Teach Us to Pray

July 31, 2016
Genesis 18:20-33     Luke 11:1-13

Do any of you remember the movie Bruce Almighty? It was a 2003 movie about a guy named Bruce, played by Jim Carrey, who was given God-like powers. The critics weren’t enthusiastic about the film, though I liked it! The thing I remember most about it, though, was that it included a phone number for people to use to call God, and for once they didn’t use one of those obviously fake numbers, like 555-1234. No, this was a real number, and in the days and weeks after the movie was released, people with that number across the country, in all the different time zones, started getting phone calls from folks wanting to talk to God. One woman reportedly started telling her callers, “You don’t need a phone number to talk to God, honey. You can just pray.” And I remember thinking, Oh, my goodness, there are people all over this country who have no idea what prayer is, let alone how to do it.

I hope that everyone raised in the church has some idea how to pray, but I also know that even Jesus’ disciples needed some help in that area. “Teach us to pray,” they asked Jesus.

Now, Jesus had a lot of important things to say about prayer. God always answers prayer (though not always in the ways we want). God wants to give us good things—just like a parent won’t give their child a serpent when asked for a fish, or a scorpion when asked for an egg.

If this conversation had happened any time in the last 50 years or so, he might have cautioned them that prayer is not a magical incantation or like some kind of celestial vending machine, where if we could just get the words just right, everything we asked for would come whizzing down the chute.

But what Jesus did was simply give them a model for prayer—the one we call the Lord’s Prayer today.

As I go through the rest of the sermon, I invite you to pull out this insert and make some notes on your thoughts on the questions I will pose, or on what it means to you—how you perhaps might pray it in the future.

We begin with Our Father. Our, not my. God is in relationship not only with us as individuals but with all of us. We are the body of Christ together—when we pray “Our Father,” we acknowledge our participation in that body. That’s why we pray this prayer together, corporately, every week in church.

Father. Jesus used Abba here, which is often translated as Daddy. This would have really startled the disciples! At that time people talked about Yahweh being Father in the way that we talk about George Washington being the Father of our Country. But they would have never heard God addressed directly as Daddy.

When we pray directly to God our Daddy, we’re reminded that prayer is primarily about our relationship with God. God wants the kind of relationship with us that we might have with someone we dearly love. God wants the kind of relationship with us that God had with Abraham—as in the text we heard earlier where Abraham actually persuaded God to change God’s mind!

Some people have difficulties with God as Father. If that’s true for you, or if you’d like to experience some other way to address God, you may want to use some of the Bible’s mothering images of God. Go ahead. Mother God, Uncle God, Grandma God. What forms of address for God give you a sense of intimacy? You may find it helpful—meaningful—to use different forms of address at different times.

Hallowed be your name. When I was very young, this line really confused me. Why would God’s name be hollow? Like a hollow tree? But it’s hallowed, meaning holy. And the “name” part? In the ancient world, one’s name was not just a label but the essence of who one was. To show God’s name as holy is to know God as holy.

Eugene Peterson’s The Message takes this idea even farther, translating it as “Reveal who you are.” Reveal who you are, you Holy One. Daddy of all of us, show us who you are.

How do you understand the God to whom you pray? Is God to be feared or to be trusted? Do you come into God’s presence in fear and trepidation, or is more like a joyful homecoming? Is God far, far away … or as close as breathing?

Hallowed be your name, O Lord. Reveal who you are—all the parts of you.

Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
The Message has this as “Set the world right.” I like that. I also like the way some folks have re-interpreted the word “kingdom” to make it “kin-dom.” The kingdom in which we are all kin.

Oh, Lord. May we get to the point where we do truly live like full-time members of God’s realm of kinfolk.

But of course, setting the world right begins with setting ourselves right, so this part of the prayer has within it a call to repentance. What part of your own life is God calling you to set right? What would God’s kin-dom look like, lived out in your life?

Give us each day our daily bread. Give us what we really need today, Lord. Not necessarily what we want, but what we need.

What if we were to pray each day for our daily needs, even though we’re pretty sure we’ve got the money to make sure they’re going to turn up? I’ll bet, for me, if I were praying for the food I will eat during the day, I’d be more inclined to go for nutritious food rather than junk. After all, if God is giving it to me, why should I waste God’s gifts on junk? What “daily needs” choices might we make differently if we were to see each of them as a gift of God?

I think if we were to consciously pray each day for the things we need, we’d also become more conscious of those gifts, more thankful. I’m reminded of African-American churches who regularly pray, “Lord, thank you for waking us up this morning!” What would our lives be like if we were to go through each day with that kind of thankfulness?

What would your prayer be if you were asking God each day for your basic needs?

And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.

… Or is it “trespasses”? When I was young, and learning the prayer in a Methodist church, I couldn’t figure out what was so really, really bad about walking on someone else’s lawn. I’ve heard others say that they grew up figuring that being in debt—owing someone money—was the worst thing ever.

These two ways of wording the Lord’s Prayer came originally from the different Greek words used in the Matthew and Luke versions of the prayer. Presbyterians have historically used the “debt/debtor” version, though many churches are now moving to “sins.” (Forgive our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.)

For first century Israelites, when you offended someone in some way, you were understood to owe that person a “debt”—because you caused a break in your relationship with that person. You were “indebted” to that person to make the relationship whole again. If, for example, you broke your neighbor’s best bowl, you owed them a debt in the form of a replacement bowl. If you insulted them, you had broken the relationship and thus were indebted to them. The break caused by an insult can’t be repaired as concretely as can a broken bowl—it requires repentance, and forgiveness.

When we pray “as we forgive our debtors,” we are saying that we are ready to forgive the breaks in relationships that those others have caused.

Where have there been breaks in your relationships with others? Is forgiveness needed there, in order to make the relationship whole again?

And what about breaks in your relationship with God?
In this prayer Jesus assures us that God will forgive us those breaks—those debts—and that we need to be about the business of forgiving others as well. I like the way it’s stated in The Message: “Keep us forgiven with you and forgiving others.”

We can count on God’s being our loving parent. But as with any relationship, if we refuse to admit when we’ve done wrong, the relationship is going to suffer. The true mark of one who has been forgiven by God is a willingness to forgive others.

Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

Lord, save us from times when it will be too easy for us to give in to the temptation to do or think things that go against your will. Save us from that kind of trial. Save us from ourselves and from the temptations of the world.

Or as some old commentaries put it:

Lord, if the occasion of sinning presents itself, grant that the desire may not be found in me; if the desire is there, grant that the occasion may not present itself.

If I am really tempted to spread malicious gossip, or cheat on my spouse … to drink too much or give in to gluttony, please, God, either help me get past those temptations or just keep me out of temptation’s way!

This line is in Jesus’ prayer because we always need to be reminded that on our own, we cannot always do the right thing. We need God’s help.

What does your personal prayer about being saved from temptation look like?

 

In Luke’s gospel, Jesus’ prayer doesn’t include the ending we normally add—the part where we recognize God’s sovereign power in the world and in our lives. As we end this sermon, let us say this one together.

For yours is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.

Lord’s Prayer Notes and Thoughts

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

 

 

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

 

 

Give us this day our daily bread

 

 

and forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.

 

 

Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

 

 

For yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory,
forever and ever. Amen.

Worthy, aka Pregnant with Expectation

July 24, 2016
Luke 2:6-14     Luke 2:25-32, 36-38

This sermon begins with a Christmas video unlike any other you’ve ever seen: Link to video of “The Boy.”

 

Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all people:
to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.

It’s a boy. A beautiful boy.
Born to humble parents. Witnessed by people at the lowest rungs of society.
A beautiful boy.

A real baby boy who pooped his diapers and spit up on his parents’ good clothes and kept everyone in the house up all night screaming for no reason Mary and Joseph could ever figure out.
A real baby.

Don’t you think it was kind of amazing, actually, that  God would choose to be born a baby, a human baby, one who would grow up to be a human? Fully human and at the same time fully God. God incarnate—in human form. Good news of great joy for all the people!

Incarnate—incarnation. What does it mean to us?
It means that humans are worthy. Worthy of God’s being one of us.
Worthy because Jesus was one of us.

C.S. Lewis put it this way:

The son of God became man to enable men to become the sons of God.

(And women, of course.)
The son of God—the Word of God—became human so that humans could become daughters and sons of God.

And we are.

 

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, in his Cost of Discipleship, had this to say about God being born as a human:

In the Incarnation the whole human race recovers the dignity of the image of God.
Henceforth, any attack even on the least of [humans] is an attack on Christ, who took [human] form … and in his own Person restored the image of God in all that bears a human form.

Because of the incarnation, we bear a piece of the image of God.
Because of the incarnation, we are worthy.
There is something of God in all of us … starting with being born as beautiful babies.
And any attack on any of us, as Bonhoeffer says, is an attack on Christ.

 

I thought it was important to remember this worthiness we have because of Jesus’ incarnation … I thought it was important to remember it in the midst of this political season. We’re not hearing much about worthiness, are we? We’re hearing about how Mr. Trump is unworthy or Secretary Clinton is unworthy … how Republicans are unworthy or Democrats are unworthy … police officers and Black Lives Matter supporters, gay people … people who carry guns in public, and Muslims—all unworthy … and, well, you can fill in the blanks. A lot of “unworthiness” gets bantered about out there.

But we are worthy.
Even when we’re acting really pretty hateful. Even when we post nasty stuff on Facebook or gossip with our friends about all the stupid things “those others” believe to be true. We’re worthy.

And so are they. Even when they’re hateful. They’re worthy.

Worthy of love. Worthy of respect. Worthy of living lives without fear.
Worthy of being looked at as if we will see the face of Jesus when we look at them.
Worthy of knowing that the image of God rests within us.
All of us.

Good news of great joy for all people.

Seeing people as unworthy—as “other”—is a very natural human thing to do. We’ve been doing it for millennia. Probably back to when people lived in caves. Who knows? Maybe there was huge enmity between the tribe that made their tools from animal bones and the one that who made them from rocks!

It’s in the Bible, as in the first-century Jewish disdain of Samaritans. It’s in churches, which have been known over and over to split when disagreements arose, and then to accuse the “other” of being, well, really unworthy.

But seeing people as unworthy is not in God’s plan for us. God sees all of us as worthy … and wants us to do the same. We may disagree with them. We may really despise their ideas or their actions. But Jesus was born of their flesh just as much as Jesus was born of ours. They are worthy, just as we are worthy.

Good news of great joy for all people.
Glory to God in the highest heaven.

Good news. Great joy. Or as Simeon sang it: “My eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.”

A light for revelation to the Gentiles and to your people Israel. Worthiness for those of us on the “inside” and for those on the outside.

 

Oh, how they longed for that good news, back at the beginning of the first century, in the Roman-occupied country that was the home of the Jews. Their sense of their own worth was battered every day—by the sight of the Roman centurions patrolling the streets, by the tax men collecting monies to send to Rome, by the fears that roamed the streets and crept into their homes at night. Oh, how they longed for good news—for news of throwing off the oppressor, for news of God’s raising up their country as in the days of David, for news of a Messiah.

Simeon and Anna had been waiting for that good news for years—for decades. They were “pregnant” with the expectation of good news … as were many, many of the people of Israel. The difference between these two and most of their compatriots, though, was that these two elderly people were able to recognize the good news when it came.

Most people who met Jesus during the course of most of his life had no clue. They were looking for a Messiah, yes, but a particular kind of Messiah—one with the right sound bites, the right platform, and the right ability to Get Things Done.

Just like most of us now. We’re afraid, and so we look for a Messiah. Preferably one whose ideology matches our own.

But we know, deep down, that these are not the right Messiah candidates.
For we know, deep down, that we already have a Messiah. A Messiah who came to show us that we are worthy—deep down worthy—and so are all the rest. A Messiah who teaches us to see the face of God in everyone we meet.

 

Now I’d like you to rise and look at the folks across the aisle. We’re going to talk to each other about our worthiness.

Left:    We are worthy.

Right:    You are worthy.

Left:    You are worthy.

Right:    We all are worthy.

All:    And so are those we think of as “other.”

Left:    Fear not. You’re worthy of love.

Right:    Fear not. You’re worthy of respect.

Left:    We can see Christ in you.

Right:    We can see Christ in you.

All:    Fear not. We’re bearers of the image of God.

For unto us is born, this day and all days, in the city of David and on the highways of Eastern Europe … in our living rooms and in hearts … for to us is born our incarnate God. Fully God, fully human. Good news. Good news of great joy for all people.

Alleluia. Amen.

Gorilla Joy

July 17, 2016

Amos 8:1-12     Luke 10:38-42

Preceding this sermon, this film clip of the “invisible gorilla” was shown. http://www.theinvisiblegorilla.com/videos.html 

 

The Mary and Martha story. How many of you kind of shudder when this passage comes up? Some women are especially frustrated by it. It seems like such a put-down of poor Martha, doing what’s needed in order to get dinner on the table, anyway, and then being reprimanded by Jesus, who says Mary has “the better way.” But hey, don’t we need the Marthas of the world? Haven’t there been times when you’ve been trying to get ready for a dinner party, maybe doing those things that just have to be done at the last minute, and you would have liked to be sitting and talking with your guests, but hey, somebody’s got to whip the potatoes or make the gravy or pull the rolls out of the oven …

It’s easy to build up a fair head of resentment over the way Jesus treats Martha here … and that’s a clue that maybe we’re not reading the passage quite right. Because, hey, it’s Jesus! And surely he wouldn’t be putting someone down, especially when she was doing something she was supposed to be doing.

Let’s notice a few things about this passage. First, it was Martha who welcomed Jesus into her home. She’s the hostess. Mary is probably the younger sister, and although we often hear this passage referred to as the story of Mary and Martha, with Mary’s name first, it’s Martha who has done the inviting and welcoming, so she’s got even more reasons to want to make sure things are just so. She’s got a responsibility. And in a culture where hospitality was hugely important, she’s doing her best to take care of her guest.

Second, the Greek word that our translation has as tasks, as in “Martha was distracted by her many tasks”—that word is diakonian, which is usually translated ministry or service. (It’s the word that gives us Deacon.) What Martha was doing was ministry—she was serving her Lord.

So why did Jesus say that she was distracted by this work? I think it’s a matter of attention. Like in the basketball gorilla film clip—when our attention is elsewhere, we don’t see the gorilla.

That’s Martha’s problem. There’s nothing wrong with housework or being hospitable or serving people in concrete ways. But because she was so focused on serving Jesus in that way, she missed the gorilla, so to speak. She missed the chance to sit and learn, to be inspired, to be transformed, to give the gift of her presence as Jesus was giving them the gift of his … the chance to hear the words of the Lord.

And that brings me to the third thing I noticed as I reviewed this passage. “Mary has chosen a good part (and the Greek indicates a good more than the better), which will not be taken away from her.” Mary chose the chance to sit in Jesus’ presence and hear the words of the Lord. These words will be with her always—they cannot be taken away.

What questions does all this raise for you about your own lives? What is it that you do in your life—and it may very well be a very good thing to do—what is it you do that seems like the most important thing to do right now, the only important thing to do right now—that in reality has you “worried and distracted,” to use Jesus’ terms, so that you may be missing the gorilla?

When people come to visit you, do you get worried and distracted trying to entertain them? In your daily life, are you worried and distracted with work and keeping up the house and the yard, and volunteer activities? If you’re a volunteer here at church, do you get worried and distracted with committee meetings and responsibilities? Are you so worried and distracted with your diakonian that maybe, just maybe, you’re missing a chance to sit and listen to Jesus?

We live in a culture that emphasizes doing. Get things done! Be active! Listening to Jesus, on the other hand, often involves not doing, but being. Being still. Being present. Listening for the word of the Lord. And don’t we crave that word, under all our doing? Don’t we want to know that God loves us and that we need not be afraid of death or loneliness or emptiness, that the Lord has a mission for us—a purpose for our lives—that takes us beyond our earthly limits?

 

It’s that threat of missing God’s presence, God’s word, that we find in Amos’s prophecy in our Old Testament reading. In this passage, God is beyond frustrated with the greed and carelessness of the people of Israel—people who can’t wait for the Sabbath to be over so they can go back to their wheeling and dealing … people who “practice deceit with false balances, buying the poor for silver and the needy for a pair of sandals, and selling the sweepings of the wheat.” Israel is at the height of its power and wealth, but God tells what is going to come of all of this: earthquakes and floods … feasts turned into mourning and songs into lamentation. And most importantly, “The time is surely coming, says the Lord GOD, when I will send a famine on the land; not a famine of bread, or a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the LORD.”

A famine of hearing the words of the Lord. Wow. The people’s attention has been turned away, toward celebrating the glory days in Israel, toward making as much money as they can and living the good life, even if it is on the backs of others. And what is coming for them is a famine of hearing the words of the Lord. No more ability to hear that word that we crave.

And that’s why what Mary was doing—listening to Jesus—was the “good part.” She was paying attention to the Lord and being distracted neither by the kind of deceit and heartlessness we read about in Amos nor by the necessities of living, like Martha.

Now, there’s one other piece of that Amos passage that we need to pay attention to. Did you notice the first couple of lines of that passage. Did you listen to them? Did they make any sense to you?

God shows Amos a basket of summer fruit and says, “Amos, what do you see?” Amos says, “A basket of summer fruit.” And the Lord replies, “The end has come upon my people Israel.”

Say what?

It works a bit better when we look at the original language, for the word for “summer fruit” was qáyiç and the word for “end” was qēç. The Ancient Hebrews loved their puns. Amos says I see qáyiç, and God says, Yup, the qēç is near. Now we could leave it at that—hah, hah, it’s just a pun—but of course we’re not going to do that.

Think about summer fruit. I don’t know what the summer fruit in ancient Israel was, but think about it here and now. Peaches. Berries—blueberries, strawberries, raspberries. Watermelon. Delicious, juicy, sweet. It’s here today … and tomorrow it’s come to an end—rotted even. It’s one of the great joys of summer, but if you’re paying attention elsewhere, it’s gone before you know it. It’s a gorilla you can miss, for a whole year.

And that’s a famine for summer fruit. No chance for that sweetness, that juiciness, that wonder. An end, a qēç. Because we weren’t paying attention.

Is it that peaches and blueberries won’t exist if we don’t eat them this summer?
No. They’ll be there—we just won’t experience them.
Will God not love us if we don’t pay attention?
No. We just won’t be able to feel that love.
Will we not be saved if we don’t listen to the word of the Lord?
No. Salvation is ours, but it’s awfully hard to live into our salvation when we don’t stop to listen to God.

The word of the Lord is delicious. As the psalmist says, “How sweet are your words to my mouth, sweeter than honey to my mouth.”[1] Like summer fruit, the word of the Lord is a sweet gift to us from God.

And so, my friends, I invite you to partake of God’s juicy, sweet Word. Pray. Read your Bible. Meditate. Talk with friends about God’s gifts. Go for a walk along a river. Leave your diakonian—your busy service—and listen to the word of the Lord. As it was with Mary, God’s word will never be taken away from you.

And keep your eyes open for gorillas.
And eat peaches.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

[1] Psalm 119:103

God’s Dream for Us

July 10, 2016

Luke 10:25-37

 

There’s a man lying on the side of the road, beaten and robbed.

There’s a man lying behind a convenience store, shot to death.
There’s a man slumped in his car, shot to death.
There are five police officers in Dallas, shot to death.

There is a man lying on the side of the road.

There’s a nation lying on the side of the road, beaten by the evidence of violence and racism in their midst and robbed of any sense of everything being okay.

 

Oh Lord, oh Lord. How long? Why?
Why doesn’t God swoop in and fix it? Why does God allow such horrible things to happen?

 

Those are questions that people of faith have asked for millennia. Why did God allow the Holocaust? Why was the baby born with horrible disabilities? Why did lightning strike and burn the house down?

These things are not part of God’s dream for us. God weeps when horrible things happen.

Why do they happen? Sometimes there is no reason—lightning strikes, a driver takes his eyes off the road for a split second—it’s an accident.

And sometimes there’s a theological answer: Sin. What Calvinist Reformers traditional called Total Depravity. Total depravity doesn’t mean that each one of us is depraved through and through. It means that depravity—also known as original sin—is woven throughout all of humanity. This understanding is essential to who we are as Presbyterians.

Sinfulness is part of each of us. It shows up in nasty gossiping and sly bullying and acting as though we’re the center of the universe—there are lots of individual sins. Beyond our individual sins, though, is the pervasiveness of what is called “Corporate Sin.” Sinfulness that is woven throughout the “corpus”—the body. Sin that is so much part of the culture we live in that for the most part we don’t even recognize it. It’s part of the cultural air we breathe.

Here’s an example: I love to buy inexpensive clothing. When someone admires something I’m wearing, I’m likely to tell them what a bargain it was. Where did I get my desire to spend as little as possible? Well, gee, isn’t it part of the culture? Don’t advertisers love to tell us what a deal we’ll get if we only spend our money with them?

And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to spend as little as possible … until I start exploring how it is that this garment costs less than the one in the store next door. Who made this garment? Hm. They probably weren’t paid a fair wage, or the garment would have cost a lot more. And what were their working conditions like? Might they be like millions of garment industry workers who are indentured to their jobs … not allowed to leave … slaves?

When I purchase cheap clothing, I am supporting an industry that takes advantage of people. That’s sinfulness. That’s participation in corporate sin.

And God weeps. There’s a whole group of garment workers lying on the side of the road, beaten and robbed of their ability to support their families and even of their freedom.

Or here’s another one that’s big in this country: shaming people who are overweight. Our cultural ideal, especially for women, is “thin and toned,” and anything else is just not okay. If our bodies don’t fit that cultural mandate, we are shamed. Oftentimes we have so inculcated the values of the culture that we shame ourselves.

And God weeps. There’s a whole group of heavier-than-the-ideal people lying on the side of the road, beaten and robbed of their dignity and self-worth.

For the most part we are unaware of the corporate sin we are participating in; doing so is not a choice we make. It’s the air we breathe.

 

In this country there are two kinds of corporate sin that have reared their ugly heads this week. The first is violence. This country was founded and developed in violence. Our stories—our TV shows and movies, our video games … even our football games—all violent. I am not accusing any of us of being excessively violent people, but we live in a culture that lifts up violence as the best way to solve problems. It may show up as bullying, mocking, shaming, taunting … or shoving, hitting, shooting—violence is part of the air we breathe.

Our understanding of God’s Word, though, tells us that violence is not okay.

The Old Testament says, “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” That’s a limit, not a rule to follow. In other words, if someone hits you and knocks out your tooth, the most you can do to them is knock out one of their teeth. You are not supposed to knock out their tooth, but that’s the most you can do.

Jesus made that clear. And he took the whole idea of violence against others farther:

“You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment.” (Matthew 5:21-22a, CEB)

Martin Luther King also spoke about that idea:

Nonviolence means avoiding not only external physical violence but also internal violence of spirit. You not only refuse to shoot a man, but you refuse to hate him.

To follow Jesus is to avoid not only external physical violence but also internal violence of spirit. No yelling at our TVs or muttering at our car radios. No wishing our boss would get eaten by an alligator. No thinking, “I hate that political candidate!”

That’s a hard one, isn’t it? The corporate sin of violence.

And God weeps. There’s a man lying on the side of the road, beaten and robbed.

 

The second kind of corporate sin that we have seen glaring at us this week is racism. Evangelical leader Jim Wallis calls racism “America’s original sin.” And so it is. Even when we think we are not racist, it’s part of the air we breathe.

About 15 years ago, I was driving home pretty late at night. It was around 1:30 in the morning, in a deserted area, and when I got to a red light I looked left and right, saw no cars at all … and drove through the light. But I had missed one car: a police car. Sure enough, the officer pulled me over … and let me off with a warning. Whew!

As I drove away, though, I thought to myself, “If I were a 20-something black man, I’ll bet I wouldn’t have gotten away with just a warning.” I’d seen the statistics, you see, that showed that black drivers were far more likely to be pulled over than white drivers, far more likely to have their cars searched, far more likely to end up being charged.

I thought I was pretty hip when it came to this kind of white privilege. Until I told my story about realizing that as a middle-aged white woman I had an advantage, in a workshop my first year in seminary, and one of the African-American men in the group asked, “Did you say that to the police officer?”

Well, no! Of course not! I didn’t want to ask for trouble!

Ah. I was aware of my white privilege, but I wasn’t willing to let it go.

 

White privilege doesn’t mean that white people don’t also have problems or that we are given privileges that black people don’t receive. It doesn’t mean that all white people have it easy in life, or even easier than black people. It means that the system—the cultural system of assumptions and expectations, of fears and of corporate sin—the system is rigged in our favor. It means that we can ignore the whole issue of race most of the time. It means that we can assume that our reality is the reality for everyone else.

Black Lives Matter does not mean that only Black lives matter but that, in a nation that has consistently devalued Black lives, Black lives also matter … and that in times when Black people are hurting badly, we may need to pay more attention to them than to others for a bit.

 

And God weeps. There’s a whole pile of people lying on the side of the road, beaten by a racist culture. And there’s a whole ‘nother pile of people lying on the side of the road, robbed of the ease of a life that didn’t need to consider racism.

 

Who’s going to rescue all these folks on the side of the road? Where’s the Good Samaritan?

Sometimes that’s the call on our lives—to take the risk to help the person whom we’ve been taught to see as an enemy. Sometimes the Good Samaritan is the person or persons we least expect them to be, like the myriad group of people quickly working together Thursday night as shots rang out in Dallas, moving a baby stroller out of danger.

Sometimes, as Martin Luther King further said, “we must come to see that the whole Jericho road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life’s highway.” We need to repent of our participation in the corporate sins of violence and racism and work to change the culture—to transform that Jericho road.

Because when Jesus told this parable and made its hero a Samaritan—an outsider: heretical, dangerous, repugnant—when Jesus called the Samaritan “good,” he was asking his listeners to dream of a different kind of kingdom. As Amy Jill Levine writes, “He was inviting them to put aside the history they knew and the prejudices they nursed. He was asking them to leave room for divine and world-altering surprises.” He was asking them to leave their corporate sin behind and live into God’s dream for us all.

Called to live into God’s dream for us all. How do we do that?

We need to Grieve. It’s easier to be angry than to grieve, but we must give ourselves and others time and space to mourn. For ourselves, for the men who died this week of gun violence, for the families they left behind, for the anguish of their communities.

We need to Repent of our complicity in the corporate sin of violence and racism. Recognize it, grieve over it, and move on in a new direction.

We need to Learn more. To allow our perspectives to be widened, our assumptions challenged.

Maybe by listening, if that opportunity presents itself.

Maybe by reading. I would love to join with some others in reading one or more of the books that have been recommended to me about racism in America. …

• Jim Wallis. America’s Original Sin: Racism, White Privilege, and the Bridge to a New America
• Michelle Alexander. The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness
• Debby Irving. Waking Up White, and Finding Myself in the Story of Race
• Ta-Nehisi Coates. Between the World and Me

Or you can borrow this book from the church library: From Hope to Wholeness. Sermons and other liturgical pieces from pastors in Baltimore Presbytery.

And finally, recognize that people are stressed. Grieving. Afraid.

Reach out. Be kind. Smile. Ask them how they’re doing.

Love your neighbor.

That’s God’s dream for us.

 

Amen.

What’ve You Got?

July 3, 2016
Psalm 30     Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

When I was in college, I spent some time in Germany. Before I left home, I got a lot of advice on what to bring with me, the most memorable of which was peanut butter. Why peanut butter? So that if I didn’t like the food, I wouldn’t starve.

Nowadays I know many people who don’t go anywhere without some granola bars or other health bars. And of course we’re advised not to forget our slippers and our travel masks, our stain removers and our lists of medications. I’ll be leaving for a family wedding in Vermont a week from Tuesday, and I’ve already started making mental lists: what do I need to bring in order to be comfortable and prepared for all the events involved. I imagine we’ve all done the same things.

But when Jesus sent these 72 people out in pairs, he was very clear. “Carry no wallet, no bag, and no sandals.”

What’s that about? They were sent to spread the news of God’s kingdom—healing the sick and bringing peace. Don’t you think they might have needed a few things to make sure the trip was successful? Some coins to pay for food in case no one was available to provide it? Some extra clothing in case there was a party they needed to dress up for, or if it got cold or rainy? An extra pair of shoes because, geez, who can wear the same shoes day in and day out?

How in the world could they be self-sufficient if they had to depend on the people they met for everything?

Hm. That’s the clue, isn’t it?

Jesus sent these pairs of disciples out to spread God’s kingdom, not to be tourists. And if they were to spread God’s kingdom, they needed to become a part of the community they were in—to become friends, to gather around the table together, to laugh together, to earn their trust. That wouldn’t happen if they were self-sufficient, off taking care of themselves. They had to rely on the people with whom they stayed in a mutuality of dependence. They had to give those people a chance to experience the joy of giving.

 

As we Americans prepare to celebrate the Fourth of July tomorrow, I think that’s a hard one. Independence Day. It’s part of our American culture. We’re supposed to be independent, self-reliant, self-sufficient. To depend on other people is sometimes seen as being a problem, a drag on the group … childish.

I learned that kind of self-sufficiency from my parents, as I imagine many of you did. My mother never lost it. In her later years she put off having her second knee replaced because—she told me when I asked her—because “people were so helpful last time.” She preferred living in pain to allowing her friends to help her.

 

I came to a related realization about myself a number of years ago. I was going through a period of time when my debts were overwhelming and my income underwhelming, and I had no idea what to do. A couple of friends stepped up and asked if they could help … and I suddenly realized that in my head there was a hierarchy, where people who “give” were way higher than people who “receive.” In other words, I had taken the Biblical “it’s better to give than to receive” and turned it into a way of describing people: it’s better to be a giver than a receiver. But that’s not what Jesus said, and my friends were delighted to be able to help and did not look down on me for needing assistance.

 

This text is a perfect example of Jesus telling his followers to go out and receive whatever people were willing to give them. To allow those people the joy of giving, the joy of caring. Jesus wanted his disciples to eat what was given them and sleep where they were invited. Because unless they were willing to be cared for by others … unless they were willing to truly become part of the community that welcomed them … their message would not be heard.

 

So what does that have to do with us?

It has a lot to do with us as we explore how we can be in mission with people in our community.

Did you notice how I said that? In mission with people in our community, not to people in our community.

Session has been talking about Northminster hosting a program called Celebrate Recovery—a Christ-centered program that is similar to 12-step programs. Celebrate Recovery reaches out to people with all sorts of brokenness in their lives—addictions, divorce, family problems, and many more. (Issues that many of us deal with, ourselves!) I mentioned in my sermon two weeks ago that we’re sending two of our elders to California next month for training, so we can learn a lot more about what this would mean for us. At any rate, you’ll be hearing a lot more about Celebrate Recovery in the coming months.

But if we do this—or any other mission project—we cannot just provide space and funding. We will need to be there. Handing out cookies and setting up chairs and talking with people … and being ministered to ourselves. We will need to show up without our baggage—our biases, our assumptions, our expectations. We will need to be ready to participate in whatever ways are needed. We will need to be committed to the relationships that will happen.

Things may not always go well. Jesus didn’t expect that they would always go well for the disciples he sent out two by two, either. Remember?

Whenever you enter a city and the people don’t welcome you, go out into the streets and say, ‘As a complaint against you, we brush off the dust of your city that has collected on our feet. But know this: God’s kingdom has come to you.’

In other words, don’t whine about the folks who didn’t get with the program. Don’t set them up as enemies or accuse them of being ungrateful or hateful or whatever else might seem apt. Just shake the dust off and move on. Know that we’re doing the best we can to share God’s love … and let it go.

 

So. What have we got, going into this or any other mission program? We’ve let go of our expectations that people will behave in the ways we think are correct. We’ve let go of our assumptions that everyone will be grateful. We’ve let go of our biases that say that folks who need help aren’t as good as we are.

What do we have?

We have something really important that Jesus gave these early disciples and gives to us as well: We have each other. Jesus sent the disciples out two-by-two, remember? If one of a pair got upset, or disgusted, or afraid, the other one was there to reassure them. When being in a strange town was overwhelming, they had each other. If one of them began to falter when it came to their mission, the other was there to remind them of their purpose.

They weren’t sent out alone. They weren’t meant to be independent or self-sufficient.
They were to be in relationship, in community.

Jesus sends us out together as well. In relationships. Part of a community.

When we begin to feel like we’re in this all alone, we need to remember that we have other Christians to turn to. There were 72 people in the whole group that Jesus sent out, remember? That’s not too far from the number of active members in this church. And how many churches are there in this presbytery, as it turns out? Yup. Seventy-two. As individuals, we have buddies—lots of them. As a congregation, we have partner congregations. And we all have the same mission, the same instructions from Jesus.

To go into the world and spread the good news, share the gospel. To heal the brokenness in individuals and in the culture. To spread peace. To love. To help people see and be part of the Kingdom of God.

To make a difference.
Because of the radical love of Jesus the Christ.

Alleluia. Amen.