Wednesday, August 10, 2016

"Don't Be Afraid. Be Ready." (Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost)

Luke 12:32-40
32 "Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom. 33 Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. 34 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. 35 "Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; 36 be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so that they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks. 37 Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when he comes; truly I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them. 38 If he comes during the middle of the night, or near dawn, and finds them so, blessed are those slaves. 39 "But know this: if the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. 40 You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour."

            On farm-to-market road 185, just across the Coryell County line in Central Texas sits a little white church with a graveled parking lot. The sign in the church yard says, “Osage Baptist Church: Founded 1874.” I pastored that small congregation for the three years I was in seminary, and right across the road from that church is a big pasture, and a ways off the road in that pasture is a big, ranch-style house. It was the home of a young couple in our church; the husband was a part of one of the largest farming families in Central Texas, so a great deal of the land around the church belonged to them (including a portion of the church yard, which they weren’t too bashful about reminding the rest of us every so often).
Well, as it usually goes when you’re the new pastor, folks would have us over for lunch after church, and this couple invited Sallie and me across the road and the cattle guard to their home one Sunday. I remember it being a nice, big house. The outside was covered with stone like a great many of the houses in Texas. Big, metal stars decorated the outside of the house and John Deere tractors decorated the inside on wallpaper and fabric. I distinctly remember their dining room table: it was long enough to sit ten or twelve people, a custom made piece of furniture for big, family meals. But what really stands out in my mind about their house was what they called their “safe room.” It was a room in the very center of the house, ten feet long by ten feet wide, with poured, reinforced, foot-thick concrete walls and ceiling, and a one-inch thick steel door with two bolted locks. What was inside that room, however, proved to be even more interesting to me: there were large cans of food, big croker sacks of beans, several five-gallon bottles of drinking water, more than a few guns (rifles, shotguns, and pistols), ammunition boxes, and at least two tanks of oxygen. At first, they told me it was their storm shelter, but when I pointed to the guns and asked if the tornadoes shoot at you in Texas, or when I pointed at the oxygen tanks and asked why they’d need those after a tornado, they said, “Well, it’s more of a safe room,” and (with a tone of complete seriousness) the wife said, “We want to be ready.”  “Ready?” I remember thinking, “Looks more to me like you’re not ready, but afraid.”
            There are a lot of folks these days who are afraid.
You know, the Bible says something to the effect of “Do not be afraid” over 100 times (there are some folks who count as many as 365),[1] yet it seems to me as if fear is the trending topic of our day, as if being afraid is on par with being wise. Sure, the Bible tells us that God says “Do not be afraid,” but there are just so many things we’re told to be afraid of: terrorists, climate change, ISIS, illegal immigrants, gay marriage, Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, refugees, the Zika virus, Pokémon, Muslims, and whatever new threat has come across the wire today. We’re supposed to be scared of so many things these days that I’m just glad you all had the courage to leave your homes this morning! The Scriptures say at least 100 times “Do not be afraid,” yet we’re told everyday about one more thing of which we ought to be scared, and the sad news is so many of us who call ourselves Christians are terrified!
            Now, we say we’re scared of the sorts of things I’ve already mentioned, things cable news and over-paid, over-exposed preachers tell us to be afraid of, but you know, I can’t help but ask why we’re afraid of such things. Perhaps we’re afraid we’ll be harmed, that something bad will happen to us, that our homes and all our possessions will be taken from us, that our lives will somehow be made worse. If that’s the case, if we’re afraid of losing our stuff, then the words of Jesus in verse 33 ought to give us a bit of instruction: “Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys.” Here, Jesus reminds us (as he so often does) that this way of life, this “kingdom living” isn’t about possessions anyway; it isn’t about storing up for ourselves treasures on earth. In fact, Jesus goes so far as to say, “sell all you’ve got and give what you make off of it to the poor.” I’m sure that was about as popular then as it is now! He also says, though, to make purses that won’t wear out—not because those of us who follow Jesus are going to make bank on this whole “being a disciple” thing, but because the treasure of God’s kingdom is more than you can count and more than you could spend—mostly because it isn’t a currency of monetary value; it’s a currency measured in faith, hope, and love, and those things never wear out. They’re the sorts of things you can only have more of the more you give them away.
            I think it’s what Jesus says next, though, that gets to the heart of our fear really: “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” You see, I’m convinced that if our “treasure” is in our stuff—our possessions, our titles, our opinions, our sense of self-righteousness—then that’s what we’ll really care about when the pressure is on; we’ll want to protect our stuff, to make a stand to protect our opinions, to protect ourselves and our so-called “way of life.” But the message of the gospel is so radically counter to that, so emphatically opposed to “self.” That’s hard for us to get over, because for so long so many of us were told that the gospel is about me! That it’s simply about going to heaven when we die, about protecting ourselves from the eternal torment of hell. For some of us, the gospel is about getting the treasures of this world in the next one, about getting all that we’ve ever wanted on earth when we get to heaven. Is it any wonder, then, that when we hear tough words like these from Jesus we try to explain them away, allegorize them, say they’re only symbolic or a metaphor? Is it any wonder then, that we’ll say things like, “Well, what Jesus really means here is...” in an attempt to get out of giving up ourselves?
            Really, though, I think that’s what lies at the heart of our fear: selfishness. I’m finding the longer I live that most (if not all) of my problems can be traced back to that need to promote and protect self (I may even go so far as to say it’s the true “original sin”). Therefore, I think the way we cure our fear is by letting go of self; the way we prove the gospel to the world is by letting go of self. You see, it’s by denying self that we can truly be ready: ready to share the love of Christ with a world that needs to hear the hope of the truth of God’s love, ready to be the hands and feet of Jesus in those places in the world where children are hungry, where people are lonely, where families are sick, where people are marginalized and tortured, ready to bring God’s kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. Ready, because we’re no longer concerned about what is safe or profitable or secure. Ready, because that is what we are called to be: ready, not afraid.
            I mean, Jesus begins this section with the words "Do not be afraid,” and then in verse 35 he seems to change direction: "Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so that they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks.” “Don’t be afraid,” Jesus says, “Be Ready.” "Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit:” don’t be like those who scour the pages of Scripture looking for codes, for signs, for numbers, and hidden messages that will reveal when the world will come crashing to a gruesome end. Be ready now for the work before you even now! Don’t be like those who cramp their necks from staring at the sky, waiting for the stars to fall and the elect to be called up to heaven, get busy bringing heaven and the love of God to folks on earth now! Be ready! Be like those who are waiting for their master to return, those who are about the work of straightening up the place, or setting things right, of doing what the master has called them to do. Be ready like them, not sitting on the couch, staring out the window so you can look busy when you see his car pull in the driveway. Be ready now by doing what the master has already called you to do!
            Jesus says, “Do not be afraid…Be ready.” But he doesn’t mean stockpiling rations or ammo, or building a zombie-proof bunker. He doesn’t mean making sure you’ve got all your doctrinal “I’s” dotted and all your theological “T’s” crossed. No, what he means is be ready to be found doing what we as disciples of Christ have always been called to do: share the love of God with the whole world. And here’s the crazy part to all of this: when we are found ready, found doing what Christ calls us to do, it is then that Christ returns that service back to us yet again. Listen to what he says in verse 37: “Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when he comes; truly I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them.” It’s a complete reversal of roles! The master—upon finding his servants ready—serves them! Our reward for being ready, for being about the work of God’s kingdom, of bringing about the kingdom on earth as it is in heaven, is the selfless service of the God of the universe; the ever-deepening relationship God has established with us in Christ continues on into eternity.
            Now, the final verses of our text this morning lend themselves to “doomsday prophets” and those who like to use the “end of days” as a tool of fearful manipulation. They are, however, words from Jesus that are about so much more than making sure one has his or her ticket when the train for heaven blows its whistle. No, Christ’s words are about being ready, about doing the work he has called us all to every day, for we don’t know when our time may be up. Jesus says, “But know this: if the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour." It’s a bit of a shift from his previous words, but the message carries over. Be ready doing the work of the kingdom, for you don’t know when Christ will return, when your time is up, when you’ll have to give an account for what you’ve done with the gift you’ve been given, when you may have to answer for your selfishness or for the selfless ways you’ve given hope and shown love.
            Honestly, I think it boils down to this: Are you afraid, or are you ready? Are you afraid of the woes of the world as they’re told to you from your television of computer screen, or are you ready to fearlessly welcome the stranger, love your enemy, and pray for those who are different? Are you afraid of the eternal separation from God that is hell, or are you ready to spend every day from this one on living in the light of eternal love that only grows as you give it away? Are you afraid of losing everything you have, afraid of being hurt, afraid of being broken, afraid of being wrong, afraid of letting go, or are you ready to give away all you have, ready to risk loving those who may not love you back, ready to be broken so the light of Christ may shine through, ready to be a fool to the world so you may be wise in Christ, ready to let go of all that seeks to drag you down to keep you from doing and being what you know Christ is calling you to, ready to love and be loved by the God who knows you far better than you could ever know yourself? Are you afraid, or are you ready?
            "Do not be afraid…for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” God wants you to have the hope, joy, and love that comes from a life lived in the reality of the kingdom of heaven. It’s God’s good pleasure for you to have that reality even now, even in the midst of all that might scare you. "Do not be afraid,” for God has come near in Christ Jesus, and Christ is calling each and every one of us to “be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour." Are you afraid, or are you ready? Amen.

"The Disciples' Prayer" (Tenth Sunday after Pentecost)

Luke 11:1-13
1 He was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, "Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples." 2 He said to them, "When you pray, say: Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. 3 Give us each day our daily bread. 4 And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us. And do not bring us to the time of trial." 5 And he said to them, "Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, "Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; 6 for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.' 7 And he answers from within, "Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.' 8 I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs. 9 "So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. 10 For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. 11 Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? 12 Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? 13 If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!"

             Who taught you how to pray? If I really think about it, I don’t think anyone taught me how (and I don’t mean that in a way that sounds self-sufficient or braggy). You see, like most of you, I grew up in the “Bible Belt,” in a culture where we pray before football games, before stock car races, before we eat our McNuggets, and sometimes even before we get a haircut. I grew up watching people all around me pray, bowing their heads, closing their eyes, some of them raising their hands. I listened as some of them prayed long-winded prayers, asking God to bless every grain of rice in the bowl and every pea in the pot. I listened as some folks slipped into the gilded language of Elizabethan English (most often mixing up their “thee’s” and “thou’s”). I even heard a few folks pray in tongues—a rather strange, Pentecostal phenomenon of which I am somewhat suspicious. I’ve listened as folks prayed earnestly, searching for words in times of grief and confusion, and I’ve listened to folks pray in such ways that it seemed to me they were praying because they liked the sound of their own voices. I especially like to hear people, congregations praying in unison; the sound of joined voices praying with one another moves something within my spirit. But no one ever really taught me how to pray.
            Sure, there were spiritual formation groups, retreats, and classes I took throughout college and seminary where I was shown new and different ways to pray. I was shown how to do what is called “centering prayer,” where one tries to calm all of the heart and mind’s distractions in order to focus wholly on Christ. I was told about ancient and traditional prayers of the Church, written prayers of which I was initially skeptical due to my coming to faith in a relatively conservative, rural, Baptist congregation, where we were a bit suspicious of all things written down and planned. The words of such prayers helped to shape my prayers, helping me to be more intentional about that which I prayed. Even now, I tend to use a prayer book for my daily prayers to help shape and focus my prayer time. But still, no one ever really taught me how to pray, you know, the mechanics of the whole things, the actual words and things I’m supposed to say when I pray. Did anyone teach you how to pray?
            Of course, in our text this morning, the disciples don’t ask Jesus to teach them to pray as if they’ve never prayed before or as if they’re unfamiliar with the very notion of prayer. Jesus’ disciples were Jews, raised in the traditions and customs of ancient Judaism—including prayer. They would have memorized certain prayers and heard many of the same prayers repeated throughout the day. They would have been more than a little familiar with the great prayers found in the Psalms and the ritual prayers that accompanied the cultic practices of the temple. So when they come to Jesus in verse one of our text this morning asking "Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples,” it is not because they are completely clueless about what it means to pray; there’s something more to it.
            You see, they wanted Jesus to teach them to pray “as John taught his disciples.” Now, that doesn’t mean that John taught his disciples some new-fangled way to pray involving secret yoga poses or magic words. No, what they mean is that John taught his disciples how to pray specifically for the movement John was hoping to see come about. He taught his disciples to pray in such a way that united them as a body of John-followers. Think about it like this: John taught his disciples how to pray for those things which he hoped his movement would accomplish, things like the revelation of the Messiah and the repentance and baptism of the masses. John’s teachings on prayer to his disciples would have shaped the way they understood God and the way they understood the mission John saw himself undertaking. This is no different with Jesus and his disciples, and this is why Jesus’ disciples come asking for him to teach them how to pray: they want to be united in their prayers, united in the way they understood God and the mission to which Jesus was calling them. They wanted to focus their prayers on that which defined the movement.
            With that in mind, Jesus’ response, his teachings on prayer, aren’t all that earth-shaking—at least not to us…at first. Luke gives us an abbreviated (or perhaps original) version of what we traditionally call “The Lord’s Prayer” from Matthew in verse 2-4: "When you pray, say: Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Give us each day our daily bread. And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us. And do not bring us to the time of trial." Now, at first reading, at first hearing, this seems like a straightforward, business-as-usual, sort of prayer, but when we take a closer look at what Jesus is teaching his disciples (what Jesus is teaching us) about prayer we can’t help but notice some major points of understanding when it comes to how Jesus would have us understand God and the practice of prayer.
            First, Jesus tells his disciples to address God as “Father” (pater in Greek; abba in Hebrew/Aramaic). Jesus isn’t attempting to make some sort of revelatory remark about the gender of God or the nature of the Trinitarian relationship with such a title. Rather, Jesus, in teaching his disciples to address God as “Father,” is showing us that God is with whom we live in relationship. God is not an aloof deity, occupying a throne in some cloud-covered temple behind the black curtain of the cosmos. God is not to be addressed as if we’re writing a letter to a senator or the president of a university. God is close, relational, familiar. God is like our father, our parent, our friend, one with whom we can share our concerns, our joys, our very lives. While the term “Father” itself may be problematic for some (especially for those who have had terrible, abusive fathers), Jesus’ point is that God is relational, loving, close enough for us to boldly share our hearts and our lives with God through prayer.
            Jesus also reminds us that God is more than just a friend with who we can have a nice conversation, that God is more than an invisible therapist to whom we can “spill our guts.” God is God, the Holy other, the One whose name is righteous. That is why Jesus is quick to remind us in his exemplary prayer to say, “hallowed be your name.” It reminds us that the God to whom we pray is in fact the God of creation, the God of unending holiness, of infinite justice, of eternal love, and unfailing power. This God, who is as close to us as a parent, with whom we live in relationship, is the same God with the power to create the universe, to speak the world in to being, to calm the storm, and bring order out of chaos. This familiar, loving, all-powerful God is the God to whom we pray, and Jesus reminds us of that with the first words of his teachings about prayer.
            He goes on to say that we ought to pray, “Your kingdom come,” that the first petition we ought to make to God is for God’s kingdom and all of its reality to come about. So often we rush to ask God for those things we want, for those things we need, for those situations we want resolved right now. Here, however, we listen as Christ reminds us that the first thing any of us should want, the primary desire of the disciple’s heart is the arrival of God’s kingdom. I think that means far more than just leading our list of prayer requests with the arrival of God’s kingdom. I believe that means that the bringing of God’s kingdom ought to be at the forefront of our prayers and our actions, that we ought to the be about the business of bringing God’s kingdom to reality on earth as it is in heaven by doing the work Christ has called us to in loving God and loving each other, in building unity, creating peace, and doing justice.
            “Give us each day our daily bread” is more than a petition for provision; it is a reminder to all of us (especially those of us in positions of privilege and relative wealth) that all that we have comes from something outside of us, that ultimately, everything we have, all that we need comes from God. I’m reminded of a story a seminary professor told of praying for his dinner one evening. He found himself not only thanking God for the bread on his table, but for the grain that made the bread, for the farmer who grew it, for the baker who baked it, for the store that sold it, for the driver who delivered it…on and on he went until he realized that there was nothing he owned that didn’t depend on a vast web of people and circumstances (like weather) to bring it to him. If we ought to first pray for God’s kingdom to come, we ought to then take the time to remember from where all that we have truly comes.
            The third petition of Jesus’ exemplary prayer is: “And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.” Asking God for forgiveness of sins is nothing new, yet I can’t help but notice the second half of this petition: “for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.” Now, that’s a bit different from the version I learned from Matthew’s gospel (“Forgive us…as we forgive those…”). Our forgiveness of others is implied here; it’s not conditional, nor does it follow after God’s forgiveness. Our forgiveness of others is a natural outpouring from God’s forgiveness to us.
            The final petition of the disciples’ prayer is: “And do not bring us to the time of trial.” This is a petition for God to stay with the disciples, to not abandon them when the way is trying and hope seems lost. It is a prayer for God to be present enough to deliver them from any sort of test, but we know that Jesus understands temptation, testing, and that such a prayer may be answered not by the avoidance of such trials, but by God’s presence with us in the midst of them.
            Jesus teaches his disciples to pray using this exemplary prayer, and then he rolls into a parable about a man who has some unexpected company at midnight, so he turns to a neighbor for some help. Jesus says in verses 5-8: "Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.' And he answers from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.' I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.” Now, when I have heard this parable explained in the past it has usually been along the lines of something like, “if you’re persistent in your prayers, daily, constantly bringing your concerns before God, God will eventually answer them” (or something like that). Honestly, that always bothered me a little bit; I mean, the notion that we would have to constantly, repetitively, pester God with our concerns until God was forced to answer our prayers just so we’d leave God alone. But that sort of interpretation is based upon that one word in verse 8 being translated as “persistence.”  The word there in Greek is actually anaideia and is better translated as “shamelessness” or “boldness” and that sheds a different light on this parable from Jesus, especially given his words following the parable and the previous exemplary prayer we’ve already examined.
            You see, Jesus is not holding up to us a parable about a man who persistently nagged his neighbor at midnight until he provided bread for his guests—in fact, the parable never says anything of the sort. Instead, we need a little cultural understanding about hospitality in the first century. You see, you and I live in the American South, and we may think we have the market cornered on hospitality, but in the first century, in a culture based highly upon honor and shame, hospitality was a high, cultural expectation—even at midnight. So, when a guests arrives at midnight (as was likely to happen in a day before travel by car and airplane was so easily scheduled) one was expected to provide bread (three loaves was customary). So, when this man has no bread (and there’s no 24-hour Super Walmart) he goes to a neighbor, hoping to avoid the embarrassment of not being hospitable. It’s midnight; it’s a bold, shameless move to go and wake his neighbor, to trust that his neighbor will also be bold and want to avoid the shame of not being hospitable. You see, the point of the parable is not to be a nagging person when it comes to praying, but to be bold enough to approach God with your concerns, with your needs.
            Such a point is taken further by Jesus’ words following the parable in verse 9-13:So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!"
            When the disciples ask Jesus to teach them to pray, Jesus teaches them to pray in such a way that boldly, shameless addresses God as a familiar, relational, holy deity who provides for our every need, walks with us through the trials of life, so that we may boldly bring about God’s kingdom on earth. We pray to a God who knows what we need far better than we can ever know, who provides for us in ways we may never fully appreciate, a God who is so close to us we can call on him like a parent. So, when we pray, we ought not to pray timidly, as if our prayers are not important, as if our concerns are little more than a bother to God. When we pray, we ought to bring our prayers shamelessly to God—our petitions, concerns, and confessions—for God desires to have such a relationship with us. When we pray—whether together as a congregation in this sanctuary or privately in our own homes—we ought to pray as Jesus taught us to pray: recognizing God as one who longs to be in relationship with us, as the holy God of the universe, whose in-breaking kingdom should be our utmost concern, who provides our every need and offers us the free forgiveness of his love and grace, while walking with us, even through life’s most trying times. May we pray as Jesus taught us to pray, with boldness, so that we may live as Christ calls us to live, without shame or fear, so that we may do what Christ calls us to do, to bring God’s kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.