storms

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

June 24, 2018 Leave a Comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
June 24, 2018

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

Sunday’s Sermon: The Law of Love – Romans 13:8-10, Psalm 119:33-40

September 11, 2017 Leave a Comment

How many of you would say you “love” the law, or at least rules? Are you sticklers for things like speed limits? Does it make you crazy when people are turning left at the intersection and don’t pass each other first, or don’t take turns at a 4-way stop? What about when watching sports? Do you find yourself explaining or arguing with other fans about technicalities, or try to beat the referees to the call? Rules and laws are something that we tend to have decided opinions on, sometimes strong ones, or at least deeply engrained behaviors, such as what speed we will travel in relation to the speed limit. Admittedly, I am on one of the rule followers. I like structure and boundaries and order in my life and in the world around me. It makes me a good Presbyterian, with our detailed polity and systems and procedures. Rules and regulations bring me a sense of comfort and security. While I am absolutely willing to push back against rules that I don’t agree with, that generally also takes the form of following the system to change the rule, rather than just outright rebellion. When those around me aren’t following the same set of rules, I feel anxious and irritated. Yes, I’m the person that mentally counts items the person in front of me has in the 10 items or less line if it looks like it’s getting close. It would be fair to say that I love rules.

So does the Psalmist. The Psalmist writes a beautiful prayer about delighting and loving the law of the Lord. Such an ode to God’s instructions is comprehensive. At 176 verses, it is the longest chapter in the entire Bible. The verses assigned to us today from the lectionary cycle emphasize one of its major themes; the joy of following the commandments God has given, naming them as life-giving and uplifting. This is an acrostic Psalm, meaning each of the 22 stanzas (of 8 verses each) begins with a different letter, in Hebrew from Aleph to Tav, in English it would be from A to Z. Perhaps it could have been used to teach. One traditional legend in the Orthodox church, who actively uses this Psalm regularly even suggests that King David used this Psalm to teach Solomon not just the alphabet, but an alphabet for the spiritual life. The Psalmist does a pretty good job in laying out the importance of the Torah, the sacred law of God’s people Israel. Verse 97 flat out says “Oh, how I love your law!” The Psalm is a beautiful poetic homage to God’s power and role as teacher, and gives us a clue as to how we are to relate to God as well. Verse 105 reads: “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (verse 105). The Psalm reminds us that one of the purposes for God’s laws is to have relationship with how we live our lives. If we truly love God, and love the instructions that God gives, we will live into them, with God’s help.

The Apostle Paul had a lot of ideas about how that looked in the first century, and his writings can help inspire us today, to consider how we are applying those ancient laws captured in our sacred texts to the world we know. Throughout his letters, Paul wrestles with what to make of the law in light of the grace shown in Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. He wants to be clear that the early church understands that their actions are not going to be what makes the difference to their salvation – it’s the grace of God that does that. Nevertheless, though, what they do does matter. Repeatedly he calls God’s people to live in ways authentic to the faith they profess. This is especially true in his letter to the Romans. Our text today from Romans 13 is the heart of Paul’s treatise on Christian ethics, the integration of life and faith. David Bartlett offers that:

Roman 1-11 spells out the first part of the commandment: “How do we love God with heart, mind, soul, and strength?” Clue: have faith in Jesus. [Then,] Romans 12-14 shows the various ways in which we live out the second part: Love your neighbor as you love yourself. The summary is itself good news[i].

In these verses, Paul emphasizes a well-known refrain, made clear in Leviticus (19:18) and by Jesus himself with the giving of the Greatest Commandment (Matthew 22:36-40). If there is only one thing that we are to remember about how we are to live it should be this: the law of love. This is the identity marker for us as Christians, what makes us who we are.

It is easy to misinterpret this law. Our first inclination is to get wrapped up in the Hollywood and Hallmark illustrations of a saccharine-sweet and unrealistic set of amorous feelings for the whole world. We treat love as an emotion, something we’re just supposed to feel, that makes us all smiley and happy because, well, we just love everyone. Sometimes, this becomes a hypothetical ideal that we can never really achieve, much like a notion of “world peace.” But Paul doesn’t mean for it to be inaccessible. He uses the Greek word agape for love in this passage, which is not the kind of doe-eyed mushy stuff sense of love. Rather, it is a love that is related to doing things for the benefit of another person, an unselfish concern for others and willingness to seek the best for them. In Paul’s instructions, the law of love, he is calling for love that has tangible signs. It is:

the difficult task of real love for real people who are met in everyday life, not theoretical love for humanity as a whole[ii].

For Paul, love is about action, not just emotion. Love needs to be a verb, THE verb, for how we live as those who delight in God’s law and seek to fulfill it.

Right now in our world, I think LOVE is what is at stake, and how we respond to it will make all the difference. As those who believe in the life-changing power of the love of God through Jesus Christ, we have to live like it matters. We have to follow the law of love. And in times when love is threatened or challenged, that is even more important.

Just over a year ago, in the wake of the senseless and heartbreaking attack on PULSE nightclub in Orlando, Florida, one Tony Award winning speech broke through some of the darkness with words of light. Lin-Manuel Miranda, a composer, lyricist, playwright and actor, won several awards for his creative work in Hamilton, including Best Score. Take a moment to see how he thanked and inspired the crowd [start video clip around 1:40]:

[I’m not freestyling. I’m too old. I wrote you a sonnet instead.

My wife’s the reason anything gets done.
She nudges me towards promise by degrees.
She is a perfect symphony of one.
Our son is her most beautiful reprise.
We chase the melodies that seem to find us
Until they’re finished songs and start to play.
When senseless acts of tragedy remind us
That nothing here is promised, not one day
This show is proof that history remembers.
We live through times when hate and fear seem stronger.
We rise and fall, and light from dying embers
Remembrances that hope and love last longer.
And love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love;
Cannot be killed or swept aside.
I sing Vanessa’s symphony; Eliza tells her story.
Now fill the world with music, love, and pride.
Thank you so much for this]

In the face of struggle and tragedy, love is what is going to make the difference. Love is what brings us together in community with each other. “Love does no wrong to a neighbor,” Paul writes (Romans 13:10). It’s not a trick we have to figure out. Look around you. Those are your neighbors. Think about another person, another group, as far away as you can imagine. Those are also your neighbors. All of God’s children are your neighbors. That means everybody. So, wherever we are, there will always be neighbors around, and with them there will be countless opportunities for us to embody the law of love.

You can do it here in our Sanctuary – consider our youngest worshipping neighbors, the ones who sit on the steps with me each week. Love is being the body of Christ to them, and not just saying they are welcome here, but creating a space in our Sanctuary for them in the PRAYground where they can engage in worship in meaningful ways to them. Love is greeting them, passing the peace, asking them what they learned about God today, or even what they might teach you. The law of love means that everything we do in relation to our children in this place comes from love- our love of them, our desire of them to know God’s love through us and through hymns and scriptures and sermons and communion, and most of all, our hope that they will develop a love for Jesus here.

Opportunities for practicing the love abound for our lawmakers. Right now, they face the monumental task of working together across party lines to address critical issues of immigration for those who arrived in our country as children. They are charged with financial decisions about debt ceilings that impact aid given to hurricane flooding victims and countless other programs. We need to pray for their conversations to be filled with love so that they can work together, and that love will infuse their decisions. And we need to act, to encourage our representatives to create rules and regulations and systems that practice the law of love for our neighbors.

And the law of love is already at work in many places.

The law of love is up the hill – as cars drove through our parking lot yesterday and were filled with produce for the mobile food pantry. As donations of clothing are examined and tagged and displayed as a store-like shopping experience to bring dignity to those in need.

The law of love is in Texas. Do you know about the Louisiana Cajun Navy? (https://www.facebook.com/LaCajunNavy/) It’s an informal, ad-hoc volunteer group of private boat owners who assist in search and rescue efforts. They formed in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in 2005, and resurfaced last year after flooding in Louisiana. Two weeks ago, they lined the highways heading towards Texas with bass boats, johnboats, air boats, and other shallow-draft craft that can navigate flood waters to bring relief and rescue. The motto on their facebook reads “We the people of Louisiana refuse to stand by and wait for help in the wake of disasters in our State. We rise up and unite and rescue our neighbors!” A similar sense of fellowship is happening here in Georgia, as those from the coast evacuated up 75 and find welcome and shelter.

The law of love is in the responses of the Presbyterian Disaster Assistance, too, not just in Texas and those in the path of Irma, but in other places impacted by flooding, including the South Sudan, Sierra Leone, Madagascar, Malawi, Columbia, and Peru. PDA’s work also extends beyond natural disasters, providing relief and support to refugees, war-torn places, those struggling with famine and hunger and more. Our fish banks and offerings to One Great Hour of Sharing at Easter help support these ministries, and there may be opportunities coming for us to take part in their relief efforts.

This is what fulfilling the law of God looks like. It’s not rigid and legalistic, stuffy or boring; it’s engaging and active, alive and full. It is love as a verb. In big and small ways, there are moments where you can practice this kind of love, a love of action, that actively promotes the well-being and good of another person. Any other person. When we love our neighbors, we fulfill the most core aspect of the law by which God intends we live. And when that happens, I think it’s more than just us who are delighted. God is as well. May it be so. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
September 10, 2017

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[i] David L. Bartlett, “Homiletical Perspective: Romans 13:8-14,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 4, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011).

[ii] Walter Brueggemann, Charles B. Cousar, Beverly R. Gaventa, and James D. Newsome, “Proper 18,” Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV – Year A, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995).

Sunday’s Sermon – Get Out of the Boat – Matthew 14:22-33

August 13, 2017 Leave a Comment

Seven years ago I took an amazing trip to Guatemala. In addition to some time spent volunteering at Cedepca, my friend Dania and I took a vacation north to the highland region of the country.

Part of this trip included a visit to Tikal, incredible ruins nestled in the rainforest which was the capital of a conquest state that became one of the most powerful kingdoms of the ancient Maya with architecture that dates back as far as the 4^th century BCE. Similar to the pyramids in Egypt in scale, Tikal is larger than life and almost unbelievable. We soon found ourselves at one of the largest temple ruins, Temple 5, where visitors were invited to climb to the top.

Dania quickly dismissed the idea, but I jumped at what I imagined might be a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She agreed to wait and held my bag as I made my way to the base. Because the steps were very narrow and worn, the only way up and down was a wooden staircase that was more like a ladder, affixed to the crumbling ruins.

I began to climb. The structure began to shake. I looked up, following many tourists who were ahead of me. My grip tightened. The ladder creaked. About halfway up, the movement on the stairs slowed and my stomach got pretty heavy. Then I made a critical mistake – I looked down. I have a relatively healthy fear of heights, and in just a few moments convinced myself that this was the most foolishly dangerous thing I could have ever possibly done, and surely I was moments away from slipping and falling without anything to stop me but the people and stones below. I became almost paralyzed with fear. But I was also in the middle of a ladder with nowhere to go but up.

So I held on for dear life, praying I could figure something out. Then, I noticed something ahead of me at the top of the stairs. An older gentleman was being encouraged by his family to complete his climb. With their help, he reached the top, and then, pressed tightly against the wall of the ruins, began to encourage me. He helped me take the last few steps, and then find a spot next to him where I wouldn’t fall off the ledge and could take in the view.

In moments, he had become my best friend. He shared how important it was to him to follow his grandchildren up and take in this sight. He was 70 years old, but this was his first visit to Tikal. We marveled at the view, and at the people down below. We discussed how we could avoid having to go back down those wooden stairs. The storm inside me calmed. And eventually, with his encouragement again, I was able to return safely to the ground. We celebrated together.

Moments that take us outside of our comfort zone have the potential to be exhilarating moments that are exclamation points on the adventures of our lives. Our gospel reading today is not exception, featuring an overeager, passionate disciple who makes a pretty dramatic leap.

Peter is perhaps the most enthusiastic disciple. When Jesus asks for something to happen, it is Peter who has his hand up first to volunteer. He may not get it right all of the time, ok, a lot of the time, but his effort is inspiring. He is what we might describe as being “on fire” for the Lord, and he wants to be a part of everything that Jesus is doing right away. You know how dogs get all excited when their owner comes home, racing towards them with tails wagging? That’s Peter when he sees Jesus coming on the water.

To be sure, Peter’s decision to jump overboard was pretty foolish, particularly in the midst of a storm. It’s the very definition of “throwing caution to the wind.” As Pastor Andrew Foster Connors notes:

You do not step out of a boat in the middle of a storm. You batten down the hatches, put on your life jacket, hunker down in the belly of the boat, and pray that the waves do not get any bigger and the winds to not get any stronger. . . . The safest way to avoid getting hurt seems to be to stay in the boat: 92 percent of the disciples do exactly that in this story[i].

Most of us would stay in the boat, too. And in this way, the boat becomes a metaphor for how we try to keep ourselves safe, comfortable, and sheltered, particularly when things are rough. Our boats are numerous, and they are literal and physical as well as spiritual. Writer and Pastor John Ortberg identifies them to us in this way, saying:

Your boat is whatever represents safety and security to you apart from God himself. Your boat is whatever you are tempted to put your trust in, especially when life gets a little stormy. Your boat is whatever keeps you so comfortable that you don’t want to give it up even if it’s keeping you from joining Jesus on the waves. Your boat is whatever pulls you away from the high adventure of extreme discipleship[ii].

Most of us would stay in the boat, but not Peter. Peter embraces the call to discipleship and hears Jesus’ invitation to come. He anticipates that something exciting is going to happen. And, like a child standing on the side of a pool wanting to jump in, he yells out to Jesus “are you ready?” asking permission to take the leap. Jesus responds with a simple command, “Come,” urging Peter to join him. And that simple invitation is all it takes to get Peter walking on water.

What would it take for you to walk on water with the Lord? That is one of the questions John Ortberg asks in his popular book. In it, he offers that God often calls us to get out of the boat in a variety of ways, and he identifies four indicators that can help us identify God’s call and motivate us, too, to get out of the boat.

First, he identifies the indicator of fear. Those things that cause us the most anxiety and nervousness, he argues, might be the places God is most calling us to grow. Second, he suggests an indicator of frustration in our lives that comes with the gap between the fallen reality and our sense of God’s desires. These are the moments where we might be prompted to action as we try to reconcile the world as it is with the world as we believe God intends. Third, there is the indicator of compassion, those things that tug at our heart strings and compel us to respond with demonstrations of love and care for one another, both strangers and friends. Finally, he speaks of the indicator of prayer, recognizing that we may not always see the path clearly, but that through prayer we might uncover deeper understanding. He suggests a minimum of a six month daily commitment to prayer as a way to invite reflection and discernment. All of these indicators work both individually and together to help us get a sense that there is some presence, the one we know to be Jesus himself, who desires that we get out of the boats we have constructed for ourselves and instead try to walk on water.

Yesterday, in Charlottesville, Virginia, thousands of people were motivated to get out of their boats of comfort and speak out in the face of hate and injustice. Among them were hundreds of clergy and other Christians who joined together to bring message of hope and light to the darkness on display by those who were gathering in outrageous displays of the sin of racism and white supremacy. As I watched the news unfold, I was numb. I heard stories and saw countless pictures and videos, some of which were from seminary classmates and colleagues who were sharing them firsthand, and my heart became heavy. It was a day full of sobering moments. I firmly believe they were doing the work of witness, the kind of get out of the boat discipleship work that Jesus calls us to do. And at the same time, I found myself glad to be so many miles away, distanced from the reality of it being a decision I would make myself. I would like to think that if this had happened here in Acworth, or Marietta, or Atlanta, that I would have gotten out of the boat and been there, too. But just the thought of it engulfs me with a sense of fear that might have kept me silenced and on the sidelines. But then I read Peter’s story again, and hear Jesus calling us out of the boat, even in the midst of a storm. Brothers and sisters in Christ, the storm of racism in our country is real, and it is not just isolated to Charlottesville, Virginia. We must be attentive to the calls placed on us to get out of our boats and dispel hate with that love of Jesus that does not discriminate or favor. Overcoming fear, naming frustrations with broken systems, speaking with compassion, and praying can motivate us into active work in Jesus’ name. We must look outside the boat and see where Jesus is calling us to go. There is work for each of us to do.

Stories like this put us on the edge, and prompt us to action. Getting out of the boat means taking a risk, trusting in something bigger than we can see, in a radical act of discipleship. But doing so can be terrifying, as illustrated on the silver screen almost twenty years ago by Harrison Ford in the classic Indiana Jones trilogy. Consider this, the final of 3 tests as Indy seeks the Holy Grail as he tries to save his father’s life:

Getting out of the boat is a leap of faith. Fortunately, we aren’t just stepping off into thin air, nor are we being completely thrown in the deep end without help. Jesus is there, calling to us and encouraging us to step out. And if we get scared and start to sink, Jesus is there to hold us up so that the waters will not overwhelm us. After all, he is the one who has come to us saying, “don’t be afraid,” for the great I AM, the one who spoke over the waters of creation, through the burning bush, in the words of the prophets, has also come to us in the flesh, and over and over again demonstrates the power over the chaos that threatens to consume us. Jesus doesn’t just appear when the waters have been calmed; Jesus has the power to walk with us over the stormy waters, and gives us the abilities to do things beyond anything we could ever imagine. And all of this is possible with just a little bit of faith. The little faith that is the size of a mustard seed and can still move mountains (see Matthew 17:20). The little faith that gets Peter, and us, out of the boat. Looking to Jesus, may we be willing to take a step overboard. Amen.

~Rev Elizabeth Lovell Milford

August 13, 2017

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[i] Andrew Foster Connors, “Pastoral Perspective: Matthew 14:22-36,” Feasting on the Gospels, Matthew, Volume 2, Chapters 14-28, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).

[ii] John Ortberg, If You Want to Walk on Water You’ve Got to Get Out of the Boat, (Zondervan, 2001).

Sunday’s Sermon – Through the Waters – Exodus 14:5-8, 19-31; Luke 8:22-25

June 18, 2017 Leave a Comment

Now that summer is in full swing, we’ve entered the season in which every afternoon bears the potential for a thunderstorm. This week has been a perfect illustration of that. Some nights brought rumbling that shook the walls of our house. One night, the sky was filled with clouds and everything seemed to have an eerie yellow hue. Even driving in this morning, the sky alternated between grey looming clouds and sunny blue strips of sky. Summer storms can seem to come out of nowhere and stop just as quickly as they start. In fact, you can drive from your home to church and find drastically different weather patterns all in a matter of minutes. At this time of year especially, this storm pattern is common.

The same was true for the fishermen when they set out on the sea of Galilee. This body of water isn’t that big, and is surrounded by mountains and hillsides. A storm could sweep up out of nowhere and take a boat by surprise. And that’s exactly what happens in our gospel text for today, as the disciples and Jesus are transitioning from his teachings to a ministry marked by miracles. Out of nowhere, the wind and waves batter their ship to the point where they are in real danger. And where is Jesus? Sleeping peacefully in the midst of the chaos. Such an image can be a bit jarring to our faith. It’s not that Jesus was missing; the disciples were traveling with the Lord at their side. And yet, even when they were “going with God,” the going has gotten tough. The disciples wake him up with cries of sheer terror – we are perishing!

A common misnomer about the journey of faith is that if you are “right” with God, doing all the things that disciples are supposed to do, then you won’t have any problems or difficulties in your life. This is bad theology, and it’s not biblical, either. In both of our texts for today, God’s people experience real and present danger, all while being clearly on the road with God. So today we consider what it means to encounter storms along the way.

For the people of Israel, they are fleeing the tyrannical, oppressive rule of a Pharaoh who has abused his power and enslaved them in Egypt. Exodus 14 reveals the climax of the story; after plagues and signs, Pharaoh finally relents and grants the request Moses makes on God’s behalf to, “let me people go!” But the promise of release is seemingly short-lived, as Pharaoh changes his mind and pursues the refugees fleeing their captivity. The Israelites reach a literal dead end at the water’s edge. In the verses skipped this morning, they indicate how it seems pretty heartless of God to have led them this far, with hopes and expectations of the promised land, only to die at the hands of Pharaoh’s army. Rightly so, their cries become similar to the disciples on the boat: we are perishing!

Our experience falls in line. We live in a stressful, chaotic, and dare I say, stormy, world. We fight and bicker with those we love, and disagree with many that we meet. We struggle to make ends meet. Storms of addiction and depression, grief and illness threaten to overwhelm us. There are literal storms, too, that bring about destruction. On Wednesday morning, there was a significant earthquake in the northwest corner of Guatemala near the border with Mexico. Many are still rebuilding their lives across the Midwest and Gulf Coast in the wake of storms that are long absent from news cycles but very present realities for many. This week marked the one year anniversary of the deadliest shooting in U.S. history at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando in which 49 children of God were killed, and we woke up on Wednesday morning to the news that a gunman had opened fire on leaders and aides at a congressional baseball practice. One right after the other, sudden, dangerous storms break our hearts, and our spirits. “We are perishing” becomes our cry, too.

Has God fallen asleep like Jesus did on the boat? In the other gospels, the disciples accuse Jesus of not caring that they are perishing. This is a question of what scholars call “theodicy” – the exploration of what to make of a good, loving God, who allows bad things to happen and evil to seem to win. It is a question God’s people have been asking since the beginning of time, and continue to ask today. After the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001, this question was at the top of everyone’s list. New York Times author Stephen Jay Gould wrote a poignant response just a few weeks after those devastating events, noting:

The patterns of human history mix decency and depravity in equal measure (1).

Given this, he writes, we often assume that this means that our society is balanced in this way, with equal numbers of decent and depraved people. But this isn’t actually true. Her suggests that in moments of crisis we have to reaffirm an essential truth too easily forgotten:

Good and kind people outnumber all others by thousands to one. The tragedy of human history lies in the enormous potential for destruction in rare acts of evil, not in the high frequency of evil people(3).

Gould calls this phenomenon the “Great Asymmetry,” and asserts that

Every spectacular incident of evil will be balanced by 10,000 acts of kindness, too often unnoted and invisible as the “ordinary” efforts of a vast majority(3).

He calls on all of us as a people to record and honor the weight of these kindnesses, so that our view of humanity, of ordinary human behavior, will not be distorted by the storms. We can’t get stuck in the storm. “We are perishing!” cannot be our final cry. We have to look and see Jesus on the boat. Then, we might remember some of the 10,000 acts of kindness and goodness that exist. In doing so, we might find a moment of calm or stillness, not unlike the wind and the waves on the Galiliee that day.

Former PCUSA Moderator and pastor Neal Presa writes “what can the church [or a preacher] possibly proclaim in the midst of tragedy, both while the storm is raging and after it has subsided(4)” that will make any sort of difference? If we are to have any hope, we must return to our biblical texts. When faced with peril, in both of the stories we read today we see evidence of God’s providential care. For the Israelites, God literally parts the waters; where there was once a dead end, God makes a way. For the disciples, Jesus rebukes the wind and waves and they subside; where there once was chaos, Christ brings peace. The message of scripture is this; when things in life get tough, God will bring us through the waters. That is what the church is called to proclaim.

This is the central claim we make in baptism. That we have been claimed by Christ in these sacred waters, and that God will deliver us from the ways of death and sin into new life. No storm can shake God’s love for us, whether it is something we experience at the hands of others or something we create ourselves. When we make these promises to an infant, we acknowledge that her life will be full of ups and downs. As a community of faith, we promise to walk alongside her and remind her of the faith which will make her strong. As she grows, we affirm that she is a beloved child of God, and celebrate the gifts that God has given her, encouraging her to share them with the world. When things get tough, we will be there with her as a reminder of God’s presence. We will tell her she is strong when kids on the playground make fun of her and tell her she can’t do something. We will tell her she is smart and can do it when she comes to youth group exhausted from hours of studying. We will pray with her and for her when she goes out on her own and tries to find her way in this world. And at the same time, we will navigate our own storms and the storms of this world. We will do it together, confident that God is walking with us. This is what it means to say yes to those questions we ask at baptism. That we will walk this path together, through the waters of life.

“Where is your faith?” Jesus asks the disciples after the storm is calmed. Rather than take this as a demeaning criticism of their belief system, perhaps we should view such a question as Jesus reminding them of where their strength will come from – their faith. With God’s help, our answer can be to look around us. This week at VBS, one of the central messages was that being a hero was not just something reserved for a select few – we are ALL God’s heroes, because God gives us all strength. With God, we have heart, courage, wisdom, hope, and power. These are the things we need to get us through the storms, and they have been given to us. Our real challenge is whether or not we will be able to find our strength in the faith God has given to us.

I don’t have a dog, but several friends with furry companions often note how terrified their animals are of thunderstorms. A few of them have discovered a fantastic solution; the thundershirt. It looks kind of like a sweater wrapped around the animal’s torso that provides constant, gentle pressure. In doing so, it relieves the anxiety felt in the face of a storm. The storm still happens, of course, but the dog or cat has an easier time getting through it. That’s what it’s like with faith. Our faith doesn’t make us immune from the storms in life any more than anyone else; but

anchored in faith, we can check the course that we have chosen, our responses along that course, and the decisions we have yet to make along the journey(5).

Our faith wraps around us with the assurance that God is with us, and helps us find the strength we need to move forward. When the storms come, and they will, “going with God” becomes the most important, because we trust that God will get us through those waters. May it be so. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

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1) Stephen Jay Gould, “A Time of Gifts,” The New York Times, September 26, 2001. https://mobile.nytimes.com/2001/09/26/opinion/a-time-of-gifts.html, accessed 6/15/2017.
2) Ibid.
3) Ibid.
4) Neal D. Presa, “Theological Perspective: Luke 8:22-25,” Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, Volume I, Chapters 1-11, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014).
5) Ibid.

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

Sunday’s Sermon: The Law of Love – Romans 13:8-10, Psalm 119:33-40

Sunday’s Sermon – Get Out of the Boat – Matthew 14:22-33

Sunday’s Sermon – Through the Waters – Exodus 14:5-8, 19-31; Luke 8:22-25

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