Can't Win for Losing (Fourth Sunday after Pentecost)

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

16 "But to what will I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling to one another, 17 "We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn.' 18 For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, "He has a demon'; 19 the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, "Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!' Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds."…25 At that time Jesus said, "I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; 26 yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. 27 All things have been handed over to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him. 28 "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

            One of the sayings I heard my dad say the most when I was growing up was, “son, we just can’t win for losing.” Now, I have to admit, I didn’t really know what he meant by that phrase; I suppose it was his own way of saying, “you’re danged if you do and danged if you don’t.” Now that I’m older (and if I can be honest with you, now that I’ve served in the ministry for nearly ten years) I think I know exactly what my dad meant when he said that phrase. You see, I’ve witnessed the kinds of things that would cause one to say “I can’t win for losing.” Whether they have been incidents I’ve witnessed in the lives of friends in ministry or incidents I’ve personally experienced, I can tell you there are many times in the life of a minister when it feels like you can’t win for losing.

            Take for example something that happened to one of my friends and mentors in ministry. He was sitting in his office, preparing his sermon for Sunday morning, when a member of his church came through the door, and with the sound of pent up frustration in her voice said, “Preacher, I’ve got something I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time now.” She sat down in the chair in front of his desk and said, “Every Sunday morning I come to church, and every Sunday morning I use my hymnal when we sing in worship, and every Sunday morning the music director says, ‘We’re going to sing the first, second, and last stanzas.’ Well, we paid good money for those hymnals, and good, Christian folks wrote those hymns, so we ought to sing every word of every stanza!” My friend looked at this obviously disgruntled parishioner and said, “I’ll talk to our music director, and we’ll be sure to sing every stanza to every hymn next Sunday morning.”

            Well, the next Sunday came, and every time the congregation stood to sing they sang every word of every stanza of every hymn they sang that morning—regardless of whether that hymn had two stanzas or five. About halfway through his sermon that morning, my friend noticed folks looking at their watches; it was a quarter after twelve (their service started at eleven). So, he wrapped up his sermon, and after singing every stanza of the invitational hymn, he gave a benediction, someone said a closing prayer, and he was at the door to the sanctuary by 12:30. However, this same woman, who just a few days prior had given him an earful about singing every stanza to every hymn, made a beeline for the pastor after the service. She walked right up to him and said, “It’s 12:30! I think you and the music director need to work on planning services so we can get out by noon!” You just can’t win for losing.

            Or how about this experience I’ve had in ministry: one day during the “fellowship/meet-and-greet/passing the peace” portion of worship, a church member grabbed my hand, pulled me in close and said, “I’ve driven by the church every day this week, and I haven’t seen your car in the parking lot one time. Now, we pay your salary and give you an office, the least you can do is be in your office and let folks know you’re here during the day.” Now, he drove by the same time every day, and that time just happened to be lunchtime, not to mention I spend several hours each week visiting hospitals, the nursing home, and members in their homes, but that doesn’t really matter to someone looking for something to complain about. But that next week I shifted my schedule around so that I would spend more time in the office, my car visible in the parking lot so people would know I was in the office and available. And that next Sunday morning, the same person grabbed my hand, pulled me in close and said, ““I’ve driven by the church every day this week, and every day I’ve seen your car in the parking lot one. Now, we pay your salary, the least you can do is get out of the office and visit folks in the community.” You just can’t win for losing.

            I’m afraid my colleagues and I could tell many more stories like that, but it is a reality of ministry. In fact, I believe it is a reality of life in general, that feeling that we can’t win for losing, and it happens most often when we are coerced into thinking that winning is a result of pleasing people. I believe Jesus knew about this sort of sinful coercion, this misunderstanding that the drives so many of us to believing that we can’t win, that feeling that leads so many of us to sleepless nights and days spent always on the defensive. I believe Jesus knew that the work of God’s kingdom isn’t about pleasing people, but about pleasing God, and what’s pleasing to God isn’t always pleasing to all the people.

            That’s why Jesus tells this little parable in chapter eleven of Matthew’s gospel when he asks in verse 16, “But to what will I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling to one another, ‘We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn.' Can you see the picture Jesus is painting with this parable? There are children in the marketplace, playing a tune on the flute, a nice little jig for the folks to dance to, maybe tap their feet and bob their heads as they pass, but the people are unmoved by the children’s music. So they children, figuring the folks in the marketplace aren’t happy, begin to wail, to play the blues if you will, hoping that maybe those who pass by will show signs of mourning, but they don’t. The children can’t win for losing: they play happy music and people stroll on by unmoved; they play a dirge, sing the blues, or wail in mourning, and the people still stroll by unmoved. It doesn’t matter what they children play, the people react the same way. It’s as if Jesus is saying, “It’s not up to the children or the music they play to change the attitudes of the people passing by—it’s up to the people to change their attitudes.”

            To really drive the point home with a true-to-life illustration, Jesus compares the reactions given to his cousin, John and Jesus himself in verses 18 and 19: “For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon'; the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!'” There was John: teetotaler, abstainer, old-fashioned revivalist preacher, standing out in the country preaching about repentance and fire, but everyone pointed at him and called him an ole’ tightwad, would so tight and so fired up he must have a demon! But then there was Jesus; he came eating and drinking. In fact, one time, at the wedding party, when the wine ran out, Jesus made several gallons of the best wine anyone had ever tasted out of water in stone jars just to keep the party going! Jesus wasn’t a solitary preacher in the country: no, he hung out with everybody, walking around the city just as well as the country. But still, the people who pointed at John and said he was too uptight and must have had a demon because of his teetotaling ways, well…they pointed at Jesus and called him a drunk, bleeding heart liberal with too much time for socializing! You just can’t win for losing with some folks, “yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds."

            Now that little phrase there is terribly important. You see, here again, Jesus says it isn’t about the surface level outcome of what John did or what Jesus himself was doing. No, because if you just look there, well, it isn’t really all that wonderful—they don’t really please a lot of people. John winds up in prison and eventually gets his head served up on a platter, and Jesus…well, Jesus gets nailed to a cross in a public show of Roman power, and only a few women (and one other disciple) stick around to see it all happen. “Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds,” for we know that that isn’t all that happened to either of these two: some of Jesus’ first disciples, the first apostles, were followers of John. He pointed the way to Jesus, prepared the way before him. As for Jesus, well we know his deeds went on to change the world, to show the world that the God of creation is a God of love, compassion, and grace. And this day there are people from all manner of nations, tribes, and tongues that know the name of Jesus. Because winning isn’t about pleasing people; it’s about pleasing God and seeking to do God’s will.

            But that isn’t always so easy, is it? There’s something within in us that makes us feel as if the only way to win, the only way to be successful is to please people, to hopefully please everyone. But, can I be real with you all for just a moment? You see, you can’t please all the people all the time. Heck, as a pastor I can tell you, it’s hard to please some people any time! I’ve been your pastor now for a year and a half, and some of you have been mad, frustrated, or just down right disgruntled for a year and half! That’s ok. Some of you have been just fine and dandy for a year and a half. That’s fine too, because I know from experience there will come a time when I’ll do or say something you won’t like, when this church will do something you don’t like, or not do something you want it to do. And I hope those of you who’ve been mad, frustrated, and disgruntled will come to realize that you’re in control of how you feel, and that we’re all in this together to do the work of God and not the will of any one person, family, or party. And to those of you who haven’t had your toes stepped on or your personal wants and wishes put aside for the good of the whole, that time may come. I simply ask that when it does, you’ll show grace and remember that no one is ought to get you, and we’re all striving to work together for the good of God’s kingdom.

            You see, I’m convinced that at the heart of this desire to please people is that root sin of selfishness, that sin that creates within us a desire, a want for others to please us, a desire for others to like us. And when we allow such desires to become the focus of our lives, our faith, our church, they becomes burdens, heavy burdens that drain our energy and distract us from the real work of faith, the real work of doing God’s kingdom work.

            Maybe that’s why Jesus says what he does in verses 25 and 26: "I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will.” Infants, little children: they don’t worry about such things as pleasing people. Jesus goes on to say in verse 27: “All things have been handed over to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.” Maybe God reveals God’s self to those who aren’t really in it for themselves in the first place?

You see, all of our attempts at pleasing others, at having others please us, well, it’s just exhausting. It’s a never-ending struggle that only wears us out and keeps us from drawing closer to Christ, from pleasing God. That’s why Jesus offers us comfort with his words in the final verses of our text today: "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

            Jesus offers us relief from the tireless pursuits of life. Jesus offers us a way to lay down our burdens and take upon ourselves his yoke, a yoke of gentleness and humility. The rabbis, when they spoke of their teachings to their disciples, they referred to their rules, their ways as a yoke (an instrument used to guide and harness the power of beasts of burden). We place all kinds of our own yokes upon ourselves—the desire to please people to be pleased by people, the desire for success by this world’s standards, religious rules and rituals created by men in order to measure rigged righteousness—but Christ calls us to lay all of those aside, to rid ourselves of whatever burdens we carry in order to take his yoke upon us, to carry the kinds of burdens and concerns that truly matter. Jesus offers us a yoke that is easy and light because it frees us from ourselves and the expectations we have of others. It frees us from the sin of thinking we’re in the business of pleasing people and reminds us that we are called to please God, to do as the prophet Micah proclaimed: “to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with [our] God.”[1]

            Jesus is calling you to lay aside your burdens, especially those burdens you’ve placed upon yourself, to give up your attempts at pleasing people, to cast of your own selfish desires to be pleased, and open yourself up to doing the will of God. For when it comes to pleasing God, we win. We win God’s blessing and joy as the Teacher says in Ecclesiastes 2:26. When we seek first God and God’s kingdom we win the joy of knowing that what we’re doing is making an eternal difference. When we confess our selfishness and lay aside our pride, our anger, our self-made hatred and take the yoke of Christ upon ourselves in order to see God’s will be done and God’s kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven…then we win! But as long we hold on to our selfish desires to have things our way, as long we seek to only please people and have people please us, as long we put ourselves or anything else above, in front, or in place of Almighty God, well…then we can’t win for losing.

Amen.

---

[1] Micah 6:8

Cast Out and Lifted Up (Second Sunday after Pentecost)

Genesis 21:8-21

8 The child grew, and was weaned; and Abraham made a great feast on the day that Isaac was weaned. 9 But Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whom she had borne to Abraham, playing with her son Isaac. 10 So she said to Abraham, "Cast out this slave woman with her son; for the son of this slave woman shall not inherit along with my son Isaac." 11 The matter was very distressing to Abraham on account of his son. 12 But God said to Abraham, "Do not be distressed because of the boy and because of your slave woman; whatever Sarah says to you, do as she tells you, for it is through Isaac that offspring shall be named for you. 13 As for the son of the slave woman, I will make a nation of him also, because he is your offspring." 14 So Abraham rose early in the morning, and took bread and a skin of water, and gave it to Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, along with the child, and sent her away. And she departed, and wandered about in the wilderness of Beer-sheba. 15 When the water in the skin was gone, she cast the child under one of the bushes. 16 Then she went and sat down opposite him a good way off, about the distance of a bowshot; for she said, "Do not let me look on the death of the child." And as she sat opposite him, she lifted up her voice and wept. 17 And God heard the voice of the boy; and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven, and said to her, "What troubles you, Hagar? Do not be afraid; for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is. 18 Come, lift up the boy and hold him fast with your hand, for I will make a great nation of him." 19 Then God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water. She went, and filled the skin with water, and gave the boy a drink. 20 God was with the boy, and he grew up; he lived in the wilderness, and became an expert with the bow. 21 He lived in the wilderness of Paran; and his mother got a wife for him from the land of Egypt.

            Doug Pitt is a relatively successful man, but I’d wager that you’ve likely never heard of him. He owns ServiceWorld Computer Center, a company that specializes in business networks and communication technology. He serves on the board of WorldServe International, one of the largest water drilling companies in East Africa, which has given clean water to almost two million people since Doug joined the board. He also founded the child health organization Care to Learn. The mission of Care to Learn is to fund child health, hunger, and hygiene needs, and it currently serves twelve school districts and funds over 125,000 children in the Ozarks. Because of his extensive work in Africa, particularly the United Republic of Tanzania, Doug was named the Goodwill Ambassador to Tanzania in 2010 by the country’s president. In 2011, Doug was honored by the Starkey Hearing Foundation along with President Bill Clinton with their Humanitarian Leadership Award for all of his work in Africa and domestically with his Care To Learn organization. As if his list of humanitarian awards were not impressive enough, in 2011, Doug also became the first American to descend Mount Kilimanjaro (the highest mountain in Africa and the highest, free-standing mountain in the world) on a mountain bike.[1]

            Doug Pitt just might be the guy on whom the Mexican beer company Dos Equis has based their fictitious spokesperson, “The Most Interesting Man in the World.” So, why haven’t most of us heard of Doug Pitt? Well, I don’t think there’s any sort of conspiracy at work, because, you see, it might be just a bit difficult for Doug Pitt to become a household name with his brother Brad casting a pretty big shadow in the spotlight. See, Doug Pitt is the brother of one of the biggest movie stars (and, to be fair, equally philanthropic) of this generation, Brad Pitt. I imagine it’s hard for Doug to get any sort of traction in terms of fame when his brother is so easily recognizable (though I have a feeling Doug does just fine without all that recognition).

            I imagine it might be a little annoying being the less famous, but equally important sibling of a super star. You don’t get the kind of recognition, your story isn’t as widely told or known, and you likely don’t get stopped by strangers on the street asking for a picture and an autograph. And when it comes to stories of less famous siblings in Scripture, well we’ve certainly come to one this morning—the story of Ishmael.

            Most of us with any sort of relationship with the Bible likely know Ishmael’s younger, more famous, half-brother Isaac. Isaac is one of the patriarchs of the Hebrew Bible, the father of Jacob, the grandfather of the twelve tribes of Israel. Isaac was the first born son of Abraham AND Sarah; he was the fulfilment of God’s promise to Abraham. Isaac was also the one whom God called Abraham to sacrifice, a story so familiar to many Christians because we cannot help but see the foreshadowing of God’s sacrifice of his son Jesus. We know Isaac’s story because in many ways the following chapters of Genesis focus on Isaac’s story, because the rest of the Bible is an unwinding ribbon of the story of Isaac and God’s promise to him and his father.

            But Ishmael…well we just sort of forget him once Isaac comes along. After all, he’s not really the promised son of Abraham and Sarah. No, he is quite literally the bastardized version of God’s promise, a forced outcome brought on by the growing impatience of two, aging, childless people. He is the offspring of a likely unwilling slave-woman from Egypt (he’s not even a full-blooded Herbew!); he’s the result of a forced pregnancy, and he’s scorned by his father’s wife, the woman who should have acted like his mother and treated him as her own son. Ishmael is not a patriarch; he is not the kind of person the Hebrew Bible builds much of a narrative around, yet Ishmael and his mother Hagar may teach us more about the ways of God and how they are far higher than our own ways than possibly even the story of his more famous sibling.

            You see, the story we’ve read today in some ways could be called “the sacrifice of Ishmael,” for it parallels the familiar story of Abraham’s attempted sacrifice of Isaac. Abraham is told to cast out his son, Ishmael, along with the child’s mother, an act that will certainly lead to death, yet just before death comes, God intervenes and saves the child’s life. But what led us to this point? What brought us to this scene where a child and his mother are driven out into the wilderness, driven out into certain death? What is it that could lead to such a dire situation that a mother throws her child under a bush to die in the desert? What could possibly cause this called man of God, Abraham, to act so cruelly, heartlessly,  to perform such an act of injustice?

            In order to understand these actions, we need to go back to the beginning, back to when Abraham and Sarah took God’s plan into their own hands. Back in chapter fifteen of Genesis, God tells Abraham that he will give him an heir of his own seed and descendants like the stars in the sky. In the first verse of chapter sixteen, however, we are told that Sarai (Sarah), Abraham’s wife had borne no children for Abraham, so she devised a plan to have Abraham impregnate her Egyptian slave-girl, Hagar. Sarai says in verse 2 of chapter sixteen: “You see that the Lord has prevented me from bearing children; go in to my slave-girl; it may be that I shall obtain children by her."  Sarah had come up with her own plan for fulfilling God’s promise, and as you can imagine Abraham was all too willing to oblige his wife’s wishes. They were impatient. God had promised them something, and when it didn’t come to them in the time they wanted, they took matters into their own hands. This first act of impatience was the first step towards cruelty and injustice. In fact, it could be argued that Sarai’s plan was its own act of cruelty and injustice imposed on Hagar as she was forced to have relations with Abraham and bear his child for nine months.

            It was during those nine months of Hagar’s pregnancy that further steps were taken towards cruelty and injustice. We’re told in verses four through sixteen of chapter sixteen that Sarai becomes jealous of Hagar. She begins to regret her decision and treats Hagar harshly, so much so in fact that Hagar runs away into the wilderness where she is met by an angel of the Lord and told to return to her mistress and given a promise similar to that given to Abraham (it is a scene that foreshadows the one in our text from chapter twenty-one). We don’t hear much more from Hagar, but we are told in chapter seventeen and eighteen that God is still going to provide Abraham and Sarah with their own child, a promise seemingly so absurd that it makes Sarah laugh. She doubts that she and her husband will bear any children now that they were about to enter their second century of life. We can read, however, that Sarah and Abraham do indeed have a son in the first verses of chapter twenty-one, and when they do, Sarah once again decides she’s had enough of Hagar and Ishmael and tells Abraham to send them away into the wilderness. She couldn’t care less about their fate, for she had her promised son; she and Abraham now had what they wanted and the slave-girl and her son (notice Sarah doesn’t call them by name or mention Ishmael as Abraham’s son), well, they were unnecessary now.

            What led to this act of dehumanization, this act of cruelty, this injustice, are the same things that lead to such sinful treatment of others today: impatience, jealousy, disbelief, apathy, and selfishness. It was the impatience of Abraham and Sarah that led them to take matters into their own hands and force Hagar to bear a son form Abraham; they were not content with the Lord’s promise, but felt that they had to have what they were promised when they wanted it. Sarah’s jealousy of Hagar and her fertility led to the abuse and cruel treatment of the woman who had no part to play in the decision that led to her pregnancy. Sarah’s disbelief in the promise of God only fed her hurt, her anger at her apparent barrenness, so she looked on Hagar and her son with even greater contempt. Abraham, who might be misunderstood as some passive player in this Ancient Near Eastern soap opera, contributed more than his fair share to this injustice as he simply sat by and let it happen; his apathy towards Hagar and Ishmael was itself an act of cruelty, for Abraham the patriarch of the family in an overwhelmingly patriarchal culture could have simply said “no” to his wife’s desires and that would have been the end of it. Abraham could have rejected his wife’s plan to highjack the Most High’s promise; he could have protected Hagar in her pregnancy; he could have refused to turn them out into the wilderness to face their doom in the desert. But Abraham does none of this; he just lets it all happen. Because of their selfishness—selfishness to have things their way, in their time—Abraham and Sarah became perpetrators of cruelty and injustice to a mother and her child.

            That is the heart of injustice, to allow our selfishness, our desires, our impatience, our jealousy, our apathy, our ignorance to blind us to the humanity of others. Cruelty and injustice are not always things done out of hatred or actions of intentional malice; they can be those things we simply allow to happen because our comfort and our needs and desires might be jeopardized if we take a stand for what is right. But here is the good news: even in the midst of cruelty and injustice, even when those who are called by God decide to do nothing, even when it seems that oppression will have the victory and death is inevitable…God is there. God is there with the victims of cruelty and oppression. God is there with those who breathe the air of injustice. God is there with those who have been turned away, turned down, and turned over to death. Just as Scripture tells us that God was there in the desert with hopeless Hagar, hearing the cries of her hungry child, God is there with those millions of children in this country who go to bed hungry every night because there are those in this country too concerned with their own comfort to give a damn about them. Just as Scripture tells us that God was with that abandoned mother in the wilderness as she cried out, God is with those girls all across this world who have been thrown out of their homes or sold into the sex-slave trade because their families are ashamed by them or can’t afford to care for them. Just as God was with that mother who had no food for her child because she was thrown out for the comfort of others, God is with whose stand in unemployment lines because their company let them go so the CEO could still get a bonus this year.

            God is with all of those who are victims of cruelty and injustice. God is with those who fall through the cracks, those who are victims of a system designed to reward the rich and oppress the poor, those who are cut off and cast out because of their race, class, gender, or orientation. God is with those who don’t have clean water to drink, those who can’t read, those who live in the forgotten slums of this world, those who can’t rise up because someone else is keeping them tied down. God is with those who have been cast out and there is coming a day when God will lift them up! And here’s the thing: God’s calling us to help! God is calling us to break the cycles of cruelty and injustice, to not give in to the sins and temptations that trapped Sarah and Abraham. God is calling us to trust in the calling of God that leads through Christ and Calvary’s selfless cross; God is calling us to rid ourselves of jealousy and to look at our global neighbors with love, to see everyone as the sister or brother they are created in the image of God. God is calling us not to simply sit and do nothing while our neighbors across our community and across our world go hungry, are victims of cruelty, and suffer great injustices. God is calling us, in the words of Christ’s prayer in the gospels, to do God’s will, to bring God’s kingdom on earth as it is in heaven.

            May we learn this lesson from the sacrifice of Hagar and Ishmael. May we begin to be the people God calls us to be, people who will not stand for cruelty and injustice. May we be people who do the will of God by loving all of our neighbors, seeking to raise them up even though they may be cast out. May you hear the voice of God calling your name this day and respond in faith.

Amen.

---

[1] http://dougpitt.org/bio.html

One in the World (Seventh Sunday of Easter)

John 17:1-11

1 After Jesus had spoken these words, he looked up to heaven and said, "Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you, 2 since you have given him authority over all people, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him. 3 And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. 4 I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do. 5 So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed. 6 I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. 7 Now they know that everything you have given me is from you; 8 for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me. 9 I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. 10 All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them. 11 And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.

             A not-so-long time ago, in a quiet, little, Southern community, there lived a family by the name of Jones. The Jones’s were like most families in their community: they all lived within a five-mile radius of one another; all the cousins went to school together; at least once a week they all got together for supper; and every Sunday morning they gathered at Mom and Pop’s house for breakfast before riding together to Sunday school and worship at the Baptist church at the end of the paved road. When church was over, they’d all ride back to Mom and Pop’s house for dinner (that’s lunch in case you’re not from the South). They were a close family, who supported each other, and everyone in the community held them in high esteem.

            Then one day, Pop Jones got sick…and then he got sicker…and then he got even sicker…then it looked like he was getting a little better…but he only got worse. At first, Pop couldn’t work. Then, Pop couldn’t drive. Before long, Pop couldn’t really walk on his own. Eventually, Pop was confined to a hospital bed in the corner of the back bedroom of Mom and Pop Jones’s house. As his illness seemed to drag on, Mom Jones seemed to age a year every week, and all the kids seemed to be transforming into strangers. Nell, the youngest child, seemed to fall off into the deep end of crazy: she figured since Pop couldn’t drive his car anymore she could have it, so she stole the keys and wound up wrapping the old Delta Eighty-Eight around a cedar tree while out joy-riding with her friends. Glenn, the youngest son, decided he deserved something too, so he moved back into Mom and Pop’s house and declared that he was going to be the man of the house and his mother was welcome to stay after Pop died, provided she kept to herself and didn’t cause any trouble. Patricia, the oldest daughter, saw Pop’s illness and eventual death as a chance to separate from a family she always felt was below her standard of living: she left that five-mile radius, changed her phone number, and only made an occasional appearance at major holidays and funerals. Leon, the oldest of the children, bore the brunt of his siblings’ behaviors and the heartbreak of his father’s death and mother’s decline.

            Soon after Pop Jones’s death, his family began meeting less and less on Sunday for breakfast, Church, and dinner. Mom Jones slowly, silently lived out the rest of her years in a secluded cycle of work, rest, and bill-paying. The children rarely spoke, and when they did, it was often to fight over who got this worthless trinket or who was going to have to take care of the latest issue with Mom. In the beginning of the great unraveling, some said it was because Pop died and he was the glue that held the family together, but others who knew the family knew it was there all the time, just bubbling under the surface. Pop’s death and Mom’s eventual passing revealed it for all the world to see. It’s a sad story, but what may be sadder still is that it is not an unusual story, nor is it a new story, relegated to the world of family relationships. It’s a story perhaps as old as human civilization.

            I believe Jesus knew this kind of story. I believe Jesus witnessed this kind of story. In fact, Luke tells us in chapter 12 of his gospel account that someone from the crowd of followers asked Jesus to mediate in an issue involving two brothers and a family inheritance, presumably left to them after the death of their father. Jesus knew that some families tend to disassociate, disown, and disintegrate into dysfunction when the central member leaves the picture. I believe that’s why Jesus prays this prayer in the seventeenth chapter of the fourth gospel in such a way; he wants his disciples—he wants us—to overhear his petition to the Almighty. Jesus, knowing that his departure is fast-approaching, prays for oneness for his followers. He prays “that they may be one, as [he and the Father] are one.” Jesus, in this gospel’s version of “The Lord’s Prayer,” prays that his disciples, in his physical absence, not fall into the predictable pattern of disunity after his departure.

            This powerful prayer of Jesus has been held up as the proof text of those who stand defiantly against denominationalism. It has been proclaimed as primary evidence in the case against the Christian faith as it has been used to show the hypocrisy of a body whose Savior and whose Scripture call for unity, yet there are over 41,000 different denominations and traditions of Christianity, with many of them claiming superiority or even exclusivity when it comes to doctrine and salvation.[1] These enormously important words of Jesus have been highlighted in our very county when it has been pointed out that there are nearly 300 churches in a county of around 117,000, meaning there is one church for every 400 people (whether they go to church or not!).[2] These words have been used by those looking for a reason to either distance themselves from the Church or point out the ways others in the church miss the mark. But can I share something with you this morning? I don’t believe for one second that Jesus had anything remotely close to denomination-bashing in mind when he prayed this prayer within earshot of his disciples. No, I don’t believe for one second these are words about dissolving denominational differences in order to join hands together and sing “Amazing Grace” with former Catholics, Lutherans, Quakers, and even Southern/other Baptists. I believe these words strike a whole lot closer to home.

            You see, Jesus prays this prayer as a part of a rather lengthy discourse in the John’s gospel. Jesus prays these words to his Father, just before he goes out to the garden across the Kidron valley where he will be betrayed, arrested, and handed over to be crucified. So Jesus prays this prayer while seated with his disciples at his last supper, after he has washed their feet. Jesus’ words are for those right there in that room with him, his first followers, that small band of friends who would go on in the book of Acts to start the Church that would branch out into thousands of iterations of two millennia. Jesus’ words aren’t about some “big picture, global Christian unity.” They’re words about close-quarter Christian unity, unity among Christ-followers who are within arm’s length of one another. In fact, that may be the most difficult kind of unity to attain in Christ’s Church.

            Christ prays form unity among those first disciples because he knows that while they may all come from the same region around Galilee, they ain’t all the same. In fact, there was a great deal of difference among those fish-smelling, tax-collecting, zeal-driven, formerly-possessed, men and women. And as I look around this room this morning, I’m not too ignorant to know that there is a great deal of difference among all us wood-cutting, cow-raising, school-teaching, sick-healing, child-rearing, sewage-pumping, crop-growing, wrench-turning, hammer-swinging, word-typing, tech-driven, bank-running, plant-managing, hard-working, and hard-retiring people! We ain’t all the same! Some of us come from great families, with more than we’ve ever wanted, and some of come from less-than-exemplary families with less than we needed. Some of us our so conservative we think the folks on Fox News have slipped over to the left, and some of us are so liberal we just sort of hang on to get through the election cycle. Some of us pull for that one college football team from that town just west of Birmingham; some of us root for that one college football team from that town just outside of Opelika; the rest of us either don’t care, try to stay out of the way, or pull for teams from college towns like Waco, Texas!

My point is we’re all different, just like those first disciples of Jesus. And as Jesus prayed for them to be one, I believe he still desires for us to be one. Now, can I let you in on a little something? It may be something you already know. The whole “being one” thing is hard, and I believe it’s even harder being a Baptist, because the one thing we Baptist have going for us is freedom: freedom from creeds, councils, bishops, and even one another! As the old cliché says, if you have three Baptists together trying to solve a problem, you’ll get five different opinions on how to solve it! Being one is hard. Everyone has their opinion about how worship ought to be, what hymns we ought to sing, how we ought to sing them, whether or not folks should raise their hands when they sing them, how long the sermon ought to be, what the sermon ought to be about, how many services we have each week, when we should or shouldn’t cancel services, how we should or shouldn’t spend the church’s money, when, where, and if we ought to build another building…Being one [for a congregation] is hard, because there are a whole lot of little “1’s” all hoping every other “1” will see things their 1 way!

But here’s the thing: I don’t believe Jesus was, is, or ever will be all that concerned about the order of worship on Sunday, the hymn numbers we sing, the style of music we use for worship, the number of services we have, or (and maybe I shouldn’t say this, but…) the amount of money we raise to build more buildings. No, I believe Jesus’ petition for oneness among his followers centered on the most important reason for Christ’s birth, life, death, resurrection, and ascension: eternal life. And what is eternal life? Well, in one of the most direct, to-the-point definitions in all of Scripture, Jesus says in verse 3: “And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.”

You can choose to worship in a building branded “Baptist.” You can decide to raise your hands in praise and worship with a place packed with Pentecostals. You can kneel at the gilded alter of a Catholic cathedral. You can be predestined to be predisposed to Presbyterian preaching. You can even sit in the austere assembly of an Amish assembly. If your goal in the end of it all is to truly know God, to selflessly seek the One who spins the galaxies of the universe and has counted every hair on your head, if your purpose for worship and service is to lift high the God who emptied himself to take on the form of a slave and die for your sins, if your reason for coming to this place is to know more of God and leave more of yourself behind, then you are one of those fulfilling Christ’s prayer to his Father. You are one living eternal life, right here, right now.

May we all strive to be one, united by the love of God that grants us eternal life. May we all strive to be one, living in the eternal life of a relationship with the eternal God. May we all strive to be one by letting go of our selfish desires and ambitions, letting go of what we want from life, worship, church, the world, and God. May we be one as we allow the Holy Spirit to speak to us, to call us to know God more, to call us into eternal life. May you hear that call this morning, and may you respond and become one with those of us who are living into the reality of eternal life. May we all be one in this world as well as the next.

Amen. 

---

[1] http://www.pewforum.org/2011/12/19/global-christianity-exec/

[2] http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/01/01015.html and http://alabama.hometownlocator.com/features/cultural,class,church,scfips,01015.cfm

Be Satisfied (Fifth Sunday of Easter)

John 14:1-14

1 "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. 2 In my Father's house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. 4 And you know the way to the place where I am going." 5 Thomas said to him, "Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?" 6 Jesus said to him, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. 7 If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him." 8 Philip said to him, "Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied." 9 Jesus said to him, "Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, "Show us the Father'? 10 Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. 11 Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. 12 Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. 13 I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. 14 If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.

            As I sat on a metal folding chair at the edge of the football field, I remember thinking to myself how hot the sun made my feet feel in the cheap, black shoes I was wearing that day. Around 400 of us were taking time out of our last, full day of class to rehearse walking in a straight line. We were the graduating class of 2002. As my feet slowly roasted in the South Alabama sun, I was thinking about how much I couldn’t wait for all of this to be over, all of this ceremony, all of this pomp and circumstance. I just wanted to get through graduation, get my diploma, and start living the life I had mapped out in front of me. I had a job and a scholarship to a technical school all lined up. The only thing in my way was time. I had lived the previous thirteen years of my life reading, writing, solving math problems, and learning names and dates just so I could be free from the bondage of bells and wide-ruled paper. I can remember thinking about how much I just wanted to blink and have a week pass, so I could be considered an adult—a working, self-sufficient, life-laid-out adult.

            Eventually, those few days did pass, and I graduated. Life, however, did not exactly go the way I had planned it. I was told I had “worked myself out of a job,” and since the job I had was the only reason I had chosen to go to the technical school that awarded me a scholarship, I found myself in a dire situation. Just a few days after wanting to get on with life, I found myself wishing life would reverse itself, or at least stop while I picked up the pieces and tried to figure out what to do next. I was afraid I had wasted the past years of my life; I had no “plan B” and no idea what to do next. I can honestly say it was one of the scariest, most troubling times of my life.

            Those are the most troubling times in our lives aren’t they? Those times, those seasons when it seems like everything is spinning out of control. We can’t sleep; it seems like no matter how hard we try, we can’t “right the ship,” we can’t get back on track. Those times are especially frightening when everything up to that point has gone smoothly. Things are most troubling when everything has gone according to our plans, and everything seems as if it will continue on as if it were fixed on a rail, but something—something covert, unseen—upsets everything, and before we have time to even begin to comprehend what’s happening, our world is turned upside down and our plans are little more than smoldering ruins. If you’ve been there, then you can understand where these followers of Jesus are in chapter fourteen of John’s gospel.

            The first words from Jesus in the passage before us in verse 1 give us some sense of the situation: “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” Why are their hearts troubled? After all, as nice a saying as this may be for fortune cookies and Precious Moments figurines, it is a saying from Jesus to his disciples in a real context, so why are their hearts troubled? What exactly has taken place to cause Jesus to speak these words of comfort and blessed assurance to his first followers? Well, let’s take a look at the story just before chapter fourteen. Up until about chapter eleven, things were on a pretty steady arc: Jesus had been moving about Judea performing what the Fourth Gospel refers to as “signs.” Jesus has healed the sick, given sight to the blind, and even raised the dead, and it’s that last sign (raising Lazarus from the dead) that changed things. We’re told in chapter 11, verses 45 and following that the chief priests, Pharisees, and the whole Sanhedrin plotted to kill Jesus after he raised Lazarus from the dead. From there we’re told in chapter 12, verses 27 and following, after Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, that Jesus tells his disciples about his being “lifted up,” that is his crucifixion. Then, in chapter 13 Jesus tells his disciples that one them will actually betray him, turn him over to those who want to see him lynched. As if that wasn’t enough to trouble the heart of an ordinary disciple, we’re told that the de facto leader of the disciples, Peter, will deny Jesus—not once, but three times!

            The powerful religious institution is plotting to kill Jesus. Jesus himself seems to be predicting his own death at the hands of those who want him dead. The most resolute, steadfast, rock-like of the disciples will eventually deny having ever known the one he has claimed he would die for. That seems like enough to frighten these first followers of Jesus. That seems like enough to trouble their hearts, especially when they may have seen the outcome entirely differently. They may have had it in their minds that this sign-slinging Messiah was marching into Jerusalem to put things the way they ought to be. They may have viewed the coming messianic age as one where they’d install (at the very least) a reactionary movement that would resist the polytheistic oppression of Rome, a sort of “Occupy Judea” movement. But when the authorities are really out to get you, when your Messiah isn’t calling for arms and action, but a cross and forgiveness, when your exemplary peer is predicted to fall short…your heart will at the very least be “troubled.”

            In the aftermath of this world-unraveling, Jesus tells his disciples, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me.” Now, telling first century Jews (really, most people in the first century) to “believe in God” would be like telling people to believe that the sun comes up in the morning. Believing in God (whether it was YHWH as a Jew, Zeus as a Roman, Ra as an Egyptian, etc.) was practically involuntary: gods seemed to occupy every square inch of life. Their temples were city centers; their names were carved everywhere; their images or symbols were on money. These first disciples would likely go on believing in God if Jesus had proven to be just another short-fallen redeemer. That’s why the difficult exhortation in Jesus’ words of comfort is “believe also in me.” “We can believe in God. God, as far as we can tell, hasn’t changed. But believing in you may be difficult, Jesus. After all, you’ve told us you plan to die. That isn’t what we had in mind for a messiah.” Can’t you hear the disciples thinking this?

            Jesus, though, doesn’t really give them the chance to express any sort of doubt in the comforting power found in believing in a crucified Christ. No, instead he promises them something:  “In my Father's house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going." Great. Jesus is going on ahead of them, and they know the way to the place he’s going…or do they?

            Thomas (the mouthpiece for the rest of us in the Fourth Gospel, the one who says what the rest of us are really thinking) says in verse 5, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?" Turns out they don’t know where Jesus is going. They don’t have a clue now since their plans have been torn apart by all of these recent revelations. “Where are you going with all of this Jesus? Give me a sign! Show me the way!” How many times have you found yourself shouting that at the ceiling? That’s where these disciples are: they’re clueless as to where Jesus is going now. They have no idea what’s around the bend, what’s waiting for them on the next step in life’s journey.

            To quiet their troubling hearts, Jesus tells his disciples words that, up until now, we’ve heard as describing the exclusive, VIP status of those bound for glory: "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him." In this “I am” statement of Jesus, he says to his disciples, “You want to know that way? I am the way. There’s no other way, so you won’t be lost or confused on the journey so long as you follow me.” In a way, that’s what Jesus has been telling his disciples from the very beginning. You see, throughout the gospels Jesus is constantly calling people to himself with two simple words: “follow me.” “Follow me; because I am the way, I am the way to know God, the way to know truth, the way to life.”

            But it’s hard to follow someone when we don’t know exactly where they’re going. We are fine with following someone if we have an idea of the destination, if we’ve been there before, or if we’ve been assured it’s a place that can be reached fairly easily and once we’re there it’ll be sunshine, cake, and dancing. But if we aren’t sure of the destination, if we’ve never been there before, or if we’re told the route is dangerous, difficult, or long, we aren’t so ready to put one foot in front of the other for the journey. Philip gives a voice to such a truth in our nature in verse 8: "Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied." What he says is essentially, “Lord, show us where all of this is heading, show us God’s grand plan, and we’ll be satisfied with following you; we’ll be satisfied with all of this stuff you’ve told us about crosses, death, and denial. Just tell us where we’re headed. We’ll leave the way up to you, but we want to know the destination.”

            Jesus is understandably a bit disappointed with Philip. After all, Philip has been following Jesus, the Way, since way back in chapter one. He’s one of the first disciples Jesus calls to follow him on the way. The rest of our passage this morning is Jesus’ response to Philip’s request to see God. Essentially, in verses 9 through 14 Jesus tells Philip, “You want to see the Father? Look at me. I am the Father and the Father is me; we’re the same. What I do, I do because the Father, God, lives in me. So follow me, because I’m the way and the destination!” These are some of the most theologically thick verses in all of Scripture, because it is in these verses that we hear Jesus declare his unity with God: Jesus isn’t just a prophet pointing to God; Jesus is the fullness of God. You want to see God, to know what God is like: look at Jesus! You want to know where all of this going, what all of this means: look at Jesus! You want to know the way to God: look at Jesus! You want to know God: know Jesus!

            That’s what Christ is saying to his disciples then and now. Where’s God going with all of this? What’s the meaning behind life’s ups and downs? What’s the right path? It’s all Jesus! And don’t think that’s some simple, watered-down, Sunday School answer to the depth and vastness of life. Far from it! Really look at Jesus. In the words of Cynthia A. Jarvis, Minister at the Presbyterian Church of Chestnut Hill in Philadelphia, “What we know of God in Jesus Christ is that God has chosen not to be God without us. In this is love (1 John 4:10), the love that is God.” [1]  When we see Jesus, the Way, the Destination, what we see is the God who has walked through every dark valley before us. We see in Jesus the God who has wept when sin and death has taken one we’ve loved. We see in Jesus the God who has rejoiced when we’ve conquered that obstacle in our lives that has been holding us back. We see in Jesus the God who has faced every fear that could possibly ever trouble our hearts because we see a God who in contradiction to his eternal glory, died.

            We see in Jesus the God who has overcome all that could ever attempt to overtake us when that same Jesus, that same God triumphed even over death. When we see Jesus, we see the Way: the way to salvation, the way to freedom, the way to peace, hope, and joy. When we see Jesus, we see the God who is love. So may we follow the Way, and in following the Way may we be satisfied.

---

[1] Cynthia A. Jarvis, “Fifth Sunday of Easter, John 14:1-14: Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word. Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville, KY (2010) p.471.

Stay with Us (Third Sunday of Easter)

Luke 24:13-35

13 Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, 14 and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. 15 While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, 16 but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. 17 And he said to them, "What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?" They stood still, looking sad. 18 Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, "Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?" 19 He asked them, "What things?" They replied, "The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, 20 and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. 21 But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. 22 Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, 23 and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. 24 Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him." 25 Then he said to them, "Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! 26 Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?" 27 Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures. 28 As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. 29 But they urged him strongly, saying, "Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over." So he went in to stay with them. 30 When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. 31 Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. 32 They said to each other, "Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?" 33 That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. 34 They were saying, "The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!" 35 Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

            Growing up, I always saw my teachers as my own personal sort of celebrities. There was always something a little cool about running into a teacher on a Saturday at the gas station, or seeing them during the summer at the grocery store. What’s more, I thought it was really something if one of my friends actually knew a teacher outside of school, that they actually knew a teacher’s first name and regularly interacted with a teacher outside of class. Whether they went to church together or a teacher and one of my friend’s parents went to college together—really whatever it was—I always thought it was sort of special when one of my friends knew one of our teachers outside of the school. I really only had that sort of experience twice in my educational career: once in the eighth grade when my Algebra I teacher, Mrs. Jones, had actually graduated from high school with my dad and she played the piano at the church I would eventually call my home church; the other time was when I went to the high school in Enterprise and took auto mechanics there.

            Bill Waddell taught auto mechanics at the high school, and Bill Waddell was one of my dad’s best friends. I had known Bill practically all my life, and since I had aspirations of being a mechanic after high school, it seemed like the logical thing to do to take classes with Bill—I mean, Mr. Waddell. The auto mechanics department at the old high school in Enterprise (the one that was there before it was destroyed by a tornado in 2007) was a well-worn, musty concrete and cinderblock shop, with five bays, two hydraulic lifts, one front-end alignment pit, a tool cage, an office, a storage room, and a tiny sliver of a classroom. Honestly, the classroom was probably the smallest space in the whole building: I could’ve stood in the middle of the room and stretched my arms out to touch two walls. It was a cramped room with old school desks (you know the ones with plywood tops, a metal frame, with a space for your books under the seat). Those desks lined the walls, and just above all of our heads was a single bookshelf with old Chilton manuals and auto mechanics textbooks on them. More than once a student had banged the top of their head on that shelf trying to get out of one of those desks.

            It used to frustrate me how small that classroom was, mostly because I was under the impression we’d be taught how to work on cars in that classroom. I was always disappointed when we’d be given an assignment out of the textbook just to be graded so easily on it. At first, every kid in that class had an “A,” but then we left the classroom and went into the shop. You see, things are a bit different in the shop. You can know all the facts about what makes an engine fire. You can know all the parts of a drum brake by name and be able to label them correctly on a picture. You can understand the way an engine’s cooling system works. Yes, you can read books, study pictures and diagrams, and you can ace tests in a classroom, but when it comes to actually fixing something, when it comes to actually taking dead hunks of old metal and making them roar to life or operate safely and correctly…well that something else entirely. That’s why the shop was so much bigger than the room we called a classroom: because when it comes to actually knowing something, when it comes to actually comprehending what’s before you, you are going to have to experience something first. In other words, when it comes down to it, the only real way to know something is to experience it over and over, or to put it another way, we have to be in relationship with it.

            If that is the case, then why do we seem to think that when it comes to the most important thing in our lives (the most important thing in the history of humankind) all we really need is some cognitive recognition of facts, figures, dates, and data? Why are we under the impression that a life of faith is merely made up of list of “dos” and “don’ts” or a creedal list of regulations, rituals, and rites? In order to get where I’m going with all of this, we need to start in a different place, a place about seven miles outside of the village called Emmaus; we need to start in first-century Jerusalem, a short time after the crucifixion and burial of Jesus of Nazareth.

            In this post-resurrection/post-Easter account, Luke tells us the story of two of Jesus’ disciples—Cleopas and some other guy—as they’re heading to the village of Emmaus. They’re discussing what’s recently taken place there in Jerusalem, and as you probably well know a lot had been going on: Jesus and his movement seemed to be zeroing in on Pilate and those in charge of Jerusalem; it looked as if the coming revolution some of the Jews had been hoping for was about to break out; but just when it seemed like something great was going to happen, Jesus was betrayed, arrested, found guilty in a rigged trial, sentenced to death, and nailed to a cross where he subsequently died. His body was placed in a tomb. His followers scattered, but on the third day after his death, some of the women who followed Jesus said they saw an angel or two telling them that he was alive, but no one was really sure if they could trust these women and their testimony, so some others went back to check it out. There they found a vacant tomb but no sign of a resurrected Jesus. There was plenty to talk about on a seven-mile walk!

            On this walk, we’re told, Jesus joins these two disciples, “but,” we’re told in verse 16 16 “their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” They didn’t know it was Jesus who had joined them on their walk, and they were some of his disciples, folks who had traveled with and learned from Jesus before his crucifixion! They had some knowledge, firsthand or secondhand, about Jesus and all that he had been through, yet they still couldn’t see it was Jesus himself who joined them on the road. Furthermore, Jesus asks them in verse 17,"What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?" To which “They stood still, looking sad,” and proceeded to give Jesus a summary of all that took place in verses 18-24. Not only are these two likely a part of the multitude of disciples that followed Jesus during his earthly ministry, but they seem to have a pretty good grasp on all the facts that led up to that moment, all the facts about Jesus and the hopes of the people concerning Jesus.

            Well, as we see in verses 25-27, Jesus sees the shortcomings in their “facts” and “beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.” In other words, Jesus began to teach and interpret the traditions of Scripture to these two men as they walked to Emmaus. Jesus explained the details of those things found in the Law and the teachings of the prophets, like Isaiah, that pointed to a messiah that would undergo suffering, a Christ that would be misunderstood and eventually put to death. Now, it may be tempting for some of us to see this as the powerful moment in this story, to see this as a clear example of the power of Scripture and the way it can open the eyes and hearts of men and women. But before we get too carried away we need to observe something in this story. After Jesus teaches these two men about himself in all the scriptures, there is no immediate change, no immediate recognition of the One who has joined them on the way to Emmaus. Yes, later on we will hear them say, "Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?" But right here, at this moment when Jesus is opening the scriptures to them, there is only a burning in their hearts, not a complete recognition of their teacher.

            This may be an appropriate place to point out that the simple reading or teaching of Scripture is not always enough for people to recognize Jesus. This is especially true in an increasingly pluralistic culture where books like the Bible are not seen to possess as much authority as they once did. A street preacher blaring a string of proof texts through a megaphone and a billboard on the highway plastered with a Bible verse are not going to reach many (if any) with the Good News. A tract left in a bathroom stall with plucked passages of Scripture scrolled inside explaining the eternal fate of every soul and the decision one has to make will lead very few to an understanding of an eternal God. Think about it this way: would a string of passages from the Quran convince you to become of Muslim, or a few carefully chosen verses from the Bhagavad Gita lead to your conversion to Hinduism? I would think not! While Holy Scripture is powerful and life-changing, we need to remember that Jesus didn’t leave behind a Bible when he ascended into heaven—he left behind a Church! And Jesus left that Church with a commission and a commandment to love God and everyone else.

            You see, while these two on the road to Emmaus didn’t immediately recognize Jesus when he joined them on their journey, they would come to recognize him. And while their hearts burned but they eyes were closed, they would come to see that the One who set their hearts on fire with the words of Scripture was indeed the One who had so recently died and been raised for them. How did they come to recognize Jesus? What was it that finally opened their eyes? Well it wasn’t the knowledge of facts, names, or dates, and it wasn’t the recitation of Bible verses. It was the simple act of hospitality, the act of sharing a meal with a stranger.

We’re told in verses 28-31: “As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, ‘Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.’ So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight.” In the simple request for a fellow traveler to “stay with us,” these two had their eyes opened. In the humble act of sharing a meal with a stranger, these two saw the One about whom they had spent a great deal of time talking. By actually practicing the kind of thing Jesus had taught about all along they were able to recognize him in their presence. Now there’s a lesson in that my friends!

You see, we can get awful caught up in having all the facts, in knowing all the answers. We can get preoccupied with knowing the right verse for the right occasion. We can lose ourselves in trying to talk ourselves and others into believing. But the truth is we can’t fully see Jesus until we actually do the things Jesus taught us to do, until we live our lives by acts of love, kindness, and hospitality. So as you journey forth from this place, heading to your own Emmaus, step out of the classroom and into the shop. Focus your faith and attention, not on learning or memorizing the teachings of Jesus, but on DOING the things Jesus taught us to do. Then, my friends, you will recognize Jesus in your very presence, and you will realize he was there all along.

Amen. 

Imperishable, Undefiled, and Unfading (Second Sunday of Easter)

1 Peter 1:3-9

3 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, 4 and into an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, 5 who are being protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. 6 In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials, 7 so that the genuineness of your faith—being more precious than gold that, though perishable, is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. 8 Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, 9 for you are receiving the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.

It probably won’t come as a shock to any of you, but I am not the heir to any family fortune. If my ancestors came to this country with any measurable amount of riches it was lost through the generations, likely to booze, bad choices, failed investments, and the general cost of living. My grandparents weren’t wealthy folks with stockpiles of precious metals or shares in Fortune 500 companies. As for my parents, well they won’t leave much behind in the way of financial assets when it’s their turn to (as the boys from Monty Python might say) rung down the curtain and join the choir invisible. Furthermore, I’m not exactly the bearer of some grand and powerful name. No, while the name Thomas or Pair (my mom’s maiden name) may be known inside a hardware store or two, a few part-houses, and a couple of gas stations in Coffee County, it hasn’t really gotten me into any social clubs or afforded me the privileges of expedited service and preferred treatment. That, however, doesn’t mean I haven’t received any sort of inheritance in my life; it just means the sorts of things I’ve been left aren’t the kinds of things that will make me sick with money.

            For example, in the nightstand by our bed I have a plain, silver, zippo lighter that my maternal grandfather was issued during his time in Korea. Pa also left me a collection of cheap pocket knives and a steel box of filled with all kinds of belt buckles: I still wear my favorite one from time to time, a silver buckle with a smooth, dark-green jade in the center, the runner-up was a pewter buckle with the engraved likeness of Arthur Fonzarelli winking, pointing his fingers, and saying, “Ayyyyy!” I guess you could say my paternal grandfather left us his shop behind the house, with the front-end pit. I spent a lot of hours in that shop learning how cars worked (and sometimes even learning how to fix them). I’m sure if I could go through all the little things, the extra possessions I’ve been given over the years by my grandparents and even my parents they wouldn’t amount to much—they might not even make a very big pile. Even if they did, though, those things would eventually rust, rot, break, dissolve or disappear. Even if my family had a great deal of money, even if my family’s name was engraved in the façade of the big buildings of important institutions, even if I was left with the sort of legacy of which empires are made…empires fall, buildings crumble, names are erased and forgotten, and money, well, money gets spent and eventually finds its way into someone else’s pockets.

            To be fair though, we don’t really earn inheritances do we, whether they are estates worth millions or old, dull, pocket knives? Sure, there are those fanciful stories that make for good screenplays of those eccentric old millionaires who pit their heirs against one another as some sort of last-ditch effort to show their power and value within the family structure. And I suppose it can be argued that those who receive an inheritance can always be denied such gifts if their actions in life are not smiled upon by the one doing the bequeathing. But in the end, those who receive an inheritance do just that—they receive it. It is freely given to them without any sort of precondition, without any prerequisites.

            Maybe that is why the author of this text before us today chose the word “inheritance” when referring to the “new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.” If this new birth is “an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading” then that means it is the sort of thing that, well, we cannot earn; it is something that is given to us freely. It is a subtle but powerful truth to understand that the hope we have in the power of Christ’s resurrection (a resurrection we continue to observe on this second Sunday of Easter) is a hope that begins and ends with God. In fact, we hear how this inheritance is “kept in heaven for [us], who are being protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.”  Did you notice the careful way that sentence is structured? The “you” in that sentence, us, is always passive, always the recipient of action. While God, on the other hand, is the active party, the one keeping things in heaven, the one doing the protecting.

            Now, I don’t want you to get out ahead of me and think that all this means that we are lacking free will as human beings—far from it. What I am saying is that it is important for us to understand that God is the one from whom our hope in salvation originates. This may seem like a statement of theological common sense, but I do think it is something we seldom remember. You see, while many of us may claim that we are saved by no action of our own doing, we live our lives as if our salvation is something we have made for ourselves, as if we have lived lives of righteousness in the midst of everyone else’s wickedness. We flaunt our salvation as if it were the type of inheritance that projects us into the top tax bracket despite living among the lower class citizenry. Far too often, Christians have taken their freely given salvation and used it—not in the service of their neighbors—but in the attitude of division, as if to say, “I am saved and you are not; therefore, you are not fit to be near me.”

            Whether we realize it or not, we Christians have come an awful long way from the days of those first believers. We freely gather together in buildings like this several times a week. We enjoy the privileged position of the majority in society. Some of us even like to claim that we live in a Christian nation—a thought that I am certain was no less than outrageous to those early followers of Jesus. We’ve come so far, in fact, that when we hear words like those in verses 6 and 7 (“In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith—being more precious than gold that, though perishable, is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed”) we honestly believe that we “suffer various trials” when someone simply voices a different opinion or when we’ve made poor decisions ourselves! Those words in verses 6 and 7 are not words that refer to anything we as comfortable, American Christians might call “trials.” Rather, those words are for Christians whose very way of life is threatened simply because of their faith, for Christians who find themselves at the bottom of the pile merely because they have chosen to follow Christ. Those words were first heard by Christians who would have never dreamed they would be the recipients of an inheritance, much less one that is “imperishable, undefiled, and unfading.”

            Even though we have come so far as believers, despite our relative comfort of followers of Jesus, there is still a word for us here. For while these early Christians endured trials of the sort we will likely never experience, the apostle still calls them to rejoice. Think about that for a minute. These early Christians, in the midst of poverty, persecution, and all the pains and anxieties of the ancient world were called to rejoice. They were encouraged to find joy in the midst of actual trials, because those trials—however real, gruesome, and pin-filled they may have been—were only temporary. Think how small those things we call trials in our lives may seem to those who lived in the first century. Think how great their trials must have been given the weight of those burdens you carry yourself today. Think of how great the weight of all of life’s pains are, and then think of how great the glory of God’s grace and love is!

            Isn’t that the message of Christ’s resurrection?! No matter the depth of or pain, the reality of trials, the severity of our depressions, the weight of our burdens, there is hope! For even when death seemed to have conquered God Almighty, resurrection proved otherwise! What an inheritance! To know that no matter what this life may throw at you, the love of God has already overcome it! Shouldn’t that inspire us to see this inheritance, this salvation as something over which to rejoice, and not something to wield as privileged power? For in the end, the true sign of our salvation, the way that others know we have this inheritance in Christ’s resurrection, is the love we have for God and others, a love that results in tremendous joy: “Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, for you are receiving the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.”

            God, “By his great mercy…has given [you] a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and…an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading.” God has given you the power to rejoice in the midst of whatever junk may come our way, because God has overcome it all in the power of Christ’s resurrection. May we who call ourselves Christians not see our salvation as label that separates us from those we may think are below us because they do not share our inheritance. May we then be people who truly respond to God’s love towards us with love towards God and one another. May we be filled with an indescribable and glorious joy as we follow the risen Christ. May you take hold of the inheritance that God freely gives you today, an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading.

Let us pray…