Hometown Hero - Luke 4:21-30

Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, “Is not this Joseph’s son?” He said to them, “Doubtless you will quote this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did in Capernaum.’” And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown. But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; yet Elijah was sent to none of them to a widow at Zaraphath in Sidon. There were also many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.” When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way.

Some years ago, I discovered I had been afflicted with a certain condition. At first, it didn’t seem to make much difference to me. But I soon noticed that people began to treat me differently because of it. I mainly saw it in the eyes of people when I would return home on academic breaks, and something within me longed to be “normal” again. My name is A.J. Thomas, and I suffer from golden-boy syndrome.

What’s interesting about this condition is that it seems to be geographically specific. I only seem to suffer from it when I am in my hometown of Niagara Falls, and its symptoms are even more acute whenever I walk through the doors of St. James United Methodist Church. Last Christmas, I realized my local celebrity status when I was asked to preach in my home church on the Sunday following Christmas, which just happened to be New Year’s Day. It was announced in the December and January newsletters, and every bulletin for a month and a half before January 1st that I would be in the pulpit, a pulpit from which my own father had delivered some of his finest sermons. The day arrived, and the crowds came, a larger crowd than usual.

Bear in mind that this was not the first time I preached in my home church. Throughout college and seminary, I was invited back on several occasions. However, on this particular Sunday, it was the first time I was there with those three little letters in front of my name.

I looked across the congregation and took it all in. There was my first-grade teacher, a pillar member of the congregation, in her usual place on the center aisle, four rows back, on my left. There were my neighbors, people I had gone to school with, and whose grass I had cut, whose groceries I had rung up, and whose newspapers I had faithfully delivered. As the sanctuary swelled with the familiar rhythms of liturgy and song, prayer and praise, I secretly congratulated myself for working “extra” hard on the sermon.

I delivered what I thought was a convincing piece of interpretive genius, gave the benediction and assumed my position at the back door, ready to receive the accolades as people walked by. From their comments, I soon realized that very few people had actually paid attention to the sermon itself. One woman told me how nice I looked in my robe, “just like a real preacher.” Someone else said they could see my father’s influence in my preaching style. Another man reminded me that he could always count on his newspaper to arrive early every morning, except on Saturdays, when I was prone to sleep in a bit. They didn’t hear a thing I said.

Then we look on this sermon that Jesus preached in his home synagogue in Nazareth. Jesus drew a crowd. I can see the headlines in the Nazareth Gazette: “Local Rabbi Makes Good, Will Preach in Hometown.” I imagine the synagogue was standing room only. They ran out of bulletins. They were parking donkeys up and down the road, there were so many people there.
Here was one of their own who had made good. Here was one of their own, Joe and Mary’s boy, who used to work in the carpentry shop. An elderly man nudged his wife, “I remember when he used to read the Torah over there under that window.” Here was one of their own, reading a piece of their own Scripture they all knew from memory. Israel’s native son, speaking from his heart to theirs, out of their own beloved prophets, speaking from their collective past.

Jesus put down the sacred text, panned the crowd, and said with all authority, “The day of the Lord is here.” An excited stir went through the chosen people of Nazareth. “All of our waiting for deliverance is over at last.” A chorus of ‘Amens’ rang through those hallowed halls. “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” This was it. The Lord is coming to redeem his own people, and according to Jesus, that day is here now! The crippled lifted up on their crutches, old men wept for joy, the oppressed lifted their faces with hopeful expectation. An excited murmur rippled its way through the congregation, and all spoke well of Jesus’ words.

This is the part where Jesus should have stopped. He’s got them eating out of the palm of his hand. Any good preacher knows there are three things you should do: stand up to be seen, speak up to be heard, and shut up to be appreciated. This is where Jesus is supposed to raise his hands, say, “The Lord bless you and keep you,” walk deliberately down the center aisle and shake hands as people walk out and marvel.

But Jesus keeps going. After a brief pause he says, “Now, the last time the Lord came, I seem to remember something about there being lots of poor, hungry widows in Israel. But God chose to help a foreign widow. You all remember that story.” You could hear the silence.

“And speaking of old familiar stories, how about the one where there were lots of lepers in Israel, and God did nothing for them, but instead healed an officer in the enemy’s army.”

Yes, the story was familiar, a little too familiar for many there that evening. Jesus had stopped preaching and taken to meddling. In the judgmental silence, a new, exciting, life-giving sermon was recognized as an old familiar story, and one we wished to God we could forget.
This is not the type of sermon you preach in your hometown, at least, not if you wish to be remembered favorably. Take the three main points of Jesus’ sermon, and this is what you walk away with: 1.) The Messiah is here. 2.) I am the Messiah. 3.) I’m not here for you.

I wonder what comments this sermon would have elicited in a seminary preaching class. I wonder if Jesus would been told, as I was on one of my assigned sermons, that “this message is a bit harsh, and difficult for your hearers to listen to.”

But whether we like it or not, sometimes prophetic voices are difficult to listen to. There are really two aspects of classic prophecy, but we tend to focus on only one of them. We usually think of prophecy as fore-telling, as the ability to articulate events in the future. But prophecy is also fore-telling, the ability to truthfully articulate the present. Sometimes those truthful words cut closer to home than we like.

Imagine, for a moment, Heather Oswalt (8:45 service)/Emma Harkins (11:00 service). Heather (Emma), raise your hand so everyone can see you. Do you see her beautiful smile? Imagine her going through Sunday School, growing up here, going through confirmation, participating in youth functions, and then heading off to college for a few years, then off to seminary, and finally, probably years after I am nothing more than a picture on the wall, being invited to preach from this pulpit. Imagine it, one of our own, preaching from our Scriptures, in our church, to our people! Now, imagine her standing where I am right now, and truthfully telling us to beware of our assumed position of religious privilege; God has a history of showing up to those not on the A-list.

While we may not like being reminded of this news, I doubt any of us will put up a serious counter-argument. The theme of God going to persons of lower prestige, of less desirability, of outcasts, and misfits, and outsiders, is woven throughout Scripture. In fact, it IS God’s story. This should come as great news to all of us. Once we were outsiders, but through God in Christ we have been made insiders. Once we were no people, but now we are God’s people, declaring his glorious works among all nations.

We find ourselves in a similar place to the people in Jesus’ hometown. In our culture, the church has taken the place of the synagogue in Jesus’ day. We find ourselves as religious insiders, as persons of religious privilege, among those who are blessed by God. But we also find that with great privilege comes great responsibility. Jesus was not criticizing the people in his hometown simply because they were privileged. He was critical because they assumed membership in the religious elite and its privileges secured them a place of divine favor.

Great privilege carries with it great responsibility. Jesus was doing nothing more than asking the people in his hometown, and us, to remember our story and then live into it. He wants us to know that we are blessed in order to be a blessing. He wants us to recognize that we are not the final destination of God’s grace. He wants us to know that merely belonging to the right religion is not enough; we also need to practice it.

Many Christians across North America have come to see church membership as securing some sort of privileged status for them, much as the people in Jesus’ home synagogue did. And the church has been happy to perpetuate this misnomer. But let us not forget that the Church is God’s gift to the world, that the world might be drawn to God through the Church’s witness and mission. We are called to follow the witness of Christ, who came not to serve his own interests, but was obedient to the will of his heavenly Father, obedient to death on the cross. We are an extension of that obedient love, and we are called to give ourselves for others just as Christ gave himself for us. The church is one of the only organization that exists primarily for the benefit of those who are not its members.

Adam Hamilton, pastor at the United Methodist Church of the Resurrection in Leawood, Kansas, tells prospective members of his church that, unlike the American Express card, church membership does not come with any privileges, only expectations. It is a sign of commitment. It is a declaration that one wishes to be a part of the things God is doing in and through the faith community. Membership allows people to say, “This is my church. I am committed to its people, its mission, and its vision. I want to serve God and grow in my faith in this place.” Church of the Resurrection, founded in 1990, currently averages 8000 per weekend in worship, and adds 150 new members per month.

Friends, we already know the story. There is no conflict here between old and new, between established and pioneering. This is about living out what we already hold to be true. You have the choice this morning, as did the people in Jesus’ hometown, to accept the message or to throw the messenger off a cliff, which shouldn’t be too hard to find around here. I think you know which option I’m voting for.

There is a story of a Franciscan monk who volunteered to be a guide and “gopher” for Mother Teresa when she visited his native Australia. He was hoping to spend some time with her, but of course, she was busy talking with the poor, the crippled, and other “less-desirable” people. On the ride back to the airport, in exasperation, the monk asked, if he bought a plane ticket to New Guinea, could he sit next to Mother Teresa, talk with her, and learn from her? She looked at him and said, “Do you have enough money for a plane ticket to New Guinea?” “Yes,” the monk answered. She thought for a minute, and said, “Then give that money to the poor. You’ll learn more from that than anything I can tell you.” Mother Teresa understood Jesus’ ministry and her own ministry in light of it. I pray for such clarity in our lives.

God Claims You - Matthew 3:13-17 - Blackburn's Chapel

13Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. 14John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” 15But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Then he consented. 16And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. 17And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

I’d like for you to take a stroll down memory lane with me for a moment. Walk back with me through the doors of your elementary school and find yourself in gym class. Perhaps today we’re playing basketball, dodgeball, kickball, soccer, or floor hockey. Whatever game we’re playing doesn’t really matter. There we all are, before the game starts, lined up in a nice neat row as two people “randomly” selected by the gym teacher each have the task of filling a team. One-by-one, names are called and our classmates and friends are divided evenly into two growing clumps at opposite ends of the gym. One group dons red jerseys and the other puts on blue, and for the next half hour, our identity is simply a member of team red or team blue. To be a member of team red or team blue is to recognize that someone else has chosen us to be part of their team. At the same time, we can still choose to use our full ability or something less than our full ability as a member of the team.

According to the Church’s calendar, today is Baptism of the Lord Sunday. Today is a day when Christians everywhere, regardless of their denomination, are remembering Christ’s baptism by John and celebrating our one baptism. It is more than a beautiful and favorite Bible story – like baptism, it gave life to us when it happened, and it continues to give life each time we remember it.

Cleansing
As Matthew tells the tale, a lot of people were heading down to the Jordan to listen to sturdy preaching and to pray that God would forgive their sins. It is the original revival – a preacher stands by the bank of a river clamoring for repentance, then one by one contrite sinners step forward; and trusting themselves to calloused fingers which pinch their nostrils shut, they are plunged-every bit of them-beneath the moving waters. It is a straightforward, modest ceremony, nothing more than a bath in the river really; and, yet, something about this washing beckons to people, pulling folks from their busy lives to make a trip down to the Jordan.

Maybe in the end the thing that motivated people to attend John's revival was really very simple. John's actions took something that our bodies know so well-that just-bathed, tingling, freshly toweled-off sensation-and managed to replicate it for people's spirits. Dunk. Splash. Sputter. And from the muddy flow, drenched converts emerged with scoured souls. Certainly this is part of what baptism is about: cleansing the human spirit, wiping away sin, standing unsoiled before God.

The crowds have been coming for days and weeks – they have literally worn a path from the city center out here into the wilderness. The rabbis have noticed the attendance in the synagogue down over the last several Saturdays. The priests and the scribes and the Pharisees leave the hallowed halls of the temple mount and follow that path down the river, where they are shocked to find a tent revival already taking place. They don’t like it very much, but it’s already gotten too large and too popular for them to even think about stopping it. So, they decide to turn it into a political opportunity – shaking a few hands and kissing a few babies, hoping that such overtures might get them a few more votes in the upcoming election.

We have been told earlier that John the baptizer was offering a baptism of repentance. Imagine the scene, as the crowds pressed in along the riverbank. One member of the crowd seems to stand out. He is moving through the great throng of people like a hot knife through butter, making his way down toward the river. This scene is a favorite of artists everywhere from Bruegel to Rembrandt – Jesus making his way down the riverbank, seeking out his cousin, the wild-eyed preacher, and those waters of Jordan.

Here is the one character John tries to talk out of being baptized. Imagine of those Visa check card commercials, where everyone is perfectly choreographed, spinning around the store with their arms full of merchandise, happily using their Visa check card and the whole thing running like a finely-tuned machine. Yet, there’s always that one person who wants to pay with cash or write a check, and that person grinds the whole thing to a momentary halt. You have that picture? Now, take the same sort of image and bring it down the Jordan river in our text today. A great movement of people around the river, John down in the middle, dipping them under the water as repentant sinners, bringing them up as cleansed and new. Then Jesus steps up. Jesus – the Messiah. Jesus – the stainless one. Jesus – the pure, spotless Lamb. He speaks: “I have come to be baptized by you.” Everything grinds to a halt. John loses his balance in the soft riverbed and falls. He comes up sputtering, “Me! Baptize you? No, no! What will people think?” It’s a fair enough question. What would the sinless Jesus need to repent of? What hidden imperfection did he hope to have cleansed in those ordinary, yet extraordinary waters?

Claiming
The first three chapters of St. Matthew’s Gospel are obsessed with one question: “Who is Jesus?” By the time we get to this account of his baptism, you can almost drown in the number of answers provided to that question. We find that he is the Messiah, the son of Mary, the offspring of the Holy Spirit, the son of Father Abraham, the son of David, the King of the Jews. He is Emmanuel, God-with-us, he will save his people from their sins. As Jesus goes under the water, he confronts all sorts of things on our behalf. He confronts the unknown and unseen dangers that threaten each of us. He confronts the murkiness of our own sin, and as he rises out of those dark and foreboding waters, we know that we have met the one who will be able to stand against the darkness of this world.

For Jesus, his baptism was not so much about being cleansed from unrighteousness; Matthew tells us it was to fulfill righteousness. It was the start of something new. As he came up from the water, the crowd that day saw the divine confirmation for which they had long been watching. God claims as his own the ministry to which Jesus is now commissioned. The Spirit descended like a dove, and the voice of God the Father boomed in. “This is my Son. This is my Beloved. With him I am well-pleased.”

You know, that’s how it happens for us in our baptisms as well. It is a moment in which God says to each of us, “This is my son. This is my daughter. This is my beloved. I claim this person as my beloved child with whom I am well-pleased.” In baptism, God claims you as a member of the family. And members of God’s family are called Christians. That becomes your identity. That becomes the primary, and determinative, and most important characteristic we will know you by.

Therefore, when a child is baptized in this congregation, we ask what name has been given to the child. The parents have already named the child, but in baptism, we celebrate a new name for that child. We celebrate a name given through the power of the Holy Spirit and sealed with water. In baptism, we lay on a more determinative, more revealing name – “Christian.” God promises to enable us to live a Christian life, and we promise to live one. In the case of a child, we predict that the child’s life will be a long story of growing into that name and claiming the benefits of their new family. In the case of adults, we celebrate a new identity rooted in Christ in which one’s previous labels no longer control and define. As Austin Miles’ old gospel hymn put it: “there’s a new name written down in glory, and it’s mine.”

For the baptized person, they will forever be known by the new name given to them. They will be known as Christian, as a member of God’s family. Other names may come and go, but in baptism, God cleanses us, claims us as God’s own, and seals the Holy Spirit upon our hearts. That is something they can’t take away from you, and for the rest of your life, proudly announces to the rest of the world that you belong to God.

Commissioning
On the day Jesus entered the Jordan, water changed, and it will never be the same for Christians again. For when a Christian is washed with the waters of baptism, Christ's mission of justice becomes our mission too. In baptism, we are called and commissioned to battle the evils of this world – those we can see above the surface of the water, but also those lurking down in the muddy riverbed. We find ourselves caught up in the ministry of Jesus – a ministry that brings hope to the hopeless, that makes itself a friend to the friendless, that brings healing to a weary and broken world. We find ourselves proclaiming sight to the blind, and freedom for the oppressed, and throwing the party for the year of our Lord’s favor.

God does not call us and claim us because we’re special. I often run into people who don’t feel they could possibly be used by God for any purpose. They cite all sorts of reasons – I’m too old, too young, too feeble, too strong, too stupid, or too smart. They’re not open to how the Holy Spirit may move upon them and stir up within them a passion for the ministry to which God may be calling them.

But remember this: God is still in the business of doing extraordinary things in and through ordinary people. God has called us and claimed us in baptism, and given us the gift of the Holy Spirit that we might be empowered in the work with which we are entrusted. God is not through with any of us! God is not through with any individual, and God is not through with any congregation. For those whom God has called, God continues to equip. In baptism, God has called each of us, and we continue to be equipped through the Holy Spirit.

Make no mistake about it: baptism is something God does within each of us – it is not something we do for God. Our response is to recognize the grace of God poured into our lives, open ourselves to how the Holy Spirit will continue to move among us, and find ourselves lost in wonder, love, and praise. By the grace of God, we find ourselves cleansed from sin, claimed by God, and commissioned for ministry.

Today, I am going to give each of you an opportunity to remember and renew your baptisms. We will have what is called a baptismal renewal service. If you have been baptized, I will invite you to come forward, and I will touch the water and mark the sign of the cross on your forehead, and say, “Remember your baptism and be thankful.” If you have not been baptized, I welcome the opportunity to talk with you further about what it means and set a date where we can celebrate your baptism as part of this worship service.

Today is sort of like renewing marriage vows. From time to time, a married couple may feel the need to renew their vows and recommit themselves to one another. A couple doesn’t get remarried when they do; but they often find a renewed sense of strength and purpose in that renewal. In renewing our baptisms together, we’re doing the same thing. No one is getting re-baptized today, but in remembering our baptism, we are all given the opportunity to be energized toward the work with which God has entrusted us, and empowered to do it.

As you do, I hope you hear the voice of God once again call you ‘Beloved,’ and I hope you sense a fresh outpouring of the Holy Spirit, as we are empowered once again to go forth in the name of a God who cleanses us from sin, claims us as His own, and commissions us to share in His ministry.

He's Not Mine! - Matthew 1:18-25

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 23rd 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.

Trust Fund Baby - 1 Timothy 6:6-19

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.

Focusing: Our practices around money
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. May we pray.

Contentment: How much is enough?
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.

Lovers of money?
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 clearly to the world what we think about ourselves, God, and our neighbors. Money can be used to keep others at arms’ length, put them in their place, or 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.
How can we use money to bless?

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.

Prophet, Pimp, and Prostitute - Hosea 1:2-10

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.

Faith Plays - Deuteronomy 6:1-9: Homily for Choral Evensong

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.

Welcome Home - Romans 12:1-13

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 1st.” 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. 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 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.”