The 5th Sunday of Lent - Conflict and Transformation

First comes the downside of change:  “How many Episcopalians does it take to change a light bulb?  Three:  One to call the electrician; one to pour the drinks; and one who says, 'Change [horrified tone], change . . . no . . . don't you know that my great-grandfather gave the church that light bulb?'”

Is there an upside?  Br. Mark Brown, a member of the Society of St. John the Evangelist (an Episcopalian monastic order) posted this observation about change in a daily e-mail sent by SSJE called, “Brother, give us a word.”  He entitled his posting “Tradition.”  This is what he wrote:  “The Church, the Body of Christ, is essentially progressive.  Rooted in the past, grounded in the Eternal, but always renewing, always renovating.”  How positive does that sound to you?

I've spent all of last week—32 hours of sitting, listening, and role playing—attempting to understand and to learn how to deal with conflict using mediation skills—skills rooted in family systems theory.  This class, offered by the Lombard Mennonite Peace Center, took place at Grace Church on Concord Pike.

Both resisting change or renewal and promoting change or renewal often lead to conflict in the church—think Protestant Reformation.  However, according to the curriculum for my week of study, conflict should be approached as positive for the church.  Why? Because conflict, properly handled, can become of a time of transformation—and because conflict has always been a part of the life of the church—think of the conflict between Peter and Paul about the full inclusion of Gentile Christians without their having to obey the laws contained in Torah (the first five books of our Old Testament).

So if conflict is a normal and expected part of the life of the church, how can it become something positive when it feels so uncomfortable?  Because, the Mennonite Peace Center claims, properly handled conflict can result in positive transformation.

Positive transformation can be seen clearly in two of our readings today.  In the reading from Jeremiah God declares divine action will transform humanity's relationship with God.  No longer will God's covenant with them be external, written on stone tablets, but “I will put my law within them and I will write it on their hearts . . . for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest. . .”  Torah, the law or instruction about how to live, had been difficult to understand and keep.  Now God, through Jeremiah's prophecy, announced a transformed relationship with God's people.

Knowing God—the path to a close relationship with God's self—would be placed within every one of God's people. And the result of that new covenant was forgiveness of sins—what we call “grace”—God was no longer condemning human beings for our sins.  God had acted to transform our resistance to accepting God's will—to transform our conflict with God's way—into a new relationship.  Indeed, that's what the Mennonite Peace Center maintains can happen when we face conflict honestly and we open our hearts to God's transforming love and power.  Our instructor called this “being hard on issues and soft on people.”

“Soft on people” means being able to make statements of regret to someone with whom you have been in conflict and to accept statements of regret from them.  Then after this exchange both people should be able move on without continuing to hold a grudge about the conflict.  God's assurance of “softness” toward humanity, given through Jeremiah's prophecy said, “for I will forgive their iniquity and remember their sin no more.”  Can we open our hearts to this assurance?  Can we listen carefully and offer the same assurance when someone expresses regret to us?

Positive transformation can also be found in the reading from John's gospel.  Jesus uses a mini parable to explain the transformation that will happen through his death and resurrection.  He said: “Very truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”  But the image of a single, dormant grain becoming an abundance of wheat surely applies to our lives.  Jesus calls it “hating” one's life in this world. 

“Hating” is such a strong term—but like the grain we have to give up our lives as they are and allow ourselves to be transformed in the fertile ground of God's love and forgiveness.  But doesn't this happen when we are baptized, and we are never the same again?  True enough, but we continue to have free will and we continue to make choices that can push us away from God.  Reacting to a conflict with another person by allowing our pain to fester will indeed push us away from God.

Through expressing ourselves with a humble and generous spirit, we can “be soft” both on ourselves and on anyone with whom we have a conflict.  This attitude will allow God to transform us and transform the situation in positive ways. Even in role-plays this week we witnessed God's spirit moving as the person in the role of the mediator coached and encouraged the two people in the role of disputants to find common ground and move past the conflict they had.

As the church—as the Body of Christ—we have a vocation to seek renewal through our openness to the transforming power of God.  Whether we experience God through a heart on which God has written or as the fertile soil that will give us new life, we can find ourselves renewed.  So we need not fear change.  We need not fear ending conflict by making peace with someone else in the Body of Christ. For as Br. Mark explained, “The Church, the Body of Christ, is essentially progressive.  Rooted in the past, grounded in the Eternal, but always renewing, always renovating.”  So as members of the Body of Christ, let us be renewed!

The 4th Sunday of Lent - Accepting Unconditional Love?

To discern the will of God—to know the mind of God:  these phrases express what all who wrote holy scripture, all who read that scripture, all who pray to God, all who worship God seek.  Luke Timothy Johnson, the theologian and scholar, on one of the videos from our Lenten series used a phrase to describe those who wrote what has become accepted as holy scripture this way: “intoxicated with God.”

Most, if not all of us, have either been intoxicated at least once or been with someone who was intoxicated.  This is not such a positive image—in fact, I would call it a negative image.  But I think Professor Johnson is asking us to view “intoxication” in a different way—as being completely overtaken by, completely filled with an awareness of God's presence in one's life and the life of the world.

So each recounting of the history of God's chosen people, each prophecy, each story from the life of Jesus, each letter to the early church with admonitions and theological teaching flows from a state of intoxication with God.  This does not mean that scripture is untrustworthy; rather, it means scripture comes from the hearts and minds of people whose lives have been caught up fully in the divine life of God.

In this divinely “intoxicated” writing, we find many themes.  Two primary ones are: God who judges those who stray from the path of righteousness and God who saves by God's grace and mercy—unmerited grace and mercy—grace and mercy we have done nothing AND can do nothing to earn.  When we allow ourselves to be open to the experience God's grace and mercy, we find ourselves called to respond by suspending our tendency to judge and by sharing God's compassion.  In doing these things we allow God's grace to be manifest in our lives.

I want to share a story with you. It comes from a sermon published online on a website called Day One.  The preacher is a Lutheran pastor and seminary professor, Dr. David Lose. He wrote:  “Tom, a member of our congregation, told me a story. Several nights earlier, Tom's six year-old son, Benjamin, protested his bedtime. Frustrated by his father's refusal to budge, Benjamin finally became so frustrated that he said, "Daddy, I hate you!" Tom, possessing the presence of mind I wish I more frequently had--especially when dealing with my children--replied, "I'm sorry you feel that way, Ben, but I love you." And then what do you think Benjamin said? "Oh, it's okay." Or maybe, "Sorry, Dad. I love you, too." Nope. When Tom told his son that he loved him, Benjamin yelled back, "Don't say that!" Surprised, Tom continued, "But, Ben, but it's true--I love you." "Don't say that, Daddy." "But I love you, Ben." "Stop saying that, Daddy! Stop saying it right now!" And then it came, Tom reported, almost completely unbidden: "Benjamin, now listen to me: I love you...like it or not!"

Dr. Lose continued: “Even at six years old, you see, Benjamin realized that in the face of unconditional love he was powerless. If Tom had been willing to negotiate--"I'll love you if you go to bed nicely"—then Benjamin would have been a player: "Okay, this time, but I'm not eating my vegetables at dinner tomorrow." But once Tom refused to negotiate, refused to make his love for his son conditional on something Benjamin did, then Ben could do nothing but accept or flee that love.”

Yes, that is our choice, too: once we have glimpsed God's love, we can accept God's love or we can flee away.  Those God-intoxicated folks who wrote down their experiences of God, which we read in holy scripture, may have felt like fleeing at times, too.  But in the end they chose to accept God's love and grace.  The psalmist [Psalm 139: 7-12] expressed this well:

“Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?

If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,

even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.

If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,

even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you.”

In the scripture passages we read during Lent, we usually find a theme of God's judgment in them.  Lent should be a time for us to reflect on where we have fallen short of living as people fully responding to God's grace.  But dwelling only on our sinfulness—or the sinfulness of others—cuts off the full picture.  The full picture of God's loving grace appears again and again in holy scripture.  It may be enacted—as when Jesus and his disciples fed the multitude of hungry people with five loaves and two fish.  Or it may be explained—as in the Gospel of John [3:21] with these words: “But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”

To discern the will of God—to know the mind of God: let us use this holy season of Lent to read holy scripture, to pray to God, and to listen for God both alone and in our faith community of St. Nicholas'.  May we use this time not only to recognize our sinfulness and ask for forgiveness; but may we use this time to allow ourselves to accept God's grace.  Then through our deeds—within our families, within the life of our faith community, and within the life of the world, may God's grace bring healing and peace.

The 3rd Sunday of Lent - Faith and Commandments

A Lutheran pastor and a Jewish rabbi had been eating lunch at a cafe.  Now they were saying good-bye to each other.  “Keep the faith,” the pastor said as the two friends parted.  The rabbi responded, “Keep the commandments.”  This little story reflects what some see as the two principal aspects of religion: what we believe in and how we will live.

At any particular moment we may emphasize one over the other.  Martin Luther saw the writings of St. Paul, particularly in his letter to the Romans, as saying that salvation comes to us from God by grace through our faith.  On the other hand, in his epistle, James emphasizes the importance of how we choose to live.  In the second chapter James wrote: “What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith, but do not have works?”  He continues by describing how we should help those in need and by declaring that faith without works is “dead.”  He challenges those who would disagree, “Show me your faith apart from your works, and I by my works will show you my faith.”  So could keeping the commandments and keeping the faith really refer to the same thing?

So let's look at how God's commandments can be understood in the context of our faith and how our faith can be understood in the context of God's commandments.  One scholar commenting on the passage we heard from Exodus call it “a gift, an opportunity to grow deeper in relationship with God in Christ.”  He goes on to say that these commandments—God's words—help us reflect on how we “fall short of Christ-likeness” and also give us “a roadmap of faith”—could we say a GPS of faith?  Our faith in God as our GPS—what an interesting image!  What destination should we type in?  Heaven?  God?  Will our faith guide us to God by telling us how to get there—by describing what we must do to get to God?  But the brains of the GPS—the processing unit, if you will—would be God's words—the Ten Words—the Ten Commandments.  So when we come to an intersection, a choice point, the commandments will guide us into making a faithful choice, leading us closer and closer to God.

Here is another perspective of how faith and the law are intertwined. In Psalm 19's hymn to the law, we see the law as foundational for faith in God.  The English translation of verses 7 through 9 by the International Consultation on English in the Liturgy makes this obvious:

God's perfect law revives the soul.

God's stable rule guides the simple.

God's just demands delight the heart.

God's clear commands sharpen vision.

God's fautless decrees stand forever.

God's right judgments keep their truth.

We can understand God better and our faith will be supported by hearing how God wants us to live. The theologian Walter Brueggemann wrote:  “These commands might be taken not as a series of rules, but as a proclamation in God's own mouth of who God is and how God shall be 'practiced' by this community of liberated slaves.”

So the “practicing of God” as a way of faith:  In the Gospel reading this morning we heard that when Jesus' disciples saw him drive the animal sellers out of the temple and overturn the table of the money changers, they “remembered that it was written, 'Zeal for your house will consume me.'”  Jesus' consuming zeal that God's house should be holy place, not a market place, appeared to be placing faith in God—not the purity practices of no blemished animals and no Roman money—at the center of the most holy spot for Judaism.

Jesus' zealousness for keeping practices in the Temple faithful to God was carried one step further by his teaching about believing in God's power.  He prophesied: “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.” God’s power to redeem what humanity seeks to destroy becomes the sign that Jesus is God's Messiah and our Savior.  The disciples' faith then (and our faith now) has become strengthened through Jesus' zealous words and actions.  For Jesus knew the law: “ . . .you shall have no other gods before me . . . You shall not make for yourself an idol . . .”   No correct coins, no unblemished animals, no pile of stones is more important than a relationship with the living God.

The gift of the law God gave to the recently freed Hebrew slaves at Mt. Sinai to strengthen their faith and bring them closer to God's self became the gift Jesus gave to his disciples, to the people coming to worship in the temple that day, and finally to us.  Jesus' gift was to show us God's commandments, faithfully practiced, should free us from fear.   Because our efforts to keep God's commandments, successful or not, should lead us closer to knowing God, thereby strengthening our faith.

The monk Thomas Merton expressed this thought in a prayer with great eloquence.  You may have heard his prayer before, but let me share it now:

O Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going,
I do not see the road ahead of me,
I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself,
And the fact that I think
I am following Your will
Does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe
That the desire to please You
Does in fact please You.
And I hope I have that desire
In all that I am doing.

I hope that I will never do anything
Apart from that desire to please You.
And I know that if I do this
You will lead me by the right road,
Though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore I will trust You always
Though I may seem to be lost
And in the shadow of death.
I will not fear,
For You are ever with me,
And You will never leave me
To make my journey alone.

So let’s go back to that cafe I spoke about in the beginning.  Were we present that day in the cafe and sitting close enough to hear the Lutheran pastor and the Jewish rabbi bid each other farewell, we might quietly say to God, “I offer you myself as I seek to keep the faith, and seek to keep the commandments.”

Except for the Merton prayer, quotes in this sermon were taken from commentary for the Third Sunday in Lent, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol 2., edited by D. L. Bartlett & B. B. Taylor, p 74-97.

The 2nd Sunday of Lent - What kind of martyrdom?

This past month I have preached one funeral sermon and listened to homilies, eulogies, and one poem at three funerals.  Although none of the folks who died were martyrs in the sense of being killed because of their witness to the gospel, all three spent their lives in ways that reflected their belief in the good news of God in Jesus Christ.  They made choices about how to live their lives—about what their path would be, as we all do.

In our gospel reading today, we glimpse a picture of conflicting paths.  Peter rebukes Jesus for suggesting a path of suffering and death and resurrection for the Son of man, a Messianic title from a vision described in the 7^th chapter of the Old Testament book of Daniel. Peter has confessed earlier that he believed Jesus was the Messiah of God, but he—and other disciples as well—appeared to expect the Messiah to be a triumphant, victorious Savior.  Had he been following Jesus expecting a place in the triumphant reign of God?  Did he not understand resurrection as a triumphant over evil?

Jesus' rebuke of Peter and his words to the “crowd with the disciples” seems harsh, but also prophetic. Let's look more closely at the points Jesus made.

His first point: Peter was “not setting his mind on divine things, but on human things.”  Jesus is setting up a either/or situation: Accept the way I'm describing how God will work or you will be part of the problem, holding naturally human expectations of self-interest and power.

His second point:  My followers will be persecuted, be tortured and die for their faith. Jesus pulls no punches in telling how bad it will get for those who follow him.  If his followers seek to avoid death, life forever in God's presence will be lost to them.  No matter how large and wonderful the prize one might gain, if one avoids being killed for the gospel, it will not be worth it.  Accept that what I will have to endure, Jesus says, for you will have to endure it as well.

His final point:  If you choose the ways of human beings, you will be part of the sinful, adulterous people who live full of self-interest and lust for evil.  And there will be no hope of salvation when the Messiah returns in the great glory of God and the angelic hosts.  I, Jesus, will view you as losers.

All this sounds judgmental and punitive—can accepting the good news of God ever be based on making a choice based on fear?  And can one's choice be less than risking death for the sake of the good news?

Let's remember at this point Jesus was speaking to the crowd: What do possibly have to offer in return for your life?  If you try to save your life from taking a difficult path for the sake of the gospel, you will lose it.

If Jesus had passed a sign-up sheet for becoming his disciples at that moment, how many folks in the multitude do you think would have signed up?  Remember on the night Jesus was arrested and his disciples faced the frightening possible of arrest and crucifixion as conspirators in rebellion against Roman authority, they just disappeared and hid in a locked room.

Yet if we look at the arc of Jesus' teaching and ministry, we find a great deal of compassion for those who are suffering.  He defended the woman taken in adultery.  He touched and healed lepers and a man born blind. He blessed children. He sparred verbally with a foreign woman, was bested by her in their argument and then he agreed to heal her daughter. He taught us to love our enemies. He even forgave the disciples who had deserted him and renewed their calling to be his disciples.  And in response the disciples did take up their crosses and follow him, even to their deaths.

To become martyrs for the gospel was not an attractive idea when Jesus called on his disciples to choose this path.  Most, if not all, of us, view taking up our cross as a metaphor for dealing with some extremely difficult situation or person.  We never expect to be asked to put our lives on the line for the sake of the gospel. Rather we take up our metaphorical crosses in an effort to offer Jesus' compassion to others through what we do or say.

So our witness to the good news of Jesus [for martyr is from a Greek word for to witness] may not be to choose a path that might well lead to our death, but to choose a path that involves giving up something society values in order to choose what God values.

In his book How the Irish Saved Civilization Thomas Cahill tells how martyrdom came to be redefined when being killed for publicly expressing one’s faith.  So-called “red martyrdom” was not an issue in Ireland until the Reformation.  Therefore, ascetic practices—often by monks or nuns—such as fasting, living alone as a holy hermit, penitent physical labor, and other types of self-denial, served as public expressions of one's faith in Christ and came to be called “green martyrdom.”   Green martyrdom was understood to fulfill Jesus' command to deny yourself, to take up your cross and to follow him, when becoming a “red martyr” was not likely.  If red martyrdom drew you closer to God, green martyrdom should as well.

Thus, when we “give up” something for Lent, could we consider ourselves as practicing green martyrdom? How does that work for you?  Does whatever you have chosen for your Lenten discipline appear to bring you closer to God?  What seems to get in your way?  Whatever gets in your way, speak forcefully to it saying, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”  Then you can allow your life to be lost in God's love!