turner offers:

She came to the riverside, to a secluded place of prayer. Perhaps she expected to meet other women, Jewish worshipers or Gentile seekers, for prayer together. Perhaps she came regularly. What she did not know was that on this particularly day outside the city gates, she would be met by Paul and his companions, missionaries looking for anyone who was seeking God in this hidden place of prayer. There at the riverside, Lydia found the God who was finding her

. . .

Here is the center of the story, the moment of intersection between human obedience and divine initiative. Longing and grace meet there on the bank of the river. The longing heart of a faithful woman is opened by the gracious impulse of a faith-giving God in an action that, like the incarnation itself, is at once fully human and fully divine[i].

This seeming “chance meeting” is only possible because both Lydia and Paul dared to take time to go “down the shore.” They move outside the city, changing the pace and rhythm of their lives in a way that enables them to embrace a new vision from God. What a fitting text on this weekend that is the launch of a new season. Perhaps, as we make our summer plans, we might also consider in what ways we are opening ourselves spiritually to grow and encounter God in times of prayer.

Throughout my life, one of my favorite places to go is Montreat, North Carolina. In fact, I can’t wait to spend some time there in just a few weeks. The past few summers, I’ve accompanied our youth group to the high school youth conference there. And for at least a few minutes each day, I’ve found myself setting up “my office” for a time of reading and reflection next to either Lake Susan or one of the creeks that babble as ice cold water tumbles over smooth rocks. It is particularly peaceful, and offers a perfect backdrop for thinking and praying. There’s something about that environment that sets up the possibility of profound moments in faith, or at least a few moments for good deep breathing. And while it’s true, I can find those moments here in Georgia, it seems that sometimes I have to physically move myself to some new location in order to see what God is really up to in my life. I wonder if it was the same for Lydia.

We read in verse 14 that “the Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul.” She was hungry for some words of hope. No doubt he and his missionary companions spoke about the wonders of the resurrection and the joy of the living Christ. Here, though, we don’t get a lengthy account of Paul’s sermon. Perhaps, and I say this both anxiously and aware of the irony, what exactly Paul said wasn’t the point. What was most meaningful is that Lydia and others, were in a posture to receive the good news that was presented to them.

Where in your life are you in the best posture to receive God’s good news? Is it here in this Sanctuary? With a cup of coffee on your patio with your favorite devotional book? Watching the waves lap against the shoreline with your toes in the sand? Our text prompts us to carve out sacred spaces in our lives and engage in prayer that can be life-changing.

If you aren’t paying attention, you’ll almost miss what happens next. Lydia, and her household, were baptized, and she moves from opening her heart to God to opening her home to God’s missionaries. We imagine her to embark on a ministry of hospitality, worship and learning, becoming a model of leadership in the early church. Following their release from prison in verse 40 of this chapter, Paul and Silas will return to her house to encourage what appears to be a growing community of believers. The story of Lydia is sometimes characterized as evidence of the first European converts to Christianity. It is also seen as a powerful example of female leadership in the early church. But as inspiring as these two attributes are, I am most compelled by the fact that all of this was brought about by a willingness to set aside time for prayer and reflection. I read this text as an invitation to us today, to go “down the shore.” Or, as the gospel song goes, “down to the river to pray.”

In the movie O Brother, Where Art Thou, this song interrupts the 3 convicts trying to plan their next steps, as countless church-going singers in white robes descend on the river banks to be baptized. At the river, they find renewal and emerge refreshed for the journey of faith before them. One of the convicts is so swept up in the moment that he races into the water and emerges ecstatic that he has been forgiven. He calls to his friends “come on in boys, the water’s fine!” and one of them responds with an ear to ear grin. That is what it looks and feels like to be swept up in the gospel.

This morning, I’m not going to ask you to come be baptized; that’s not how Presbyterians work. But I am going to ask you to have a “baptismal moment” alongside Lydia and Paul on the banks of the river and consider what God might be calling you to this summer.  Ask yourself how your might be nudged by the Spirit out of your comfort zone, out of the city gates if you will, and into a spirit of prayer that opens you to the possibilities for God’s transforming grace and radical good news to speak to you and through you into the building up of God’s community here on earth. Will your heart be opened, as Lydia’s was, to the gospel? Take a few moments, right here, right now, to go “down the shore” and find out.

As I went down in the river to pray
Studying about that good old way
And who shall wear the starry crown
Good Lord, show me the way!

 O sisters, let’s go down,
Let’s go down, come on down
O sisters, let’s go down
Down in the river to pray

 As I went down in the river to pray
Studying about that good old way
And who shall wear the robe and crown
Good Lord, show me the way!

 O brothers, let’s go down
Let’s go down, come on down
Come on, brothers, let’s go down
Down in the river to pray

 As I went down in the river to pray
Studying about that good old way
And who shall wear the starry crown
Good Lord, show me the way!

Amen.

 

sermon preached by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

Heritage Presbyterian Church, May 26, 2019

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[i] Ronald Cole-Turner, “Acts 16:9-15: Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009).

Sunday’s Sermon – Women of the Cloth – Acts 9:36-43

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One of my favorite memories as a little girl was going to visit my grandparents in Lexington, North Carolina. When I was very little, we only lived about 30 minutes away, so visits were frequent. The rhythm changed a bit when we moved to Northern Virginia, lengthening our stays. In fact, once when I was 6, my parents took a church youth group on a mission trip to Korea, and I got to stay with my grandparents for a few weeks. It was priceless time. So many special trips and fun things to do with them, and of course, discovering ways to pass the time without a room full of my own toys. One of them was to follow my grandmother around her daily work. She had her own drapery business, with a workroom adjacent to the house with a huge table, and cubbies underneath to hold massive bolts of thick fabric, and she had huge books of samples of seemingly every color and pattern you could think of. Eager to keep me busy, no doubt, she presented me with a box full of scraps, and several of the older sample books. I remember dragging the box into another room, carefully organizing and laying out the fabrics, creating my own “shop.”

When I read this story from Acts 9 about Tabitha, or Dorcas in Greek, I cannot help but think of my grandmother. We learn from the text that Tabitha was a woman who made tunics and other clothing, and was devoted to charity and acts of service. The parallels are many. My grandmother, Gladys, could sew just about anything, and regularly made me (and my Barbie dolls) dresses like it was nothing. She, along with my mother, and my great-grandmother and others before her, was truly a “woman of the cloth.” You see, I come from a family of quilters and seamstresses. My parent’s house includes stacks of quilts made in a time when they were needed practically and also were passed on from generation to generation as a way of telling the family story. Among my favorites are the “crazy quilts,” with patterns sort of like what is on the cover of the bulletin. Scraps from here and there that come together to make some sort of masterpiece.

In many ways, I think quilts like this are a beautiful image of our journey of faith and the life of the church. We’re kind of a crazy quilt, knit together in sometimes erratic and unexpected ways, but once it comes together, you can’t imagine it any other way. That must be what the kingdom of God is like.

In Acts, the story of Tabitha reminds us about some of the people who stitched it all together, in this case, quite literally. Tabitha was a disciple. This passage is the one and only use in the New Testament of the feminine form of the Greek word for disciple, mathetria. It is a title of honor and a word not used lightly. This woman, a widow who ordinarily might be on the outskirts of society, is presented in a place of honor and leadership within the early church community. In fact, we might even deduce from the sharing of her Greek name, Dorcas, that she was engaged in multiple communities. It wasn’t just about her church where she would have been known as Tabitha, but also in the greater Gentile community where she went by her Greek name. Going further, the text shares that she was devoted to good works and acts of charity. Following her death, other widows gather around, likely sharing stories about her life as they touched the tunics and pieces of fabric she left behind. These were not professional mourners, but friends whose lives she had impacted in real and tangible ways.

The inclusion of Tabitha in the story of Acts, I think, is about more than just some other miracle story. True, the act of resurrection that Peter performs is a pretty big deal, and reveals God’s power and presence in the early church in impressive ways. But, what I think might be more compelling, especially this morning and on this holiday weekend, is the reminder of those people that have been a part of sharing God’s love and God’s story with us. The faithful disciples, the saints, who have accompanied us in faith and inspired us into new life. So this morning, I’d like to share a few of those stories from my own life, and encourage you to consider what stories from your experience you might share.

As I said, I can’t hear this story without thinking about my grandmother. In addition to her drapery business, she was also heavily involved in the Lexington Woman’s Club and her church, serving as Sunday School Superintendent for a time, and generally giving a lot of her time in service to others. She was a true disciple. When I was in elementary school, I participated in a program through Scouting that explored faith foundations: “God and Me,” “God and Family” “God and Church” and “God and Life” were the levels, each exploring different questions. For the “God and Family” stage, we were supposed to interview people in our families about their faith. I remember using a tape recorder to ask the questions on the worksheet of my grandparents, and somewhere in my parent’s attic is the cassette tape of my grandmother sharing the story of her baptism as a teenager in a river at a revival that came to town. It was so far outside of my own experience, but I remember how vividly and excitedly she told me about it, and about her faith in Jesus. When I think to some of my earliest memories of how I learned what it meant to be a Christian, these stories are among the first to come to mind.

I am blessed to have had the opportunity to grow up in many different faith communities where my father was pastor or mother Christian educator. As such, there are a host of women who have been like Tabithas to me as a part of my faith journey. I remember Miss Sarah, in a stuffy upstairs room at Farmville Presbyterian Church, who sat with me and her two children to form the one non-adult Sunday School class, and introduced catechism questions alongside the Bible stories. I remember Margarent Guenther, my piano teacher and church member who taught me to play and love hymns. I remember Judy Tygard, my high school Sunday School teacher, who welcomed me as a new 15 year old and sat beside me at a lock-in stuffing marshmallows in her mouth for a game, helping me laugh at a time when I was pretty angry at having to move. In small, incremental ways, these women (and some men, too) helped me find my place in the crazy quilt of God’s story, growing in faith and into the disciple that I am today.

In semimary, I came to know a pastor named Mary Jane Winter, who was working for our seminary alumni/ae office. Mary Jane led the travel seminar to Central America, and it didn’t take long for her to realize that in the 3 weeks we spent in Guatemala and Costa Rica, something resonated with me deep within my being. She encouraged me to reflect more, and then when an opportunity came for someone to volunteer with the organization we had been partnering with in Guatemala – CEDEPCA – she persisted with me to help make it a work into my final summer schedule. I spent almost 2 months volunteering in Guatemala as a result, in a summer that absolutely changed my life and broadened my understanding of who God is in and how God works in this world. It was amazing.

In the midst of this experience, I got to know some of the women connected with CEDEPCA who were artisans. One of them, whose name is Miriam, worked to make stoles in the traditional Guatemalan style. We got to know each other a little on a few trips to Antigua, and near the end of my time I realized I really wanted one of the things she had made, especially since some of them had the artistry to incorporate the PCUSA seal into them. So, I went to Antigua and looked through her inventory, but all of the ones she had were, well, made for other pastors who are much taller than I am. Not to be discouraged, she insisted that she would make one for me. These, of course, take time, so I actually got it a few months later when one of the CEDEPCA staff members came to the U.S. It is probably my favorite stole, made with love by a woman who when we first met noted that she had only met a few female pastors, and never one as young as I was.

These women, and more, have been Tabithas for me. They have reminded me of God’s love and compassion. They have inspired me to grow in faith. They have drawn me into the kingdom of God in ways that I will never forget. My life is richer because of their presence. The church is as well.

Who are yours?

 

Sermon preached by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

Heritage Presbyterian Church, May 12, 2019

 

Sunday’s Sermon – Key Changes – Acts 9:1-20

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This sermon was preached as a part of “Visioning Sunday,” sharing and celebrating God’s call to a new chapter together at Heritage. For more about the context of our new mission/vision statement as well as core values, please go to  https://www.heritagepres.com/visioning/

If there’s one thing we post-Resurrection people know about God, it’s that our God is a God of tremendous change. Change is at the heart of our theological identity. Throughout the biblical narrative we see how God is changing the world, and perhaps more importantly, changing the people who are in it. Our text from Acts 9 delivers on this in dramatic fashion. Clearly Saul undergoes a tremendous change on the road to Damascus. He makes an about face, quite literally turning his life around. We hear songs of praise about “seeing the light.” We marvel in his apparent conversion and his dramatic experience of Christ along the way. We say to each other, “yes, this is the kind of change God brings about.”

This text paired with our visioning might bring about some anxiety to you this morning as we think about what the future holds for our congregation. As we consider the proposed mission and vision statement and core values, we become keenly aware that change is on the horizon. Our next step, strategic planning, will include analyzing ministries and sharing ideas for new initiatives. It seems that change is inevitable.

David LaMotte, a singer/songwriter, peacemaker and speaker, writes about change in a book titled Worldchanging 101: Challenging the Myth of Powerlessness. He challenges the ways we often view change and our role in it in the world in relation to a “Hero Narrative.” That is, we asasume that “things change when someone extraordinary encounters a moment of crisis and does something dramatic[1].” Sound familiar? We are quick to assume that all of our experiences of great change, in life or in faith, have to happen like they did with Saul on the road to Damascus.  But nestled within this text is another story of change that I think might be more compelling and applicable as we engage in visioning together in the character of Ananias.

Have you ever been singing along to your favorite song on the radio, grooving with your windows down, drumming on the steering wheel, when all of a sudden the music shifts? A bridge comes in, throwing you off the predictable verse and chorus pattern and changing the feel of the song? Often, this shift brings along something else with it – a key change. Key changes present a similar melody heard in a different way. They indicate growth. They challenge us – that note that was just at the top of our range now threatens to be out of reach. They can change the whole feel of the song. Although they are less dramatic than say, changing the radio station entirely to get to a new song, I think these more subtle changes, key changes, add incredible dimension to our favorite songs, and are worth our attention and appreciation. They remind us that change isn’t always about learning a totally different song; it’s about modulation, which simply adds interest and dimension to the rich melody and pattern that already is there.

This is the story of Ananias. Not much is said about him, but we assume he’s your status-quo new Christian. He’s a faithful disciple living to Damascus, and like any good disciple, has volunteered when called upon by God. That is, until he hears what God wants him to do. You can imagine him saying, “Hold on just a minute, God, you want me to do WHAT? Don’t you know WHO this guy is? He’s out to get all of us, by any means necessary. You’ve got to be kidding me.” God, of course, doesn’t miss a beat, assuring Ananias that God does know what God is doing. God is in charge, and will take care of what needs to be taken care of in regards to Saul. But God has bigger plans for Saul that involve sharing the most incredible story of all to not only God’s people Israel, but to the Gentiles, too. Although it shouldn’t be too surprising to Ananias or us that God uses an imperfect person with a troubled past to share the good news, the reality of it being Saul, an active, avid, rabid persecutor of Christians, makes it almost impossible to imagine, much less support.  Some doubt is understandable and expected. After all, “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” And we are all familiar with the idea of “fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” We approach things cautiously, particularly when it involves personal risk of harm. This, in the most critical of ways, is the experience of Ananias.

To be clear, God isn’t asking Ananias to have the kind of reversal or conversion that it appears Saul is undergoing. But God is asking Ananias to change his tune, to elevate his discipleship to a new level that may very well be a reach for him. God is asking Ananias to experience a tremendous life-view change that widens his understanding of who is included in God’s kingdom, who God is calling to lead, and what it literally looks like to follow Christ.

David LaMotte reminds us that,

It is not naïve to think that you can change the world. In fact, it is naïve to think that you could possibly be in the world and not change it. Everything you do changes the world whether you like it or not. So the questions we must ask ourselves are, ‘Which changes will we make?’, and ‘How will we go about making them?’[2]

Cue the bridge and key change, because Ananias follows God’s instructions. He enters the house and completes the task at hand, laying his hands on one who by all accounts would be his enemy, and trusting the Holy Spirit to cover the rest. It is an incredible moment of reconciliation, as Ananias names Saul as a brother in faith. His faithfulness allows Saul to complete his conversion and go on to proclaim Jesus as Lord. And, of course, we know that Paul’s story doesn’t end here. He has a lot more to say about Christ, and the church is richer because of his wisdom and writings even today.

For Ananias, change came because of God’s vision, and his willingness to listen. Even when it seemed counterintuitive, he was willing to shift, just a little bit, and open himself to the possibility that God had a bigger perspective than he did. He trusted in God’s guidance and was willing to follow and see where it led.

I love that this is the text for us today, because it reminds us that we don’t have to rewrite the songs or invent a totally new melody in order to be a part of what God is doing. Perhaps we are simply called to take the good news that we know and put it through a key change. That’s what our Visioning process is all about. It’s less about those grand hero moments and sweeping changes, and instead about finding out the work that is ours to do next. To be willing, as Ananias was, to discover God’s vision and have the courage to say we will try to be disciples in ways that are familiar AND in ways that are surprising. So that the song God has given us, as individuals and as a community of faith, might take on new life to carry us into the future. May it be so. Amen.

~sermon  by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford,  Heritage Presbyterian Church, May 5, 2019

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[1] David LaMotte, Worldchanging 101: Challenging the Myth of Powerlessness. (Black Mountain, NC: Dryad Publishing, 2014).

[2] LaMotte.

Sunday’s Sermon – We Are Witnesses – Acts 10:34-43, Luke 24:1-12 – Easter

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“Do you solemnly swear or affirm that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” This question, or one like it, marks the beginning of virtually every courtroom scene as a witness takes the stand. The answer implies a commitment to truth beyond just casual conversation. It is meant to spark the conscience, bringing an intentionality and gravity to the circumstances of the testimony. The stories shared by witnesses matter, and they are among the most powerful of all testimony, with each sharing their truth.

The story of Easter is one of witnesses. As Luke tells it, Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and other women are amazed at the sight of the empty tomb and the news that Jesus is risen from the dead. It was unimaginable, and likely unbelievable to their eyes. As they try to wrap their heads around such a concept, they are helped by a jogged memory; Jesus had hinted at this before. They connect the dots, and the story, the whole story of Jesus of Nazareth, comes together. And together they bear witness to the most amazing revelation of all time.

But what happens when they share the news? The disciples brush it off. The word in the Greek is leros. It is translated by the NRSV as “idle tale,” with the dictionary offering “nonsense” or “empty talk” as additional options. The root is connected to our word for “delirious,” and Greek it is usually reserved to describe the ranting of a person suffering from delirium.  This is not a word to be taken lightly. Karoline Lewis even suggests it may have been intended akin to how we would utter an expletive when someone tells us something that is so inconceivable that we’re sure that they are just making it up. It is a word used in the New Testament exactly one time – here in Luke 24.  The eleven disciples, despite all that Jesus had said, and despite the compelling testimony from these women, did. not. believe. them.

Skepticism about such highly unlikely news as a man coming back from the dead is certainly a reasonable doubt. Eyewitness testimony is tricky. Studies show that it is heavily relied upon, but is highly unreliable[i]. It seems the more we learn about science and how the brain works, the less we can take into account how someone remembers any given event as factual truth. From the disciples to modern ears, our first response to news this radical also may be to write it off as nonsense. But, seeing as you’re here this morning, there must be something that draws you in a bit more. Maybe you too are poking your head into the empty tomb, you know, just in case there might be something to this report.

The power of the testimony of the women at the tomb was more than just an absence of a body. They were testifying to the fullness of the story of God’s incarnation and promise. They had remembered (verse 8) all that Jesus had taught them about who God was, is, and will be. Just as the tomb was broken open, so was the silence they had kept since standing at the foot of the cross. The story of a Savior could no longer be kept quiet. It had to be told, proclaimed, preached. This is the gospel. Good news that is worth repeating.

Our text from Acts is a continuation of their witness, with the author of the gospel of Luke describing how belief in Jesus Christ as Savior spread. Peter’s sermon, given here after his lifechanging, eye-opening dream and exchange with Cornelius, is his Easter testimony. In it, he recounts not just the empty tomb, but a complete and concise summary of Christ’s life and teachings. As Nancy Clare Pittman offers:

The boundless gift of the empty tomb cannot be separated from the words and actions of Jesus. Resurrection, after all, is not some buoyant ideal, unconnected to the real world. It is an invitation to live as Jesus lived, a doorway to a life in which meals are shared with enemies, healing is offered to the hopeless, prophetic challenges are issued to the powerful. Only now it is not Jesus who does these things – it is we ourselves who see at last the subversive power of the resurrection in order to live it now[ii].

The witnesses of Easter are not just recounting facts to us almost two thousand years later in these passages; they are inviting us to take our place in the story, in God’s story, so that perhaps we, too, might become witnesses to the resurrection. You may think about witnesses as just being in the courtroom but the truth is, we encounter testimony and witnesses almost every day.  Have you ever looked up reviews for a product you are thinking about buying, or asked friends where the best place to go for brunch is? You are looking for witnesses. Have you shared a recipe, talked about a show you just discovered on Netflix, or passed along the name of a plumber or electrician? You have given testimony.

So, what would you say if asked about your faith, or what you believe about God or Jesus? Would you have a story spilling out of you like Mary Magdalene and Peter? Or, would you be more like a child who climbs in the car after school and answers the question “so, what did you learn/do at school today?” with a shrug and a “don’t know.” Articulating our own faith and experience of the risen Christ can feel overwhelming. And that’s normal. Amazement was the reaction of the women at the tomb at first, too. But the call of Easter is to move from our amazement into becoming witnesses. All of our “alleluias” should lead us into proclamation that Christ is indeed alive. The Resurrection isn’t just reporting on an event from the past; it’s a celebration of an active and present God in the world even today.

All around us are signs of resurrection and new life. The soggy ground has been nourished and softened, with fresh sprigs of green pushing through the soil. This week the world gasped and grieved at the sight of a fire in the cathedral in Notre Dame, France. As stories circulated about the immediate efforts to restore this iconic site, a movement began to raise awareness about some lesser-known houses of worship in Louisiana. About a month ago, fires consumed St. Mary Baptist Church, Greater Union Baptist Church, and Mount Pleasant Baptist Church within 10 days in St. Landry Parish, fires set in hatred by an arsonist to these African-American churches. As of last Sunday, a GoFundMe fundraiser had raised just below $50,000. After some politicians, activists, celebrities and journalists heard of the story in the wake of Notre Dame, the idea of helping out a bit closer to home caught on. By Wednesday morning, the total raised topped $1 million[iii].

A tragic story that could have been a blip on the radar, is now a story of hope as these communities rise up from the ashes. What made the difference? People willing to serve as witnesses and share the story.

Today, we gather to hear news once again of the empty tomb, and to remind ourselves of the greatness of this story. As those who have experienced the risen Christ, even here, even now, we too are witnesses to the transforming power of God. The question Easter asks of us is are we ready to take the stand and give testimony to that good news. May we find the words that speak truth to our experience of God in the world, and may our promise be sealed and affirmed in the words with which we greet each other this day. Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed. Amen.

~Sermon by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, Heritage Presbyterian Church, April 21, 2019 (Easter Sunday)

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[i] For additional insights, see articles such as https://www.simplypsychology.org/eyewitness-testimony.html, https://theconversation.com/new-research-reveals-how-little-we-can-trust-eyewitnesses-67663, or https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/do-the-eyes-have-it/. Accessed 4/16/20.

[ii] Nancy Claire Pittman, “Homiletical Perspective: Luke 24:1-12,” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009).

[iii] https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2019/04/17/after-notre-dame-fire-gofundme-ensured-black-churches-burned-louisiana-got-million-too/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.929af710b4f3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But some messages can’t be silenced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ii] Psalm 118:26.

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

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

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

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

 

Sunday’s Sermon – Bracket Buster – Philippians 3:4b-14; Isaiah 43:16-21

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Bracket Buster

A few weeks ago, I excitedly took part in one of my favorite traditions this time of year: filling out my NCAA tournament bracket. It’s no secret that I’m a huge college basketball fan, unapologetically biased to the University of North Carolina Tarheels. In my family, we are each allowed two brackets: one that is what you think might actually happen, and another a fantasy bracket for if whatever you say goes. This year, mine had a lot of similarities. Because of the busy nature of this time of year, and the realities of life with two small children, I didn’t have the time to pour over each pairing and do a lot of field research, although ESPN and CBS and other places would have gladly fueled that opportunity. Instead, I relied on quick decisions and basic facts. One of them, naturally, was the win-loss record of the teams. And, going a bit deeper, the strength of schedule and key wins and losses. Sometimes, reputation plays into the picks, too. Remember when Shaka Smart was at VCU and they stunned the field as a powerful Cinderella? They had some staying power for a few years after that. Other programs are known as powerhouses, and tend to get more nods even with a less than stellar year. Finally, you might consider how they are playing going into the tournament: are they on a winning streak or have they lost momentum, or are there injuries that are plaguing their chances. There are a lot of rabbit holes here, aren’t there? I’ll also allow that it’s perfectly ok if someone (ahem, my mother), chooses based on things like team colors or mascots or just liking a school. All of this to say that “March Madness” brings out a lot of evaluating and conversation about who might be the winners and why.

If we were filling out brackets for followers of Jesus in the early church, I wonder who would come out on top? Judas clearly gets out in the early rounds. Peter would be an interesting debate, a favorite going in because of his enthusiasm and hustle, but his courtyard denials might spell elimination early. There would be plenty of Cinderella stories – unlikely characters who suddenly pull ahead. Think: Zacchaeus or the Woman at the Well. If we venture further into the New Testament, though, I think we might discover that there is a solid argument for Paul being named the champion.

In our text for today, Paul outlines a lengthy list of his own accomplishments. He does this often in his letters to the early church, in part as a common way of giving credibility to what he was going to say in line with the rhetorical patterns of the day, and also because he often was up against others who claimed to be the religious authorities on this newly emerging Christianity (see the “Super apostles” in 2 Corinthians). At the beginning of our passage, Paul again lists his resume, and it’s a good one. He talks about his background and heritage, his education, his passion and religious convictions, and his righteous lifestyle. This is the total package. It’s like a basketball team that has a dynamic point guard, a 7-footer on the inside, someone who can sink 3s from deep, and an impenetrable defense all led by a coach who has cut the nets down from a record number of championships. Laid out on paper, it should be an easy road to victory with this pedigree.

“So, how’s your bracket doing?” is a question you might ask a sports fan. Sure, you may have picked the right 12-5 upset, but few ever name all the Cinderella stories. Mine? Totally busted. I made it through the first weekend just fine, but then, as number one seeds and personal favorites fell, I got down to nothing. The little icon on my ESPN tournament challenge app reflected an ice cube to indicate it had gone cold. If it had been printed out, I would have ripped it up into little pieces and thrown it into the trash.

Paul writes about a similar dismissal of his stellar resume. Eugene Peterson’s The Message interprets verses 7 and 8 like this:

The very credentials these people are waving around as something special, I’m tearing up and throwing out with the trash – along with everything else I used to take credit for. And why? Because of Christ.

That’s right, friends, Jesus Christ is a bracket buster. Before you get after me for being too heretical, think about it. Jesus could be seen as the ultimate Cinderella story – with humble origins from a tiny little town. Didn’t the people judge him for that at one point – can anything good come out of Nazareth (See John 1:43-46)? It was not a location known for producing Messiahs. He was an outlier, with a motley crew of disciples and followers – fisherman, tax collectors, sinners and all – a rag-tag team at best. He got into a lot of foul trouble and acted in ways that defied many traditional strategies. The entirety of Jesus’ story, though, shines at the ending for Paul. Christ’s suffering and resurrection changed everything. It shattered expectations and turned things upside down. It busted Paul’s bracket of faith, and for the better.

Paul is so compelled, so transformed by the good news of the gospel that he cannot help but leave all that he knew, all that he had worked for and gained, all that he was, behind. It’s important here to note that what he was leaving wasn’t bad. As Fred Craddock reminds us:

Paul does not toss away junk to gain Christ; he tosses away that which was of tremendous value to him. Therein lies the extraordinary impact of his testimony and the high commendation of faith in Jesus Christ . . . What Paul is saying is that Christ surpasses everything of worth to me[i].

Often times in talking about letting go of things in faith, especially during this season of Lent, we talk about giving up the things that are “junk” – our sins and shortcomings. But here, we are also reminded that sometimes developing our faith involves giving up those things that can be seen as good, but still get in the way of our best relationship with God. Our status in society and the successes can lead us into a sense of self-righteousness and boasting, and make us think that we can do things all on our own without any help. They make us believe that we, too, are like a Savior. Theologian Karl Barth offers that giving these things up is an important part of our lives of faith. He writes:

Faith in its decisive act is the collapse of every effort of his own capacity and will, and the recognition of the absolute necessity of that collapse. In it he is truly lost. If man sees the other aspect: that as lost he is righteous, that in giving himself up he can take comfort in God’s righteousness, then he sees himself – but it is ek theou (from God) that this vision comes – from God’s point of view. That happens in faith. That is the positive thing that happens in faith[ii].

For Paul, that is what happens when he lets all the other things fall away and instead is simply focuses on knowing Jesus Christ. This knowledge of his Savior is what allows him to remember what truly matters, and more importantly, who matters.  He can only get there by letting go, and pushing forward into the future.

I hear the words of the prophet Isaiah echoing in the background:

            “Forget about what’s happened; don’t keep going over old history.

Be alert, be present. [God is] about to do something brand-new.

It’s bursting out! Don’t you see it?[iii]”

We are on the road. Easter is just around the corner. But are we really ready for Resurrection? Both Paul and Isaiah remind us that we can only prepare for the new and transforming good news if we are willing to let go of the past. You can’t cling to the bracket that has been busted, even if your teams were great. You have to tear it up and put it in the trash.

This is important for us to do as individuals, as Paul did, and also as communities. To grow as a church and as a society, we have to adapt and change. But culture pushes back mightily against this most of the time; we’d rather cling to what we know, even if it no longer is working for us. Barbara Brown Taylor notes:

Churches have resumes too. Some are proud of their long histories and the distinguished preachers who have filled their pulpits, while others focus on gains in giving and membership in recent years. Some can tell you how many members of their youth group have gone on to become ministers themselves . . . none of these things is bad, Paul says. It is just that none of those things will get a congregation one inch nearer where it wants to go[iv].

What will get us there, is a desire to know Christ, and become focused on the all-surpassing, all-encompassing love that comes to us through Jesus. And once we let that take hold of us, and become our motivation for living, it is truly all that matters.  So as we approach these final days of Lent, may our eyes be continually on the one who walks the road ahead of us, who indeed will be crowned the champion, on the cross and on Easter morning. Let us not be afraid to leave some things behind, so that we can press on to what lies ahead. Resurrection is on the horizon. Thanks be to God. Amen.

 ~Sermon by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, Heritage Presbyterian Church, April 7, 2019

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[i] Fred B. Craddock, Interpretation: Philippians, (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press 1985).

[ii] Karl Barth, Epistle to the Philippians, 40th Anniversary Edition, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002).

[iii] Isaiah 43:18-19, The Message

[iv] Barbara Brown Taylor, “Homiletical Perspective: Philippians 3:4b-14,” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009).

 

Sunday’s Sermon – Painting the Picture – Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

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“There was a man who had two sons.” It is such a familiar story to us that it is at once both easy and hard to hear. Barbara Brown Taylor explains it this way:

The problem with a really good parable—especially one as beloved as this one—is that it can become limp from too much handling. Like the velveteen rabbit, it can lose its eyes, its whiskers, and a lot of its stuffing, until it conforms to the arms of whoever picks it up. After a while, you hardly have to hold it anymore. You can just sling it over your wrist, with the head on one side and the body on the other, trusting it to stay put while you go about your business. That’s how you know you don’t have a live parable anymore, capable of leaping from your arms and leading you out to where you did not mean to go. You have a domestic pet instead, as captive to you as you are to your culture[i].

Parables were meant to illustrate for the people of Jesus’ day of what the kingdom of God was like. Jesus used this storytelling technique like a masterful artist, inviting those who would hear to listen, and find their place in the story. We might then, apply techniques of studying and appreciating art to the complexity of these illustrations from Christ. And that is exactly what Henri Nouwen did with a seventeenth-century painting of this parable by Rembrandt titled Prodigal Son. [show picture of painting]

Nouwen, a Dutch Catholic priest, professor, theologian and writer with a passion for social justice and community, particularly those who were developmentally challenged. In the 1980s, following an exhausting lecturing trip, Nouwen noticed a poster of the painting pinned to the door. He describes it like this:

I could not take my eyes away. I felt drawn by the intimacy between the two figures, the warm red of the man’s cloak, the golden yellow of the boy’s tunic, and the mysterious light engulfing them both. . . My heart leapt when I saw it. After my long self-exposing journey, the tender embrace of father and son expressed everything I desired at that moment[ii].

Three years later, Nouwen found a way to travel to Russia, where the original painting was on display at the Hermitage in Saint Petersburg. He was not disappointed, and describes sitting for hours with the painting, even as others came and went, spending different days examining it from different angles. As time unfolded, he continued to be enraptured by this painting, and the many layers of meaning for both the artistry, and the parable it depicted. It became a reflecting point for Nouwen, which inspired him to write an amazing little book titled The Return of the Prodigal Son, which I want to offer as our guide this morning as I borrow heavily from his reflections[iii].  Perhaps by seeing the story through his eyes instead of our own, we might just notice something new. Perhaps we can find ourselves painted into this story as well.

First, let’s take a look at the younger son. We, of course, have plenty of words to judgmentally describe him, don’t we? He is arrogant, selfish, foolhardy, immature, and short-sighted. Here, though, we see the prodigal in a different light:

The soft yellow-brown of the son’s underclothes looks beautiful when seen in the rich harmony with the red of the father’s cloak, but the truth of the matter is that the son is dressed in rags that betray the great misery that lies behind him[iv].

The full title of this painting is The Return of the Prodigal Son. For Rembrandt, and Nouwen, the beauty comes in this moment of embrace from the middle of the story in verse 20. Nouwen writes:

In the context of a compassionate embrace, our brokenness may appear beautiful, but our brokenness has no other beauty but the beauty that comes from the compassion that surrounds it[v].

He goes on to describe this compassion as a mystery, for the youngest son has done virtually everything in the world to do the opposite of deserving such love. His asking for his inheritance in advances was tantamount to wishing his father dead. And yet, even when all becomes lost, he is able to find a way home.

Nouwen describes himself as the youngest child, who stumbles, humbly, into the arms of God. He writes:

For most of my life I have struggled to find God, to know God, to love God. I have tried hard to follow the guidelines of the spiritual life – pray always, work for others, read the Scriptures – and to avoid the many temptations to dissipate myself. I have failed many times but always tried again, even when I was close to despair.

Now I wonder whether I have sufficiently realized that during all this time, God has been trying to find me, to know me, and to love me. The question is not “How am I to find God?” but “How am I to let myself be known to God?” And, finally, the question is not “How am I to love God?” but “How am I to let myself be loved by God?”[vi]

The return of the son is often the focus of our readings, but as Nouwen notes, his journey cannot be separated from the one of his older brother. The painting by Rembrandt is peculiar in its telling of the story, in that in the story the moment it describes would have the older brother still in the fields. He does not witness this embrace and welcome. Rather, he returns from a hard day of work to find a lavish party for his brother already in full swing. And yet, Rembrandt paints him into this moment, a stern onlooker. In doing so, he adhered to the dualistic pattern of the bible commentaries and paintings in his time, presenting the dichotomy of these two brothers on full display.

In contrast to the open embrace before him, the elder brother is painted with hands clasped. His expression is stern. His presence helps us not to make this just a “happy ending” story because with him it is no longer possible to sentimentalize the “return.” It reminds us that there is more to come; a painful encounter with the realities of resentment and bitterness for one who strove to live into all expectations of obedience and duty. The one who longs to cry out “it’s just not fair!”

Nouwen, along with many other biblical commentators, argue that this story can perhaps be best described as the story of two lost sons, for the older son is also lost, even though he has stayed at home. The older son confronts us:

With one of life’s hardest spiritual choices: to trust or not to trust in God’s all-forgiving love[vii].

His presence and the tension of these moments remind us that trust is most certainly not easy or even natural.

Nouwen, a self-acknowledged oldest child, wrestled with these challenges, saying:

The more I reflect on the elder son in me, the more I realize how deeply rooted this form of lostness really is and how hard it is to return home from there. Returning home from a lustful escapade seems so much easier than returning home from a cold anger that has rooted itself in the deepest corners of my being. My resentment is not something that can be easily distinguished and dealt with rationally[viii].

There is a very strong, dark voice in me that says the opposite: “God isn’t really interested in me, he prefers the repentant sinner who comes home after his wild escapades. He doesn’t pay attention to me who has never left the house. He takes me for granted. I am not his favorite son. I don’t expect him to give me what I really want[ix].”

The story gives us a follow-up conversation between the farther and the older son, but the true ending is left open. So it is true with the painting, too. The light in the painting finds rest on both brothers, perhaps suggesting Rembrandt’s hope that there is a return for the older son as well. Nouwen suggests:

Trust and gratitude are the disciplines for the conversion of the elder son. . . Trust is that deep inner conviction that the Father wants me home. . . I have to keep saying to myself “God is looking for you. He will go anywhere to find you. He loves you, he wants you home, he cannot rest unless he has you with him.[x]”

One of my favorite lines from all of our confessions is in the Brief Statement of Faith, which we will say together today. It says:

Like a mother who will not forsake her nursing child,

like a father who runs to welcome the prodigal home,

God is faithful still.

Some suggest that this parable and painting could instead be titled “The Welcome by the Compassionate Father,” or the “Parable of the Father’s Love.” I’ve even heard it suggested that this is the parable of the “prodigal father,” for the grace and love shown by the father is equally reckless and extravagant. Nouwen notes:

Looking at the way in which Rembrandt portrays the father, there came to me a whole new interior understanding of tenderness, mercy, and forgiveness. Seldom, if ever, has God’s immense, compassionate love been expressed in such a poignant way. Every detail of the father’s figure – his facial expression, his posture, the colors of his dress, and, most of all, the still gesture of his hands – speaks of the divine love for humanity that existed from the beginning and ever will be . . . What gives Rembrandt’s portrayal of the father such an irresistible power is that the most divine is captured in the most human[xi].

In the father, of course, we see the love of God. Nouwen writes:

Here is the God I want to believe in: a Father who, from the beginning of creation, has stretched out his arms in merciful blessing, never forcing himself on anyone, but always waiting; never letting his arms drop down in despair, but always hoping that his children will return so that he can speak words of love to them and let his tired arms rest on their shoulders. His only desire is to bless[xii].

The true center of the painting is on the hands of the father; hands extended and open, ready to embrace and bless.

It is dangerous, and uncommon, to paint ourselves in as the father. But Nouwen provokes us to consider the possibility. Not that we might become God, but that we might extend the same compassion and blessing to others. He notes:

Having lived my sonship to its fullest, the time has come to step over all barriers and claim the truth that becoming the old man in front of me is all I really desire for myself[xiii].

Isn’t that our truest desire as Christians? To become, more and more, like Christ – God incarnate – who calls us to love as he loves?

This parable paints a powerful picture. So did Rembrandt. Might we dare to find that we ourselves are in it as well, as a part of this complex and ever-changing story of return and God’s grace. Henri Nouwen noted that this painting, this parable, was a tremendous part of his journey that led him to a profound understanding of his own call, and enabled him to reflect on different parts of his life. He notes appreciation for Rembrandt, whose intricate work enabled him to imagine himself in multiple places in the scene and story, and expresses that hope to his readers, and by proxy, to us today. I leave you with how he concludes his introduction, noting his intentions for this reflection. He writes:

For, indeed, I am the younger son; I am the elder son; and I am on my way to becoming the father. And for you who will make this spiritual journey with me, I hope and pray that you too will discover within yourselves not only the lost children of God, but also the compassionate mother and father that is God[xiv].

May we find such a place in God’s picture of our lives. Amen.

~Sermon by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, Heritage Presbyterian Church, March 31, 2019

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[i] Barbara Brown Taylor, “The Parable of the Dysfunctional Family,” sermon preached at Fourth Presbyterian Church, Chicago, Illinois, on March 18, 2017. http://www.fourthchurch.org/sermons/2007/031807.html, accessed 3/27/2019.

[ii] Nouwen, 4-5.

[iii] Henri J.M. Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal Son, (New York, NY: Doubleday Publishing, 1992).

[iv] Nouwen, 35.

[v] Nouwen, 35.

[vi] As quoted in Words that Listen

[vii] Nouwen 75

[viii] Nouwen 75

[ix] Nouwen, 84.

[x] Nouwen, 84.

[xi] Nouwen, 93.

[xii] Nouwen, 95-96.

[xiii] Nouwen, 124.

[xiv] Nouwen, 23.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why do you spend your money on junk food,

your hard-earned cash on cotton candy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Food Pantry

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

The next Drive-Up Food Pantry is scheduled for Wednesday, May 21 at 12:30 pm.  Accurate pre-registration is strongly encouraged to ensure volunteers pack accordingly.
Please sign- up here!

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

Church News

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

Food Pantry distribution volunteer opportunity Wednesday, May 21 registration here!

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

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Upcoming Events

Worship

Sunday Schedule

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

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

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

Youth Bible Study (Room 8) 6- 12th grade

Kids Club – (Room 7)
Biblically-based Faith Formation Activities for Preschool – 5th Grade
Praise Kids Music on the 3rd Sunday of the month.

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

Youth Group – the first and third Sunday of the month from 5-7 pm during the school year.