Stumbling Blocks

Matthew 16:21-28

21From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. 22And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” 23But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

24Then Jesus told his disciples, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 25For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. 26For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life? 27“For the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done. 28Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.”

It’s an interesting story, a very interesting relationship—this relationship between Jesus and Peter which winds its way through our Gospel story. At the very beginning of his ministry, Jesus was calling, calling folks away from their nets and their fish, calling them away from their families, calling them to new life. “’Follow me, and I will make you fish for people,’” Jesus said, calling them and equipping them to fish in a new way, calling and equipping them for a new life of discipleship. Andrew and Simon were the first to be called, and Simon was even given a new name, Cephas, which is Greek for “rock,” translated in our tradition as Peter. Jesus called someone to be his rock, the cornerstone upon which this foundation of ministry could stand, the cornerstone upon with this new life could be built. And those disciples did follow Jesus that day, followed Jesus as he healed the sick and spoke from the mountain, followed him as he blessed and cleansed, followed him as he brought people back to life and gave them food, followed him and learned from him.

Peter, the constant, faithful, and loving disciple of Jesus, thought he got it, thought he understood it all. In the passage preceding ours from today, when Jesus asked, “’Who do people say that the Son of Man is . . . [and] who do you think I am?” Peter excitedly and correctly replied: “’You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.’” And because of that answer, Peter got his own blessing, his own beatitude of sorts:

Blessed are you, Simon of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.

Seriously, could there have been anything better for Peter to hear from Jesus, his friend, his companion, the man he had called “the Messiah?” I mean, Peter had been so inspired by this man that day on the lake that he gave it all up, right then and right there. He left the fishing life, the only life he had ever known, he gave up his livelihood and his family and his ambition—all because this man said, “Come.” And now Jesus was acknowledging to Peter that he was indeed the rock, was indeed the man on whom this new church would soon stand. Jesus was giving Peter the keys to the kingdom, the keys to open so many doors and do so many great things. Surely, if Peter had been following Jesus so closely, he would know how to treat his sister and brother, know how to welcome, know how to give food and drink, know how to heal, know how to deeply love. The time was near—the time to open the doors of heaven—the doors of healing, of welcome, of relief, of love. He had the keys in his hands.

This was Peter’s chance for glory. He had those keys in his hands. But he dropped them. He dropped the keys to the ground when he listened as Jesus predicted his death, when realized that the stuff of Messiahship isn’t easy. You see, it was easy for Peter to proclaim the Messiah when he was following that Messiah around, walking with him, eating and healing with him, talking with him, living life with him. But Jesus then started to bring up this death and resurrection stuff, saying that he didn’t have much time left on this earth, saying that he would soon be put to death. And that’s when things started to get really hard.
Frederick Buechner tells it this way:

. . . if Peter was the only one Jesus ever gave a beatitude of his own to, he was also the only one he ever gave Hell to, at least in quite such a direct way . . . Jesus was saying that to be the Christ, the Son of the living God, wasn’t going to be a bed of roses all the way, and the time wasn’t far off when he’d suffer the tortures of the damned in Jerusalem and be killed. Peter couldn’t take it. “God forbid, Lord. This shall never happen,” he said, and that’s when Jesus lit into him. “Get behind me, Satan,” he said because the rock that Peter was at that point was blocking the grim road that Jesus knew he had to take whether he or Peter or anybody else wanted it that way or not because God wanted it that way, and that was that. “You’re not on God’s side but human’s,” he said. “You’re a rock I’ve cracked my shins on.”

I love that image--Peter has become a rock for Jesus to crack his shins on. It seems that, just as quickly as Jesus had begun to praise Peter the rock, Peter the rock on whom Christ’s church would be built, the rock in Peter’s life just as quickly turned from a cornerstone into a stumbling one, from a rock of foundation into rocks upon the path that can so easily trip folks up. “Please tell me this isn’t so, Jesus, friend, Messiah. This can’t be the way. This can’t be what I, what we have all been doing this for, what we have given everything up for.” You know, I don’t know why Peter so quickly dropped those keys, why he so quickly turned into a stumbling stone. Perhaps he was angry that he had given everything up to follow this man who was now saying he was going to leave. Perhaps he was frustrated because he, himself, wanted the glory that Jesus was sure soon to get. Perhaps he was confused, not truly understanding what Jesus was telling him, or not wanting to understand, anyway. And if he did get what Jesus was saying, perhaps he was sad and distraught at the idea of losing his friend, this Messiah. And perhaps that sadness led to the fear of losing his own life in the same way. Perhaps it was one of these things, perhaps it was all of them combined that led Peter to drop the keys of heaven that day as he stumbled along the blocks of the pathway to heaven.

And Jesus, probably irritated, frustrated, probably angry and sad himself, didn’t let Peter off the hook. “’’Get behind me, Satan!’” he yelled, “’You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.’” The Greek word used for “behind” here has the same root for the word for “follow” in chapter 4, when Jesus first called Peter to follow him, so “behind” doesn’t necessarily signify a place or a location, but a posture. “Come, follow me,” Jesus said then, and “Come, get behind me and follow me,” Jesus said again. Jesus was calling Peter once again, admittedly a little bit more harshly this time, but still calling nonetheless, calling Peter to set his mind on the divine, calling Peter to stop stumbling over himself and his human ideas, calling Peter to remember the divine, to remember why they were doing all of this.

And that reminder to Peter signified that his relationship with Jesus would continue. And although that relationship continued throughout our Gospel story, it was still a rocky one, one filled with more stumbling blocks along the way. Even as they shared their last meal together before the death that Jesus had predicted, Peter promised Jesus that he would never abandon him, never desert him. But that’s exactly what he did. When push came to shove, when faced with the choice of life or death for associating with Jesus, Peter denied that he had ever met this man, his friend, his Messiah. Denied him not just once, but three times. And when he realized what he had done, he wept, wept bitterly. It’s kind of heartbreaking to know that, even at the end, Peter was still a stumbling block standing in Jesus’ way.

You know, I think it’s easy for us to read this story of Jesus and Peter today, to watch their relationship to play out, to wonder how Peter could have been so loyal and some points and disloyal at others, to wonder how he could have been so smart some days and so dense on others. I, too, have often thought to myself, “Gah, Peter! Why in the world did you do that? How could you have been so stupid?” It’s so easy for us to sit back and judge, but, really, isn’t Peter just like us? When we really stop to think about it, would we have been so different from Peter if we had been the ones called from the boat that day? Would we have followed if we were called? Would we have left our livelihoods and our families, our worlds behind, to follow Jesus? What would we have done if this man who we loved so much had told us that we were the rock upon which this church would be built? Wouldn’t we have been thrilled to receive the keys to the kingdom? Wouldn’t we have promised our faithfulness to this Messiah, but then turned on him when things got tough and scary and dangerous and even deadly?

You know, Jesus didn’t just call Peter and his brother out of the boat that day to follow him. He does exactly the same for all of us. Simply because of the fact that each of us has been created in the glorious image of God, we are called to do God’s work in the world, to be the hands and feet of Christ in the world. Because we have been created in the image of God, each of us has the potential to be called the rock, to become the cornerstone for something great and beautiful and peaceful in the world. But because we are also part of a sinful creation, there will be stumbling blocks along the way, just as there were so many for Peter. There will be stumbling blocks that trip us up and keep us from proclaiming and celebrating that Christ is the Messiah. Perhaps fear is our stumbling block—the fear of proclaiming God’s Word because we are scared about the judgment from others; the fear of giving up what we cling to and what makes our lives comfortable--our stuff and our money and our time; the fear of truly having to give up our lives to save the lives of others. Perhaps we stumble because of intimidation—intimidated that we don’t have the adequate words or experiences worthy enough of proclamation. And on the other side, perhaps experience is the stumbling block—maybe we have spent time praying or working in the world and haven’t seen anything evolve from it; maybe we have experienced something so sad or horrific in our lives that we have lost our faith. Perhaps we stumble because we think we have everything that we need, and that we don’t need anything else, especially God. And perhaps we stumble because it all just seems to be so much sometimes—because there is so much violence and fear in the world, so much poverty and injustice, so many natural disaster and human-made ones, so much hatred and sadness that we just really don’t know where to start and shut down as a result.

There are so many ways that we drop the keys to the kingdom, so many ways that we stumble and fall, so many ways we end up blocking the way of Christ, just like Peter did. But the good news is that Jesus never gives up on us. Even though Peter gave up so often on him, Jesus never gave up on Peter. As John’s gospel reminds us, Jesus appeared to Peter and the others after the resurrection—he joined them for breakfast on the beach. After such betrayal, Jesus would have and should have every right to have given up on Peter, but he didn’t. “Peter,” he said, “do you love me?” “Of course I do,” was Peter’s reply. “Then feed my lambs.” Jesus said this three times, echoing Peter’s three time denial of Jesus. Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep. And then, Jesus said this, “Follow me.” Just as the Messiah was resurrected to new life, new life was give to Peter, to each of us. That is the great news of resurrection.

"I Have Redeemed You"

But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.

Isaiah 43:1-2

Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, "I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?" But Jesus answered him, "Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness." Then he consented. And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, "This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased."

Matthew 3:13-17

I always get so excited when our students are asked to lead a retreat for groups in our presbytery, as they were asked to last weekend. It is incredible to see the group come together, talk through the theme, think about Scripture, and walk through keynote times together. Once we have done that, though, I just kind of sit back, let go, and watch them plan individual keynotes as smaller groups. It was such a joy last weekend to hear and see and watch what they had come up with, to watch as they interacted with the junior highs, to watch them get nervous and get emotional and get excited as they led the groups.

We talked about love last weekend, it being Valentine’s Day weekend and all—we talked about love, the philos or brotherly love that Christ calls us to show for each other. The students led us through the story of the Good Samaritan, challenging us to always show our love for each other as we serve each other. We talked about the eros kind of love, the erotic love formed as flirting commences and relationships first begin, the bond of love sowed deeper as folks get to know each other, get to know each other’s hearts and souls. And we talked about agape love, the unconditional love that God shows for every one of us, the love shown in creation, the love shown in God’s community, the love shown in the grace, forgiveness, and reconciliation in Christ.

Wyatt and I worked together last weekend, and we focused on the imagery of water, water that reflects God’s unconditional love for us—the water that was first used to shelter Moses from certain death as his mom laid him in the basket to float to safety, the water that carried him to the Pharoah’s daughter, as she rescued him and loved him as her own. That water reflected the incredible, deep, and unconditional love that these two women had for this little baby. That water of unconditional love carried him to safety and new life.
As we continued to talk about the idea of unconditional love, we talked about the water imagery shown to us through the story of Jesus’ baptism. This story of Jesus’ baptism really is a great one, one of my favorites. I love that Jesus asks John to baptize him, and that even though we are told that John is the one who prepares the way for Christ, prepares all of us for Christ, John is still nervous, indignant, really. “Whoa,” he says, “Don’t I really need to be baptized by you? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Shouldn’t you be the one doing the baptizing?” But Jesus responds, “No, it has to be this way. You baptize me. This will be the first sign of the righteousness that I will be speaking about soon.” So they go down to the Jordan, and John baptizes him, cleanses him, washes him, shows Jesus that he is indeed welcomed into the kingdom. But it doesn’t stop there. As Jesus is washed with the water, the heavens open up. A voice descends like a dove (I really, really love that imagery of the voice soaring and landing like a majestic and beautiful bird). And that voice graces us with beautiful words: “You are my Son, my Beloved, and I am so very pleased with you.” I am so pleased with you.

Those are the words of unconditional love. No matter what, NO MATTER WHAT, you are my Son. My daughter. My child. And I am so very pleased with you. God claimed Jesus that day in the Jordan River, claimed him as a beloved and special Son. And God does the same for us. Baptism is a sign that we are claimed, that we are incorporated into the body of Christ, a sign that we are united with each other, that we are made one in the body of Christ. Baptism reminds us so greatly that we are loved and forgiven and graced unconditionally, that we are beloved. It reminds us that, no matter what, God is with us, walking beside us, welcoming us, loving us.

Whether we are baptized at 8 months or 8 years or 80, even, it is a reminder that God is with us and loving us, that God was with us when we were being formed in our mother’s womb, that God was with us when we came into the world. One of the greatest joys in my life was that I got to baptize my niece—my very first baptism as a minister. I already knew that I loved her unconditionally, that I would do anything for her, that I would live for her or even die for her if I had to, but wow, it really was incredible to baptize her, to say those words to her, that she is loved so greatly. That she is truly one of God’s beloved children. That she will experience such great and deep unconditional love in her life. That she is welcomed into the kingdom of God. What a special day that was!

But these waters of unconditional grace and love are not just given for us at the beginning of our lives—they are waters that wash through our lives each and every day, though every good time and bad time alike, throughout all of our years. The waters of God are there at the beginning of our lives, and they are waters that welcome us home at the end. I love the words from our Old Testament reading today:
But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. 2When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. 3For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

These words from Isaiah have always been very special to me, but they became even more special to me in the wake of Drew Whitten’s death a few years ago. For those of you who are new to our church family, Drew was one of our students—he lived here at the church, was very active in our college group, even served on the committee that called me here. He was kind and humble and generous and faithful and funny and loving. But, unbeknownst to those who loved him so, he was also sad and depressed—so much so that he took his life. As I was sitting in my office right before our prayer service on that awful Saturday, the day after his lovely life came to such an awful end, one of the other students came in my office and said, “Rachel, can I ask you a question? I’ve always heard that someone who takes their life won’t go to heaven. Where do you think he is right now?”

My heart broke all over again, for Drew, for her, for all of us. But I reached out for my Bible and read this passage for her from Isaiah, really because it was the only way I knew how to answer her question. “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you . . . when you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you.” I said to her that I really believe that God would not go through the trouble of creating someone and loving them unconditionally—and then not redeem them. I said to her that he had obviously passed through some really dark and overwhelming rivers, but that God was with him all along the way. I said to her that I could not imagine a God who would take away unconditional love during Drew’s worst time of despair. I’m not sure that I had actually ever said those things before, but I know that I believed them.

Because, friends, I truly believe that the waters of God run deep and wide. Those waters run deep and wide for all of us. These waters of great, unconditional love are waters that carry us to safety, waters that cleanse and nurture us, waters that wash us to something new, waters that carry us from dark times to bright ones, waters that carry us to forgiveness and grace, waters that welcome into God’s family and welcome us home when the time comes. I truly believe that those waters that Moses floated through were waters of salvation, that those baptismal waters in the Jordan that day were waters of grace and welcome and love. I love how one theologian puts it:

Nothing in creation has the power to remind us so fully of the work of our Lord as the common substance of water. This our Lord gives us at baptism as a token of his saving grace, so that from the time of our initiation onward we may be reminded of all our Lord has done for us, so that we may see ourselves as a people united to Christ and to one another [through Christ.]
I love that description of baptism: these waters remind us of God’s enormous, incredible, overwhelming love for us—in good times and bad, over the highest peaks to our lowest, deepest valleys, from the beginning to the end, and everywhere in between. Thanks be to God.

Letting Our Lights Shine

13“You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot. 14“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. 15No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. 16In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.
17“Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. 18For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. 19Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. 20For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

I’ve seen and heard and read the statistics a lot recently, as I’m sure have you. As a minister in a denomination considered to be “graying,” or growing older, and as a minister who works primarily with young adults, the statistics are alarming. While I’ve seen them in many places, I’ll quote them from one source, mainly because lots of different numbers and sources can become overwhelming. The Barna group works primarily with religious groups, resourcing them with research services, helping them to be more effective. In a study from 2007, the Barna group reports that a new generation of adults, ages 16-29, is “more skeptical of and resistant to Christianity that were people of the same age just a decade ago.” The skepticism has grown in this group during the last decade, along with their sense of disillusionment and disengagement with the Christian community. The study looked at 20 specific images, 10 favorable, 10 unfavorable. Among the non-Christians who responded, nine out of the top 12 perceptions were unfavorable—87% of the non-Christians said that Christianity is judgmental; 85% said Christianity is hypocritical; 78% too old-fashioned; 75% too involved in politics. And it didn’t stop with the non-Christians. Half of the Christians interviewed agreed with the same perceptions—judgmental, hypocritical, old-fashioned. They said that Christianity is “too out of touch with reality.” Half. Of the Christians. These stats are pretty alarming to me, and I hope that they are pretty alarming to all of you sitting here today. These stats struck me, but this response really broke my heart: “When young people were asked to identify their impressions of Christianity, one of the common themes was ‘Christianity in today’s society no longer looks like Jesus.’”

Christianity in today’s society no longer looks like Jesus. OUCH. Big ouch. It looks like Christians have lost some serious ground on how we reflect our Savior, on how we do what our Christ tells us to do. How do we look like Jesus? Jesus tells us himself and makes it pretty clear for us. In his sermon from the mount, he lays it out: Be with the poor, both in riches and in spirit. Comfort those who mourn—be with them just when they need their community the most. Be with those who are trying to comfort. Live humble lives. Live in vigilance, constantly seeking God’s will; seek God’s will as if you are starving and dying of thirst. Give mercy and receive it when it is offered. Be pure, in thought, in word, in deed. Make peace. Make peace in a world that so desperately needs it. Stay strong when people are coming out against you.

To look like Jesus, we are called by Jesus himself to remember that we are the salt of the earth, the light of the world. Jesus says to us, “’You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let you light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your [God] in heaven.’”

You know, every time I say the Great Prayer of Thanksgiving when we have communion, I give thanks to God that God sent Christ to earth to be a light for each of us, to illumine us as to how we are supposed to live with each other, serve each other, love each other. Jesus has come to illumine us, to be our light. And he calls us to do and be the same. Jesus calls us to listen and understand instead of being judgmental. Instead of being hypocritical, Jesus calls us to say that we love each other and then actually back it up by loving each other. He calls us to be the light of the world, to be light for others by listening to them, by sharing with them, giving to them, by living for them. Jesus Christ calls us to reflect his light in the world. It’s all that easy, right?

Right. I’m not sure how many of you watched the State of the Union address last week. I thought it was vital that our Senators and House members made an effort to reach across the aisle and sit with folks whose political parties differed from their own. It has always bothered me that they have sat so separately before, that ½ of the room would stand up and cheer for the president of their party, while the other sat on their hands. I was glad to see our congressional representatives sit together, especially in response to the horrific shooting of Representative Giffords. For some time now, a lot of the political narrative and rhetoric in our country has scared me, that our politicians and pundits on every side of the aisle have used violent images as they spoke about people with whom they disagreed; that our politicians and pundits on every side of the aisle have thrown out the term “Nazi” to describe their opposition. Every time I have heard it, I have thought to myself, “You do realize that the Nazis were responsible for the imprisonment and murder of hundreds of thousands of people, don’t you?” And while I don’t believe that our rhetoric compelled a gunman to kill those innocent people that day in Tucson, I certainly don’t think it helped. So, I was very glad to see our elected representatives come together for such an important occasion in our country. But as the address came to an end that night, I found myself wondering what would happen next. Maybe it’s the cynic in me, but I found myself thinking that it was probably pretty easy for these folks to sit next to each other for an hour—an hour in which the President did the speaking, so they really didn’t have to speak to each other, an hour that was televised for the cameras, an hour that probably went by pretty quickly for them. I found myself wondering what would happen next. Would the promise for new rhetoric, for new civility, for new life really change when the cameras go off, when the time comes to truly reach across the aisle and compromise, when the really hard work of working for our country begins? Will the light truly shine then?

I think the same thing goes for us here. It’s easy for us to come here each Sunday, to read the Gospel and hear and see that Jesus calls us to be the light of the world, to see Christ’s light lit by our sweet acolytes. It is pretty easy for us to pass the peace during the 30-second time interval allotted in our service, easy for us to sit next to each other as we are preached and sung to, easy for us to praise God when words and hymns are printed for us, when prayers are said for us. That’s the easy part. But what happens next? What happens when our worship in this place comes to an end and we have to go out and live, love, and serve in our world? What happens when this sacred time ends and the real world of work, school, sports events, homework, band concerts, social events, and so much more takes up the rest of the time in our busy lives? What happens when it’s time for Christ’s light to be carried outside of these sanctuary doors and into the real world? What happens when we are faced with trials, with difficult decisions and difficult people, when we are faced with things that make us uncomfortable or scared, things that challenge every notion and ideal we have ever had?

What happens when, after having gathered here to hear Christ’s word, it is time to leave this place and do Christ’s word, bear Christ’s light, and be Christ-like? As Christ’s people, we can leave this place and be like society expects us to be—hypocritical, uncreative, stale, judgmental. We can hide Christ’s light under a bushel basket, never allowing it to shine so others can see it. In a lot of ways, that is the easiest way to exist in our world. We live in a world where it is easier to quickly walk past a homeless person than to take the time to stop, listen to their story, go buy a meal and a blanket for them. We live in a world where it is easier to demonize someone who disagrees with us rather than sitting and listening to them and trying to understand where they are coming from. We live in a world where it is easier to hurl insults and shoot weapons from afar than to actually look at the whites of someone’s eyes to see that they are a child of God just like we are. We live in a world where it is easier to think in absolutes and blacks and whites than to realize that there is a lot of gray area, a lot of gray area that leaves us uncomfortable with doubts, questions, and uncertainties. The world believes one thing about us and expects us to do it their way, but Jesus Christ calls us to another way of life. Our Christ calls us to something bigger and greater than that. Our Christ calls us to take the time, to make the hard choices. Christ calls us to the hardest things imaginable—to give what we have to help our neighbors, to love our enemies, to be peacemakers, to perhaps even give up our own families or our lives. This isn’t easy stuff, but we are called to do it. We are called to be bearers of Christ’s light in word and deed—by sharing God’s love with others, by showing God’s love for others.

You know, I really do see glimpses of this light-bearing every day. I see it in all of you as you open the doors of this sanctuary, of this church to our students, to other folks in the community who are desperately seeking some financial help through PCM. I saw it in our students 2 weeks ago as they went to Atlanta to share with our homeless brothers and sisters—they made meals and gave out warm clothing, but most importantly, they sat and listened to the stories of their new friends whom they met that day. Those are images that our students will carry with them for the rest of their lives. That is some light-bearing.

There was picture circulating on the internet this week, and I hope some of you saw it. It was a stunning, beautiful picture taken by a newsperson in Egypt. In the midst of hundreds of thousands of protesters, in the midst of chaos, really, a small group of Egyptian Muslims realized that it was one of their times during the day for a call to prayer. When Muslims pray, they fall on their knees and bow. In this position, it would be easy for these prayers to be run over in the mass of protestors. A small group of Egyptian Christians, seeing the potential harm, gathered around the Muslims—they gathered in a circle and held hands around the Muslims so that they could pray during this dangerous time, protected them so that they could pray in safety. Instead of being judgmental of folks who practice another religion, those Christians were open and loving. Instead of being hypocritical by saying that only Christians should be allowed a time of prayer, they opened up that prayer space for their friends. That small group of Christians shared God’s word as they held hands that day, spread Christ’s love as they allowed their brothers and sisters to pray. Wow. That is some Christ-bearing, some light bearing, if I’ve ever seen it.

I do see these glimpses of light every day, but we are obviously not doing enough. There is a lot of pain, a lot of destruction, a lot of hurt in the world. We see it every time we walk down the street, every time we turn on the television, every time we pay attention to each other. That is why we need to turn our small glimpses of light into everlasting light, light that can never be hidden.

My Heart is Hurting

My heart is hurting this morning. It's been hurting since Saturday. It's actually been hurting for a long while now. About a year ago, I got a call from the church receptionist telling me that there was a young man upstairs looking to talk to someone. Our custodian brought him downstairs, and I immediately recognized him as a young man who worked at Target--pretty sad that I go there so much that I know their employess, but that's another story for another day. Although this was the first time I had met him, I could see sadness in his eyes. I asked him where the sadness was coming from, and he told me that he was a gay 19-year-old, that he had grown up in a very religious family who had shunned him and turned him away when he came out to them. It broke my heart that his family--any family--could do that to someone they loved. Even though my family certainly doesn't agree on much or see eye-to-eye on many things, I could tell them anything about myself and they would still love me anyway--for that, I am very grateful. This young broke my heart, and I told him that, even though he didn't feel much love from his family, that God loved him dearly. He told me that I was the first person who had reminded him of that since he had come out. Heartbreaking.

When I served on the Church Orders and Ministry Committee at General Assembly this summer, the committee heard stories from folks who came and beared their hearts to us. Some told us that they had been with someone from the same gender and had come to see it as sin and repented of their actions. Some shared with us that they had felt same-gender attraction but had never acted upon it. Some told us that Jesus had saved them from a "homosexual lifestyle" (their words). Some told us that they had had gay Sunday school teachers and youth leaders who were the best and most creative and most wonderful teachers that they had ever had in the church. And others told us that God created them gay, that their parents had always loved and accepted them wholeheartedly, and that they felt called to serve the Lord in the church--the church who was struggling over whether or not to validate that call. All heartbreaking.

My heart has been broken since this past Saturday, as my family and I were walking to Jordan-Hare Stadium for the Auburn game. There were 3 teenagers in front of us, one a young man dressed in skinny jeans and a tight t-shirt. One group of folks walked past him and a student yelled at him--for no reason--"Hey, did you know that you're gay?" I couldn't believe it. And then, 30 seconds later, another student who was walking the opposite way intentionally changed his course and walked right into this young man. The young man said, "Hey, watch where you're going!" And the student yelled a slur back at him, a two word slur, both words starting with the letter F. To say that I was pissed off was putting lightly. Reacting with my own anger, I yelled back at the student, "I can't believe you just said that! So inappropriate and so wrong!" I was pissed, but I now admit that it probably wasn't the best way to approach the situation. I patted the young man on the back, telling him how sorry I was that it had just happened and he thanked me. My heart broke for this young man, that in a span of 30 seconds, he was abused physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

And now, three stories have come out this week about young gay men who have been abused. A thirteen-year-old attempted suicide after being subjected to gay slurs from his classmates. He was just taken off life support: http://www.aolnews.com/surge-desk/article/seth-walsh-dies-after-suicide-attempt-another-teen-bullied-over-perceived-sexuality/19653569. A freshman at Rutgers University jumped off a building this week after his roommate, without his consent, videotaped him having sex with another man and put it online: http://www.nj.com/news/index.ssf/2010/09/hold_new_rutgers_post.html. And in the most unbelievable case of all, an assistant DA in Michigan is harassing the student body president at the University of Michigan: http://articles.cnn.com/2010-09-28/us/michigan.justice.blog_1_gay-student-student-government-minority-students?_s=PM:US. Seriously--there is an assistant district attorney for the state of Alabama who is an elder at my church, and I know how much time his job takes up, how busy he is, how hard he works. Does this guy in Michigan need more work to do instead of harassing this college student?

My heart is breaking today. I have seen with my own eyes how young gay folks are harassed, and I can't imagine having to live with that kind of crap every day. The suicide stories break my heart, perhaps because I have experienced the suicide of someone who was and is so dear to me. It still hurts each day, and I know the aftershocks that suicide leaves for family, friends, and the community. This has to stop. A twitter post from the Unvirtuous Abbey this morning sums up why my heart is broken: "Lord, you who placed a child on your knee & said the kingdom belongs to such as these, we pray for teens bullied b/c of their sexuality. Amen." Jesus said to them, "Let the little children come unto me, for it is as such to these that the kingdom of God belongs." Let it be so.

The Chasm Always With Us--sermon 9/26/10

The Chasm Always With Us

19 "There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and lived in luxury every day. 20 At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores 21 and longing to eat what fell from the rich man's table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores. 22 "The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham's side. The rich man also died and was buried. 23 In hell, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. 24 So he called to him, 'Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.' 25 "But Abraham replied, 'Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony. 26 And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.' 27 "He answered, 'Then I beg you, father, send Lazarus to my father's house, 28 for I have five brothers. Let him warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment.' 29 "Abraham replied, 'They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.' 30 " 'No, father Abraham,' he said, 'but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.' 31 "He said to him, 'If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.' "

Luke 16:19-31

The chasm was there, then, so long ago. The great chasm between the rich and poor, between the popular and forgotten, the chasm between the healthy and the sick, between those who had much and those who had nothing at all. There was a rich man, a man who was dressed in purple linen, as our story tells us—the purple linen of royalty that signified his status in the world as rich. Our story tells us that he lacked for nothing. His clothes were expensive and luxurious, his table covered with the best food at each meal. The man, when compared to the man who lay at his gates, was presumably healthy. This rich man had all that he needed, or so he thought. And then there was the poor man, Lazarus, who laid at the opulent gates of the rich man. He spent his days begging for food because he had nothing, even content to eat the scraps that fell from the table, the scraps normally reserved for the dogs of the home. His body was covered with sores, and he probably didn’t have enough clothes to wear to cover himself—for as the story tells us, even the dogs came and licked at his festering wounds.

Sadly, the chasm still exists today. There were two women, both in their late twenties, both employed by a church. One woman, though far from having the riches that the man in our story had, was rich in many ways. She was raised in a stable home by two parents who had been raised in Alabama, whose parents had valued education, whose parents had never had to endure the legacies of slavery or discrimination. The woman’s parents placed a high value on education—and although they sometimes had to work 2 jobs at a time to make sure their children had everything they needed, as well as money for college, they did it. As the woman was growing up, she always had ample meals and clothes for her body and a comfortable bed to sleep in under the shelter of a secure roof. Since her parents had always valued education so much, there was never any doubt that the woman would be able to go to college—and she did. Although she paid off loans until just a few years ago, she was able to go to a prestigious liberal arts college and then on to get her masters of divinity in seminary. The woman was able to find a full time job as an associate pastor for youth ministry, one with more than enough pay and ample health care benefits. Although she wasn’t one of our society’s highest wage earners, she was able to put more than enough food on her table, buy the work clothes that she needed from first-hand stores, buy gifts for her niece and nephew, and even spend some money on nice trips around the world. She was even able to save up and move from renting into home ownership, all the while saving a little money. She gave money to her church’s annual Thanksgiving Meal drive, and took pleasure in taking the meals to folks who couldn’t afford to come get them for themselves.

And the other woman? She was born into a poorer family, a family whose members had been subject to the discrimination of the South, especially the woeful discrimination that came from being an African-American in the state of Alabama. She was born into a family in which her relatives were lucky enough to graduate from high school without the option of college. Since she had graduated from high school, this woman had been working two part-time jobs, one as a nursery worker at the church and the other as a cashier/food preparer at a local buffet in town. She loved her job as a nursery worker, raising those children as though they were her own, sending them postcard for their birthdays even though she could barely afford stamps, buying them small gifts for them at the dollar store. Although she was one of the hardest and most loyal workers around, she was never offered the benefits of good health insurance—instead she had to depend on Medicaid. At one point, she even had to turn down the small raise that the church was offering her since it would put her just above the poverty line, forcing her off of Medicaid to look for more expensive health care. Since her second job required her to work odd hours, she always had to find care for her two children, care that came from relatives since she couldn’t afford child care. Since she only earned minimum wage, she barely able to afford the needs of her life such as groceries, power bills, and second-hand clothing for her children and herself, much less any “wants.” True, she had a roof over her head, but it wasn’t a nice one—it was certainly not big enough for her needs. And instead of giving to the aforementioned Thanksgiving meal drive, this woman came and asked for 2 sets of meals for her family each year.

These two women loved each other as dear friends, and one of them was very sad to leave her friend as she accepted a new call as a campus minister here in Auburn. In many ways, they were the same, but in so many others, they were so different. The chasm between the rich and the poor was certainly easily seen and felt between them. The chasm has always been with us—and sadly that chasm between the rich and the poor has only deepened and widened in the last few years. For those of us who come from the perspective of the rich man, and let’s face it—that is most of us gathered here simply because of the fact that we are Americans, it is so hard to look around us and see the pain of poverty that exists in the world. It is so much easier to ignore it or overlook it or walk right past it or ease our own guilt by saying, “They are just like me-they just made a mistake that helped them end up like this. It’s their fault.”

It is so much easier to be selfish and make excuses and walk through life with blinders on, so much easier to think that we are all the same, all have the same opportunities, the same chances, to think that we can all end up in the same place if we just try hard enough. I love how Barbara Brown Taylor puts it:
Most of us learned a long time ago that the chief person we are responsible for is ourselves. We have been put on earth to love our neighbors, but changing their lot in life is up to them, not us . . . the great American myth is that anyone willing to work hard can win first prize. It might be true if everyone were standing at the same starting line when the gun went off, but that is never the case. Some start from so far back that they can run until their lungs burst and never even see the dust of the front runners. Those are the hardest cases . . . people who have inherited poverty as surely as they have inherited brown eyes or curly hair . . . who hear the starting gun go off and do not even know which way to run.

You see, contrary to what our culture encourages us to believe, I truly believe that we don’t line up next to each other at the starting line—that some of us start so far back that we can never dream of the day when we might pull ahead, never even dream of passing leader at the front of the line. Contrary even to what the church sometimes encourages us to believe through the prosperity gospel—that if we work hard enough for God and trust God enough and pray to God enough, that God will bless us with monetary riches, I believe that there are some folks who, while they are dirt poor in monetary riches, have the deepest and truest and most pure faith in Christ that there is (and my co-worker in Decatur is one of those folks, one of the most faithful people I know). I also truly believe that this loving our neighbors stuff is the core of the gospel of Christ. Every single thing that Christ does reminds us, teaches us, chastises us, commands us to love our neighbors. We are called to love our neighbors by not assuming that their mistakes in life have brought them to their lowest points, but by asking them their life stories, listening to them with intent and purpose. We are called to love our neighbors not by judging or condemning them, but by sharing our faith experience, our faith story with them—and by opening ourselves up to hear theirs. We are called to love our neighbors not by walking over them as they beg at our doorsteps, but by picking them up, welcoming them, giving them the clothes off our back and preparing a feast for them.

The chasm between the rich and the poor is a constant and everlasting refrain in our world, and probably always will be. Jesus does say, after all, that the poor will always be with us. And I think part of the reason he says that is because we constantly fail to do our part for the poor. The chasm is with us, but our challenge—our call—is to make that chasm much less big, much less broad, much less wide. For as much as Jesus says that the poor will be with us, he says so much more that the rich are called to give everything that they have, to feed people, to clothe them, to give them drink, to give them shelter, to listen to them, to share with them, to give them relief. There is a thread that runs through our faith tradition, a thread that runs through the laws of Moses, through the stories of the prophets, a thread that comes to ultimate expression in through the teaching of Christ—the thread that tells us that God’s side is with the poor, the thread that inspires Jesus to command that we give all that we have and all that we are, the thread that tells us that giving is the essential and necessary and life-giving.

It is true that the chasm between the rich and poor is always with us, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t work our hands to the bone trying to make it smaller, work our hands to the bone trying to make the distance between the starting line and the back of the pack a little shorter. There is a constant thread, a constant refrain that runs through the Gospel—the refrain that tells us to do something about the chasm between the rich and the poor. It is there. So are we going to listen?

My Shepherd Will Supply My Need

You know, I really, really wish that I had a good singing voice. Or that I could play an instrument (I played handbells at church when I was a teenager, but had to mark the notes in red for my left hand and green for my right--so that doesn't really count). I know that God has given me many and varied gifts, but music is not one of them--at least not the ability to play it or make it. But God has given me the gift of loving music. From the very first time I heard the Indigo Girls over 20 years ago, I have loved them. There is something about their lyrics and their harmony and their message that still moves me to this day. I love the music from Broadway musicals--from the story of struggling artists who live and love as each day is their last in "Rent" to the idea of how quickly we can judge folks and deem them as "Wicked," to the story of war and love and revolution that is told in "Les Miserables."

Music is something that is so dear to my heart, and no music moves me more than hymns. For me, Advent does not truly begin until we sing "Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus" (even sang it during my ordination service), and Good Friday does not truly happen until we sing "Were You There?" One hymn will always hold a special place in my heart because it was sung at the funerals of two women whom I loved dearly--one of my second moms, Jeanne Isaacs, and my Granny. The last verse of "Love Divine, All Loves Excelling" is sung this way: "Finish then, thy new creation, pure and spotless let us be. Let us see thy new salvation, perfecly restored in thee. Changed from glory into glory, til in heaven we take our place. Til we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love and grace." Kind of shines a new light on the meaning of resurrection, doesn't it?

These hymns hold a very special place in my heart, but a new one jumped out at me during our worship today at First Pres., Auburn. I'm not sure why it moved me so, but it did. Here are the words:


My Shepherd will supply my need; Jehovah is His Name. In pastures fresh He makes me feed, beside the living stream. He brings my wandering spirit back when I forsake His ways, and leads me, for His mercy’s sake, in paths of truth and grace.

When I walk through the shades of death, thy presence is my stay; one word of Your supporting breath drives all my fears away. Your hand, in sight of all my foes, does still my table spread; my cup with blessings overflows, Your oil anoints my head.

The sure provisions of my God attend me all my days; O may Your house be my abode, and all my work be praise. There would I find a settled rest, while others go and come; no more a stranger, or a guest, but like a child at home.


I really don't know why it moved me so much today or struck me the way it did. Perhaps it's because I've been thinking so much about our Muslim brothers and sisters in the light of the New York Muslim community center--and because of this crazy pastor in Florida who thought he could and should use religion as a wedge to further divide and alienate us from each other. Where he sees "foes" in Muslims, I see "guests," guests who should be welcomed at the table instead of thrown away from it. This hymn helped me verbalize what I've been feeling for some time now--that God sets a table for all of us, welcomes us, anoints us, and calls us home, and that, instead of fighting each other to the point of alienation over our differences, we should sit down and eat and talk and share about what unites us.

Maybe this hymn moved me so much today because I've been thinking about my friend Drew, one of my students, who took his own life almost 3 years ago now. I actually have thought about him every day since then, but my thoughts have intensified over the past few weeks. One of my students and I were talking about that whole experience the other day, and I told him that I wouldn't have made it through those long months after the funeral without the help and support of my faith community--that when I couldn't say affirmations of faith, my community said them for me. When I didn't even have the energy to say a prayer, my faith community said them for me. This hymn helped me to realize that, when I walked through the shades of death, God was present for me in the form of so many folks who asked me how I was doing, folks who said prayers for me, people who hugged me or simply sat with me as my tears fell. They were God's "supporting breath" for me. The faith community was and is a "blessing" for me, and Drew's brother, Daniel (who is now an awesome PSFer at Auburn) is certainly a blessing through is faithfulness. Now that I think about it, God did bring my wandering spirit back and provided me with living water. And God is still at work, providing that living water in my times of doubt and questions and in my times of wander.

There is just something that moved me about this hymn today. Who knows--maybe it will happen again next week. Maybe it won't. But I'll be listening--and singing!

"Font and Table"--sermon 7/25/10

Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying,the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; and with you I am well pleased.” Luke 3:21-22

When I really sit down to think about it, I’ve had some pretty amazing worship experiences during the last few weeks. Between the worship times at General Assembly and the Montreat Youth Conference, I have worshiped with almost 10,000 other Presbyterians, made baptismal promises for a child who lives in Minnesota, and feasted at the Lord’s table twice. I’ve seen banners and streamers and folks in tribal dress; I’ve heard music that sounded like storms, music that caused people to dance and clap; I’ve heard children and youth lead liturgy (there’s really nothing more humbling that an 8-year-old little girl leading the confession liturgy)—all of these in honor of our Lord. I will never forget these images, but one image in particular stuck out for me—it stuck out because it opened our worship both at GA and Montreat. The themes of these conferences revolved around water, so participants were asked to bring a little water from their home contexts. As the beautiful baptismal fonts sat before us, we brought water from the Mississippi River, from Lake Martin, from the west coast, oil-filled water from the Gulf. Water was brought from the Cahaba River to represent our presbytery’s hope in Living River; water was brought from camp and conference centers from all over the country, and I’m pretty sure that some plain old tap water was poured in those fonts. During each opening service, we poured our water into the font and watched as it became mixed with water from all over the country. This water represented the fact that, even though we all came from different places, we are tied together by the streams of water that run through our lives each day, by the streams of water that tie us together.

Water. The stats are amazing—our bodies are about 70% made of water, and while we can go without eating for about a month, our bodies can only last for a week without water. Water covers about 75% of the earth’s surface. These stats are amazing, but there are also some that are staggering. Listen to these amazing things that I found at water.org: ¾ of the world’s surface is covered with water, but less than 1% of that is sustainable, clean drinking water. While the United States uses 346,000 million gallons of water each day, 2.5 billion of our brothers and sisters around the world go without access to clean water. While we have access to great health care here, almost 20 children around the world die each second because of water-borne disease. An American taking a five-minute shower (and I took a 1- minute one this morning) uses more water than a typical person in a developing country slum uses in a whole day. And while I, as an American woman, can simply just turn my faucet on for that 10 minute shower, in just one day more than 200 million hours of other womens’ time is consumed for the most basic of human needs — collecting water for domestic use. And the most staggering thought about water? There is a great deal of thought that our next world war might be fought over the scarcity of water.

We all need water, we can’t live without it. As water streams through our bodies each day, it streams through our lives and keeps us alive. As water comes through so many sources and gets mixed in so many different streams, lakes, and oceans, water ties us together with our brothers and sisters all the way around the world. And, as folks who call ourselves Christians, water streams through our story. Streams of water flow through our Bible—from the very beginning of creation, when the wind from God sweeps over the face of the waters, to the very last chapter of Revelation, where the angel shows John the luscious fruit and beautiful trees at the throne of the lamb—vegetation that has been fed by the streams of the river.

In our story, there are the waters of growth and creation:
--The swarms of living creatures that are brought out of the water in the very beginning;
--The river of God that creates green earth and luscious pastures and grain to eat in the valley, as told in Psalm 65;
--God’s blessing on the folks of Israel as water is poured on the thirsty land and descendants are brought forth, as told by Isaiah.

There are the waters of desperation and chaos:
--The waters that destroy the earth and leave behind a path of destruction for Noah and his loved ones;
--The storm waters that scare the disciples to death as they call out to Jesus for safety;
--And the waters that clean Pilate’s dirty and guilty hands when he hands Jesus over to be crucified.

There are the waters of safety:
--The waters in the bulrushes that take Moses away from impending death into new life;
--The water sprung by the angel in the wilderness so that Hagar and Ishmael aren’t left to die;
--The waters that come from the rock struck by Moses so that the Israelites don’t die of thirst.

And, then, there are the waters of new life and salvation:
--The waters from the pool of Siloam which clean the mud off of the blind man’s eyes, setting him free to see once more;
--The waters of life given to the woman at the well as Jesus says, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal --life.”

--The waters of forgiveness and baptism that cleanse and transform Saul to his new life as Paul.

These streams of water are mighty, they are constant, and they are life-changing. As these streams of water run through our Christian story, through our lives, they cleanse and mark us as people of God. God has birthed us through the waters of creation; God has sent rivers and streams to give us drink when we are on the brink of death; God has blessed us with water and given us living water when we didn’t think we had any chances left; God has given us water to provide the food of lush vegetation; and most importantly, God has claimed us in the waters.
As Jesus is baptized by John in the Jordan River, the heavens opens up—and God echoes the creation words of “it is good” with the words, “You are my Son, the beloved, and with you, I am well pleased.” In the Jordan, and at the font, God claims us as God’s own. For you see, no matter how sinful we might be, God washes us clean with the waters in this font of grace. No matter how chaotic our lives may become or how empty we may feel, God embraces us with the waters in this font of love. And no matter how lonely we may feel, God welcomes us with the waters in this font of acceptance.

In these waters, God tells us that we are indeed good, that we are indeed loved so greatly. And because we are claimed, because we are forgiven, because we are accepted and cleansed and embraced, then we have no other choice but to go out and do the same. We have no other choice but to be living water for our sisters and brothers. We have no other choice but to go out and provide water purification systems—and I’m so glad that we are doing that in Mexico through Living Waters for the World. Because we have been given living water, we have no other choice but to go out and use less water so there’s more to go around, no other choice but to go out and be Christ’s hands and feet and provide sustainable, clean drink to those who are thirsty, no other choice to discover paths of peace and giving instead of fighting for our most basic needs. As we sit near this font today, and as we are filled at Christ’s table, let us then go from this place to act as Christ’s fulfilled people in the world. For as the very last verses of our Bible tell us, “The Spirit and the Bride say, ‘Come.’ And let everyone who hears say, ‘Come.’ And let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.” Let anyone wishes take the water of life as a gift. Thanks be to God, who gives the gift. Amen.