Archives for June 2013

Follow the Leader

June 30, 2013 By Andy James

a sermon on Luke 9:51-62
preached on June 30, 2013, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Are you a Christian, or do you follow Jesus? It seems that more and more people are making a distinction between the two. A lot of people are frustrated with the trappings of Christianity, angry with the way that many Christians are viewed in the world, and exhausted with having to explain that they aren’t that kind of Christian, whatever that kind is. They just want to focus on Jesus and leave behind the baggage that has built up over the years in and through the church.

Earlier this year, a British singer and songwriter named Marcus Mumford stunned some people by saying that he doesn’t call himself a Christian. His music, played by the band he leads called Mumford and Sons, is full of references to God, prayer, and openness to the divine, and he himself is the son of a leader in the evangelical Christian Vineyard movement. Yet when asked if he still considers himself a Christian, he told an interviewer, “I don’t really like that word. It comes with so much baggage. So, no, I wouldn’t call myself a Christian. I think the word just conjures up all these religious images that I don’t really like. I have my personal views about the person of Jesus and who he was… I’ve kind of separated myself from the culture of Christianity.”

Jesus would have understood Mumford’s perspective. He himself was not a Christian—he was Jewish by birth and by practice, and his whole ministry pushed back against the religious institutions and practices of his day. He went about his life and ministry inviting people to follow him and join in his proclamation of the kingdom of God, and he really didn’t seem to care about organizing something new.

In our reading this morning from the gospel according to Luke, we hear about three people who want to follow Jesus—and his response. The first one was excited to see Jesus and offered to join him without any prompting whatsoever: “I will follow you wherever you go.” But Jesus immediately issued him a warning, for this was not likely to be an easy journey. Just as he himself had faced many obstacles and been at the mercy of those who would or would not offer him hospitality, so anyone who followed him would similarly need to set aside the comforts of this world and be prepared for a very different way of life.

Then Jesus reached out to another person he encountered on the way and said, “Follow me.” This man was clearly intrigued by Jesus’ message, but he also wasn’t quite ready to make a full commitment. So he responded, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” It was a fair excuse, really—proper burial was a requirement of Jewish law. But why would anyone whose father had just died be out on the road to meet Jesus? Many commentators have suspected that this man’s father was alive and well, and that his postponement might be measured in months or years, not days. But all that is beside the point. Jesus didn’t take kindly to this man’s excuse: “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” For Jesus, nothing was more important than the work of proclaiming the kingdom of God, and those who chose to follow him needed to share this commitment.

Finally, a third man stepped up to offer to join the journey: “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” This man also didn’t need any prodding to join the throng following Jesus, but he still felt that he needed to obey the fifth of the Ten Commandments and honor his father and mother by saying farewell. He may have even been remembering the story of the call of the prophet Elisha that we heard in our first reading, where Elisha made a stop at home to kiss his father and mother goodbye before joining Elijah in his prophetic work. But Jesus would have none of this. Those who wanted to follow him needed to make an immediate commitment without conditions, to set aside their worldly attachments—even and perhaps especially to their families!—and place their full and proper focus on the work of proclaiming the kingdom of God. So Jesus turned to this man and responded, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

We don’t know what these men did after Jesus spoke to them. There is no record of whether or not they followed Jesus after these strong words. But because they are written here, it is clear that those who did follow him remembered these words and wanted others to hear them, for they set a high standard of how we are to respond to God’s call.

Nowadays, when I hear these words of Jesus, my mind goes in two directions. First, I tend to get frustrated because other people just aren’t living up to Jesus’ standards. Some who follow Jesus seem to miss his point that there is some self-sacrifice involved, that they will not enjoy the full comforts of this world and may have to become dependent upon the hospitality of strangers—and then I realize that I am as guilty of that as the next guy. Then there are others who claim to follow Jesus who back out of church meetings or say that they just can’t do anything more because of family obligations or some other very reasonable excuse, and I want to quote Jesus back to them, insisting that even family must be set aside for the work of the kingdom of God!—before I realize that I do the very same thing sometimes. And still others who want to follow Jesus put conditions on their response to their call, saying that they really intend to do what God wants them to do, but they seem to forget that “no one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God”—and then I realize that I do the very same thing. This is no easy path for me or anyone else!

Then there are other times when I get a little defensive about Jesus’ words here. “Am I really supposed to just drop everything and leave it behind to follow Jesus? That doesn’t seem very reasonable or possible these days! Come on, Jesus, you couldn’t really mean this in our day and age!” These are incredibly high standards that are difficult to meet. It is almost impossible nowadays to obey Jesus and set aside concern for our future and not worry about how we will make ends meet. Most followers of Jesus in this day and age place a very high value on family relationships because of their faith and would recoil at leaving them behind to join Jesus along the way. And I would be lying to you if I said that I have not at times looked back and wondered about the life that I might be living if I were not doing what I am doing.

But the reality is that Jesus still calls us to step out of our comfort zones and join him in his work of proclaiming a very new and very different way of life that he called the kingdom of God. He did exactly this in his own life and ministry. He left his hometown under duress because the people there were expecting a very different kind of message from their hometown boy. When asked to spend a little time with his mother and brothers, Jesus responded, “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it.” In his journeys of teaching and healing around Galilee, he left behind any wealth that he had and was totally dependent upon the hospitality of those who would receive him. And Jesus’ vision of the kingdom of God was not about restoring a world of the past but about bringing in a new creation where all would have the fullness of life that God intended.

So when Jesus calls us to follow him, he speaks from his own heart, his own life, his own experience, inviting us to give up all that we have as we wander the road to new life together with him, trusting that we will gain far more than we have known before. This is no easy feat, and Jesus knew it better than anyone. He never actually condemned those who chose another path, for he knew the incredible challenges that his pathway would entail. He knew that following him would mean leaving behind family and friends, setting aside the comforts of a worldly life, even putting off the proper religious obligations of burying the dead. And most of all, he knew that following him would even require going to his death on the cross, for he trusted that God was doing something new even in death and that God and will continue to break into this world until all things can be made new.

And so from his life, his death, and his resurrection, Jesus invites us and challenges us and calls us to follow him, to set aside all the other things that pull us in so many different directions and make the work of proclaiming the kingdom of God as our first priority, to put even our lives on the line as we look ahead to the new life that can and will be ours as we follow him. So may we know the presence of Jesus Christ, our leader, who challenges us to follow him, not for our own glory but for the transformation of all creation through Jesus Christ our Lord. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Encountering God

June 23, 2013 By Andy James

a sermon on 1 Kings 19:1-15a
preached on June 23, 2013, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

As much as he wanted to encounter God, Elijah really just needed a place to hide. The king and queen of Israel were out for his head—he had crossed them one too many times—and he was ready to be someplace safe and understand what he needed to do next. His journey of exile had taken him all over the place, first to a city in the neighboring enemy land of Judah, then to the shelter of a broom tree, and now finally to this cave on Horeb, the mount of God. He had been guided by the angel of the Lord in every step of his journey, but he had never had a confident and direct encounter with God.

Finally, it seemed that God was ready to speak to him. The word of the Lord came to him as he slept, and he laid out all his troubles:

I’ve been working my heart out for [you]. The people have abandoned your covenant, destroyed the places of worship, and murdered your prophets. I’m the only one left, and now they’re trying to kill me. (The Message)

Just when it seemed there was no hope left, just when Elijah was ready to throw in the towel, just when he spoke the truth of his situation before God and cried out demanding something more, he heard a new promise:

Go, stand on the mountain at attention before God, and God will pass by.

As he prepared to do this, Elijah witnessed every imaginable wonder—first a great wind furious enough to split mountains and break rocks in pieces, then an earthquake that shook the foundations of the earth, and finally a great fire that consumed everything in its path. In all these things, though, he did not encounter God. Only after they had all passed, when the powerful signs of the moment had moved on, when the roar of the wind and the flame had died away, when there was no sound but sheer silence, only then did Elijah venture out to the entrance of the cave and encounter God.

There are countless moments in our lives when we ourselves are like Elijah, lost in the wilderness of our world, pursued by enemies and challenges of every sort, uncertain of the path before us, wondering where God is in the midst of it all. Just like Elijah, we may find ourselves wandering aimlessly, seeking whatever shelter we can find as we wait for a sign of God’s presence to emerge into our lives. And we may have no clue about where to look so that we can encounter God along the way. Take a minute or two and think about these kinds of moments in your lives, times when you have felt the need for God’s presence and just haven’t been able to find it. Then turn to your neighbor and talk about it (or post it in the comments): When in your life have you felt most separated from God?

Now take a moment or two and think about the other part of Elijah’s story where he meets God. Think on this and discuss (or post) it again: When in your life have you felt closest to God?

As I’ve reflected on this text this week and thought about my own separation from God and my own encounters with God, I’ve also wondered what it is for us as the church. Sometimes it sure feels like we the church are like Elijah, chased far away from home, pursued by a changing world that doesn’t have the same kind of space and place for us that it once did, holed up in a cave for our own protection, left to wonder where we will encounter God as we continue on the journey. We can lay out our troubles over and over again: our neighborhood is changing, the money is disappearing faster than ever before, we don’t quite know where and how we should focus our efforts, we just aren’t sure what we’re supposed to be doing. We’ve been everywhere imaginable trying to sort out the best path, and now we are just ready for that direct encounter with God to tell us what to do—maybe in the wind, maybe in the earthquake, maybe in the fire, maybe even in the silence. And just when hope seems farthest away, just when darkness seems to be settling in, just when we can’t imagine an encounter with the divine, just when we have heard nothing, that’s when God tends to show up.

But God doesn’t just show up to give us comfort—a true encounter with God always comes with instructions. In our text this morning, Elijah was given specific instructions to anoint kings in the opposing lands and so set up alliances that would protect him from the evil king and queen of Israel. In the same way, our encounters with God also come with directions for next steps, with exhortations to explore something new, with commands to step out of our cave and look for God in new ways and make God known in new ways, too.

So we must trust that something wonderful, some sort of divine encounter, might be emerging for us, and we have no choice but to step out, look for God, and act. God calls all of us to step out of the cave into the wilderness on a journey toward something new, to trust that God is up to something more than we can ever imagine, and to remember the promises of our divine encounters and as we seek the presence of God with us on the journey. It’s not an easy path, and there will certainly be plenty of challenges along the way, but God calls us to this journey and will not leave us alone, even if God’s presence doesn’t come to us in some sort of spectacular moment but rather emerges out of sheer silence. Even so, God will be with us on this way.

So may the voice of God call us out of the caves of our lives and into the wilderness of our world so that we might listen for God’s voice more closely, encounter God along the journey, and know the path to new life in this changing age as we bear witness to God’s new thing begun in Jesus Christ our Lord. Lord, come quickly! Amen.

Reputation

June 16, 2013 By Andy James

a sermon on Luke 7:36-8:3 for the 11th Sunday in Ordinary Time
preached on June 16, 2013, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Jesus had a bit of a reputation. He had started out as just another teacher wandering around Galilee to offer an interpretation of the scriptures, following in the footsteps of his cousin John the Baptist and proclaiming a new way of life for the people of Israel, but he had quickly moved on to start healing people from seemingly incurable illness and had even revived a man whom everyone else thought was dead.

As his reputation grew, one of the religious leaders decided to invite him over for dinner—even they had to take notice of him. As this Pharisee, a man named Simon, saw it, he was doing Jesus a favor, giving him a nice meal in a nice house, surrounding him with the right kind of people, offering him the audience he needed to get his words into the right ears. Of course, it didn’t hurt Simon to be seen with Jesus, either—the people had warmed to Jesus’ message and clamored for him to come into their villages to tell a parable or heal the sick, so anyone who could be seen as offering him hospitality would get an extra benefit! But when Jesus arrived at Simon’s house, he was ushered right into the dining room to sit down for dinner, almost as if the host was as anxious to have Jesus leave as he seemed to have him come. His reputation preceded him, after all.

As they settled in for dinner, an unexpected guest wandered into the house. Like Jesus, she had a bit of a reputation, too, but hers was very clear. Everyone in town knew that she was a sinner, though Luke does not tell us exactly what sin she was known for. As dinner went on, she made her way to the table where Jesus was and began to weep as she stood behind him. She collected her tears and began to wash his feet, then she dried them with her hair and anointed them with the ointment that she had brought along with her.

It was a scandalous moment. The most notorious woman in town, known as a sinner to seemingly everyone, was washing the feet of this special guest who claimed to be a teacher and a prophet. Simon the Pharisee and host was astounded, although he did not utter a word. Still, he was not happy that his house would be scandalized in this way, and he just wanted Jesus to see her for what she was, condemn her, and send her away.

But Jesus’ reputation was also very clear—he was just the kind of guy who would eat and drink with tax collectors and sinners. He could tell that his host did not want this sinner-woman crashing his party, but he would not be the one to send her away. So rather than confronting or engaging, Jesus asked his host the Pharisee about forgiving debts. If two men had both had their debts forgiven but one had debt ten times larger than the other, would both men show equal love for this generous act? Simon responded that the larger debt would inspire greater love, but then Jesus pointed out that this woman was just like that man. While Simon had offered Jesus nothing more than an invitation to dinner, this woman had made him feel welcome, washing his feet and showing him true hospitality. She was truly thankful for what Jesus was and offered him a deep and wondrous gift.

So Jesus lifted up this sinner-woman as a model of faithfulness to this pious religious-man, for she had shown Jesus great love and welcome in someone else’s house simply because he offered her a place to find the fullness of new life. Her sins were forgiven, and Jesus sent her on her way: “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” She had a new reputation now.

Christians these days don’t have such a good reputation in dealing with those named as “sinners”—if anything, we usually are the ones calling the names, not the ones extending grace. In the world’s eyes, at least, we seem to be much more like Simon the Pharisee than Jesus: singling out groups for special hatred or lower status because of their gender, sexuality, life circumstance, or religious persuasion; complaining about our mistreatment as Christians mostly because we aren’t as dominant in society anymore or those of other faiths demand the treatment once reserved for us; claiming that God’s favor is upon us and us alone, to the exclusion of those who are different; and struggling to extend the grace that we have known to anyone other than ourselves. We seem to be far more about controlling our religion than about following Jesus.

But Jesus’ dinner at Simon’s house tells us that we should have a different kind of reputation—a reputation of welcome, generosity, and grace. As commentator Justo González puts it,

Even though Jesus is a religious teacher, his teaching is not about religion. It is not about how to be more religious. It is not about how to gain God’s acceptance. It is about a God whose acceptance of sinners the religious find jarring. It is about a God whose love cannot be bought even by great acts of praise or mighty deeds of justice. It is about sinners who rejoice at the great forgiveness they have received, [as opposed to] religious people who wish God were more religious [like them]—more amenable to being mollified by acts of worship, piety, and devotion… [Ultimately,] the sinful woman is able to receive and accept grace in a way that the religious Pharisee cannot. (Luke, p. 102)

So in this encounter with the woman, Jesus insists that our reputation needs to be different, that our life in the world must be marked with the amazing grace that we ourselves have come to know and love, that our actions toward others must demonstrate the same kind of welcome that Jesus himself offered to this woman and everyone he met, and that our generosity must be not about holding on to what we have or even perpetuating a faithful way of the past but rather about using our gifts to extend God’s welcome to anyone and everyone.This is ultimately our greatest call as people of faith: to show God’s love to those who seem all but unlovable, to extend God’s welcome even to those we would rather keep away, and to embody God’s priceless grace in a world where the focus is all too often on counting the cost. We should have a reputation for these things, for faith, hope, and love beyond measure, without cost, shared with anyone and everyone, a reputation for being like Jesus.

We don’t build this reputation by joining the church, putting a little extra in the offering plate, or even being honored or remembered in a gift made by others. Instead, this kind of reputation comes as we follow Jesus in our individual lives and in our common life. We can go with him to proclaim and bring the good news of the kingdom of God to people who are used to hearing nothing but bad news. We can tell others what we have seen, what we have heard, and what we have experienced as we have walked with Jesus along the way in hopes that they might join us on the journey too. We can offer strange and surprising acts of hospitality to those who come into our midst as this unnamed woman did with Jesus, setting aside our fears and trusting that God is somehow working among us beyond our understanding. And we can provide for the needs of this community and the whole witness of the household of God just as these faithful folks, named and unnamed here, did with Jesus. In these and countless other ways we can embody Jesus’ welcome of all people, show God’s love for all creation, and receive and pass on God’s amazing grace in the world.

So may we get a reputation of mercy, grace, and love because we offer God’s deep welcome to anyone and everyone in our life together, because we show our deepest care and concern for others, and because we join in God’s transformation of our world begun for all in Jesus Christ our Lord. Thanks be to God. Amen.

A Widow’s Welcome

June 9, 2013 By Andy James

a sermon on 1 Kings 17:8-16 for the 10th Sunday of Ordinary Time
preached on June 9, 2013, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Hospitality has always been one of the great marks of the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone. When I first came here eight years ago, I quickly learned how you make outsiders feel welcome. We have spent some time together over the years working to improve the welcome we offer to one another and our community, and by all the reports I hear, even adjusted for the inherent bias in many of them and the work we still have to do, we are still quite a welcoming church! Yet we can still be challenged by scripture readings like this one this morning that give us a glimpse into the power of hospitality.

In the midst of a drought, God had commanded Elijah to travel from Israel to a neighboring land and promised that a widow would feed him and take care of him. When Elijah arrived there, he saw a widow on the outskirts of town, collecting sticks for a fire, so he asked her for some water to quench his thirst at the end of a long journey. Before she could get completely out of earshot, he called out to her again: “I’m hungry too, so bring me some bread while you’re at it.” It was the kind of request that would seem somewhat normal under most circumstances—I’ve done it before, and I suspect you have too!—but here it was anything but normal.

Elijah’s request stopped her in her tracks. She clearly wanted to help him—she was willing to get him some water, after all—but this was more than she could offer. The breadbox was empty. The cupboard was bare. Her oil was almost gone. Water was hard enough to come by in the drought, but bread was just too much even for her, let alone a guest. She turned to him and explained her predicament: “As the Lord your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die.” Not only had Elijah asked for a gift out of her poverty—he had asked her to give him what would be her very last meal!

It was a strange moment of hospitality. Even though she couldn’t give him the bread he wanted, she offered her guest a strange bit of honesty about her situation and explained why she could not deepen her generosity. So Elijah shifted from being a demanding and exhausted traveler to a gentle and kind prophet. He directed her to set aside her fears and share a bit of meal with him, for God would provide for all of them: “The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the Lord sends rain on the earth.” If she would join him in a show of confidence for God’s presence, together they would witness a miracle.

Somehow, some way, they pulled it off—they, of course, being mostly God. Beginning with this simple act of a widow’s welcome, first offering the prophet a drink of water, then granting him her confidence and finally a place to stay, as she turned from her fear of not having enough to a new confidence that God would provide, they received everything that they needed to get through the challenges of the drought. And in the end, God offered this widow a lot more: when her son later became sick and died, God revived him amidst Elijah’s prayers, and she was all the more grateful for the prophet’s presence and gift to her amidst her hospitality.

Hospitality like what this widow showed to Elijah can be truly transformative even now. We don’t ever know when a simple act like offering someone a glass of water will bring us more than a simple thank you. We don’t know who might show up and what might happen when we throw open the doors of the church and invite everyone in. And we don’t know what God has in store for us when we reach out in unexpected ways to the world around us. But ultimately this hospitality requires something of us. It certainly requires a little bit of work to get everything in place, to make sure that we can offer an extra measure of what we have to all who come our way, and to prepare a warm and welcoming space for those who will join us.

But it also requires us to listen to Elijah’s first words to the widow: “Do not be afraid.” True hospitality requires us to step outside of our comfort zone, to set aside our hopes and our fears about the other and the new, and to open ourselves to the change that inevitably comes when we stop being only who we have been. Most of all, it requires us to trust that God will provide—not so much that God will magically make things happen if we don’t try or extend our resources beyond what is reasonable but rather that God will turn what we think is nothing into something far beyond our imagination.

As the widow at Zarephath demonstrated when she offered Elijah a cup of water, God’s welcome is bound to surprise us. It will look different in every time and place, yet it extends to all people in unexpected ways, not because we expect something unusual to happen but because we trust that God works beyond our means and our understanding to extend our welcome beyond these walls. We make this welcome real every Sunday as we open our doors and give space for anyone and everyone to join us here, but the ultimate sign and seal of God’s welcome to us comes whenever we gather at this font. As we make our way here today to celebrate this sacrament and officially welcome Drew to the family of faith, we get the best possible glimpse of the strange and wonderful things that God can do in us and through us when we embody God’s grace and show God’s love.

So may the witness of this faithful widow inspire us as we extend God’s welcome to all who look for a stop on their spiritual journey, whether just for water or for something far more, as we walk together on the road of new life. Thanks be to God. Amen.

A New Song, for Us

June 2, 2013 By Andy James

a sermon on Psalm 96
preached on June 2, 2013, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

As a musician and music lover, I have long been fascinated by the gift of the psalms. Most of these ancient poems likely began as songs, though the original tunes have been lost for centuries and the lyricism and beauty of the Hebrew poetry doesn’t always translate well into other languages. But beyond this musical history, I’m also quite a fan of what the psalms have to say about music.

There are two wonderful recurring phrases about song in the psalms. First, there’s the great phrase “make a joyful noise to the Lord.” This one shows up in some form or another in four different psalms, but I especially appreciate the character of its exhortation. As I frequently point out to people who say that they can’t sing, the psalms do not say “sing a pretty song with a beautiful voice” to God but rather “make a joyful noise!” While I certainly appreciate beautiful music as much as the next person, when it comes to praising God, the thing that matters is not the beauty of the sound but the attitude that goes into it!

The second great phrase about music in the psalms is the one that opens our psalm for today: “Sing to the Lord a new song!” This one shows up in five different psalms, and commentator Robert Alter (The Book of Psalms: A Translation with Commentary) notes that it is often intended to be the composer’s self-affirmation of his work, for if God is truly so great, God should be praised not with something from the usual repertoire, not with old familiar songs but rather with something fresh and new.

This second phrase is so very critical to our psalm today, as it sets the tone for all the praise that the psalmist wishes to offer God. Strangely enough, though, Robert Alter points out that much of what follows in Psalm 96 has actually been woven together from phrases and lines that appear elsewhere. Yet I think there is still something new amidst this conglomeration of tried and true phrases of praise to God that creates the wonderful and rich harmonies of a new song to give deep and true praise to the Lord.

First, this call to praise is for everyone.

Sing to the Lord, all the earth…
Declare [God’s] glory among the nations
[and God’s] marvelous works among all the peoples.

This praise cannot be limited or restricted by the standards of the world, and everyone should hear this invitation to praise God and raise their voices to proclaim a new song.

Beyond this call to praise for all humanity, the psalmist suggests a deeper meaning of the greatness of God. God is not just great because of some inherent greatness but because “the Lord made the heavens” and all other gods are nothing more than idols.
The psalmist acknowledges that we don’t have an automatic inner sense that there is some sort of divine presence in our world, and God’s greatness cannot be assumed as true for everyone simply because we know it. Instead, we see the depth and breadth of God’s amazing love through the wonders of creation and all the other marks of God’s greatness that the psalm describes. So with our eyes opened to the wonder of God’s glory, we can begin to ascribe glory and strength to God rather than to our own accomplishment.

But ultimately the psalmist makes it clear that this new song requires our own words and acts of praise and thanksgiving. The psalmist gives us some surprising images of what this might look like. The heavens will be glad, and the earth itself will rejoice. The sea will roar, and all that fills it will join in. The field will cry out, and everything in it will rise up with praise. And even all the trees of the forest will sing for joy. Our opening hymn today (“Earth and All Stars”) gave us some more modern images of the things that might sing a new song to the Lord: not just “earth and all stars” but also “steel and machines… limestone and beams,” “classrooms and labs, loud boiling test tubes,” even “knowledge and truth, loud sounding wisdom” should cry out with a new song.

Joining all the elements of creation, new and old, using these songs as our model, we are called to sing a new song of praise for our own time and place, echoing the rejoicing of the past while offering our own new song that speaks to our own experience of God’s wonder in our world and the real joy that we find from God. It picks up on the voices of the centuries to share a new word for this time and place. It approaches the strangeness and wonder of our changing times with honesty and hope. And it gives others a space to join in and offer their own words of praise.

This call to sing a new song rings more loudly in my ears than usual today. After worship this morning, following some snacks and birthday celebrations, we will hear a report from our congregational consultant Bill Weisenbach. After three months of research into our neighborhood, conversations with us, and prayerful consideration, Bill will tell us a bit about what he has learned. I’ll leave the major points to him, but I will go ahead and tell you that after reading his report and talking about it with Bill and the Session, I am more convinced than ever that we must heed the psalmist’s call to sing a new song in our life together here. Now I’m not at all suggesting that the solution to all our ills will come with a change in the music for our worship—in fact, I’m pretty confident that our music and style of worship is the least of our problems! When I say that we must sing a new song, I mean that I am deeply convinced that we must find a new way to live out and give voice to the life we share in this place that is sustainable for the long term and has meaning in 2013 and beyond. We need a new song for this new time.

Like Psalm 96, the new song for the days ahead will certainly lift up pieces of what we have sung before. We do many things well in our life together, and we can find much inspiration for our new song in the practices that we already share, in our Reformed and Presbyterian heritage, in our broad and deep Christian roots, and in our universal life of faith. Yet our new song also must speak to these new times, to the declining resources in our midst, to our changing and increasingly diverse neighborhood where Protestantism is rare, to our own aging congregation, to all the challenges of life in 2013 that pull all of us in so many different directions, and most of all to the reality that people simply don’t think about religion and faith and spirituality in the same way that they did 142 years ago when this congregation first gathered to sing a new song to the Lord.

This new song will likely not be a single magic solution, a simple song sung in unison—like so much good music, it will have different parts, with some taking the lead and others adding rich harmonies to make it all the more beautiful. But learning a new song is not easy. As I’ve started singing in a choir regularly again over the past year, I’ve been reminded of how much time goes into preparing for a performance—and even into getting ready for the rehearsals! There will be a lot of steps involved in finding and learning this new song, and as you’ll hear later, I’m grateful that Bill and the Session both are committed to the process along the way. There will be some interesting explorations to help us find the right song to sing, some clashing chords and wrong notes as we learn it, and some challenging rehearsals as we work together to make it beautiful and sing it well. Even so, I am confident that this new song for us can be just as faithful if not more as the one that we know so well—and that we can find it and sing it more beautifully than we ever imagined.

So over the coming days I ask you to think about your new song. What new song of praise will you sing in the days ahead? What does our new song for this congregation need to look and sound like? What can you offer to this new song as we prepare to find it and start singing it together?

As we go into the days ahead, may God open our hearts and minds to the new song emerging among us, may God guide us as we learn its words and explore its new harmonies, and may God strengthen our voices for these new ways of praise as we journey through the days ahead until we sing a new song to the Lord forever and ever. Lord, come quickly! Amen.