10/23/22 - Holy Currencies: Money - Mark 10:17-31

Holy Currencies: Money  

Mark 10:17-31

October 23, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://youtu.be/4zYfkO3UcHc

Robin Wall Kimmerer is a Potawatomi professor and scientist who writes lovely books about plants non-scientists. She is the author of the bestseller, Braiding Sweetgrass, and some of us have met her through her long-time friends, Kathy and Judy. During the first winter of the pandemic, she wrote a beautiful essay about a kind of fruit she calls serviceberry.  You might know it by another name like juneberry or saskatoon.

Robin’s neighbor, Paulie, invited Robin to come pick these berries on Paulie’s farm. Paulie had planted her serviceberry orchard as a pick-your-own place, a way to create another revenue stream for her farm. But during the first pandemic lockdown, she invited her neighbors to come and pick for free.

As the sweet, ripe serviceberries plunked into her bucket, Robin wondered what to do with this bounty.  She describes this as a gift economy. The orchard is not free – planting, tilling, irrigating, these cost real money – but the neighbor is giving away its abundance.  Kimmerer writes “Gratitude and reciprocity are the currency of a gift economy, and they have the remarkable property of multiplying with every exchange, their energy concentrating as they pass from hand to hand, a truly renewable resource. I accept the gift from the bush and then spread that gift with a dish of berries to my neighbor, who makes a pie to share with his friend, who feels so wealthy in food and friendship that he volunteers at the food pantry. You know how it goes. . . . .In a gift economy, wealth is understood as having enough to share, and the practice for dealing with abundance is to give it away.” [1]

First century Palestine did not have a gift economy. They had an extractive economy. The capital city, Jerusalem, was organized and ordered by the urban elites who were wealthy.  Their lifestyle depended on the labor of the lower classes in Jerusalem and on the peasant farmers in Galilee. [2]

Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem for the last time.  Many people are following him, asking questions, seeking healing for themselves or others.  And this one man comes with a religious question.  This story is familiar to most of us. We don’t know the man’s name, so we often call him the rich young ruler.  Mark doesn’t describe him as a ruler or as young and we only find out he is rich at the end.  I think maybe we identify him that way to distance ourselves from him.  We want to think that we are faithful, which we believe he is not, and we want to think that we are not rich.

Rich and poor are relative terms. To put them into some perspective, some economists suggest that an American household of two adults with an annual after-tax income of $40,000, is in the top 7% of wealth in the world.[3] That is hard to believe, I know, and this data is from a couple of years ago, so there’s a little wiggle room. But the point is that all of us here, even though we have a variety of incomes, we are among the most well-off people in the world. If we can’t consider the possibility that we are much like the man in this story, then we should probably ask why.

Barbara Brown Taylor says that Christians mangle this story in at least two ways. “First, by acting as if it were not about money, and second, by acting as if it were only about money.” [4]

It is definitely about money.  When the man leaves Jesus, the open question is what he will do with his wealth – whether he will keep it or share it. It is not only about money, because to give away money will be to give away some of himself.   We get money by investing ourselves in some mental or physical activity.  When we look at our bank accounts or the pieces of paper in our wallets, we are looking at our invested energy made tangible.  Our money represents our stored time and talent and that of our ancestors.  Money gets tied up with our own sense of worth and how we are valued by others and not because of the stacks of bills or numbers on a page.

When this man comes to Jesus to ask about eternal life, he comes as someone with a lot of wealth.  But that is not all he is.  He comes as a religious seeker, someone who wants to live the best life he can.  He comes as someone who has been morally upright.  He’s a good citizen, a faithful person. He is such a rule-keeper that he has undoubtedly given all the tithes that were required of him. The Temple probably had no complaints about him. He might have been one of their top donors. 

Jesus looks at him and loves him.  The gospels only describe Jesus loving two particular people.  One is the unnamed Beloved Disciple in John’s gospel. The other one is this man. Jesus looks at him and sees him, still looking for something he hasn’t quite found, still insecure in spite of his wealth, and Jesus loves him. 

Jesus reminds him of the short list of commandments, the ones that have to do with how people relate to their neighbors.  Jesus says, “You know the commandments, do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not bear false witness.” 

“Check, check, check” – the man is ticking them off. 

And then Jesus changes one of them. Next in the list should be “do not covet.”  “Do not covet” means “don’t be obsessed with  what other people have.  Don’t be jealous of it. Don’t make it your goal to get it.”  But Jesus doesn’t say that. Jesus says “Do not defraud.” Or in the translation that Pat read, it says “Do not cheat”

Why would Jesus do that?  Why would he replace “do not covet” with “do not defraud”

Remember the man's question - "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" This man had no doubt inherited most of what he owned; and, since that made most people rich in those days was owning property, we can assume that when Mark says "he had many possessions" he meant that he had "many properties". This was an extractive economy where landowners became wealthy by acquiring the land of their neighbors who went into debt and either sold their land to pay the debts or had the land taken from them.  It is reasonable to assume that anyone who had many properties was wealthy at the expense of others. [5]

It was perfectly legal and not considered cheating or fraudulent, especially not by the religiously and politically powerful people who designed the system.

But I have to wonder if Jesus is inviting the man to step out of the system that made him rich at the expense of others.  The man can not single-handedly dismantle the economic system of Rome and Jerusalem, but he can choose to invest in Jesus’ alternative gift economy.

Jesus tells him to go, sell what he has, and give the proceeds away and then come back to follow Jesus.  I have always been led to believe that the man doesn’t do it, that his wealth has too big a hold on his life.  But here’s the thing, we don’t know what he does.  He goes away grieving. Maybe he is grieving because it will be hard to give up the surround-sound TV that his friends enjoy or the vacation home where his family made great memories.  Maybe it is difficult at this stage of his life  to re-evaluate his investment of time and talent.  He followed the rules. He provided for his family.  Maybe he grieves because he realizes that he has been clueless about his exploitation of others. 

In our anti-racism conversations, we have talked about how wealth and privilege often insulates white people from knowing how our actions affect others, and when we do come to realize it, some of us grieve.  Not to put too fine a point on it, but if we aren’t willing to consider the similarities between this man and ourselves, we might want to ask why not. 

He goes away grieving, but whether he does what Jesus suggests or not, we just don’t know. It remains an open question for him and for us.

In that essay about the serviceberry, Kimmerer writes “In a gift economy, wealth is understood as having enough to share, and the practice for dealing with abundance is to give it away. In fact, status is determined not by how much one accumulates, but by how much one gives away.”

The cycle of blessings which we are exploring this month seems much like the gift economy that Robin Kimmerer describes.  Here truth and wellness and relationship flow along with money to enhance the well-being of the whole community.

A quick story -- many years ago, Joan Chittister attended an international conference in Asia on the status of women.  Most of the participants were women she describes as “well-funded activist types.” They were all there to professionally analyze various women’s issues around the world, especially of the needs of women in developing countries.  At the gathering, these professional women called for more education for girls, more birth control training, better health-care programs, and most importantly more participation of women at all levels of the political process.

As the conference was drawing to a close, a leader of one of the small group workshops, passed a piece of paper around and asked everyone to share her e-mail address so that they could all stay in contact and support one another in their work. One of the participants; a woman named Rose, was a Kenyan pastor of a Presbyterian church in Africa. When the sheet of paper came to her, she simply filled in her name and passed it on. The woman next to Rose passed the paper back to her and pointed out that she had neglected to put her email address on the form. Rose answered quietly:  “I don’t have email where I am.  It is too expensive for us.”

When Sister Joan and her colleague were getting into a cab to leave, her colleague said that she couldn’t leave without first seeing Rose. She asked Sister Joan to wait and rushed back into the hotel saying that she had promised to give something to Rose.  Later as they were waiting to check in for their flight, Sister Joan asked her colleague, what she had given to Rose. Her friend answered that she had given Rose her credit card.

“Your credit card? Why in heaven’s name would you give Rose your credit card?”

Her friend answered quietly, “So she can pay for her email every month.” [6]

The story is about money, but it is not only about money.  Next Sunday, we have two important opportunities. Within worship we will make financial pledges to this congregation.  You will receive a letter this week with a pledge card and instructions for how to pledge on-line. Either way is good. Next Sunday we will also be hosting conversations with our consultant. The conversations are framed as being about our future together, the future that God is calling us to, but it would also be accurate to say that they are about the cycle of blessings and how we circulate the holy currencies. 

We invest our money, our relationships, our gratitude, in Jesus’ alternate economy which we try to imitate within this congregation.  We do so in the hopes of embodying the reign of God among us, not perfectly, not all at once, but like a seed growing in a field or yeast hidden in a lump of bread dough. Because with God, all things are possible. Amen.

[1] Robin Wall Kimmerer, The Serviceberry: An Economy of Abundance, https://www.globalonenessproject.org/library/essays/serviceberry-economy-abundance

[2] Walter Brueggemann, Money and Possessions, (Louisville:  Westminster/John Knox Press, 2016)  p 187.

[3] https://howrichami.givingwhatwecan.org/how-rich-am-i

[4] Barbara Brown Taylor, “The Opposite of Rich”  in The Preaching Life, (Cambridge, MA:  Cowley Publications, 1993) p.124.

[5] Barry Robinson, “The Only Way In”  http://spirit-net.ca/sermons/b-or28-keeping.php

[6] Rowan Williams and Joan Chittister, For All That Has Been, Thanks (Norwich, UK:  Canterbury Press, 2010) pp. 20-22

10/16/22 - Holy Currencies: Wellness - Deuteronomy 5:12-15, 15:1-2; Exodus 23:10-12

Holy Currencies: Wellness

Deuteronomy 5:12-15, 15:1-2

Exodus 23:10-12

October 16, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://youtu.be/i_BfsPaiJDE

October is almost the busiest month of the year for me.  It feels busier than December, busier than the March or April with Holy Week and Easter.  I noticed this a long time ago.  It took a break during the pandemic, but this year October has been as busy as ever. I hope that’s a sign that covid is in retreat. One day a couple of weeks ago, I got up from my computer and discovered that standing upright was not easy.  I had been sitting at my desk, reading stuff on my computer, answering emails, making phone calls and when I finally stood up, I realized I had been in one position too long. I had been productive. I had checked off a lot of things on my list, but my body was not happy.  My back was stiff and sending out a lot of pain messages. It was not well, and it wanted me to know.

Wellness has been hard to come by in recent years.  Even if we personally managed to avoid getting covid, it did not feel well with our souls.   Even if we stayed physically healthy, and many of us did not, things were out of balance all across the world.   It turns out that balance, a regular rhythm of work and play and rest is a key to wellness.  When that rhythm is disrupted, we become unwell. 

The Bible offers great wisdom about sustaining a rhythm of wellness. It is the rhythm of the Sabbath.  Sabbath-keeping is the weekly practice of rest.  Working six days but stopping work in order to rest and play on the seventh day.

The Sabbath was a marvelous gift for the formerly enslaved Hebrew people.  Enslaved persons are never allowed to choose rest.

In ancient Israel, this day of rest included women as well as men.  It included people of all social statuses, even the immigrants and foreigners.  Men were not allowed to have Sabbath rest at the expense of women; citizens not allowed to enjoy it at the expense of immigrants.  And it included the animals and the land, at least for a day, the fields were not to be worked or weeded or harvested.  There was rest for all of creation.

That was the seven-day cycle. There was also a 7-year cycle in which debts were forgiven and the land was allowed to rest from production. And there was a 50-year cycle called the Jubilee when the earth rested, and debts were forgiven and also families returned to land and homes they had lost.  The Sabbath cycles are all about maintaining balance for individuals and communities and the creation itself. 

Walter Brueggemann says that “sabbath concerns the periodic, disciplined, regular disengagement from the systems of productivity whereby the world uses people up to exhaustion.”[1]

Periodic, disciplined, regular – Sabbath doesn’t automatically happen; it is practiced with intention.

Disengagement – it is counter-cultural. Our culture encourages frenetic work, frenetic exercise, frenetic recreation all aimed at producing profit or better bodies or winning teams.  To disengage from those systems requires deliberate effort.  Not to do so may leave us used up and exhausted.

Many of you know this.  You don’t just know it in theory.  You put it into practice.  You step away from your computers regularly.  You don’t respond to emails 24/7.  You spend your day off work in the woods or in your gardens.  You engage in a weekly Sabbath.  Some of you extend the principle beyond that.   Some versions of the American dream would say that you work hard for decades, earning the right to rest and play in retirement.  But many of you have rejected that.  You plan and take vacations across the year.  You enjoy the life that is yours to live, balancing rest and play and work right now. Your Sabbath commitment has been instructive to me. 

This week I remembered someone for whom keeping Sabbath had been transformational. I asked Liselle if she would share about that.  This is what she said, “When I found my way to Emmanuel Baptist Church a few years ago, it was a very stressful period in my life, due to a fiscal crisis at Historic Cherry Hill, where I was Director, as well as a scary medical diagnosis of a progressive lung condition. Pastor Kathy’s sermons, benedictions and the supportive EBC community all gave me spiritual comfort.

I don’t quite remember when the topic of the Sabbath was explored during an Adult Faith Formation class, but that too offered me spiritual nourishment. It was then that I made a personal commitment to “keeping the Sabbath holy”, by not allowing myself to work on Sundays. Instead, I would focus on quality time with my partner Sheila, and our dogs Barney and Hermione, getting outdoors and enjoying the wonders of nature. There’s no better remedy for stress than experiencing the sheer joy of a dog romping through the woods and creek.

When Kathy emailed me earlier this week about sharing my perspective on the Sabbath and its role in maintaining a healthy work/rest balance, I realized I had lost my intentionality in keeping it holy, thereby losing its power of keeping me grounded and healthy despite new stresses of a now different professional position. When I do so, it puts everything in perspective, reminds me of what matters, and makes me grateful for every day.

Now, it’s just Hermione showing pure joy chasing after gigantic sticks in the creek—sometimes on a Sunday, sometimes on a weekday afternoon—but remarkably, despite the lungs, I’m able to keep up with her over hill and dale and experience joy right along with her.”

Sabbath has short-term and long-term implications.  The weekly Sabbath, the sabbatical year and the Jubilee year weave together to sustain healthy individuals and communities.  It is one of the most powerful ways for human communities to move towards physical, social, economic and ecological wellness.  That might be why Jesus chose to proclaim Jubilee in his inaugural sermon in Nazareth.

There is evidence of wellness here at Emmanuel. We practice Sabbath by showing up for worship every week.  There is a generosity of spirit as we share the concerns of our daily lives with each other.  Sabbath is for everyone, so we seek to make that experience available to everyone. We have invested in the technology for Zoom and for the hearing loop.   There are concerns for long-term wellness, so we work to maintain a building, a shelter for this community in the future.   And we give priority to teaching children, passing on our faith to the next generation. 

But feeling really and truly well has been elusive for us.  Many of us are tired. Some of us have been asking how long we can go on as we are since well before the pandemic.  On the other hand, some of us are feeling new energy and creativity.  One thing about Sabbath is that it is best practiced in community.  We grant to each other freedom to rest, encouragement to play, that we might not grant to ourselves.

I wonder how we might more intentionally engage Sabbath here at to balance our work and rest and play, to sustain a sense of well-being into the future.  I want to tell you how one congregation did it.  Please hear me carefully.  I am not suggesting that we need to do what they did, but I am inspired by how they applied Sabbath principles.

In 2008, the Rev. Kara Root was called as pastor of Lake Nokomis Presbyterian Church in Minneapolis. The church was not well, by their own definition.  Nobody had joined the Minneapolis church in seven years. It had no children's program, because it had no children. All the kids had aged out. On a good Sunday, maybe 30 people attended services in a sanctuary that once routinely held 300 worshippers. And the church's once-comfortable endowment had just enough funds to last two more years -- if they really pinched pennies.

The church believed that it was dying, and perhaps from that belief came a willingness to risk.  So, when Rev. Root made a radical proposal, they agreed to change their pattern and make Sabbath keeping the heart of their life.  This is their new pattern:  On the first and third Sundays of the month, they hold regular morning worship.  On the second and fourth Saturday nights, they gather for contemplative services which draw upon the same Scripture and sermon as the previous Sunday’s worship.  And on the second and fourth Sundays they practice Sabbath by taking a rest from work, from obligations and even from formal worship.  In months that have five Sundays, the congregation spends the extra Sunday participating in a community outreach event with a local nonprofit that offers mental health and educational services to children with emotional and behavioral issues.

It took a while for people to be OK with this pattern.  Some felt that they were shirking their church duty.  But within six years, the congregation had gained 18 new members and another dozen adherents.  Sunday morning attendance rose to 70 with as many as 25 in the Saturday evening services.  Their finances stabilized and they started donating 10% of their annual budget to neighborhood projects.   What was proposed as a 1-year experiment totally caught on. Fourteen years later, the church is alive and seems well, with the same pastor and a congregation of all ages that enjoys its own Sabbath worship and rest rhythm.[2]

That is how one church applied Sabbath principles.  I wonder what imaginative possibilities this opens up and how we might learn from them for our own well-being.

An archaeologist once hired some indigenous people to lead him to an archaeological site deep in the mountains. After they had been moving for some time, the guides stopped and insisted they would go no further. The archaeologist grew impatient and then angry. But no matter how much he pleaded and cajoled, they would not go any further. Then all of a sudden, they picked up the gear and set off once more. When the bewildered archaeologist asked why they had stopped and refused to move for so long, the guides answered, "We had been moving too fast and had to wait for our souls to catch up."

Friends, many of us have traveled too fast for too long. We are not well, and we need the deep rest and restoration of Sabbath.  May we find it together.  Amen.

[1] Walter Brueggemann, New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume 1, (Nashville:  Abingdon Press, 1994), p. 846.

[2] https://faithandleadership.com/minneapolis-congregation-finds-new-life-through-the-ancient-practice-keeping-sabbath?utm_source=newsletter&utm_medium=email&utm_content=A%20Minneapolis%20congregation%20finds%20new%20life%20through%20the%20ancient%20practice%20of%20keeping%20Sabbath&utm_campaign=faithleadership

10/9/22 - Holy Currencies: Truth - Luke 17:11-17; Ephesians 4:14-16

Holy Currencies: Truth

Luke 17:11-17; Ephesians 4:14-16

October 9, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church: Rev. Kathy Donley

Image:  The Healing of the Ten Lepers, James Tissot

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here:  https://youtu.be/HfHmy5Y20U4

There’s a conversation that has been cycling through this congregation for the last few years. Even before the pandemic, we were seeking to discern God’s call on us, God’s mission for us in this time. And now we do so with a new sense of urgency.  This month, I am using the concepts from Eric Law’s book Holy Currencies as a tool to help that conversation. 

I appreciate Law’s definition of missional.  He says that a missional church is a community of people who look outward and are able to connect with other people who are not already members of another church.[1]  A missional church is a community – which implies that there is a group which has formed, a group with its own internal life.  But, he says, that it’s focus is more outward than inward.  A missional church does not exist for self-preservation, but it is always seeking deeper connections with those beyond, those who may not yet have a community in which to share the good news of Jesus.

Law describes 6 currencies, six things which sustain the life of healthy missional churches.  We are attending to these currencies this month for two reasons.  The first reason is that October is usually the month when we lift up stewardship. Stewardship is that churchy word which means the ways that we share and manage our time, energy and resources.  The second reason is that all of these currencies become part of the conversation about how to understand and join God’s mission for us. 

Last Sunday, we focused on the currency of relationship.  Law defines that as the mutually respectful connections that church members and leaders have inside and outside the church. 

Today we explore the currency of truth.  The currency of truth is the ability to articulate wholistic truth internally and externally.  Internally, this currency recognizes that different individuals and groups within the church may have different experiences and understandings of what life and what matters. Externally, this currency values the knowledge and experiences of different individuals or groups in the neighborhood or the city in the nation or across the world.

One more point about this model.  Law describes a cycle of blessings in which the currencies flow and circulate in ways that support and enhance each other.  For example, healthy relationships often support truth telling because the persons within that relationship have enough trust to share experiences that are differ from the dominant narrative. And, in reverse, that truthful sharing may deepen the existing relationship.

Luke chapter 17 contains a story that is familiar to many of us.  This text is a reading on Thanksgiving.  It is usually lifted up as a story about gratitude or ingratitude.  It is often read as if those are the only two possible experiences of the people within the story.  Today, we have with us 10 people who suffered from leprosy until they encountered Jesus that day.  They each have their own story to tell. I invite you to listen for the truth that each of them shares.

Note:  At this point, ten readers from the congregation stepped forward and read through Maren Tirabassi’s script “Reader’s Theatre for the Ten People Healed of Leprosy” which may be found here https://giftsinopenhands.wordpress.com/2019/10/07/readers-theatre-for-the-story-of-the-ten-people-healed-from-leprosy-luke-17-11-19/

Many of us learned this as a story about the nine and the one.  Many of us were taught the story in such a way that it seemed like 9 people had the same experience and 1 person had a different experience.  Our friends have reminded us that it probably was more complicated than that.

None of us has complete knowledge or the whole unvarnished truth.  We all see through the lens of our experiences or within the narrative we have been taught. But when the currency of truth is circulating well, we recognize that a complex truth emergences as we seek to understand many different points of view.

I notice that there are not just two stories here.  Not just the story of one thankful outsider and nine unthankful insiders. It is more nuanced than that even though the narrator doesn’t relay those details. But I also notice that Jesus elevates the voice and experience of the outsider.

Jesus encountered ten people with leprosy and sent them to the priest.  Jesus was healing them, but the priest was the one with the authority to pronounce them contagion-free. It didn’t count until they got the clean bill of health from that authority.   They all had leprosy, but the Samaritan was in a category by himself. He couldn’t present himself to a Jewish priest.  He would have to go to Samaria and find a Samaritan priest.   We might think of him as a Protestant seeking absolution from a Catholic priest.  It doesn’t work like that.  Or to move to a health care metaphor, he might be someone who is not insured or whose insurance is not accepted outside of network. He is outside the dominant system. Part of his truth is that the system that works for the other nine doesn’t work for him.  Perhaps it is because of that, perhaps it is something else, that puts him in a different place from the others and enables him to come back to Jesus. It is his voice, his truth, that Jesus amplifies.

We do not have the whole truth unless we also listen to and seek to understand the experiences of those whose experience is different from ours, especially we need to hear the truth that comes from beyond the dominant view. 

The way we share and receive truth is significant to our life and identity as individuals and as a congregation. The author of Ephesians writes of telling the truth in love as a mark of mature faith.

Knox Presbyterian Church in Cincinnati discovered an unwelcome truth about itself.[2] The pastor heard rumors that a major gift given to the church 100 years earlier had some nefarious strings attached, so he and the church leadership went into their archives to find the truth. 

They were dismayed to discover that a church member had left a major gift in her will on the condition that it would be used “for the white race only, to build a church for the white race only.”  It was a gift of $22,000 which would be about $250,000 in today’s dollars.   Not only did the church accept the money at that time with those restrictions explicitly stated, they used it to help them build the building in which that congregation continues to worship. When the church understood the truth of this history, they also realized that the present-day congregation continues to benefit from the wealth that they were given in this gift.  They named it as structural racism which they stopped to confess and lament.

And then the leadership committed the church to a new racial justice ministry that has three components – listening, learning and action. They added $50,000 to the church’s annual operating budget to support the work of racial justice, which they are just beginning. The pastor said “It was our feeling if we tried to make this payment a one-time commitment, we might fall into the trap of saying, ‘OK, we did this, so we’re not racist anymore,’

They chose to make an annual budgetary commitment as a way of continuing to deal with the truth of their own complicity and their active engagement to dismantle it.

I’ve been told about a significant truth-telling that happened a few decades back in this church.  As I understand it, it was a valued member of the choir who spoke his truth. He shared that the church at large and this church in particular was not advocating for the full inclusion of GLBTQ persons.  He spoke from his own experience and he spoke from within a context of relationships. The currency of truth and the currency of relationships flowed together and from exchange came a new justice concern in this congregation.  His speaking of truth ultimately led Emmanuel to take a public stand articulating our convictions that all persons of all gender identities and sexual orientations are made in God’s image and loved by God and therefore welcome and loved in this place.

Friends, the currency of truth is strong here. One important opportunity to lean into that strength will happen in our work with Joy Skjegstad, the consultant who is meeting with us at the end of this month.  Please sign up for one of those slots. Come to speak your own truth and to listen to the experiences of others.  Let us continue to speak the truth in love as we carry out the mission of God in this place. Amen.

 
[1] Eric H.F. Law, Holy Currencies: Six Blessings for Sustainable Missional Ministries (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2013), p.1

[2] https://www.presbyterianmission.org/story/buried-in-the-church-columbarium/

10/2/22 - Holy Currencies: Relationship - John 15:9-17

Holy Currencies: Relationship

John 15:9-17

October 2, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://youtu.be/l4oy7Kv18oA

I met a remarkable woman this summer.  It was when I was at that training in Kansas City.  Elizabeth is a Disciples of Christ pastor and a graduate of Central Seminary where we were meeting.  She was also the person who coordinated a whole lot of logistics for the training. She organized rides to and from the airport for everyone who flew to Kansas City. She provided welcome packets that had essential snacks as well as detergent pods so we could do laundry. She set up daily transportation between the hotel where we stayed and the seminary where we met.  She personally prepared every lunch and dinner for all twenty of us and kept the snack table full of choices.  She had a treasure chest with special rewards just for the people who helped with set-up and clean-up each meal.  If it sounds like she was crucial to the success of the week, she was.

One of Elizabeth’s many gifts is hospitality.  In addition to anticipating our needs, she provided some fun that I didn’t even know I needed. Every day, she brought a dessert that was based on the national food day calendar.  So we had ice cream sandwiches on National Ice Cream Sandwich Day and root beer floats on National Root Beer Float Day and watermelon and chocolate chip cookies on their assigned days.  National Rice Pudding Day occurred during our time, but Elizabeth is apparently strongly opposed to rice pudding, so she informed us that we were disregarding that one. 

A different volunteer led our morning devotional every day.  On one of our last days, none of the participants had signed up, so Elizabeth stepped in.  I have her permission to share the story that she told. 

Elizabeth has a name for the years 2011-2017.  She calls them her Six Year Season of Suck.  Many, many bad events combined to give that season its name.  Elizabeth spared us the full list.  Here’s just the top five:

1.    Her husband left her, making her a single mom to a son and a daughter.

2.    The bank foreclosed on her house.

3.    Her mother died.

4.    She lost her job as a church secretary.  The church leadership told her “We’re cutting your job because we want to pay the men more.  They have families to support.”

5.    Her father died.

Elizabeth was about in the middle of that Six-year Season of Suck when something happened that she later saw as the beginning of the upswing, the beginning of the climb out of despair.  Her kids were with their father for several weeks at the beginning of the summer, leaving her more alone even than usual. At breakfast one day, she found herself reading an article that captured her imagination.  The article was about rats. 

You may have heard of these experiments.  The rats were put in two different environments.  In one environment, they were alone, separated from other rats.  In the other environment, they could go out and interact with others. In both environments, there were two water bottles.  One held plain water. The other had water to which heroin had been added.  The finding was that the rats who could go out and socialize with other rats chose the plain water almost all the time.  The rats which were isolated chose the drugged water almost all the time.  And a large number of those rats just kept choosing the drugged water until they overdosed and died.  That article moved Elizabeth to action.

She looked at her resources.  After all her bills were paid and all her groceries purchased, she realized that she had a whopping $11 left for the month.  $11 was enough.    She started calling everyone she could think of.  She invited her friends them to meet her in her driveway in a few hours.  She went to the store and made her purchases. 

That evening, she set up a lawn chair in her driveway and waited.  Nearby she had set up her grocery store purchases – marshmallows, chocolate, graham crackers and firewood. 

She waited . . . and one friend showed up.  That one friend who you can always count on.  So, they each had a s’more and enjoyed each other’s company.

The next night, that friend came back and one more person came. So, two of them hung out.  And the next night, the friend rounded up more friends who came to hang out and make s’mores and enjoy the evening.  Pretty soon, the S’more Club was born.  They started making gourmet S’mores on Tuesdays and added a potluck on Saturday nights.   It rained one night and the three folks who came moved indoors and had ice cream instead.

Her daughter’s friend lived across the street.  I’ll call her Kelly.  Kelly was allowed to go exactly two places on her own.  One was school.  The other was Elizabeth’s house.  Kelly’s parents are immigrants.  They don’t speak much English.  They didn’t come to S’more club, but Kelly did.  Then one day, Kelly’s Dad met Elizabeth on the sidewalk. He was carrying a bundle of firewood that he had obviously put together and tied up with his own scrap of fabric.  He handed it to Elizabeth and said just three words “For you.  Appreciate”.  Elizabeth said she wasn’t sure if he meant he appreciated that his daughter got to go to S’more Club or if he thought Elizabeth would appreciate the firewood, but it didn’t really matter. 

Elizabeth hosted S’more club for 71 nights in a row that year.  As many as 53 people showed up in her driveway and spilled into her yard.  People she knew and people she didn’t. Nearby neighbors and people from all over her metro area.  Friends of friends and family members of those friends. Adults talking. Children running around.  Sparklers on the 4th of July.  Other outdoor games at other times. There was no sermon, no hymn singing, no set liturgy of any kind, but one night, one of the adults sitting near Elizabeth, paused, looked around and said, “This feels like church.” 

It was not the end of Elizabeth’s 6 years of dealing with hard stuff.  But then the S’more Club friends were there to offer support when her father died.  And she was there as a listening ear for someone else going through a divorce.  And everyone celebrated when people enjoyed their first-ever s’more or you know, some other equally important life event.  She called together a community because she realized its power for healing, for herself and others. 

Elizabeth shared this story in the morning devotional time that day in Kansas City and then she announced that that very day was National S’more’s Day.  So, of course, our afternoon snack was s’mores.

This month we are exploring what the Episcopal priest Eric Law calls Holy Currencies. The word currency comes from a Latin word related to current, like the movement within a river.  It means to run or to flow.   Currency in our time most often refers to money, but Law uses it to identify other things which circulate with power. 

We begin with the currency of relationship.  In this community, our first relationship is with Jesus.  Jesus who re-named his followers, his students, as friends and commanded us, above all else, to love.  Individuals come together in this community because we have a relationship with Jesus or because we are seeking one.  Jesus is the vine, we are the branches. The relationships that we develop with others are all embedded in that primary relationship with Jesus who taught us to live, to dwell deeply within his love, so much so that it flows out and around us, even in the way we relate to our enemies. 

Law refers to the theory of three degrees of influence which holds that how we act, and what we say ripples through our network.[1]  It has an impact on our friends (that’s one degree) and on our friends’ friends (that’s two degrees) and even on our friends’ friends’ friends. (three degrees)

“We shape our network.  But our network also shapes us as actions, words and attitudes flow back over us.  Our friends affect us.  Our friends’ friends’ friends affect us, and we them.  The network has a life of its own. A network is formed and shaped in relationships.  It matters who we choose to affiliate with.  It matters how we reach out.   It matters where we invest ourselves, our time, our money.  It matters what kind of energy we bring.  It matters where we focus.  It matters who crosses our path and invites us into conversation or deeper relationship.”[2]

I’m wearing this beautiful and unusual jacket today in celebration of World Communion Sunday.  It first belonged to a woman I’ve never met. It was given to me by her daughter.  The original owner was married to a pastor.  She purchased this jacket on a trip across the world.  The trip was a gift from a church where her husband served as pastor.

The woman was Lois Klingbeil.  Her daughter is of course Barb Lahut.  I never got to know Lois, but many of you did. And the mention of her name has reminded you of her personality, her gifts, her influence on your life – the relationship that you shared.  Some of you, like me, didn’t know Lois, but you know Barb.  You know her personality, her gifts, her influence on your life and you know that some of who Barb is was undoubtedly shaped by her mother.  Some of you are new here.  You don’t know Barb yet, but you will if you stick around long enough.

Human beings are created for relationship, with God and with each other. We are called, even commanded, to be a network of love. We are called, even commanded, to follow Jesus on the path of vulnerability, to generous and joyful hospitality that notices and welcomes, that listens deeply, and shares boldly.  Relationships are a currency which has power to sustain, to heal, to transform lives. And not just our own, but the lives of people in this neighborhood and the neighborhoods in which we live and in fact, people we haven’t met yet or may never meet.  For our healing and for theirs.  That our joy may be full.  Amen.

[1] Eric H.F. Law, Holy Currencies: Six Blessings for Sustainable Missional Ministries (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2013) p.18.

[2] I am indebted to the Rev. Lynn Carman Bodden, who introduced me to the holy currencies concept.  The language of this paragraph came from her sermon “Oikonomia” delivered at First Reformed Church in Schenectady on July 17 2022.

9/25/22 - The Choice of a Lifetime - Matthew 16:13-25

The Choice of a Lifetime

Matthew 16:13-25

September 25, 2022

 Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://youtu.be/1c2zWMxyquo

About ten years ago, on September 4, 2012, a baby boy was born. When he was three months old, on a Sunday morning in December, his Moms stood in this sanctuary with many of us and together we said that we would do our best to nurture him in faith.  Of course, that baby boy was Judah.  And so across the last decade, Judah has developed relationships with a lot of the people at Emmanuel and he has explored most of the nooks and crannies of this building. He has been to Sunday School and worship and campfires and Easter Egg hunts and summer picnics and church retreats at Pathfinder.  Today, he stands as one of us, professing Jesus as his Lord. 

As we did ten years ago, we come together with a mood that is both joyful and serious. We hear Judah’s profession of faith, we witness his baptism, and we celebrate.  Any one who knows Judah knows that he is curious and compassionate. We know that he is “all in” on what he gives his heart to and so we are not especially surprised that he has chosen to follow Jesus in baptism.  We rejoice in that decision. But our celebration is also solemn, because in choosing this path, Judah has taken on something serious, something important, something that might come with a cost.   

Judah and I met together several times last spring.  We talked about a whole lot of stuff.  Some of it you might call religious.  Some of it you probably wouldn’t. But it was the stuff of our lives at the time which means it was holy.  We talked about different stories in the Bible and this passage from Matthew became very important in our conversation.

“Who do you say that I am?”  That was the question Jesus asked of his disciples.  It is a question about identity and relationship and loyalty. 

Matthew has been laying out the story of Jesus’ identity.  We might remember that Matthew’s gospel begins with a complex genealogy which includes Abraham and David, with exile and deliverance, with flawed kings and extraordinarily faithful women. We might remember that at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, he went out to be baptized by John the Baptist and the voice from heaven identified him as the Beloved One with whom God was well pleased.  “For Matthew, identity is not just about who you are, but who is around you, who is accompanying you, who has come before you.”[1]

Judah has chosen to identify himself with Jesus, to be baptized into a death and resurrection like Jesus.  Judah’s identity is also shaped by who is around him and who has come before.  He is baptized into a community of those who keep company with Jesus.  Judah’s baptism happened today, in part, because of the baptisms he witnessed in recent years, including his cousin’s and the baptism of Bill Mordhorst in this sanctuary just last year.  We promised ten years ago to nurture Judah’s faith and today, we are reminded of that promise. 

As we bear witness to Judah’s confession of faith, we may remember our own baptisms.  We may recall our own early desire that the way of Jesus would always take first place in our lives. It may be that some of that earnest zeal has dimmed with time or circumstances.  Just as our faith shaped Judah’s, so his can shape ours, calling us back to the path.

It's the choice of a lifetime, but it’s one we keep making over and over again in different ways, under different circumstances. It’s the decision that the young adult Peter made one day when he dropped his fishing nets and followed Jesus.  He was living into that decision when he made this bold proclamation and also that time when he tried to walk on the water, but had to be rescued by Jesus.  He was living it out when he followed Jesus from a distance after his arrest and also when he got scared in the courtyard and pretended not to know him after all.   Being baptized is not going to make you perfect, Judah. Or me.  It doesn’t work that way for anyone.  But what we see over and over again, is that God blesses and keeps us even when we mess up or doubt or get scared, and we learn to keep trusting and keep following for our whole lives. 

“Who do you say that I am?”  It is a serious question of allegiance for Jesus’ disciples and for us.

Matthew tells us that this conversation happens in Caesarea Phillipi. The location matters.  Caesarea Phillipi was named for two people – Tiberius Caesar who was the Emperor of Rome in Jesus’ time and Philip who was the son of Herod the Great.  So the place names means something like the City of Caesar and his loyal servant Phillip.  It is the seat of power, combining the political might of Rome and the city of the local ruler who reports to Rome.  It carries the significance of a place like Washington DC now. 

This is the place were Jesus asks “who do you say that I am?”

This is the place where Peter responds “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.”

Against this backdrop of earthly power and status, Jesus asks “who am I to you?”  He’s asking his disciples why they are following him.  He’s asking what kind of power they think he has. 

Peter says that he has the power of God, which is greater than any earthly power, and Jesus says that he is right. But before anyone can start feeling smug or triumphant,  Jesus says “if you want to follow me, you have to carry a cross.”

At that time, there was absolutely nothing religious about a cross.  It had no connection with God.  In Jesus’ day, the cross was an instrument of torture and pain and death.  It was Rome’s version of the electric chair of the strap-covered gurney sitting by the lethal injection machine.  It was a means of execution and a device intended to bring fear and intimidation.

That is certainly not what we want to talk about today. Not on this day of celebration.  Not in front of a 10-year-old boy and other young people whom we have promised to nurture and protect. It wasn’t what Peter and the other grown-ups around Jesus wanted to talk about either.  “God forbid,” Peter said.  “That should never happen to you.”

But Jesus sternly told Peter to be quiet.  He said that to follow him was to “believe more deeply in the life-giving power of God than in the death-dealing power of fear.”[2]   To carry the cross is to follow a way which stands against the power of empire, against all the isms.  It is to challenge the ways that society structures power. It means washing feet, giving your stuff away, praying for your enemies, being the first to say I’m sorry.  It often means stepping out of safety in the shadows to stand in a long line of God’s faithful servants who were willing to stake their lives for the sake of God’s mission in the world.

I was nine years old when I first said I wanted to follow Jesus.  I didn’t know what bearing my cross meant then, and I still really don’t, because I have been spared much.  But I heard God’s call on my life and I understood enough to take that first step.  Just as many of you have done.  Just as Judah has done. 

I keep remembering the conversation that Judah and I had about this passage.  It was back in March.  We talked about John the Baptist who was executed by Herod Antipas. Side note – Herod Antipas is the half-brother of Philip for whom Caesarea Phillipi is named.  So the power of death and fear raises its head again.

Anyway, it was when Judah and I were talking about the death of John the Baptist that Judah said, “how come when you follow Jesus, it leads you to the path of execution?” 

Good question.  Young people understand so much more than we give them credit for.

And then I asked Judah one.  I asked “If Jesus were standing right in front of you and he said ‘Judah, who do you say that I am?’ What would your answer be?’

Judah said, “You are the Holy One, the Human One, the Living God, the True One.”

That’s a strong answer, but Judah wasn’t done.  He went on “You’re the one we know we’re safe with, the one we trust.”

Most sophisticated theologians can’t be that succinct.  If you follow Jesus, it can lead you to the path of execution, but somehow, at the exact same time,  Jesus is also the one we know we’re safe with, the one we trust.

Jesus said if you want to live a life that means something, let me show you the way.  Take up something great.  Yes, it might be heavy, but with my strength you can carry it.  Follow me, and I will lead you into something real and rich and demanding and beautiful.  It’s the choice of a lifetime. 

Thanks be to God.

[1] Eric Barreto, https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-21/commentary-on-matthew-1613-20-5

[2] Rev. Shannon Kershner, The Cross and the Way https://www.fourthchurch.org/sermons/2018/091618.html

9/18/22 - The Lost and Found Department - Luke 15:1-10

The Lost and Found Department

Luke 15:1-10

September 18, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://youtu.be/XwZxJoi50s4

Jean and I spent time this week with some good folks at a Presbyterian seminary near Atlanta.  We were with representatives of the other nine churches that received ReKindle grants.  Our first two hours together were spent simply sharing why we applied for a grant and what we hope to do with it. We heard a lot of common themes, about fewer members attending worship these days and congregations that didn’t represent the neighborhood around the church building, about churches that are smaller than they used to be but still trying to do all the good ministry they used to, about leaky roofs and organs in need of repair, about feelings of burn-out and inadequacy and fears that the church might not recover from the pandemic. 

We heard about a church in New Jersey, a congregation of 160 people where 28 people died between March 2020 and April 2021.  Twenty-eight individuals gone from one church. What a loss.  We heard about the Synod of the Northeast.  That’s a region of Presbyterian churches in New England and New York which includes the Albany Presbytery.   In the last year, 72 ministers in the Synod of the Northeast renounced their ordinations.   For a variety of reasons, in the space of twelve months, 72 Presbyterian ministers in this area permanently left their vocations. That’s quite a loss. 

Some lost things are found, but others are lost and never recovered. That’s a fact of life which underlies these parables. Sometimes we experience loss which means that we grieve, we are sad, and feel less engaged with the purpose and meaning of life.  Sometimes we feel as though we are the ones who are lost and that makes us lonely or anxious or uncertain. We have come through a season of many kinds of losses and if we are still grieving or still feeling lost ourselves, then let us remember that God is the diligent shepherd, God is the careful woman who keeps on seeking us.

* * *

Many years ago, Tony Campolo was in Britain to attend Greenbelt, which is an outdoor Christian event like the Wild Goose Festival.  Traveling on the train, he noticed a guy who seemed kind of out of it.  Tony guessed that maybe he was returning from nearby raucous concert festival.  Tony said he looked down and noticed that the guy wasn’t wearing a shoe on his left foot.  He said to the man, “Excuse me, sir, but you’ve lost your shoe.” 

The guy replied, in a kind of stoner haze, “No, man, I found one.”

I guess it’s all a matter of perspective.

Have we lost a shoe or found one?  Do we see ourselves as the lost sheep and the lost coin or the found ones?  Each of us might answer that as individuals. But as I thought about it for us as a church, I realized that that much has been found here.

We have found money. I mentioned the ReKindle grant. We are one of only 10 congregations in the country to receive this grant in 2022. It is a grant of $10,000.  One of the grant’s administrators said that there are large churches for whom $10,000 represents a rounding error in their budget.  They know we are not one of those churches.  The fact that we received a grant is evidence that outside professionals believe that we at Emmanuel will make a difference with that money. They have hope for and faith in us.

We also have found opportunities.  One of them is the Thriving for Racial Justice program which includes just 26 other congregations across the US and Canada.  It is an opportunity which is focusing some of our energy and care on the sin of racism that is endemic to our culture. It is an opportunity which offers resources and encouragement for that hard work. 

We are one of the decreasing number of churches that have a full-time pastor.  In our American Baptist region there are 273 churches. This week I asked Jerrod how many of those have a full-time pastor.  His estimate is that 70-75 percent are part-time.  That means that Emmanuel is one of perhaps 70 Baptist churches with full-time pastors across the state. I say that not to toot my own horn, but yours.  It is your commitment which makes that a reality. 

If some of us are feeling the grief of loss, if some Emmanuel are still trying to find our way to a new rhythm, it is right and good to acknowledge that. At that same time, I want to recognize how much is not lost, to be aware of our “foundness” here.

On this occasion, Jesus was primarily speaking to those who were found.  He told these stories to the religious leaders, the ones who already had a place to belong and a role to play.  On this occasion, Luke says, the church leaders were grumbling about the company that Jesus was keeping. He was hanging out with tax collectors and sinners, those who might be seen as lost from a social and religious point of view. And the found ones, the religious leaders, strongly disapproved of Jesus’ welcome and hospitality. 

* * *

This lamb was found hiding under a creek bank. She was not making a sound and it took some careful searching to find her, according to Carl Glen Hinshaw, her shepherd.

He found this lamb with another one not visible in this picture. On the way to finding these two sheep, they had found evidence of mischief—the electric fence was lying on the ground with wool all over it. The hay feeder was flipped upside down.  The water in the waterer was all muddy. It looked like the sheep had been up to no good and after a series of bad decisions they had ended up in the creek in the rain. 

We might deduce these sheep are to blame for their predicament, but that’s because we don’t know what really happened. What really happened, Hinshaw says, was that a young sheep dog, was left unsupervised and got through a hole in the fence.  He got two other dogs to go with him and they entertained themselves by running the sheep.  They terrorized four of the sheep, running them to death.  This one and her companion escaped and hid. 

Reflecting on Jesus’ parable and his own experience,  Hinshaw says that sheep aren’t simply misplaced; they end up where they are by walking.

“Sheep don’t wander away from the flock. It isn’t in their nature. A sheep who has left the flock left because it was driven away. It was terrified and did not know where to look for safety, so it ran. And the reason it was terrified is usually due to poor shepherding — the shepherd has led the flock to a pasture where there are predators, or has left it out in a storm. Or the shepherd has neglected that hole in the fence and left unsupervised a young, inexperienced sheepdog, who is supposed to be a helper but has discovered that terrorizing sheep is darned fun. And then that shepherd went back to bed.”

“In other words,” Hinshaw says, “ very often the person we are to seek out is not ‘lost’ and is not missing because he or she made poor decisions. They left because we drove them away. They did not look or talk or think or love like we do, and we did not create spaces they felt safe in. We looked the other way when they weren’t admitted to school because they weren’t a “good fit”, or they were given a hard time because they were a woman in a man’s job or a man in a woman’s job. We did not invite them into our neighborhoods, or our clubs, or our churches. They were being abused by other members of the flock, wolves in sheep's clothing, and we did not protect them. They were being harassed by police and we told ourselves that it was their fault for being where they were, behaving how they behaved. If they would just make different choices, they could help themselves.”

“This lamb was hiding from a predator who terrified her and had killed one of her sisters, and that was not her fault. It was ours.”[1]

This story resonates with me.  I expect it resonates with you too.  You and I know people who have been driven away from safety by other Christians.  You and I know churches that have failed to protect, who have actively harmed the lambs in their care.  And so we receive Jesus’ parables and this modern story as important messages about welcome and care and inclusion and fierce protection.

But there’s more here. The accent in these stories is not being lost.  The accent is not on being found. The accent, I believe, is on joy.

The joy of finding what might have been lost forever. 

The joy of knowing that what we have, what we are is cherished and valued. 

The inherent celebration that should come in the presence of “foundness.”

It doesn’t always happen, does it?  Having found money and found opportunities, knowing about the harm that some have experienced, we take seriously Jesus’ call to rounding up God’s herd and recovering God’s treasure. We remind ourselves that to whom much is given much shall be required.  We try to be very good shepherds—hiking over hills, scrambling down creek bands, climbing through brambles because the lost sheep could be anywhere.  Or we seek that pesky coin – sweeping, moving furniture, rearranging clutter.  We are diligent, because we care. And then, maybe it happens. We grumble because we’re overworked. We complain because no one else seems to be responsible.  We convince ourselves that we may actually be the only ones who care, so we work harder and grumble more. . . .And we miss the intent of Jesus’ story.  The accent is on joy, Jesus is calling for everyone to join in the celebration.

Rev. Will Willimon was a Methodist minister and bishop, now retired.  For many years, he was a campus pastor.  One spring break, he took students on a retreat.  It was for those who were intrigued by Jesus and wanted to explore Christian faith. 

On the first night, he showed the students a video of an actor reciting the Gospel of Luke, the same Gospel from which we read today.  When the video ended, the group of a dozen students sat there in stunned silence.

Then one said, “It is a great story, a really great story. Jesus is cool. But there’s one thing I can’t figure out.” 
“Well, what is that?” Willimon asked. “Perhaps I can help you.” 

“Jesus is great, I just can’t figure out why all the Christians I know are so darn boring.” 
“Now I am remembering,” Willimon said, “why it was not a good idea to bring people like you on a retreat.” 
But at the end of the retreat, it was that young man who wanted to be baptized. After another month of conversations, on the weekend of graduation, Willimon baptized him. The rest of the group gathered to witness his baptism.

The day of the baptism, one of the members of the group telephoned and said, “Dr. Willimon, just to put your mind at ease, I want you to know that I have made the arrangement for the post-baptismal party.” 
“Party?” Willimon asked. 
“Sure. I’ve got the keg and everything.” 
“A keg of beer?” Willimon said.  “It never occurred to me to get beer for a baptism.”

“Why are you always calling us irresponsible?” asked the student. “See? We have to think of everything.”[2] 

Jesus’ stories end with an open question, an invitation to celebration. The shepherd calls his friends and neighbors to rejoice with him.  The woman calls her friends and neighbors to celebrate with her, but we don’t know if they do. 

Friends, we may be the lost ones. We may be the found ones.  Like the guy with one shoe, we may be half-lost and  half-found.  Nevertheless, we are the ones invited to celebrate.  God calls everyone to the party.  Because the lost ones matter and the found ones matter and joy must,  must be celebrated.  Thanks be to God.

[1] https://www.facebook.com/carl.g.henshaw

[2] Rev. William Willimon, in his sermon “Outrageous Parties” delivered at Duke University Chapel, September 13, 1998 https://repository.duke.edu/dc/dukechapel/dcrst003549

9/11/22 - Peace Be Upon You - Micah 4:1-5; Luke 10:1-9

Peace Be Upon You

Micah 4:1-5, Luke 10:1-9

September 11, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://youtu.be/1c2zWMxyquo

“They shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning-hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more;”

Imagine a time when these words are true. Imagine a place where there are no standing armies, no stockpiles of weapons. Imagine a world when no one even knows how to wage war. 

On this twenty-first anniversary of the terrorist attacks in New York and Washington, on this 199th day of war between Russia and Ukraine, on this day when an average of 316 people are likely to be shot in our country, we yearn for Micah’s vision of peace to be realized. 

On the screen is a painting by the American artist Winslow Homer.  He was in his twenties when the Civil War broke out.  He worked on this painting for several months after the war was over.   In it he placed a veteran in a wheat field.  A Union Army jacket is discarded in the lower right corner along with a canteen.  The jacket has been abandoned presumably because the heat of the day makes it unnecessary.  But it is also a reminder that this man has quit soldiering and returned to his farm.  He has traded the battlefield for the wheatfield. 

The 1865 wheat crop is documented to have been a bumper crop.  Homer shows grain heads almost at the height of the farmer’s head.  It might seem that the artist is painting a positive outlook for the farmer and the nation. 

But there is more to see.  The farmer is harvesting wheat with a single-bladed scythe, a tool that was already out of date in 1865.  Homer chose the older tool because of its association with the Grim Reaper.  While this veteran has moved on, both he and the viewers would have been reminded of the cost of war.  Many of the bloodiest battles of the war were fought in fields, so fields had become associated with soldiers who were cut down in the same way that this farmer now cuts the wheat.[1]

I cannot help but think of the reports a few months ago of wheat fields on fire in Ukraine, reportedly set ablaze intentionally by Russian missiles. I think of those who were killed on September 11, 2001 and those who still mourn them. I think of the actions taken in retaliation – leading to some hundreds of thousands of casualties and some 38 million people who were displaced from their homes in Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan, Syria, and other countries. I think of the evacuees from Afghanistan who have only recently found a sort of uneasy sanctuary here because they provided help to the U.S. military. And I think of those who were not able to escape. If we feel sad today, if we lament, if we remember with pain, that is an appropriate and holy response.  War exacts a terrible cost and the trauma continues for generations.    

Micah speaks of days to come, days of peace and safety. Scholar Walter Brueggemann points to two conditions that are necessary for the transformation of weapons to tools for peace.

The first one is of reasonable expectations. “They shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees and no one shall make them afraid”  Micah says.  In the days to come, people will have one vine, one fig tree, not acres of orchards and vineyards, but what each needs. Agreeing to live within modest means and not seeking to accumulate more and more is a step towards bringing peace to the planet.

The second condition in verse 5 where it says “all the peoples walk each in the name of its god, but we will walk in the name of the Lord our God forever and ever.”   While Yahweh’s people are to be clear in their devotion to Yahweh, they are also to give others the freedom to walk in the name of other gods.  “War comes among nations, in church, and in families,” Brueggemann writes, “when we think there is only one way and all must conform or be coerced to conform.”[2] Peace means making room for differences.  Two keys to serious disarmament, then, are 1) modest expectations where all have enough but none have too much, and 2) an acceptance of each other with all of our differences.

In days to come, Micah says, people will stream to Jerusalem to learn the ways of peace. Jerusalem, the city that stones the prophets and kills God’s messengers, even today. Jerusalem will be the place of profound peace.  It takes a strong imagination to envision that, a persistent hope. 

Not that our nation is any better. What if the prophet described  nations streaming to the United States to disarm instead of seeking to obtain better, faster, more destructive weapons?  They come for courses offered at the Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation in Ft. Benning, Georgia.  Formerly called the School of the Americas, it is known for training dictators, death squad operatives and assassins.[3]  What if they came in the same kind of numbers with the same kind of enthusiasm to learn peace-making.  Could we begin to imagine that?

On our trip last month, we had the privilege of visiting the Cathedral in Cologne Germany.  This incredible structure survived the bombings of World War II while 90 % of the city of Cologne was destroyed, reduced to rubble. Our guide explained that it happened because the cathedral was a landmark that the pilots could identify from the air.  The church was spared, not because of its peacefulness or its holiness, but because it could facilitate future bombings. The cathedral is not to blame for that, but it is a troubling thought.

What if, in days to come, people could turn to churches to learn the ways of peace.  Not to determine who is in or out, right or wrong,  not to learn how to win control of your denomination, not to stoke fear and gain political power, but to learn how to turn swords into plow-shares and study war no more, how to sit under your own fig tree and not be afraid.  What if churches were the teachers and practicers of peace?  

That seems to be something that Jesus might have had in mind.  On his way to Jerusalem where he will be executed, Jesus sends out 70 disciples on a peacemaking mission.  He gives them very specific instructions.  They might be counter-intuitive.  He says to travel light.  No purse, no bag, no sandals. No snacks, no smartphone, no supplies. Do you know how hard this is?  You should have seen the unnecessary stuff that was in my backpack on my last trip. And I’m actually getting better at it.

Jesus tells them not to make reservations, but just to show up and offer peace. If things go well, someone in that house will respond in kind.  If things go well, then Jesus says to accept the hospitality that is offered. Sleep on the sofa bed or the floor.  Eat what is put before you. In Jesus’ day, it might have been Jewish food, it might have been Gentile food. Today your host might be vegetarian or really into smoothies.  Whatever it is, eat it without complaint.  And don’t shop around for better accommodations. Stay in the first place that receives you.  Imitate Jesus who was content to be born into a peasant family and who, as an adult, was dependent on the gifts of others.

This is counter-intuitive. If we are the ones taking the good news out into the world, we often think we need to arrive with all the things. We need to come with the food to feed the hungry and the medicine to heal the sick and the therapeutic tools for the traumatized.  But Jesus says “Go. Show up and be vulnerable.”

Presbyterian pastor Carol Howard Merritt describes peace as “a community-creating gift of God that requires a reciprocal response.” [4]

Peace creates community. Like the living sculpture demonstrated by our children, it involves an openness to giving and receiving.   It is “a community-creating gift of God that requires a reciprocal response.”

But we aren’t always open to what others offer and others don’t always accept what we want to give.  Jesus knew that when the disciples announced the reign of God, they would encounter rejection.  Baptist pastor Laura Mayo claims that “Jesus didn’t risk it all to keep the status quo. When he spoke against the religious authorities so entangled with the Empire that they forgot about the poor and the widows it was not to preserve the peace. Jesus was a peacemaker, not a peacekeeper and he clearly expects the same from us. Peacemaking, with its demands for change, can lead to disconnection, to rejection.”[5]

“When the peace you offer is refused, and it will be,”  Jesus says, “just shake off the dust and move on.”  It’s a ritual way of saying “I did my best.  What happens now is between you and God.”

Jesus expects his disciples to face hostility and rejection. When that happens, our job is not to change the message, not to water down the demands the gospel’s demands for change.  The message is the same to those who accept or reject it – “the reign of God is here.”

Sometimes we idealize peace-making.  Some of us are old enough to remember that old Coca-Cola commercial where everyone ends up singing together in perfect harmony.  We sometimes delude ourselves into thinking peace-making will be like that.  But this living into the reign of God is hard work, like beating weapons of war into agricultural tools.

We may feel overwhelmed by the depth of the divisions in our country, by the hostility we find among our neighbors and even members of our own families.  We may be distressed by the lack of unity on the major problems faced by the global community.  It may seem like Micah’s vision is further away than ever. 

What can we do to make peace in the face of all that?  I mean really.

We are a small congregation.  The typical church in America averages about 65 worshippers on a Sunday. That’s about where we are.  I notice that is close to the number of 70 disciples which Jesus sent out. Look what they accomplished. With faith and courage, they changed their world.  God has this habit of doing things with the most unlikely folks, even us. 

I also notice that Jesus didn’t send them out alone, but in pairs.  The peace of Christ is something we share, something we lean into with each other.  We are not called to go it alone. 

So I wonder, instead of accenting the message that the church is in decline,  instead of dwelling on what we think we have lost during the pandemic, what if we embraced the size we are and our sense of not having enough as evidence of the power of God.  What if we recognized our real reliance  on God, our genuine need for each other, and our dependence on strangers with whom we might share the good news?    

What if . . .

. . . In days to come and even now, people will be so hungry for the ways of peace that change will be possible.

. . . In days to come and even now, we will take on the responsibility and the vulnerability to be agents of Christ’s peace.

. . . In days to come and even now, we will risk rejection, but also welcome as we share the uncompromising love of God. 

In days to come, the prophet says,

they shall beat their swords into ploughshares,
and their spears into pruning-hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war any more;
but they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees,
and no one shall make them afraid;
for the mouth of the Lord of hosts has spoken.

May it be so for you and for me and for the world.

[1] Lynn Miller at Art and Faith Matters http://artandfaithmatters.blogspot.com/2016/11/art-lectionary-swords-plowshares.html

[2] Walter Brueggemann, “A Resurrection Option” in The Collected Sermons of Walter Brueggemann, Vol 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox, 2011), p. 262.

[3]  Gill, Lesley. The School of the Americas: Military Training and Political Violence in the Americas. Duke University Press, 2004, pp. 137–138.

[4] Carol Howard Merritt  in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke, Volume 1, Cynthia Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville:  Westminster/John Knox Press, 2014),   p. 286.

[5] Laura Mayo https://allianceofbaptists.org/peace-be-with-you/

8/21/22 - Bent - Luke 13:10-17

Bent

Luke 13:10-17

August 21, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

Note:  Image is Jesus and the Bent Over Woman by Barbara Schwarz OP.  Used with her kind permission

Artafiregallery.homestead.com.

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://youtu.be/VOHWq0czGLM

If this were a group Bible study, I would ask us to divide into two groups – Group A and Group B.  For the next fifteen minutes, Group A would walk around the room as if they are the bent-over woman.  Group B would walk around as themselves.  The two groups would be free to meet and talk with each other, but Group A would have to stay in character. After fifteen minutes, we would sit down and talk about the experience. 

We’re not going to take the time to do that, but I’ll tell you how it usually turns out.  What often happens is that members of Group A, the ones who were bent over, complain that they couldn’t see very much of what was happening in the room; that they couldn’t make eye contact with anyone; and that they weren’t always sure whether someone was talking to them or to someone else.  And they say that their back hurts. Group B folks usually say that it was hard to have a conversation with Group A members because it was hard to make eye contact.  Every once in a while, someone will have tried to make eye contact, by sitting on the floor or bending alongside the person. That doesn’t occur to everyone, and even when it does, it feels awkward, so some people don’t even try it.

The woman in Luke’s story has been bent over for a lot longer than 15 minutes.  For at least 18 years, she has lived like this.   Is she bent over from a back injury or from a chronic disease?  Did it happen all at once, or by degrees?  Is it something with a physical cause?  Maybe it is a psychological burden – she’s carrying the weight of the world.  Or maybe she is bowed down by something real but invisible, like poverty or depression or misogyny.    Whatever the answers to those questions might be, we should notice that she is not the only one who is bent in this story. 

When the leader of the synagogue realizes what is going on, he becomes indignant – we might say that he is bent out of shape.  In the gospel stories, it is always tempting to make fun of Jesus’ opponents, his detractors.  But when we do that,  it becomes much easier to miss the part of the story that might hit closest to home.  So, for the moment, let’s give the synagogue leader the benefit of the doubt. Let’s treat him with the respect that we would give to a longtime Emmanuel member, maybe a trustee or moderator or a pastor.  He’s not a bad guy.  He’s trying to do the right thing, to maintain order in a worship service, and to keep his church together.

Do you remember the book Gulliver’s Travels?  In one chapter, there was a shipwreck and  Gulliver washed ashore on an island inhabited by the Lilliputians –They’re people about 6 inches tall. I think they’re related to Little Man.    They thought Gulliver was a cruel and mean giant.  So one moonlit night when Gulliver was asleep on a hill, legions of Lilliputians crept up and very quietly tied strings around each of his fingers. Hundreds of strings to each of his fingers and also to his wrists, elbows and arms. They put strings and threads around his chest, around his knees, and around his toes. Every hair on his head had a string. The Lilliputians tied Gulliver firmly down, and when Gulliver awoke the next morning, he couldn’t move.

I think that the synagogue leader has been immobilized by the strings of  thousands of rules and responsibilities.  He is trying so hard to get it right, to be pleasing to God, and yet, on this occasion, he misses it.  He’s so focused on his Sunday morning to-do list that he became oblivious to the needs of a person standing right in front of me. I’ve been there; maybe you have too – with my head in the bulletin, bent 180 degrees from the meaningful worship of a God whose love is always healing, redeeming, and liberating.

This woman and this man lived in a world that bent them.  It’s the same world we live in.  It’s a world where the demonic still has power, the same power that the demonic has always had, the power to corrupt and pervert, to twist that which is good.  And so, many of us may feel bound, bent over by strain and worry, by the pain of recent losses,  by the accumulated weight of life’s hurt and sorrow.

Remember that Bible study exercise I mentioned?  Remember how the bent-over folks complained that they could only see the floor and not much else of the room?  That’s what happens when we are bent over emotionally and spiritually.  Our view becomes very limited.  We start to focus on ourselves, on our narrow view. We find it hard to make eye contact, to reach out to others, to give or to receive help.  As this pattern goes on, we get more and more stuck.   We live only in the now. We cannot imagine a future that is different, a future in which we can stand straight and tall.

I’ve had conversations recently with a number of people who seem stuck. Some were folks I encountered on my various trips and some are here in our community.

Some are bent over from the pandemic.  The pattern of daily life has become so limited. There is a longing for fullness and meaning and connection, but no one seems to know what normal or how to find it again.  Some are bent by fear – fear for our way of life, for the possible end of our democracy, for the continued well-being and existence of the planet.  Others are bent with responsibility – trying to maintain jobs, relationships, and faith in a time that requires us to keep track of an ever-changing rule book and to adapt faster than we know how. 

At another time, in a different sermon, I might have asked us to consider what bends this woman over.  I might have asked us to put ourselves into the story as people in that worshipping community and wondered what we could have done to be part of her healing. 

But today, I invite us to consider ourselves as the bent over woman or the synagogue leader.  What is weighing us down?  It might be something physical, a pain or illness, that saps our energy.  Maybe it is anxiety or depression.  Maybe it is guilt or anger or grief.   Or profound disappointment.  Or on-going weariness. What is weighing you down, bending you over?

This is a place where we seek to be honest about our lives, about what bends us over and what helps us stand straight, a place where we seek to share each other’s burdens and offer encouragement.

Courage is the thing that strikes me most about this story. First, the woman’s courage.  As diminished in body and spirit as she is, she has not curled up to die.  She is still engaged with life enough to show up week after week in church.  When Jesus calls her, she goes to him. And when liberation finally comes, she grabs it with gusto. She stands up straight and loudly praises God.   She has the courage to believe that her future can be different from her present.

Then there’s the courage of Jesus, the human being. At this point in his life, he’s just the leader of a rag-tag group of followers, a person often on the wrong side of the law, the church and the status quo.  He was challenging, reinterpreting, reforming the rules of a culture that was at least 3000 years old.  That’s the weight of a lot of tradition.  The kind of weight that has inertia. The kind of weight that can cripple and bend you over and put you on the cross.  Jesus has already begun his final journey to Jerusalem, but all along the way, he continues to live courageously and compassionately.

You and I are heirs to a Christian tradition that is 2000 years old.  It’s a rich tradition with truth and power and love, but it also carries the kind of weight that can bring us down and bend us over.  When that happens, sometimes all we can think to do is to repeat what we know, what we’ve always done.

As we hear the story of this woman’s liberation, we might consider the rules that we’ve always played by: church rules, social rules, family rules, the obligations, the responsibilities, the things we think we have to keep doing. But what if Jesus is here in our midst?  What if we imagine Jesus calling each of us to him.  How would he encourage you or me?  He released the woman.  He liberated her from what bound her.  If you stood in front of Jesus today, from what burden would you seek release? Can you name that to yourself and to God?

The woman had been bent for 18 years.  She had probably been praying for release all that time.  I wouldn’t blame her if she had given up.  But she didn’t. She kept showing up and she was there when her liberation came.  May it be so for you and for me.

The story ends with this sentence: “The entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things he was doing.” The crowd got it. They understood what was going on. They knew exactly. Ordinary people, living their lives, doing the best they could, like you and me, taking care of business, working hard, caring for their families, trying to make the best of every day, and once a week gathering to be reminded of what it’s all about, that there is a purpose to all of this, that each small life matters, that human life all of it matters, all of it is precious to a God who loves passionately and whose love simply will not be confined, restricted, but will finally find and embrace each one of us.

Thanks be to God.

7/31/22 - The King's Sanctuary - Amos 7:7-15, 8:1-12

The King’s Sanctuary

Amos 7:7-15, 8:1-12

July 31, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://youtu.be/W6KtH9LzPKk

There was a sacred place in Israel.  It was called Bethel which means “House of God”.  It was the place where long ago, Abram built an altar and talked with God about the future.  Bethel was the place where Jacob slept, exhausted, on his journey to his uncle’s home.  It was the place where he dreamed about a ladder to heaven.    For some period of time, the Ark of the Covenant was kept there.  By the time of Amos, it was one of two primary places of worship for Israel. It was even more like a national cathedral because, of course, ancient Israel was not a democracy, but a theocracy. 

In most theocracies, the king or queen is in charge of the nation’s religion.  There is no separation of church and state. And so it was in ancient Israel – every time a king was crowned, it was claimed that he was chosen by God to rule.  However, unlike the nations that surrounded Israel at the time, the prophets felt free to call the kings to account, to publicly question whether they were really acting as God’s representative or merely a person in power doing what they wanted.[1]  Perhaps the best known example of that is when the prophet Nathan rebuked King David for sexually assaulting Bathsheba and for setting up her husband Uriah to be killed in battle.  When Nathan spoke to him, David could have continued to misuse his power. He could have had Nathan executed, but he did not. Instead, he acknowledged that Nathan was speaking for God and he sought forgiveness for his sin.  So, even though kings were believed to be chosen by God, they were not God and they could still be subject to the word brought by the prophets.

Amos stands in a long line of prophets who speak truth to power.  He prophesies to the northern kingdom of Israel during the reign of King Jeroboam. His reign of 41 years was marked by territorial expansion, aggressive militarism and unprecedented national prosperity.   Amos is concerned about the concentration of wealth among urban elites, because the prosperity being enjoyed by those at the top seems to have come at the expense of the poor. 

Worship has become a sham, a pretext.  Amos says that they can’t wait for church to be over, so that they can get back to gouging the poor.  He wants them to see that they have systematically crushed the poor and ignored the needy.  They take pride in their religiosity and their history as God’s favored people, but Amos says they are deluding themselves. In reality, they have completely abandoned God’s ways.  They are out of alignment with the covenant, untrue to God and to whom they believe themselves to be. 

Now some of the Biblical prophets offer words of comfort along with judgment.  In places, Isaiah and Jeremiah look forward to a time when God’s mercy and forgiveness will prevail.  Yeah, Amos doesn’t really do that.  Amos is uncompromising.  God is angry at the treatment of the most vulnerable, at the victimization of the powerless, and the collusion between religious and political authorities. God’s patience has come to an end.    There is no forgiveness, only judgment.

This is a hard word. It makes me uncomfortable.  But wiser theologians than I have taught that God’s love demands righteousness, and that violations of God’s repeated calls to justice cause God grief.  God is not indifferent to human suffering and oppression.  “God’s judgment, for Amos, is a manifestation of relationship with a living God, a God of passion who cares deeply.”[2]

This is a hard word. Amaziah doesn’t want to hear it.  Amaziah is the priest at Bethel, that ancient sacred space. He doesn’t want to listen to the truth that Amos is proclaiming so he tries to silence him. His strategies might come straight from a contemporary political playbook.  He tells Amos to go back to Judah where he’s from, implying that he is an outside agitator, come to make money by stirring up trouble. He has a specific name for Amos’ words – he calls them a conspiracy. Where have we heard that before?  And he claims to have the authority of Bethel, which he considers not God’s sanctuary, but the King’s sanctuary.  That’s where he gives himself away. His primary allegiance is not to God, but to the king.  His place of service is not the holy place where God and humans connect, but the halls of political power.  He occupies a cozy place in the structure of religious nationalism. 

The two prophets, Amos and Amaziah each claim to speak for God.  With the benefit of history, we know that Amos was the real deal.  We know that because his words are consistent with who God is as described elsewhere in scripture.  We also know it because his words came true – Israel was captured and taken in exile.

People who haven’t read the Bible may think that it is an old book with outdated, irrelevant ideas. But if you read it carefully, you know how contemporary it is, how much human nature hasn’t changed over thousands of years.

There are multiple prophets in our time.  Some speak the truth as best as they can discern it, as clearly as they know how.  Others twist scripture and use their religious credentials to gain political power.   And so, if we would be faithful, we have two tasks.  First, we must listen carefully to any who invoke God’s name in order to discern who is accurately representing God and who is a person with power doing what they want.  And second, in this age of deliberate misinformation and attempts to suppress inconvenient truths,  we must speak the truth more clearly than ever before.

I watched this play out not long ago on social media.  A member of a church had been the victim of gun violence.  In sharing their concern for that member, the church said “God forgive us for allowing our idolatrous support of violence and its weapons to continue.”

That is a theological statement.  It is a confession of sin. It speaks of idolatry.  The church is speaking its truth in its own wheelhouse.

But some people were offended by it.  They claimed that the church was trying to turn a tragedy into a political event.  They spoke of a “God-given right” to bear arms.  One person quoted Jesus saying “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” And then they interpreted that to mean that self-defense is biblically required. As if shooting someone and laying down your life for someone are the same thing. 

One person’s comments grabbed my attention.  Speaking to the church, he said, “your nonviolent messages are a breath of fresh air to me. It’s amazing to me how many are bothered by such messages because of their love of weapons of war.  I’m not a Christian any more for many reasons, but one of the most mortifying things for me to watch was the penchant “followers of Christ” have for violence, fascism, and weaponry.  I have yet to find in the Bible where Jesus encouraged violence against other people, even in the case of self-defense, so it’s pretty bewildering to see how so many “followers of Christ” live lives glorifying violence, lives that are completely antithetical to the teachings attributed to Christ.”

Amos was a truth-teller. Truth-telling is still an urgent task.  The things which provoked God’s anger then – the mistreatment of the vulnerable, neglecting the needy, and the collusion between religious and political authorities -- those things still provoke God’s anger now.

Christian nationalism is a blatant form of religious power at work right now. It is a fusion of Christian faith and American civic life. This particular form of Christianity carries with it assumptions about white supremacy, authoritarianism, patriarchy and militarism that are emphatically rejected by other Christians.  It carries fear and distrust of religious minorities and condones police violence towards Black Americans.[3]  Many scholars are saying that Christian nationalism is the greatest current threat to our democracy.  I think that’s probably true.

But even more troubling to me is the effect that Christian Nationalism is having on authentic faith.  Some otherwise faithful Christians are being led astray by these false prophets because the message is cloaked in God talk. And many others are abandoning faith altogether because they see prominent Christians endorsing positions completely antithetical to the teachings of Jesus.   

Those of us who have wanted to emphasize God’s mercy and forgiveness over God’s judgment, those of us who want to extend soul liberty to those disagree with us, we may have been slow to recognize this danger.  But it is just as destructive now as it was in Amos’ time.  Christian Nationalism is one of the forces that drives policy decisions and legislation by which the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.  These are policies which quite literally lead to death.  Christian Nationalism is one of the forces that inspires acts of violence and intimidation, like the mass shooting in a Buffalo supermarket in May and countless others.

I have been slow to understand and slow to speak against this ideology. One of you asked me to talk about power and violence this summer.  I think what you had in mind was the war in Ukraine and whether violence is ever justified as a Christian response. That is an extremely important question which I didn’t attempt to answer. I am sorry to disappoint, but I am grateful for the question, because it led me to think about the corruption of religious power and helped me understand the violence of this ideology.  If you want to see an example of Christian nationalism beyond the USA, you might consider the Russian Orthodox Church’s endorsement of the invasion of Ukraine. 

Chris Kratzer is an author and pastor of 25 years.  He writes from his own experience within churches that embraced a nationalistic worldview.  He suggests that we might discern the truth by examining the methods as well as the message.  He says, “If [they] wanted to change the world towards the way of Jesus, they would be using the way of Jesus to change the world.  Instead, they are using the way of Empire . . . because they want the world to change to the way of Empire, not Jesus.” [4]

As we seek the truth, we can look at the methods of the message-bearers.  Are they speaking from the king’s sanctuary, employing the tactics of deception, intimidation and violence? What are the fruits of their words and actions?  Or do they follow Jesus who modelled compassion and service and self-giving love?  

Friends, we are called to speak the truth in love and to participate in the repentance that leads to renewal. The task is urgent.  The time is now. May we do so more clearly and consistently than ever before.  Amen.  

[1] John C Holbert, “This is the King’s Sanctuary” https://www.patheos.com/blogs/theperipateticpreacher/2019/06/proper-10-july-14-2019-amos-77-17-this-is-the-kings-sanctuary/

[2] Elaine T James https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-15-2/commentary-on-amos-77-15-4

[3] Information from Taking America Back for God:  Christian Nationalism in the United States by Andrew Whitehead and Samuel Perry (Oxford University Press, 2020) found at https://www.christiansagainstchristiannationalism.org/

[4] https://www.facebook.com/chris.kratzer/posts/pfbid0VsqQ4PrqmvNHGsRY6KBWdRdvPngouhfTi71LCmPShf4k381cGC3sTNEv4WBbC7yml

7/24/22 - Summer Hymn Sing

Our summer hymn sing was a joyful event. Michael Clement provided an extended improvisation on "How Can I Keep From Singing", to accompany the slide show of Judy Henningson's "joyful things".

A link to a recording of the service may be found here: https://youtu.be/GFhNq3MKkbI

7/17/22 - Woman on Fire - Judges 4:1-10

Woman on Fire

Judges 4:1-10

July 17, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://youtu.be/a-F8eRbhhio

If you only know one story from the book of Judges, it might be the story of Samson who was the strongest man on earth, until his girlfriend Delilah stole his super-power by cutting his hair and turning him over to his enemies.  Or you might know about Gideon.  He’s the guy who wanted proof that God was really calling him to lead.  So, he put a blanket out on the ground one night and asked God to make the blanket wet with dew, but the ground around it dry.  God did that.  But Gideon still wasn’t convinced, so the next night he put the blanket out and asked God to send dew on the ground all around, but leave the blanket dry.  And God did that too. 

The book of Judges is full of obscure stories like that.  It also contains stories full of violence and trauma which is one reason there isn’t a lot of preaching from this book.   Because we aren’t as familiar with this book, I’m going to remind us of the context. 

This is the time after the people have left Egypt, after they have moved into the Canaan.  This is a generation that didn’t know Moses or Joshua.  The pattern of Judges is this:

The people do something evil,  God abandons them into the hands of their enemies, they cry out for help, and God raises up a deliverer.[1]  This cycle repeats several times throughout the book with things getting progressively worse, until, at the end there is complete moral chaos and civil war.  

The Bible is in conversation with itself.  What I mean is that some stories seem to contradict other stories, and to get a complete picture, we have to recognize that more than one point of view is represented.   We often have the impression that the Israelites came into Canaan and annihilated everyone who was living there.  It was a total conquest.  They wiped out the original inhabitants and took over the Promised Land.  We get that impression from the book of Joshua, which contains the story of the battle of Jericho.  That’s the one where they marched around the city for seven days until the city walls collapsed and they took the city.  If we only had the book of Joshua, we might think that every battle was like that. But Judges tells another story.  Judges reports that many of the cities and territories supposedly captured in the time of Joshua are still in Canaanite hands. 

It is beyond the scope of today’s sermon to focus on the attempted genocide or holy war portrayed in the conquest of Canaan.  I am not going to defend a theology that justifies war in the name of God.  But I note that these stories come from the end of the Bronze Age and the beginning of the Iron Age.  If human beings in our time have not yet figured out that God hates violence in all its forms, then I cannot expect our ancient ancestors to have done so. 

We enter the story at a time when one of the Canaanite kings has been harassing the people of Israel for twenty long years.  The roads are empty for fear of enemy soldiers who take whatever they want.  People who must travel do so fearfully and by cutting across the countryside. Normal life is disrupted. There are no market days, no trade between towns. 

It is at this time that Deborah emerges. She is a judge, someone who brings justice by resolving conflicts and offering wisdom to people who seek her counsel.  The text identifies her as a woman, but it doesn’t make a big deal of her gender. It seems rather matter-of-fact about it actually, as if it is not unexpected for a woman to play this role. 

It says she is the wife or woman of Lappidoth.  The Hebrew word for woman is the same as the word for wife.  Lappidoth can be translated as flames or torches. That word is found two more times in the book of Judges where it is translated as torch.  So she might be the wife of Lappidoth, Mr. Torch’s wife, but there is no other mention of a man by that name elsewhere in the Bible.[2]  Lappidoth might be a place name.  Or it could mean that Deborah is a woman of flames, a fiery woman.  I like that one myself.

Deborah is a judge, but also a prophet, someone who can speak for God.  In that role, she sends for Barak and tells him that God has heard the cries of the people and that God will empower him to defeat General Sisera.  Barak’s name means Lightning, but apparently he needs Deborah, the fiery woman, to light a fire under him.[3]  He says that he will go to battle, but only if Deborah goes with him.  Maybe he is scared.  Or maybe he trusts that Deborah embodies God’s presence so much that he can only go into battle if she goes too. 

If he hesitates, it might be because of the superior technology of his enemy.  The Canaanites were the more established, more powerful and richer army.  This is just the beginning of the Iron Age.  The Canaanites have 900 hundred iron chariots. The Israelites have none.  Reading this in 2022, I cannot help but think of parallels with the situation in Ukraine, a smaller nation continually oppressed by a larger and technologically superior military power, and yet the war has continued for almost 5 months now. 

Barak says,  “I will only go if you go with me.”  Deborah says “For sure I will go, but God will give General Sisera into the hand of a woman.”  We might think she is speaking about herself.  Barak and his ten thousand warriors prevail. They rout the army of Sisera, but Sisera himself escapes and hides in the tent of an ally.  Or so he thinks.  It turns out that a woman named Jael, whose tent it is, waits until he is asleep and then kills him.  Jael and Deborah and Barak share the credit for the victory, but interestingly, the author of Judges says “on that day God subdued the King of Canaan.”   

So what do we make of this story?  Does it have anything to offer to people who live in a time like ours? 

This text has a fascinating history of interpretation.  Deborah has been held up as a Biblical defense for women’s rights to vote and to hold political office.  In the nineteenth century, hundreds of American women felt called to preach the gospel.  Many men and women argued for the validity of that call using Deborah as an example. In fact, there are liturgies going back to before the fourth century which name Miriam and Deborah and Anna in the prayers for the ordination of women deacons. 

On the other hand, there is a consistent assertion that God only allowed women to prophesy in times when men were cowards or abandoning their proper role.  These interpreters say that women only acted as they did to shame the men into stepping up.  With a quick search of the internet, I found several contemporary sermons along those lines. 

The fact that the issues faced by Deborah are contemporary is demonstrated in this example.  In 2008, when Sarah Palin campaigned for the American vice-presidency, magazine and internet articles by Pentecostal and evangelical supporters valorized Palin as a Spirit-inspired leader who, like Deborah, was raised up by God to do battle on behalf of biblical values.

But not everyone agreed. Following the lines of those who argued that God had chosen Deborah as a reproach to the fearful, godless men of Israel who were not up to the task of leadership, Brian Abshire, a Reformed Presbyterian minister, argued that the candidacy of Sarah Palin was “living proof that the Republican party is gutless, effeminate and cannot find a godly man willing to take a stand on pivotal moral issues….”[4]

I don’t find anything in the text that suggests Deborah’s gender is out of the ordinary for leaders at her time.  But if we want to press on that issue, we might notice two things.  We might notice that the text says that God raises up a deliverer and that God subdues the king of the Canaanites.  The implication being that God works through people who respond with faithfulness, and those people may not be the ones we expect. We also might notice that, in contrast to some of the male judges presented in the book, Deborah is portrayed as wise and totally trusting in God, without the kind of personal agendas that lead to the downfall of some. 

God’s actions are largely portrayed through war and that is troubling, as I have already said.  But through Deborah’s leadership, the land has rest for forty years. When the people return to the covenant with God, there is peace for forty years. The people are continually called back to the ways of God which bring peace and justice.  It is when they abandon God’s ways that chaos and upheaval result.  What we see in the pattern of judges is God’s continued mercy.  God repeatedly forgives them as each generation seems to need to relearn the what the one before it did.  

Finally, I would suggest that this story is particularly relevant in light of the ongoing violence suffered by women and girls across the world.  Jacob Wright is professor of Hebrew Bible at Emory University. In 2008, he won the Templeton Prize, the largest prize for first books in religion. In other words, he has strong credibility as a Biblical scholar.  This is what he says about the book of Judges. The book “begins with a woman as a judge and after this woman’s reign as judge, her period of ruling, everything goes downward.  And, when we look through the whole Book of Judges, the downward spiral is mapped out on how these guys, how Israel actually treats their women.  Women are strong at the beginning and then they become the objects of violence at the end; and so they use women to show that in great periods of time, women were treated well, but also governed, were leaders of society and at the end, it goes down toward the masculinity, the typical chauvinistic type of attitude emerges and that goes hand in hand with an abuse of women.  And when the biblical authors imagined how Israelite society could be depicted in a bad way, they show women being abused.”[5]

When the biblical authors imagined Israelite society depicted in a bad way, in direct disobedience and violation of the covenant, they show women being abused.

Those with ears, may we hear.

[1] Mark McEntire, The Internal Conversation of the Old Testament, (Macon, GA:  Smyth & Helwys Publishing, 2018), p. 100.

[2] Douglas Knight and Amy-Jill Levine, The Meaning of the Bible: What the Jewish Scriptures and Christian Old Testament Can Teach Us, (New York:  HarperOne, 2012)  p. 60

[3] J. Clinton McCann, Interpretation Commentary: Judges (Louisville:  Westminster/John Knox, 2003)  p. 107

[4] Joy Schroder, Deborah’s Daughters: Gender Politics and Biblical Interpretation (Oxford:  Oxford Unveristy Press, 2014) , p 220.

[5] https://www.bibleodyssey.org/tools/video-gallery/g/gender-issues-judges-wright#

7/10/22 - Love God and Do What You Will - Deuteronomy 6:1-9; Luke 10:25-28

Love God and Do What You Will

Deuteronomy 6:1-9, Luke 10:25-28

July 10, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q2eVrb_r9aQ

As I said earlier, several weeks ago, one of you asked me to preach on knowing God’s will.  The question, as I remember, was set in the context of prayer.  “How do I know if what I’m praying for is God’s will or my own?”  Or another version of that might be, “How do I know if the answer I think I’m hearing is God’s will or mine?” 

This question took me back to my days as a campus minister. Fresh out of seminary, I was working with students who were within a decade of my own age.  They were asking the important questions of young adulthood, about what to study and a vocation and a possible life partner. And very often, they framed those questions in terms of God’s will.  

Many, but not all, of these students came from a church background where they had been taught a very specific way of thinking about God’s will.  That framework might be summed up in one sentence –“God has a plan for your life.”

Maybe that is your framework, or was at one time. 

If that is your framework and it works for you, then there is no need to change it and I would love to hear about that.  If that is your framework and it works for you, then this sermon may not be for you.

The idea that “God has a plan for your life” often comes to mean that God has a course laid out for every day for every person.  Our job, as faithful people, then becomes to learn and follow that course. 

This framework breaks down for me in two ways. 

First, it starts to feel like God has an important plan, but it is secret, and I’m not sure how to decode the signs to find it.  If this plan is so important, then God should really make it super easy for me to know what it is.    

Second, it seems too easy to irrevocably mess it up.  It seems like, in the case of my campus ministry students, a person could choose the wrong major which would lead to the wrong vocation and a whole lot of other wrong dominos would fall and they would end up very far outside God’s plan for them.   If you believe that God has one life partner lined up just for you, and you accidentally marry someone else, but also you made vows before God to that partner . . . well then, you really are between a rock and a hard place.   Some people have a term for that.  They call it God’s permissive will.  That’s God’s second best choice for you when you screw up and marry a person or buy a house or take a job other than the one God intended for you.

Many of my students fervently believed that God had an individual plan for their lives.  But they came to me because they didn’t know how to find it.  They prayed.  They studied the Bible. They listened in all the ways they knew, but they still didn’t know how to choose what would be most pleasing to God.

My answer was to offer a different framework. As we heard in Luke’s gospel, a religious person asked Jesus how to gain eternal life. That question sounds a lot like a question about finding God’s will to me. Jesus asked the man how he would answer the question based on the Bible.  The man said to love God with all you’ve got and to love your neighbor as yourself.  And Jesus said, “That’s the right answer!”

This is how I try to answer the question of finding God’s will.  I find God’s will by loving God with everything I have and by loving my neighbor as myself.  Within this framework, I still have to make hard decisions.  But I am not burdened by the sense that God has already made a choice for me and everything hinges on whether or not I can find it.  A more positive way to say that is that God entrusts me with the freedom to make good choices.

In the Garden of Eden, God told the humans that they could eat freely of every tree in the garden except one.  We have been gifted with much freedom and some limits.  If we love God and love our neighbors, then some choices will be eliminated.  We know that, not because there is some special secret plan for us as individuals, but because God’s desire for the well-being of all creation is repeated from generation to generation in Scripture.  If the decision can be boiled down to a choice between something that is loving and something that is unloving, well that’s easy.  If we are actively seeking to do God’s will, we choose what is loving. 

I told this to my students.  Some of them joyfully embraced the freedom.  A few were suspicious that I might be leading them into contemporary, liberal thinking and away from traditional theology.  The irony is that this idea is mine and it’s not new.

Perhaps you have heard of St. Augustine.  I don’t mean the city in Florida, but the African theologian who lived about 400 years after Jesus.  His writings and teachings greatly influenced the development of Christianity.  It St. Augustine who said, “Love God, and do what you will.”[1] 

Love God and drive a bus.  Love God and be an architect. Love God and raise children.  Love God and don’t raise children. The good news here is that we are free to choose. Frederick Buechner says that God calls us to the place where our deep hunger meets the world’s deep need.  We get to choose that place, that place which fulfills our need for work and purpose and meaning, as we love God and love our neighbors as ourselves.

By now, some of have undoubtedly thought of some Biblical counter-arguments. Maybe some of you are thinking of Jeremiah 29:11, which many people have memorized. That is where God says, “For surely I know the plans I have for you, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.”  Right there, it says that God has a plan.  Yes, you are correct.  It does.  But this passage, like many, many others in the Bible is not addressed to an individual. It is offered to the people of Israel who are in exile,  a whole group of people enduring a very difficult time. It is about God’s plan for their ultimate hope as a people, not any about one individual life.

Some of you are thinking about a different Biblical example.  You are thinking of someone like Jonah, who God sent to the people of Ninevah.  It didn’t seem like Jonah had much choice.  He wasn’t going to have any peace until he went where God chose.  Or you might be thinking of Jesus who prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, “not my will, but thine be done.” 

To that, I would say that you are correct.  I concede the point.  It does seem that sometimes God calls some people to particular tasks.  That’s why I said that if the “God has a plan for your life” framework might be working for you and you shouldn’t change it.

Henri Nouwen wrote “when Jesus talks about faith, he means first of all to trust unreservedly that you are loved, so that you can abandon every false way of obtaining love.” [2]

Faith is trusting, as deeply, as wholeheartedly as we can, that God loves us, that we are worthy of love.  This is a process that takes most of us our whole lives.  The more we seek to know God, to love God with everything we have, the more we understand that God is love.  The more we believe that, the more we can live into our own place in that love, and the more we are free to love others as we ourselves are loved.

“Love God and do what you will” is an important framework for me.  I celebrate the freedom that I believe God has provided.

But I suspect that the question about God’s will is about decisions that are harder than choosing between a loving action and a non-loving one. What may be harder is the decision between two loving actions.  If the decision is between chocolate and strawberry, both are equally loving, feel the freedom and take our pick. 

Most decision between two good things are harder than that, aren’t they?  Sometimes the most loving action is to keep silent.  Other times, the most loving action is to speak up loudly.  The best action, the one that will bring the most love into play, is not always clear.  That is not because God has a secret plan, and we can’t find it.  It is not because we are confusing our desires with God’s desires.  It is because life is complicated, and other get to make their own choices, and none of us possesses all wisdom and knowledge. 

In addition to reading Augustine this week, I read through several essays on finding wisdom.  Christians from a variety of times and places agreed on a few things about wise decision making. These are things you already know but a reminder might be helpful.  First, these thoughtful Christians said, take your time with important decisions.  Don’t be in a hurry to make a choice.  Examine your own motivations for what is less than loving.  Get to know the neighbor you are seeking to love, so that you may discern well between what is wanted and what is needed.  Seek the counsel of a few trusted persons.  But mostly, they said, listen to yourself.  Trust the wisdom within.  Know that God loves you beyond measure and trust that love as you decide.  Whatever you ultimately choose, you will remain in the center of that love. 

Love God, and do what you will. 

Amen.

[1] Augustine of Hippo in his sermon on I John 4:4-12 https://christianhistoryinstitute.org/study/module/augustine

[2] Henri Nouwen, Letters to Marc About Jesus, (New York: Harper and Row, 1988), p. 58

7/3/22 - FOCUS Joint Summer Worship - First Church in Albany

An outdoor FOCUS summer worship service was hosted by First Church in Albany on July 3, 2022. It was broadcast over Zoom.

FOCUS was formed in 1967 as a consortium of 5 churches in downtown Albany. It now consists of 6 covenant churches: Delmar Reformed, Emmanuel Baptist, First Church in Albany, First Presbyterian Church, Trinity United Methodist Church, and Westminster Presbyterian Church. For 3 Sundays each summer, a joint worship service is hosted by one of these churches. For more information about FOCUS, go to https://www.focuschurches.net .

A link to a recording of the service may be found here: https://youtu.be/Ja5ddlq-Le4

6/5/22 - Holy Conversations - John 4:7-26

Holy Conversations

John 4:7-26

June 5, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

Our Jewish siblings are celebrating Shavuot this weekend.  In ancient Israel, Shavuot happened at the time of the wheat harvest.  It was also called the Feast of Weeks, because it fell 7 weeks after Passover. Seven weeks is approximately 50 days.  The Greek word for fifty is Pentecost.    The Jewish and Christian calendars operate separately nowadays, but sometimes, our holidays still align. In 2022, Easter and Passover fell together, which is why Shavuot and Pentecost both fall on this weekend.

On that day in Jerusalem, fifty days after Jesus’ death and resurrection, there was a festival going on.  That festival already had a name in Greek and in Hebrew, but the Greek name, Pentecost, has become associated with the Christian festival from that day forward.

Something happened on that Pentecost. Something unexpected and highly unusual.  Something hard to describe.  Acts 2 tells us that some people experienced it like wind.  They felt the force of a violent wind, maybe like a hurricane.  Maybe it sounded like a freight train, as people often report the sound of a tornado.  Some people experienced it like fire – the raw power of flame which danced in the air, hot and colorful,  but somehow without consuming any thing.  Other people described it as words and language coming through something like a universal translator.  A few weeks ago, I attended a Zoom meeting with translation.  My language setting was on English.  When the speaker lapsed into Spanish, I could faintly hear them and I could see their lips moving, but in my ear, I heard the voice of the translator, speaking their words into English.  I wonder if it was like that for those people in Jerusalem. 

There was a powerful event on Pentecost.  The event felt like wind.  It felt like fire. It felt like a message you received in your birth language.  The event was visceral. It was hard to describe.  And then there was the interpretation of the event. The event happened.  And then Peter stood up to explain it. There was an event and then interpretation.

I want to suggest today that that sequence is repeated over and over again in our lives.  Something happens and then we interpret it.  Something happens and then we talk about it, we name it, we tell a story about it. It is how we do life with God.  It is how we do life in general. 

Something happened one day at a well in Sychar.  Jesus was thirsty, so he asked a Samaritan woman for water from the well. That was the event.  It was an event because Jews and Samaritans had separate drinking fountains. They had separate places of worship and separate Bibles.  They stayed as far apart from each other as they could.  Jesus didn’t stay in his place.   If he had travelled the roads his people usually did, he wouldn’t have gone through Samaria in the first place.  Then he wouldn’t have been thirsty at the well in Sychar and wouldn’t have asked this woman for a drink.  That’s why it was an event.

The woman knows it is an event and she immediately tries to interpret it. “How come you are asking me for a drink?” she says.  She is suspicious, trying to figure out his angle.  She is wondering how dangerous he is and looking for her safest way to exit. 

Jesus asks her for water.  He deliberately breaks all the rules about social engagement. Because he does that, they have the longest recorded conversation in the New Testament.  Jesus talked to her, this unnamed woman, longer than anyone else in all of the Gospels.  She is a triple outsider.[1]  She is a Samaritan, an identified religious enemy.  She is a woman.  Men and women who were unrelated kept their distance from each other in public.   There is something unusual about her marital history which also makes her suspect, outside the lines of respectability.

Today we might use the word intersectionality to describe the overlapping identities which shape her life experiences. Her relative lack of power in the world is limited by her gender and her race and her marital status.  All of that is implicitly and explicitly part of the long conversation which she has with Jesus.

This is an important conversation, a hard conversation.  They talk for a long time about deeply personal stuff and about very controversial stuff. 

Jesus starts it, by asking her for water. Think of the stories you’ve heard – about black people in this country being punished by daring to drink from white only water fountains, about farm workers in hot fields not able to share canteens or water bottles because of the fear of contamination by members of other races.  Jesus’ request is an event.  It ups the ante of tension between them. 

But Jesus doesn’t stop there.  He brings up the issue of her husband.  It is a sore subject.  She isn’t married right now, but she has had five husbands.  She probably had very little choice about that.  However it happened, it would have been the decision of the men in her life.  So even though the marriages are something that happened to her, she is somehow responsible for having had so many.  It becomes a reflection on her morality, a classic example of blaming the victim.  It isn’t polite of Jesus to bring that up. 

Maybe she is trying to turn the tables when she raises the question about where to worship.  She mentions that her people and Jesus’ people worship in two different places.  This is a controversial thing.  What they both know is that the Samaritan temple on Mt. Gerazim had been destroyed by Jewish troops about 150 years before this conversation.  Jesus will have been taught one version of that history.  The woman will know her people’s version.  It is an ugly and uncomfortable history.  She doesn’t avoid it out of politeness.  She brings it into the conversation, puts it on the table.

James Baldwin was a black, gay man, an author and activist of the last century.  He was a truth teller, one who brought uncomfortable issues into conversations about politics and history. In 1968, he testified before a US House subcommittee on Negro History and Culture.  He said, “If we are going to build a multiracial society, which is our only hope, then one has got to accept that I have learned a lot from you and a lot of it is bitter, but you have a lot to learn from me and a lot of that will be bitter. That bitterness is our only hope. That is the only way we get past it.”[2]

Two people meet at a well.  One is male and Jewish.  He has an entourage, people who look to him for leadership. The other is female and Samaritan.  She is alone and marginalized in multiple ways.  Across those differences, despite those differences, they have a conversation. 

They have a conversation which begins with vulnerability.  Jesus is thirsty. She is alone and unprotected.  Each of them takes a risk.  In this conversation, they speak, they reveal themselves and yet they also listen.  They attend to what is not said – the shared history that unites and separates them, their own individual circumstances, the personal choices which led the woman to the well at noon and Jesus to be in Samaria.  They give the conversation the time that it takes.  They stay present and authentic to each other.  They share some bitterness.

This is a Pentecostal moment.  Something happens, like the rush of wind or the dance of fire which is hard to describe, but is full of power.  This is the kind of Pentecostal moment which we desperately need to overcome and transform the detachment and distance and enmities which pervade our lives. What comes out of this conversation is transformation – for the woman and then for her village, and probably for Jesus too.

Holy conversations take time and energy. They require attention to the events of history and personal circumstance and the ways that we interpret them.  They require vulnerability and listening for differences in our shared history and continuing to listen when it is controversial or painful or offensive. 

Friends, these conversations are hard work. They don’t usually happen spontaneously.  We make them happen, by going out of our way to be in the neighborhood, by asking for a cup of water, by showing up with vulnerability and courage. 

I invite you to be alert for the opportunities to have these kinds of conversations.  The Thrive team tries to provide some of them as we grapple with books and movies on the shared history of racism.  The Exec Team will be calling us to conversations in the fall about who Emmanuel has been and is now and how God is shaping and transforming us.  I hope you will engage in those. 

And I hope that you will find other opportunities for deep and careful conversations with friends or family or neighbors or strangers. Keep on listening.  Keep on telling your truth in love.  And may the Spirit arrive in those conversations with transformational power.  Amen.

[1] Barbara Brown Taylor,  “Living By the Word:  Identity Confirmation John 4:5-42,” The Christian Century February 12, 2008  https://www.christiancentury.org/article/2008-02/identity-confirmation

[2] https://nmaahc.si.edu/explore/stories/swear-tell-truth

5/29/22 - Footprints on the Earth - Acts 1:1-11

Footprints on the Earth

Acts 1:1-11

May 29, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

Image:  St. Vitale Church, Ravenna, Italy. Apse, mosaic. Early sixth century. Jesus Pantocrator.  Photo by Richard Mortel, creative commons license, https://flic.kr/p/2hm8zrX

Last weekend, we buried my mother’s ashes.  Most of you know that she died in January 2021.  That’s a delay of 16 months between her funeral and burial.  My aunt died in August 2021.   We interred her ashes last weekend as well in the same cemetery. Actually, they are in neighboring gravesites.  Each of these women had a funeral, a celebration of life, which was conducted in person and on-line.  Most family members had attended one way or another, but those of us who attended remotely couldn’t hug each other, couldn’t cry together, couldn’t have the one-on-one conversations that are so important. We got to do some of that this time.

We waited this long to inter my Mom’s ashes because of Covid and supply chain delays.  I had hoped that by this time, the tombstone, which was ordered a year ago, would be in place, but the granite is still on back-order. Many other people are also still waiting. 

Sometime last winter, we realized that there were going to be two family trips to the cemetery in the near future, one for my mom and one for my aunt.  I am not sure who suggested that we combine it into one event, but my father and my uncle accepted the suggestion, so we gathered, about 30 of us, with representatives from my mother’s family of origin and my aunt’s family of origin and the Donley family into which they each married.  I offered scripture and prayers at the cemetery. It felt right and good, an important and necessary stage of saying good-bye. It also felt strange and awkward, to be doing this more than a year after the funeral and to be attending to the grief for two wonderful women at the same time.

Grief -- saying good-bye for the last time, sharing that with others who knew and loved the one you saying good-bye to, remembering the highs and lows of their life, trying to hold on to the best memories – all of that swirls around us at times like this.  All of that swirls around the scene that Luke describes as Jesus leaves his disciples for the last time. 

Some of them don’t seem to understand what is happening. They watched Jesus die.  They have come to terms, as much as a person can, with the reality of his resurrection, and now, they think – now is the time when Jesus is going to really make things right.  “Is this the time when you’re going to make Israel sovereign again, Jesus?   Now, now, are you going to throw off Roman control and set us free?”  That’s the question they’re asking as Jesus disappears from their sight.  He was leading a liberation movement, after all, and I guess it seems only logical that having defeated death, Jesus’s next task would be to overcome Rome.  They are ready for next steps.  Maybe they are anticipating what they see as the real fulfillment of his mission, and . . . then, suddenly,  Jesus is gone. 

There are rituals for mourning, expectations for what to do at a funeral and at a cemetery, and even though Covid may forced us to adapt, we still understand the basic protocol.  But there is no established protocol for an Ascension.  It’s hard to blame the disciples for standing there looking up with their mouths hanging open.  Jesus has left and returned before.  Maybe he’ll be back again in just a minute.

That’s when the two men in white, presumably angels, ask why they’re just standing there.  Only a few verses earlier Jesus had told them, not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait.  Those might feel like contradictory messages – Jesus said “Just wait.  Don’t leave Jerusalem.”  The angels say “Why are you just standing there?”

Perhaps we can identify.  As we inhabit the space between full covid lockdown and life as we knew it before March 2020. As we attend to the messengers who say “wait, be vigilant, it isn’t over yet” and those who say “don’t just stand there, get on with life, go do something.”

Watching Jesus fade from sight, the disciples may feel abandoned, left to carry on without him.  They aren’t ready.  They need more time, more answers.  They want more of his stories and his laughter and his reassuring presence.  What comes next?  Who will they be without Jesus in their midst?

As we hear the anguish of people who are suffering, as we watch evil appear to win in Ukraine and Buffalo and Uvalde, as we feel overwhelmed by the task of caring for so much need and the enormity of making any kind of difference, we may also feel that God has abandoned us.

The disciples want to know when and where.  They ask “is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?”  Jesus’ answer has two parts. The first part is that timing is known only to God.  It’s not your business. Humans don’t know everything. Get used to it. 

The second part is that it’s not only about Israel. Jesus says “you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”  This is an outline for the entire book of Acts.  The disciple’s next steps will be to begin their ministry where they last saw Jesus, in Jerusalem, but it will keep expanding to places they never went when Jesus was on earth.  They will keep discovering that the reign of God is much wider than they ever expected. 

Many artists have tried to capture the Ascension. Paintings and stained glass from across the centuries portray Jesus among the clouds. I appreciate this black and white woodcut by Albrecht Durer.  In it, Jesus is barely visible. We see the hem of his robes and the bottom of his feet at the top of the frame. The center of the woodcut is a hill.  And if you look closely, you can see two footprints.  They are the marks left by the feet of Jesus.

Barbara Brown Taylor suggests that this is Durer’s response to the question “why do you stand looking up into heaven? Look at these footprints here on the earth.” [1]

Why are you looking up to heaven?  The focus is here.  My best work was here.  You will be my witnesses here, on the earth, all over it.

Several years ago, a young woman – I’ll call her Susan – had an opportunity to spend a summer in Calcutta, India, where she worked in the homes of Mother Teresa. Susan had prepared for months, with so much leading up to this moment when she would work alongside Mother Teresa, one of her idols, maybe holding the hands of those who were nearing the end or running programs for children that would help them to know that they were the beloved of God.

Only when she arrived, Mother Teresa wasn't there. Susan learned that her idol would be spending those months on an international tour. And then when she reported for work her first day, she was placed in the kitchen, washing pots. And then the next day in the laundry, washing sheets. This went on for weeks and she was frustrated. So, she asked one of her supervisors, "Hey, I've been spending all of my time washing pots and cleaning sheets and folding bandages. I came here to work with Mother Teresa. What does Mother Teresa do when she's here?" And the supervisor said, "Well, when she's here, Mother Teresa cleans sheets, she folds bandages, and she washes pots."[2]

I feel Susan’s frustration. To continue with daily work, even the daily work of caring for the needs of others, doesn’t seem enough, not nearly enough.  And yet, it is important.

And I want to note that sometimes, it is appropriate to disrupt that daily work. Mother Teresa left it at times to go out on tour.  The disciples allowed Jesus to disrupt their ordinary lives and re-order them in profound ways.  Please don’t hear me saying that we should stick to our safe routines. What I do want to say is that doing what we are called to do, over and over again, with love and good humor – that is faithful and good work.  And it is the way that the good news of Jesus has always been spread – with one courageous encounter here and another act of loving kindness there.

We remember that Jesus talked about inconspicuous beginnings like leaven hidden in the dough or the tiny mustard seed. On the day when he left the earth, he told his disciples, “This is bigger than you realize.  Start here where you are and keep going to Judea, Samaria and the ends of the earth.” 

The following words were written by Father Ken Untener in 1979.  They were written in appreciation for the work of priests like Oscar Romero who had been faithful in big and small ways and who died without knowing the impact they had had.

Father Untener wrote

It helps, now and then, to step back and take the long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is beyond our vision. . . .
This is what we are about: We plant seeds that one day will grow. We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development. We provide yeast that produces effects beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.
This enables us to do something, and to do it well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for God's grace to enter and to do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders, ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.[3]

Why are you looking up?  The focus is down here; our life is down here; our most authentic life is here in the midst of all the messiness and frailty and sin and violence and need and unselfishness and kindness and joy.  May God grant us wisdom and courage and hope for the living of these days. 

[1] The Rev. Dr. Barbara K. Lundblad “Footprints on the Earth” Ascension Sunday May 08, 2005, as posted on http://www.day1.com

[2] This story comes from the Rev. Alan Sherouse, as relayed in his sermon Walking Downhill 

https://day1.org/weekly-broadcast/5d9b820ef71918cdf2003e8b/view

[3] http://www.romerotrust.org.uk/romero-prayer

5/15/22 - Called to Life - John 5:25-29; Acts 5:12-19

Called to Life

John 5:25-29 Acts 5:12-19        

May 15, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Kathy Donley

Image:  Cathedral of St. Giovanni in Laterano, Rome, Italy. Apse, mosaic. Fourth to thirteenth centuries. Baptism cross. Photo by Deb Nystrom, October 2018 creative commons license, https://www.flickr.com/photos/stella12/46020766322

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ZqqpS2dJzs

I found a question in my notes that surprised me.  I did some Bible study on our two scripture passages early this week.  What I usually do is to read some commentaries, maybe some other people’s sermons, and take a few notes. Then I let my brain mull things over for several days and then come back to write the sermon.  This week, when I came back to my notes, I found a question that I didn’t remember writing.  I honestly don’t know if this was my question or a question posed by someone else. I usually do a better job with note-taking. 

Anyway, the question I found in my notes is this:  “When abundant life is found, is there always a super religious person who is upset about it?”

It seems to me that the answer is usually yes.  Whenever life breaks forth, whenever someone finds liberation or grace or forgiveness or acceptance, it often seems that someone else protests.  And often, the protestor is a highly religious person who claims that the new life violates some natural order, or God’s will.

When American women found new life in the right to vote, some religious people said that it would put the moral health of the nation in danger.  At the time of desegregation, when African American people were legally free to move through spaces formerly restricted to whites only, religious people and churches actively opposed them.  They wrote local laws calling for the arrest of any black person who attempted to attend a white church. 

Over the last many decades, gay and lesbian and trans people have come out of the tomb of the closet and enjoyed more abundant living in many ways. And the church has often resisted that.  You might know that this month, a new denomination was launched from within the United Methodist Church.   After years of debate on same-sex marriage and the ordination of openly gay pastors, the conservative Global Methodist Church could wait no longer to separate from Methodist siblings who would honor and celebrate the fullness of gender and sexuality as God’s gifts in human life. 

In John’s gospel, Jesus healed a man who had been ill for 38 years. He did it on the Sabbath, which was a no-no.  And predictably, some super religious people got upset.  When they confronted Jesus, he claimed that he had God’s blessing, that this was God’s life-giving power at work.  So then they were upset that he claimed to speak for God. 

Our reading includes Jesus’ response.  He says, “Very truly, I tell you, the hour is coming and is now here, when the dead will hear  . . . and those who hear will live.”  He says that the time is coming when those who are in their graves will hear his voice and come out. 

What might those graves be?  Graves like poverty and domestic violence, the need to always be right, addiction, undervaluing our own worth.  What are the tombs from which Christ calls us to life?  Tombs like white supremacy, transphobia, an abusive childhood, capitalism, misogyny, toxic theology, war. 

Wilda Gladney writes “Between the resurrection of Jesus and the final resurrection, the Church is called to life, a life apart from all of the dead and death-dealing things that would prevent us from living fully in Christ.” [1]

Jesus said, “I have come that they may have life and have it abundantly.”  We are called out of deadly and death-dealing tombs, called to life.

One of the links between Jesus’ earthly ministry and post-resurrection gatherings of the first Christians is the presence of healings.  In Acts 5, we have one of Luke’s summary statements about the early church  -- great numbers of believers are being added and great numbers of people are coming in from everywhere to be healed.  The healing power is so profound that you might even be cured if you can just position yourself so that Peter’s shadow will fall on you. 

Modern people tend to struggle with passages like this.  It doesn’t fit our worldview for coping with disease or injury.  It sounds like magic or superstition, not something real enough to effect lasting healing.  If we think about it too long, we might doubt its truthfulness, but we don’t want to call into question the rest of the book of Acts, so we may gloss over this section.  This text is not in the lectionary, by the way. 

Justo Gonzalez is a Cuban-American theologian and church historian.  He argues that if we cannot let ourselves be open to the miraculous, then that serves the interests of the maintaining the status quo. He says that there are those whose only hope is in a radical change from the way things are. If all that is to be will only be the result of what already is, there is no reason to hope for a new order; and without that hope, the struggle to break free of the tomb loses momentum.[2]

If government forces kill a journalist and then representatives of that same government attack the mourners at her funeral because they are disturbing the peace, the best hope for change must come from beyond the status quo.

If the police in this country kill black people for driving while black or walking while black or living while black and then, time and time again,  the police investigate and exonerate themselves, hope for change must come from elsewhere. 

The hope for change, the possibility of radical disruption, is found in resurrection and we see it through the lens of miraculous healing in Acts 5.  Powerful change is happening in Jerusalem.  The group of people gathering at the edge of the temple is larger every week.  Within the Jesus movement, they are finding healing and wholeness.  They are coming into a more abundant life.  And everyone is amazed and impressed. 

But not everyone is joining them.  Acts 5:13 has this curious statement “none of the others dared to join them.”   It doesn’t say who these others are and it doesn’t say why they are keeping their distance.  Scholars offer two possibilities.  One possibility is that the others refers to those who believe in Jesus, but are afraid to join the group publicly because of what happened earlier.  What happened earlier was that Peter and John were arrested and held overnight and told to cease and desist.  Of course they didn’t stop and they were arrested again just after this. 

The other possibility is that the others are non-believers who admire those in the Jesus movement, but they feel the pressure of their social and religious traditions and aren’t courageous enough to break with them. 

Whoever they are, their presence is felt enough that Luke mentions them.  It is another small reminder that the generous, loving power of God is likely to be resisted by some who prefer the status quo and some who are entombed by it.  Or to put it another way, whenever someone somewhere embraces the abundance of life that Jesus offers, there is likely to be a super religious person who is upset about it. 

Those who gathered on Solomon’s Porch were proactive.  They were engaged in healing and teaching, in sharing the good news of Jesus.  They were actively joining the work of God as it swept through their world.  And there were others who admired them, but kept their distance.  They heard Jesus’ voice, but chose not to come out from the grave.

Stephanie Spellers is an Episcopal priest.  Several years ago, she began to serve with others in her denomination in a focused way to lead people into more deeply following Jesus and living life in abundance.  They developed some practices called the Way of Love and the Jesus-Shaped Life.  They thought that the Spirit of God was at work and that there was going to be an important opening, a break in the status quo and they wanted to be ready.  They thought it might take a couple of decades. 

And then the pandemic came. Then came the murder of George Floyd and a new sense of racial reckoning.  And Rev. Spellers said, “If our churches were ever going to follow Jesus in his way of self-giving love, if we had a chance of decentering off self and empire and recentering on God, if we hoped to turn and become even a little more the beloved community Jesus inaugurated – this might be our shot. . . . Many of us are praying that the church has indeed arrived at a point when—thanks to disruption and decline—Christians have less to lose or to prove and can choose to pour ourselves out in love for the world.”[3]

Church life all over the world has been disrupted.  Churches are recognizing the numerical and spiritual decline which had been happening for years, but which become glaringly obvious as our buildings emptied out during the pandemic.

Is it possible that we could see that some forms of church were like graves?  Is it possible that we can hear Jesus calling us to step out from those tombs to be vibrant, self-giving, world-changing people who embrace life in all its fullness?

I started with this question “When abundant life is found, is there always a super religious person who is upset about it?”

I’d like to ask a better question of myself.  I’d like to ask if abundant life is to be found, in this moment, then what am I doing to embrace it?  What are the true loves and concerns around which I organize my life?  Am I actively joining the movement of the Spirit for healing and wholeness?  Are you?

“Very truly, I tell you,” Jesus said, “the hour is coming and is now here, when the dead will hear  . . . and those who hear will live.”

Between the resurrection of Jesus and the final resurrection, between the past and the future, we are called to life.  Thanks be to God.

[1] Wilda C Gafney, A Woman’s Lectionary for the Whole Church Year W, (NY: Church Publishing, 2021)  p. 181

[2] Justo L. Gonazalez, Acts: The Gospel of the Spirit (Maryknoll, NY:  Orbis Books, 2001) pp.84-85

[3] Stephanie Spellers. The Church Cracked Open: Disruption, Decline and New Hope for the Beloved Community,  (New York:  Church Publishing Incorporated, 2021)  p. 151, 149

5/8/22 - Treasure in Clay Jars - Luke 7:18-23; 2 Cor 4:7-12

Treasure in Clay Jars

Luke 7:18-23, 2 Cor 4:7-12

May 8, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

Image:  6th century mosaic Transfiguration in Sant’ Apollinare Nuovo, Ravenna, Italy.

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DpzplSQNYc8  

The bulletin covers for this Eastertide season reflect some of the earliest surviving Christian art.  You might recognize today’s image, because I have used it before.  If you go into almost any Christian church today, you will find a cross or a crucifix.  It may be large, even life-size, mounted on a wall or suspended.  It may be smaller, like the one that rests on our communion table.  In many churches, you will find more than one cross.  You probably expect to find it there.   It might even surprise you to know that it wasn’t always like that.  For the first thousand years of Christianity, the evidence is that the cross was largely absent from church art and architecture.   The focus was not on the death of Jesus, but on his resurrection. They believed that the resurrection had re-opened Paradise on earth, returning the world to the beauty in which it was first created.  Paradise was to be found on this earth, permeated and blessed by the Spirit of God.[1]

That is the finding of two clergywomen, Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Ann Parker, who studied sanctuaries of the oldest existing church buildings, dating from the fourth and fifth centuries, and the writings of the theologians and church leaders from that same time period.  Their description and interpretation of some significant pieces of art will be on the front and back panels of the bulletin each week.

I was reminded of their research at the Alliance of Baptists gathering two weeks ago. Rita Nakashima Brock was one of two excellent keynote speakers.  She delivered a lot of insightful content very quickly in each of her presentations.   In one presentation, she fired off a list of 8 assumptions that underpin how people understand the cross and why she doesn’t share those assumptions.  I couldn’t write fast enough to get them all into my notes, but I got some of them. 

One in particular came to mind as I looked at the two readings for today.  Dr. Nakashima Brock said that there is an assumption that evil must be overcome and ended in order for good to flourish.  Evil must be overcome and ended before good can flourish.  She pointed out that the serpent was in the garden from the beginning when God pronounced it good. 

That’s the starting point of today’s sermon – Good can flourish, even in the presence of evil.  Here’s a hint:  I’m going to end the sermon where I begin, so if you want to tune out, now would be the time.

The first contact that Luke describes between John the Baptist and Jesus happens in today’s reading. Now I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking that John baptized Jesus, so this can’t be first contact.  And you might be right.  But it is the first contact that Luke describes.  Luke indicates that John was baptizing people and he indicates that Jesus was baptized, but he never explicitly says that John baptized John.  It is only implied.  And he tells us that Herod Antipas put John in prison, before he mentions that Jesus was baptized. So, he doesn’t necessarily tell the story in chronological order. 

Here's why that might matter – if the story is being told out of chronological order, then this encounter with John’s disciples might have happened before the baptism.  John’s whole life seems to have been spent preparing the way for the Messiah.  And this incident might represent John’s hopeful exploration of possibility.  “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”

John’s ministry style was fire and brimstone preaching with a side helping of political protest.  Jesus’ style was different.  His approach was raising awareness with his teachings and providing direct services with his healings.  There was a political edge to Jesus’ work, but at the beginning, it was more low key than John’s.  As the word spread about Jesus,  John may have wondered whether Jesus just might be the Messiah, but he seems to have expected the Messiah to be more like an old-time fiery prophet.

Jesus tells John’s disciples to tell John what they see and hear.  One scholar writes, “That will mean, first and foremost, that they must take in the suffering around them. They must stop and see the pain on their neighbors’ faces; they must make time to hear the hard stories of strangers. In the process, they will see the hope that is born in someone who is given a second chance: a chance to walk, a chance to see, a chance to live in community after long years of isolation, a chance to live again.” [2]

Jesus says to tell John about many kinds of healings and to tell John that the poor have good news preached to them.  John may recognize an allusion to Isaiah 61 which lists several prophetic tasks.  If he is in prison, he will notice what Jesus has omitted, because Isaiah 61 includes “release to the prisoners”.  He may receive the message that Jesus isn’t coming to spring him from jail.

John will have to listen to what is reported back to him and evaluate whether or not it provides evidence that Jesus is the Messiah.  And in the process, he may have to revise what he thinks the Messiah is.  That is probably why Jesus says “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

Jesus may be the One, the One John was hoping for, but he is something different than the Messiah John was expecting.  Blessed is John if he can accept Jesus as Jesus is. 

Baptist scholar Alan Culpepper says that we often share John’s experience. “We think we know who Jesus is, what he is doing and what he stands for, and then we are forced by experience to revise our understandings:  are you the one, or should we look for another?”[3]

When Jesus doesn’t meet our expectations, we may revise our understandings.  But sometimes, we do take offense.  We reject a new understanding, we cling to expectations that are not completely true but somehow seem more comfortable. When Jesus doesn’t meet our expectations, we may believe that evil has won. We may give in to despair.

If we are tempted to doubt the power of resurrection, if we are feeling that evil keeps rearing its head, even in ways that we thought were long resolved, then let us remember Jesus’ words to John and look for the places of healing, the places where the poor find good news.  Let us remember Dr. Brock’s assertion that good can flourish even in the midst of evil.

I heard a story from Mariupol this week.  A person came out from a bomb shelter and immediately saw an empty car with keys in the ignition.  He watched the car for 2 hours, but the owner never appeared. So he loaded his family in and drove them to relatives in a safer area of Ukraine. In the glove box, he found the owner’s phone number.  He called the owner and said, “Sorry I stole your car.  I saved my family.” 

The owner said, “Thank God.  Don’t worry.  I have 4 cars.  I took my family out.  The rest of the cars I left filled with fuel in different places with the keys in the ignition and my phone number in the glove box.  I received calls back from all the cars.  There will be peace.  Take care of yourself.”

The evil in Ukraine is monstrous.  It is happening on a scale that I can’t fathom. But every day, I hear stories of courage and kindness, of people risking themselves for others. Good can flourish even in the midst of evil.

Writing to the church in Corinth, Paul lists a number of difficulties that he has faced, including beatings, imprisonment, sleepless nights, riots and hunger. Sometimes, we think we know who Jesus is, what he is doing and what he stands for, and then we are forced by experience to revise our understandings. When our experiences don’t meet our expectations, we may believe that evil has won.

But Paul says “we have this treasure in earthen vessels.”  We carry the power of God within our frail, human existence.  We might be oppressed, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; knocked down, but not destroyed. 

There is a big difference between being down, which we will certainly be, and being out, which Paul assures us we will not be.  We find strength in the power unleashed on the world in the resurrection of Jesus. 

When we look for Messiah, Jesus points us to acts of healing and wholeness, to good news for the poor, to second chances for those who desperately need them.  Our lives may be easier, more convenient and involve less suffering when they are shallow and unconnected, when we do not allow ourselves to be touched by the pain and death of others.[4]  But we follow the One who entered our world and suffered with and for us.   

John Lewis’s memoir is titled Walking With the Wind.  The title comes from an incident in his childhood when lovely summer day turned into a fierce storm. 

"About fifteen of us children were outside my aunt Seneva’s house, playing in her dirt yard,” he wrote. Aunt Seneva gathered them inside the little shotgun house. Their laughter and play had given way to quiet terror. The wind howled, the rains pounded, and the house began to shake, then to sway, and the wooden floor boards upon which they stood began to bend.

“And then,” he wrote, “a corner of the room started lifting up…This storm was actually pulling the house toward the sky” with all of them inside.

Aunt Seneva instructed the kids line up and hold hands and to walk together toward the corner of the room

that was rising. Back and forth they went from the kitchen to the front, “walking with the wind, holding that trembling house down with the weight of [their] small bodies.”

Lewis reflects, “More than half a century has passed since that day, and it has struck me more than once over those many years that our society is not unlike the children in that house, rocked again and again by the winds of one storm or another, the walls around us seeming at times as if they might fly apart.”

“It seemed that way in the 1960s, at the height of the civil rights movement, when America itself felt as if it might burst at the seams—so much tension, so many storms. But the people of conscience never left the house. They never ran away. They stayed, they came together and they did the best they could, clasping hands and moving toward the corner of the house that was the weakest. And then another corner would lift, and we would go there.”

He continues, “And eventually, inevitably, the storm would settle, and the house would still stand. But we knew another storm would come, and we would have to do it all over again. And we did. And we still do, all of us. You and I.

Children holding hands, walking with the wind. . . . "[5]

Beloved ones, this is the spiritual reality on which we stake our lives – God is in Christ, restoring Paradise and reconciling the world.  We have this treasure, the extraordinary power of God, in earthen vessels.  Even in the face of persistent evil, good flourishes as we walk with the Spirit.  Thanks be to God.

[1] Rita Nakashima Brock, Rebecca Ann Parker, Saving Paradise:  How Christianity Traded Love of  This World for Crucifixion and Empire, (Boston:  Beacon Press, 2008), p. xv

[2] Margaret Lamotte Torrence in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke, Volume 1, Cynthia Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville:  Westminster/John Knox Press, 2014)   p. 196

[3] Alan Culpepper, The New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. IX, (Nashville:  Abingdon Press, 1995), p. 162

[4] Mitzi Minor, 2 Corinthians:  Smyth and Helwys Bible Commentary, (Macon, GA:  Smyth and Helwys, 2009), p. 101.

[5](John Lewis, Walking with the Wind: A Memoir of the Movement (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1998), pp. xvi–xvii

5/1/22 - God of the Living - Matthew 22:28-33

God of the Living

Matthew 22:28-33

May 1, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Kathy Donley

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRLhxMd47ts

Easter comes around every year.  The concept of resurrection, the idea that Jesus was all the way dead when God restored him to life, has been part of the story of Jesus for about 2000 years now.  Even after all that time, it is not necessarily easy for us to understand or believe. Imagine how incredible that task must have been for Jesus’ first disciples. 

Jesus was executed and everyone was in terrified shock.   On Sunday morning, they discovered the empty tomb.  Some of them had an encounter with Jesus and had their minds blown by the idea of resurrection.  Others didn’t share that experience and couldn’t bring themselves to believe it, not at first anyway.  But eventually, most of the inner circle disciples did see Jesus, even if only briefly, even if, like the two on the road to Emmaus, they didn’t recognize him at first. 

Jesus was dead and gone . . . and then alive and present . . . and then gone again, back to God. As the disciples tried to make sense of it all, I imagine that they went back over everything Jesus had ever said about life or death or resurrection. 

Surely they would have quickly remembered the conversation with the Sadducees that took place just a few days before Jesus’ death. 

It was intended as a trick question.  The Sadducees were a group within first-century Judaism who believed that this life was all there was. They followed the Torah with great earnestness and could not believe in resurrection because they could not find any scriptural support for it.    In contrast, the Pharisees were the more liberal group who were more likely to accept the idea of life after death that was developing at that time.  The Pharisees and Sadducees operated from different power bases and were kind of each other’s out-group.  So, the question that the Sadducees ask is sarcastic and mocking of Jesus and the Pharisees for believing resurrection.

The question is based on the custom of levirate marriage or brother-in-law marriage.  If a man died before having children, then his brother had an obligation to marry the first man’s widow.  This was intended primarily to provide heirs for the dead man, but it also provided some protection for a woman who had no husband and no children to care for her in old age. So, the Sadducees push the rule of levirate marriage to absurdity.  They ask a hypothetical question.  They say, “What if a man died without children and each of his 6 brothers married her in order and each of them died, also without having children —Jesus, when the resurrection happens, whose wife is will she be?”

This ridiculous question is intended to discredit Jesus. If he answers that a particular brother will be her husband in the resurrection, that doesn’t work, because each brother had equal claim on her during their earthly marriage.  If he says that she will be the wife of all seven, that makes even less sense.  So, perhaps they were hoping that Jesus would see the error of his ways.  Maybe they thought he would throw up his hands and say “You got me.  I can’t answer your hypothetical question.  The whole idea of resurrection is preposterous.”[1] 

Of course, Jesus doesn’t do that.  He refuses to engage with their absurd hypothetical. He says “you just don’t get it. Your categories are all wrong.”

They want to know to whom the woman will belong in heaven, which of her earthly husbands will have control of her there. They cannot imagine resurrection as anything more than a continuation of life as it is on earth. 

What the disciples begin to understand after Easter, is what Jesus has been teaching them all along about the nature of power.  Resurrection power is not just life-preserving.  It is also life-transforming.  In the resurrection, Jesus was saying, women will not be given away as if they are property.  In the resurrection, they will be persons, just as men are persons.  

Resurrection does not lead to more of the same.  Resurrection is a shift to something completely new.  The resurrection of Jesus is the event from God’s future breaking into the present. Resurrection transforms life as we know it. It marks the end of the oppression of women, for starters, but also the end of all oppression.  It ends of the power of death itself, death in all its forms.[2] 

This was hard for people to understand. It’s not necessarily any easier for us to understand now.  We are so well acquainted with death and fear and suffering and oppression.

Conceiving of an existence without them is beyond us most of the time.   

Mark Twain said “You can’t depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.”    

It seems to me that much of Jesus’ teaching was aimed at refocusing the disciples’ imagination.  

John Senior is a professor at Wake Forest Divinity School.  He writes “There is nothing wrong with making sense of life from within the human perspective. . . . The mistake, however, is to insist that all that life can mean is contained within the horizon of our of own experience. . . . There is profoundly more to life than just the human experience of it, even if that means we cannot wrap our heads around it. Death is not an ultimate condition for Christians, and it does not permanently bind the experience of life, and meaning.”[3] 

Every Easter, we tell the story of resurrection.  It’s a story about a different kind of power, a story that turns our experience inside out and right-side-up. It’s so hard to comprehend that we tell it over and over again, refocusing our imagination a little more each time. 

When the Sadducees struggle with this, Jesus sends them back to the scriptures.  He says “Haven’t you read that God is the God of the living?”  They know and trust the Bible.  It is a key part of their human experience.  So he invites them to read it again, with eyes and ears focused by a new imagination.  

Our call to worship was from Psalm 78.  It speaks of teaching the next generation that which is life-giving.  The story of Jesus, the story of Easter is life-giving and we keep on telling it to the next generation. We keep in mind that God is the God of the living.  God is alive and in our midst. Resurrection is not just more of the same. God was never bound by first century ideas about marriage where women were property.  Neither is God constrained by the human experience of the twentieth century or of the twenty-first.  God is the God of the living. 

A few of us attended the Alliance of Baptists gathering on-line last week.  There we heard a sermon offered in dialogue between two pastors, Russ and John.  The focus of this gathering was on understanding the cross.  In their sermon, John and Russ looked back on how their own theology of the cross had changed.   

They recalled an event from 25 years ago.  It was at another Baptist gathering. At that time, they sat and talked after their children had gone to bed.  The gathering was in a hotel. They each sat in the threshold of their hotel rooms, where they were near to their sleeping children in case they were needed.  In that space, across the hall from each other,  they talked about things that they had been taught that were no longer life-giving.  They were committed Christians, already pastors even, but they were re-evaluating everything.  Today we would say that they were deconstructing their theology, but I’m not sure that word was trendy then.  They did not yet have language for the understandings which were emerging, but together they were refocusing each other’s imaginations.  In the sermon offered to us, they remarked that the children who had been asleep in the hotel rooms are now adults.  As they looked back, what Russ and John hoped was that the theology they passed on to the next generation was more life-giving, less death-dealing, than the one they had inherited, the one they had to dismantle.   

“Behold! I am doing a new thing” God says through the prophet Isaiah.  In resurrection,  the future has broken into the present.  Heaven and earth are joined together.  May it be so for you and for me.

[1] Thomas G. Long, Matthew:  The Westminster Bible Companion (Louisville:  Westminster/John Knox Press, 1997), p. 252

[2] J. Peter Holmes, in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke, Volume 2, Cynthia Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville:  Westminster/John Knox Press, 2014), p.210-11. 

[3] John E. Senior, in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke, Volume 2, Cynthia Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville:  Westminster/John Knox Press, 2014), p.209-210

4/17/22 - Changed - Luke 24:1-12

Changed

Luke 24:1-12

April 17, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

A few weeks ago, I had a remarkable conversation with Judah, who is 9 ½.  I asked if we could let you overhear our conversation and he agreed.  We have some notes in front of us, to make sure that we remember it right together, but what we’re about to share was a spontaneous, in-the-moment conversation. 

We were reading from Matthew’s gospel where it says: ‘Who do people say that the Son of Man is?’ And they said, ‘Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.’ He said to them, ‘But who do you say that I am?’ Simon Peter answered, ‘You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.’ 

Judah:  “But how could Jesus be John the Baptist? John baptized Jesus. They’re two different people.”

Kathy:  That’s a good question, Judah.  John did baptize Jesus, but later John died. So, some people think that Jesus is John the Baptist come back to life. 

Judah:  How did John die?

 Kathy:  He was executed by Herod Antipas, the ruler of that area. 

Judah:  But John was baptizing people and that’s a good thing.  Why would someone kill him for doing good?

Kathy:  In addition to baptizing people, John was a preacher.   One of the things he preached about was some bad stuff that Herod Antipas was doing.  People were listening to John and  not approving of Herod.  So Herod killed him to shut him up.

Judah:  How come, when you follow Jesus, it leads you to the path of execution?

Kathy:  I don’t have an easy answer for that question, Judah.   But you are right, when you follow Jesus, it can lead you to the path of execution.  . . . So, I’m looking at the rest of the Bible passage.  Jesus asks his disciple Peter, “But what about you, who do you say that I am?”  And I wonder if you can imagine that Jesus is standing right here in front us and he says “Judah, who do you say that I am?”  What would your answer be?

Judah:  You are the Holy One, the Human One, the Living God,  The True One. You’re the One who we know we’re safe with, the One we trust.

Thank you Judah.

When Judah asked me how John the Baptist died, I went into Biblical scholar mode. I went into historian mode, explaining about all the King Herods in the Bible. Judah patiently listened to all that, but then he got to the heart of the matter.  He asked the theological question – “how come when you follow Jesus, it leads to the path of execution?”

What a great question.  How come Jesus is so threatening?  How is that a poor rabbi who preached love and justice was so threatening?    Jesus said that the two most important principles were to love God with everything you’ve got and to love your neighbor as yourself.  These were not new ideas.  Jesus was quoting scripture which was already old in his time.  He was reminding ordinary people and people in power what they already knew. Jesus practiced what he preached.  He loved his friends and his detractors.  He kept on loving his enemies, even as they mocked him, beat him and killed him. 

How come, when you follow Jesus, it leads to the path of execution? 

It was the path feared by his disciples.  Crucifixion was intended to terrorize and it did.  Fear is incredibly powerful.  We are hardwired for fight or flight. The disciples mostly flee.  After Jesus is arrested, they are largely absent from the story.  Except for Peter, who follows from a distance and lingers outside, trying to learn what is happening.  But when he is confronted, first he denies that he even knows Jesus and then he also flees.

Early in the morning, on the first day of the week, they are still afraid.  Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women wake early, if they ever slept.  The memories of Jesus’ horrific last hours persist as heart-wrenching grief and traumatizing sights and sounds that won’t leave their minds.  Have you seen the photographs of survivers in Ukraine, waiting for the bodies of their loved ones to be recovered?  They are just waiting,  standing watch, because there is nothing else that can be done.  Their anguish is probably an accurate reflection of  the mood of the Galilean women. 

They go to the tomb early.  Perhaps hoping for the cover of darkness.  There are no men among them.  Maybe because preparing a body for burial is considered women’s work. Maybe because the authorities are less likely to concern themselves with women who associate with a criminal.    

They go, in spite of their fear, because they love Jesus. Just as Joseph of Arimathea had loved Jesus enough to ask for his body and buried it in his own tomb. It is an expression of loyalty and kinship.  Taking the spices to the tomb, as the women do, is a gesture normally offered by close family members.[1]

As Judah said, Jesus is the one we know we’re safe with, the one we trust. Following Jesus can put you on the path to execution, but somehow, at the same time, Jesus is the one we’re safe with.  It’s a paradox.    

This is where we live our lives, balanced between fear and deep trust.  Or its where I live my life anyway. I have noticed something in my sermons, especially over the last year.  I’ve been using the word “courage” a lot.  I’m always preaching to myself first and now that I’ve become aware of the pattern, I’m wondering what it is that I need to summon courage for?  What is the bravest thing I need to be doing right now? 

The women start off at early dawn. A more poetic way to translate that phrase is as “deep dawn”.  Poet and theologian James Lowry says that deep dawn is that indefinable time between darkness and light, that moment when everything you have been taught to believe about hope is true or it is a lie.[2]   It is the time when change is possible, when our defenses are lowered, when perceptions can shift.  At deep dawn, they journey toward the graveyard, looking for a corpse.  Then everything, every thing, changes. 

Two beings appear.  We would call them angels. And on the basis of their appearance and their words, the women are transformed. They are no longer grieving and traumatized, no longer fearing the path of execution, but somehow they are confident, secure, deeply trusting that their hope is true. 

This is the change that I want, maybe you want it too. The ability to live above my fear, beyond my anxiety, to know that no matter what, Jesus is the one I am safe with.

The women know it.  They didn’t when they woke.  But now they do. 

The women stuck around.  They watched Jesus carry his cross to Golgotha. They saw him die.  They waited and watched Joseph take down his body.  They saw exactly which tomb he was laid in.  And they know that he is not there any more.  They believe the angels when they say “He is risen.”  They know from first-hand experience.

The balance shifts from fear of execution to deep confident trust.  It shifts because of resurrection.  It happens in a moment. It happens at deep dawn.  Every thing, every thing changes. The women see and hear and trust. They know.

But the other disciples do not know.  The others are still afraid.  Have you ever tried to convince someone not to be afraid?  Imagine how the women tried to frame this announcement

“There’s something we need to tell you.”

 “Maybe you should sit down.” 

Mary and Mary and Joanna – what they have to say is so important. It is every thing.  But the men dismiss it as nonsense, too trivial even to bother them. 

The men resist it when the women tell them. Because listening might require change and change is hard.  Even considering it might evoke hope and hope can lead to disappointment.  

First century Galilean women weren’t considered credible witnesses in court.  The culture treated them as perpetual children, always needing to be under the guidance of a man – a father, husband, son, or uncle.  They didn’t have status or authority or credentials, and so were easily dismissed. 

We are not so very different.  We often resist messages that could change everything.   We also may find it hard to listen to voices outside our experience, voices with first-hand knowledge, those whose truth comes from their trauma.  We are listening to the voices of those suffering in Ukraine.  I am grateful for that.  But how well are we listening to those from Honduras who are some of the world’s first climate refugees?  They have stories to tell of hunger and poverty from year after year of drought.  They and those from El Salvador and Guatemala are fleeing the same kind of violent power and sexual assault and brutality as those in Ukraine.  The stories I have heard from Central American migrants are directly parallel to those being reported in Ukraine.  Our government is responding to the needs of the Ukranians, as we should, but we have steadfastly ignored and dismissed the voices of our southern neighbors for years. 

What other voices do we resist?  How well do we listen to Black Lives Matter activists who describe living in a reality distinct from white people’s reality?  How well do we listen to those who live in poverty?  How easy is it to disregard the voices of children, because they don’t have authority or credentials?

Did I mention that Judah is 9 ½?  Entirely on his own, he arrived at the truth that following Jesus puts you on the path to execution and that also Jesus is the one we know we can trust. 

Everything shifts for the women because of their first-hand experience.  For the men, it begins when they listen to those with an experience beyond their own. If we seek transformation, we may need to listen deeply to experiences well beyond what we already know.

Between the fear of execution and deep, confident trust lies resurrection. It happens in a flash. It happens at deep dawn, the moment when we choose to believe that hope is true, that love is stronger than death. 

Resurrection changes everything.  Jesus’s despairing, traumatized, grieving disciples are transformed into brave, hopeful, loving bearers of good news.  They come out from their hiding places and boldly proclaim all they know, in public, over and over again. It is because of their courage that you and I even know the story. They live out the rest of their days in full confidence.  The path of execution is real, yes, and many will follow Jesus on it, but its death is not so deadly as to hold them back. 

The grip of death does not have to bind us either.  “We no longer need to hold on to the old formulations – moral, religious, economic or political – that have run our lives for so long.  Today is the day to proclaim that the death systems of our time will not have dominion over us.  We no longer need to live as cowards.  We will not be defined by war or violence or even our struggle for security and safety.  The news that comes to us out of that empty tomb is the news that God is not defeated by the systems of death.”[3]

Today is the day to proclaim that we are changed, because of the Risen One, the Living God, the True one, the One we know we’re safe with, the  One we trust.  Today is the day.  Because Christ is Risen.  Christ is risen indeed.

[1] Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, Social-Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992), p. 321-22

[2] J. Lowry, “At Deep Dawn”  Journal for Preachers, Easter 2004

[3] These are the words of the Rev. Patricia De Jong as proclaimed in her sermon Easter is Hard to Hold, delivered on April 8, 2007 at the First Congregational Church of Berkeley, CA

4/10/22 - Even the Stones Cry Out - Luke 19:28-40

Even the Stones Cry Out

 Luke 19:28-40

April 10, 2022

Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley

Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://youtu.be/CKUecweOc1E

Today we enter Jerusalem with Jesus.  Over the last 10 chapters of Luke’s gospel, he has been making his way to this city, very deliberately.  Several times, he has told his disciples that it is necessary for him to go there,  He has said that he expects to be rejected and insulted and beaten and even killed in Jerusalem.  Some of his friends have tried to dissuade him from going, but he insists on it.

He and his disciples are joining a huge crowd. Scholars estimate that Jerusalem’s population swelled from its usual 40,000 to as much as 200,000 at Passover.[1] 

They have walked all over Galilee to get here.  The destination was always clear, even though the route was anything but direct.  Someone has said that the path that Jesus follows in Luke’s gospel is like the family that was going from Florida to New Jersey for a family wedding.  The Grandpa asked if they could swing by Minnesota on their way home to Florida. [2]   Luke spends 10 chapters on Jesus’ travel because he is more interested in the theology of the places Jesus goes than their geography.  We can talk about that some other time.  The point I’m making is that Jesus covered miles and miles by walking. He never needed a donkey . . .  until now. 

If he had to go to Jerusalem, he could have done it more discretely.  On foot, he could have been just one more anonymous pilgrim.  But he chose to be conspicuous.  He chose to make an entrance.

He rides in on a donkey.  It is not a war-horse, and thus is a symbol of peace.  But he is riding it into Jerusalem on Passover and the other pilgrims immediately make a connection with a prophecy from Zechariah about the king who will come to Jerusalem, triumphant and yet humble, riding on a donkey.  They are chanting Psalm 118 which is the song you sing on the way into Jerusalem.  But when they see Jesus on the donkey, they change one word.  Instead of “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” they say “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord”

It is Passover, a religious-political holiday that recalls the liberation of the people of Israel from bondage in Egypt. It is Passover, that event which led Pharoah to “let my people go” as God and Moses demanded.  That liberation and freedom and opportunity for self-determination is what 200,000 people are cramming the streets to celebrate—all while they are not liberated or free, but under the thumb of Rome, subject to the whims of Roman governors or emperors, controlled by the humiliating, and ruthless tactics of Roman soldiers. 

I have a different sense of what it might be like to live in an occupied country now, as I watch Russia’s attempts to occupy Ukraine. I read one woman’s explanation of her family’s decision not to abandon Kiev.  They know they are risking their lives.  But she says, that they cannot give into fear, or the enemy wins. She also says that they stay in order to help others who have no way to leave.  And that they have a deep conviction from God that their place was in Kiev.

And so I read this text this year, through the lens of a small country being unjustifiably over-powered by an exponentially larger occupying force.  If people in the crowd believe that Jesus is the one who will deliver them, if they think that he is the military strategist, the guerrilla warfare expert who can lead them to liberation and freedom again, then the crowd could easily become a mob and things could get seriously out of control.  When they start throwing the word “king” around, the sense of danger ratchets up.

The religious leaders hear it.  They’re afraid the Romans will hear it and retaliate with violence.  So they tell Jesus to make his disciples shut up. And Jesus says, “I tell you, if they were silent, the stones would shout out.”

Wondering what the stones might say, Presbyterian pastor William Klein writes  “ . . . they could tell of the river of tears and blood spilled here and there as the result of any number of brutal campaigns. They could tell of one military leader after another parading into the city and filling the people’s ears with fear. The singing stones’ song on the day Jesus entered the city would sing, not just for joy at the coming of a gracious king, but also for grief and lamentation -- like Rachel weeping over her children, like Jesus weeping over the city.  Their song would be a cry rising from any boulevard of broken dreams across this planet where God’s people have suffered.”[3] 

When he speaks of the stones crying out, Jesus is quoting Habakkuk. The prophet wrote that the stones will cry out against the corruption of the wicked. The people are crying out against the injustice and violence being used against them, against the greed and the will to power that exploit them.  They want a king who will deliver lasting peace.

Writing from the cell where he was imprisoned for his resistance to the Nazis in WWII, Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, “There remains an experience of incomparable value. We have for once learned to see the great events of world history from below, from the perspective of the outcast, the suspects, the maltreated, the powerless, the oppressed, the reviled – in short from the perspective of those who suffer.[4] 

The world is now watching Ukraine and seeing history from below.

Jesus does not silence them. Those who suffer and those who care for them will cry out  He knows that some truths cannot be suppressed.  There comes a time when we cannot stay quiet any longer.

The Russian Orthodox Church officially supports the invasion of Ukraine.  But one Russian priest cannot do that. The Rev. John Burdin spoke out last month.  He criticized the war in an open letter he published on-line.  He named the invasion an invasion and a war.  It was an act of truth-telling that contrasts with Putin’s insistence that it is a “special military operation.” He wrote that the blood spilled is a curse on the killers but also on those who keep silent or don’t protest.

He preached about this on a Sunday morning and within three hours, the police were investigating him. He has been fined.  If he is charged with spreading false information, he could face up to 15 years in prison. In an interview that was relayed internationally, he said, “I don’t consider it possible to remain silent on this situation.  It wasn’t about politics. It was about the Bible. … If I remain silent, I’m not a priest.”[5]

Ironically, his bishop has now told him to keep quiet and warned that he might be banned from ministry if he doesn’t. This is what they often tell preachers.  Just preach the Bible. Stay in your lane. Don’t talk about justice or systemic racism or immigration or climate change.  Whatever you do, they say, leave politics out of the pulpit. 

That’s hard to do.  If we can’t preach on justice, that leaves very little of the Bible left to preach. If we can’t preach about Jesus who insisted on coming to the capital city, the intersection of religion and politics, whose gospel are we preaching?  

Lord George MacLeod, the founder of the Iona Community, said, “I simply argue that the cross be raised at the center of the marketplace as well as on the steeple of the church. I am recovering the claim that Jesus was not crucified in a cathedral between two candles, but on a cross between two thieves; on a town garbage heap; at a crossroad of politics so cosmopolitan that they had to write his title in Hebrew and in Latin and in Greek . . . and at the kind of place where cynics talk smut and thieves curse and soldiers gamble. Because that is where he died, and that is what he died about. And that is where Christ’s people ought to be and what church people ought to be about.[6]

Jesus does not silence his followers.  But he is not naïve. He knows that justice and peace are not coming quickly.  He knows that he is not the kind of king they want. 

He does not offer a military solution.  He will not confront the powers with domination or retaliation or retribution.  Instead, he will keep walking into the fear, walking into the hatred, walking into the violence, telling the truth and offering his life.

They will not understand.  Truthfully, we still do not understand, even though we have the benefit of knowing the rest of the story.  Even though we know that Jesus’ path of courage and vulnerability leads to resurrection.  “We still mostly trust the peace of armaments, the peace of vigilance, even the peace of isolation from those we fear.  We still find it difficult, almost impossible, to trust and practice the peace of love.” [7] 

And the Jesus who wept over Jerusalem still weeps,  

over Kiev

and Kramatorsk

and Aleppo

and Kandahar

and Tijuana

and San Salvador

and St. Louis

and New Town

and Albany. 

And we say Hosanna  -- Save us. 

[1] Borg, Marcus J. and John Dominic Crossan.  The Last Week:  What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus’ Final Days in Jerusalem   (New York:  HarperCollins, 2006), p. 18.

[2] https://www.christiancentury.org/blogs/archive/2010-10/travel-narratives

[3] William Klein, in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke, Volume 2, Cynthia Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville:  Westminster/John Knox Press, 2014), p. 178.

[4] Dietrich Bonhoeffer,  Letters and Papers from Prison, (New York:  Simon and Schuster, 1953) p. 17

[5] https://religionnews.com/2022/04/05/for-russian-priest-protesting-ukraine-invasion-a-mixture-of-defiance-and-concern/

[6] George MacLeod, The Cunningham Lectures, delivered at New College, Edinburgh, Scotland, 1954

[7] Justo Gonzalez, Luke in the Belief Commentary Series, (Louisville:  Westminster/John Knox Press, 2010), p. 228.