A Gospel for Us Simple Folk 9-18-11

First Reading—1 Corinthians 2: 1-5—The Message

You'll remember, friends, that when I first came to you to let you in on God's great plan, I didn't try to impress you with polished speeches and the latest philosophy. I deliberately kept it plain and simple: first Jesus and who he is; then Jesus and what he did—Jesus crucified.
I was unsure of how to go about this, and felt totally inadequate—I was scared to death, if you want the truth of it—and so nothing I said could have impressed you or anyone else. But the Message came through anyway. God's Spirit and God's power did it, which made it clear that your life of faith is a response to God's power, not to some fancy mental or emotional footwork by me or anyone else.

The Gospel Reading—Mark 10: 13-16

The people brought children to Jesus, hoping he might touch them. The disciples shooed them off. But Jesus was irate and let them know it: "Don't push these children away. Don't ever get between them and me. These children are at the very center of life in the kingdom. Mark this: Unless you accept God's kingdom in the simplicity of a child, you'll never get in." Then, gathering the children up in his arms, he laid his hands of blessing on them.
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God of all, you speak to us in ways we can understand no matter where our paths have taken us. We ask you to pour your Spirit on my words and in our hearts this day. Amen

It’s a great story. You can see Jesus, perhaps sitting on a tree stump, taking a rest from speaking. Mothers and fathers come from everywhere, bringing their children. The kids are running around like crazy, trying to get to Jesus. The oh so serious disciples do what they think disciples are supposed to do. They shoo the children away. “Don’t bother Jesus, he’s a very busy man.” Jesus became very angry at the disciples and he let them know it. “Don’t ever do that again. Let the children come. They are at the heart of everything I say, the very center of the kingdom. They will show you the way to getting in the kingdom yourselves. If you can’t be as simple as these children in your understanding of God’s love, you’ll never get in.” Then Jesus laid his hands on each child and blessed them.
As simple as a child…just like that Jesus puts it all in perspective. That would come as a shock for some of the theologians throughout time who write in words so big and long that it’s hard to believe anyone really understands them. Might also come as a shock to those megachurches who have all the audio-visual equipment of a major motion picture studio so that those in attendance can “feel” the Spirit of God at work in the church. Paul’s words state the nature of the message as clearly as any I can imagine. And it all fits together—we don’t need to impress each other with fancy words or emotional footwork. The message comes through God’s Spirit and God’s power in words so simple and feelings so basic that little children get it faster than the smartest adults present.
You may wonder why I chose these scripture verses to go with our hymn for today “Just As I Am.” The author of this poem later set to music, was Charlotte Elliott of Brighton, England. The story goes that she was a bitter, broken woman. She was soured on the world and all the blows that life had dealt her. She began to believe that a loving God could not have treated her so badly as to make her feel the way she was feeling. One night a Swiss minister visited the home to see if he could help this desperately unhappy soul. She threw a fit right at the dinner table. Her horrified family rushed from the room, but the minister stayed. He said to her, “you’re tired of being who you are, aren’t you?” Admitting nothing (you gotta like this woman’s resolve to be miserable), she asked “what is your cure?” she asked. The minister answered, “the very faith you say you despise.” As they talked, Charlotte began to soften. “If I wanted to begin to believe and find some of what you seem to have, what would I do?” she asked. The minster answered, “you would give yourself to God’s Spirit, just as you are right now, with your fightings and fears, hates and loves, pride and shame.” “Just as I am—nothing to change, just as I am?” asked the skeptical Charlotte. “Just as you are” answered the minister. The fact that her poem, first written as a fundraiser for a school for children of poor clergy families, later became the most famous of all invitational hymns shows what can happen when we stop trying to understand, or earn, or rationalize our way to life in the Spirit of God.
Some of you may have mixed memories of singing Just As I Am at the end of revival services. Many of you never heard the song before as you do not come from a tradition where hymns of invitation were ever sung. Briefly put, the hymn of invitation was sung at the end of the service and the folks in the congregation were invited to physically respond to the minister’s invitation to enter into a life with God by coming forward and doing so publically. So for many, this song immediately takes you back to a little Baptist or Pentecostal church where you may have first begun to think about your walk with God. Whatever the case, the song leads us to look at one very simple message—a message that works for us simple folk. God loves us, just as we are—no need to change—no need to pretend to be something we are not.
Now here is where I think we may have gone astray. Too often, those of us who are GLBT have taken that to mean that we do not have to deny our sexuality and we stop there. It’s true, we do not have to deny our sexuality or deny who we are in order to run to God like the children who were running to Jesus in our Gospel story. And we seem to get that part. It’s all the other stuff we try to ‘fix’ before we feel worthy to be loved by God. It just always kind of amazes me that we get the sexuality thing, and then fail to get the rest of it. We still stop ourselves short of approaching God just as we are and look for what else is wrong with us. This is the message of our song and scriptures—come as you are. That’s all, just as you are.
Now this doesn’t mean that we don’t need to right the relationships in our lives as we prepare our hearts to come to God either in prayer or to the table. But we do this, not because there is anything fundamentally wrong with us, but because God calls us to see that our less than right relationships keep us from experiencing and enjoying our life in God. And here is where the Christian community comes in. Fr. Henri Nouwen reminds us: “The Christian community is a community of people who remind each other who they truly are—the beloved of God. And everything around us is trying to tell me that it is not true. That is a big, big, battle. That’s what we call the spiritual battle. This in not just sweet things, it’s the fight for your identity.”
Many of you have asked me what I think the definition of sin is. And I have told you that I believe that sin is when we begin to believe that we don’t need God or that we are equal to God. When we believe that we don’t need God, we kill by deed or by word. When we believe we are equal to God, we waste the glory of creation on unnecessary opulence. When we believe we don’t need God, we fail to love thoroughly and completely. We place our own needs above the needs of the rest of God’s creation. And, when we believe we don’t need God, we convince ourselves that we are less than what God declared us to be—beloved children of God. Yes, this is what I mean to say. I am saying that I believe that sin enters our hearts when we feel that we are not worthy to be loved by God. When we decide that we know better than God whether we are good enough, rich enough, bright enough, talented enough to be loved by God, we are engaging in sinful reasoning. Today, we are called back to the clear, true, simple beliefs of children.
Unfortunately, life does not allow us stay children in any area except faith. And, in faith, we are called by Jesus, himself, to have faith exactly like a child. This is a great dilemma for us because the forces of life slowly tear away at our child’s heart until as adults we have come to believe the lies we have been told by all those who seek to have us be something we are not created to be. And, more often than not, we are left with no idea of our true identity—our identity as children of God—perfectly created in the image of God, perfectly loved by God, and perfectly sustained in our daily lives through the Spirit of God. And perfectly called to God’s kingdom by Jesus, this man who loved children; this incarnational God who lived and walked and loved among all the other children of God.
One last thing—before you dismiss this Gospel for children and other simple folk, ask yourself where you got the idea that believing in God was complicated and tiresome. I am not afraid to suggest that you got the idea from sometimes well-meaning and sometimes not well-meaning people who thought they knew better than you about who God wants you to be. But this is not so. Jesus, our perfect guide, calls us to look again, to look simply, to believe with a child’s faith; and to know, that just as you are, you are the beloved of God. Amen and amen.

To Make the Wounded Whole 9-11-11

THE READINGS (NIV)

First Reading: Philippians 4: 6-7
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Second Reading: Luke 12: 22-31
Then Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest? “Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your [Creator] knows that you need them. But seek [God’s] kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.
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God, you are ever present with us. You call us from memory to hope and from hope to action. Bless all those today who mourn, may your grace set their feet to dancing. May the words of my mouth and the reflections of all our hearts bring you glory. Amen
The hymn I chose for today’s inspiration is “There Is a Balm in Gilead.” There are times when I wish that it were as simple as the words of this comforting hymn. And while I want to affirm that the wholeness of which this song speaks is available to all, we do not always take the same paths. Today is the 10th anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center. We were different people ten years ago, and in the intervening 10 years we have all travelled diverse paths. But, here we are on this day, together as a people who came to worship and praise the living God of all of us. First, I know that we may have among us some who were among the many workers who spent countless hours and days in the months just after the attacks. If you are here, would you stand, the rest of us would like to say “thank you”. If you are among those who lost loved ones and friends at any of the three locations, please know that we care and pray for God’s continued peace.
For the rest of us, we all have different tales to tell. I lived in New York State, close enough that many friends lived and worked in the City. I sat with hundreds of thousands of others that night, in churches, and waited through the night for word. The days that followed were hard to describe—churches scrambled to do what they could. Traffic slowed to a crawl as hundreds of firefighters collected money in the streets to fund the relief efforts. Flags flew from every car and house window, while still some waited for word. I heard the stories of tragedy and the stories of miracle—the toothache that led one to be at the dentist rather than at work that day. Life nearly came to a standstill as all folks thought about was how they could help. I want to tell you my own story of my journey to Ground Zero, not because it is particularly unique, I assure you, it is not, but because it taught me so much about being wounded and being whole.
On the Sunday after 9/11, my church had collected another truckload of food and supplies for the relief workers. But we had no one to drive the truck to the Seaman’s Institute many blocks north of the Towers. I, having driven a U-Haul truck on one cross-country trip, decided I knew enough about driving a truck to get behind the wheel and take off for Manhattan. A good friend went with me. Let me acknowledge to you right now that God drove that truck to Ground Zero. The pedals were so far away that I had to sit on the edge of the seat the entire time I was driving. The two-hour trip took close to eight hours. New York City police greeted us—they had been informed of our arrival and told me they needed to escort us directly to Ground Zero as all supplies were needed there. I had two police cars ahead of me and one behind. Several more check points later, the police cars stopped and I learned my first lesson about being wounded and whole at the same time. A big, burly NY officer got out of his car and came back to my window. He said, “we’re stopping here, because you will want to take a few moments to prepare yourself for what’s ahead. At the next turn, we will be at the Towers.” I assured him that I would be ok and he nodded with a sad wisdom. “Just take a few breaths while you are here, you may not be able to breathe very well once we get there.” I looked at my friend, shook my head at the officer and started praying for strength. Mostly I was amazed that, in the midst of all they had seen, they were lovingly concerned about the impact the scene would surely have on me and my friend. It seemed to me a beautiful thing then, and even more so now. As I restarted the truck and inched forward I began to notice the ashes hanging from every surface of every building as we got closer. Suddenly we turned a corner, the police cars disappeared and we were in front of the mass of twisted steel. As I got out of the truck to find the exact door where the food was needed, I learned that just minutes before our arrival, word had come from the City that the mission was changing from rescue to recovery. That meant, of course, that it had been determined that no one could still be alive. The sadness that moved through the hundreds of people at the site was so real that you could feel the weight of it mixed in with the fatigue and sorrow. But not one ounce of hopelessness was there—not in the faces of the rescue workers or in the sad eyes of the search and rescue dogs who longed to be back “in the pit” doing their job. It was as if, the earth moved, but not the people standing on it. I watched in amazement as workers who had been on mandatory breaks, picked up their gear and said, “then we will find their bodies.”
This, my friends, is the story of wholeness coming in the midst of woundedness—I remember saying “God bless you” to one young firefighter. There wasn’t much else to say. He looked at me and said “thank you”. In that simple exchange, this young man changed my life as I came to understand, in a completely new way, how important it is to care. I came to understand in ways new to me, in that brief encounter, that, my fear and pain, as real as it was, was a tiny little part of the greater woundedness of humanity. I realized as I stood in the shadow of the twisted remains of buildings and lives, that God still triumphed in the resolve of those workers and rescue dogs not to leave anyone behind. I had two degrees in religion and most of a third one, and not one time had I learned as much about God’s love in a single moment as in the moment when this young firefighter showed me with his eyes how much my love and care meant to him.
The work went on for months. The healing continues to this day. On the front of your bulletin is Fr. Mychal Judge, chaplain to the NYC Fire Department. He was the first recorded casualty of the attack and he was one of us. Not just because he was gay, although he was, but because his faith in God led him to care so deeply he is like us—well, like us when we listen and believe. Friends say that Judge was fiercely committed to the conviction that all would be well—that God was in control and that there was a divine plan at work in his life and in the lives of those around him. He once said, “"It's fantastic how I can sometimes begin a day and go through a day," he said, "but not realize that everything that happens — every single thing that happens — is somehow within the divine plan." In his last homily on Sept. 10th, Mychal preached to the firefighters to remember that in the midst of danger, God is near. Judge was famous for reaching out to those in the streets, AIDS sufferers, addicts, and any who needed a helping hand. Many in the NY Fire Department believe that Judge died first to lead all the others who were dying to heaven. What a beautiful vision, and not so different from what our Lord did when he walked on this earth, died and rose again, to show us the way in the love of God, our Creator. …to make the wounded whole, indeed.
Today, I will close with a prayer written by our Moderator, Rev. Dr. Nancy Wilson. She calls us to remember how close we are on this day to every other human being who knows the way of sorrow. Will you pray her prayer with me: "God of our hearts, whose heart was broken again on September 11, 2001, help us to be your faithful partners and witnesses in a broken world. Jesus, may your Light shine through us! Spirit, may you hover over every helpless, desperate place and be the bearer of change and hope. Help us to see our destiny in the destinies of others, to see a future where bridges of love and compassion and justice unite us and overcome every division. Bless our MCC churches around the world today, every outpost of hope, and every place of faith and goodness that proclaims your truth. Connect us to your vulnerable heart today, God of peace. Amen." And Amen.

Walking the Garden Walk 9-4-11

THE READINGS (The Message)

First Reading: 1 John 4: 17-22
God is love. When we take up permanent residence in a life of love, we live in God and God lives in us. This way, love has the run of the house, becomes at home and mature in us, so that we're free of worry on Judgment Day—our standing in the world is identical with Christ's. There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life—fear of death, fear of judgment—is one not yet fully formed in love. We, though, are going to love—love and be loved. First we were loved, now we love. [God] loved us first. If anyone boasts, "I love God," and goes right on hating [their] brother or sister, thinking nothing of it, [they are] liars. If [we] won't love the person [we] can see, how can [we] love the God [we] can't see? The command we have from Christ is blunt: Loving God includes loving people. You've got to love both.

Gospel Reading: John 20: 1-2, 10-16
Early in the morning on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone was moved away from the entrance. She ran at once to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one Jesus loved, breathlessly panting, "They took the Master from the tomb. We don't know where they've put him." …..No one yet knew from the Scripture that he had to rise from the dead. The disciples then went back home.
But Mary stood outside the tomb weeping. As she wept, she knelt to look into the tomb and saw two angels sitting there, dressed in white, one at the head, the other at the foot of where Jesus' body had been laid. They said to her, "Woman, why do you weep?" "They took my Master," she said, "and I don't know where they put him." After she said this, she turned away and saw Jesus standing there. But she didn't recognize him. Jesus spoke to her, "Woman, why do you weep? Who are you looking for?" She, thinking that he was the gardener, said, "Mister, if you took him, tell me where you put him so I can care for him." Jesus said, "Mary." Turning to face him, she said in Hebrew, "Rabboni!" meaning "Teacher!"
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God, we ask for the blessing of Your presence to be made known in the speaking and hearing of these words. May all that we do bring glory to You. Amen

Today, we begin what I think will be an interesting and spiritually beneficial look at four of the most popular hymns in the Christian tradition. “In the Garden”, our first hymn which we sang together at the beginning of our time together is a well-loved hymn which brings us face to face with looking at our personal relationship with the Divine. And it does so in very personal and embodied way. Some of you, when singing this song, may have remembered the many funerals at which you heard or sang this song. Indeed, many in the praisechoir, when first presented with the music, told me: “That’s a funeral song.” Let me tell you what I told them. There is nothing funereal about this song at all. The fact that you hear it at so many funerals reflects the popularity of this song particularly in the generation of many of our parents and their friends. That got me to thinking about the “why” of its popularity and what we can learn today in this setting which is very much not like a funeral at all.
We are spiritual creatures who embody real live human forms—we walk and we talk. We live on a physical plane but we have very real spiritual needs that require us to know the joy of inviting and recognizing the presence of the Divine into our very real physical world. This hymn is the epitome of what we do each and every time we commune with our God, whatever we call this God and however we envision this God to be. I think what I like most about this hymn is not its melody—in reality, I’m not particularly fond of it and certainly do not treasure the many quite horrible renditions of In the Garden I have encountered along the way. What speaks to my heart most of all, is the radical closeness of the relationship between myself and the Divine—in this case, Jesus—that is portrayed in the words of this sweet hymn. Our Gospel passage retold the biblical story that served as the inspiration for this song. C. Austin Miles, who was a pharmacist by trade, wrote this hymn after his own encounter with that same story. He writes this:
“One day in April 1912, I was seated in the dark room, where I kept my photographic equipment…I drew my Bible toward me; it opened at my favorite chapter, John 20—whether by chance or inspiration let each reader decide. That meeting of Jesus and Mary had lost none of it power and charm…My hands were resting on the Bible while I stared at the light blue wall. As the light faded, I seemed to be standing at the entrance of a garden, looking down a gently winding path, shaded by olive branches. A woman in white, with head bowed, hand clasping her throat, as if to choke back her sobs, walked slowly into the shadows. It was Mary…She saw Jesus standing. So did I. I knew it was He. She knelt before Him, with arms outstretched and looking in His face, cried, “Rabboni!” I awakened in sunlight, gripping the Bible, with muscles tense and nerves vibrating. Under the inspiration of this vision I wrote as quickly as the words could be formed the poem exactly as it has since appeared. That same evening I wrote the music.”
And so, this hymn, so popular at funerals, is not a funeral hymn at all. In fact, it is very much the opposite—it is an Easter hymn that celebrates Mary’s gratitude and worship at the sight of a risen Jesus. It celebrates her joy and ecstasy when she is once again in the physical presence of Jesus. And we have much to learn.
For most of us, our formal religious training, I use the words loosely in most cases, has rarely encouraged us to look at faith as an embodied act—as an act that requires us to use heart, and mind, and body. In fact, most of us learned to stay as far away from our bodies as we could when thinking or talking about our religious faith. And, as a result, we may well have a well-practiced art of keeping mind and heart or spirit, and body separate. This hymn and the story it tells, calls us to a different place—a place where we are not split into two beings—a spiritual being and a physical being—no, it calls us to a place where we are whole—where our worship invades our bodies and celebrates our ability to walk and talk and be physically present to the Divine. This mind/heart-body split is what makes it possible for people to hate us and anyone who looks or acts differently that what mainstream religion requires us to be. If we truly understood—and I mean all of us, truly understood the wonderful truth of this quaint hymn several things would happen. We would be physically as well as spiritually present in our experiences of the Divine, and it would become impossible to look at physical or biological differences to separate us. And we would be at ease with who we are. And, I would like to think, that we would be much more comfortable using our entire bodies in our acts of worship. We might let God’s presence, at least in private, invade our very bodies as we begin to feel and sense in new ways God’s presence in our lives. Now, I am not suggesting that we start dancing or swaying, although I certainly see nothing wrong if we were to do so; but I am more interested in our healing our mind/spirit/body divisions and by doing so enlarge our healing to the created world itself.
For that, I take us to our first reading. The writer of First John is eloquent in the description of the spiritual life and very physical words are used indeed. First the proclamation upon which all else is based—“God is love!” Living a life of love means that God lives in us as we live in God. And this love permeates every aspect of our life. The author says, in our translation today, that love has “the run of the house”. And where there is love, there is no room for fear or for hatred. And less, we quibble over the intricacies of loving a God we cannot see, John is clear—we love and experience God by loving God and loving very real, physical people. We cannot love one without loving the other. And so our experience of the Divine moves effortlessly back and forth between the spiritual and physical—loving God—loving each other. And, dare I say, loving the creation.
I have for many years, claimed with pride, my Celtic ancestry, as some of you do as well. The Celts, living in ancient Ireland, Scotland and Wales, have, perhaps more than any other tradition resisted and mended, when necessary, the mind/spirit/body division. Nature is one with spirituality. The world and all her people are one with God, the creator and sustainer. We are redeemed on an everyday basis by our love in and of God and in creation itself. The Celts knew full well that we cannot limit God. In the early writings of the Celts, centuries before feminists called us to inclusive and expansive language, God is referred to as both Father and Mother—both creator and sustainer. The nurturing power of creation—the very physical realm of experience—is celebrated and treasured.
Though it is not the least bit a Celtic hymn, I think that the Celts would appreciate In the Garden as it acknowledges the beauty of the world that is at work in the larger experience of the Divine. The birds, themselves, stop their singing as they understand they are in the presence of the Divine. And the melody that comes from this walking and talking in the garden calls us to deeper and deeper relationship with the one who redeems and sustains us.
You may be familiar with knots that are used as symbols in the Celtic traditions. These knots of the Celts call us to understand how profoundly all of the aspects of our lives are intertwined with the Spiritual, the world, and with all other beings. Dame Julian of Norwich, writes of this intertwining when she says, “God is in everything. God is nature’s substance. So she speaks of smelling God, of swallowing God in waters, and of feeling God in “the human body and the body of creation.” Just as the knot is completely intertwined, we are completely intertwined with God and nature and God’s grace. Just as the writer of First John says, you can’t love God without loving people, Dame Julian calls us to a complete understanding of the intertwining of grace, nature, and God. Julian expands this intertwining and tells us that our deepest longing—our love longing—is the sacred longing for union. As we experience more and more of God, our longing for God increases.
This, then is the nature of the garden walk—this intertwined longing that is both nourished and encouraged by spending time in the presence of God. And lest you think this is somehow impossible, or unreachable for those of us still struggling with our God-walks, our simple hymn leads us to the truth. As we walk and talk and spend time feeling treasured in our spiritual and natural gardens with God, we will long for more of the same. Our hearts will open to more that God has to show us, and we will grow in grace and love. Amen and amen.

What's Going On Here? 8-28-11

THE READINGS (The Message)

FIRST READING—Exodus 3: 1-15
Moses was shepherding the flock of Jethro, his father-in-law, the priest of Midian. He led the flock to the west end of the wilderness and came to the mountain of God, Horeb. The angel of GOD appeared to him in flames of fire blazing out of the middle of a bush. He looked. The bush was blazing away but it didn't burn up. Moses said, "What's going on here? I can't believe this! Amazing! Why doesn't the bush burn up?" GOD saw that he had stopped to look. God called to him from out of the bush, "Moses! Moses!" He said, "Yes? I'm right here!" God said, "Don't come any closer. Remove your sandals from your feet. You're standing on holy ground." Then he said, "I am the God of your father and mother: The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob."
Moses hid his face, afraid to look at God. GOD said, "I've taken a good, long look at the affliction of my people in Egypt. I've heard their cries for deliverance from their slave masters; I know all about their pain. And now I have come down to help them, pry them loose from the grip of Egypt, get them out of that country and bring them to a good land with wide-open spaces, a land lush with milk and honey, the land of the Canaanite, the Hittite, the Amorite, the Perizzite, the Hivite, and the Jebusite. "The Israelite cry for help has come to me, and I've seen for myself how cruelly they're being treated by the Egyptians. It's time for you to go back: I'm sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the People of Israel, out of Egypt."
Moses answered God, "But why me? What makes you think that I could ever go to Pharaoh and lead the children of Israel out of Egypt?" "I'll be with you," God said. "And this will be the proof that I am the one who sent you: When you have brought my people out of Egypt, you will worship God right here at this very mountain." Then Moses said to God, "Suppose I go to the People of Israel and I tell them, 'The God of your fathers and mothers sent me to you'; and they ask me, 'What is this God’s name?' What do I tell them?" God said to Moses, "I-AM-WHO-I-AM. Tell the People of Israel, 'I-AM sent me to you.'" God continued with Moses: "This is what you're to say to the Israelites: 'GOD, the God of your fathers and mothers, the God of Abraham and Sarah, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob sent me to you.' This has always been my name, and this is how I always will be known.

SECOND READING—Matthew 16: 21-26
Then Jesus made it clear to his disciples that it was now necessary for him to go to Jerusalem, submit to an ordeal of suffering at the hands of the religious leaders, be killed, and then on the third day be raised up alive. Peter took him in hand, protesting, "Impossible, Master! That can never be!" But Jesus didn't swerve. "Peter, get out of my way. Satan, get lost. You have no idea how God works." Then Jesus went to work on his disciples. "Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You're not in the driver's seat; I am.
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God, You speak to us in small, still voices and in loud rolling thunder. Keep us ever on the lookout for Your words to us. Bless us this day with understanding and promise. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be pleasing to You, O God. Amen

If you were born in the 30’s, 40’s or 50’s, your image of Moses may well have been greatly influenced by the huge epic film, The Ten Commandments. Cecil B. DeMille had a way with drama and, for his time, a way with special effects. So, for many of us, when we think, Moses, we think Charlton Heston—arms outstretched, ponderous words, and bravery beyond belief. If you’ve never seen the film, rent it or watch it on YouTube in 20-something different parts or just wait until next Easter weekend when, for some weird reason, it is always shown.
But our story today features a Moses before the eloquent speeches to Pharaoh (aka Yul Brynner) and the parting of the seas. This Moses looked nothing like Charlton Heston. This Moses looked a whole lot more like one of us out for a walk in the field. We all have our stories just as Moses has his; so, who is this “wandering in the field” Moses? Moses, you may remember, was born during the time when the Israelites were enslaved in Egypt. Pharaoh makes a decree that all male Hebrew infants are to be drowned at birth so that the Hebrew people cannot become strong and fight back. His mother, desperate to save him, puts him in a basket and floats him in the Nile. In a story that is probably one of the favorite Sunday School stories of all time, the child is found by Pharaoh’s daughter. Moses’ sister has been watching over him from afar and when Pharaoh’s daughter finds Moses, his sister offers to find her a wet-nurse. In a wonderful triumph of good over evil, Moses’ own mother is brought to the palace to care for her own child. He, having been adopted by Pharaoh’s daughter is raised as an Egyptian prince.
Jewish scripture records only three other things about Moses before our story. As a young man, Moses sees an Egyptian overseer beating a Jewish slave. Moses, enraged, kills the overseer. The next day, he intercedes in a fight between two Hebrew men who are fighting. The one who started the fight says to Moses, “Oh, so now you will kill me just as you killed that overseer!” Moses immediately understands that his first violent act has been observed and he knows he is in danger. In fact, as word reaches Pharaoh of Moses’ deed, he orders him killed. Moses flees to Midian. With no rest for the weary Moses, he rather quickly walks into another situation that he cannot ignore. The daughters of a Midianite priest, Jethro, are being abused by the Midianite male shepherds, and Moses in yet another defense of the persecuted, rises to their defense. Moses, in every incident, champions the victims of injustice. Shortly after the last event, he marries one of Jethro’s daughters and takes up his place as a shepherd of his father-in-law’s flocks. Here is where our story picks up.
So here we are, back with Moses, out in the field. Now, you’ve got to imagine that it isn’t very exciting shepherding sheep, sheep being the rather slow, dull creatures that they are. I can see Moses walking along, lost in his thoughts, trying to stay awake in the hot sun. All of a sudden, there it is—a bush burning—but not burning up. Shaking his head, trying to get a grasp on reality, Moses looks again. “What’s going on here?” A fairly predictable question, I would say. God, noticing that Moses has stopped to look, calls to him: “Moses, Moses!” He said, "Yes? I'm right here!" God said, "Don't come any closer. Remove your sandals from your feet. You're standing on holy ground." Then he said, "I am the God of your father and mother: The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob."
Moses was afraid to look at God so he hid his face. Can you see him, face down, no shoes, completely un-nerved by God’s appearance? And then, GOD said, "I know what is going on in Egypt and I’ve seen the pain the Hebrew people are suffering. I’m here to bring them deliverance and transport all of them to a wonderful place, flowing with milk and honey. You, Moses, are the person who is going to make all this happen. You will go back and bring my people out of there.” Now we might assume, at this point, that Moses wonders if he has spent too much time in the sun. The urge to put his sandals back on and run as fast as he can must have been pretty strong. Certainly, all kinds of thoughts of escape from this task must have been crashing though his mind. For some reason, Moses stays. Not that he jumps up and starts making plans to return to Egypt. Oh, no, Moses, in a whine that doesn’t seem very Heston-like says, "But why me? What makes you think that I could ever go to Pharaoh and lead the children of Israel out of Egypt?"
Not deterred for a moment, God says, "I'll be with you," God said. "And this will be the proof that I am the one who sent you: When you have brought my people out of Egypt, you will worship God right here at this very mountain." It didn’t take Moses long to figure out that this was proof only after the fact and that didn’t satisfy him one bit. He moans, "Suppose I go to the People of Israel and I tell them, 'The God of your fathers and mothers sent me to you'; and they ask me, 'What is this God’s name?' What do I tell them?" God, not letting Moses get away with his excuses, said, "I-AM-WHO-I-AM. Tell the People of Israel, 'I-AM sent me to you.'" God continued with Moses: "This has always been my name, and this is how I always will be known.” Not a very satisfying answer, but an honest one—one which forces us to ponder the vastness and completeness, and, in some ways, indescribability of this God, now speaking directly to Moses and to us. Moses, though is still not convinced. Barely taking a breath to absorb all that God is revealing to him, Moses, not unlike some of us, continues his litany of excuses.
"O, God, I have never been a good speaker—not in the past and certainly not now. I am a slow talker and my tongue doesn’t always work right.” Moses, thinking he has the best excuse now, tries to convince God that he is not worthy or talented enough for the task at hand. Now, the problem with this approach is, not only is it very unattractive, it is a lie. We already know that Moses is educated, having been rescued from certain death by Pharaoh’s daughter and he certainly had no problem speaking up to now. God, particularly unpleased with this line of argument, basically tells Moses to, well, “shut up” and reminds him that God will be doing the talking through him. Moses, not to be convinced finally cries, “God, please, send someone else.” And in a not very brotherly act, offers up his own brother, Aaron, who Moses claims is a mighty orator, to do the deed. God, however, has made the choice and Moses is it, despite his distinct lack of enthusiasm for the job.
Ok, let’s stop here and rest for a moment. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. This standing on holy ground is a lot harder than it looks and I would really like to put my metaphorical shoes back on. But I won’t. Because I’ve got to think that by now, the point of this story is starting to make itself clear. And, in case you have zoned out like Moses in the hot sun, this story is not just about Moses. It is a story about each one of us. It is the story of how we experience the Divine Presence in our lives. It is the story how each of us stand in front of God when we are called. Our burning bush may look nothing like the one in front of Moses; but if we are open and ready, we will receive such a moment that requires us to take off our shoes. Why am I so sure? I am sure because God loves us and blesses us with the awareness of our very Creator; and, when we will listen, with a sense of calling for our lives. Just as importantly, God needs us—all of us—slow of speech or slow of step, stubborn or shy, whiny or brave, to do the work of justice. This, then, is the story of Moses—God using an ordinary, unwilling, unmotivated sort of a man or woman to bring about the work of the Creator. And this is our story as well. I invite us to embrace it. I invite us to stand barefoot in the presence of God and say “yes”.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning has a simple little poem that speaks to us this day, if only we will listen:
"Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries..."
Let us be the ones who know to take off our shoes. Let us be the ones to finally say, “Here we are!” Amen and amen.

Complete and Free Access 8-21-11

THE READINGS (The Message)

FIRST READING— Isaiah 51: 1-6
"Listen to me, all you who are serious about right living and committed to seeking God. Ponder the rock from which you were cut, the quarry from which you were dug. Yes, ponder Abraham, your father, and Sarah, who bore you. Think of it! One solitary man when I called him, but once I blessed him, he multiplied. Likewise I, God, will comfort Zion, comfort all her mounds of ruins. I'll transform her dead ground into Eden, her moonscape into the garden of God,
A place filled with exuberance and laughter, thankful voices and melodic songs.
“Pay attention, my people. Listen to me, nations. Revelation flows from me. My decisions light up the world. My deliverance arrives on the run, my salvation right on time. I'll bring justice to the peoples. Even faraway islands will look to me and take hope in my saving power. Look up at the skies, ponder the earth under your feet. The skies will fade out like smoke, the earth will wear out like work pants, and the people will die off like flies. But my salvation will last forever, my setting-things-right will never be obsolete.

SECOND READING—Matthew 16: 13-20
When Jesus arrived in the villages of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, "What are people saying about who the [One sent from God] is?" They replied, "Some think he is John the Baptizer, some say Elijah, some Jeremiah or one of the other prophets." He pressed them, "And how about you? Who do you say I am?" Simon Peter said, "You're the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of the living God." Jesus came back, "God bless you, Simon, son of Jonah! You didn't get that answer out of books or from teachers. My [Holy Parent] in heaven, God, let you in on this secret of who I really am. And now I'm going to tell you who you are, really are. You are Peter, a rock. This is the rock on which I will put together my church, a church so expansive with energy that not even the gates of hell will be able to keep it out. "And that's not all. You will have complete and free access to God's kingdom, keys to open any and every door: no more barriers between heaven and earth, earth and heaven. A yes on earth is yes in heaven. A no on earth is no in heaven."
He swore the disciples to secrecy. He made them promise they would tell no one that he was the Messiah.
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God of many names, bless us this day as we gather in Your presence to hear what You would say to us this day. God, use my voice and the thoughts of our hearts to bring Your blessings into this place, today and always. Amen
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Have you ever played that game at a party or the beginning of a meeting called Two Truths and a Lie? It goes like this—you write down three things about yourself—two of them are true and one is completely made up. Then everyone has to guess which one is the lie. Now the crazier your life experiences have been, the better chance you have at fooling everybody. I, for some reason or another, am really good at this game—just saying…
We spend a lot of time in our lives, perhaps more so when we are young, but maybe not, wondering who people say that we are—are we good at what we do? Are we next in line for that promotion? Are we meeting our boss’ expectation? Our partner’s, our kids’ or our parents’? What do people think about us? It makes sense to us that Jesus would ask the question that he asks today. We have asked it many times ourselves.
Of course, this question about Jesus is different for everyone. While this is not a place where you will be told what you have to believe or what you should believe, we do spend quite a lot of time in this place we call church talking about who Jesus is. For some of you, we spend too much time, for some, not nearly enough. But I want to suggest that however, you go about thinking about the question, it is a question worth asking with an answer worth pondering. And the way you answer that question may well suggest quite a lot about the other question as well. You know, that “Who am I?” question.
Our story today recites no theological treatise from Jesus, no lengthy sermon. This exchange between leader and disciples is a cut and dried, let’s get to the bottom of things discussion. Today, Jesus himself calls us to look at who he was to his disciples and who he is in our lives today. And in a very interesting story, Jesus wants to know what the disciples think.
Although there was no Facebook, no YouTube, and no easy way for the deeds of this Jesus to “go viral”, still his preaching and teaching and miracles were being spoken of far and wide throughout the countryside. He and the disciples have just arrived in Caesarea Philippi. He’s being gossiped about and we can safely assume that Jesus wants to know what the people are saying. So he asks the folks who would know—“who do people say that I am? What are they really saying?” The disciples respond in what seems to be almost nonsensical answers—“well some say John the Baptist”—a little hard to pull off unless you believe that Jesus, who was previously baptized by John, somehow became the reincarnation of John once John was beheaded. Then other disciples suggest—“well, some say you are Elijah”. This answer makes more sense since the Jewish people believed that the prophet Elijah would come back to earth to announce the coming of the true Messiah. Nevertheless, it does not jive at all with what Jesus is saying about himself—seems like confusion permeates the gossip.
Jesus, observing how befuddled everyone seems to be, tries again—“who do you, my disciples, the ones who have been going through all these things with me, say that I am?” Now this I understand—I would always want to know what those who are closest to me think; and, after all, if the disciples don’t get it, how could anyone else even come close. A disciple named Simon steps right up and answers: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” We don’t know what Jesus expected this disciple to say, but an interesting thing happens after his statement. Jesus responds to Simon: "God bless you, Simon, son of Jonah! You didn’t give me just any answer or try to make one up. You listened to God who told you who I am. And I’m going to tell you who you really are. I’m going to change your name to Peter, which means ‘rock’ and this is the rock on which I will build a community—a community so vast and energetic that nothing can stop it. Not only that, you will have complete and free access to God's kingdom, keys to open any and every door: There are no more barriers between heaven and earth—nothing to separate this community from God.”
Wow! I’m just guessing that if the other disciples had known what the reward was for the correct answer they might have tried a little harder, listened a little better, or prayed a little longer for the answer Jesus sought. That, I think, would have missed the point. Immediately after Jesus gives this blessing to the disciple now called ‘Peter’, he tells all the disciples not to tell anyone that he is the Messiah.
This is hard for us to figure out—I know it is for me. Why wouldn’t Jesus want the disciples to go back out into the countryside and try to straighten out all these misinformed, misguided folks? Some very well known scholars argue that it is because Jesus was not ready to deal with the authorities yet and that may be the case. However, if we look closely at Jesus’ response to Peter, we see a larger truth—that only God could reveal who Jesus was to the world and only when each person was ready. Peter was ready and Jesus gives him the keys to eternal life, giving him complete and free access to the goodness and abundance of God’s kingdom.
What does this say about our own journeys with Jesus? I believe, most of all that it says that we must answer Jesus’ question for ourselves. It doesn’t work for anyone other than God to tell us who Jesus is to us. Preachers can’t and shouldn’t dictate and theologians can only tell us what others have thought along the way. This is a profoundly personal journey—one well worth the taking—one which results in complete and free access to God’s exceeding abundance. Take one more look at Simon-now-Peter’s experience. All the others tell Jesus what other people are saying—Peter has done the work for himself, listened to God’s voice and determined that Jesus is, in fact, the long-awaited Messiah.
So, it is not enough for us to talk about who others say Jesus is. We will find ourselves in a “heap of trouble” when we muddle through all the various thoughts about this Jesus—this will lead us to many definitions and descriptions, but little or no experience of the life altering-name-changing encounter with Jesus of Nazareth. God loves us so much that we are allowed to work out our own understanding of Jesus as we come to experience what his teachings and presence means in our own unique ways. Jesus did not ask Peter: “Who do you think I ought to be in your life? Or how should you describe who I am? Jesus asked then and asks now: “Who do you say that I am?”
Peter had walked with Jesus, had seen the healing, the changes of heart, the conversion, if you will, of people who formerly cared only about themselves to people who cared about the community. So, Peter was ready—ready to make his own decision about who Jesus was. This is not a sermon that will end with an answer, it is a sermon that will end in a question—one important enough for us to spend some truly important time in our quiet places and in our together places—some time in studying and learning about this Jesus. You may come to the end of that time and decide that He was a great teacher or the good shepherd. Or, you may come to the place of seeing that Jesus was, first and foremost, a child of God just like us—but a child of God who cared so deeply about all the other children of God that he was willing to be a living sacrifice so that we could know what it was to be loved. Wherever you arrive, I invite you to hear what really mattered to Jesus in Simon Peter’s answer. He says this: “You didn’t give me just any answer or try to make one up. You listened to God who told you who I am.” This, then is our calling—to stay away from the easy answer or, worse yet, just making one up. The call is that we listen to God and that we be in fellowship with the children of God—that we be open to the moving of the Holy Spirit among and within us. Then, and then only can we truly hear the question: “Who do you, each and every one of you, say that I am?” Amen and amen

Welcome to the Table-The Path of Responsibility 8-14-11

THE READINGS (TNIV)

First Reading: 2 Corinthians 5: 17-20.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! All this is from God, who reconciled us through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to [the Creator] in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them. And [God] has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making [the divine] appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: Be reconciled to God.

Gospel Reading: Luke 22: 24-30

A dispute also arose among them as to which of them was considered to be greatest. Jesus said to them, “The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those who exercise authority over them call themselves Benefactors. But you are not to be like that. Instead, the greatest among you should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves. For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one who is at the table? But I am among you as one who serves. You are those who have stood by me in my trials. And I confer on you a kingdom, just as [God, my parent] conferred one on me, so that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom and sit on thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.
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God of heaven and earth, we ask You to walk beside us on our journey this and every day. We thank You for leading us deeper and deeper into a life blessed by You. We seek Your guidance today. May my words about the journey and all the mediations of our hearts be pleasing to you, O God, our creator. Amen.

I started this sermon over four times. Now I have shared with you before that I have come to know that God is not in the business of making easy revelations and that I am honored when the Spirit causes me to wrestle with God over the texts—to struggle with them—to bring them to life in such a way that they are meaningful in our hearing and, most of all, in our living. And this week brought struggle and even some frustration as I carried with me our texts throughout the week and pondered what God was going to say to us on this day. Sometimes, the process makes itself clear, other times I feel as if what God is trying to say is just beyond my grasp, until, all at once, it becomes clear. Perhaps life itself is much like that—it remains somewhat confusing until it, well, isn’t. And so, this week, I spent extra time reflecting on these scriptures and our 4-week journey and I trust that God will use my words to bring this sermon series on the experience of Holy Communion to a close in a manner that allows us to honor and incorporate what we have garnered along the way into an ever-increasingly meaningful celebration of coming to the Table in this community in this time.
Paul, in his second letter to the Corinthians does what Paul does best—he calls the people to come to an understanding of the grace they have been given. Listen: “… if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” And lest we be confused about who should get the credit for this, Paul states, “ All this is from God, who reconciled us through Christ “. But, wait, God isn’t done with us, God “gave us the ministry of reconciliation”. In our week of study regarding “right relationship” we took a brief look at reconciliation—that notion that we are made right with God through the life and sacrifice of Christ Jesus. And here we are, being given the ministry of reconciliation by this same God. It is not enough to merely experience our own reconciliation, we must spread the ministry beyond our own isolated experience. Our Gospel passage relates here.
In a rather somewhat strange, though sadly predictable chain of events, the disciples are having a discussion just after they participate with Jesus in the celebration of passing the cup and bread in remembrance of his life and coming death. Now you would think that their minds would be on spiritual things—focused on the work of God in their lives. Alas, the disciples have done it again. Tripping over themselves and their lack of understanding, the disciples are engaged in a rather unflattering argument. Luke records it this way: “A dispute also arose among them as to which of them was considered to be greatest. Jesus said to them, ‘… the greatest among you should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves. For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one who is at the table? But I am among you as one who serves.’” Jesus, himself, tells them that he is a servant among them and challenges them to turn their routine upside down. His call to servanthood is the key to our understanding the path of responsibility that leads away from the Table each week. Nevertheless, my choice of the word responsibility, may take some unpacking.
I think that part of our confusion about responsibility comes from the way we traditionally use the word. The adults in my childhood routinely talked about “learning” responsibility. Like being responsible was an unpleasant task that one could accomplish by acquiring certain skills and abilities—chiefly around things such as obeying laws and making enough money so as not to be a burden on society. I don’t mean to be sarcastic here. I truly think that my well-meaning, down-to-earth, mid-western relatives believed that these two things were the primary things that make us ‘responsible”. I learned that education was primarily for the purpose of securing a sufficiently-paying job and that any aesthetic pleasure associated with learning was a nice side effect if it happened, but certainly not the most important aspect of learning. I learned that it was important to be able to take care of yourself and your family and to understand that one should not look to others for things that you could and should be providing for yourself. And while your experience may have differed from mine somewhat, I think that the outcome may have been similar. The word responsible has at least a sweet and sour taste in our mouths as we often make judgments about our own responsibility and, more likely, the responsibility of others.
Dictionaries define responsibility as 1) being responsible: as a moral, legal, or mental accountability or 2) reliability, trustworthiness or, finally, something for which one is responsible as in burden. No wonder we do not want to think about a path of responsibility leading from the Table into the rest of our lives. Here, however, the word responsibility refers to our ability to respond to this newness of life and creation that Paul calls us to. Jesus, then, shows us the nature of that response—the taking on of servanthood with all those who walk this way with us.
What if we begin to think of responsibility like this? R-E-S-P-O-N-S-E A-B-I-L-I-T-Y. What if we begin to discuss our actions after we leave this Table as focused on the notion of our ability to respond to the new creation that we have become by God grace in Christ Jesus. What if servanthood becomes the logical response in humility as we come to more deeply and truly understand that the new covenant is a covenant of grace—not something that we have earned, but something that God has freely given. What if we begin to view our on-going reconciliation in the process of righting all relationships with God, each other, ourselves and the world as the necessary response to the grace we so bountifully enjoy in God’s exceeding abundance? Here’s what I think…
I believe that we are called on to be ever-new, ever-changing creations in response to this new covenant that God has graced us with. I believe that we are called upon to listen to the still, soft voice of the Spirit as we are led by the rushing of the Holy Spirit to explore the deeper and deeper aspects of our spiritual lives each week—to listen to that voice call us into greater and greater reconciliation with our God, our selves, and our world. I believe that God is calling us to experience radical reconciliation with those whom have never before felt welcome in church—any church of any kind. I believe that God is calling us to focus on reconciliation with the rest of creation—with the earth, with marginalized peoples everywhere, and with our selves. I believe that the new covenant calls us to unearth the long-held, deeply buried voices of our past that tell us that we cannot be all that God calls us to be, not as people or not as a church. I believe that God is calling us to lovingly say ‘no’ to those limits that we have placed on ourselves or allowed others to place on us in the past.
What would it look like if we came each week to this Table and opened ourselves up to each other, to our innermost selves, and, most of all, to the working of the Holy Spirit in new and challenging ways? What would it feel like to say, “Ok, God, you’ve got my attention, my full attention…I’m open to you today, really open. With whom have I failed to be reconciled? With the earth? With myself over some long ago hurt or wound? This is the path of response ability—the responsibility that we freely take on to be always open to God’s call to be more than we limit ourselves to be, more than we limit this church to be.
And as we allow ourselves to be fully servant to our fellow travelers and to God, I believe that God will lead us into an increasingly abundant experience of the New Covenant—to an experience that allows us to find ourselves in the loving and serving of all of creation. For, we are in Christ and the new creation has come…come taste and see, “the old has gone, the new is here!” Amen and amen.

Welcome to the Table: The Inner Transformation 8-7-11

THE READINGS (The Inclusive Bible ©2007)

FIRST READING— I Peter 1: 22,23 and 2: 2-6
By obedience to the truth you have purified yourselves for a genuine love of your sisters and brothers. Therefore love one another constantly, from the heart. Your rebirth has come not from a perishable seed but from an imperishable one—the living and enduring world of God. Therefore, never be spiteful, deceitful, hypocritical, envious or critical of each other. Like newborn babies, be hungry for nothing but milk—the pure milk of the word that will make you grow into salvation, now that you have “tasted that our God is good.” Come to Christ—a living stone, rejected by mortals but approved nonetheless, chosen and precious in God’s eyes. And you are living stones as well: you are being built as an edifice of spirit, to become a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices to God through Jesus Christ.

SECOND READING—John 7: 37-38
On the last and greatest day of the festival, Jesus stood up and shouted, “Any who are thirsty, let them come to me and drink! Those who believe in me, as the scripture says, ‘from their innermost being will flow rivers of living water.’”
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God, our rock in every time, grant us mercy and peace—in quiet and solitude may we seek your healing love. May the words of my mouth and all the different meditations of our hearts be pleasing to you, O God. Amen

This is the third sermon in our series on our experience of communion and it’s been a busy week—a good week, full of appointments and meetings and excitement—but a busy one, nonetheless. And so I found myself confronted with the topic at hand—the inner transformation! I really did need to quiet the many voices in my head that all sounded a lot like this: “so much to do, so much to do, no time, no time, no time—just do, do, do”. But God is faithful, and when we listen, God makes a way back to the center and so before I could stand before you today and speak of transformation, I had a journey to make. And so, I journeyed alone to Sholom Park in Ocala to visit, for the first time, the labyrinth that is in that park. It had been recommended to me some time ago by one of you, and for some reason, on that day, I knew I needed what it had to offer. And so, this sermon on inner transformation came to life as I walked that labyrinth in the middle of a very hot day just a few days ago.
For those of you unfamiliar with labyrinths, let me describe them to you. They are not mazes—there is one way in and you retrace your steps to leave. There are no dead ends, no tricks—no frustration awaits you at a wrong turn. Labyrinths are like spirals and cause us to reflect upon our inner and outer lives—delving deeper and deeper as we walk into the labyrinth and reflecting more and more on what we take back with us into our lives as we leave the inner place of transformation. There are famous labyrinths—the most famous in the Cathedral at Chartres in France. I have walked labyrinths in retreats, in conferences and, occasionally, as I did this week, alone.
First of all, I arrived at the path leading to the labyrinth in the middle of a very hot day. Now many of you know that I don’t “do” heat very well—the fan under the pulpit may have been the first clue. And so, as I arrived, I found myself questioning the wisdom of this particular pilgrimage. But, God would not let me go. So, off I started down the path to find the entryway into the labyrinth. As I walked toward the beginning, I noticed that this labyrinth was unlike any I had ever seen. It wasn’t a ‘regular’ labyrinth at all, but a series of pathways leading to a center that I could not, at first, identify. I fumed at God—couldn’t even take me to a labyrinth I recognized. I allowed that thought to drift away as I began to notice that the bugs were getting pretty bad so my mind went to the frustration of batting away the gnats that were starting to buzz around my face. I rounded a particular curve and pulled myself up short—God had brought me to this place and I really did want to see what lay ahead of me on the path, so I quieted my irritations and opened my mind and heart, just as I stepped through the arbor that serves as the entrance.
This beautiful and unique labyrinth is a winding path that has many guideposts along the way. I want to share a few of those ‘stopping places’ with you as I believe they relate quite well to the healing, transforming journey we take each week as we come from wherever we are in our hearts and minds to the Table where we experience God’s grace. I viewed these signs as stations where I was called to stop and let God invite me to go deeper into this journey of transformation. The first sign described what was ahead: “It is a physical and spiritual place to invite your contemplative, meditative, imaginary, intuitive, playful, artistic, poetic, creative, soulful being into oneness and fullness with nature. We invite you to experience your full range of emotions in the safety of this sacred place created over the centuries just for you.” And if asked to describe what I hope happens for us as journey to the Table each week I am unable to describe it better. I hope that we know that we are invited as well to experience all of ourselves in the safety of this sacred place, this labyrinth of thoughts and prayers that leads us to the center resting place here at the Table.
I walked a bit further. Some green grass grows just beyond the fence. The sign read: “Let my heart be still, turn my heart inward and be present in the now.” And as we journey inward, may we still our hearts and wait for what God has in store for us this day. A few more signs and then a tree looms large in front of me—one scarred from a lightning strike many years ago. The sign simply reads: “All of us are also wounded, even the greatest among us. Notice how this tree still stands strong…” And so I paused, thinking of my own wounds and the wounds of others that gather round this table—still standing strong, yet wounded, nevertheless. I invite us all to ponder how our woundedness allows us to be open to the pain of others—how our own grief shows us how to participate in the grief of others—calling us to be a place of healing and peace. The labyrinth path invites me to walk to the other side of the wounded tree—the side which shows no evidence of the wound at all and yet, I am strangely drawn more to the wounded side where I can be all that I am and invite others to be all that they are as we come together in God’s presence here at this Table.
Next comes a vista—out over a meadow and I am invited to explore where God is calling me to new experiences of faith and hope. Here, each week, we see new vistas of where God is calling us—each one different and yet all called to be the body of Christ as we gather round this very Table. Soon I come upon a garden of peace roses—a little bedraggled from the same summer heat that I am experiencing, but still reminding me of the gentle places of peace that God gives to me along my path. This place, this circle of friends, is one of those places in which I love to rest and be renewed. And then, more roses, a place to sit where roses grow all around. Here, in the quiet, I drink in the peace and remember that God calls us first to peace, gentleness and love and then sends us out to spread the good news of God’s reign of justice and hope.
Aha! I spy the center now—a large tree with branches coming down nearly to the ground providing rich shade for the circle of benches. While I briefly think about going directly to the resting place, God gently pushes me not to cut my experience short or take an easy way. And it is worth it, because now I can hear the waterfalls and see the stream reminding me that my life is ever-changing, and ever delightful—that even my trials are short-lived as God brings me to deeper understanding of all that takes place in my life. We come, week after week, our lives sometimes easy and sometimes hard, but God reminds us that the ever faithful love of our Creator waits for us each week as we seek to know more and more of God.
The path dips a little, reminiscent of a valley. I stop and take some time to view all that lies ahead and see that the resting place remains ahead of me. As we come to the Table, we come with all that we are—and as we walk through the valleys of life, we are grateful that the Table lies ahead. I walk through a garden of flowers and suddenly I am there, at the resting place where I feed on the quiet and the soft spoken words: “I told you I was waiting here in the center.” What I experienced most at the center was rest—the sense that the same God who created me and then redeemed me was waiting there to sustain me as well, to fill me with a sense of deep restoration and peace. And so I sat for a while until I knew it was time to go.
Walking back out, retracing my steps, I couldn’t help but notice how different some of the views looked from my new perspective—how the re-fueling and reviving of my spirit lightened my step and sent me out of the sacred space ready to encounter all that God had waiting for me—in the days and weeks to come. May you all experience this deep sense of renewal as you come to Table this very day. May God bless you with the rest and transformation waiting for you as you taste and see that God leads us all on very good journeys indeed. Amen and amen.