Archives for 2011

a sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Easter on Psalm 23 and Matthew 18:1-5
preached at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone on May 15, 2011 

Having our children lead us in worship is exciting and inspiring. This day has been a long time coming, and the fact that we have this time and space together with our children is nothing short of amazing, especially considering that just a year ago we averaged about two children per month in worship! But once we had this incredible core group together, I’m really glad that we set aside this day to have them lead us in worship. They always do an excellent job reading scripture, so why shouldn’t we ask them to do a little more?!

Once we set the date for this service, I worked with Laurie-Jean, Mary, and Julie to plan the details and pick the right text, and they pulled together most of the other pieces. But then when the time came to write the sermon, I didn’t know what to say – the fact that we can have this service in this way is an incredible proclamation of the word on its own, and I’ve wondered all week about what more I can say beyond pointing to this time together. But maybe that’s all we really need today – maybe simply to realize that the word can sometimes best be proclaimed in our actions, that God’s word can become real in our midst in the most unexpected and yet real ways, that the word can be fulfilled in our hearing and thinking and doing and being again and again and again.

So today we hear again familiar words that we can see alive and at work in our children:

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

Our children show us that God cares for us, takes us everyplace we need to go, and gives us everything we need.

He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;
he restores my soul.

Our children remind us that God gives us rest and renews us and restores us when we most need it and when we least expect it.

He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake.

Our children tell us that God walks with us every day, makes things right for us, and shows others how to live through us.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
I fear no evil; for you are with me;
your rod and your staff – they comfort me.

Our children give us confidence that God protects us in the most difficult times, keeps us from being afraid, comforts us when we aren’t sure what to do, and guides us when the path ahead is uncertain or even seems unsafe.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

Our children make it clear that God overcomes all our fears and makes a space for things to be okay when we least expect it.

You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

Our children tell us that God marks us as God’s own and gives us everything we need and more, starting here when we come to be baptized and continuing each and every day.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.

Our children show us that God’s love is all around us, and we can’t ever escape it.

I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.

Our children here certainly make it clear that we are most comfortable wherever we can be ourselves, wherever we can play and have fun, wherever we can just be ourselves – especially when that place is God’s house.

In these and countless other ways, our children show us the fruits of God’s incredible love and point us to the possibility of what God can do as the world is restored and renewed.

I think that’s what Jesus was talking about when he brought a child among the disciples and pointed to that child as a model for greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Children bring an incredible imagination, freedom to dream and hope beyond adult limitations, humility in the face of things they don’t understand, and a radical openness to the possibility of something new. All these things are at the core of the kingdom of heaven, where status and wealth just don’t matter, where dreams become real as life becomes whole, where everyone is welcomed and loved, and where all creation finally understands and lives what God intends.

I believe that our children are the best models of God’s shepherding love and God’s intentions for the kingdom of God, and yet I don’t think we always treat them as we should. We don’t always listen closely to what they have to say. We don’t always take them seriously and treat them like the human beings that they are. And we don’t always trust that they might be able to show us something new about what God is doing in our world. But if we listen closely, take them seriously, and follow their example, our children can and will show us a more complete glimpse of the kingdom of God. Their hope can give us courage for the living of these days, their love can show us God’s unlimited love for us, and their faith can show us the way to the kingdom of God.

So may God give us eyes to see and ears to hear the faith, hope, and love of our children so that all of us can know God’s shepherding love and be a part of the incredible new thing that God is doing here and now among us.

Lord, come quickly! Amen.

a sermon for the Second Sunday of Easter on John 20:19-31
preached at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone on May 1, 2011 

They started out very afraid, gathering almost surreptitiously, trying not to draw attention to themselves, not sure who they might run into or who might be looking for them or for Jesus. Some of the disciples had seen Jesus since the tomb had been reported empty, but others still awaited their first glimpse of their teacher who had somehow overcome death. All of the sudden Jesus appeared in the room where they had gathered. The door was still locked, no windows were open, but Jesus made his way into their midst. He spoke to them right away: “Peace be with you.” There was no reason to be afraid now – he was alive and with them again, and they could simply be present with their old friend and teacher once again. And so they rejoiced, grateful that the rumors were true and that they could see him with their own eyes. Then he spoke to them again, inviting them once again to be at peace and blowing the Holy Spirit out on them, sending them out to be his witnesses just as he had witnessed to God’s work in the world in and through his life.

Seeing is believing when it comes to the resurrection for the disciples. They weren’t quite sure what was going on, but then Jesus showed up among them and they believed. And so it often goes for us. We look around, watching for marks of the resurrection all around us, wondering where we can see Jesus, hoping that we’ll be witnesses to his great love too, trying to follow in the footsteps of the disciples, and finding him when and where we least expect to see him. Sometimes we luck out and we see the risen Jesus after all – perhaps in the gentle touch of one we love, maybe in the presence of family and friends, maybe in the gathering of the people of God across boundaries of age and place and time, maybe in some other place that we know well or can’t even begin to imagine. And so we rejoice! We sing our “Alleluias” over and over again and shout “Christ is risen!” at the top of our lungs. We tell everyone we meet about the ways we see Christ alive and at work in our world. And we do the best we can each and every day to embody the life of the risen Christ in our world.

But Thomas wasn’t there. For some reason Thomas didn’t make it to the house that Easter night, and even though the other disciples had to see Jesus alive again in order to believe it, everyone seemed to put him down a bit because he supposedly “doubted” the resurrection. Thomas’ point of view was simple: “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands, put my finger in the wounds left by the nails, and put my hand into his side, I won’t believe.” He had known Jesus for several years and had witnessed him die, so Thomas needed some sign of the resurrection to believe that it happened, and since he hadn’t had one yet, he questioned it all.

Our friend doubting Thomas has a point, if you ask me. What’s the point of the resurrection if you can’t see it? Why does Jesus’ rising from the grave matter if nothing changes because of it? And if you can’t see some proof of something being different after Easter morning, why should you believe that it happened at all? I find myself on Thomas’ side quite a lot these days. The incredible destruction of tornados in Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and Tennessee makes me wonder about the goodness of God. The pain and despair and conflict in our world that seem to keep piling on top of all the other heartache we face get in the way of the resurrection in my eyes. When one of you or one you love can’t seem to catch a break from the trials and tribulations of life, I question the resurrection because I can’t see a needed sign of God’s love breaking through. And the difficulties that we face as a congregation to live a new life together that we have struggled with so much in recent months make me cry out with Thomas: “Unless I see evidence of something new here, I will not believe.” Too often there’s just something missing in our experience of resurrection, and so we rightfully and reasonably join Thomas in questioning how or even whether God is up to something in our world, demanding visible signs and evidence of the resurrection in our midst and hoping for something new to take hold now.

The next Sunday, though, when they gathered together again, Thomas was there – still questioning what was going on, but present nonetheless! Then Jesus appeared again, breaking through the locked doors and proclaiming once again, “Peace be with you.” Then Jesus spoke up about Thomas’ “doubting” ways, inviting Thomas right away to come up to him: “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” But even before he could actually do any of this, Thomas cried out, “My Lord and my God!” Then Jesus offered his later listeners a word of confidence and hope, encouraging them to believe even though they have may not have seen him with their own eyes. Nonetheless, Thomas’ doubt turned to belief, for he had seen evidence of the risen Christ and had no reason to doubt what was going on any longer.

And so we are here today, maybe finding ourselves like the disciples, because we saw something last Sunday or over the course of this week that showed us evidence of the resurrection. Or maybe we are more like Thomas, present in spite of our fears and doubts and uncertainties, still looking for a sign of the resurrection to take hold and become real in our midst. All of us, though, whether or not we have seen the risen Christ over the last week, are still looking for signs of his resurrection life in our midst, wondering where we can see him at work, whether it is for the first time or for the millionth time. In the face of destruction across the South, in the harsh climate of war and strife that seems to reign around our world, we long for the presence of the risen Christ to proclaim and bring peace into our midst. And in the midst of uncertainty and potential change in our life together here in this congregation, we wonder how the risen Christ can be present and at work in our midst, how we can imagine new life in the face of uncertainty, how we can dream about something new when what we have seems to be in question. But I believe that it is precisely in times like these, in moments when we least expect it, that Jesus sneaks into the room, slipping in through the locked-down doors, showing up when we aren’t looking for him, breaking bread and revealing himself, speaking out in the midst of the quiet of fear: “Peace be with you,” confronting all the doubting Thomases in our midst to show us that the resurrection is taking hold now. It is as our last hymn puts it so well:

“Help then, O Lord, our unbelief;
And may our faith abound
To call on You when You are near
And seek where You are found:
That, when our life of faith is done,
In realms of clearer light
We may behold You as You are,
With full and endless sight.”  (Henry Alford)

So may we open our eyes to the possibility and presence of the risen Christ in our world and in our lives, transforming our uncertainty and our despair and even our doubting into the hope of new life, opening the way of resurrection to us and all doubting Thomases each and every day. Lord, come quickly! Amen.

a sermon for Easter Sunday on Matthew 28:1-10
preached at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone on April 24, 2011 

Mary and Mary Magdalene were afraid, and for good reason. Their friend and teacher Jesus had been executed less than 48 hours before they decided to venture out to his tomb at the first possible moment to continue their grieving at this sudden and strange turn of events. When they got to the tomb, their fears became all the more real. An earthquake came as an angel rolled away the stone at the tomb, and even when they learned from the angel that Jesus had been raised from the dead, they still couldn’t help but be at least a little afraid.

Over the course of the ten verses in our reading from the gospel according to Matthew today, the words “fear” or “afraid” show up four separate times, first to describe the mood of the moment but then as an angel and later Jesus instruct them not to be afraid. Now resurrection doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that would inspire fear – if anything, it seems like their response ought to have been great joy, for their friend and teacher Jesus was no longer dead but had risen to new life! But there was still something fearful going on here – as wonderful as it may have been to have him resurrected, Jesus was not where he belonged, where they expected to find him, in the tomb. Anytime there is a dead body missing from where it is supposed to be, fear and uncertainty are almost certain to follow, but this situation was made all the more fearful because Jesus had been executed by the political and religious authorities. This fear, though, was about more than a body not being where it belonged – the women were afraid of what the consequences of these things might be, concerned maybe that they could be accused of stealing the body, fearful of the ridicule the other disciples might have for them as they brought this strange news back from the tomb, and uncertain of what this latest turn in Jesus’ story might mean for them as they continued sorting out what his words and his life meant for them.

Amidst all this fear, Matthew reports that there was another emotion at hand as the women left the tomb: yes, they were filled with fear, but also great joy. This joy is something we’re probably more comfortable with – while it makes sense that the women would be afraid of Jesus’ resurrection, it also makes sense that the women would be glad to learn that Jesus is alive again, and so we emulate this feeling of great joy in our words and songs today, shouting and singing “Alleluia!” over and over again out of amazement at the incredible thing that God has done in raising Jesus from the dead. Our psalm for today lifts up this great joy once again, proclaiming “glad songs of victory in the tents of the righteous” and stating confidently, “I shall not die, but I shall live, and recount the deeds of the LORD.” This kind of joy is certainly right for this day – to sing praise to our God who triumphs over even the powers of death, to embody our joy for God’s incredible work of raising Jesus from the dead. Yet somehow the women at the tomb weren’t fully there at joy yet – they walked away with fear too.

Is there any reason for us to fear this Easter? Is there any reason why we should be afraid of the dead things God might be restoring to new life in our individual lives, in our community, or in our church? Should we be trembling because the tomb is empty and new life is springing forth? Do we need to be afraid of what others might say to us and about us and even against us if the message of the resurrection is true? The reality is that the message of resurrection we have at Easter is deeply powerful, and it can and should inspire a bit of fear in us. Easter overturns all the assumptions of the world and says that death does not have the final word for Jesus – and by extension, for us. Easter threatens the power structures of the world, of the church, and of our lives by saying that death is not just a bad thing because it can be redeemed and things made new. The resurrection shows us that God is on the side of life and love, that God is not out to get us or punish us or destroy us, but instead God embodies in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ a new order that sets things on the path toward being whole and complete. And Easter shows us that there is always hope for something new – not just an empty hope for something to change one day in the courts of heaven but hope that God can and will act, here and now, to transform our world and make it as God intends.

And so it is in the face of these fears that the angel and Jesus speak to us as they did to Mary: “Do not be afraid.” Yes, we are rightfully afraid because the good news of Easter complicates things for us and others. The safe assumptions we’ve made along the way look a little less comfortable today. In the light of the empty tomb, we see that we may face uncertain times, difficult days, and even persecution as we wait for new life to come, because the tomb had to be full before it could be empty. The radical transformation of death we see today may even leave us wanting to cower in the corner in fear or walk away in despair rather than to face the difficulty of these days.

But in the face of our fear and our uncertainty and our lack of understanding, Jesus and the angel speak to us again: “Do not fear.” They don’t tell us that we are bad people for not understanding or believing the resurrection quite yet, but they do show us a confident measure of God’s presence so that we can be assured that God is with us in and through the one who died and was raised and so journeys with us through all uncertainty.

So in the face of this incredible reality and hope of the resurrection, we can and should have fear and joy just as Mary and Mary Magdalene did – fear enough to realize that things must be different because of the incredible mystery and gift of this Easter day but joy enough to see that God has more in store for us than what we can understand and experience right here and right now.

May this fear and this joy open us to the good news of the resurrection this Easter and always as we go with Mary and the disciples out into the world with our eyes and our ears and our hearts open to the presence of our risen and living Lord Jesus.

The Lord is risen! He is risen indeed. Alleluia! Amen.

a sermon on Matthew 27:11-66 for Palm/Passion Sunday
preached at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone on April 17, 2011

The week started out incredibly well for Jesus – the parade was fit for a king! After three years of ministry out in the countryside, he finally made his way to the big city, and the people seemed to be on his side. He enjoyed all the marks of royalty as he came into Jerusalem, with a colt and a donkey for him to ride, cloaks providing a comfortable place for him to sit, and a ceremonial carpet of palm branches and cloaks covering the road. As Jesus made his way through the crowd into the city, everyone was abuzz about this prophet coming in from Galilee, so once the chant got started, it only got louder along the way:

Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!

On Sunday, it was a parade fit for a king – but by the end of the week, everything had changed, and the crowd now shouted, “Crucify him!” This was no way to treat a king.

What happened in between these days? How did Jesus go from being lauded by seemingly everyone to being crucified and nearly friendless, from the latest and greatest hope for a real Jewish alternative to Roman rule to just another faded insurrectionist executed at the hands of the powerful? While it is difficult to sum up the six chapters of the gospel of Matthew that come between Jesus’ arrival on Sunday and his trial and execution on Friday, I think it is nonetheless fair to say that in the course of those five days Jesus managed to threaten nearly every institution of power and control in Jerusalem. From the Roman government to the puppet king to the religious leaders to the secular power-brokers, Jesus managed to anger nearly everybody. In the city of the establishment, he proclaimed that something new was breaking in, that God’s kingdom was bigger than any earthly government, that what God had in store for them was more than they could ever imagine and yet would require them to give up everything that they had. Along the way, everyone turned against Jesus – the establishment figures, the puppet government, the temple leaders, even some of his own disciples – and his message died before it could even begin to take hold. The establishment figures would rather kill Jesus than explore the real possibilities of freedom and new life. This was certainly no way to treat a king.

And so at the end of the week, our reading this morning reminds us that Jesus ended up caught up in a cycle of violence, spurned by those who cared for him, ignored by the people who once cheered for him, and feared by those whose livelihood and power was threatened by him. Everyone who could break the cycle stepped aside. Pilate tried to get the people to relent and washed his hands of the situation when they didn’t. The people insisted that the bandit Barabbas be freed and that Jesus be killed. The soldiers got caught up in the violence and mocked him all the more. Simon of Cyrene got pulled into the whirlwind and was forced to carry the cross part of the way. Innocent bystanders, religious leaders, and even those crucified alongside Jesus joined in mocking him. Even Jesus said nothing to refute the charges against him. And the Roman soldier standing guard only recognized the gravity of the situation when it was all over. This is no way to treat a king.

Throughout it all, though, Jesus remained faithful. This king didn’t need proper treatment in order to be kingly. This lord didn’t even need to be acknowledged by anyone in order to have power over everyone. Our response that helped break up our incredibly long reading today reminded us of this over and over again. While we may be able to do nothing more than “wonder and stare, fear and beware,” while “heaven and hell [may be] close at hand,” “God’s living Word, Jesus the Lord, follows where faith and love demand.” (John Bell, “Wonder and Stare”) If nothing else, the events of this week remind us of this incredible truth, that Jesus knows the full depths of our sorrow and pain and hurt because he went there himself, that God in Jesus Christ has experienced the worst of evil and violence that the powers of the world can bring because they attacked him with full force, that faith and love demand to be followed even when they lead to the darkness of the tomb.

And so we join the journey, making our way with Jesus through the “Hosannas” and into the city gates even though we know where this journey must lead, trusting that God will offer us something more than we can imagine along the way and will transform this moment that is no way to treat a king into a moment of faith, hope, and love for all of us. May God give us strength for this and all our journeys as we join Jesus along the way of the cross and into the hope of the resurrection.

Amen.

a sermon on John 11:1-45 for the Fifth Sunday in Lent
preached at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone on April 10, 2011

The mood was dark and uncertain even though the day may have been beautiful. Jesus’ friend Lazarus had died, and after four days he had finally joined his friends and family to visit the tomb together. They had hoped that Jesus would come and visit Lazarus before he had died, maybe even bringing a miraculous healing to his unnamed illness, but this was seemingly too much to ask of a busy itinerant preacher and teacher in Galilee in those days, though Jesus’ plans were certainly complicated by the bounty that was out on his head in that time.

Even though he didn’t make it to visit before Lazarus died, Jesus was not unaffected by the death of his friend. Yes, he often stood aloof and seemingly disconnected from the humanity of his disciples and friends, but in this moment he fit right into the crowd, weeping and mourning with them as they walked to the tomb where Lazarus had been buried. He seems to have known all the things that awaited him there – the large stone at the entrance to the tomb, the uncertain women who were afraid of the smell that they would find if they rolled away the stone, and the grief and hurt and pain that grew only deeper as he neared the place where Lazarus had been laid to rest. Still, Jesus’ prayer in this time was filled with hope – hope that his words and presence would not be in vain, hope that his friend’s life would not come to such a strange and uncertain end, hope that God was not done working in and through Lazarus and Jesus, for there was more going on here than either of them could ever imagine.

So at the tomb, with the large stone rolled away, the smell of death at hand,  and God’s presence invoked through prayer, Jesus cried, “Lazarus, come out!” Suddenly Lazarus emerged from the tomb, still wrapped in the linen cloths of a dead body, and yet he was very much alive. Jesus’ simple words from earlier echoed loud and clear in that moment: “I am the resurrection and the life.” Even standing at the tomb, there was something more in store.

Just three weeks ago, I like Jesus joined the throng of mourners who had made their way to the graveside of my grandmother who had died a few days before. I too hadn’t made it to see her before she died, but I knew there was nothing I could do if I had – while it would have been good to see her one last time, she was so sick that it would have been all the more difficult to have my last memory of her be so different from what I had known my whole life.

But also like Jesus, I was overcome with grief and love standing at the tomb. I remembered so much about my grandmother there at her grave – her simple way of approaching life that made things easier for everyone, her incredible love for me and so many others that she showed so often in her words and actions, her deep faith that sustained her and so many of us all along the way. As I stood there remembering her incredible life, I remembered the others who were buried there alongside her – my great-grandparents who I did not know well but who had journeyed from North Dakota to the Mississippi Delta late in life, and my beloved grandfather who also showed me such love and care as I grew up from the spoiled only grandchild into the still-loved young man whom he always imagined I would become.

There at those graves, I felt waves of emotion rush over me much as they had for Jesus, but my memories came alive then even though the ones at the center of them would not. I knew that there was no chance in that moment that my grandmother would rise from the dead, and if someone had called out to her as Jesus did for Lazarus at any point in our mourning for her, we certainly would have had that person taken away! Nonetheless, it was a comfort to know that even though she would not rise up again then and there, Jesus’ words would be true for her just as much as they were for Lazarus: “I am the resurrection and the life.” Even at that grave, even if it weren’t immediately obvious and evident and real, there was something more in store.

As we look around here amidst the beauty of these days, amidst the hope that we sometimes see in our midst, we too see signs that we stand at the entrance to a tomb sometimes – faithful friends leaving our midst for one reason or another, increasing struggles and financial challenges for our life together, shifting commitments that make it harder to do what we’ve done before, uncertainty of countless kinds over so many things turning into anxiety and paralyzing fear. We look around and see that there are plenty of others here with us – seemingly countless churches struggling to find their way in a changing world, so many faithful people confused by different approaches to the life of faith and the path of following Jesus in the midst of a world that is very different from what we knew even a few years ago, even some people who would seem to have it all sorted out and yet are willing to stay in the trenches with those who struggle to figure out something new. If we look closely, we may even see the other tombs around us where the church as it was once known now again lies dead – but so often Jesus seems nowhere to be found, if we even look for him. We expect that he’ll be off someplace else where things are more alive, not out here in the tombs with the dead folks, not in this place where people are struggling to figure out what is next, not in this dark and uncertain place where all of us are wondering what lies around the next corner for us.

But even before we hear any words that might revive us, we see Jesus standing in our midst, offering his simple reminder to us as he did to Martha: “I am the resurrection and the life.” Jesus weeps and mourns the pain of the struggles that we face and joins us on the journey to the tomb as he too is overcome by grief and uncertainty. And just when we think that we have died – and perhaps only when we have given up everything that makes us think we are alive! – we find Jesus, praying for us, demanding that the tomb of the world as we thought we knew it be unsealed, and calling out to us to rise up anew, not just to be resuscitated into the life we once knew but to rise into something new that embodies the new creation for us, here and now, together.

Amidst all of our struggles and uncertainties, Jesus promises that we are not done yet, that new life can and will take hold in our midst if we are willing to let the old die and to trust the call of the Spirit into something new, that there is something more in store for us and for our world.

So as we stand before the tombs of our lives, wherever and whatever they may be, may we see Jesus standing beside us, weeping along with us, mourning the things that are past, rolling away the stones that seal things up, and calling us to rise up to new life not just so that we can live as we lived before but so that we can better embody the fullness of life we see becoming real in him as he too walks the path through the valley to the cross and conquers death once and for all to make all things new.

May these final days of our Lenten road show us this way as we walk with Jesus – and Jesus walks with us – now and always, trusting that there is something more in store.

Amen.