Monday, January 28, 2013

Proclaiming the Lord's Favor (Third Sunday after Epiphany)

Luke 4:14-21
14 Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. 15 He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone. 16 When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, 17 and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: 18 "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, 19 to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." 20 And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. 21 Then he began to say to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."

If I were to ask you, “What does it take to be a ‘good Christian’?” I wonder what you might say. Perhaps you’d say something about church attendance, Bible reading, and prayer, or maybe you’d say something about tithing and volunteering your time to the church. Perhaps the more theologically inclined among us might respond with something about believing in the deity and humanity of Jesus, the Trinity, or some dogmatic expression regarding the nature of Holy Scripture.
Well, nearly two years ago, I remember reading an article in the paper about what it took to be a so-called “good Christian.” The article was titled “Fundamentally Christian,” and in it the author made this claim: “The Bible is the infallible word of God…God created heaven and earth in six literal days, and on the seventh day he rested. The Son of God was born of a virgin…. Heaven is attainable by grace alone through faith alone in Christ alone to the glory of God alone. Every man has sinned against God, and there is but one escape from the just sentence of hell, and that is in the person of Jesus Christ” (and many of God’s people said, “Amen!”).  Then the author wrote these words: “Those are the fundamentals. It’s impossible to be a good Christian without them.[1] It’s impossible to be a good Christian without them. I couldn’t help but notice that absent from this list of “fundamentals” is the greatest of all the commandments (or, if you will, fundamentals), to love God and each other.
Of course, if we start down the road of making lists of what it means to be a “good Christian” we might find that our lists are surprisingly longer than we might expect. If you were to ask a fellow Baptist what it takes to be a “good Christian” you’re likely to get a different response, even more so if you were to ask a brother or sister from a different Christian tradition. So, how do we answer the question? What does it really take to be a “good Christian”?
Maybe I should ask a different, less personal, question. “What does it take to be a good church?” Ah, now there’s a good question, and one with a more definite answer, right? Some will respond right away with comments about music style (a good church has good music). Others may comment about programs, service hours, social opportunities, or even comments about location. A good church, one might say, is comfortable and filled with people who like each other and enjoy spending time together. Then, of course, there are those who want to be more serious and may answer such a question by pointing to the missional activity of the church and the ways in which the church does evangelism in its surrounding community. At the end of the day, the truth is you’d likely receive just as many opinions about what it takes to be a good church as you would when it comes to being a “good Christian.”
Is there a definite answer to either of these questions? Is there some expression, some phrase or confession, one can point to and say, “this is what it means to be a good Christian; this is what it means to be a good church”? Perhaps there is, but it may be below the surface, behind the answer to yet another question, a more perplexing question, a question that may seem to have an easy answer, that is until we really seek the answer: “who is Jesus?”
Who is Jesus? Well there’s a question with as many answers as one can imagine! For nearly two thousand years people have pondered, discussed, and fought over the answer to that very question—who is Jesus? Is he simply a figure from ancient history, a great moral teacher who inspired a movement that has reshaped the world? Is Jesus the imagined hero of a people who so desperately needed one? Is Jesus the conservative, Western figure who preaches of prosperity and self-reliance? Is Jesus the poster boy for social rebellion and political uprising in the face of tyranny? Is he the prototype hippie with long hair and sandaled feet, preaching love and tolerance, or is he the stern judge who seeks to weigh every person in the balance of sin and righteousness? Who is Jesus? The answer, it seems, depends on who you ask, and I wager that if you were able to ask the gathered crowd in the synagogue in Nazareth on that day when Jesus sat in on a service, you might get a surprisingly plain answer.
You see, to them, Jesus was simply Mary and Joseph’s oldest son, one who had been gaining a reputation for teaching in the synagogues of Galilee after making an impressive scene at the Jordan River with his cousin John. He was the same carpenter’s son who had come with his family to the synagogue to recite the Shema, offer prayers, sing psalms, and listen to the Scriptures and the homily that followed.[2] If they saw him as anything more, it was with the same vision they saw the countless other so-called prophets that sprang up and gathered a following in Judea. “Who is Jesus?,” one might ask them. The gathering in the Nazareth synagogue would tell you he was simply Mary’s boy…that is until the day he came in and read from the scroll of Isaiah.
Now, it’s unclear whether Jesus chose to read from Isaiah or if it just happened to be the reading for the day, but either way Luke tells us in verse 16 and following: “He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.’" The passage Jesus read was from the sixty-first chapter of Isaiah (with a verse thrown in from chapter fifty-eight); it was a passage that used the familiar language of the year of Jubilee.
Now, the year of Jubilee is mentioned in the book of Leviticus and was to be observed every fiftieth year. It was a time when the land was to rest, debts were to be forgiven, people were to return home, and slaves were to be set free.[3] It was meant to be the Sabbath of all Sabbaths, a time when the people of God and their land would rest. It was a time one might think the people would look forward to—but there is no recorded account of the year of Jubilee ever being observed. Maybe it was too much to ask of an agrarian people to leave their fields alone for an entire year. Perhaps it was too idealistic to think that one’s debts could be forgiven simply because it was the fiftieth year. Maybe (likely) people are just too greedy, and the idea of returning land, freeing slaves, and canceling debts just didn’t sit well with them. Whatever the case may be, the year of Jubilee became less of a reality called for in Scripture and more of a hoped-for, spiritualized time when God would bring his own sort of Jubilee to his people, freeing them from their captivity under foreign authorities.
The passage from the scroll of Isaiah captured this sort of language about the year of Jubilee and the liberation of captives and the freedom of the oppressed. I can imagine it was the sort of passage that stirred up feelings of hope in the hearts of those who heard it in the synagogue there in Nazareth…that is until what happens next. Luke tells us in verse 20: “And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him.” You get the feeling that they are all expecting Jesus—who remember has gained a reputation for teaching in the synagogues—to blow their minds with some mazing word about how the Jubilee was this spiritual existence, or maybe they were waiting for him to say something that would only buttress their feelings about how the Romans were holding them back from this promise of Jubilee. You get the feeling that since the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him that they were eager to hear his words about what he had just read, some stirring oration that would propel them towards feelings of hope, comfort, and possibly peace, and in some ways he doesn’t disappoint.
In verse 21 we’re told: Then he began to say to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." At first I get the feeling that they were confused. Perhaps they had the same feeling as those audience members when Oprah told them they were all getting a new car—somewhere between confusion, excitement, and doubt. But it doesn’t take long for them to catch on to what Jesus meant when he said, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." They knew he was making a statement about himself. They realized he was claiming to be the fulfillment of their expectations. They heard his words as a claim to be the one of whom the prophet spoke—the Messiah.
They didn’t catch it all, however, for Luke continues on to tell us that they were amazed and in awe of what Jesus was teaching, but when he continued to speak of the examples of Elijah and Elisha, they became angry. As Jesus revealed in his teaching that the words of Jubilee were for more than just the ethnic people of God, they became angry and sought to throw him off a cliff! Isn’t it strange how the real words of Christ tend to create that reaction in some folks! I imagine if you were to ask the people in that synagogue in Nazareth “who is Jesus?,” after he read from the scroll of Isaiah, after he spoke those words, they might have a different answer. “Who is Jesus? He’s that troublemaker who thinks Gentiles are even a part of God’s coming Jubilee…he’s that one who thinks he’s the Messiah, but he wants to offer salvation even to those people outside of our kind!”
“Who is Jesus?” Well the truth is Jesus is the one who brings good news to the poor, who proclaims release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, who lets the oppressed go free, who proclaims the year of the Lord's favor. He proclaims release to those who are held captive by sin; he gives sight to those who are blind, those who are blinded by selfishness and the sins that distract us from the needs of others; he frees those who are oppressed by the ways of a fallen world, those who are oppressed by their past, oppressed by the hand life has dealt them; he proclaims the year of the Lord’s favor to those who have been told God does not care, that God is too high, too holy, and too far to hear their cries. Who is Jesus? He is the one who brings the God’s Jubilee, and he is the one who calls us to do the same.
So, when you are asked, “What does it take to be a ‘good Christian’?” may you respond by bringing good news to the poor, proclaiming release to the captives and the recovery of sight to the blind, letting the oppressed go free, and proclaiming the year of the Lord’s favor. When we, as Christ’s church, are faced with the question, “What makes a good church?,” may we respond by following our savior and bringing the Lord’s Jubilee to reality. As we come together to worship, and as we gather around the Lord’s table, may we proclaim the Lord’s favor to the poor, the captives, the blind, the oppressed—to all who have eyes to see and ears to hear.
Let us pray…



[2] Mark L. Strauss. Zondervan Illustrated Bible Background Commentary: Luke. Zondervan: Grand Rapids, MI. (2002), 361.
[3] Linda McKinnish Bridges. Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 1. Westminster John Knox: Louisville, KY. (2009), 289.

Wedding Wine (Second Sunday after Epiphany)

John 2:1-11
1 On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. 2 Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. 3 When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, "They have no wine." 4 And Jesus said to her, "Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come." 5 His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you." 6 Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. 7 Jesus said to them, "Fill the jars with water." And they filled them up to the brim. 8 He said to them, "Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward." So they took it. 9 When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom 10 and said to him, "Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now." 11 Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

            Chuck Rickman was taking his usual six-mile walk around Downtown San Diego last week when he spotted something a bit unusual. He was so struck by what he saw that he did what a lot of people do these days when they see something strange while walking down the street—he pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture of it. He showed several of his friends the picture he had taken, and they all seemed to agree: there, in a steam-fogged window of a room in the Hard Rock Hotel of San Diego’s Gaslamp district, was the divine image of Jesus. While others have seen different images in the abstract window, Rickman is convinced it’s Jesus.[1]
            Some 2,300 miles east of San Diego, in Spartanburg, South Carolina, the small congregation at Care Baptist Church says they see Jesus every time they worship in their sanctuary—but they don’t mean that the way you might think they mean it. There in the sanctuary, to the left of the pulpit, is a door. Just a door like any other, except that in the wood grain pattern on the door parishioners swear they see the image of Jesus, hands folded in prayer, and (depending on who you ask) either surrounded by flowing robes, clouds, or a heavenly stairway leading on into eternity. Steve Wyatt, who attends Care Baptist, took this appearance of Christ’s image as a sign, so he contacted the local paper to get the word out. “God wanted me to get this out so people would come see it,” he said. “And if people come here to see the door, they might find God while they are here.”[2]
            Chuck Rickman and Steve Wyatt are not unique when it comes to seeing holy images in strange places. People see them all over the world in everything from grilled tortillas to stale Cheetos and rust stains on car fenders. In fact, in 2004 the online casino GoldenPalace.com placed the winning bid on eBay for a ten-year old, grilled cheese sandwich which bore the image of Jesus’ mother, Mary. Their winning bid, by the way, was $28,000![3] All this begs the question: why is Jesus (and his mother) always showing his face in these unusual places?! It may seem silly, but to someone who is listening for a word from God, seeking direction in life, or simply wanting some affirmation of something out there greater than him or herself, an apparent appearing of Christ’s face in something as mundane as a mustard stain can be a sign—a revelation of something greater. And who among us hasn’t, at some point in our lives, searched for a sign from God?
            In the first century people were looking for signs from God too. They were looking for signs in the heavens: remember the Magi, how they saw the star signaling the birth of a new King of the Jews? They were searching for signs in the Scriptures: passages like Joel 3:18 and Amos 9:13 spoke of the coming day of the Lord when there would be such abundance that the mountains would drip with sweet wine and the hills would flow with wine and milk. And of course there was that ever-present feeling that permeates all of human history, the feeling that something big was just around the corner: it’s that same sort of feeling that causes televangelists to proclaim the Lord’s return in their lifetime and it’s that same feeling that causes the masses to look to the Mayan calendar to predict the end of the world. Yes, the people of the first century were looking, waiting for a sign from God to signal the beginning of something new—a new age, the age of the Messiah. In this atmosphere of anticipation, people still went on with their lives and the usual events that mark the passing of time, events like weddings. And that’s where we find ourselves today, at a wedding in Cana.        
            The first two verses of our text today tell us, “On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding.” Now, a wedding in first century Cana was not what we might consider a run-of-the-mill afternoon event with flowers, cake, dancing, and punch. Oh no! A wedding in Cana would last at least a week, with people coming and going, food enough for a small army, wine that flowed freely, and even separate spaces for the bride and her party and the bridegroom and his party. Needless to say, a wedding in Cana was a party to which you hoped you were invited. This particular wedding in Cana may have been the wedding of a relative of Jesus’ mother (who is never named in John’s gospel), and Jesus and his newly gathered group of disciples were invited out of custom.[4] Now, one of the things that most every wedding seems to have in common is the fact that something is going to go wrong. Whether it’s an issue with the weather, a sick groomsman, or a photographer who forgot to load the camera with film, something is bound to disrupt the flow of hoped-for perfection. At this particular wedding, it was a wine shortage.
            In verse 3 we hear the panicked news: “When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’" This may sound like something trivial, but this would have been a great social faux pas since the host of the wedding was supposed to make sure that every guest had plenty to eat and drink,[5] and since Mary may have been a relative, she certainly didn’t want to bring any shame on her kinfolk. She turns to her oldest son, perhaps since she is now a widow, but Jesus’ words seem unnecessarily distant: "Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come." Perhaps Mary thought Jesus would run down to the grocery store with his new friends and save the wedding from the impending catering crisis, or maybe she just wanted to let him know so he and his disciples would take it easy on the drink so there’d be more to go around. Either way, Jesus doesn’t seem to think the wine shortage is worth his worrying. Mary, however, has a mother’s intuition, so she says to the servants in verse 5, "Do whatever he tells you."
            Now, in the middle of this ordinary, cultural event, there is an ordinary, expected problem. Despite his initial protest, Jesus takes action to remedy the problem before it has a chance to come to light. Jesus said to the servants in verse 7, "Fill the jars with water." (these large, stone jars set aside for ritual purification) And they filled them up to the brim—to the very top, between all six of the jars about 120 and 180 gallons. Then, “he said to them” in verse 8, "Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward,” and they took it to him. The gospel writer doesn’t tell us how Jesus did it: there’s no mention of any words spoken, no laying on of hands, no prayer offered. The servants fill the jars, draw a bit out, and upon taking it to the chief steward we all find out that in fact the water has been turned into wine—and not just any wine, the best wine! In fact, the steward is so impressed that he “called the bridegroom and said to him, ‘Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.’" He gave credit to the bridegroom (and perhaps his caterer)! In fact, no one aside from the servants knew what had happened, but verse 11 tells us, “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.” Jesus did it—he turned the water from the ceremonial jars into the best wine at the banquet. What a miracle! What a sign!
            That’s what the fourth gospel calls Jesus’ miracles—signs. People were watching, waiting, and hoping for a sign from God, some indication that the messianic age may be close, some signal that the Day of the Lord might be near. Then Jesus does this, the first of his signs, at a wedding in Cana, where only a few servants know what happened and only the few disciples he’s gathered believe in him. Isn’t that strange? The first sign signaling the Messiah’s arrival, the presence of God’s kingdom, happens in the all-too common event of a first-century Jewish wedding. The sky doesn’t split open. The sun’s light isn’t extinguished. There’s no earthquake, not even an appearance of a divine image in a grilled cheese sandwich! The first sign happens in a surprisingly reserved and quiet way, and only a few come away believing in the one who made it happen.
            But isn’t that how God works? We shout to the heavens in the midst of life’s deepest grief for God to give us a sign, something to prove we’re not alone, only to hear a deafeningly silent response. Then, when we least expect it, when no one else is paying attention, God gives us a sign. It could be something that happens in the midst of the ordinary rhythms of life, a divine wink that tells us we are not alone, a whisper on the wind that brings us comfort when we least expect that we most need it. God may not give us a sign when we want it, and he may not give us a sign that way we want it, but if we’re really listening, really tuning our hearts and our ears to the Spirit’s presence among us, we just might catch it—a sign from God.
            God speaks to us in the midst of the ordinary. Christ shows himself to us as we go about our lives and those events that mark the passing of time. Yet too often we look for some earth-shattering proof of God’s divine presence; we demand signs that prove unequivocally that God is real and hears us when we call. May we hear this story of the wedding in Cana, the story of the wedding wine, and see that Christ reveals himself to us even in the midst of the regular rhythms of life. May we who are looking for a sign from God see it even now, in this place, as we are gathered together for worship. May Christ reveal himself to you in the midst of the gathered people of God, and may we all be attentive to how God gives us signs of his presence in the everyday events of our lives.
Let us pray…

Friday, January 18, 2013

Down at the River (The Baptism of our Lord, 2013)

Luke 3:15-22
15 As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, 16 John answered all of them by saying, "I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. 17 His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire." 18 So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people. 19 But Herod the ruler, who had been rebuked by him because of Herodias, his brother's wife, and because of all the evil things that Herod had done, 20 added to them all by shutting up John in prison. 21 Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, 22 and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."

             It was the fifteenth of September, 2002. I was standing barefoot at the top of brown-carpeted steps, looking down into an oversized, fiberglass tub. Standing in the middle of that tub, waist-deep in slightly-warmed water, wearing black duck waders and a white shirt was a man I had come to know as “Brother David.” He extended his left hand towards me, motioning for me to make my way out of the cave-like corridor down into the water. While I don’t exactly remember the formulaic words Brother David was saying as I descended into the pool, I do remember a very strange feeling coming over me.
Now, the more sentimental and sacramental parts of me would like to believe that feeling was the Holy Spirit or some portion of grace being bestowed upon me as I found my way through the baptismal waters, but I’m a good Baptist: I knew then and now that there was nothing special, nothing sacred about that water (God help us if there was, because I’m sure it went down the same drain into the same septic system with the rest of the church’s used water!). Those same parts of me would like to believe that perhaps that odd and wondrous feeling was a result of the words Brother David pronounced as a sure and effective incantation, yet, again, I know there was nothing magical about the words he spoke; they were not words of some charismatic charm. No, that feeling that came over me, that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight, was the sudden realization that I wasn’t alone in this particular moment. For as I waded into the water in my blue athletic shorts and cut-off t-shirt, I looked out of the opening usually covered by a green curtain to see about one hundred pairs of eyes casting their stares across the pews, up the chancel, and over the choir loft at me as Brother David raised his right hand and then proceeded to awkwardly plunge me backwards into the water.
I dripped a trail all the way back to the men’s room where I changed clothes. Then I made my way around the church building to my seat on the back pew with the rest of my friends. As I sat there, I remember feeling the breeze from the air conditioning vent blowing on my still-wet hair and thinking to myself, “Boy, you have gone and done it now. All these people saw what you did. This religion, this ‘church-thing’, this following Jesus, isn’t a secret anymore. It isn’t something you can give up like a discarded habit, because they saw you. You’ve gone and done it. You’ve gone and started something now, and it isn’t a secret anymore.”
It was sometime towards the front of the first century, in that part of the world where the sun always seems to shine hot. He was standing on the brown bank of a creek called Jordan. There, in the middle of that muddy creek was another man who was nothing short of strange-looking: wearing what can only be described as a camel-haired diaper, with a leather belt to keep it from falling, he had bits of dried honey and locusts wings stuck in his tangled beard, and when he hollered from the middle of that muddy creek, others couldn’t help but listen: “You brood of vipers!...Bear fruits worthy of repentance…Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down into the fire…"  (I don’t think he got a lot of “Amen!”s coming from the banks of the Jordan!). After his fiery pronouncements of pending judgment, this peculiar prophet motioned for the next in line to make his way down the brown bank and into the water.
Perhaps in that moment, time seemed to stand still. As Jesus waded out into the water towards his wild-looking cousin John, perhaps it seemed as if there were no other people in the world but the two of them. But we know there were others there gathered on the banks of that creek. We know because Luke tells us they were there in verse 21 of the text before us today: “Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized…” Jesus and John weren’t alone on that day; Jesus’ wasn’t some private baptism, held in the exclusive presence of a few friends and family. No, “when all the people were baptized…Jesus also had been baptized;” all the people witnessed John baptize the one he proclaimed in verse 16 “who is more powerful than I… [one whom] I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire…”  They all saw it happen, and is if that wasn’t enough, then we hear what happened in verse 22: “the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’"
Boy, he had gone and done it now. All those people saw what happened. They saw John baptize him, and they saw the Spirit like a dove and heard the voice. This “Son of God” thing wasn’t a secret anymore. It wasn’t just a story his mother Mary told him before bed each night about angels, shepherds, and wise men from the East. This “Messiah” label was no longer hidden from view; it wasn’t private anymore—his secret was out. As the water of the Jordan dripped from his hair and the voice of the Father accompanied the descending Holy Spirit, in this rare biblical moment, all three persons of the Trinity were revealed, and all the people witnessed it. There was no going back now; the kingdom movement had begun. This was the moment Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John would all point to as the beginning of Christ’s ministry; this moment when all the people witnessed Jesus baptized in the Jordan, when they witnessed the dove and heard the voice. Jesus had gone and done it—it wasn’t a secret anymore. And it all started there in the baptismal waters of the Jordan.
That’s what baptism is after all, you know. Baptism isn’t done in secret, but before the witnessing eyes and ears of the gathered people of God. It isn’t some religious ritual for ritual’s sake. No! It is a proclamation that you are indeed a part of God’s movement in the world. It’s the revelation that your relationship with Jesus isn’t some private, hidden relationship. Baptism is the beginning; it brings to light what may have previously been a secret between you and Christ. We follow Christ through the baptismal waters as an act of declaration, an act that unites us with Jesus in the liberating and redeeming work of God’s kingdom. The power of baptism comes not through the water or the words spoken during the event, but through the testimony of the one who is baptized and through the life lived after baptism in the power of the Holy Spirit.
Christ’s baptism wasn’t the end. Notice how his baptism comes at the beginning of each of the gospels? That’s because it’s the spark that ignited the fire! Out of the waters of the Jordan arose One who would go on to heal the sick, feed the hungry, care for the poor, give sight to the blind, power to the powerless, and hope to the hopeless. From Jordan’s banks went one who would turn the accepted understanding of authority and worth on its head. After his baptism, he would be tempted by the devil, doubted by disciples, faced with needs, concerns, and seemingly impossible odds. Down at the river, Jesus’ mission was made public; his identity revealed to those who would listen. The dominion of God was on the move.
Christ’s baptism was just the beginning of a ministry that would lead through the cold iron and rough wooden beams of a Roman cross, through the stone-carved, vacant tomb on into eternity. Surely it would have been enough for those gathered there by the Jordan, those who had come to hear John, to have witnessed Jesus’ baptism and heard God’s voice from heaven. Christ could have made some loud declaration of his divinity right there on the shore, and without question, some would have surely believed him when he said he was indeed the Son of God and the long-awaited Messiah. But Christ’s baptism wasn’t the end—our baptism isn’t the end—it is only the beginning.
Today, we’ve listened to Luke as he has retold the story of what happened that day down at the river. Perhaps you’ve been reminded of that day in your own life when you followed Christ through the waters of baptism. I wonder…how is life different for you on this side of the water? Was baptism the pinnacle of your life’s journey with Jesus? Was the fire of faith quenched when the baptismal waters were dried from skin and hair? Or, has your life changed on this side of the baptismal pool? Was your baptism the spark that ignited your own fire of faith and transformation as you seek to follow the Son of God? As we have witnessed Jesus’ baptism down at the river called Jordan, perhaps we should reflect on our own baptisms and how we have allowed the Holy Spirit to shape us in the days thereafter.
Then again, you may be in this place today clinging to the secrecy surrounding your relationship with Christ. Perhaps you’re waiting for the right time, the right place to proclaim to the world that you have answered the call from Jesus to come and follow him. Maybe you’re just a bit nervous, a bit bashful, and maybe even a bit scared. But you’re not nervous about having to walk down in front of so many people, and you’re not scared of the water. Perhaps what makes you nervous, what truly frightens you (and perhaps what frightens us all) is the reality that comes after baptism, the call to discipleship that comes on the other side of the water. Baptism is the beginning of a life lived following the one who calls even us to heal the sick, feed the hungry, restore sight to the blind, cast out demons, care for the poor, and bring hope to the hopeless!
Today, if you are still keeping your faith in Christ a secret from the world, if you have yet to follow Jesus through the waters of baptism, may you come to find in this congregation a family of faith that will walk along with you in the life to which Christ calls us all. May you come forward this day and begin to live life on the other side of baptism, proclaiming to the world that you are indeed a follower of Christ and a part of his kingdom’s movement. May we, the baptized people of God, bring others to know Jesus and encourage them to follow him through the waters of baptism, into a life of selfless love and kingdom service. And let us all who call on the name of Christ learn from what happened down at the river that day: let us be people who follow the One who was revealed as God’s Son, and let us live each day in the renewing power of the Holy Spirit and the love of God.
Let us pray…

Sunday, January 6, 2013

Epiphany 2013

Matthew 2:1-12
1 In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, 2 asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." 3 When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; 4 and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. 5 They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: 6 "And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.'" 7 Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. 8 Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." 9 When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. 10 When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. 11 On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 12 And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

             One of my favorite movies of all time came out in 1996. The name of the movie is Sling Blade; it was written and directed by Billy Bob Thornton, who also stars as the lead in the movie, a man named Karl who has recently been released from a state hospital to start his life over again in the midst of the all-too-real drama that takes place in a small, rural town in Arkansas.
One of my favorite scenes in the movie takes place at the small engine repair shop owned by a man named Bill Cox; Karl has been set up with a job and a place to stay there. One day, this customer comes in with a lawnmower that just won’t start. I mean he’s tried everything. He says he’s gone over it more than once and it seems to be put together right; he just can’t figure out why the stubborn thing won’t start (if you’ve ever owned a push mower in the middle of the summer when the grass gets a little too high, then you can sympathize with this guy and his frustration). Bill hollers for Karl to come over and look at the mower, all the while lauding the way in which Karl can fix anything: he says, “[Karl]’s a whiz when it comes to small engines.” Well, Bill and his customer go on and on about how frustrating it can be to repair these little lawnmowers, and how they wouldn’t be all that surprised if it just wouldn’t start…that is until Karl walks over and, ever so subtly, kneels down next to the mower, slowly unscrews the pot-metal cap on the engine’s gas tank, then looks up at the two of them and says, “It ain’t got no gas in it.”
Isn’t it something the way we can look right over the solution to our problem or the thing we’re most anxious to find when it’s right there in front of us? I mean, how many times have you ever lost something, tore your house apart looking for it, only to have someone come right in after you and find it sitting right where you left it on the kitchen table? Or how many of you (like me) have ever gone to the store with the determination to find one particular item, but after walking up and down every single aisle you give up, only then to discover on your way out the door that it was on the huge, can’t-miss display right at the entrance? It’s frustrating when we miss something that was right there in front of our noses the whole time. It can be even more frustrating, not to mention embarrassing, when someone else—a stranger no less—comes along to point out our ignorance, to discover what we’ve been looking for all along.
The Jewish people of the first century had been looking for something for a long time. For generations they had been waiting, looking for a מָשִׁיחַ (meshiach), a messiah, literally an “anointed one.” From (at least) the time the Babylonians carted away the best, brightest, and powerful from Judah in the sixth century B.C., the people had been looking for God’s anointed one to rescue them from the domination and oppression of a foreign people. They waited, and at times it seemed almost as if God had delivered to them their messiah: the scribe Ezra and the prophet Isaiah called the Persian king Cyrus “messiah” after he conquered the Babylonians and decreed that the Jews could return to their homeland and rebuild their temple and their lives. Of course, Cyrus was only a type of messiah, one who liberated the Jews from Babylonian captivity while keeping them under his rule in the Persian Empire. There would be other rulers, other emperors after Cyrus, and the Jewish people—the people of God—would continue to search for signs, waiting for the arrival of God’s anointed.
Then, in the second century B.C., it seemed as if they had finally found their messiah in a warrior named Judas. Judas Maccabeus (or Judas “the Hammer”) came into history like a whirlwind; he led the charge in the seven-year-long Maccabean Revolt and took Jerusalem back from the Seleucid Empire, rededicating the Temple and reinstating Jewish rule in the land of Judea.[1] Surely this was the long-awaited messiah, ruling Judea and driving out the foreign oppressors. But, like so many hopeful messiahs through the generations, Judas “the Hammer” was only a flash in the pan, for it wasn’t much longer before the Romans conquered Jerusalem, adding it to their expanding empire, and in the year 37 B.C. they installed their own king in Judea—a half-Jewish, half-Idumean political mastermind who would come to be called Herod the Great.[2]
Under Herod’s reign the people lived in fear of the king’s erratic temper, his paranoia, and his willingness to do whatever it took to preserve his position—even killing his own sons.[3] Herod was a terrifying force, and few, if any, looked to him as God’s promised one, their messiah. So the people were still looking, still searching, still waiting for God’s anointed one, God’s messiah to show up. They prayed and made sacrifices in the Temple; they questioned the scribes, priests, and rabbis, who in turned scoured the Scriptures, hoping to find the slightest hints as to where and when they might look for a messiah and just who would that person be. They lived in an era of expectation, for it seemed the entire world was watching, waiting for something or someone to break loose into history. But again it seemed as if one of the great ironies of human existence had infected those with eyes to see and ears to hear, for it wasn’t until a few foreigners—likely from the former kingdoms of Babylon and Persia no less!—showed up in Herod’s court that the talk of a messiah began to bear fruit in reality.
Matthew tells us in verse one of our passage this morning, “In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men [or magi] from the East came to Jerusalem.” These magi ask the king in verse two, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." Now, as you might imagine, this sends tremors through Herod, an appointed king, a political pawn, as he’s confronted with the notion that there might be a natural-born king, and when Herod got anxious and frightened so did all the people, for they often received the full force of his fear-filled reactions. But it’s verses four through six that are telling to me: “calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, ‘In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: "And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.”'"
The king of Judea, the chief priests, and the scribes (teachers of Scriptures) have come to the conclusion that the Messiah—the long-awaited, hoped-for, anticipated Messiah—will be born in the little backwater Bethlehem, the birthplace of that most popular king of Hebrew history, David. They come to this conclusion, but notice there are no plans made to join the magi caravan, no announcement proclaimed about his birth. The governing and religious powers simply plot to find out more about this so-called “child who has been born king of the Jews” in verses seven through nine, because Herod wants to put an end to the child’s reign before it can begin! The very people who should have been most joyful about the suspected news of the messiah’s birth, the ones who even possessed the knowledge of his birthplace, are more intent on squashing rumors than seeking truth! But oh how little we have learned from Herod and his court!
The insiders miss the truth; their fear and self-centeredness blinded their eyes and deafened their ears to who these outsiders, the magi were and what they had to say. Over nine hundred miles the magi (who knows how many there really were) traveled, propelled by the mere astrological suspicion that a new king might be born in Judea. Through the perilous terrain and robber-riddled roads of the Ancient Near East these enigmatic strangers had travelled, and Matthew tells us in verses ten and eleven: “When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.”
The ones who had been looking for generations missed what was right in front of their noses. While strangers, outsiders, foreigners came and worshipped in the home of the toddler crowned king before the foundations of the world. The priests and scribes quoted the scripture from the sixth chapter of Micah pointing to the Messiah’s birthplace with such ease and fluency yet had no interest in finding if the messiah had arrived. Those in places of authority, positions of power and influence had missed the messiah. They were too occupied with ritual, regulations, and ruling power to be bothered by the Epiphany of Messiah—or Christ. But these strangers, these foreign magi, they knew. They found the messiah, and they worshipped him; they were overcome with joy, not fear, devotion, not jealousy. When everyone else seemed to miss the Christ’s arrival, these magi didn’t. Isn’t it something the way we can look right over the solution to our problem or the thing we’re most anxious to find when it’s right there in front of us? Isn’t it something when it takes a stranger, an outsider, to find what we’re looking for to remind us of what we’re trying to find?
I was sitting in a little tin shed called “The Rusty Star” as I often did with my seminary mentor Joe. “The Rusty Star” was a little hole-in-the-wall barbecue joint that smoked a brisket that even someone raised on pulled pork in South Alabama might like. Joe was telling me a story about a church in another part of Texas that had hosted a mission group from Central America one summer. A few members of this group decided to drop in on a local church that was having vacation Bible school that week, so they walked in the front door of the sanctuary and sat in one of the pews about halfway down the aisle. Now, I’m not sure what you’re used to during VBS, but it’s pretty common in smaller churches to begin every day with a procession where the kids all march into the sanctuary preceded by a Bible, a Christian flag, and an American flag. They then proceed to lead the congregation in the three different pledge of allegiance (now, how one person can pledge sole allegiance to three different things is beyond me, but anyhow…).
Well, as you may imagine, the mission team from Central America was a bit confused about what was going on; they had never seen such a thing before. In the midst of their confusion, they didn’t cover their hearts and they didn’t say the pledges (likely because they did not know them). This was intolerable to a certain church member who happened to notice this apparent irreverence on the part of these darker-skinned visitors, so he took it upon himself to march across the sanctuary and loudly ask the visitors to leave the church building since they refused to pledge allegiance to…the American flag. I suppose it was obvious where he found his allegiance. Caught up in the ritual of VBS, immersed in the culture of patriotism, blinded perhaps by the sins of a previous generation, that church member didn't see his brothers and sisters in Christ; he simply saw a few outsiders who didn’t salute and pledge. Isn’t it something when it takes a stranger, an outsider, to find what we’re looking for to remind us of what we’re trying to find?
The Magi show us that Christ reveals himself to those who are truly seeking him, not to those who long to preserve themselves, not to those with all the right answers, not to those with all the power. Christ reveals himself to those who are overcome with joy, those who seek to lose themselves, those who humbly admit to having few answers, those without the power. May you come to see Christ today. 
Let us pray…



[2] David L. Turner, Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament: Matthew. P. 78.
[3] Ibid.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

The Rich Man and Lazarus

Luke 16:19-31
19 "There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. 20 And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, 21 who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man's table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. 22 The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. 23 In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. 24 He called out, "Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.' 25 But Abraham said, "Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. 26 Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.' 27 He said, "Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father's house— 28 for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.' 29 Abraham replied, "They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.' 30 He said, "No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.' 31 He said to him, "If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.' "

            Life isn’t fair. If you’re like me, you’ve probably heard that statement at least a hundred times in your life, and if you have never heard that statement or if you refuse to believe it is true, I have some bad news for you: life really isn’t fair. I’ve come to that conclusion not (only) through my own experiences of life’s inconsistencies, but through my experiences serving as a pastor. I’ve witnessed it as I’ve sat with people in their living rooms and heard them speak of how illness has taken their loved ones too early. I’ve witnessed it as I’ve listened to the same people pray for a job year after year after year. I’ve witnessed the reality that life isn’t fair as I’ve walked alongside so many who have had to deal with each unfair turn in the road of their lives. Yet I think my most direct experiences of life’s unevenness have come as I’ve walked the halls of hospitals.
            At any point there are numerous examples of how unfair life can be in the less-than-sterile rooms of a hospital. Just take a stroll down the maternity wing. There a couple welcomes their first child into the world. In that room they are surrounded by their family and friends, all snapping pictures with their phones or cameras. The room is lined with helium-filled balloons, cellophane-wrapped gift baskets, and piles of presents in pastel-printed paper from other friends and family. Their child will be loved; their child will be supported; their child will have opportunities and advantages for success in its life. Laughter and the sounds of joy fill that room so much that they spill out in to the hallway…but the source of that joy doesn’t quite reach the room across the hall.
            There, in that room, a young girl lies in her bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Her newborn baby is down the hall, in the nursery. Just like the first couple’s child, hers was born healthy, but there are no family members taking pictures. No friends brought gifts. Even the child’s father is nowhere to be found. She lies alone with her thoughts and the knowledge that her child won’t have the love and support of the child across the hall; her child won’t have the sort of advantages that come from that sort of support system. The saddest thing though, the thinks to herself, is that her child had no say in how it came into the world. Her child had no choice in the matter when it came to the circumstances into which it would be born. The truth is none of us do. None of us have any say as to what kind of life we will be born into, and that just isn’t fair.
            Life isn’t fair. It isn’t fair because some of us are born like the rich man, here in Jesus’ story. Some of us are born into lives of plenty, lives where we can dress in the warm robes or royalty, lives where the pantry is never bare and there is ample opportunity for growth and success. If only we were all born that way, then maybe—just maybe—life would at least seem fair, but life isn’t fair.
It isn’t fair because some of us are born like Lazarus, left to beg at the gates of those who were born into more fortunate circumstances. It is Lazarus who truly shows us the imbalance in life’s random blessings. The text implies that Lazarus was laid at the gate of the rich man’s estate through no power of his own. Lazarus is not the conjured panhandler of our imaginations seeking to justify our ignorance. No, he is a disabled human being, perhaps born with a malformation that has crippled him his entire life. This fictional poor man of Jesus’ story is not one who rises early in the morning, dresses in his costume, and sits before the rich man’s gate with cardboard sign and tin cup; this character Lazarus is one who has been dealt the unfair cards of biology and chance. He has been dealt an unfair hand, and with it he reminds us that life isn’t fair.
Just like Jesus’ story before us today, we live in a world where there are rich men, people like Lazarus, and everyone in between. While we like to think that we are all products of our own efforts, much about who we are has to do with things beyond our control, things that—at times—are unfair.  However, while life and many of its conditions are indeed unfair, there is one thing that is always fair, one thing that levels the playing field for everybody: death.
Death is fair. I’m sorry to tell you that, but it’s true. While we may all be born into different families and fortunes, death catches us all. Sure, some will put death off a whole lot longer than others, yet in the end, we will all die. The odds are just not in our favor! And I know death is fair, because I’ve seen it. Just as I’ve seen how unfair life is, as a pastor I’ve witnessed the great leveling that comes with death. I’ve stood in places like this, where I’ve seen over a hundred people mourn a person lying in an expensive casket, dressed in fine clothes. Those same people have piled into their nice, shiny cars to drive in a slow processional to watch as that expensive casket was laid in a whole in the earth and covered with dirt. I’ve also stood on the cold concrete of a cemetery pavilion as a less-than-appropriate minister delivered his rote diatribe on sinners in the flames of hell. Then, after a less than enthusiastic response, I joined the mourners in a humble parade of cars swerving across the highway to an unmarked scar in the earth—a pauper’s grave they call it—where their loved one most likely was put to rest in little more than crude pine box. Two very different funerals, but each had the same end, each told the same story. Whether you’re buried with all the pomp and circumstance of a king, or thrown unceremoniously into hole in the ground, death still has the same effect: death is fair.
It’s a lesson we also learn from Jesus’ story here, for while the rich man lived lavishly and Lazarus lied in the gutter, in the end, they both died. But here’s where the story begins to teach us something more, something deeper. What happens in this story after the rich man and Lazarus die is something that was common in many stories in the ancient world[1]: a rich man recognizes the error of his life, and he requests that someone be sent back to his loved ones in order to change their ways, hoping, like the ghosts who visited dear old Mr. Scrooge on Christmas Eve, they would bring such a shock to those still living that their lives would be forever changed and their post-death destination forever altered.
That is where Jesus’ story is different. Yes, the rich man in torment calls out to Abraham asking him to send Lazarus to his five brothers in order that they may avoid the torment he is experiencing in Hades (which, by the way is simply the place of the dead and not necessarily meant to directly describe our image of hell), but Abraham simply replies, “They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.” They’ve got the Scriptures, and that should be enough. Abraham simply tells this rich man in Hades that his five brothers need simply to listen to the words of the Law and the Prophets, and they will avoid such torment. But such an answer doesn’t sit well with one who has had things his way his whole life.
The rich man responds to Abraham: “No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.” It’s as if he says to Abraham, “You don’t get it. I had the Scriptures around me my entire life, on the coffee table, the dresser, and the bookshelf. I saw it plastered on bumper stickers and billboards, even heard it on the lips of politicians. They have just as much exposure to the Scriptures as I did; they need something drastic. They need a sign, and sending someone to them from the dead should do the trick!” Can we fault the logic of this rich man? I mean, after all, we live in what folks call the Bible Belt, and yet all around us people are obviously out of touch with the Scriptures. Even those who go around quoting passages from the Bible often do so in such a dangerous and irresponsible way that many are completely turned off not only by what they hear but from whom they hear it! I can’t tell you how many times I’d much rather be able to conjure up some miraculous sign and say “ta-da!” rather than delve into the deep mysteries of Christ in the Scriptures so that others may believe. It would be so much easier if we could just perform some sign that witnessed to the reality of the God we serve in Christ. In the end, however, we must hear those words from Abraham to the rich man: "If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.” In the end, it is Scripture that will ultimately change the fate of those who wait for death’s leveling.
Now, I don’t doubt that in Luke’s account of Jesus telling this story that there is a strong undercurrent of allusion pulling us towards Christ’s resurrection, but the truth of this story is still found in Abraham’s response to the rich man. You see, Jesus said himself that he came not to abolish the Law and the Prophets but to fulfill them. His presence, his actions, his death, and his resurrection did not render the words of those ancient Scriptures useless. Rather, Jesus’ life and teachings fulfilled those words, gave them the full power of their meaning.
So, as we hear these words from Scripture, what are they saying to us? What is Jesus’ story here really about? In the story, if Abraham’s response to the rich man is what we are left with, then how should we hear it?
Let’s think about it this way: what if the rich man got what he wanted and Abraham had indeed sent Lazarus to his brothers? What exactly would Lazarus have said? I think it would’ve gone something like this: “You sinners! You who live in such spoiled wealth! Repent! For your brother who has died lived the same life as you and is now suffering in the tormenting flames of hell! Repent, therefore, and you may avoid his eternal fate!” Now, many of you would likely “Amen!” such a sermon, but think about it from the perspective of Jesus’ actual story. Abraham tells the rich man that his brothers should simply listen to Moses and the Prophets. But here’s the rub: Moses and the Prophets (along with the gospels and the epistles of our New Testament) speak less of avoiding eternal torment and a great deal more about loving our neighbors, caring for the poor, the orphan, and the widow. The Bible is filled with passages about helping our needy neighbor and serving each other. In fact, the Scriptures talk a whole lot more about how we make life fair, than they ever do about where we wind up on the other side of death. In other words, if you go to the Bible hoping to find the magic words to say to keep you out of hell, you will surely come away disappointed, for Scripture and the God of whom it testifies calls us to changed lives, not simply a change in our eternal resting place.
So what does that mean for us? It means that our eternal destination is not simply determined by our personal desire to just stay out of hell, to avoid the frightening images of flaming torment. It means our faith ought to be grounded in the teachings of Scripture as they guide us to make this life fair by loving each other and all of those in this world who may have been dealt an unfair hand. It means that life on this side of eternity is just as important as life on the other side. Jesus’ story about the rich man and Lazarus teaches us that the words of Scripture act to shape us more and more like Christ, who is the living Word of God, the fulfillment of the written word of God.
So may we hear the lesson of the rich man and Lazarus. May we seek to overcome this life’s imbalances as we share not only our lives with each other, but also the Good News of God’s salvation. Let us turn to the pages of Scripture as they guide us in our journey towards being more and more like the Christ who calls us into eternal fellowship. Today, may we hear this story from the word of God and may the Word himself continue to shape us into his likeness. Amen.




[1] Hull, William E., The Broadman Bible Commentary, Vol. 9: Luke-John. Broadman Press: Nashville. p. 132.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Weeds in the Flower Bed

Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43
24 He put before them another parable: "The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field; 25 but while everybody was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and then went away. 26 So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. 27 And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, "Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?' 28 He answered, "An enemy has done this.' The slaves said to him, "Then do you want us to go and gather them?' 29 But he replied, "No; for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. 30 Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.' "
36 Then he left the crowds and went into the house. And his disciples approached him, saying, "Explain to us the parable of the weeds of the field." 37 He answered, "The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; 38 the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom; the weeds are the children of the evil one, 39 and the enemy who sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are angels. 40 Just as the weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. 41 The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, 42 and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. 43 Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Let anyone with ears listen!

If you take a left onto Coffee County Road 618, your tires will trade the smooth, black, asphalt of County Road 610 for hard-packed, red clay and loose gravel. Don’t worry though; you won’t have to go far. Just about two hundred yards down that red dirt road you’ll come to a driveway on the right; that’s what used to be my grandma’s house. I say used to be because my uncle lives there now and the house has gone through a great deal of changes. Perhaps the biggest change, though, has nothing to do with the floor plan of the house; really it has little if anything to do with the house itself. You see, when Grandma was alive—even in her later, less coherent year—she kept a flower bed in the front of that house. I can remember walking with her in the front yard (of course, she was barefoot), asking her about each of the colorful plants that grew there. There were elegant, orange tiger lilies; a tall, thorny rose bush; great, round, hydrangeas in hues of pale blue; delicate red-orange spider lilies; and a massive camellia tree on the corner that seemed to anchor the entire house (it was by far my favorite and is still my favorite flower for that very reason; I’d like to even think it’s the state flower of Alabama because those who name such things saw my grandma’s first). She loved those flowers. Perhaps they served as some sort of reminder to her that there are still things in this world that are beautiful, still things that can be cared for and reward us with beauty. I don’t really know why she loved them, but because she did, I did.
But as much as Grandma loved those flowers, I can’t recall her ever really tending to the flower bed. I don’t remember her ever pulling weeds or spraying for bugs. I know she never really pruned them because they sort of wildly grew in every direction. In fact, I don’t recall any sort of edging around her flower bed; the grass from the yard just sort of melded right in. I’m sure weeds grew up right along with the flowers. I’m sure there were other plants that got tangled up in the randomly growing stems and branches of Grandma’s flowers. I’m even sure there were some forgotten toys and a baseball or two hidden somewhere in that undergrowth. While I am certain those weeds and other unwanted things were there in Grandma’s flower bed, I don’t recall any of them with the kind of vivid joy with which I remember her flowers.
I suppose the same can be said about life. There are those times when we can look back on the years, years we are certain contain pain and frustration, and yet all we can truly recall is the joy we experienced. Of course, there are those among us who would have us focus on the pain, on the heartbreak, on the weeds in the flower bed. There are those who seek to rid their lives from those things which might do them harm. They isolate themselves; they remove themselves from the emotional environment of existence. There are those people who seek the safety in the highly sterilized environments of closed-mindedness and selfishness. There are even those who seek such safe havens in what they deem to be the emotionally safe and diversity-free harbor of the church.
Yes, there are those people—lots of people—who see the church as a safe place, a place where people just like them gather together to uphold their disinfected way of thinking. These people believe that the kingdom of God is held in a time yet to come, a time when they will finally be rid of all these other people who contaminate the purity and safety of their constructed lives. Perhaps that saddest thing about these people is that they are not in the minority. No, in fact if we are all honest with each other we may come to discover that we are all in fact (in varying ways and degrees) those people. We claim the church to be a place where we can gather with people who look like us, talk like us, believe like us, and we claim with great joy that surely heaven will be just like this—a place filled with the kinds of people like us, people of whom we approve.
With that sort of thinking, heaven has become some abstract reality in a different location; God’s kingdom has become a place to look forward to, a place that we must be taken to, a place that is outside of our present understanding. Is that what the kingdom is? Is it a place in a different plain of existence? Is the kingdom something outside of our present reality, something hidden behind the blackness of space? Is the kingdom something that can only exist in the sterilized plain of perfection? Or is it possible that the kingdom of heaven, the kingdom of God, can exist and flourish like a flower, even among the weeds?
To read this parable from Jesus in the thirteenth chapter of Matthew’s gospel is to read one of several parables in this chapter dealing with seeds, fields, and sowers. If you were to only read Matthew 13, you might come to the conclusion that Jesus spent more time hanging out at the farmers’ co-op than the synagogue (and in some way, you might be right!). In the particular parable before us today, Jesus tells the story about a householder who sows good seed in his field—seed he knows to be of good quality and free from weeds and other evasive plants. During the dark hours of the night, however, an enemy comes into the field and sows weeds (or tares).
Now, it’s important to point out here that the word Jesus uses in verse 25 to describe the kind of weeds sown by the enemy is the word ζιζάνια, a plant we refer to today as darnel. It is extremely common in areas of the world where wheat is grown. In fact, it looks exactly like wheat until it ripens; then the grains appear black instead of golden. There are forms of darnel that are even poisonous.[1] This weed would have been common in Jesus’ day and no doubt a familiar frustration to those who grew wheat in that region. I think it is worth noting that these weeds look nearly identical to the wheat…that is, until they mature.
In the parable, Jesus tells in verse 28 how eager the householder’s slave are to rid the field of the weeds, but in his wisdom the householder tells them in verses 29 and 30: "…in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.” To weed the field at such a time would only damage the crop; letting them grow together would ensure that the wheat would grow undamaged and the householder would have a decent harvest.
This parable, like the parable of the sower in the same chapter, comes with an explanation straight from Jesus himself. In verses 37 through 43, Jesus gives his disciples an explanation of this parable about a householder who lets the weeds grow up with the wheat: “The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom; the weeds are the children of the evil one, and the enemy who sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are angels. Just as the weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father.”
Now, before we begin to celebrate this as a story about how great and pure the end is going to be, let’s think about what Jesus is saying here. If the field is the world and the good seed are children of the kingdom and the weeds are the children of the evil one sowed by the devil, then that means God allows the children of his kingdom to grow tangled up with the children of the devil! That means God lets the wheat mature in amongst the tares! God lets the flowers grow in a bed overrun with weeds!
For some folks, this is a troubling thought. After all, why doesn’t God just do away with all the evil in the world? Why doesn’t God just rid the world of disease, hatred, poverty, and injustice? Why doesn’t God simply send his angels to gather up all the pain and wickedness in the world right now? Why does God continue to allow bad things to happen, especially to good, kingdom people? For those people, this parable doesn’t sit well. It just doesn’t make good sense. After all, if we were in God’s place it seems like an easy solution: just wipe out the devil, evil, and all those who seek to do the world harm with one snap of the fingers. But that isn’t how God works.
I don’t mean to try to make any grand theological theories as to why God allows suffering to persist in the world. Sure, I have my own thoughts, but at the end of the day one thing is certain: God allows the kingdom, his children, to grow right along with the weeds, right along with all the evil in the world. Perhaps it is so we will grow stronger, more resilient to the ways of the evil one. Maybe it is so we will come to value the true depth of Christ’s love as we witness the catastrophic symptoms of wickedness. God may allow his kingdom, his children, to grow up right alongside the evil in this world as a reminder of what we once were. God may even let his kingdom grow in the midst of evil so that the good seed might overcome the bad. I don’t really know, but I pray that as we are here, growing in this world right alongside the evil and wickedness planted by the devil, we will understand that there is hope in a day that is indeed coming—a day when evil and sin will be burned in the fire. There is coming a day when those who have sought to follow Jesus in his kingdom’s work will see the fulfillment of that kingdom, a day when “the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father.”
That day is indeed coming, but it is not here yet—not in its fullness. So until that day, we grow. We grow among the weeds. We grow in a world where sin and darkness grow. We grow in a world that needs the hope of the Good News. We grow in a world racked with pain, fear, and doubt. We grow in a world where Christ has intervened and the Holy Spirit resides. May we find hope in that coming day when we will experience the fullness of God’s heavenly kingdom, and may we find encouragement in the power of the Holy Spirit as the kingdom grows even in this world, like flowers among the weeds. Amen.