Tag Archives: World Communion Sunday

Faith

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A Sermon for 6 October 2019 – World Communion Sunday

A reading from the gospel of Luke 17:5-10. Listen for God’s word to us.

“The apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!” 6 The Lord replied, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you. 7 Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, ‘Come here at once and take your place at the table’? 8 Would you not rather say to him, ‘Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink’? 9 Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded? 10 So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, ‘We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!’”

This is the word of God for the people of God. Thanks be to God!

 

            If I asked you to rate your faith on a scale from 1 to 10, what number would you assign? 1 would be terrible. No faith at all. 10 would be amazing! Your zinging along all day with a depth of connection, an intensity of joy, a peace that palpably surrounds your entire being. One reason I so love the 16th Century Spanish mystic and nun Teresa of Ávila, who routinely was seen levitating by the sisters at daily prayer with her. Is that for all the rapture for God that Teresa experienced in her body and soul, she also admitted there were times each day when God, who she referred to as her Beloved, felt so incredibly elusive. She knew the spiritual life was about ecstatic connection with the Divine. AND (as she said) doing the work of washing the pots and pans in the kitchen. The highs and the lows and every day in between. Teresa counseled Christians to expect and welcome it all. So that if I asked you right now to assign a number to your faith, I hope it wouldn’t be 1 – though some moments it might be. And maybe it’s 10 – but I highly doubt it’s that way 24/7 for anyone, though hopefully it’s close at least sometimes for most.

The gospel of Luke records this funny little scene where the disciples of Jesus ask him to increase their faith. They want a number closer to 10 and further away from the no faith of number 1. In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus’ saying about the mustard seed of faith comes right after his time on the mountain when he transfigured into the glowing rapture of God alongside what appeared to be Moses and Elijah. Then, when Jesus and his disciples Peter, James, and John come down from that experience; a man falls at Jesus’ feet begging his son be healed. The father explains that Jesus’ disciples were unable to help. So, Jesus reminds of the power of even a mustard seed of faith. But in the gospel of Luke, Jesus just had finished teaching his disciples about the seriousness of their role. The weight of their responsibility as his followers so that they dare not cause another to stumble. The magnitude of graciousness he expects so that any who turn from their wrongdoing are released through the gift of forgiveness. Jesus is going to go on to tell them a parable about slaves, servants as the Greek term more typically is translated, just doing what’s commanded. Getting on with the work their Master tells them to do. ‘Cuz that’s what servants do! As a result of all Jesus is teaching, the disciples gawk: “Lord, increase our faith!” They might as well have been saying, “You want us to live in this world how? To be mindful day in and day out of the effect we may have on those who surround so that none of them ever stumble because of us? Not expecting some great reward but getting on with it all anyway? Like, seriously Jesus, following you is like that???” He better increase their faith! And while he’s at it, be sure he gives an extra dose too to each one of us. Because in light of that vision for his disciples, most of us likely feel like we’re going to need a whole lot more faith!

Faith is a curious thing. In the Greek of the gospel, the word we translate as faith is πίστιν (pisten). Though many often think more of faith as a body of content we must know about God, pisten connotes trust. The Apostle Paul reminds beautifully in his first letter to the Corinthians that his own proclamation was not in lofty words. Not in some huge body of human knowledge. He writes that he wanted their faith to rest not on that of his own doing, but on the power of God (1 Cor. 2:5). It’s the same direction Jesus points his disciples when they ask for increased faith. Alluding to the power of God which spoke creation into being, Jesus tells his friends: “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you” (Luke 17:6). In other words, what we do for God as a result of our faith is not dependent on how much of it we have. It’s about who God is. One biblical commentator puts it like this: “The true miracle of Jesus’ saying is not about overcoming natural laws (by doing things like uprooting mulberry trees), but about the presence of true faith, a faith that takes hold of the God with whom ‘nothing [is] impossible,’ [Luke 1:37] (Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4, Margit Ernst-Habib, p. 142). One tiny shred of faith is enough for us to do the amazing! Not because of our tiny shred of faith. But because of God!

I received an email this week from a film publisher who took a moment to update his subscribers about what’s been going on in his ministry and life. This dedicated soul, who so creatively expands others’ hearts and minds with the content he makes available for spiritual formation, poured out the personal challenges of his past several months to let subscribers know the experiences that will impact the direction his future publications will take. He closed his update with two jarring little words. He wrote: Stay Weak. “Stay Weak,” I thought! Who wants to do that?! The culture all around us is about strength. Power. Might. No one wants to be a weakling. Those who are weak are pushed to the side. Trampled. Kept out. We pump iron to feel strong. We stockpile missiles to feel strong. We swagger over others in order to feel strong. Stay weak? In a doubletake, what the film publisher’s challenges must certainly be revealing flashed in my mind.

Jesus wants us to know we do not have to be strong to do God’s work. Remember the Apostle Paul’s great affliction? The thorn in his flesh never fully revealed to history, but that kept him from “being too elated?” (2 Cor. 12:7). He begged and pleaded and prayed for that weakness to be taken from him. Finally he heard: “My grace is sufficient for you, for (my) power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9). At last, Paul came to know what Jesus had been teaching all along. We know too – though sometimes we forget. God chooses the weak to work in this world. That which is last according to culture’s standards is first with God. Little is enough. So that who God is, not who we are, will shine. So that how God is able, not how we are, will be magnified. A mustard-seed-of-faith is plenty for the work of God to be accomplished! Not because of us. But because of God! One biblical commentator writes: “When the disciples ask for greater faith, knowing that difficult times lie ahead of them, Jesus responds by asking for something small: a trusting faith the size of a mustard seed, so that the faithful follower of Jesus might not look at herself, judging her own faith, relying on its strength or being scared by its weakness, but look instead at the One she follows” (Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4, Margit Ernst-Habib, p. 142). Consider instead: God.

The next time you wonder if the amount of faith you have is enough for anything much to happen, remember the lesson of the mustard seed. It’s not about us and how much faith we might have. It’s all about God.

In the name of the life-giving Father, the life-redeeming Son, and the life-sustaining Spirit, Amen.

© Copyright JMN – 2019 (All rights reserved.)

The Heartbeat of the Universe

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A Sermon for 7 October 2018 – World Communion Sunday

In a wonderful book called Christ of the Celts, John Philip Newell states that we all must choose.  As we listen to the tune at the heart of the universe, what is it that we hear:  judgement or love?  It seems an important question to consider before launching into a sermon on a text like the one we have before us today.  Late this week after Beebe already had run the bulletins, I wished I would have picked one of the other lectionary texts assigned for this World Communion Sunday and avoided this complicated gospel story all together!  Then I remembered Newell’s question.  What tune resides at the heart of the universe?  What tune echoes throughout the caverns of our souls?  What tune did Christ reveal in full?  . . .  If we believe the tune at the core of it all is judgement, then the story we are about to hear could lead to simple conclusions that we could pick out of scripture to hold as authoritative as we ignore the setting of this story.  A story in which Jesus is being tested on the topic of divorce.  Leaders of his day who seem to have chosen the option of the harsher tune want to trap him.  But if we believe the tune at the center of it all – if we believe that the tune in the center of God’s own heart is love . . . well, then listen.

A reading from the gospel of Mark 10:1-16.  Listen for God’s word to us.

“Jesus left that place and went to the region of Judea and beyond the Jordan.  And crowds again gathered around him; and, as was his custom, he again taught them.  Some Pharisees came, and to test him they asked, “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?”  He answered them, “What did Moses command you?”  They said, “Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her.”  But Jesus said to them, “Because of your hardness of heart he wrote this commandment for you.  But from the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.  For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.’  So they are no longer two, but one flesh.  Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”  Then in the house the disciples asked him again about this matter.  Jesus said to them, “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.”  People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them.  But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs.  Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”  And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.”

This is the word of God for the people of God.  Thanks be to God.

 

Now, before we go jumping to any hasty conclusions – or being distracted in a stew of guilt upon the reading of this text – or worse yet:  closing up shop all together in order to dismiss what at first glance may appear to be a text confirming judgement at the heart of the universe; remember the context.  The Pharisees weren’t coming at Jesus with an off-the-wall, out-of-left-field question regarding divorce.  It’s part of the problem of reading small snippets of scripture one at a time – we forget the context.  The question posed to Jesus, this test in which the religious leaders of his day hope to trap him, is far from left-field.  It’s a brilliant, though devious, fast-ball aimed right at the bull’s eye of happenings in their day.  King Herod and Herodias’ marriage!

Here we have Jesus traveling through the region of Judea even stepping beyond the Jordan to the east bank.  You may or may not know that this is supposedly the same place where John the Baptist got the axe (literally!).  Remember that John lost his head because of his words against the swop-a-roo marriage of Galilee’s tetrarch King Herod to his brother’s wife Herodias.  Upon hearing of John’s beheading by Herod, Jesus seeks a break – likely a time to re-strengthen his resolve to be ready to continue, no matter the consequences.  Longing crowds hunt him down, so Jesus returns to public teaching.  No sooner does he, than some Pharisees arrive.  The gospel writer keeps telling us that they are on a quest to test him.  Obviously threatened by him, they try again and again to trip him up.  This time they bring the million-dollar question of divorce.  The actions of King Herod and Herodias certainly have them spinning.  The convenient divorce and re-marriage at the top of the ranks is the context of this encounter.

It’s not a new question for the Jewish leaders.  You see Moses had allowed a man to obtain a certificate to send his old honey along her merry way.  The legality of divorce really wasn’t the question of the day.  The circumstances under which such a certificate of dismissal could be granted was.  . . .  Some said, “Only if she’s caught fooling around with some other man.”  The opposite end of the spectrum refuted, “Ah-uh.  If she burns my toast two mornings in a row, she is outta here!”  In Ancient Israel, men alone legally were allowed to seek such a certificate of dismissal.  Though Roman law allowed women to initiate divorce, ancient Jewish law did not (C. Clifton Black, Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 4, p. 143).  Which is a reminder that we are walking in the realm of a culture that understood marriage much differently than we do today.  The patriarchs of scripture even practiced polygamy.  Marriage in antiquity had to do with the transfer of property (a young girl from her father to another man) in order, often, to secure more property (more land and large dowries).  One commentator reminds that “in Jesus’ day, when a woman received a ‘certificate of divorce,’ she lost most of her rights (like the right to own property).  She could easily find herself begging for food on the street or prostituting herself for income.”  The commentator concludes:  “Clearly, Jesus had a pastoral concern for women who could have their lives torn apart by a signature on a piece of paper.  (Because) in the kingdom of God, there should be mutual respect and concern for each other” (David B. Howell, Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 4, p. 142).  Might Jesus have been encouraging an alternate view of marriage?  One radically based on mutual love?

In that spirit, the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) 2018 Book of Common Worship, for the first time in 25 years, has revised the liturgy for marriage.  It now reads thus:  “From the beginning, God created us for relationship and kept covenant with us.  Jesus gave himself in love and taught us continually to forgive.  And the Holy Spirit, given in baptism, renews God’s grace within us day by day, enabling us to grow in faith, in hope, and in love.”  The new marriage liturgy continues stating:  “Those who marry are called to a way of life marked by grace, fidelity, and mutual respect, as they bear one another’s burdens and share one another’s joys.  As blank and blank” – which means fill in with the names of the two standing before God and everybody in the wedding ceremony.  “As blank and blank make their promises today; families are joined, friendships are strengthened, and a new community of love is formed.  Let us surround blank and blank with our affection and prayer, giving thanks for their love for one another and for all the ways that God’s love is made manifest in our lives” (p. 691).  The liturgy almost makes even me wanna get married!  For what a beautiful reminder of what God has intended for those who marry.  Spouses are to be visible reminders to the world that God designed us for love.  Created us for right-relationship.  And remains with us on the days when loving one another is a great joy and when it’s not.

In light of the gospel text before us today; you might understand why, as I reviewed the new Book of Common Worship this week, I let out an audible gasp.  When I turned past the first liturgy in the new Marriage section, and the second which is fully in Spanish, and the third which is a “Reaffirmation of Marriage Vows;” I found the fourth.  A liturgy unlike any I have seen before.  It’s entitled:  “Prayer at the End of a Marriage.”  It reads:  “Blank and Blank,” again, insert the names of the two people who have given it their all, but for whatever reason no longer can move forward in life as a married couple.  The liturgy begins:  “Blank and blank, we gather here today to pray for Christ’s healing, to seek the Spirit’s guidance, and to ask forgiveness from God and one another.”  The pastor then reads:  “Hear these words of comfort and hope from scripture.  God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in trouble.  Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult.  The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.  (So, in the words of Jesus from the gospel of Matthew,) come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  (Hear also words of the Apostle Paul from Romans):  the Spirit helps us in our weaknesses; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.  And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God” (p. 711).

Can you imagine hearing these words from scripture in the context of marriage’s difficulties?  Can you imagine the healing for all for whom a marriage regrettably comes to an end if again those divorcing would gather with their pastor, children, family, and friends to pray for God’s strength in the midst of what is one of life’s most painful moments?  How might it offer healing for all if, as the liturgy encourages, those divorcing would stand together to speak these words:  “Blank (fill in with the name of the soon-to-be ex-spouse) I return this ring to you, with gratitude for the blessings of our marriage . . . (the liturgy notes read:  at this point) [children of the marriage may be named].”  The person continues by saying:  I return this ring to you with “sorrow for that which is broken between us . . .  and hope for the future into which God will lead us” (p. 713).  The liturgy for “Prayer at the End of a Marriage” closes with a charge to “Go out into the world in peace; have courage; hold on to what is good; return no one evil for evil; strengthen the fainthearted; support the weak, and help the suffering; honor all people; love and serve the Lord, rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit.”  Then the pastor raises their hands over two who’s lives will go a very different way than they once anticipated, to remind them that God does bless and keep them.  Is kind and gracious to them.  Looks upon them with favor.  And will give them peace forever.  Can you hear the tune at the heart of the universe loudly echoing in such prayers?  Through such a liturgy, can you see the Divine heart aglow with Love?

One day long ago, religious leaders wanted to trap Jesus.  They wanted him to declare his allegiance to one party or the other.  They wanted him to align with their hard-hearts or whimsically dismiss women in the ways of their local King Herod.  . . .  Instead, Jesus takes the argument all the way back to the beginning.  He reminds that God so desired mutual connectedness that when God made the first helpmate, the creature declared at long last, “Finally bone of my bone.  Flesh of my flesh! (Gen. 2:18-25).  Oh!  Thank you, thank you, thank you, LORD!  . . .  It’s not a set of divorce criteria Jesus is attempting to set up here in this text from the gospel of Mark.  Instead, Jesus seeks to vocalize, then (by welcoming the children) enact, that Love is the tune at the heart of the universe; for Love is the heartbeat of God.  . . .  Will we be eternally held out if our loves fail?  Are we guilty in God’s eyes if our relationships regrettably fall apart?  I don’t think so.  That would make God’s heart into a heart of stone – judgement over love, turning it all into law – the very thing the Pharisees wanted, and Jesus wanted to steer clear of.  Making God’s gift something other than a gift.  That’s a message we can hold on to on this World Communion Sunday.  A message that reminds that at the heart of the universe is Love; for God is Love.  May all our relationships reflect the very same Love.

In the name of the Life-giving Father, the Life-redeeming Son, the Life-sustaining Spirit, Amen.

© Copyright JMN – 2018  (All rights reserved.)

Apprehending Rightly

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A Sermon for 1 October 2017 – World Communion Sunday

 

A reading from Exodus 17:1-7.  The journey through the wilderness continues.  Listen for God’s word to us.

“From the wilderness of Sin the whole congregation of the Israelites journeyed by stages, as the LORD commanded.  They camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink.  2 The people quarreled with Moses, and said, “Give us water to drink.”  Moses said to them, “Why do you quarrel with me?  Why do you test the LORD?”  3 But the people thirsted there for water; and the people complained against Moses and said, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?”  4 So Moses cried out to the LORD, “What shall I do with this people?  They are almost ready to stone me.”  5 The LORD said to Moses, “Go on ahead of the people, and take some of the elders of Israel with you; take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go.  6 I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb.  Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink.”  Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel.  7 He called the place Massah and Meribah, because the Israelites quarreled and tested the LORD, saying, “Is the LORD among us or not?””

This is the word of God for the people of God.  Thanks be to God!

 

In England in the Fourteenth Century, there lived an amazing mystic of the church.  She resided in the county of Norfolk on the North Sea, just a hundred miles north-east of London in Norwich, which once was the second largest and second most important city of England.  There, Julian had retired from the world into a small cell adjacent to the Church of St. Julian of Norwich.  It’s believed, Julian had been trained by nearby Benedictine sisters and might just be remembered after the saint of the church so that the original name of this incredible woman may be lost to us.  Presumably from a wealthy family, some believe she took to the cell as an anchoress after she lost her family to the plague.  (Richard Rohr Meditation:  Julian of Norwich, Part 1, 1 October 2017 and en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julian_of_Norwich).  It was somewhere around the middle of her life, after she herself nearly died at the age of 30.

Some mystics experience revelations from God throughout their lives.  But it was not so with Julian.  It was just once in her life, during an intense, near-death illness; that the Spirit of Christ communed with her in sixteen separate visions.  When Julian miraculous recovered from her illness, she spent the next forty-some years of her life trying to make sense of the visions she had received on her deathbed.  Her book Revelations on Divine Love captures the visions, and her later writings explore the meaning of what was revealed to her.  Supposedly, her first book was the first text written in English to be authored by a woman.  She did some amazing work as an anchoress in the little cell attached to the church in Norwich.  Not only was her writing about the full love of God ahead of her time, but the wisdom she also gave as an anchoress sustained the lives of those who would come seeking counsel from her.  Something like a modern-day Spiritual Director, male anchorites and female anchoresses dutifully took to cells attached to sanctuaries.  In exchange for the church providing for their physical needs, they made themselves available in their little adjacent cells whenever a wayward soul knocked on the cell’s window.

Julian counselled many well.  I’ve always loved her charge that “the fullness of joy is to behold God in everything.  For God is the ground, the substance, the teaching, the teacher, the purpose, and the reward for which every soul labors” (from Meditations with Julian of Norwich).  Somewhere she also wrote:  “if there is anywhere on earth a lover of God is always kept safe, I know nothing of it.  For it was not shown to me.  But this was shown:  that in falling and rising again, we are always kept in that same precious love” (source unknown).  In another source she wrote:  “the greatest honor we can give Almighty God is to live gladly because of the knowledge of God’s love” (source unknown).  And this week, I heard more deep wisdom from this our amazing sister of the faith.  “God doesn’t want you to sin,” Julian explained “because God wants you to see yourself as God sees you” (as quoted by Richard Rohr on The Enneagram:  Discerning the Spirits, 2004 recording).  God doesn’t want us to sin, because God wants us to see ourselves as God sees us.  What a beautiful way to remind us that the Divine dwells in us all always.  Because, after all, God dwells in everything.  It’s just that when we sin, when we do those things that separate us from who God would have us be; we make it harder for ourselves and others to apprehend the Divine in us.  Like a cataract that darkens our vision, our sins mar the ability to see the Divine Spark in us.  The Heavenly Breath within.  The Fullness of Love living in our souls.

I wish the Israelites in the wilderness would have had the benefit of Julian’s insight.  Things are getting pretty rough out there in the desert.  Last week in our lectionary reading we heard the people complaining for food.  This week, things turn sour again as thirst rears its ugly head.  Grumbles intensify so that the text records:  “the people quarreled with Moses” (Ex. 17:2).  They demand he give them water to quench their parched thirst.  As if Moses is some magnificent magician, they once again come after him shouting:  “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst!?!” (Ex. 17:3).  . . .  It is so obvious that God sees in them something they cannot.  That God wants for them something they cannot imagine for themselves.  Though God already has been sustaining them all throughout the wilderness, though a pillar of cloud has been guiding them and a column of fire led them through the darkness of that vast, immense desert; the people of God fail to apprehend the Divine in all things – even in themselves.  If the story were before us on the big screen, at this point the music would pierce our hearts with sadness.  O the tragedy of our inability to see God with us every step!

I can imagine that trekking for years through the harsh conditions of a desert would make the most faithful among us wonder.  Is God among us, or not?  . . .  Isn’t that what we wonder when we get the breaking news about a senseless shooting among a church on the other side of town?  Isn’t that the question that seeps into our souls when we see the destruction from Harvey and Irma and Maria too?  Isn’t that the fear that rises when we look at empty pews, which once where filled with children and teens and parents who were eager to raise their families in the faith?  Has God abandoned us?  Was the LORD ever with us in the first place?  . . .  “Apprehend God in all things” another great mystic of the church once wrote.  “Apprehend God in all things, for God is in all things.  Every single creature is full of God and is a book about God” (Meister Eckhart).  . . . Part of the problem in the wilderness – in the Israelites and in us – is that we fail to apprehend rightly.  If we think God is somewhere out there – outside of it all and all we have to do is wait for some mighty one to valiantly come to our rescue, then we’re confusing faith with fairytales.  We don’t understand the Crucified and Risen One.  . . .  God is in all things which means we are never apart from God.  Even when we mar the image of God in ourselves so badly that we and others end up having a very hard time seeing; God remains with us, in us, and beyond us too.  I have a feeling it takes something like wilderness to notice.  Because most of us live as if we don’t really need anything outside of our capable minds and able bodies and our persistent efforts.  We fool ourselves into believing we can handle it all so that the only way left for us to learn the truth of it all is wilderness.  The desert, where at last we finally might see.  The paradigm of faith is, as Julian says:  that in falling we rise again and in each step we remain loved.  In the falling and in the rising again we still are precious to God.  If we can apprehend God in that – in both – we’re on the right path . . . It won’t be long until our parched places flow with abundant, life-giving water.

In the name of the life-giving Father, the life-redeeming Son, and the life-sustaining Spirit, Amen.

© Copyright JMN – 2017  (All rights reserved.)