No sermon today, just a sweet pageant with the children and a fun puppet play with a Christmas message. Watch the video!
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The backdrop for what we just heard read (Isaiah 40:1-11) may be found in the previous chapter, 39 and verse 6, “Days are coming when all that is in your house, and that which your ancestors have stored up until this day, shall be carried to Babylon.” And so for some, it came to pass.
Our passage this morning is structured as a prophetic commission. Much like the divine council’s commissioning in Isaiah 6, “Whom shall I send?” This, among many other factors, help us to separate Isaiah of Jerusalem, that is, the first 39 chapters of the prophetic corpus that is the Book of Isaiah from Isaiah of Babylon or Second Isaiah who is distinct from the former, and whose work comprises chapters 40-55, taking place a generation after First Isaiah.
In our passage, God exclaims comfort, and exhorts a messenger to speak to the heart of Jerusalem. Another voice from the divine council chimes in exuberantly, “In the wilderness clear a way for the LORD God.” And then another voice adds, “make a proclamation!” The intended recipient inquires, “What shall I proclaim?” But then a seemingly voice of dissent interrupts and interjects that all flesh is fleeting. Uhm, hello? where’s the hope in that, right? Thankfully, their voice is not the last, and we hear another, “Yes, the grass withers and the flower fades, but the word of God, who just said “comfort,” endures forever.
Today is the first Sunday in Advent, and the first day of a new year on the Christian calendar. The season of “Advent” is a time of “waiting,” “watching,” and “preparing” for Christmas. We decorate our homes and churches. We light Advent candles, create nacimientos, sing carols, practice the Christmas Pageant, and trot out ancient family recipes, cook for days, and put on a few pounds along the way.
Theologically speaking, Advent is a time when we live in the “already-not-yet.” On the one hand, we are already aware and celebrate the good news that Christ was born over 2000 years ago, and on the other, we are keenly aware that the mission of Christ has not yet been fulfilled.
As long as wars rage, injustice prevails anywhere, and hopes are dashed—we live in the not-yet of Advent. We live between the time when some of what was proclaimed by the prophets and evangelists has already been fulfilled, and the time when those visions will be completely realized.
The sharp contrast between what is and what will be is painful. That pain is felt most acutely by people whose nations are at war, those who live in poverty, those who are gravely ill or infirmed, those who are grieving, and those who are enduring great injustices.
On the face of it, “The Great Judgment” in Matthew 25 suggests that there are two kinds of people in the world: sheep and goats. The sheep take care of the vulnerable and are going to heaven. The goats do not, so they are destined to hell.
I confess, on my less charitable days, I feel drawn to this literal interpretation of Matthew 25 even though I don’t think it’s correct. I’m drawn to it because I'm sick and tired of watching vulnerable people suffer.
While I do think that God sides with the vulnerable, I think that taking a literal interpretation of The Great Judgment is wrong. And, it’s wrong because the larger heuristic of the New Testament teaches that we are saved by grace, not by works.
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I am willing to guess that there are a number of you out there who have never heard a sermon about the biblical characters of Deborah and Jael, and probably a few who have never heard a sermon preached from the book of Judges. I grew up in the church, and among all the many sermons I’ve heard, I don’t remember a single one that focused on these fascinating, powerful women from the Hebrew Bible. And what a shame that is!
I think there are several possible reasons for this. First of all, there’s sexism and patriarchy. I bet you are familiar with one story from Judges: the story of Samson and Delilah. Patriarchy is accustomed to highlighting scandalous women as temptresses. But patriarchy often doesn’t quite know how to approach strong, competent women who take charge and leave their male counterparts in the dust—or, in this case, asleep with a tent peg hammered through the brain.
Also, the book of Judges is totally problematic, especially to modern, mainline, progressive Christians. It is full of violence, with a God that seems judgmental and oppressive, rather than loving. It’s a hard work to read, and a hard one to preach. Since very few people, including most progressive mainline preachers, have studied the book much, it takes a lot of prep work and teaching to prepare a sermon on it. It’s hard to find the good news in a book that, by the end of it, devolves into chaos and depravity.
Finally, and this is probably related to this problematic nature of Judges, the book barely appears in the Revised Common Lectionary, the three-year cycle of biblical readings that follows the seasonal liturgical calendar. Many mainline protestant preachers preach from this lectionary; your preachers here at Eden usually do. But in the Revised Common Lectionary, a reading from the Book of Judges appears only once in the whole three-year cycle. That day is today. It is, at least, the story of Deborah, but it’s only the first seven verses of Chapter Four, which is only a teaser for the story and doesn’t complete the narrative. With such a brief appearance in the cycle—that doesn’t even tell the whole story—it’s no wonder that most preachers take a look at the lectionary, and choose to preach on the gospel reading instead, which is the story of the talents from Matthew. I know you’ve heard a few sermons on that one.
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Have y’all heard the story about the lobster diver, Michael Packard, in Massachusetts? It’s a whale of a tale! Michael Packard, a commercial lobster diver from Cape Cod was out in the Atlantic in 2021 and suddenly found himself enclosed within the mouth of none other than a humpback whale. The story was so riveting that filmmakers have turned it into a feature-length documentary, which was presented at the Cape Ann Film Festival this year. Now, after about 30 seconds of struggle and panic the whale did spew Michael out, but with a dislocated knee. In thirty seconds his life changed. He made it back to Provincetown though. Go to inthewhale.com to see more.
While the film’s tagline is “the greatest fish story ever told,” today, we heard one even greater. And yes, I think as of 2021, we can safely state that yes this could have actually happened–at least for 30 seconds– perhaps not for three days.
Jonah in English, Yonah in Hebrew, Yunus in Arabic, and Jonás in Spanish, is one of my favorite books of the Bible. Jonah is a decentering text, a narrative challenging of worldview. Jonah is the only prophet tasked with the heavy burden of not just prophesying to his own people, but also to non-Israelites and non-Judahites. God asks him to say a word directly to empire. What would you say given such an opportunity?
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My dear friend, the Rev. Ann B. Day, a founding member of the UCC Coalition for Lesbian & Gay Concerns and the UCC Open & Affirming Movement, tells this story about her first experience as a child of attending a family reunion.
She recounted how multiple generations and distant relations gathered in a public park in her hometown of Richmond, Virginia.
The smell of barbeque wafted from every grill. The laughter of children was interspersed with the clanking of playground equipment while the adults readied their picnic site for the noon meal.
Several picnic tables were lined end-to-end to create the buffet line for a smorgasbord rivaling Valhalla. Participants had various reasons for attending the reunion, but all were united by the lure of home cooked foods.
After everyone had filled their plate and the dessert course was laid out, the old folks circled up their chairs for conversations about the good ol’ days, and updates on the wellbeing of those who were MIA.
The elders savored these sacred times, but little Ann—not so much. She had worn herself out on the playground, and was needing a nap.
Instead of grabbing a blanket from the car and taking a rest under a shade tree, Ann started to make a fuss--the kind that caused her grandmother to give her mother “the evil eye.”
The usual shushing didn’t work with Ann at that moment, so her mother simply looked her in the eye, and said, “Do you know what’s wrong with you?”
Little Ann was stymied by the question, and said nothing.
Her mother broke the silence with this pronouncement: “You have ancestors!”
When I was an English teacher, I used to dread final exams. It wasn’t just that I dreaded grading them, which was a huge task, since I almost always gave essay finals. That was a lot of reading at the end of the semester. But it was also the creation of the exam that was hard. Because in order to elicit the information you’re looking for from your students, you have to ask the right questions. Sometimes a poorly worded question will send students off in the wrong direction altogether. There’s a story floating around the Internet that is an example of this. It’s probably not a real story, but it’s a good illustration of this point: there was a geology professor who wanted his students to give some information about the difference between the minerals found on the Earth, and the minerals found on the moon on the final exam. So here was his question: “What are three things that are found on the moon that are not found on the Earth?” One smart aleck student answered it this way: Bruce Springsteen, roller skates, and the Republican party. It’s very important to ask the right question.
One thing to remember about questions, whether they’re being asked by a teacher on a final exam, or just by a lost person asking for directions, is that each question has an agenda behind it. That agenda might be trying to find out if the students were paying attention all semester, or it might be simply how to get to the museum. But every question carries an agenda with it and says something about the person asking the question.
My maternal grandmother, Mary Joy Chesick Thomsen, was the smartest person I’ve ever known. Correction: she was the “wisest” person whom I’ve ever known. She was the first person to tell others that she was not that smart. She had her arguments, and they had merit. Examples follow:
She didn’t go to Kindergarten.
She didn’t get to go to High School like she wanted.
She didn’t know how to “work” any of these “modern things.”
I listened to Grandma’s arguments out of respect, but I never agreed with her. Even when I was a smarty-pants teenager or when I was picking up those fancy diplomas. I listened to Grandma, because I knew she knew what she knew. Occasionally she would quietly share her truth, and my sister and I were smart enough to listen. And her lessons have made all the difference in my life--and hopefully others--because I have tried to pass on to others what she has passed on to me.
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It may not surprise you that I was never much of a runner--not even in high school, not even before I underwent two knee surgeries, or suffered a series of joint injuries. This body just wasn’t built for speed, yet I once had the capacity to stay on my feet all day, in the fields of Iowa, and do whatever needed to be done on our family farm.
Despite my obvious design flaws for foot racing, I was--you heard it here first--a member of the Reinbeck High School Girls’ Track Team.
I was a member of my high school’s girls’ track team for some of the same reasons that I was a member of my high school choir.
In the case of the choir, I could sing tenor, but more importantly, I was willing to set up and put away the risers before and after concerts. This fact is, in part, why I am president of the Eden Church Music Boosters.
In the case of our track program, I was on the track team because track included field events. For the uninitiated, the field events in Iowa girls track, since Title 9 was passed, included the shot put, discus, softball throw, long jump, high jump, and pole vault.
My twin (Marlene) and I competed in the first three field events that I just mentioned.
We learned quickly that winning field events, much less simply training for them, did not land a person’s name in the news headlines--not even Reinbeck, which then only published one paper, a weekly, called the Courier. What did you expect? The population then was 1800. The town is smaller now, and the paper folded years ago. (Gotcha punsters!)
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Today is World Communion Sunday, Church! Today we celebrate communion with many of the world’s 2.4 billion Christians, the world’s largest religion. We’re so big, Christianity, is as Forest Gump said, “like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.” There’s so much variation among us. Just here in the U.S., Christianity is quite a spectrum. I know we know all too well about that. And yet communion highlights for most of us–not all of us–a distinct point of unity. That’s what I’d like us to reflect on today, communion.
This past week in Bible Study we had 18 individuals share their family migration narratives. It was wonderful to hear all the crossings of rivers from Czech, Ukraine, Germany, Sweden, England, Ireland, Scotland, Mexico, El Salvador, Africa, the Philippines, and Vietnam, among other places in between. We didn’t discuss what might have been our ancestor’s communion traditions, but we could have, and I bet they would have been localized and varied. The importance here is unity and not uniformity.
To celebrate this special communion Sunday, I have on the communion table the first communion set given to me, by our congregation in Mexico City, Shalom Tlalpan. The plate is large enough for a good loaf of bread or many tortillas, and the chalice doubles as a coffee mug, a nod to our café con leche group. Shalom Tlalpan is a congregation that is part of a larger house church network in Latin America, and they rotate their meeting spaces among different houses. Most house churches have around 40 members, so when they grow much more than that, they spin off other house churches that also become part of the larger network. Not at all unlike how Paul and the early christians grew Christianity--there were no mega churches with escalators, starbucks, and stage lighting in the first century.
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Think back for a few moments to your childhood, or—if that’s a little challenging—to the childhood of your children or grandchildren. What words were most frequently heard coming out of your children’s mouths? I’d like to think that I often said, “I love you,” or “Thank you,” or “Let me help.” But I’m afraid that I probably said other less loving things more often than I’d like to admit. How many times did I say, “That’s not fair!” That’s not fair!” How many times have you heard this coming out of your children’s mouths—or out of your own?
It’s not fair that I have an earlier bedtime than my brother (even though he’s six years older than I am). It’s not fair that ALL my friends are seeing that movie and I don’t get to (even though it’s rated R and probably inappropriate for me). It’s not fair that I worked really hard on that assignment and still didn’t get an A (even though math is really not my best subject).
You’ve probably heard similar things from your own children, or remember saying them to your parents. It seems that all of us are born with an innate sense of fairness, which is mostly a good thing. When fairness develops into maturity, it is the foundation for social justice. It’s people with a sense of fairness who abolished slavery, who instigated the civil rights, women’s rights, and LGBT rights movements, who changed voting laws and marriage laws and created Medicare and Social Security and many other laws that make our society a more just and livable one.
Today’s text offers us a window on an early Christian community’s struggle with grace and forgiveness. Just in case we don’t have forgiveness all figured out--or some of us have trouble remembering or acting like we know that we are forgiven.
The passage opens with Peter questioning Jesus about how many times one should forgive. The traditional rabbinic response was “three times.” Peter ventures a more generous proposal saying, “seven times.” Jesus’ response was grandiose by comparison. According to Matthew, Jesus tells Peter to forgive “seventy times seven.” The implication of Jesus’ response is that we have not truly forgiven another if we are keeping score.
Jesus goes on to offer the following illustration: a royal official had accumulated an astronomical debt to his king. When the king demanded payment, the official begged for mercy, and was granted it. Later that day, the same official had an opportunity to relieve another man of a much smaller obligation amounting to 100 denarii.
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The story that never gets old. The youngest one gathered around the table for Passover seder has the distinct honor of asking, “Why is this night different from all other nights?”
The Babylonian Talmud quotes four questions: why matzah is eaten, why maror is eaten, why meat that is eaten is exclusively roasted, and why food is dipped twice.
We won’t dwell on these particular questions of the Passover, commemorated in the spring in the northern hemispheres, often overlapping with our own holy rendition, Easter.
Both have their unique story to tell to the world, and both are rooted in liberation and overcoming forces of death and oppression, primarily empire.
Before we get to the parting of the sea of reeds and the bogging down of Egyptian city chariots in backcountry escape routes, let us recall the migration of semitic peoples into Egypt. But first, I’ve just gotta say, all those folks with their fancy clampers at Burning Man a couple weeks ago might have felt like Pharaoh’s chariot men, wheels stuck in mud, watching only those on foot able to escape—always know your escape route, especially in aquatic situations, be they seas or precipitation.
Midian. Show of hands for those who were born and raised in Midian (Northwest Saudi Arabia) or who have visited or even touched down in a plane to refuel. Not so many, I suspect. My inlaws haven’t even been there.
My cousin Bruce is the only person I know who has been to Saudi Arabia. Bruce was several years ahead of my sister and me in age, education, and life experience. He and his family spent all of our growing up years living overseas.
Bruce’s dad, Richard, was an engineer and officer in the US Army. His orders were always about building or rebuilding water and sewer systems in third world countries, and places that had been profoundly damaged as a result of war or natural disasters.
Like his dad, Bruce studied engineering and geology in college and then went on to work overseas. I was in college when Bruce landed his first big job in the Middle East. Shortly before he moved to Riyadh, he invited me to meet him for supper in a nearby city. His parents had retired to Milwaukee. My college was located about an hour away.
Today’s gospel reading invites readers to explore two questions: who do we say that Jesus is, and what exactly is the Church? Jesus prompts the disciples to answer both.
Jesus and his first followers have wandered to the northeastern edge of their homeland, to Caesarea Philippi, an Ancient Roman city situated about 25 miles north of Capernaum, near the modern borders of Israel and Syria.
The city was primarily inhabited by Gentiles. The residents were dedicated to the Roman Emperor Caesar, as the city’s title suggests, and although there is archeological evidence that a synagogue existed there, the residents of Caesarea Philippi, were mostly Greeks who worshiped Pan, the Greek god of nature.
In borderlands like these, tradition and reputation do not necessarily follow a person, and the beliefs and practices of other peoples and places blend and bleed. So it is not surprising that Jesus was not particularly well known or that he and his followers might lose their sense of self and their cohesion as a community.
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The Gospel reading describes a meeting between Jesus and a Canaanite woman of Greek descent. The setting is the territory of Tyre and Sidon, located in the coastal area north of Galilee near the modern city of Beirut, a society of Arabs.(Megan McKenna, Not Counting Women and Children: Neglected Stories from the Bible. (Orbis: Maryknoll, NY, 1994) 121)
Jesus and the Canaanite woman appear to be different from each other. He was a man. She was a woman. He was single. She was a parent. He was a Jew. She was a pagan. He was a foreigner. She was a local. The list goes on.
On first blush few would have noticed that they had anything in common. They were different in race, nationality, gender, religion, family form, political parties, and socio-economic class--just for starters. That was, at the beginning of the story. But by the end, those who are paying attention learn that they are more alike than different.
Anybody out there see Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny? Yeah, me neither, we choose Barbie. Awesome movie by the way. “I’m just a Ken.” Back to Indiana Jones--which is so much more than a Ken, right?--he instilled in me as a kid a real passion for adventure and ancient far away cultures. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be a globetrotting archaeologist with a bullwhip and a cool hat? Maybe rid the world of nazism along the way. In Raiders of the Lost Ark, Professor Jones had to beat the Nazis from recovering the Ark of the Covenant. Because, with that ancient lost relic, it was believed one could harness the power of God, and make an army invincible. This morning, I’d like to explore together how the idea of the Ark of the Covenant, or the idea behind the Ark of the Covenant, an imageless God, points to the contrary. And in true Indiana Jones fashion, take us to a few far-away places along the way.
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A couple of weeks ago I was getting a mani-pedi, and I was reading a book. My nail technician sees me reading and asks me, “Oh, what are you reading?“ Now, I am always hesitant to talk to strangers about the books I’m reading when they are theological in nature. I have found through experience that this might lead to a very engaging and interesting conversation, or it might lead to a really awkward conversation. So I choose my words very carefully and say that I am reading a book on Christian contemplative practice. And my nail technician, who I think is probably a Buddhist, says, “Really? I didn’t think Christians had a contemplative practice.”
I have a feeling that she’s not alone. I’m guessing that most Buddhists don’t think Christians have a contemplative practice, and I would be willing to guess that most Christians don’t think that Christianity has a contemplative practice.
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