Genesis 37:1-28 – "Living the Dream"

Jacob settled in the land where his father had lived as an alien, the land of Canaan.  This is the story of the family of Jacob.

Joseph, being seventeen years old, was shepherding the flock with his brothers; he was a helper to the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, his father's wives, and Joseph brought a bad report about them to their father.  Now Israel loved Joseph more than any other of his children, because he was the son of his old age; and he made him a long robe of many colors.  But when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than all his brothers, they hated him, and could not speak peaceably to him.

Once Joseph had a dream, and when he told it to his brothers, they hated him even more.  He said to them, "Listen to this dream I dreamed.  There we were, binding sheaves in the field.  Suddenly, my sheaf rose and stood upright; then your sheaves gathered around it, and bowed down to my sheaf."  His brothers said to him, "Are you indeed to reign over us?  Are you indeed to have dominion over us?"  So they hated him even more because of his dreams and his words.

He had another dream, and told it to his brothers, saying, "Look, I have had another dream: the sun, the moon, and eleven stars were bowing down to me."  But when he told it to his father and to his brothers, his father rebuked him, and said to him, "What kind of dream is this that you have had?  Shall we indeed come, I and your mother and your brothers, and bow to the ground before you?"  So his brothers were jealous of him, but his father kept the matter in mind.

Now his brothers went to pasture their father's flock near Shechem.  And Israel said to Joseph, "Are not your brothers pasturing the flock at Shechem?  Come, I will send you to them."  He answered, "Here I am."  So he said to him, "Go now, see if it is well with your brothers and with the flock; and bring word back to me."  So he sent him from the valley of Hebron.

He came to Shechem, and a man found him wandering in the fields; the man asked him, "What are you seeking?"  "I am seeking my brothers, he said; tell me, please, where they are pasturing the flock."  The man said, "They have gone away, for I heard them say, 'Let us go to Dothan."  So Joseph went after his brothers, and found them at Dothan.  They saw him from a distance, and before he came near to them, they conspired to hill him.  They said to one another, "Here comes this dreamer.  Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits; then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what has become of his dreams."  But when Rueben heard it, he delivered him out of their hands, saying, "Let us not take his life."  Rueben said to them, "Shed no blood; throw him into this pit here in the wilderness, but lay no hand on him" – that he might rescue him out of their hand and restore him to their father.  So when Joseph came to his brothers, they stripped him of his robe, the long robe with many colors that he wore; and they took him and threw him into a pit.  The pit was empty; there was no water in it.

Then they sat down to eat, and looking up they saw a caravan of Ishmaelites coming from Gilead, with their camels carrying gum, balm, and resin, on their way to carry it down to Egypt.  Then .Judah said to his brothers, "What profit is it if we kill our brother and conceal his blood?  Come, let us sell him to the Ishmaelites, and not lay our hands on him, for he is our brother, our own flesh."  And his brothers agreed.  When some Midianite traders passed by, they drew Joseph up, lifting him out of the pit, and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver.  And they took Joseph to Egypt.

When I am up here in front of the congregation, there is a little mental game I like to play sometimes.  I like to look across the congregation at heads bowed, and ask myself, "Who's Praying, Who's Sleeping?"

The next time the person next to you falls asleep in church, you'll be tempted to wake them up.  Before you do, you may want to think twice.  As it turns out, people used to go to the temple and intentionally fall asleep, hoping that God would speak to them through dreams.  So, when I look around the congregation and see people starting to nod off, I don't take offense; I simply assume they are participating in a great Biblical tradition.

Today is the second of three sermons you selected for me to preach.  You will recall that several weeks ago I  gave the congregation the opportunity to vote on their favorite Bible stories, and agreed that I would preach the three most popular choices.  Last week was Noah's Ark, July 20^th will be Jonah and the great fish, and this morning, we're looking together at Joseph's dreams.  May we pray.

I remember a recurring dream I had in the months before my graduation from Duke.  The dream was always, more or less, the same.  The divinity school holds its ceremony in Duke Chapel.  We would be lined up in alphabetical order, marching from the hallowed halls of the divinity school across the quad and into the chapel.  Of course, my parents and grandparents were inside somewhere, ready to watch me receive my degree.  Just before I passed through those great oak doors into the Chapel, a member of the administration – sometimes the registrar, sometimes the dean, once the president of the university – would pull me out of line.  It seemed there had been an oversight when they reviewed my academic file, and I had failed to register for one required class, but that oversight would keep me from receiving my degree that night.

When the actual night of graduation finally rolled around, I can't tell you how nervous I was.  I frantically walked across the quad, my eyes darting left and right, certain that, at any moment, Dean Jones was going to jump out from behind a bush and give me the horrible news that I was not graduating that night.....

This morning, our Biblical text introduces us to Joseph, a person who was no stranger to dreams.  You probably know him as the star of Andrew Lloyd Webber's hit Broadway musical, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.  I'd like us to take a look at Joseph, his family, and his dreams.

Joseph comes from a long line of dreamers.  He is the great-grandson of Abraham, the father of many nations.  God made a covenant with Abraham.  "I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing."  This covenant will mark the people of God, and God's people for all subsequent generations, including ours, are blessed in order to be a blessing to others.

Abraham's son was Isaac, Joseph's grandfather.  Isaac is the son promised to Abraham and Sarah in their old age, and he is often remembered as the child who was almost sacrificed by his father.

Isaac's son was Jacob, Joseph's father. Jacob is a pretty crafty member of the family – he tricks his elderly father into giving him the blessing intended for his older brother.  Jacob dreams of a ladder stretching into heaven, with angels descending and ascending on it, and God is revealed to Jacob through this dream.  God brings Jacob into the covenant he established with his grandfather Abraham, and it is clear that the two intend to walk together, or in the concept I shared in last week's sermon, that the two intend to dance together.

Now, Jacob the trickster gets one-upped himself when it comes to marriage.  He has his eyes set on Rachel, the younger of the daughters of a guy named Laban.  Laban agrees to let Jacob marry Rachel after 7 years of work.  However, Laban tricks Jacob into marrying his older, less attractive daughter, Leah.  I can only imagine how wild a wedding celebration it must have been when you don't realize until the morning after that you actually married the wrong girl!  So, Jacob works another 7 years in order to get Rachel, which I'm sure set up healthy family dynamics between the two sisters.  Jacob ends up with a total of four wives – Leah, Rachel, and their maids – Bilhah and Zilpah.

Rachel was the favored wife; after all, she's the only one he wanted in the first place.  These wives would produce a total of 12 sons for Jacob.  Rachel only had two sons, Joseph, the star of today's story, and Benjamin, during whose birth Rachel died.  Though Benjamin was the youngest, his father always associated his birth with Rachel's death.  And so, Jacob played favorites toward Joseph.

By the time we meet up with Joseph in this morning's text, he is seventeen years old.  Whatever else you know about Joseph, I want you to remember this:  Joseph was an obnoxious, spoiled, egotistical brat.  Only two verses into this morning's reading, he is giving a bad report to his father about his two wives.  In other words, Joseph was a tattletale.

The relationship among Joseph and his brothers was no ordinary sibling rivalry.  It was outright hatred, such to the point that they never even greet him with a daily "Shalom."  They wouldn't even give him the time of day.

And can you blame them?  They were always out working in the fields and tending after the flocks, while Joseph was sleeping in 'til ..noon.. and playing Guitar Hero all day.  Joseph always got the last piece of pizza, or an extra baked potato, or a second bowl of ice cream.  The other eleven brothers had to share a room, but Joseph had a room entirely to himself with its own private bathroom.  And  Joseph always got the fanciest designer clothes his father could get his hands on, while his brothers were left to fend for themselves.

This family seems to have taken the fun right out of dysfunctional.  There is plenty of blame to go around.  Jacobs favors one son over the others.  Joseph is an unwise tattletale and braggart.  His brothers are full of hate toward him, and even quarrel among themselves as to how they should treat him.

Now, Joseph should have known that his brothers hated him.  You would think that he would have been a little more cautious about how he acted around them, but not our Joseph.  He's either foolish or brash, or perhaps a little bit of both.  "Hey guys," he says.  "Let me tell you about this dream I had."  We were all out binding sheaves of corn in the field.  Suddenly, all on its own, mine stood straight up, and all of yours gathered around it and bowed down before it.  Isn't that a cool dream?"

I don't know what response Joseph expected to get from his brothers.  Did he think this dream was going to impress them?  Were they going to be awestruck?  Dismiss it some indigestion from whatever bedtime snack he had the night before?  Whatever Joseph expected, the text tells us that Joseph's brothers hated him even more because of his dreams and his words.

Not learning his lesson the first time, Joseph shares another dream with his brothers.  "The sun, moon, and eleven stars were bowing down to me."  At this, even his doting father rebukes him.  Remember, his father was no stranger to dreams.  "Son, you've got to be careful running around talking like this.  Even if you're having these dreams and think they mean something, maybe you should just keep some things to yourself."

The story goes on as Joseph's brothers sell him into slavery and he is taken to Egypt, where, interestingly enough, he is still dreaming.  Only now, he is interpreting other people's dreams.  He meets two servants of the pharaoh in prison, and they tell him about dreams they've had, and he interprets their meanings.  He then interprets some dreams of the pharaoh himself that predict seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine.  Joseph is put in charge of the affairs of the country because of this, and in an ironic twist, meets his brothers when they come to Egypt to purchase some of the excess grain that was prudently stored during the years of plenty.  His brothers bow before him in humility, fulfilling what was prefigured in Joseph's dream in today's text, the dream for which his brothers hated him even more.

We see clearly that Joseph's dreams meant something.  The dreams of those he encountered meant something.  Indeed, throughout the great Biblical tradition, dreams mean something.

My grandfather used to tell us about a recurring dream he had.  He would be walking around in a strange town, utterly lost.  He realized at some point that he wasn't wearing any clothes.  In conversation with other members of the family, he discovered that his brother-in-law was having a similar recurring dream.  They agreed that the next time either one had the dream, they'd look for each other instead of wandering around the town by themselves.

Many of you have participated in an on-going conversation with me throughout the week on the significance of dreams.  I sent out a mass email to hundreds of you and asked you to respond to two questions.  1. What recurring dreams are you having lately? and 2. Do you think dreams actually mean anything or not?

It will not surprise you to learn that the responses to these questions were as varied as each of us.  However, a couple things did surprise me in your responses.  One, I was surprised at the sheer number of responses.  I opened my email the morning after I asked for your responses, only to find that you had literally flooded my Inbox.  Two, I was surprised at the deeply personal nature of much of what you shared.

Some of you shared dreams with very little commentary as to their meaning.  Others offered half-hearted guesses at what these dreams might have meant.  Still others went into great detail about what some of these dreams did mean, and the profound connections these dreams made into your lives.

Here are some of the things you're dreaming about.  Moving.  Making a hole-in-one.  Conversations with friends and loved ones who have passed into the next life.  Moments of awful pain and suffering.  Trying to get the attention of someone who had died.  Snakes.  Brake failure.  Missing or forgetting class, appointments, meetings and a whole host of other things.  Visions of children and grandchildren being born.  Things from our childhood that needed to be resolved.  Being trapped – under water, in elevators, in long hallways without doors and windows.  Appalachian football.  Getting lost in hotels, churches, schools, businesses, homes, or on remote roads.  A few of you even said you'd had dreams about me, but, that's all I have to say about that.

But, what does all this mean?  Are our dreams messages?  And if they are, who is sending the message?

Dreams can be one of the many ways that God speaks to us.  If you want to explore this subject in greater depth, ..Bobby Sharp.. recommended a book to me.  It's Dreams: God's Forgotten Language by John Sanders.  He develops the idea that rationalistic, enlightened people like ourselves have cut ourselves off from communicating with God through dreams and have chosen to ignore the spiritual and psychological elements of many of our dreams.

But it's not just dreams through which God speaks.  That's only one channel.  God speaks through worship.  God speaks through music.  God speaks through the sacraments of baptism and Holy Communion.  God speaks through studying the Scriptures.  God speaks through prayer.  God speaks through our generosity of our time and resources.  God speaks through our life experiences.  God speaks through conversation with our friends and family.  The more channels of divine communication we tune into, the more likely we are to catch the message.  If we will simply pay attention to some of these things, I think we'll find God speaking all the time.

Sometimes, a dream is just a dream.  It might be just some random information that found itself together while you slept.  It could be anxiety working itself out.  It could be a pastrami sandwich you had right before bed.

But sometimes, a dream is a little message.  We find that, in our waking and in our sleeping, God continues to work.  God has placed a bit of himself within each of us – a dream of what we can become as individuals, but also a dream of what we can become as a community of faith.  Identify that dream, figure out what it is, and never let it go.  This morning, it is easy enough for me to say, "Never lose sight of your dream," but I want to go one better.  Whatever your dream is, whatever it is that God has placed inside of you to do, or to be, or to become, may it happen in accordance with the will of God.  The Lord was with Joseph in the midst of his dreams, may He be with you as well in the midst of yours.

Genesis 6:9-22, 7:24, 8:14-19 – "Noah's Ark"

These are the descendents of Noah.  Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his generation; Noah walked with God.  And Noah had three sons, Shem, Ham, and Japheth.

Now the earth was corrupt in God's sight, and the earth was filled with violence.  And God saw that the earth was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted its ways upon the earth.  And God said to Noah, I have determined to make an end to all flesh, for the earth is filled with violence because of them; now I am going to destroy them along with the earth.  Make yourself an ark of cypress wood; make rooms in the ark, and cover it inside and outside with pitch.  This is how you are to make it: the length of the ark three hundred cubits (450 feet), its width fifty cubits (75 feet), and its height 30 cubits (45 feet).  Make a roof for the ark, and finish it to a cubit above, and put the door of the ark in its side; make it with lower, second, and third decks.  For my part, I am going to bring a flood of waters upon the earth, to destroy from under heaven all flesh in which is the breath of life; everything that is on the earth shall die.  But I will establish my covenant with you; and you shall come into the ark, you, your sons, your wife, and your sons' wives with you.  And of every living thing, of all flesh, you shall bring two of every kind into the ark, to keep them alive with you; they shall be male and female.  Of the birds according to their kinds, and of the animals according to their kinds, of every creeping thing of the ground according to its kind, two of every kind shall come in to you, to keep them alive.  Also take with you every kind of food that is eaten, and store it up; and it shall serve as food for you and for them."  Noah did this; he did all that God commanded him.

And the waters swelled on the earth for one hundred fifty days.

In the second month, on the twenty-seventh day of the month, the earth was dry.  Then God said to Noah, "Go out of the ark, you and your wife, and your sons and your sons' wives with you.  Bring out with you every living thing that is with you of all flesh – birds and animals and every creeping thing that creeps on the earth – so that they may about on the earth, and be fruitful and multiply on the earth."  So Noah went out with his sons and his wife and his sons' wives.  And every animal, every creeping thing, and every bird, everything that moves on the earth, went out of the ark by families.

This morning is the first of a series of sermons you've selected.  Two weeks ago, everyone in the congregation had an opportunity to vote on their favorite Bible stories, and I agreed to take the three most popular stories and preach on them.  Today, we're looking at Noah's Ark.  Next Sunday, we'll look at Joseph's dreams, and on July 20^th, we'll talk about Jonah and the great fish.  I'll admit that I haven't really thought of these stories since I was back in Vacation Bible School happily coloring rainbows and smiling fish.

I'd like you imagine this story taking place today. The Lord speaks to Noah and says: "In one year, I am going to make it rain and cover the whole Earth with water until all is destroyed. But I want you to save the righteous people and two of every kind of living thing on the Earth. Therefore, I am commanding you to build an Ark."

In a flash of lightning, God delivered the specifications for an Ark., and Noah agreed to build it.

"Remember," said the Lord, "You must complete the Ark and bring everything aboard in one year."

Exactly one year later, a fierce storm cloud formed and all the seas of the earth went into a tumult. The Lord saw Noah sitting in his front yard weeping.  "Noah." He shouted, "Where is the Ark?"

"Lord, please forgive me!" cried Noah. "I did my best but there were big problems. First, I had to get a permit for construction and your plans weren't up to code. I had to hire an engineering firm and redraw the plans.

Then I got into a fight with OSHA over a fire sprinkler system and floatation devices.

Then my neighbor objected, claiming I was violating zoning ordinances by building the Ark in my front yard, so I had to get a variance from the city planning commission.

I had problems getting enough wood, because there was a ban ..ting trees to protect the Spotted Owl. I finally convinced the U.S. Forest Service that I needed the wood to save the owls.

However, the Fish and Wildlife Service won't let me catch any owls. So, no owls.

The carpenters formed a union and went out on strike. I had to negotiate a settlement with the National Labor Union. Now I have 16 carpenters on the Ark, but still no owls.

When I started rounding up the other animals, I got sued by an animal rights group for confining the animals.

Just when I got the suit dismissed, the EPA notified me that I could not complete the Ark without filing an environmental impact statement on your proposed flood. They didn't take very kindly to the idea that they had no jurisdiction over the conduct of the Creator of the universe.

Then the Army Corps of Engineer demanded a map of the proposed new flood plain. I sent them a globe.

Right now, I am trying to resolve a complaint filed with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission that I am practicing discrimination by not taking godless, unbelieving people aboard!

The IRS has seized all my assets, claiming that I'm about to flee the country to avoid paying taxes.

I got a notice from the State that I owe some user tax and failed to register the Ark as a 'recreational water craft.'

Finally the ACLU got the courts to issue an injunction against further construction of the Ark, saying that since God is flooding the earth, it is a religious event and therefore unconstitutional.

I really don't think I can finish the Ark for another 5 or 6 years!" Noah wailed.

The sky began to clear, the sun began to shine and the seas began to calm. A rainbow arched across the sky.

Noah looked up hopefully. "You mean you are not going to destroy the Earth, Lord?"

"No," said the Lord sadly. "The government already has!"  May we pray.

Let's look at some of the background before we proceed any further.  The legend of an epic flood is common to all ancient cultures.  Anthropologists have identified 25 distinct flood accounts in the traditions of various cultures, and if we allow for all the variations upon those accounts, we end up with around 2500 identifiable flood stories from ancient cultures.

Take a look at the ark itself.  God gives very specific instructions for its construction, including where to put the door and window.  I'll get to this window in a minute.  If we convert the measurements for the ark into modern figures, it's about 450 feet long, 75 feet wide, and 45 feet tall.  If you take the square footage produced by those dimensions, and place those onto three decks, you end up with a vessel with 101,250 square feet.  Keep in mind that the square footage of this entire building is right around 67,000 square feet.  The ark is of colossal proportions – is it any wonder that it captured our imaginations as children?

For many people of faith, we grow up hearing the Noah story in Sunday school and at Vacation Bible School and we sing songs about it.  "The Lord told Noah, build me an arky, arky…"  We learn the story as if it is just a cute little story about a boat and animals and a rainbow in the sky.  We decorate nurseries and children's classrooms with Noah's Ark murals and put it on the front of children's bibles.  Smiling and happy Noah, surrounded by smiling and happy animals, merrily floating along under a bright and colorful rainbow.  Whenever I drew this story in Sunday School, that's how it always looked.

Then we get older and we re-read the story of Noah, and we'll stop and think, "Wait!  We teach this to children?"  We are surprised by the utter destruction depicted, by God's anger and wrath and God's desire to destroy all life on the earth, images that clash with our childhood memories of sheep and cows getting on a nice boat built by the nice, long-bearded man.

Too often, however, I think we focus on the wrong aspect of the flood narrative.  Too often we hone in on humanity's corruption and God's wrathful judgment, either reveling in or being repulsed by it.  In that regard, we are often like we are when we pass a bad car wreck on the highway, not being able to look away, either because of our horror at what has happened or our fascination to know just a little bit more about what had taken place.  Either way, our eyes are glued to the scene.

But, this story really isn't about God's judgment.  Some have used this text to prop up their own agendas and to dole out their own versions of justice, oppressing anyone they perceive to be inferior.  Christians have used this argument to validate anti-semitism, saying the Jews somehow missed the boat.  Modern-day Israel has used this argument to oppress Palestinians.  Some strains of the Christian tradition have used this argument to delight in anything they perceive as God's judgment upon the ungodly, infidels, and persons of moral inferiority.

However, nowhere on the sacred page of Scripture are the details of the disaster described.  The text is not concerned with, nor does it delight in, the plight of the victims.  There are no portholes on the ark, so that righteous Noah and his righteous family can watch all humanity suffer.  There is only a window in the top, an opening toward God, that will let God's light in.  God is not depicted as having a good laugh while throwing down lightning bolts to smite the wicked.  Genesis 6:6 says that when God saw the wickedness of the earth, "it grieved him to his heart."  God appears as a grieving and pained parent, not as an angry executioner.  So, this story really isn't about God's judgment.

This story really isn't about Noah and his family, either.  It's hard to say why God chose Noah.  We know he was a righteous man, a man of integrity in his generation; and we know he walked with God.  But the text doesn't claim that he was the only one who did.  It never says that Noah was the last righteous man on earth, or that good behavior is the reason God chose him in the first place.  It's not because Noah was perfect.  Only a few verses after Noah's family comes out of the ark, that much is already clear – take a look at Genesis chapter 9 for this part of the story.  After being cooped up on the ark for over a year and probably coming very close to losing his sanity – not to mention his breakfast – Noah, a man of the soil, planted a vineyard.  Of course he drank some of the wine from that vineyard.  Of course he drank a little too much – there was much to celebrate.  And we find Noah, the character most likely to be featured on nursery wallpaper, passed out naked in the living room.  No, he certainly wasn't perfect.

What the text does tell us is that Noah walked with God.  Let's dwell there for a minute.

It may not surprise you to learn that this phrase, "walked with God," means something much deeper and richer in the original language than our translations can capture.  Walking with God suggests an intimacy, an interdependence, even.  Early Christian theologians used similar terms when they tried to articulate the bond among the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  The terms they used suggested a dance. 

In a dance, there is movement.  There is give and take between partners.  There is flow.  There is intertwining to the point that it sometimes becomes difficult to view one partner apart from the other.

Our translations might serve us better if they said, "Noah danced with God."

Noah moved with God.  Life flowed between them.  Noah dwelt in the full radiance of God's presence.

It's sort of like asking an unborn child if it has a relationship with its mother.  Assuming the child is available for interview, understands English, and can respond back, the child might say, "Well, I guess you could say that I have a relationship with my mother.  But, well, it's so much deeper than that.  I am dependent on her.  I go everywhere with her.  Whenever she moves, I move.  My heartbeat happens because of her.  Yes, we have a relationship, but I live inside of her.  Do you get that?"

That's what Noah had with God.  It went beyond a relationship.  It went beyond walking together.  It was a situation in which Noah relied upon God for his very life.  In turn, God chose to use Noah, knowing full well that Noah was not perfect, knowing that Noah was fragile, knowing that Noah was just as likely to fail as succeed.

And by that, we have stumbled onto the meaning of this story.  The story isn't about God's wrath and judgment.  It's not about the animals.  It's not about Noah and his family.  The story of Noah's ark is about God and God's commitment to the world.  It's a story about God who commits to the future of a less than perfect world.

God realizes that we humans are resistant to God's will for creation, yet God continues to live with and work through such resistant creatures.  God continues to work through a father who has too much to drink and passes out naked in the living room.  God continues to work through a son who finds himself in the wrong place at the wrong time and sees something he shouldn't.  God continues to work through two other sons who cover up the elephant in the room and never want to address it again.

God will continue to grieve the wrongdoing of his children, but through grace, will open up new avenues of interaction between the human and the divine.  God proves trustworthy in this dance with humanity, and though we often forget the steps, or miss the rhythm, or fall on our faces, or leave the dance floor, God continues to invite us back.  God remains committed to us, despite our sometimes glaring lack of commitment to God.

And so, despite all the things we'd like to make this story of Noah and the ark about, it's about God – God's commitment and God's promises.  It's about God who provides salvation in the midst of chaos and who willingly enters into the uncertainty of a less-than-perfect world.

Through all of it, Noah continued to dance with God.  Through the hard work, through the chaos, through cleaning up the mess the animals left behind in the bottom of the ark, Noah continued to dance with God.  May it be so with each of us.

Matthew 6:25-34 – "Your Life's Purpose"

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear.  Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?  Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.  Are you not of more value than they?  And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?  And why do you worry about clothing?  Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these.  But if God so clothes grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you – you of little faith?  There do not worry, saying, 'What will we eat?' or 'What will we wear?'  For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.  But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

"So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own.  Today's trouble is enough for today.

Last May, one of our students graduated from ASU's Walker College of Business.  She called me a few weeks later to tell me about a job interview she had been on.  She answered an ad for a small company looking for an accountant.  The interview was conducted by the owner and founder of the company, a nervous, squirrelly, little man.

"I need someone with an accounting degree," he said.  "But mostly, I need someone to do my worrying for me."

"Excuse me?" our bright, young accountant said.

"I worry about a lot of things," the man explained.  "But I don't want to worry about money.  Your job will be to take all the money worries off my back."

"I see.  And how much does the job pay?"

"I'll start you at eighty thousand dollars."

"Eighty thousand dollars!" she exclaimed.  "How can such a small business afford such a large sum?"

"That," the owner said, "is your first worry."

I meet a lot of people who are worried about an awful lot of things.  Worry seems to have become a national pastime.  We worry about more things, and we worry about them at younger and younger ages.  Because of my ministry among college students and young adults, and because of my many friends who are constantly going through major life transition, I meet a lot of people who are worried about their purpose in life.  "What am I supposed to do with the rest of my life?"  "What is my meaning in life?"  "What has God put me on the planet to do?"

What is your life's purpose?  Pay close attention, because within the next 20 minutes, I hope God will tell us.

We are a society who loves to worry.  This worrying and the accompanying planning starts earlier and earlier.  If you want to get a good job, you have to get into the right graduate program, which means you first have to choose the right college and graduate with the appropriate degree.  But to get into that college, you need to have good grades from the right high school and the accompanying array of extracurricular activities.  But, even before that, children need to be in the right elementary schools and preschools and daycare centers, where they will learn valuable life skills, make important social contacts, and learn how to live in harmony with their fellow human beings.  But before that, you had better make sure your children see the right pediatricians and psychologists, but those are dependent upon references from the right obstetrician.  In short, if you plan to have children within the next 15 years and have not already made sufficient plans, you may have already ruined your children's future.  This will affect you negatively because your children will choose your retirement home.

In our text this morning, Jesus tells us not be people consumed by worry.  "Consider the birds of the air," he says.  They don't sow and reap.  They don't gather into barns.  Yet, your heavenly father takes care of them.  "Consider the lilies of the field."  They don't toil or spin.  Yet, your heavenly father takes care of them.  The lilies, the birds do not plan and worry.  Yet, your heavenly father takes care of them.  So then, why do we worry?  Will not our heavenly father take care of us as well?

We may be tempted to dismiss Jesus' words here as a quaint teaching for a simpler time.  Life wasn't as competitive, we say.  They weren't faced with the same threats we are.  But consider the context in which Jesus spoke this teaching.  The unemployment rate of first century Palestine was probably approaching 50%.  People literally did not know where their next meal was coming from.  They were occupied and taxed heavily by a Roman government.  Traveling from town to town or finding yourself outside the gates of the city after dark was literally taking your life in your own hands.  Certainly, there were plenty of things to worry about.  In the midst of that, Jesus says, "Quit worrying.  Quit worrying about tomorrow.  Today's trouble is enough."

One of the greatest philosophers and social critics of all time summarizes this teaching for us nicely.  I appeal to his great wisdom as something from which we can all learn.  I appeal, of course, to the noble, the venerable, the enlightened teaching of Charlie Brown.  "I've developed a new philosophy . . . I only dread one day at a time."

One day at a time – friends, that's how we're called to live!

God's will for your life is not some path stretching off into the horizon.  In fact, God's will for your life is much more immediate.  Getting your life in line with God's will forces you to ask one very simple, direct question.  What are you doing with your life right now?

Don't worry about what to do with the rest of your life.  God doesn't want you to be worried that far ahead.  I'm convinced that what Jesus calls us to do is solve this problem: How should I be living today?  Is God being glorified, is Christ being shown in how I'm living today?  This hour?  Right here at this very moment?

Mike Yaconelli tells the story of a lay leader in his church who didn't lead.  You know, who didn't live up to his responsibilities.  There was a group of young people who conducted a monthly worship service at a local old folks' home, and Mike finally convinced that lay leader to at least drive them every month.

He was there at the home, standing in the back with his arms crossed as the kids set up.  Suddenly, there was a tug on his sleeve.  He looked down at an old man in a wheelchair.  He took hold of the old man's hand, and the old man didn't let go all through the service.  This was repeated the next month, and the next month, and the next month.  Then one month, the old man wasn't there.  The lay leader asked about him and was told he could find him down the hall, third door on the right.  "He's dying.  He's unconscious, but if you want to go pray over his body, that would be all right."

The lay leader went and there were tubes and wires all over the place.  He took the man's hand, and prayed that God would receive him graciously from this life into the next.  When he finished, the man squeezed his hand, and he knew his prayer had been heard.  He was so moved that tears began to roll down his cheeks.  He stumbled out of the room and ran into a woman.  She said, "He's been waiting for you.  He said that he didn't want to die until he had the chance to hold the hand of Jesus just one more time."

The lay leader was amazed at this.  "What do you mean?"

She said, "My father would say that once a month Jesus came to this place.  'He would take my hand and he would hold my hand for a whole hour.  I don't want to die until I have the chance to hold the hand of Jesus one more time.'"

Friends, I don't know what you think God's will for your life is, but I'll tell you it is this: God's will for your life is to do what Jesus would do in your place.  It's to be Jesus for people who are in need.  It's to be Jesus for people who are hurt.  It's to be Jesus for people who are lonely.

If you're going to be Jesus to people, you have to treat them like Jesus would have treated them.

First, you have to believe in people.  Jesus seemed to be drawn to people the world had given up on.  Many of them had long given up on God!  It had been years since they believed in God.  But yet, as Jesus shows us, God never stopped believing in them.  While the world believes in a God who helps those who help themselves, Jesus reveals a God who helps those who cannot help themselves.

When Jesus met a tax collector, or a prostitute, or a paralytic, or someone demon-possessed, he didn't see a tax collector, or a prostitute, or a paralytic, or someone demon-possessed.  No, Jesus saw someone created in the image of God, one of God's precious children, a person of inestimable and sacred worth.

When we meet the modern-day equivalents of these people, we are called to believe in them just as Jesus would.  We are called to believe that God is not finished with them, and that every life is an arena for the glory of God to be revealed.  If you're going to be Jesus for people, you've got to forgive them.

Second, you have to forgive people.  Chuck Colson tells a story about a prison ministry his church was involved with.  After the service, they were leaving, and discovered one member of the group was missing.  They found him in a cell on his knees praying with one of the prisoners.  Chuck said, "I scolded the man and said, 'You're ruining our good graces here! Please come out of there. What's going on?'" The man rose to his feet and said, "I'm Judge Brewer. This is a man that I condemned to death. We need some time to forgive each other."

Who in our lives stands in need of forgiveness?  We are called to forgive them, just as Christ has forgiven us.  We are called to offer the hope of new beginnings to anyone and everyone, regardless of what they may have done.  If you're going to be Jesus for people, you've got to believe in them.

The last thing I hold before you is this: you have to love people unconditionally.  Jesus calls us to exercise unrestrained love.  It is easy for us to love that which is lovely, or desirable, or pleasing to our own sensibilities.  It is much more difficult to love that which, from our perspective, is ugly, or undesirable, or disturbing to our own sensibilities.

How often, when something appears outside of our own self-determined realm of acceptability, do we ignore or reject it?  How often, when someone appears outside of our own self-determined realm of acceptability, do we reject them?  Mother Teresa said, "If you judge people, you have no time to love them."

It is not our job to determine who gets into God's kingdom.  It is not our job to determine who is and who is not the worthy recipient of God's love.  We are not the judge, the jury, nor the executioner.  We are called to be witnesses of God's great love in Jesus Christ.  If you're going to be Jesus for people, you've got to love them unconditionally.

God's will for your life is to be Jesus for people whenever and wherever you meet them.  Over the long run, if you continue to be faithful day by day, moment by moment, you will find your life to be the perfect reflection of God's will.  We are called to show people a God who loves them unconditionally, who forgives them, who believes in them.

In so doing, we will find the grace of God rich in our lives and in the lives of others.  We will find ourselves gathered as one family, as brothers and sisters in Christ, as children of a heavenly Father, who invites us in our unity to a table lovingly spread with bread and wine – a place where we commune with God and with one another.  Christ has already invited you that table – come, let us join there now.

John 20:19-31 – "Seeing is Believing?"

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you."  After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side.  Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.  Jesus said to them again, "Peace be with you."  As the father has sent me, so I send you.  When he had said this, he breathed on them again and said to them, "Receive the Holy Spirit.  If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained."

But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came.  So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord."  But he said to them, "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."

A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them.  Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you."  Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands.  Reach out your hand and put it in my side.  Do not doubt, but believe."  Thomas answered him, "My Lord and my God!"  Jesus said to him, "Have you believed because you have seen me?  Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."

Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book.  But these are written so that that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

Christ is risen!  (Wait for response).  Today is Easter.  It may surprise you, but today is Easter.  Last week, we pulled out all the stops.  The choir was full, the church was full of flowers, we had brass and strings at the 11 o’clock service, and we all went home filled with the joy of the resurrection.

Today, the choir is off, the lilies are wilting, and the preaching duty falls to your associate pastor, lowly and humble is he.

And yet, you’re still here.  Why are you here?  Because, today is still Easter.  In fact, every day is Easter for Christians, because every day we remember that Christ died and rose on our behalf, and we remember that he has conquered the powers of sin and death.  Easter isn’t just a day on a church’s calendar to be celebrated only once a year.  Easter is a way of life which unlocks all doors, and most especially, the door of death.  May we pray.

Doubting Thomas

In our text this morning, we encounter the disciples of Jesus on the evening on the first Easter Sunday.  Perhaps only 12 hours earlier, Jesus has appeared to the women in the garden, and the resurrection is now a reality rather than something hoped for.  Yet, the picture we get of the disciples in our text this evening doesn’t exactly fill us with the hope of the resurrection.  This text tended to focus on Thomas, and the moral of the story was that Thomas was a dull, doubting follower of Jesus whose example we shouldn’t imitate.  Don’t be like Thomas!  Believe!  Don’t doubt!

I have to admit I always thought this treatment of Thomas was a little bit unfair.  After all, we Thomases tend to stick together!  Thomases are practical, down-to-earth, rational people.  Thomases are concrete.  Thomases are the ones you want on the team, because they usually assign lists of the work to be done to various team members, and help pull those silly daydreamers down out of the sky.  Someone with the name Thomas simply wants all the available evidence placed in front of them before they make their mind up on something.

I don’t think Thomas’ request is all that unreasonable.  In fact, I think it’s a shame that all we know him for is his doubt, when there’s really so much more to him.  Thomases, you see, are complex people.  Whenever this lesson was taught in Sunday School, the teacher would tell us not to be like Thomas because he doubted.  Perhaps what was most troubling to me, however, was not the fact that we shared a name, but that I, like this other Thomas, had my doubts.

What is the relationship between doubt and faith?  The point of so much popular Christian teaching gets boiled down to an oversimplified formula.  Faith is good.  Doubt is bad.  Faith conquers all.  Doubt calls too many things into question.  In many places, the admission of doubt would cause others around us to question the sincerity of our spiritual commitments.  Is that person really a Christian?  Will they really inherit eternal life?

In the world of certain faith, where doubt is cast as an enemy, it’s difficult to proceed.  We can too easily force people to deal with their doubts and questions in secret and dark places. I’ve watched people struggling alone with deep questions because they were afraid of how others might react to their doubts.  Doubts and uncertainty frighten us.  I think that’s why we tend to reject Thomas, because Thomas dares to bring doubt into our lives of faith.

But friends, doubt and faith are not opposites.  James Fowler, in Stages of Faith, tells us that doubt often comes as a catalyst to deeper faith.  The great reformer, Martin Luther, talks about working through his own doubts, and how those doubts became part of the process of faith and of being a Christian.  John Wesley frequently spoke of "degrees of faith," in which a person’s faith may be present to varying degrees.  In my own life, periods of the greatest questioning and doubting have led to some of my most profound experiences of faith.

And yet, we single out Thomas.  For 2000 years, we’ve known him simply as "Doubting Thomas."  But, take a look at what the other disciples were up to.  The disciples of Jesus were gathered together.  Remember, Thomas was absent from this gathering.  Those disciples, gathered on the evening of that first Easter Sunday, are a picture of the most miserable little conglomeration of people to ever assemble and take upon themselves the name "church."  They were supposed to be out in the street, proclaiming the Easter Shout that Christ is risen, Christ is risen indeed!  Yet, there they were, like frightened rabbits behind a set of locked doors.

They were hunkered down, frightened, cowering, hoping no one would discover them there.  As Tom Long says, this is the church at its worst: "scarred, disheartened, defensive."  How would such a church advertise itself in the community?  The church where all are welcome?  Locked doors are not a sign of hospitality.  This church doesn’t have a warm heart and a bold mission.  All it has, from our perspective, is shaky knees and sweaty palms.

And yet, we single out Thomas.  But give the man some credit.  Because, when he is finally able to touch the place pierced by the nails, he comes out with the boldest assertion imaginable.  He falls to his knees as Jesus’ feet, and he says "My Lord and my God."  Do you get the significance of this?  Thomas is the first one to get it.  Thomas makes the connection that God has been among them the whole time.

Out of doubt was born Christianity’s most profound confession to date.  As Thomas has shown us, there is a place for doubt, and profound faith can be born out of it.  Jesus doesn’t rebuke Thomas because of his doubt.  Far from it, Jesus meets Thomas where he is.

What the church had (and has)

Thankfully, Jesus is in the habit of meeting people where they are.  Amen?  I know the disciples must have been thankful for this fact on the evening of that first Easter.  There they were, with locked doors, defeated members, and fear.  They were a church with absolutely nothing.  No sanctuary, no pulpit, no choir, no adorable preacher.  No plan, no mission, no conviction.  Nothing going for it – except that when it gathered, the risen Christ pushed through the locked door, threw back the bolt, and stood among them.  And for any of us, when that happens, that’s as close as we get to being called "Church."

Churches sometimes will try to define themselves based on a whole host of other things.  Why are insignificant things are allowed to become more important than the presence of the risen Christ?  We can put up all sorts of things that will block and lock Christ out of our lives, both as individuals, but also as a congregation. Are those things perhaps simply a form of those disciples locked doors?

We all know these things.   We all know churches that define themselves primarily in terms of these things, and to whom the presence of the risen Christ is noticeably absent.  Some churches are built around the personality of their pastors.  Now, John Fitzgerald and I both have no shortage of personality, but we’d rather not be the center of attention here.  To some churches, the clothing of those leading worship is more important than Christ.  For some, the architecture or the bricks and mortar of the building themselves are more important.  Some churches are proud of their formality of their informality.  Others place their trust in their denominational identity, or the fact that they have no denominational identity.  The list goes on and on – a liberal or conservative identity, political agendas, or even what type of coffee is served.  And then, of course, worship style, time of worship, type of music that are more important to some than whether or not the risen Christ is actually present.

These things do not make the church.  I get frustrated when people want to make these things the most important issue a church has to deal with.  They are secondary to the presence of the risen Christ.  When you are focused on Christ, these things fall to the periphery.  If these things are the most important thing to you, if worship is dependent on their presence or absence, or if their presence or absence really grinds your gears, there’s a word for it.  It’s idolatry.

My prayer is that we’ll find those doors unlocked and the risen Christ will appear in our midst.

My prayer, when people in this community talk about us, is they not even mention these other things.  My prayer is that they say, "that is a place where you can expect to meet the risen Christ.  Jesus shows up there.  He lives and walks among the people there.

To the church who has nothing, and the church who appears to have everything, one thing makes the difference.  It is the presence of the risen Christ.  He gives us everything we need.  Church is a gift from God to the world, a gift from a God who refused to leave us alone.  His presence makes the Church, and gives us everything we need – mission, spirit, and forgiveness.

We are church not because of where we meet.  Not because the bishop authorizes us to hold divine worship in this place.  Not because of the building, the music, the programs, or even the adorable preacher.  We are church because to us—yes, even to us—Christ has come and given us gifts of Spirit, mission, and forgiveness, and commissioned us to give them to the whole world in his name.

John 9:1-7 – "Where Was God?"

As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth.  His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"  Jesus answered, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him.  We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work.  As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world."  When he said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man's eyes, saying to him, "Go, wash in the pool of Siloam" (which means Sent).  Then he went and washed and came back and was able to see.

When you finished high school physics, did you think you would never have to recite Newton's laws of motion again?  So did I.  That's part of the reason I majored in humanities and not in the sciences.  I was never going to balance another equation or determine the velocity of a watermelon seed spit by my cousin.  But this morning, I need to review one of those laws with you.  Finish Newton's third law of motion for me: "For every action . . . . there is an equal and opposite reaction."

Whether they knew it or not, the disciples were articulating this law quite well in this morning's Scripture passage.  As they're walking down the road, they ask Jesus a question.  Spotting a man born blind, the wheels in their heads start turning.  In their worldview, hardships are the result of sin.  In fact, they are the direct result of sin.  That is, some specific sin causes each specific hardship.  It would be only logical, therefore, that the man's blindness is the direct result of some specific sin.

The only question that remains, then, is whose sin is the root cause of the man's blindness.  The disciples come up with two plausible sources; either the man's sin caused his blindness, or his parents' sin caused his blindness.  It's actually a pretty good question that deals with an important theological issue.  We all want to know why bad stuff happens in our lives and in the lives of people we know and love.  Do bad things happen to me as the direct result of my own sin?  The sin of my parents?  The sin of other people?  Is it random?  Is it purposeful?  Is it arbitrarily administered by a sadistic God who wants to watch us dance like so many puppets on a string?  Is it karma?  Or, maybe it's some combination of all of these things.  The disciples are engaging in theology at a practical, down-and-dirty level.  They have made observations about the ways in which the world works, and combined that with their knowledge and experience with the ways in which God interacts with the world, and they've come up with some conclusions.

The disciples question represents one end of the spectrum, in which we humans chart the course of our own destiny.  Good things happen when we act righteously, bad things happen when we act sinfully.  It's a sort of a "What goes around comes around" flavor of theology.  Before we get into too much of a rush to dismiss their question, we have to admit that a whole lot of what happens to us is the natural consequence of decisions and actions we've already made.  If you choose to tell your significant other they look fat in whatever outfit they're wearing today, there will be negative consequences directly related to your decision.  If you choose to embezzle money from your employer, there will be negative consequences directly related to your decision.  If I choose to regularly and excessively exceed the speed limit – now you know we're dealing in the hypothetical – there will be negative consequences that even the combined legal powers of Four Eggers, PW Glidewell, Don Watson, and Jim Deal can't get me out of.  There are certainly a number of hardships that are the direct result of our own sin.

Before we dismiss the disciples' question too quickly, the sins of our parents can also have a harmful effect on us.  When a mother addicted to crack gives birth to a child, the child suffers the direct consequence of its parents' sin.  When parents spend all their money on their own selfish indulgences and there is nothing left to adequately feed, clothe, and shelter their children, children suffer the direct consequence of their parents' sin.

At the other end of the spectrum is a theology in which God dictates the results of our lives.  That is, God sets forces in motion and orders the world in such a way that only the results God desires actually happen.  Indeed, St. Paul tells us in his letter to the Romans, "We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him."  This premise is easily misinterpreted, however.  We often hear that all things that happen to us are good, or that all things have a good in them.  We can spend our lives trying to find the purpose behind every incident of pain and suffering.  In this view, God sadistically places obstacles in our path in order to teach us something or make a point.  Remember, according to this view, every instance of pain or suffering is there on purpose because some good is going to be worked out of it.

We see this viewpoint lived out when bad things happen to good people.  It's almost a default mode that we go into when there is unexplainable tragedy.  When my mom was first diagnosed with aggressive stage 4 breast cancer in June of 2004, I can't tell you how many times I saw this lived out.  As she kept a daily journal in those first few months and continued to keep it, she toyed with the idea of turning her daily musings into a book.  One of the chapters in that book was going to be, "Stupid things people say when someone has cancer."  One of my personal favorites was, "I'm sure God did this for a reason."  I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, "God didn't do this!  And if he did, that's a God I don't want anything to do with."

The theologian William Barclay lost his 20-year-old daughter in a horrible boating accident.  Years later, he received an anonymous letter.  "Dear Dr. Barclay, I know why God killed your daughter.  It was to save her from corruption by your heresies."  "I wanted to write a letter back," said Barclay.  "Not in anger and fury, because that came and went in a flash.  I wanted to write back in pity telling whomever 'Your God is my devil.  Your God is the God I don't believe in.'"

Or, think about what gets said around other tragedies in which people specifically make God the author of suffering, always for some divine purpose.  When a child dies, someone will inevitably say something like, "I guess God just needed another cherub in heaven."  Theirs is the God I don't believe in.  When the AIDS epidemic broke out 25 years ago, how many Christians rejoiced in what they perceived to be God's judgment on homosexuals?  Theirs is the God I don't believe in.  On September 11, how many Christians announced that God was angry with us for coming loose from our moorings as a nation?  Theirs is the God I don't believe in.  How many Christians divide and separate, and sing wonderful songs of praise to God, yet bar from their pews anyone unlike them?  Theirs is the God I don't believe in.

  Here's the reality.  We live in a world in which the rain falls upon the just and the unjust alike.  There is a great deal of suffering in the world due to sin.  Some of that is our sin, some of that is our parents' sin, and some of it is the sin of people we'll never know.  But there is also a great deal of suffering in the world that is random and senseless.  God is not the author of this suffering.  God has not caused this suffering.  So where is God in all this?

Back in our text today, why was the man born blind?  Jesus tells us it was not because of anyone's sin.  Rather, the man was born blind in order that God might be revealed and glorified in him.  He was not born blind as an object lesson.  He was not born blind in order to teach us something.  He was not born blind in order to be given sight.  He was born blind in order that God might be revealed and glorified in him.

Where was God?  God was being glorified.  God was being glorified in the man's blindness.  God was being glorified in the man's sight.  God was being glorified in all the conditions and circumstances of the man's life.  In fact, later in this story, the man is brought before the Pharisees and religious leaders to give an account of his healing.  They are concerned with procedure, offended by a healing taking place on the Sabbath.  They point out the man's sin that they believed caused his blindness, and they point out Jesus' sin for conducting a healing on the Sabbath.  Heaven forbid God would actually show up on the day his people gather to worship!  The irony is that the religious leaders are shown to be spiritually blind by the end of the story, failing to see God at work because the miracle did not fit within their boundaries of acceptable religious practice.  Indeed, God was being glorified, yet they failed to give glory to God and chose to focus on circumstances of little consequence.

Friends, that's what blindness is.  It's focusing on the wrong things, on insignificant things, on periphery things, and failing to recognize God's glory.  We can be blind, or we can have sight.  We can focus on things that exclude, or we can focus on things that show God's radical hospitality.  We can focus on things that hurt and destroy, or we can focus on things that heal.  We can focus on things that breed anger and division, or we can focus on things that bring hope.

Perhaps the question to be considered this morning is not, "Where is God?" but rather, "Who is God?"  As I wrestled with that very question this week, here's what I came up with.  I cannot believe in the God who loves pain.  I shall never believe in the God who does not know how to hope, or the God whom only the wise, the mature, or the comfortably situated can approach, or the God who sometimes regrets having given us free will.  I cannot believe in the God who only cares about souls and not people, who is unmoved by human suffering or thinks it's simply people getting their just desserts.  I cannot believe in a God who is incapable of making all things new, who never weeps, who has no mystery, and is nothing more than a little more powerful, vindictive version of ourselves.  I cannot believe in a God who is not love and does not transform everything he touches.

I believe in a different God.  I believe in the one who rose from the dead for you and me.  I believe in one who knows our suffering.  I believe in one who calls us 'friend' rather than 'stranger.'  I believe in one who sets a table before us in the presence of our enemies, who calls us to this table, and who promises to strengthen our bonds with him and with each other in the breaking of this bread and the taking of this cup.  That is my God and I shall have no other.  Amen.

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21 – "Holy Vulnerability"

Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.

"So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others.  Truly I tell you, they have received their reward.  But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

"And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others.  Truly I tell you, they have received their reward.  But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

"And whenever you fast, do not look dismal like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting.  Truly I tell you, they have received their reward.  But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal.  For where your treasure is, there your heart shall be also."

A good friend of our family has worked most of his life as a crisis and police chaplain.  The Rev. John Ivan Owen stands about 6'5" and weighs in well over 300 pounds.  He does not have the physical ability to speak in a quiet voice and, given his physical resemblance to a refrigerator, can be an imposing figure.  He wears a clerical collar anywhere he appears in public and is someone easily noticed.  A few years ago, while I was still in seminary, I was driving back to Durham, North Carolina late on a Sunday night.  OK, it was a little after midnight, so it was technically Monday morning.  I was eager to get home, and as I passed a Maryland state trooper on Highway 301, he signaled to let me know that he noticed and appreciated the apparent urgency of my trip.

Our family friend, the Rev. John Owen, was working with the DC metro police department at the time, and when I went to appear in traffic court, he agreed to come with me for moral support.  The judge was moving through the docket, and eventually called my name.  As I went to stand in front of him, the Rev. John Owen came to stand with me.  The judge looked down over his glasses and said, "Young man, is this your counsel?"  Before I could answer, the Rev. John Owen, in his most booming preacher voice, said, "Your honor, I am here to provide spiritual support and guidance to this young man at this time.  But I also remind the court that one day, we will all stand before the righteous judgment of God, and beg that in his infinite mercy, he will not hold us accountable for all our grievous transgressions against him."

He is a man who doesn't practice his piety quietly or privately.  Then again, he doesn't do anything quietly or privately.  And it is our acts of quiet and private devotion that bring us to Ash Wednesday and this reading from St. Matthew's Gospel.  The text warns us against practicing our piety in order to be seen by others, about praying, and fasting and giving in the public eye.  It encourages us to seek a life of quiet devotion pleasing to God, a life that is hidden and secret from public scrutiny.  And so, our response to that is to gather here in this place, to pray long, public prayers together, and to have a distinguishing mark placed on our foreheads that clearly announces to the rest of the world that we've been to church tonight.  Perhaps as we walk past, someone will point and whisper and say, "There goes a holy person."

It seems to be a bit of a contradiction, doesn't it?

There seems to be a lot of confusion as to what is the appropriate balance between public acts of worship and private acts of devotion.  In fact, over the course of one sermon, this sermon on the mount that Pastor John took a look at part of on Sunday, and part of which we examine tonight, Jesus seems to contradict himself.  On the one hand, Jesus has said we are the light of the world, and we ought not to hide our light, but allow it to shine brightly for the world to see.  But on the other hand, he wants us to be careful about showing off.

The issue here is not the correctness or incorrectness of certain religious practices.  The issue here is one of motivation.  That is, what is the condition of our heart as we conduct ourselves?  Jesus' words of caution are really aimed at our inner life.  We need to be careful that the outward expression of our religious life is not aimed at pleasing others or receiving the praise of others. When we attend worship so that others will think we are spiritual, or give, or pray to impress someone else, then Jesus says we've gotten our reward.  In other words, when our inner motivation for religious activity of any kind is anything other than wanting to be close to God, there is no spiritual gain.

John 1:29-42 – "Rock of Lamb"

The next day he saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, "Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!  This is he of whom I said, 'After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.'  I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel."  And John testified, "I saw the Spirit descending on him from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him.  I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, 'He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.'  And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God."

The next day John again was stranding with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, "Look, here is the Lamb of God!"  The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus.  When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, "What are you looking for?"  They said to him, "Rabbi," (which translated means Teacher), "where are you staying?"  He said to them, "Come and see."  They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day.  It was about four o'clock in the afternoon.  One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter's brother.  He first found his brother Simon and said to him, "We have found the Messiah" (which is translated Anointed).  He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, "You are Simon son of John.  You are to be called Cephas" (which is translated Peter).

I need to let you know this morning that this particular sermon is not going where you think it is.  Sermons on this passage have tended to focus on either the beginning or the end of the story – either they focus on Jesus as the Lamb of God, or they focus on Simon Peter, who gets the nickname "rock."  While either one of these would make for a good sermon, that's not where I want to focus today.

Today, I'd like for us to think about little brothers.  Who in the room has a little brother?  Take a look around, I want everyone to note this.  Now, who in the room is a little brother?  Those of you who raised your hand the first time, I want you to take special note of these little brothers around you!  Little brothers have it tough, growing up in the shadow of their older siblings.  Little brothers find themselves often wanting to be like their big brothers, but wanting to do it on their own and without any extra help.  Little brothers tire of being compared to their older siblings, and often develop fiercely independent personalities.  This is a picture of my nephews, Nathaniel and Josiah.  Notice how Josiah doesn't really want any help from his big brother – he can do it just fine on his own, thank you very much!

In our text today, we also meet two brothers.  We meet Simon Peter, and his little brother, Andrew.  This little brother, this average Joe, this ordinary guy.  We know Andrew, but we've overlooked him so many times.  The Andrews of the world easily disappear within the shadow of the more dynamic Peters.  But, as an Andrew myself, I think the Andrews of the world have been overlooked for too long!  Andy Harkins, are you with me?  Before we're all said and done today, hopefully you'll see why the world could use a few more Andrews.  May we pray.

Who was Andrew?

Andrew was Simon Peter's kid brother.  I picture him growing up in his big brother's shadow.  When they played a game growing up, who decided what they would play?  Simon Peter.  When a joke was being told, who was telling it?  Simon Peter.  When someone asked them a question about fishing, who jumped in with an immediate response?  Simon Peter.  In the background, playing second fiddle, was Andrew.  People always knew he was there, but he never got quite the recognition his older brother did.  He was sort of like that one Baldwin brother – oh, you know, whatshisname, well, the other Baldwin brother.

We're told that Andrew was a disciple of John the Baptist.  They were people who resonated with his message and wanted to immerse themselves in his teaching.  We heard about John the Baptist last week, how Jesus came out into the wilderness to be baptized by him, and how baptism for us now signifies cleansing from sin, claiming by God, and commissioning for ministry.  In our text today, John the Baptist is standing there as Jesus walks by, sometime very shortly after Jesus' baptism.  He whispers.  "Pssst.  Hey Andrew.  That's him.  That's the guy.  You know, the one I've been telling you about from the beginning.  You know, the Lamb of God.  The one who will take away the sin of the world, who will change the world, the one who will bring about reconciliation between all the world and God.  That's him!"

Andrew doesn't need to hear anything else.  Before John has even stopped speaking, Andrew is off.  He knew John's message was one of preparation, and his teacher has just told him that the person for whom he was preparing has arrived.  Andrew doesn't need further convincing.  Andrew has been a disciple of John the Baptist, and now, he will be a disciple of Jesus.  He knew that his time with John the Baptist was to prepare for an encounter with the Lamb of God, the Messiah, the Anointed One.  I doubt he really knew what to expect as he followed Jesus.  He simply knew that he was to follow him, and when he did, his life was forever changed.

Andrew was just an ordinary guy

I mentioned earlier that Andrew often fades into the shadow of his more gregarious brother, Simon Peter.  Part of the reason is that Andrew is much more ordinary than his older brother.  Simon Peter – he's someone you meet only once in a great while.  He's the guy up front, the guy who can do all things and do them well – and he gets all the attention.  He's the one we read about in the newspapers and watch on the evening news.  When you get your alumni magazine, you immediately flip to the alumni notes section to see what extraordinary things he's been up to lately.  He's a rare species, he's larger than life, and you remember meeting someone like him.

But Andrew is just a normal, average guy.  Andrew is someone you meet everyday.  He drives your bus, he sits next to you in class, he's the vice president at your bank, he's your next-door neighbor, and your daughters play on the soccer team together.  Every few years, you read about in the alumni magazine because he got a modest promotion, or moved to a new town 70 miles away, or had another baby.  Andrew is just a regular, ordinary, normal guy – someone just like you and me.  And that's what I want us to remember about Andrew – he is a regular, ordinary, normal guy – someone just like you and me.

And it is his ordinary-ness that makes him so remarkable.  For every Simon Peter, there are 10,000 Andrews.  For every gregarious, charismatic, talented up-front person, there are 10,000 regular, ordinary, normal people.  It is Andrew's ordinary-ness that makes it possible for God to use him like he does.  Let's look further at how God used an ordinary guy like Andrew.

God's use of the ordinary

Andrew follows Jesus and ends up spending the better part of 24 hours with him.  We don't really know what they talked about, or what happened, or what was said.  But something happened that was truly transformative, and Andrew became a disciple of Jesus Christ.

And what did he do?  First thing the next morning, Andrew ran to find his larger-than-life big brother and share with the wonderful news, "We have found the Messiah.  The one for whom we have hoped for so long is here, he is among us.  I have met him, and I want you to meet him too."

Andrew shows us what it means to be an evangelist.  A pastor in our conference was meeting with his evangelism team one night at the beginning of a new year, and the new members of the team wanted to know if they could change their name.  They were uncomfortable with the word "evangelism."  For half the group, the term brought to mind people like Billy Graham, and they didn't feel worthy to be associated in the same company.  For the other half of the group, the term brought to mind a host of television preachers, including Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart, and they didn't want to be associated in the same company.

So here is how Andrew shows us what it means to be an evangelist.  Andrew was an ordinary person, who had an encounter with Jesus and felt something within himself changed.  And so, he went and found his brother and brought him to Jesus.  Andrew did not try to convert his brother.  Andrew did not try to chance his brother or convince his brother.  Andrew knew that if he brought his brother into the presence of Jesus, that his brother could be transformed just the way that he had been transformed by Christ.  Andrew brought his brother to Jesus, and Simon Peter gave his life to Christ.

In fact, everywhere we meet Andrew throughout the rest of the story, he is bringing people to Jesus.  When a great crowd had gathered and was starting to get hungry, Andrew had been talking to a little boy at the back of the crowd, who had a sack lunch with five loaves of bread and two fish in it.  Andrew said, "I would like you to meet Jesus."  Jesus transformed that little boy, transformed his meager meal, and transformed the crowd.  Then later, Andrew meets a few Greeks – a few outsiders, that is – and introduces them to Jesus and they become disciples as well.  Everywhere you turn, he is bringing people and introducing them to Jesus, and lives are changed because of it.  One doesn't need to be flamboyant and larger than life like Peter.  The world needs regular people, just like Andrew, who quietly and faithfully bring people to Jesus.

Who is the Andrew in your life?  Who is the person or the people who cared enough about you to introduce you to Jesus?  Was it a parent?  A pastor?  A neighbor?  A co-worker?  An ordinary, average, regular little brother?  But another question for you: in whose life can you be an Andrew?  Who is waiting for you to introduce them to Jesus?  To whom can you say, "Come with me, and experience what I experience?"

It's as simple as an invitation.  This story focuses on invitation.  The text shows us that simple words of invitation are more crucial to the life of redemption than our grand and well thought-out proclamations and carefully worded doctrinal statements.  The church begins with an invitation, and it spreads, person to person, house to house, nation to nation, with the simple words of a heartfelt invitation.

Jesus invites Andrew to "Come and See," and Andrew invites Simon Peter to see what he has seen.  From this point on, the way to truth will be experienced through personal encounters.  Our evangelism is simply a reflection of this truth.  Andrew invites Simon Peter to come and see; Andrew welcomes because he was welcomed himself.  We welcome because we were welcomed ourselves.  We invite because we received an invitation.

Something so ordinary as an invitation, yet look at the extraordinary things God accomplishes through the ordinary.  Through ordinary water, God is able to cleanse us, claim us, and commission us in baptism.  Through ordinary bread and wine, God draws us into fellowship and strengthens us for a life of discipleship.  Through ordinary people, people like Andrew, people like you and me, God's love and redemption is offered to a hurting and broken world.

The world could use a few more Andrews.  The world could use a few more people willing to bring people into the presence of Christ.

Matthew 1:18-25 – "He's Not Mine!"

Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way.  When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit.  Her husband, Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly.  But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.  She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins."  All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

"Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,"

which means, "God is with us."  When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

In 1968, The Zombies put out a song called "Time of the Season."  One of the most memorable lines from that song is, "What's your name?  Who's your daddy?  Is he rich like me?"  According to the online source of all things reliable and true, Wikipedia.org, use of the phrase, "Who's your Daddy," enjoyed popularity among radio shock jocks in the late 1980s, but gained widespread use during the early 1990s.  According to Wikipedia, it is "a slang expression that enjoys the form of a rhetorical question.  Use of the phrase implies a boastful claim of dominance over the intended listener.  One variant commonly aimed at residents of Indiana is 'Hoosier Daddy.'"

Those of you who have met my father would probably not deny the family resemblance.  It is very clear, just in looking at the two of us, that I am my father's son.  A great deal of our identity is based on the simple fact of who our parents are.  Rightly or wrongly, people will make judgments about us based on who our family is, or where we come from, or what associations we maintain.  By knowing the answer to the question, "Who's your Daddy?", people can make some pretty clear assumptions about who we are.  Knowing our origins can tell others a lot about ourselves, and it's also interesting to know where we, ourselves, have come from.  More often than not, we find that the apple don't fall too far from the tree.

Who's your Daddy?  It's a question that brings us around to Joseph.  Throughout this Advent season, we've been looking at the nativity story through the eyes of some of the different characters. Last week, Pastor John helped us see this story through the eyes of Mary and Elizabeth, and tomorrow night he'll look at the story from a perspective that may surprise some of you.  But, not wanting to give that away, I'll invite you to come to our Christmas Eve services tomorrow night at 6 and 11. This morning, we look together at Joseph and figure out together what he might say to us.  May we pray.

Wedding plans

The wedding planning was already well underway.  Joseph, son of Jacob, and Mary, daughter of Joakim and Anne were engaged to be married.  Neither of their families were wealthy, and while the wedding wouldn't be fancy, it still promised to be a wonderful celebration. 

However, over the last couple of months, Joseph had noticed a change coming over Mary.  She had always been somewhat shy, but now she seemed standoffish.  Joseph couldn't put his finger on it, but it seemed like Mary was carrying some burden.  Well aware of the difference in their ages, Joseph wondered if Mary might be embarrassed to be seen with him, or ashamed of him, or utterly repulsed by him, a carpenter her father had arranged for her to marry.  The seeds of doubt sowed themselves deep inside, but Joseph really didn't know what to do about it.  He shrugged his shoulders, said, "Women," and didn't really think about it again.

One evening as he was cleaning up the shop, Mary came by.  "Joseph, we need to talk."  I assume "We need to talk" meant the same thing in the ancient world as it does today.  It's what employers say to someone who is about to be terminated.  It's the phrase I have used every time I ended a relationship.  "We need to talk" is always a precursor of bad news.

"Joseph, we need to talk.  I don't really know how to tell you this."  "Go ahead, Mary.  You know you can tell me anything."  "Well . . . this is so hard . . . . I'm pregnant."  There was a long silence, a truly pregnant pause.  And then it hit him.  "But Mary – we haven't even . . . you know.  Mary, that baby's not mine!  Who is the father of that baby?"

The text tells us that Joseph was a righteous man.  Being a righteous man, he would have known the rules.  One of those rules is that if the woman to whom you're engaged is pregnant and you haven't had marital relations with her, then someone else did.  John reminded us last week that the punishment for such an indiscretion would have been death by stoning.  However, that would have been the punishment for the man whose child it was, as well, assuming you could pin down the father's identity.

"It wasn't another man, Joseph.  The Holy Spirit got me pregnant."  "Sure Mary.  Of course that's what happened."  The text says Joseph resolved to dismiss her quietly and divorce her.  He didn't believe her!  Joseph knew that baby wasn't his!  They didn't need to take a DNA sample!  They didn't need to throw chairs at each other on The Jerry Springer Show.  Joseph knew the best option for him not having to claim a baby that wasn't his was to divorce Mary.

But look at this, Joseph was not only a righteous man, he was a compassionate man as well.  He didn't want Mary to be disgraced; he chose not to file charges against her.  Perhaps he hoped to "shame" the real father into marrying her and taking responsibility for the baby.  Who knows?  Maybe he assumed Mary loved the father, and that the father would love the baby.  At the very least, perhaps the real father would face the consequences of his actions, and the child in Mary's womb would have a shot at a stable, so-called normal home.

We are told that an angel, a divine messenger, appears to Joseph in a dream and confirms Mary's story.  The baby really does belong to the Holy Spirit, it turns out.  From that point on, Joseph trusts God and puts aside any notion of dismissing or divorcing Mary.  He takes her as his wife, and knowing full well that the child she carries is not his, willingly takes responsibility to be the baby's father.  Behold, the virgin who has conceived bears a Son and his name is Jesus.

A man of faith

In these events, Joseph is portrayed as a down-to-earth real man with real struggles and real questions and real fears and real doubts, but who wrestles with what it will mean to be faithful to the promises of God.  Joseph shows us that the co-existence of faith and doubt is not only possible, but indeed, probable.

Faith, Joseph shows us, is not simply believing the right things about the right issues.  Faith is not about having a bunch of answers to a bunch of ready-made questions ready to go.  Faith is not the eradication of questions and doubts.  Faith is not having an understanding of everything we're going through.  In other words, faith is not a purely intellectual exercise.  Faith is not so much about what we believe in our heads, it is about what we believe in our hearts.

Joseph shows us that faith draws us into a personal experience of the mystery of God.  Faith does not try to dismiss the mysterious, or provide a logical explanation for it.  Rather, faith lives into the mysterious.  Faith brings us face to face with the mystery of God, and we find that mystery to be pregnant with the possibility of God's future.  It takes an imaginative leap to live into that future, and that's what Joseph provides for us.

Neil Postman, in his book, Technopoly, accuses us of being people with no imagination.  We have fooled ourselves into thinking there is a shortage of data in the world, and if we can just wrangle all the facts together, figure out how to sort them out, and line them up correctly, we'll arrive at the answers to all of life's problems.  The UN sends envoys on fact-finding missions.  Our government tells us they can't decide anything until all the information comes in.  Postman says it flat out: "We don't need more data. We have more facts than we can possibly consume. What we are dying of is lack of courage, lack of dreams, a failure of nerve."

What Joseph can teach us

But through Joseph, a man who believed that with God all things are possible, we find ourselves swept up in a story that is loaded down with courage, dreams, and nerve.  May it be so that we would have that kind of faith!  Joseph dares to take responsibility for what the Holy Spirit has already started.  And when it comes down to it, that's a pretty good definition of faith.  He shows us a faith that keeps hope alive, and finds himself at the extreme center of divine mystery.  He came face to face with the Holy and was utterly humbled by the mystery of it all.  "Joseph faced the skepticism of his neighbors in calm faith in the God who was beyond his human comprehension.  Joseph had the faith to see in this impossible situation the improbable work of God.  He had just enough faith to believe that this improbably conceived infant might in fact be Emmanuel, God with us" (James Harnish).

He is more than a man in the shadows.  He is more than a silent man off to the side.  He is more than a stand-in figure.  He is the man who trusted God, and he is the man God trusted.  He shows us that faith isn't blind; it's visionary.  That is, faith sees things that can't be seen with our own senses.  Faith, rather than denying the improbable, hopes for the impossible.  Faith keeps hope alive because it can see things other people cannot see.  It's a lifestyle Joseph faithfully lived, and I know it influenced Jesus.  Later, when Jesus saw ordinary fishermen and called them to be fishers of people, or when he saw a tax collector and called him to be a disciple, or when he saw a dying thief on a cross and promised that he would be with him in paradise, I believe he might have actually been living out of a faith he had seen in Joseph, a faith that was not afraid to believe that improbable, even impossible things, might actually come true.

Friends, in these last hours of the Advent season before Christmas bursts in upon us, we find our imaginations pregnant with the hope of God's possibilities.  If you remember nothing else from this morning's sermon, remember this: God wants to do extraordinary things in your life, as well – things that seem difficult, things that seem improbable, things that seem impossible.  God is calling you to be part of bringing hope to the world.  God seeks to bless your life in order that you may be a blessing to others.  God wants to transform your life, so you in turn can transform the world.

You have come to church on this, the 23^rd of December, the last Sunday in Advent.  I hope you have come looking for hope, because in the story of this holy family we find it.  If you come to church in December, you'd better buckle yourself in because we're going to bombard you with hope.  We're going to stir up the poet within you, and teach you to sing again, and invite you to imagine yourself smack in the middle of God's promises and possibilities.

Like Joseph, I hope we will be found faithful.  May we allow hope to root itself in our hearts, in the very core and center of our being.  May we come face to face with the Holy and be utterly humbled by the mystery of it all.  May we be open to the movements of the Holy Spirit among us to accomplish great, and improbable, and impossible things.  And as we do, may the true spirit of Christmas – Emmanuel, God-with-us, be born within each of us.

Luke 23:33- 43 - "Long  Live the King!

Luke 19:1-10 – "Wee Little Man"

He entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich.  He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature.  So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way.  When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today."  So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him.  All who saw it began to grumble and said, "He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner."  Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, "Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much."  Then Jesus said to him, "Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham.  For the son of man came to seek out and save the lost."

On Tuesday morning, when the sermon title was placed out on the marquis, the comment was made that I must be preaching this morning.  For those of you worshipping with us by television and radio, today's sermon is title is "Wee Little Man," but it is not a descriptor of the preacher, but of the sermon.

I love going to family reunions on my Dad's side of the family.  Sure, it's nice to see family, the food is always great, but I will confess that I have an ulterior motive for attending: for the span of that afternoon, I am the tallest person in the room.  By and large – perhaps I should say by and small – Thomases are short people.  I have aunts and cousins who never made it to five feet, and as I move about through the room, I feel like Gulliver among the Lilliputians.  However, I know better than to comment on their stature, because in the Thomas family, there seems to be an inverse relationship between a person's height and their toughness.

That brings us to Zacchaeus, the star of today's text.  This was one of my favorite Bible passages growing up.  I loved the little activity sheets that portrayed Zacchaeus as a goofy little cartoon character.  I even loved the silly little song we'd sing about him, complete with hand motions.  In children's church, they're probably singing that song right now and Pastor John is teaching the same story in the children's wing that we're looking at in the sanctuary.

However, we do this text a great disservice if we think it is only a children's story.  I invite all us to put aside what we think we already know about this story, and allow it to speak to us fresh and new.  May we pray.

Some background

Let me set up some background information that will help us understand the implications of what's happening in this text.  The story takes place in Jericho – a thriving, prosperous border city known for its exports of dates and figs.  There were two major highways in Israel, and one of them went right through Jericho.  The Jews from Galilee would travel to Jericho and beyond on their way to Jerusalem. The main highway between Galilee and Jericho ran right through Samaria – which was a hostile place in those days for Jewish travelers.  So instead of taking the main road, most travelers would bypass Samaria, take the back roads through the territory to the East, and then re-enter Roman-controlled territory through Jericho.

Jericho was the customs control station.  Everyone coming into Jericho had to pay a tax on their entrance back into the territory.  They also had to pay a tax on whatever livestock, merchandise, or goods they were transporting.  For example, if you had a cart full of olives pulled by an ox, the authorities could stop you and tax you for each wheel on the cart, for the cart itself, for the ox that pulled the cart, and for the olives in the cart.

I don't know of anyone who particularly enjoys paying taxes, but we all pay them.  For one thing, we have to.  But in addition, we are in favor of many of the things our taxes support – things like good roads, public schools, and fire and police protection.  That being said, I want us to realize what those taxes being collected day in and day out in Jericho were paying for.  Remember, the Romans were the occupying force in Israel at this time, so the taxes went to them.  The Roman army was a huge force that needed extraordinary amounts of money to keep going.  So essentially, the people in Jericho were paying taxes to an outside government in order to fund the army that kept them under control.

And there, making sure the taxes were collected and paid to the Roman government, was Zacchaeus.  He was not only a tax collector, he was the chief tax collector, which easily would have made him the most hated man in town.  As if that weren't bad enough, the Roman tax system was ripe for abuse.  They only told each province how much they needed to turn into the central government, and as long as they did, that's all Rome cared about.  Tax collectors were free to collect in excess of this amount and pocket the difference, which they did.

A very small man

Zacchaeus was a wee little man, probably even shorter than Ronnie Wise.  But he was a small man in many senses of the word, not only in relation to his height.  When it came to character, Zacchaeus came up short.  Those whom he met were not seen as people; they were seen as someone he could exploit.  He was a cocky little crook, a thief, and a con man.  Yet, he was protected by the Roman government, so there wasn't a thing anyone could do about it.

Now, Passover was approaching, which meant an annual pilgrimage to Jerusalem for many Jews.  That also meant many people would be passing through Jericho and paying their duty taxes there, and Zacchaeus was having a very good month.  The crowds soon discovered that Jesus would be passing through town, and everyone wanted to see him.  Word was spreading through the region about this rabbi from Nazareth.  Everyone was amazed at his teaching.  He had been performing miracles of healing left and right.  Zacchaeus even heard that he had told a story in which a Pharisee was the foil, and a tax collector the hero.  A large following had accumulated around Jesus.  Have you seen the movie Forrest Gump?  Do you remember toward the end of the movie Forrest decides to start running back and forth across the country, and this inspires people, and a group of people just naturally begin to follow him?  Jesus was headed through Jericho with the same sort of army of supporters.

Zacchaeus, knowing he was too short to see Jesus, and probably also aware that he would be vulnerable to elbows and rough treatment in the crowd, does something incredibly crafty – he races ahead and climbs into the shady branches of a sycamore tree, pulls out his bag of pomegranates and Mountain Dew, and waits.

Along comes Jesus, with the army that has grouped around him, and the crowds who have pressed in just hoping to catch a glimpse.  I've been to several golf tournaments, including The Masters and The British Open, where I just about walked right into Tiger Woods' mom.  I imagine the crowds to be like those around hole 16 at Augusta National on Sunday afternoon, where people are standing 10 and 12 deep, and every once in awhile you actually see the action, but most of the time, you are asking, "What just happened?"

Zacchaeus has a front-row seat to the action, but he has no idea he is about to be the center of the action.  Jesus stops right under that sycamore tree, and he says the line on which the whole plot turns: "Zacchaeus, come down from there.  I must stay at your house today."  This pleased Zacchaeus greatly, but it sure ticked off the crowd.  "Yes, Jesus, come to my house.  The prettiest villa in all Jericho, down there, overlooking the river, nestled in a grove of date palms."  Proud as could be, Zacchaeus led Jesus down to his house, the hateful stares of the crowd boring into the back of his head the entire way.

Jesus gets in and changes things

I think Zacchaeus didn't catch the implication of what Jesus said.  "Come down."  Come down not only from the tree, but come down off your high horse.  Come down from thinking more highly of yourself than you ought.  Come down from seeing other people as the objects of your exploitation.  "Come down, for I am going to your house today."  I am going where you live.  Into your personal space.  Into what is valuable to you.  Into your private domain and the place you keep entirely to yourself.

And by the end of the story, we realize that's exactly what Jesus has done.  He has gotten into the personal spaces in Zacchaeus' life, and completely transformed them.  He has been changed.  Something happened over lunch – something happened when this man joined the Lord at the table that changed his heart.  He was changed from a taker to a giver, and all of a sudden is passing out checks like he's the United Way of Jericho.  This is the overnight change from Mr. Scrooge to Uncle Ebenezer, from the Grinch who stole Christmas to the Grinch who saved Christmas.  Personally, I would like to know what Jesus said to Zacchaeus over lunch.  If we knew the words he used, I would say similar words to you on Stewardship Sunday in the hopes that you will also become even more generous than you already are.

But the text simply doesn't give us those details.  Luke wants us to know that Zacchaeus had a real encounter with Jesus, and his life was changed because of it.  And I think that's the point: when Jesus calls us by name, when he gets into our personal space, when we share a meal with him, our lives are transformed.  Zacchaeus looks around, and rather than seeing people he needs to exploit, he sees people with real needs who could use his help.  And so it happens that Zacchaeus, the biggest dirty rotten scoundrel in town, whose name means "the pure and righteous one," finally lives up to his name.

Let me tell you what I think happened over lunch.  Keep in mind, this is the Gospel according to A.J. and not according to Luke.  I think as Jesus and Zacchaeus ate and spent the afternoon together, Zacchaeus felt something he had not felt in a long time – love.  Jesus was the first person he encountered who did not treat him poorly or malign him or withhold love because of the way he had treated others.  And the love got to him.  And as they reclined at the table together, he looked into the eyes of Jesus, and he saw reflected there the Zacchaeus he was created to be.

Jesus not only got into Zacchaeus' house that day.  More importantly, Jesus got into his heart.  In the end, he declares that salvation has come to Zacchaeus, that he, too, is a son of Abraham.  He was just lost.  He had gotten confused about why he was here, and whom he was to serve.  Like you and me, thank God Jesus comes looking for each of us and invites us into a new and transformed life.

Friends, this is far more than a nursery room tale.  It is a vivid reminder of the love of God at work in the human heart.  Even when we are at our worst, even when the world has turned its back on us, Jesus continues to call us by name and invites us to the table.  And sure enough, we find ourselves transformed.

This story begins with the littlest man in town.  It ends with the biggest heart Jesus encounters in all Israel.

1 Timothy 6:6-19 – "Trust Fund Baby"

Of course, there is great gain in godliness combined with contentment: for we brought nothing into the world, so that we can take nothing out of it; but if we have food and clothing, we will be content with these.  But those who want to be rich fall into temptation and are trapped by many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction.  For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pains.

But as for you, man of God, shun all this; pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance, gentleness.  Fight the good fight of the faith; take hold of the eternal life, to which you were called and for which you made the good confession in the presence of many witnesses.  In the presence of God, who gives life to all things, and to Christ Jesus, who in his testimony before Pontius Pilate made the good confession, I charge you to keep the commandment until the manifestation of our Lord Jesus Christ, which he will bring about at the right time – he who is the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords.  It is he alone who has immortality and dwells in unapproachable light, whom no one has ever seen or can see; to him be honor and eternal dominion.  Amen.

As for those who in the present age are rich, command them not to be haughty, or to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but rather on God who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment.  They are to do good, to be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share, thus storing up for themselves the treasure of a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of the life that really is life.

I need everyone to get their wallets out this morning, as the beginning of the sermon is a little more interactive than usual.  As I name a particular credit card and its slogan, if you possess one or more of that particular card, I'd like for you to hold it up.

"There are some things money can't buy.  For everything else, there's Master Card."  "Visa: It's everywhere you want to be."  "It pays to Discover."  "American Express: Don't Leave Home Without It."

The credit card has become our lifeline to economic freedom.  It's more convenient than cash, most cards provide rewards and incentives to their cardholders, the cardholder is protected against fraudulent purchases, and the opportunity to pay over time rather than in one lump sum is the biggest attraction.  The credit card allows us to own today what we can't afford until tomorrow, and has made the American Dream bigger and earlier for many people.

Yet, an article in U.S. News and World Report a few years ago stated "American dreams these days are built on hope, hard work, and often, a mountain of debt."  Indeed, American consumers last year spent an average of 107% of their income – consumer debt is at an all-time high level while personal savings are at their lowest rates in decades even as income levels have risen steadily.  The pursuit of wealth, it seems, is fleeting at best.

Our text this morning begins in a place that is strange territory to many of us.  It begins with contentment.  It tells us that there is great gain in godliness combined with contentment. Our culture has taught us that contentment is a goal toward which we work, not a starting place.  All you have to do is look at advertising to get this message.  If I hadn't entered the ministry, I would likely be working in an advertising or marketing-related field right now, and every advertising message can be broken down into this basic formula: 1.) You are not happy.  2.) People who own product X are happy.  3.)  If you purchase product X, you too will be happy.  The logic of advertising is built on the premise that contentment rests on your next purchase.

The writer of 1 Timothy envisions an existence where contentment is the norm rather than something obtained only by the wealthy, where praising God is the highest ideal rather than building an impressive stock portfolio, where security lies in God and not in trust funds.

This teaching about money is one of the more controversial statements found in Scripture, and I think even more so in our day than in the time it was written.  It is certainly one of the most misquoted Scripture passages I run into – people usually remember verse 10 as, "Money is the root of all evil."  In reality, what the text actually says is, "The love of money is the root of all kinds of evil."  That's a slight change in semantics, but it sure changes the meaning of what we're talking about.

It would be simpler if the text said "Money is the root of all evil."  Oh, how much easier would be the preacher's task!  I could give you clear warning – to divest yourself of your stock portfolios and IRAs, to clean out your bank accounts, to sell off your home – lest you should fall prey to the evils of this world.  I would admonish you to seek poverty as a sign of your piety.  By this logic, the poorer you are, the more devout a disciple you are.  Even if unpopular, even if hypocritical, my preaching would be incredibly clear on this topic.

However, I suspect many of us would think twice about our faith if material poverty were a prerequisite for being a Christian.  For one thing, by worldly standards, all of us are rich people.  If you slept in a secure place last night, if you had a meal or the opportunity for a meal last night, if you own a motor vehicle, if you have or will graduate from high school, you are more fortunate than most of the world.  If you made $26,000 last year, your income is higher than 85% of the world; if $33,000, then you are wealthier than 95% of the world; and if $47,000 or more, then you are in the top 1% of world income earners.  By worldwide standards, you and I are wealthier than most, and certainly wealthier than those to whom the apostles ministered. And, perhaps somewhat comfortingly, nowhere in Scripture does it say that money or worldly goods are a terrible thing in and of themselves.  What our text today – and so many other texts like it – does say is that the love of money is something dangerous.

And that's where it gets complicated.  The writer of 1 Timothy seems to indicate that having wealth is not, in and of itself, the problem.  However, there seems to be some sort of a gray area imagined in which our attitudes about money turn detrimental.  What we're not told is where the boundaries of that gray area are, mostly because they exist at a different point for everyone.  The love of money is something to which anyone can be susceptible.  You can be wealthy and consumed with the desire to acquire more and more.  Yet, you can also be poor and obsessed with money; though you have little, you yearn for more.  Perhaps the best example of the devastating consequences for "those who want to be rich" (v. 9) is the ruin the gambling industry has brought to many individuals and their families.  It is estimated that 10 million Americans now have a gambling habit that is out of control, and the number grows daily.

Money – little pieces of paper with dead presidents on them – is not the issue here.  Whatever a society collectively agrees has value can become currency.  For Native Americans, it was wampum.  For others, it was jewels and precious metal.  For French settlers in North America, it was furs.  In Kevin Costner's worst movie ever, WaterWorld, it was clean, potable water.  For small children, it can be candy.

As I said, the issue is not the money itself.  The issue is everything a love of money stands for.  Love of money represents self-sufficiency and autonomy.  Love of money represents a self-worth that is determined by one's net worth.  Love of money represents a barrier between us and our neighbors, and between us and God.  Money, in and of itself, is neither a good thing nor a bad thing.  However, the attitude we have surrounding it shows so clearly to the world what we think about ourselves, about God, and about our neighbors.  Money can be used to keep others at arms' length, to put them in their place, or to build impressive walls to keep them out.  But money can also be used to bless others and to provide hope and healing in situations of bleak despair.

Several years ago, a self-made millionaire was to speak to the eighth-grade class at the junior high he attended in New York City.  Statistically, the kids had little hope for a good future.  He was basically going to give them a pep talk, that if he could pull himself up by his own bootstraps, so could they.  Before he began his speech, he realized how hollow his message would sound without anything to back it up, and he decided to put his money where his mouth was.  He announced to the entire class that if any of them graduated high school, he would personally pay for their college education.  The next day he met with his accountants and lawyers and put $2 million into an endowed fund for the education of those students.  At the end of six years, 80 of those 120 eighth-graders had graduated high school – in a community where the dropout rate would ordinarily have run right around 80%.  It seems to me the investment he made is still reaping huge dividends.  Money can be used to bless people, and to provide hope and healing in situations of bleak despair.

Friends, we have all benefited from someone else's generosity.  We have all gotten a hand up in life.  We have all received things we didn't deserve or work for.  That's what grace is.  That's who God is.  God does it, not because we're particularly special or have done some great thing to make ourselves deserving.  God simply does it because that's the way God is.

And I wonder, some years from now, what sacrificially generous act will be performed by someone here today.  I wonder how that will change lives and inspire action.  I wonder what a young preacher will say to her congregation about such an act of generosity being an example of someone who chose love of God over love of money.  And I wonder how our lives will be changed because of it.

The author of 1 Timothy invites us to recognize the gifts that have been placed in each of our lives.  We are invited to recognize that our contentment does not lie in the accumulation of things, but in a God who created us, who loves us, and provides for us.  And freed from defining our self-worth by our net worth, our response is praise.  That's what our text this morning invites us into.  But our praise is owed not to the things with which we have been blessed, we praise God from whom all blessings flow.  The love of money is certainly one option by which we can live life, and all our attitudes and behaviors can be shaped by it.  But we are presented with a vastly superior option: the love of God, and given the opportunity for all our attitudes and behaviors to be shaped accordingly.

I've seen what the love of money can do to people, and most of the time, it really isn't pretty.  There was a time in my life when I was consumed with the desire for money, and I found it an empty pursuit.  I discovered at the end of the rainbow, there is no pot of gold.

What changed my attitude?  Let me tell a difficult and personal story.  It was the summer of 2000.  I was 20 years old, and working as a manager in a food store that was one of 120 locations throughout the Great Lakes.  I was placed on the company's executive fast track, and was being groomed to be the executive vice president of marketing by the time I was 35, earning around $150,000 per year.  On June 13, 2000, the store where I was manager-on-duty was robbed by a masked gunman.  He only wanted access to the safe in the office.  And as I knelt on the tile floor in that office, desperately trying to remember the combination to the safe before me, the unmistakable feel of cold steel was pressed to the back of my neck.  A thought crossed my mind: "It's only money.  So this is how it will end for me – all for a few thousand dollars."  Somehow, the safe popped open, I pulled out the cash box, and handed it to the gunman.  He left, no one was harmed, but all of a sudden I realized there had to be more to life than that.  A process of discernment began within me that night that opened me up to God's design on my life like I had never been open before, and allowed me to accept the call into ministry about seven months later.  My life was intended to count for something more.  The love of money has driven people mad, and their lives have been increasingly emptier because of it.

But I've also seen what the love of God can do for people.  The love of God has made people whole, and their lives have been increasingly fuller because of it.  May it be so for each of us.

Hosea 1:2-10 – "Prophet and Prostitute"

When the Lord first spoke through Hosea, the Lord said to Hosea, "Go, take for yourself a wife of whoredom, for the land commits great whoredom by forsaking the Lord."  So he went and took Gomer, daughter of Diblaim, and she conceived and bore him a son.

And the Lord said to him, "Name him Jezreel; for in a little whole I will punish the house of Jehu for the blood of Jezreel, and I will put an end to the kingdom of the house of Israel.  On that day I will break the bow of Israel in the valley of Jezreel."

She conceived again and bore a daughter.  Then the Lord said to him, "Name her Lo-ruhamah, for I will no longer have pity on the house of Israel or forgive them.  But I will have pity on the house of Judah, and I will save them by the Lord their God; I will not save them by bow or by sword, or by war, or by horses, or by horsemen."

When she had weaned Lo-ruhamah, she conceived and bore a son.  Then the Lord said, "Name him Lo'ammi, for you are not my people and I am not your God."

I realize this morning, as you look over the sermon title in your bulletin, that I am getting quite a reputation for myself.  I know some of you drove by the marquis and said to yourself, "A.J. must be preaching this week."  Someone about six rows from the back of the sanctuary nudged their neighbor and said, "Look, he's talking about sex again."  You didn't think I heard you, but I did.  And, a few of you assumed that my parents must be visiting.

Let's sort all this out.  Yes, I am preaching this week.  No, despite what you're wondering about the title, I am not preaching about sex.  And no, my parents are, to my knowledge, still at home in New York.

Our text this morning is not one with which most of you will be overly familiar, so I encourage you to hear it with fresh ears.  May we pray.

Summer is wedding season.  I have performed a few weddings already this summer, and I will perform another one this coming weekend.  Most of us have been to enough weddings that we sorta know the routine.  It's usually a hot afternoon, and the wedding doesn't even start until 3 or 4.  The guys have squeezed into a white shirt, a tie, and a suit, and you know it takes an act of God to get us to dress up on a Saturday.  Everyone is milling around in the foyer, and you get in line to sign the guestbook.  A young man wearing a tuxedo escorts you to your seat, and you begin to take notice of the other guests.  Everyone exchanges polite glances and little hand waves.  If you're single, you're scoping out the other single guests and trying to determine which one you'll be asking to dance first when the reception really gets going, while playing a mental game called, "Is that her boyfriend or her cousin?"  Finally, the groom walks in, led by the pastor who nobody really notices because she or he looks pretty much like normal.  But the groom looks nothing like the immature kid you remember.  His hair is nicely trimmed and he's even used product in it, he appears to have shaven this morning, and he's wearing so much cologne the guests in the first four rows are gasping for air.  The bridesmaids glide gracefully down the center aisle.  Then, the organ swells, and everyone rises to their feet, and the bride comes in.  Her dress is dingy, and her hair slightly unkempt.  Her lipstick is a little too red, and she's wearing a little too much blush.  She stops in the middle of the aisle and grinds her cigarette into the carpet.  As she walks by, the unmistakable scent of cheap liquor lingers behind her.  The groom is still radiant, blissfully unaware that the guests sense something is amiss.  This has to be the strangest wedding you've ever been too, including your hippie second-cousin who got married in a cranberry bog.

This is the wedding of the prophet and the prostitute, of Hosea and Gomer.  Here we find two people whose lives and backgrounds could not have come from further extremes.  Hosea and Gomer: the prophet and the prostitute, the man of God and the woman of the street, the respected and the rejected.  To be certain, it's an unlikely pair.

When it came to prophets, Hosea was one of the big ones.  He was a household name, and tens of thousands of people a week tuned into his nationwide television broadcasts.  Every preacher has a hot-button issue, and for Hosea, it was sexual sin.  The people were constantly violating the boundaries given to them by God – sleeping around and even having sex with prostitutes who hung out near the main entrance to the temple.

And Gomer?  She was one of those temple prostitutes.  Let me offer a footnote here.  Prostitution is often described as the world's oldest profession, and we find prostitutes all over the world.  Most begin young, and most sell their bodies for money, not for sex.  In poor families around the world, there is no inheritance for the daughters to receive, and the daughters grow up and head off to the market for the day, and then return at night with food.  Nobody talks about it, but the daughters have sold their bodies for food.  I imagine Gomer was similar to these tragic people all over the world – a dejected shadow of a person for whom life had steadily gone from bad to worse.  The lowest people in society used the services of prostitutes – the prostitutes themselves were viewed as something slightly less than human.

Hosea will marry Gomer, and she will bear him a son, but it's a tenuous relationship at best.  Before too long, Gomer will desert her husband, and have two illegitimate children.  Her family will beg her to stay with him, but her life will continue to sink lower and lower, down into the pits of despair, so far below rock bottom that you and I have no way of understanding her condition.

In the following chapters, we find her being sold into slavery at an auction.  Can you just hear the taunts of the people around her?  "She's finally getting just what she deserves.  She's made her bed, and now she can lie in it.  Her bad choices are catching up with her and her types."

Finally, she is on the auction block.  The auctioneer cries out, "Who will buy this woman as a slave?"  There is silence.  Nobody wants her.  She's used up.  She has no value.  Finally, at the back of the room, one hand came up, and a voice said, "I will buy her.  I will buy her back."  It is Hosea, and he is buying her back.  The tongues were surely wagging.  Here is this prophet, this man of God, buying a whore.  But, she happens to be no ordinary whore – she is also his wife.

One way the preacher gets a handle on a particular text is to look at it from the perspective of the various characters and see how we might relate to the story.  It would be easy for me, at this point, to say, "Therefore, let us be like Hosea, and show love to people the world has forgotten."  To be sure, this is something I feel we're called to do.  But there is some honest soul-searching that needs to take place first.

I quickly realized that, in this story, we're not Hosea.  We're Gomer.  The Church is filled with people whose lives are messed up, who don't have it together, who make enormously bad choices and then must live with the nasty consequences.  Now, we may pretend otherwise.  We may put on our smiling Sunday faces, our perfect appearances, our images of having it all together, but we are a deeply flawed people.  We are not right with God and we are not right with God's people.  Yet Christ chooses us, of all people, to be his bride.

Geoffrey Wainwright, theology professor at Duke, was talking about all the flaws in the church as it exists today.  Someone asked why he still chooses to be part of it, knowing all the things that are wrong with it.  He looked at my classmate and said, "The church may be a whore, but she's also my mother."

Why does Christ choose to stick with the church?  I can almost hear him saying, "The church may be a whore, but she's also my bride."  In spite of our imperfections and our shortcomings and our flaws, Christ chooses us.  In spite of our inability to keep our promises, Christ chooses us.  In spite of our brokenness and our deep hurts, Christ chooses us.

This is a story of pure grace, of pure sacrifice, of pure love.  This story reminds us that God loves imperfect people.  It's a crystal clear view of God's love and grace for people who don't have their act completely together – people like us.  We have been conditioned to think of love as a warm gushy feeling.  Movies, television, and music all reinforce this idea.  In reality, love has very little to do with a certain feeling, but it has everything to do with a commitment.

In the early-90s, when my grandparents were starting to celebrate their second half-century together in marriage, Grandma began to develop signs of Alzheimer's.  Papa, then in his mid-80s, became her primary care-giver, and took care to dress her, feed her, take her to the bathroom, fix her hair, get her medication, and tuck her into bed every night.  With personality and memory changes, she was barely a shadow of her former self.  Even so, Papa would gently stroke the back of her hand as they sat on the couch together, and tell her several times a day just how much he loved her.  It was a love that remained faithful to a vow to cherish and keep her, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, and he kept it until they were parted by death.

This is a love that is patient and kind, that does not seek its own way, that endures all things.

How much more, then, will God keep his vows to us?  When everyone else has given up on us, when everyone else has said that we're worthless and are good for absolutely nothing, when everyone else is ready to throw us away, God is still faithful; and lavishes upon us a love we don't deserve.

There is a mindset that became very popular in some Christian circles that you had to get your life in order before you could even think of approaching God.  You had to clean up all that nasty stuff – the attitudes, the behaviors, the bitterness, the resentment – before you were worthy to be in God's presence, some people would tell you.  From the outside, so many churches have projected themselves little enclaves of perfect people – a place where the children are always well-behaved, and where everyone is always nice and pleasant.

But the problem with portraying an outward appearance of perfection is that we never have a chance to acknowledge our brokenness.  And I can tell you, keeping up an appearance of perfection is awfully hard work.  It's sort of like constantly applying makeup to a gaping wound, hoping that you can cover it up.  Sure, for awhile you might be able to do a decent job hiding things.  But eventually, you can't keep up with it.  What's worse, the whole time you were covering up the wound, it grew larger, became infected, and is now a much more severe problem than it would have been if acknowledged in the first place.  Here's a simple truth: wounds are ugly.  It hurts to open them up.  It's painful to clean them out.  And they take time to heal.  But when we are able to acknowledge them and deal with them, we end up healthier in the long run.

Friends, we are an imperfect people.  But God loves imperfect people.  That's what this story of Hosea and Gomer – the prophet and the prostitute – so readily reminds us.  Christ is the perfect groom and the Church is the imperfect bride.  Christ looks lovingly on the Church, broken and bent and utterly unattractive, and immediately we know what grace is all about.

The church is a place we come together in all our brokenness in order to be made whole.  And I am convinced that God calls us and uses us, not in spite of our brokenness, but because of our brokenness.  We all have scars, but each of those scars tells a story – a story of God's healing and redemption in our lives – a story that can help another wounded person.  Our wounds can be used to offer healing to others, in the name of a wounded healer who has offered wholeness to us.

The Lenoir-Rhyne Youth Chorus presented Choral Evensong in the Boone UMC Sanctuary on the afternoon of July 22nd.  This group of young people left the next day for a two-week tour of England, during which time they would be singing Evensong in several English cathedrals and churches.  I preached a brief homily, and here it is.

Deuteronomy 6:1-9 - "Faith Plays"

Now this is the commandment – the statutes and the ordinances – that the Lord your God charged me to teach you to observe in the land that you are about to cross into and occupy, so that you and your children and your children's children may fear the Lord your God all the days of your life, and keep all his decrees and his commandments that I am commanding you, so that your days may be long.  Hear therefore, O Israel, and observe them diligently, so that it may go well with you, and so that you may multiply greatly in a land flowing with milk and honey, as the Lord, the God of your ancestors, has promised you.

Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone.  You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.  Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart.  Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise.  Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.

I grew up as the third of four children.  When my oldest sister, Christel, was about three, my mother was setting up the Christmas decorations, and my sister asked what Christmas was all about.  Mom took the time to explain the entire Christmas story, complete with angels and shepherds, and culminating in the event all others pointed toward: the birth of Jesus.  Putting it in terms my sister could understand, Mom told her that Christmas was a party for Jesus' birthday.  Christel clapped her hands and said, "Oh mummy, we MUST have a Happy Jesus birthday cake!"

As I grew up, our family shared a Happy Jesus birthday cake every year between the 7pm and 11pm Christmas Eve services.  It is the same recipe every year, accompanied by herbal tea and egg nogg.  We turn out all the lights in the dining room and living room, sit in the warmth of candlelight, and watch the snow swirl around outside as it can only do on a cold, winter evening in Buffalo.  And every year, at just the right time, Mom tells the story about how this tradition of happy Jesus birthday cake was born.

Undoubtedly, your family has traditions as special to you as this one is to me and my family.  They may be tied to a specific holiday, a family anniversary or birthday, or they may simply be meaningful because they remind you about who your family is.  No matter how familiar they are, or how many times you celebrate them, you never tire of hearing the story, and the feeling of warmth and security within you never cools.

In our text from Deuteronomy read a short time ago, we find one of those treasures from Israel's tradition.  It was a bit of treasured Scripture, passed down from generation to generation, reminding the community who they were and who they belonged to.  It possessed a rhythm all its own as repetition had worn it a place deep within the hearts of those who knew it.

In our day, repetition and ritual have gotten quite a bit of bad press.  If something is too familiar, it's actually boring, stiff, manufactured, and lacking any sense of creativity.  Too often, we clamor for what is new, flashy, and trendy rather than what is old, steady, and unchanging.

But whether the community knows it or not, remembrance and ritual are important markers.  They capture words said quite prayerfully intended to be woven into the very fabric of everyday life.  So the prayer goes:

Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord alone.  You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.  Keep these words – recite them whether you are at home or away.  Repeat them when you wake up.  Repeat them when you lie down.  Mark your house with them; and tell them to your children and your children's children.

If anyone in Israel knew only one prayer, this was the prayer they knew.  Called the Shema for the Hebrew word for 'hear,' every child of Israel knew this prayer in much the same way Christians today might pray an 'Our Father' or a 'Hail Mary.'  This was a prayer in which the people constantly rehearsed their faith, much as a troupe of actors constantly rehearses a play.  The people knew crucial moments would arrive when they would have nothing other than their memories to lean on.  No liturgies, no bulletins, no gentle guidance from the pulpit.  They repeated these words to themselves because a time would arise when those familiar words were the only thing they had to cling to.

It is a clarion call.  "Hear, O Israel."  "Hear, O Boone."  "Hear, O Church."  It says, "Wake up!  Pay attention!  This is the part of the lecture you may want to take notes on!  This is going to be on the test!"

You shall love God with everything you have, and everything you are.  It seems so simple, yet it is a radical departure from the ways in which we are conditioned to structure our lives.  We treat our relationship with God like it's the product on a cereal commercial – "Kellogg's Corn Pops are part of a well-balanced breakfast."  We treat God as one product among many that may add a distinct flavor to our lives, but seem unwilling to make him the center of our existence.  Really, when it comes down to it, a bowl of cereal is a bowl of cereal.  You may get slightly more sugar out of one, or slightly more fiber out of another, but all cereals are essentially created equal.

And yet, there is only one God.  The Lord is our God, the Lord alone.  The God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob; the God of Jesus and Sts. Peter and Paul; the God of Thomas Aquinas, and Martin Luther, and John Wesley is our God.  God is not one among many.  We do not have to worry about whether we choose the right or the wrong God, for there is only one.  In our lying down, in our rising, in our going out, in our coming in, God is still God.  For reasons beyond our comprehension, it is God who has chosen us, rather than we who have chosen God.

This God – one who has chosen us, one who has no rival – has asked us to do one simple thing: love.  Here, it would seem the text is stating the obvious, and it is, yet it is an obvious truth so far beyond our reach sometimes.  How many times in my own faith journey have I been called to love – genuinely, wholeheartedly love – and felt clueless as to how?  What do I know about love?  I only know what has been shown to me by parents and grandparents, by family and friends, and by my community of faith.  Yet as I remember the love shown by these, I find that I already know much about love, and that love can only be experienced in the context of relationships.  I learn to love when I realize that I, too, can love in just the same manner as I myself have been loved.  Like the ancient Hebrews before me, I realize that I am not the final destination of God's good gifts and that God wishes to shine love and grace through me.  Like the ancient Hebrews before us, like Peter and Paul, like Martin Luther and John Wesley, God sends unloved people into our lives so we might show them God's love.

Will we love the stranger in our midst?  Regardless of age?  Gender?  Ethnicity?  Social Status?  Disability?  Are we really willing to say that there is no class of person to whom we will deny God's love?

I think that is the test.  The world's inclination would be to control, to limit, to set boundaries.  But God calls us to trust rather than control.  He invites us to rehearse our faith again and again so that it becomes written indelibly on our hearts.  He invites us to leave a legacy for our children, not of control, but of trust.  Let us live as people who really do believe that the Lord is our God, and open ourselves up to God's radical possibilities. God promised to go with us and bear us as we start to seek his new future.  So join with God and even with the stranger in your midst as you open yourself to the risky freedom of wide spaces and the ever-new coming of God.

Romans 12:1-13 – "Welcome Home"

I appeal to you, therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.  Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God – what is good and acceptable and perfect.

For by the grace given me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned.  For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members of one another.  We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching; the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness.

Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor.  Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord.  Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer.  Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.

Today, we find ourselves in an interesting position as a congregation.  Today is sort of a Sunday between the Sundays, the time between the times.  Last week, Ron Smith preached his last sermon as our senior pastor, and next week, John Fitzgerald will preach his first sermon as our senior pastor.  Today is a special Sunday, but you won't find it on any liturgical or civic calendar.  I personally refer to today as "Bridge Sunday."  Today represents the bridge between a senior pastor named Ron and one named John.  Since last Sunday, many of you have come in to talk about a number of issues, and have probably been disappointed to hear me say, "We're not going to discuss that until July 1^st."  In fact, in the last week, that's probably the phrase I've used most commonly.

Our text this morning reminds us that we are all members of Christ's body, and that each of us has a role to play in that.  In this interim period, my role has been to celebrate one era, but also to prime the soil for the new thing God is about to do in our midst.  May we pray.

Finish this sentence for me:  "Don't talk to . . . strangers."  It's something drilled into our heads shortly after we voice our first words.  We are conditioned to think of strangers as a likely source of danger.  If you don't know someone, we've been told that they probably seek to do you harm.  As a result, we've gradually come to live in increasingly private settings; after all, "public" is that place you're likely to run into those dangerous strangers.  Our society knows this rule, too!  Try breaking the rule sometime.  Step into a crowded elevator, face the back of the elevator, and see how uncomfortable people get.  Make eye contact with people in a fast food restaurant.  Try these, and you'll know what it feels like to be a stranger.

But our text this morning tells us to show hospitality to strangers.  It goes a bit against our natural inclination, but let me tell you, it's vitally important.  In the context in which the book of Romans was written, Christian missionaries and evangelists were dependent on the hospitality of the church in the towns they passed through.  But in our context, it's vitally important as well.

Two years ago, I came to you as a stranger.  Other than what you heard from staff-parish, most of you did not know me.  But you showed and continue to show hospitality to me.  Several of you sent notes before I even arrived.  When I realized that my Saturn could not be towed behind the moving truck, two members of the church drove to Durham on moving day to drive my car to Boone while I drove the truck.  You brought meals to my home that first week.  Since then, so many of you have invited me to meals in your home and on the town, invited me to play golf, shared special moments in your families' lives, and let me know that I am no longer a stranger.  You have extended hospitality to members of my family who have come to visit to the point that my mom refers to Boone as her "mountain residence," and you have included them in your prayers during difficult times in their lives.  However, if she decides she's moving in, we'll really have to re-visit this!  Ministers often talk about the way their congregation's ministry to them far exceeded their ministry to the congregation.  Not only did you minister to me, you threw your arms wide open, and said, "Welcome Home."

Now, I know the bishop and the district superintendent said you had to make me feel welcome.  But, I also know you did it, not because you were under orders, but because hospitality in this church's DNA.  You do it, because you recognize that part of your role in being part of the body of Christ is to make other people feel welcome.

Next Sunday, a man named John will stand in this pulpit and deliver his first sermon as the senior pastor of Boone United Methodist Church.  He comes to us, not as a stranger, but as another member of the body of Christ.  You know how I sometimes tell you, "There are no strangers in the body of Christ – only brothers and sisters whose names we don't know yet"?  Well, we know their names, and we will greet them as extended members of the body of Christ.  We don't really know them yet, and they don't really know us, but that doesn't matter.  We welcome one another as Christ welcomes us.  As a congregation, I pray you will show the same hospitality to the Fitzgerald family – to John, his wife, Chris, and his sons Ben and Alex – that you showed to me.  I hope you will throw your arms wide open, and say, "Welcome Home."

This is what Christians do.  When the body of Christ gathers, it is always aware of who its members are on any given occasion.  It is aware which of its members are hurting, and which are celebrating.  It is aware of who has been there for years, and it is aware of who is there, perhaps, for the first time.  And, when the body of Christ gathers, it is also keenly aware of who is not present.  This is what the church does.  It makes itself a friend to the friendless, provides hope to the hopeless, a spiritual home to the homeless.  Most churches, if you ask them, would tell you they're a friendly church.  Usually, what people mean is, "That's where my friends go!  People know me by name."  But friendliness is a factor that is usually viewed from the inside-out, and on the outside of those circles, the perception is quite different.

The analogy I draw is that most churches who claim to be friendly are, in reality, a lot like the family dog.  The family dog is affectionate toward members of the family, but has a tendency to bark at strangers.  When members of the family show up, the dog greets them with a happy smile, but when strangers approach, they receive a hostile welcome.

Some of this is so interesting to me because I was a Communication major as an undergraduate.  I love to study the ways people interact, and the signals that are being sent through nonverbal means.  It's not only what people say that matters, it's how they say it, in what posture that makes such huge impact.  Let's bring this back to the friendliness factor of a church.

Imagine, the conversations that typically happen in the hallways before and after church events.  From the inside – there you are with two or three friends, talking about some common interest.  Imagine yourself on the outside, though – you're likely to see a circle of backs – closed off, inaccessible.  On occasion, someone may glance back over their shoulder and say, "Hey, who's the new person over there?" which, of course, refers to you.  It's not a very friendly feeling.  Or, suppose worship is about to begin, and you come into the sanctuary, sit in your usual spot and strike up a conversation with your usual friends who also sit right near you.  Two rows away, sitting quietly and patiently – and alone, is a new family – hoping someone might talk to them and say hello.  The mother cradles an infant in her arm, and might want to know where she could find the nursery, or at least a restroom where the child could be changed, but because no one has talked to them, we miss an opportunity to make someone feel at home.  Now, during this time, things are happening that reinforce our understanding of our church as a friendly place.  We're having friendly experiences with our friends, probably not even aware that we're neglecting our guests.  We think we've put out the welcome mat, but in reality, we've hung the "Do-Not-Disturb" sign.

Now, hear me carefully – I'm not saying we've done an overall poor job.  On the contrary, this church does reasonably well in welcoming guests compared to most others.  But, we could always do a little better.

The next time you're having a conversation in the hallway, ask yourself if, from the outside, your posture appears to be "closed" or "open."  If it's closed because of the nature of the conversation, let me suggest that you take the discussion to a more appropriate location – it's called not airing your (or other people's) dirty laundry in public.  When you arrive in the sanctuary, take a look around for people who look like they need to be welcomed, rather than immediately gravitating toward your friends.  Same thing after service – practice what I call the "three-minute rule" – for the first three minutes after worship ends, only talk to people to you don't know rather than the people you already know and are probably going to end up going out to lunch with anyway.  It seems like such a little thing, but you have no idea how far it goes toward making someone feel noticed and appreciated.  It is a little thing you can do to say, "Welcome Home."

The simple fact of the matter is that, "people remain part of a Christian congregation because of the quality of love they experience in human relationships.  People may join a church because of a fine youth or music program, preaching, or leadership – but people remain in a church because they have found loving friendships and loving relationships.  People have found not just ideas of love and ideals of love, but genuine love in human form" (Edward Markquart).

And that's the extreme center of the Gospel message: Jesus was God's genuine love in human form.  Jesus was the very embodiment of God's love, we in the church are members of his body – that makes each of us bearers of God's love to the world.  We are ministers of reconciliation to each other, and to the world.

"The mystery of God, captured in a message about what God has done, is now entrusted to us.  And what God has done is reconciliation.  In the ministry, death, and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth, God has been revealed as one who is perpetually turning toward us to welcome us home" (Richard Lischer, The End of Words).

Friends, this morning I invite you to not only hear the Good News; I invite you to be the Good News.  God has turned toward us, offering us reconciliation and a relationship with him through his Son.  "Reconciliation is not a theological option, a specialized ministry, or the subject of an occasional sermon.  Every congregation is a reconciling congregation" (Richard Lischer, The End of Words).  God has turned toward us, offered us a wonderful gift of reconciliation to himself, but even more – he has empowered us to be reconciled to each other.  So right now, everyone stand, and hold hands with someone on your left and on your right.  That person on your left is a gift from God to you, the person on your right is a gift from God to you, and you are a gift to each of them.  Tell each other that!!!

Look around – THIS is what the body of Christ looks like!!!!  What a wonderful gift we are to each other!!!

But together, we are a gift from God to our community and our world.  So together, let's go out there, let's spread our arms wide open, and say "Welcome home."