How do we keep God from disrupting our worship?

Sermon preached at St. Christopher's on August 22, 2010

Isaiah 58:9b-14; Psalm 103:1-8; Hebrews 12:18-29; Luke 13:10-17

Mrs. Jones attended Mass every day, and afterward, she always prayed the Rosary. One day, God decided to reward her steadfastness, her faithfulness, by sending Jesus to visit with her. Jesus appeared after Mass, just as Mrs. Jones was praying. "Mrs. Jones...Mrs. Jones..." Jesus called. But Mrs. Jones paid no attention, and continued praying with each bead. Jesus called out louder, "Mrs. Jones! Mrs. Jones!" Still she continued to pray. At this point, Jesus figured she must have been deaf or something, so he shouted, "MRS. JONES!! MRS. JONES!!" At which point she turned around, rolled her eyes, and said, "Quiet, boy! I'm talking to your mom!”

The Pharisees also are praying in the gospel this morning: the liturgy is all planned out, the service prepared. Someone even got up early, ran down to the synagogue before worship to brew up the requisite pots of coffee, check the lights. The service had been fine-tuned, well-rehearsed. One-hour-five-minutes. The goal, at the start, was one hour exactly, but everybody knew how long-winded rabbis could be. But one-hour-five minutes would work: worship, breakfast, maybe brunch at the local dive mid-morning. All was good to go.

And then HE happened. He had the nerve to show up.

The gospel’s headline this morning reads something like this: Jesus heals a crippled woman; leaders outraged by the timing.

The fine print tells how, at some point on that Sabbath, Jesus saw a woman, unidentified, evidently crippled. He called her over and said, "Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” We’re told that then he laid his hands on her and immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, "There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day."

Jesus did it wrong. Jesus should have known better. After all, what kind of place is worship for healing?

And truthfully, it’s a problem the church has struggled with ever sense:

How do you keep God from disrupting the worship?

I mean, have you heard how long those Pentecostal services go? The God for whom a thousand years are like a day is a dangerous God to lead your worship. But just when we get nervous about God and what He would do if He ever got loose, I wonder what it is we imagine ourselves doing here, in this place, instead. Paying our weekly holiness dues, I suppose.

But listen to me, I’m projecting. I don’t know for a fact that you get nervous about God messing things up, either here or in your life at home; I don’t know that you’re overly guarded or worried about going too far with God. I only know for sure about the Pharisees in the gospel that we just heard - and on my more honest days about myself.

The cranky friar Martin Luther was all too aware of the Pharisee’s danger - the danger of idolatry, worshiping something other than God, even and especially the worship of our worship. He once said that, “If we doubt or do not believe that God is gracious to us and is pleased with us, or if we presumptuously expect to please Him only through and after our works - i.e., things we do for God apart from God - then it is all pure deception, outwardly honoring God, but inwardly setting up self as a false [savior]....”

How do you keep God from disrupting the worship?

How do I keep God from disrupting my life?

A priest friend of mine recently shared a theory of hers with me. Her theory is that congregations can only be welcoming to others when they’re not afraid that the others that they’re welcoming have opinions; that is, when the people aren’t worried that the new folks might change things up.

Is it the same with God? I wonder. And do newcomers give us opportunities to test our flexibility with God? So many times, I’m not even sure which of the old ways I’m holding on to in my life are closing my soul to my Lord until someone gently pulls from the other end. When was the last time God surprised you from an unlikely person - an unlikely source? Has worship become so familiar to you that it has long stopped being a place of surprises?

Going back to the Pharisees in the gospel, I wonder: When God gets in the way of our religion, what does that tell us about our religion? What if the God we come here to drown out with our words has a Word He wants us to hear? And on the upside: what does it mean that He is here?

Too many questions, I know. So I’ll just hit the last one: what does it mean that He is here?

For starters, I think it means joy.

One of the highlights of our recent vacation to North Carolina was the meals we shared with dear friends we had longed to see. We really looked forward to these meals, and they didn’t disappoint. It had been years since we’d seen most of our friends. Friends with whom we had served as youth ministers and around the altar; friends with whom we’d met weekly for meals and prayer; praying as one lost her mother, as another struggled with illness, as another shared with us about their challenges as a newly married couple. To revisit those friends and those friendships, around a meal and in prayer, brought the sweetest flavor to the food. Our meals together were balm for the soul. So it is with this table, this meal that joins me to the Holy One, whom my whole being longs to see - body and soul. If He is here, my perfect joy is also here. If Christ is here, my joy is made complete. Here, I can rest; here, I can soak in this joy. And because you also meet Christ here, we share the joy of God.

I wonder: what else does it mean that God interrupts His own service?

I think it means that we are right to keep our times of silence. To listen as if the silence is God’s to break. That means that I pray to hear and receive; and to be obedient to what I hear. If God is speaking, what is the Word meant for me? The Word by which God come and would shake me out of myself this time on this morning.

I’ve come to notice this about myself: that when in a Bible Study or dinner conversation or sidewalk chatter, for that matter, I listen, talk about the pertinent issues, join the banter, engage the repartee, without asking the question, “How do I hear God calling me to respond?” the conversation almost always ends with idle grumbling about others. Barbershop politics. Glorified gossip. That’s as far as it goes. As far as it can go. But if the Word of God is a living Word and if He speaks that Word to you and to me daily, I do well to ask myself, no better, I do well to ask God: Lord, what are you showing me here? Lord, what can I do? How must I change?

So if God is here, it means joy; if God is here it means listening and obedience; and finally, if God is here, it’s because He loves you, loves me, as much as anything else in this world, and He means to remind you of His love with His Word and with His touch. I don’t know about you, but I need this reminding. I love this reminding. Like I tell my confirmation classes, when I go off to work in the morning, I know in my head that Rebekah loves me, but when I come home, her kiss, her touch, is like gold.

Worship is our coming home.

“Taste and see that the Lord is good,” says the psalmist.

For those just tuning in, here’s the cliff-note ending: joy, listening, obedience, and love. Joy, listening, obedience, and love. These mark our time - mark our days - in the presence of the God who shows up.

Mrs. Jones and the Pharisees both came to church, but not looking for God. On some days, you might be like them. But make no mistake, He’s looking for you. This table is His - and He’s calling your name.

Be glad! And listen.

Bernard of Clairvaux, 1153 AD

The statutes of the LORD are just

and rejoice the heart; *

the commandment of the LORD is clear

and gives light to the eyes.

Psalm 19:8

Rebekah likes to tell me about times as a toddler when she'd find her daddy praying his morning devotions, early in the morning, and alone in the dark. She'd watch from a distance. Once he realized he had a stalker, he'd frequently motion for her to come near, sit on his lap, and they'd continue together in silence. These are some of Rebekah's fondest memories from her childhood.

This week has been my first attempt at being a morning person, which is to say that my morning devotions have seldom occurred in the dark. But I'm trying to become a cyclist, and God bless the poor soul who waits until light in Corpus Christi to get the exercise in. So it's up at 5:30 a.m., with rides on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday; lighter exercise on other days. And morning devotions afterwards, still in the dark. Rebekah and I have a prayer candle we use when we pray together in the evening; I use it now as the sky turns from star-specked black to still-dark blue.

Discipline in action is never quite as sexy as it sounds. Bek and I hit simultaneous walls these days, somewhere around 2 p.m., as we adjust to this new daily rhythm. Last night we hit the sack at 9:30 p.m., and gladly. The last two mornings, Annie has been howling during prayer time, somewhere around 6:30 a.m. - up a full hour early. When I find her, the sweet and prayerful child of Rebekah's memory is for me a tearful, tired mess smelling strongly of pee - still glad to see her daddy. And as I return to the prayer candle and still-dark skies, with Annie nuzzled on my shoulder, I laugh at the glamorless-ness of it all; the scandal of the cross still true. And as we sing our alleluias, I thank God for life, and light, and joy.

O God, by whose grace your servant Bernard of Clairvaux, kindled with the flame of your love, became a burning and a shining light in your Church: Grant that we also may be aflame with the spirit of love and discipline, and walk before you as children of light; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.Amen.

Vestments, Judas, and Joy

A parishioner recently ordered a new vestment for the church in memory of her late husband. The chasuble arrived while I was on vacation, and so we opened it today. Beautiful. And confusing. For many folks, worship is a beautiful but dubious priority. Remember Judas thinking that the oil might be sold for the good of the poor rather than "wasted" at the feet of Jesus. But few things are sadder than stingy Christians, and the arrival of this beautiful vestment recalled me to these words from Alexander Schmemann about the beauty and extravagance of worship. (As an added bonus, here are the vesting prayers traditionally used by clergy in preparation for worship.)

"...from its very beginning Christianity has been the proclamation of joy, of the only possible joy on earth...It is only as joy that the Church was victorious in the world, and it lost the world when it lost that joy, and ceased to be a credible witness to it. Of all accusations against Christians, the most terrible one was uttered by Nietzsche when he said that Christians had no joy."

"And they worshipped him and returned to Jerusalem with great joy. " (Lk 2:10)

"Enter thou into the joy of the Lord" (Mt 25:21). And we have no other means of entering into that joy, no way of understanding it, except through the one action which from the beginning has been for the Church both the source and the fulfillment of joy, the very sacrament of joy, the Eucharist."

"...the Eucharist is the entrance of the Church into the joy of its Lord."

"...when, expecting someone whom we love, we put a beautiful tablecloth on the table and decorate it with candles and flowers, we do all this not out of necessity, but out of love. And the Church is love, expectation and joy."

From Roman Guardini, quoted by Schmemann:

"[The life of the liturgy] is clothed in colors and garments foreign to everyday life....It is in the highest sense the life of a child, in which everything is picture, melody, and song. Such is the wonderful fact which the liturgy demonstrates: it unites act and reality in a supernatural childhood before God."

more on the consuming fire

Interesting to compare MacDonald's sermon in yesterday's post with Edwards' classic, Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God. Both make the case for holiness and the consuming character of God, albeit in different ways. For Edwards, fire is the end of hope. For MacDonald, fire holds the hope of nothing less than resurrection:

The wrath will consume what they call themselves; so that the selves God made shall appear, coming out with tenfold consciousness of being, and bringing with them all that made the blessedness of the life the men tried to lead without God. They will know that now first are they fully themselves. The avaricious, weary, selfish, suspicious old man shall have passed away. The young, ever young self, will remain. That which they thought themselves shall have vanished: that which they felt themselves, though they misjudged their own feelings, shall remain-- remain glorified in repentant hope. For that which cannot be shaken shall remain. That which is immortal in God shall remain in man. The death that is in them shall be consumed.

office space

Back in the office today for the first time after our family vacation. Grateful to be home and for fresh eyes, new perspective. Enjoyed catching up with folks this morning (Tina, our former Family Minister, is back in town for the week and dropped by). Junior Warden Earlene also stopped by with stories, adventures, and her contagious smile. I spent the afternoon wrestling with Hebrews, the Consuming Fire, and remembering George MacDonald. Also walked the grounds today, wondering what God would call us to do with the stretch of our property that we share with our neighbors. A community garden?? Lemonade on the lawn after service?? Ice cream socials in the evening?? Picnic tables?? Weekly evening prayer around a fire pit?? It's a wonderful thing to look up and discover an abundance of gifts.

And seriously - especially to my St. C sisters and brothers - let me know what you think: how might God be calling us to use the gift of this land?

Gone to find the manager...

Sermon preached at St. Christopher's July 25, 2010

Genesis 18:20-32; Psalm 138; Colossians 2:6-15, (16-19); Luke 11:1-13

She’s gone to find the manager.

These six words caused a collective cringe as often as they were spoken from within the Melton family of my childhood. And they were spoken, often, from within the Melton family, especially at the end of unsatisfactory meals at any of our favorite, local restaurants. Where's Mom? Where'd she go? Gone to find the manager. Momma simply did not understand the red-faced trauma she brought upon us, I think. Or maybe she did. Maybe she came to enjoy it. In any case, what she could not understand was silence when the meat was undercooked. Or when the chicken looked suspiciously like fish. Or when the french fries had been erroneously replaced with lima beans. These were times for action, she would say. And then she was off - off to find the manager.

I was an awkward middle teenager. My brothers were younger, and not less awkward. We were far too easily embarrassed and, in contrast to our go-get-em Mom, we infinitely preferred fictitious rationalizations to conflict with the management. So we’d say things like, that’s OK, I’ll just eat the fish. It’s not worth the time to remake it. Really, don’t worry, it’s good enough for me; rare is how God made it; e coli is my friend; no, no, really, I like lima beans. That one never worked.

But Momma would not have it. Off she’d go, chasing down the manager, explaining expectations, disappointments, and often coming back with both the manager’s deep regret and a free meal for next time. While the rest of us climbed out sheepishly from somewhere underneath the table.

Like the great theologian Charles Barkley, Sir Charles, says: “The meek may inherit the earth, but they’re not getting the ball.”

So we drop in on the Old Testament world this morning where Abraham is playing the role of the unsatisfied restaurant customer - has it down to a 't'; the thrifty souvenir-shopping tourist in conversation with God. Bargaining with God for the sake of the city that God has given up on and plans to destroy. “That’s just not like you, God,” he begins. “I had come to expect differently - I hoped for better from you.” And later, once Abraham knows he has God’s ear, “If you’ll spare it for 50,” he says, “surely you would go as low as 40. Thirty, then? What about twenty?” All the way down to ten. How embarrassing! Who does that? I’m thirteen years old all over again. Hide me under the table! He’s not even that clever: simply repetitively exploiting an apparent soft-spot with God; milking a weakness; Abraham, it seems, is going to make God say uncle.

“A,” I want to say, “C’mon! This is not a shady border-town bargain bin! This is God Almighty!”

But there’s something else going on here. Something that makes Abraham think the conversation's worth having.

Each time Abraham asks God about the minimum number of righteous for which God will spare the city, God answers like this, “For the sake of fifty I will not destroy it; for the sake of forty-five I will not destroy it; for the sake of forty I will not destroy it,” all the way down, so that when he finally gets the bottom - “for the sake of ten I will not destroy it” - you begin to wonder if what God isn’t really saying is, “For the sake of you, Abraham, I will not destroy it.”

I wonder if that's what Abraham hears.

After all, God had found Abraham when he was a young old man called Abram. He had called Abram and Sarai away from their hometown, out of Ur, to an unknown land; made a covenant with Abraham, that his children would be like beach sand in his minivan on vacation. Abraham had said, “yes,” and years later, they’re still wandering, wondering if, when, the hot sand on their feet will mean more than blisters and well-worn calluses. Wondering when the wandering will end.

When will a promise become more than a promise?

I wonder if St. Christopher’s, sorting through ashes and tears and postponed expectations, down through the years, ever had a wonder like that.

So later on, when things go from wicked to worse, and the city attacks the messengers of God, when God does smite the city (it seems even ten was too ambitious) we read that “Abraham went early in the morning to the place where he had stood before the Lord; and he looked down toward Sodom and Gomorrah and toward all the land of the Plain and saw the smoke of the land going up like the smoke of a furnace. So it was that, when God destroyed the cities of the Plain, God remembered Abraham...”

Maybe God had been truthful. There just was no one good. In fairness, God had saved Lot, Abraham’s nephew, his family; but Abraham had hoped for more; he had told God as much; I wonder if he was tempted to take it personally. Surely God, for his part, wasn't naive of what their conversation had meant; God knew the hope and expectation hid in the heart of Abraham. And so in that soot-filled moment, we’re told that God remembered Abraham.

God's promise had first inspired his boldness; now God's promise would inspire his perseverance. And this is the life of prayer.

Abraham bargained with God; and his bargaining looked a lot like his wandering: apparent progress - even promise - born of bold petition, honest conversation, in relationship with God. Unrelenting expectation of God. Even disappointment with God, which is the greatest sign of expectation - real belief that God will deliver what God has promised, with the honesty to say He hasn't yet. Abraham's expectation is the source of his sadness as he watches the smoke rise up from the city. And at every moment after that moment, we're told that God remembered the expectation, the faith, of Abraham. All of God’s plans connect back to that promise. The promise He intends to remember. And the memory of God is good.

So some thousands years later, when Mary holds a baby in her arms from somewhere in a barn, it’s like Isaac all over again. God smiling; still remembering the Son that He promised to Abraham.

Thirty-some-odd years after that, the Father making the sacrifice He stopped short of asking of Abraham, God’s only begotten, His Son, on a cross, it’s God painfully remembering His long-standing promise to Abraham.

And fifty-plus days later, the defeat of death and the season of the glory of God, it’s the Spirit sent on the twelve, poured out like fire, the grafting of strangers in the promise of God; three-thousand converted and just the beginning - like blazing stars in the sky. And you can bet God remembers His promise to Abraham.

One disappointing day, Abraham got up for dinner, said he didn’t like the taste of the meal. He bargained with God, reminded God of His promise, and his boldness made a lasting impression - and we are a part of that lasting impression: the expectation that God would bring light to the world.

St. Paul says that “if you belong to Christ, you are the children of Abraham.”

So here’s my prayer this morning: I pray that we are still children with the boldness to hope great things of God.

A few weeks back, when Anders and Kate made their visit from England, I gave them a tour of the church. When we came to the cross wall in the parish hall, I explained that members were invited to bring a family cross to the church, have it blessed and put on the wall as sign of their place in our common life in Jesus. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “What a marvelous symbol.” Suddenly very earnest, he added, “But Jonathan, you only have three walls.”

Like the stars in the sky.

Anders had an imagination like Abraham - one that believed God and expected - even leaned into - God’s promise. And the expectation of God’s People reveals the faithfulness of God.

It’s easy to get discouraged on days when the smoke seems thick. Easy to talk ourselves into settling on lima beans because it’s just not worth the fuss. Who knows, maybe God is teaching us to stop grousing and only learn to appreciate our lima beans! (No way.) We begin to lose boldness to remind God of the dream that He first planted in our hearts. Resignation.

What was the dream God first planted in your heart?

Here's my dream: families like mine and families like yours coming together and, here, in this place, learning an alternative to a world that says your next mistake will be your last; that your image is one you must consume, with the help of Master Card and Visa. The dream of God in my heart is for freedom from fear and courage for life, found in the fellowship of holy friends, united in worship, finding the life of this fellowship and the nourishment of Christ in Word and Sacrament for us and our children; leaning into the new and unending life promised and found in the food of His table and the foot of the cross. Forgiveness. Truthful speech. Mercy. Redemption. Passionate pursuit for the needs of the poor. Born-again hunger for the daily re- shaping of your life and mine in response to the earth-shattering news that Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. And yes, out of wall space. Like the stars in the sky.

Amen.

Guest Preacher, July 4, 2010

The following is a sermon preached this past Sunday at St. Christopher's by guest preacher Anders Litzell, a candidate for Holy Orders in the Church of England and good friend.


Readings:

Isaiah 66:10-14 ;

Psalm 66:1-8 ;

Galatians 6:(1-6)7-16 ;

Luke 10:1-11, 16-20


I read an article in the New York Times on Friday, with the title “You Say God Is Dead? There’s an App for That” the occasion was several new iPhone apps that promise to provide cookie-cutter answers against any argument made by a Christian, or contrariwise for that matter, Bible verses for the Christian put on the spot.

While this new media is mushrooming with the God question, a recent study of young people’s religious habits, as reported by the Dallas Morning News in April, shows that while young people’s desire and searching for God is as high as it has ever been, they are “unplugging from religious institutions at a rate unprecedented in U.S. history” Does that sound strange to you? It may or it may not, you’ll have to ask yourselves.

We are all aware of the church’s shortcomings – both on a local level, national and global. There’s enough faults to go around. But before we lose heart, let’s remember that this was also the case with the disciples Jesus called. Still he declared them worthy and sent them out, first the 12, then the 70 as we read today, and eventually everyone, with the charge to proclaim that the Kingdom of God has come near.

That means today the charge is the same as it ever was, to proclaim the Kingdom of God. And the Church is the first-fruits, a sampler if you would, of His Kingdom, of God living among us. Do we see ourselves this way? Do we live as though it were true, as if the Church really were the body of Christ? If we ourselves don’t, why should young people take us seriously when they go looking for God.

I’ll tell you this though, some 18 months ago there was an article in the London Times; Matthew Parris, a UK Parliamentarian, journalist and prolific travel writer states after evaluating various social transformation efforts on a tour through Africa: “As an atheist, I truly believe Africa needs God” – that’s the headline. In the article he elaborates:
It confounds my ideological beliefs, stubbornly refuses to fit my world view, and has embarrassed my growing belief that there is no God. Now a confirmed atheist, I've become convinced of the enormous contribution that Christian evangelism makes in Africa: sharply distinct from the work of secular NGOs, government projects and international aid efforts. These alone will not do. Education and training alone will not do. In Africa Christianity changes people's hearts. It brings a spiritual transformation. The rebirth is real. The change is good. [ ... ] Far from having cowed or confined its converts, their faith appeared to have liberated and relaxed them. There was a liveliness, a curiosity, an engagement with the world - a directness in their dealings with others - that seemed to be missing in traditional African life. They stood tall.

Let me tell you, you are seeing Jesus’ prophesy from when he rode into Jerusalem on his donkey coming true. We, the church, his children, have gone too quiet singing his praises, and now the rocks are crying out, telling of people being set free in Christ to become who they were created to be.

So I ask you, are those the words you would use to describe people in the church? As having “a liveliness, a curiosity, an engagement with the world, a directness in dealing with others” When the church has those characteristics, it’s attractive. More to the point: when God’s people have those characteristics, they are attractive. Do those words describe you? Would you like them to? Tell God and tell a friend you trust, and invite God to get working in you.

Sometimes it’s easier to believe in our inability to do God’s work than to believe in God’s ability to work through us. We heard Jesus’ call: The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.

Well, y’all are the start of the answer to that prayer. Allow me to drive home that point – I really mean it: you are the answer to Jesus’ prayer; he prayed that you would come and help. For, as Paul says, we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

So how do we get started? Well we read earlier: Whatever you sow, you will reap. So what do we sow, and how do we sow to the Spirit, so that we may reap eternal life from the Spirit? Let’s look at our dreams, for dreams are the seeds of action.
* What do you dream the impact of St Christopher’s could be in this community?
* What would it feel like to bring your friends who don’t go to church here – and find that they enjoy themselves?
* What would it be like to give of yourself and discover gifts you never knew you had?

If your answer isn’t ready at hand, then ask God to give you His vision for you and of this church. In fact, even if you have an answer, ask God to clarify it, to flesh it out, and to let you see yourself and this church through His eyes, and ask Him what He wants you to do to make His Kingdom come.

He has created you, and given you talents, and gifts, and friends to support you, and a unique task: to be yourself, and to make your everlasting contribution to his Kingdom. All God wants to do, is make us more ourselves, more who He created us to be. How would it be, to feel right in our element, knowing that we’re doing what we were born to do, being who we were born to be?

I believe, firmly, that self-realisation is only to be found in the service of others. Now I want to invite you to ask God, and to ask your friends as well, what your God-given gifts are – what is not clear to yourself might be obvious to others. And always remember that the purpose is to serve each other, and together to serve the rest of the world.

As St Paul put it:
Bear one another's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.

Amen