Sermons from Mission Hills UCC
San Diego, California
 
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
david.bahr@missionhillsucc.org
 
May 15, 2022
 
“We’re Not Radical.  Just Early.”
 
  
Acts 11: 1-18
The apostles and the brothers and sisters throughout Judea heard that even the Gentiles had welcomed God’s word. 2 When Peter went up to Jerusalem, the circumcised believers criticized him. 3 They accused him, “You went into the home of the uncircumcised and ate with them!”
4 Step-by-step, Peter explained what had happened. 5 “I was in the city of Joppa praying when I had a visionary experience. In my vision, I saw something like a large linen sheet being lowered from heaven by its four corners. It came all the way down to me. 6 As I stared at it, wondering what it was, I saw four-legged animals—including wild beasts—as well as reptiles and wild birds.[a] 7 I heard a voice say, ‘Get up, Peter! Kill and eat!’ 8 I responded, ‘Absolutely not, Lord! Nothing impure or unclean has ever entered my mouth.’ 9 The voice from heaven spoke a second time, ‘Never consider unclean what God has made pure.’ 10 This happened three times, then everything was pulled back into heaven. 11 At that moment three men who had been sent to me from Caesarea arrived at the house where we were staying. 12 The Spirit told me to go with them even though they were Gentiles. These six brothers also went with me, and we entered that man’s house. 13 He reported to us how he had seen an angel standing in his house and saying, ‘Send to Joppa and summon Simon, who is known as Peter. 14 He will tell you how you and your entire household can be saved.’ 15 When I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell on them, just as the Spirit fell on us in the beginning. 16 I remembered the Lord’s words: ‘John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.’ 17 If God gave them the same gift he gave us who believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, then who am I? Could I stand in God’s way?”
18 Once the apostles and other believers heard this, they calmed down. They praised God and concluded, “So then God has enabled Gentiles to change their hearts and lives so that they might have new life.”

 
 
Watch the UCC Bouncer Ad - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mW6X6l5XGsw
 
“Jesus didn’t turn people away.  Neither do we.”  It may be a bit presumptuous for the UCC to make this claim because we can’t guarantee this is everyone’s experience.  In fact, it isn’t always everyone’s experience.  But I do hope it expresses our theology and aspirations. 
 
Not everyone agrees, of course,:  “Jesus doesn't turn people away?!?  Um sorry, but you can't be an open, unrepentant homosexual and be a Christian.  The UCC isn't a ‘church’ but  instead a synagogue of Satan.”  Wow.
 
This TV commercial, called the Bouncer ad and one more called the Ejector Seat, aired on many networks.  It was 2004.  But CBS refused to air it.  Their official response was that it advocated for gay marriage at the same time as the Bush administration was proposing a constitutional amendment against it.  It’s a bit of a stretch to claim that showing two seconds of two men holding hands and a group shot of two women whose haircuts may resemble lesbians had anything to do with marriage, but to our good fortune, the controversy provided tons of free air time on network news, including CBS.
 
Leaders of some denominations expressed outrage.  We don’t have bouncers at the front door!  Yes, maybe not literally, but that isn’t how it always feels.
 
And how did it feel to be a Gentile in the very beginning of the Jesus Messiah movement?  It never feels good to be talked about.  It feels terrible to be blamed for creating controversy when all you want is to be included.  
 
Or how did it feel to be like Peter.  Instead of being welcomed in Jerusalem with applause for a good job done, Peter is greeted with consternation and condemnation.  How could you eat with one of those people? 
 
Peter had a grand and puzzling vision.  And then had a series of experiences which led him to conclude that God shows no partiality.  What God calls clean we must not call unclean.  But first he had to defy his Jewish tradition by eating with the God-worshiper, but uncircumcised Cornelius.  Yet, it was clear to Peter that his defiance was God’s will, further confirmed when he and other witnesses marveled at how the Holy Spirit fell upon Gentiles just as it had on Pentecost upon Jews gathered from every nation.
 
To be clear, the “opposition” were not against the Gentiles.  They just believed that Gentiles needed to maintain ritual purity, follow the dietary laws, and, if an adult male, be circumcised.  This was not a fight between Jewish Christians and Gentile Christians.  This is a family feud into which Peter introduces a new vision.  But remember, this wasn’t Peter’s idea.  He was following a vision from God.
 
But you have to have sympathy for the traditionalists.  One guy has a vision and thousands of years of religious tradition are just supposed to be swept aside?  Of course, changing any tradition, especially religious traditions, is never easy. 
 
The UCC likes to claim “we were the first.”  There’s even a webpage listing UCC Firsts.[1]  For example, we were the first Protestant denomination to ordain a man of African descent, Lemuel Haynes, in 1785.  We were the first denomination in America to ordain a woman, Antoinette Brown, in 1853. 
 
And yes, but not exactly.  The UCC wasn’t formed until 1957, so it was one of the predecessor denominations that united to form the UCC.  So, more accurately, Congregationalists in Connecticut ordained Lemuel Haynes in 1785.  Antoinette Brown was ordained in 1853.  Except, it was only recognized by her church in South Butler, New York.  The local association of Congregational churches did not recognize her ordination, nor did the denomination.  And, in fact, sadly, she left after 10 months and became a Unitarian, never to serve as a pastor again. 
 
In 1883, Emma Newman was the first female to be licensed to preach and pastor by an association of Congregational churches in Kansas.  She went to Harvard and completed all the same seminary classes as men but she was only a guest, not allowed to enroll, so she didn’t “graduate.”  Clearly gifted and allowed to serve churches, still, denominational officials refused to let her be ordained.
 
But not to denigrate these milestones, today more than half of UCC pastors are female.  And a growing, but still small, number of transgender persons who are called to ministry in the church are being ordained. 
 
Another first.  We were the first denomination in Christian history to ordain an openly gay man, Bill Johnson, in 1972.  It’s hard to believe that was 50 years ago!  It was the Golden Gate Association of the Northern California Nevada Conference that ordained him – not the denomination as a whole.  That’s how it works for us.  Our authorization for ministry rests in over 200 regional groups of churches which make decisions for themselves.  Fortunately, unlike the United Methodists struggling with this issue since 1972, the rest of the denomination doesn’t have to agree.  Still, even on a local level, Bill’s ordination was no easy task. 
 
But gratefully, the Apostle Peter was brave enough to challenge thousands of years of religious tradition on behalf of Gentiles everywhere.  And gratefully, one brave man called by God to be ordained risked stepping forward.  There were 96 delegates eligible to vote that day and 65% agreed to ordain Bill Johnson.  An attempt was made to have the UCC Executive Council overturn it, but that’s not an authority they have.  Instead, the Executive Council turned the request upside down and passed a resolution recommending that sexual orientation in itself is not a qualification or disqualification for ordination – a resolution then adopted by the whole General Synod, one of the first of many affirming Synod resolutions including being the first denomination to endorse same gender marriage equality – way back in 2005.[2]  An action not binding on congregations, but still, a first of which we can certainly be proud.
 
Another first.  The Rev. Harold Wilke was born without arms and forced to deal with discrimination from an early age.  He was barred from his local elementary school and had to walk several miles each day to another school.
 
In college, administrators thought that a man who ate with a fork between his toes did not belong where others could see him. Wilke ate in the kitchen of the campus dining room until so many of his friends insisted on joining him in the kitchen that administrators finally relented and let him sit in the main room. 
 
He earned master’s degrees from Eden Theological Seminary in St. Louis, Union Theological Seminary in New York, Harvard University plus a doctorate at the University of Chicago.  He felt called to the ordained ministry but sadly, not in a shining moment of bravery, the hierarchy of one of the predecessors to the United Church of Christ, the Evangelical and Reformed Church, discouraged him from seeking ordination.  Nevertheless, he persisted and was ordained in 1939, but only after demonstrating that he could conduct the rites of the church as well as a person without disabilities.
 
He served as a pastor, college and hospital chaplain, and became a tireless advocate with people with disabilities.  In 1990, his role was recognized by the White House where he was invited to the ceremony for the signing of the Americans With Disabilities Act. 
 
While President George H.W. Bush was signing the bill, he handed out ceremonial pens.  Since Harold had no arms, the president didn’t know what to do with Wilke’s pen.  But, to his surprise, Harold quickly removed his shoe, stuck out his foot, took the pen between his toes, and slipped it into his shoe.  Later, while seated next to First Lady Barbara Bush, he used his toes to put the pen into his coat pocket, to a roar of approval from the assembled guests.  God called and Rev. Wilke pushed the boundaries and opened the door for many UCC ministers who followed.
 
As I mentioned last week, among our firsts, Congregationalists opened Oberlin College to raise up men and women who would eliminate slavery; it was the first college in America to admit women.  Congregationalists opened the American School for the Deaf in Hartford, Connecticut which became Gallaudet University that began a movement that transformed the possibilities of millions of hearing-impaired persons. 
 
These actions didn’t happen because they were all unanimous decisions but because persistent and faithful people listened to the Spirit.  And when we can all get out of the way, resist long standing prejudices, and open ourselves to new revelation, we who oppose one thing one day may just find ourselves praising God the next. 
 
One of my favorite buttons says:  The UCC isn’t radical.  We’re just early.  It may sound like bragging, but it affirms the bravery of our ancestors.  And these are the kinds of things we want to teach and encourage in our children and youth.  The church changes lives, if we act as though it, we, can. 
 
This week one of my confirmation students graduated from law school.  As I’ve done many times, at the end of 8th grade we went to the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation for a week – hard work, history, cultural immersion, and transformation.  Daniel was so affected, he went back with the church two more times and then went to work on his own during summers.  When he graduated high school, he went to college only to drop out a few months later.  He returned to the reservation for two more years before deciding to ultimately go to law school and focus on the very native issues first introduced to him in church.  He wants to change the world and I have no doubt that he will.
 
In the Book of Acts, written 2,000 years ago, Peter acted on God’s vision.  It’s wasn’t his idea that the church should widen its welcome for people to belong.  But pushing against the boundaries, those who wished to be baptized were now welcome, just as they were, not because of what they changed.  In every age we are called to keep doing the same.  Mission Hills UCC didn’t become Open and Affirming to LGBTQ people because you thought it was a good idea.  You were following God’s vision, for it was God who called the brave people sitting here today and saints who’ve gone before to widen the welcome.  And in the name of Christ, with the power of the Spirit, we’re called to keep pushing at the edge of inclusion.
 
In closing, watch the Ejector Seat ad:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbrd0rhtsG0


[1] https://www.ucc.org/ucc-firsts/

[2] https://www.nytimes.com/2005/07/05/us/united-church-of-christ-backs-samesex-marriage.html

 
Sermons from Mission Hills UCC
San Diego, California
 
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
david.bahr@missionhillsucc.org
 
May 8, 2022
 
“A Single Garment of Destiny”
 
 
Acts 9: 36-43
 36Now in Joppa there was a disciple whose name was Tabitha, which in Greek is Dorcas. She was devoted to good works and acts of charity. 37At that time she became ill and died. When they had washed her, they laid her in a room upstairs. 38Since Lydda was near Joppa, the disciples, who heard that Peter was there, sent two men to him with the request, “Please come to us without delay.” 39So Peter got up and went with them; and when he arrived, they took him to the room upstairs. All the widows stood beside him, weeping and showing tunics and other clothing that Dorcas had made while she was with them. 40Peter put all of them outside, and then he knelt down and prayed. He turned to the body and said, “Tabitha, get up.” Then she opened her eyes, and seeing Peter, she sat up. 41He gave her his hand and helped her up. Then calling the saints and widows, he showed her to be alive. 42This became known throughout Joppa, and many believed in the Lord. 43Meanwhile he stayed in Joppa for some time with a certain Simon, a tanner.

 
The season of graduations and commencement speeches has begun.  In 1965, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was invited to give the commencement address for Oberlin College.[1]  If you didn’t know, Oberlin was founded by Congregationalists in 1830 upon “the radical notion that slavery was America's most horrendous sin and that it should be instantly repented of and immediately brought to an end.”  The founders sought to raise up Christian men and women who would change the world.  It was, in fact, the first college in the United States to enroll both men and women and one of the first to enroll African Americans.  During 1960s, Oberlin had sent a lot of students to participate in the civil rights movement, so it would not have been unusual to think that Dr. King would be a commencement speaker. 
 
In his speech, he reminded graduates of the old story of Rip Van Winkle by Washington Irving.  If you don’t remember, Rip went up the side of a mountain and laid down for a nap and woke up 20 years later – obviously confused why his musket was rusty and his beard a foot long.  When he went to sleep, a sign on the little inn in town had a picture of King George III of England.  When he came down the mountain, the sign had a picture of George Washington, the first president of the United States.  Rip didn’t know he had slept through the American Revolution. 
 
Dr. King told the graduating class, there’s “nothing more tragic than to sleep through a revolution.  The great challenge facing you today,” he said, “is to remain awake through this social revolution.”  Remain committed, remain engaged to the promise of equality.  
 
It was a hopeful time.  School desegregation, the 1964 Civil Rights Act.  The Voting Rights Act would become law two months later.  It was a time of great optimism for some, of increasing rights and freedoms, while for others it represented a terrible horror, the perceived loss of privilege.  A counter revolution was begun, and, unless we’ve been asleep, we have been watching the slow but quickening pace reversing those same individual rights, responsibilities, and freedoms.
 
Dr. King made an urgent plea to them and to all of us.  Please remember:  “All humankind is tied together; all life is interrelated, and we are all caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny.”
 
We are tied in a single garment of destiny.  I love that image and it came to mind because of Tabitha.  She lived it.  Her life’s dedication to good works and acts of charity was to literally sew garments for the poor; for widows, orphans and anyone in need.  She saw their needs tied to her own. 
 
We don’t know if she was a widow herself.  We don’t know if she was poor or wealthy.  Some have speculated that she was obviously a woman of means to afford all of her work.  We don’t know that.  All we know is that she is the only woman in the Bible explicitly given the name “disciple,” on remarkably equal footing as men.   
 
Dr. Wilda Gaffney points out that of women in the Bible, “Tabitha stands out neither as a wife nor widow nor mother.  She stands alone, named a disciple of Jesus Christ without regard to patriarchy and patrimony.”[2]
 
In addition to disciple, Tabitha has two more names.  Her Hebrew name, which means gazelle, and her Greek name, Dorcas, since they were Jews living away from Jerusalem.  Like Paul and Saul last week. 
 
Just think about it.  She was of such importance in the church that not only would someone think to go summon Peter to come, but that Peter would drop everything else to come upon hearing of her death.  To do what, exactly?  She’s not dying.  Luke makes it clear she got sick and died unexpectedly.  Her body has already been washed and laid in an upstairs room.  Mourners filled the room, those directly clothed by her compassion.  They were not professional mourners brought in, as was sometimes the case, but actual people whose lives were woven into hers.
 
When Peter arrived, he had the mourners leave the room.  He knelt down and prayed and turned to the body and said, “Tabitha, get up.”  She opened her eyes, saw Peter, and sat up.  He helped her get out of bed and called everyone back into the room to show that she was alive.
 
It’s very natural to think, “well then, she wasn’t really dead.  She was in a coma” or something like that.  But what happened isn’t as important as why.  Past the details, why was this story told?   But first, here’s another question.  Who is this story about?
 
Sure, Tabitha is named, but most people point to Peter.  Look at what Peter did.  Good job Peter!  But is Tabitha just a passive object of Peter’s actions?  On the one hand, you could say that – just like Jesus – Peter raised Tabitha.  But wait, Tabitha was the one raised, just like Jesus.  Dr. Febby Dickerson is a womanist biblical scholar and she says, “It is Tabitha, not Peter, who functions like Jesus; she ‘sacrificed for others, died, and was raised.’”[3]  Tabitha was raised.  Dickerson rescues Tabitha from conventional, stereotypical readings of her as the helpless poor widow whose presence elevates Peter.
 
I love it when someone points out the obvious.  Our years of patriarchal training have taught us to think Peter is the hero of the story.  Yes, but…  And maybe that wasn’t Luke’s intention, but he has already lifted Tabitha above the prevailing patriarchal understanding of discipleship not defined by gender.[4] 
 
Tabitha is, of course, just one story in a larger narrative about Peter.  But, then again, Peter is just one story in a larger narrative about Jesus.  And the narrative of the early Christian Church.  And the story of us – all the way to you and me.  Because we are all tied together in a single garment of destiny.  “All humankind tied together; all life interrelated, all caught in an inescapable network of mutuality.”
 
It seems to me that Dr. King told those Oberlin graduates the meaning of Tabitha’s life:  I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be.  And you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be – this [is the] interrelated structure of reality.”
 
And yet, I’m afraid some of us will take the news of past week as a single, isolated issue that has nothing to do with us.  How will this affect me?
 
Just like Dr. King said in his commencement speech, “Let nobody give you the impression that the problem of racial injustice will work itself out.  Let nobody give you the impression that only time will solve the problem.  That is a myth, and it is a myth because time is neutral.  Time can be used either constructively or destructively.” 
 
He lamented that the people who were against his equal rights have used their time much more effectively.  Remember:  “human progress never rolls in on the wheels of inevitability.  It comes through the tireless efforts and the persistent work of dedicated individuals.”  But never as isolated individuals.  That’s why it is so important to belong to communities like this for nurture and support.  Plus, we want to share these values with the coming generations.  We can’t do this alone or forever. 
 
The same with Tabitha too.  I asked earlier, why was Tabitha’s story told?  The miracle was not merely the restoration of one individual, no matter how important she was.  Her resurrection was for her community.  And her restoration was not a reward for her good deeds.  It kept the community’s post-Easter hopes alive.[5]  As I said on Easter morning, resurrection wasn’t “accomplished” on what we call Easter.  Resurrection was begun.  Resurrection was unleashed.
 
Which means, regardless how dark the coming days, hope is never left for dead.  The pulse may have been checked, the body washed, the mourners called, but never leave the cause of equal rights, responsibilities, and freedoms for dead.
 
Regardless of our positions on various issues, there are some things we hold in common.  If we are all part of a single garment of destiny, then we seek a mutuality of all genders, not a world ruled by only one gender.
 
If we are all part of a single garment of destiny, then we seek to define such things as ethics and morality together as Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, and people who have no religious affiliation as equal partners, not a nation which gives preference to Christians.
 
If we are all part of a single garment of destiny, then we seek a world where the supremacy is of love – love for every color, language, race, immigration status, national origin and more.  Love supremacy, not white.
 
If we are all part of a single garment of destiny, then we seek a world which does not define heterosexuality as normal but which normalizes respect and self-determination and the freedom to define one’s own family.  And fairness for people of all abilities.
 
If we are all part of a single garment of destiny, then we seek to ensure that whenever life begins, that life is ultimately fed, clothed, educated, cared for when it’s sick, and loved unconditionally until their last breath.  And ensure that women are not wombs but humans with equal rights, responsibilities, and freedoms, with whom we all share a single garment of destiny.
 
And then, we will be able to “transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brother and sisterhood, and speed up the day when, in the words of the prophet Amos, ‘Justice will roll down like waters; and righteousness like a mighty stream.’”[6]
 


[1] Remaining Awake Through a Great Revolution – all Dr. King quotes in this sermon are from this speech

[2] Wilda Gafney, A Women’s Lectionary for the Whole Church, Year W, page 64

[3] Febby C. Dickerson, “The Many Faces of Tabitha: A Womanist Reading”

[4] Gary Charles, Connections, Year C, Volume 2, page 233

[5] Concept by Marianne Blickenstaff in Connections, Year C Volume 2, page 236

[6] Dr. King

 
Sermons from Mission Hills UCC
San Diego, California
 
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
david.bahr@missionhillsucc.org
 
May 1, 2022
 
“Life After Hate”
 
​
Acts 9: 1-6 – New Revised Standard Version
Meanwhile Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest 2 and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem. 3 Now as he was going along and approaching Damascus, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. 4 He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” 5 He asked, “Who are you, Lord?” The reply came, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. 6 But get up and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do.”
 

Shane Johnson is one of the “formers,” what people formerly involved in white nationalism call themselves.  He was raised in a family that had been members of the KKK for generations, in a town in Indiana where at one time half of the population belonged to the Klan.  One night in jail after a drunken brawl, he  had his own “Damascus Road” conversion.  When he told his family that he was leaving the KKK behind, they broke nearly every bone in his body and left him along the road as close to dead as you can get.  He recovered, but worse than the broken bones, he lost the people and place where he belonged.  Even though Shane’s father instilled hate in him from the moment of his birth, Shane believes most people don’t join hate groups because they are hate-filled but because someone invited them to belong, to have a purpose. 
 
So, with his background, a couple of years ago he was invited to consult on an app that would identify “hate tweets.”  The program would automatically reply, “If you’re tired of living in the darkness of a hate-filled life, there’s a way out.  No judgment.  Just help.”   Shane thought the idea was ridiculous and that such a message would actually lead people to double down, not leave.  He said, “You are shaming them as living dark, hate-filled lives.  You need to engage them.”  Shane has dedicated his life to exactly that.
 
Today’s passage from the Book of Acts is commonly referred to as Paul’s Damascus Road Experience – the original, ultimate dramatic story of conversion.  By the way, Saul and Paul are the same person.  Luke, the author of Acts, uses the names interchangeably, depending on the context. 
 
We first heard the name Saul in Acts chapter 7 when one of the disciples named Stephen was being killed by stoning.  Saul held the coats of those busy picking up rocks.  Then in chapter 8, Saul “enthusiastically ravaged the church by entering house after house, dragging off both men and women” who belonged to The Way, the earliest descriptors of those who followed the Way of Jesus.  Incidentally, they wouldn’t have dragged off women if they hadn’t also been leaders in the church.  So here we are now in chapter 9 and Saul was “still spewing murderous threats against the disciples.”  He’s gone to the high priest in Jerusalem requesting letters to take with him to the synagogues in Damascus, giving permission to arrest followers of Jesus and drag them off to prison in Jerusalem.  Why?
 
Maybe Saul is just protecting the integrity of his religion.  He feels a duty to safeguard something he loves and maybe he’s just a little too zealous about it.  But John Dominic Crossan describes his zeal as “religious vigilantism.”  You know, the kind of thing that causes someone to hear enough sermons proclaiming “God Hates Fags” to leave church and go assault LGBTQ people on the street.  Or kill a doctor who works in a women’s health clinic.  Or attend Bible study at a Black Church and kill 9 people.  Religious vigilantes may not be explicitly told to do this, but a preponderance of hateful speech from any podium or pulpit and we shouldn’t be surprised. 

Saul was on his way to Damascus when he heard someone ask why.  He heard a voice: Why are you persecuting me?  He was dazed by a blinding light and knocked to the ground.  Those traveling with Saul heard the voice too, but they saw no one.  When Saul opened his eyes, he couldn’t see, so they led him by the hand all the way to Damascus. 
 
Three days later, a disciple in Damascus named Ananias had a vision in which he heard Jesus tell him to go find a man named Saul and lay hands on him so he could regain his sight.  Ananias had certainly heard of Saul.  They all had.  He protested, exclaiming “this man has done horrible things to us.  He’s here in Damascus to drag your disciples to prison.  Why in the world would I restore his sight?”  Yes!  Exactly.  I would say the same thing.
 
I had a bully in school named Tracy.  Of the 32 students in my graduating class, I had gone all the way from kindergarten to 12th grade with about 25 of them.  In the same building.  I could say hi to Mrs. Grund, my first-grade teacher, while walking into Mr. Schaunder’s Future Farmers of America class in high school.  The girls went to Future Homemakers of America classes.  No kidding.  
 
For the most part, we all got along, but things changed when Tracey moved to town when I was in 6th  grade.  He was in 8th grade.  He looked at me and saw something I didn’t know about myself and used every opportunity, for 5 years, to embarrass and humiliate me.  I could call it “persecution” but that’s a little too extreme.  So, imagine he was failing in school and I had been asked to tutor him.  Surely, I would have protested, “Why in the world would I help him?!” 
 
A few years ago, I thought I had an opportunity to ask him “why did you persecute me.”  It was our town’s 125th anniversary and he still lived there.  But actually, just sort of.  His brother, who had always been nice to me, told me Tracy had been in prison for the past 10 years.  I struggled through some very complicated emotional responses, tempted by thoughts of justice and joy.  And then regret for thoughts of justice and joy.
 
Ananias protested that he shouldn’t help Saul but he did as he was asked.  He placed his hands on him and said, “Brother Saul, the Lord sent me so you could see again and be filled with the Holy Spirit.”  And instantly something like scales or flakes fell from Saul’s eyes.  He got up and was baptized and stayed in Damascus for several more days.  He went to the same synagogues where he intended to arrest men and women who belonged to the Way and instead began to preach that Jesus was the Son of God.
 
Everyone who heard him was baffled.  Isn’t he the one who wreaked havoc in Jerusalem?  What is he doing?  The Christians didn’t believe him and the others were so incensed they hatched a plot to kill him.  But the disciples who believed his conversion was real helped him escape.  They took him at night and lowered him in a basket through an opening in the city wall.

When he arrived in Jerusalem, no one there believed him.  Rightfully, they were still afraid of him, but Barnabas spoke up and told them about Saul’s Damascus Road Experience.  The disciples were reluctantly convinced to accept him.  But there were others very unhappy with his conversion who now also wanted to murder him, so a family of believers helped him escape to Caesarea and sent him back home to Tarsus.  We don’t hear any more about him for a little while.
 
Quite a story, right?  An unexpected reversal, a turning away toward something completely opposite.  I understand the reluctance of everyone who doubted that Paul had really changed.  Do you ever think it’s hard to believe that someone has truly turned over a new leaf?  Many of the “formers” like Shane Johnson feel like they constantly have to prove themselves, their motives always in question. 
 
Like Najibullah Zazi.  Due to war with Russia, his family was forced to leave Afghanistan when he was just a baby in 1985.  They lived on food rations in tents in a refugee camp in Pakistan for 9 years and were finally resettled in New York when he was 14.  Things weren’t easy and he dropped out of school in 12th grade, around the time of 9/11.  When he was 21, he became an entrepreneur with his own coffee cart in downtown Manhattan, but he still felt out of place, like he wasn’t really welcome in America.  And then a friend gave him an audiotape of a cleric which began to convince him he should return to Afghanistan to fight with Al Qaeda to uphold the honor of Islam and liberate his country.  He was trained to build bombs and sent back to the US to plan a suicide attack under Grand Central Station during rush hour.  The FBI learned of the plot and arrested him and two friends.
 
After his arrest, Najibullah began to provide years of what the government called “extraordinary cooperation.”  Ten years in prison and a commitment to life-long cooperation led a judge to say he earned an “unthinkable second chance.”  Judge Dearie lamented that impressionable people had been “hijacked and corrupted by the rhetoric of hate.”  Najibullah replied, “Your honor, the uneducated are perfect targets for the unscrupulous.” 
 
Not everyone was happy.  And many people didn’t believe Najibullah had really changed.  Like Shane.  And maybe Saul. 
 
Truthfully, I may have an easier time believing Shane and Najibullah than Saul, or as we better know him, Paul.  That’s because Paul’s subsequent words have caused tormenters like Tracy to think they were justified in acting like bullies.  Or worse, inspiring future vigilantes.
 
Paul is a complicated guy.  One of the one hand he proclaims in Romans chapter 8 38 “I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, 39 nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  Those are some of the most beautiful inspiring words in the New Testament.  And then on the other hand, there are the things he says in Romans chapter 1 that get LGBTQ people killed by religious extremists. 
 
Anti-Semites quote the words of Paul straight out of their mouth.
 
On the one hand, Paul encouraged women who were leaders in the early church and on the other diminished them.  Exhorted to be silent – or at least by someone writing in his name. 
 
And slavery.  On one hand he said that in Christ there is no longer Jew or Greek, male or female, slave or free.  And on the other, slaves be obedient.  Howard Thurman’s grandmother had been a slave.  Howard used to read from the Bible for her, but she refused to listen to anything Paul wrote, except 1st Corinthians 13.  She had heard enough preaching from Paul about how to be a good slave. 
 
Why, Paul, if not you, why do your words continue to persecute?  
 
So, we go back to that vision Ananias had.  There’s one more thing.  Remember, Jesus asked him to visit Saul in order to lay hands on him to restore his sight.  Ananias protested.  You can’t be serious.  All the terrible things he’s done, his reign of terror…  But in the vision, Jesus persisted and explained:  “This is the man I have chosen.” 
 
Regretfully, there have been times I have said “I hate Paul.”  How can he be a chosen instrument of God?  Well, perhaps the story inspires us to ask:  how can you and I be?  Or Shane and Tracy and Najibullah.  Maybe… to believe that there is life after hate.  Not anyone else’s hate, but mine.  My reluctance, even refusal, to understand.  My reluctance, or refusal, to stop judging.  My reluctance, and sadly refusal, to forgive. 
 
Eugene Peterson asks us to imagine one individual in whom we see no hope.  They will never change.  What might it mean to think that God has “chosen” her or him or them? 
 
Have you ever had a Damascus Road Experience?  “I was one person before and I’m a different person now”?  Or maybe not a blinding light of recognition, but a slow, gradual evolution of thought and action, becoming less judgmental.  But are there residual judgments we still make about others, or even ourselves?  There are a lot of people in our lives, and in our country, we may be reluctant, or even refuse, to understand.  To stop judging.  Or even imagine we can forgive. 
 
Thankfully there is life after hate.
 

 
Sermons from
Mission Hills UCC
San Diego, California
 
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
david.bahr@missionhillsucc.org
  
April 24, 2022
 
“Water is Alive”

 
Acts 5: 27-32 – Common English Bible
The apostles were brought before the council where the high priest confronted them: 28 “In no uncertain terms, we demanded that you not teach in this name. And look at you! You have filled Jerusalem with your teaching. And you are determined to hold us responsible for this man’s death.”
29 Peter and the apostles replied, “We must obey God rather than humans! 30 The God of our ancestors raised Jesus from the dead—whom you killed by hanging him on a tree. 31 God has exalted Jesus to his right side as leader and savior so that he could enable Israel to change its heart and life and to find forgiveness for sins. 32 We are witnesses of such things, as is the Holy Spirit, whom God has given to those who obey him.”
 

 
Let me give you a little context for this short passage, clearly plucked out of the middle of a larger story.  This happened shortly after Pentecost, so we’ve just jumped from Easter to Pentecost to the post-Holy Spirit developing early church. 
 
OK.  So, it’s been a few months since Jesus was executed and both Rome and the religious authorities are annoyed and perturbed.  Probably a little scared, too.  They had hoped their violent public demonstration of crucifixion would have ended his movement.  It had worked before.  But the followers of Jesus claimed that he had been raised from the dead and now those followers were going around preaching and healing.  It’s said that people dragged their loved ones out onto the streets on stretchers just hoping that the shadow of an apostle passing by would heal their loved ones.  It was working!  Their numbers were growing daily. 
 
All of this provoked the Chief Priest and Sadducees to arrest the apostles.  They were put in jail, perhaps for disturbing the peace or any number of other laws.  The next day the Chief Priest summoned the whole High Council together and told the jailers to bring the prisoners in front of them.  But when the police went to collect them, the jail was empty – the guards were still posted and the cells were still locked, but according to the story, during the night, an angel had let them out.  The apostles were back at the Temple preaching and healing, doing the same things that had gotten them thrown in jail in the first place.  So, the police went to arrest them again, but did so “gently” so as not to cause a riot.  That’s when today’s story begins. 
 
Clearly frustrated, they asked, “Didn’t we give you strict orders not to teach in Jesus’ name?”  Peter and the apostles agreed, but answered, “It’s necessary to obey God rather than man.”  Can’t you just see steam coming out of the ears of the authorities – straight out of Bugs Bunny.
 
And then the story continues, “When the Council heard that, they were furious and wanted to kill them on the spot.”  But Gamaliel, one of the most respected and beloved of all of them, asked for the men to be taken out of the room.  He told his fellow councilors, “Be careful what we do to them.  Remember Theudas?  It wasn’t long ago that he made a splash and got 400 people to join him.  He was killed, his followers dispersed, and nothing came of it.  And remember Judas the Galilean?  He appeared, acquired a following, and then fizzled out – his people scattered to the four winds.  So, I’m telling you.  Leave these men alone.  If what they’re doing is merely human, it will fall apart.  But if it is of God, there’s nothing we can do.  And we better not be found fighting against God.”  
 
The Council agreed.  So, the apostles were called back in.  They were given a thorough whipping and warned:  “Don’t you dare speak in the name of Jesus again!”  The apostles walked away overjoyed for the honor of being dishonored.  And back they went, every day in the Temple and people’s homes, teaching and preaching Jesus Christ, never letting up for even a minute. 
 
Of course, such disobedience could not stand.  Things escalated and it’s not long after that we begin hearing stories of Christian martyrs.  Stephen was the first.  Killed by stoning.  The authorities couldn’t think of anything else to do but keep killing them.  Which only attracted more attention and continued to add to the movement – including those of us sitting here today. 
 
In today’s reading it says:  “We gave you strict orders not to teach in this name, and yet here you are.”  The apostles responded, “We must obey God rather than any human authority.” 
 
Archbishop Oscar Romero, now Saint Oscar Romero, was assassinated for urging members of the police and military to disobey the violent and repressive military dictatorship of El Salvador.  Preaching on the radio just days before his assassination in 1980, he pleaded, “The peasants you kill are your own brothers and sisters.  When you hear a man telling you to kill, remember God’s words, thou shalt not kill.  No soldier is obligated to obey a law contrary to the law of God.  In the name of God, in the name of our tormented people, I beseech you, I implore you; in the name of God I command you to stop the repression.” 
 
This exhortation to stop killing their own people was the last straw.  The right-wing government which had already killed plenty of other priests and nuns and thousands of others made sure Romero was assassinated shortly after, right in the middle of saying mass in a hospital chapel.  “Men of violence could not accept that a man of peace should ask people to stop killing.”[1] 
 
So, what is “God’s law” that we are to obey?  It’s a just law.  And a “just law is one that upholds human dignity and is directed at the common good.”[2]  For St. Augustine and Thomas Aquinas, laws that fail to do so are unjust and improper.  Furthermore, they argue, an unjust law is not binding upon Christian consciences.  Movements for civil rights or justice invoke this basic Christian tradition of challenging unjust laws and structures. 
 
Right along with Jesus who broke the law when he healed a man on the Sabbath.  Or when Jesus intervened on behalf of a woman caught in adultery.  The “legal” punishment for her was death.
 
This Earth Day I think of LaDonna Brave Bull Allard and the water protectors on the Standing Rock Indian Reservation in North Dakota.  LaDonna was the historic preservation officer for the Standing Rock Sioux tribe.  When she heard the news, she alerted people to the impending plans for construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline which would transport oil from North Dakota to Illinois through their reservation and under Lake Oahe, part of the Missouri River.  The pipeline was originally supposed to pass near Bismarck but concern was raised over contaminating their drinking water.  So, it was moved south to reservation land, with apparently no similar regard for their drinking water or other concerns raised by the tribe.  But for the tribe, their alarm was for much more than drinking water. 
 
You’ve probably heard the phrase, “Water is life.”  It’s an expression that arises from the relationship water protectors have with water – not just to drink but for use in ceremonies and the important role of water in their belief systems.  Not only is water life and necessary for living, it is alive.  It is our relative and therefore must be treated with respect.
 
The term “water protector” differs from other environmental activists.  It grows out of indigenous communities in North America whose philosophy and approach is rooted in a cultural perspective that sees water and land as sacred.  As such, the reasons for protection are more holistic and integrated than most modern forms of environmental activism, based more in seeing water as a commodity.  And historically, water protectors have been led by or composed of women, because “as water provides life, so do women.” 
 
So, at a meeting in LaDonna’s basement about what to do, someone suggested they should start a resistance camp.  LaDonna said, “Hey, I’ve got some land,” and thus began the Sacred Stone Camp at the confluence of the Cannonball and Missouri Rivers that soon filled with water protectors from around the globe. This camp and other camps that developed inspired people to gather from more tribes in one place than at any time in more than 100 years. 
 
These resistance camps were rooted in ceremonies that included singing songs to water, offering tobacco to water, and praying to the water.  They were united by their desire to protect their relative.  To which the collaboration of state and industry threw every weapon in their arsenal to destroy.  They brought in personnel and equipment from over 75 law enforcement agencies, armed with sound cannons, concussion grenades, armored vehicles, and riot gear.
 
2016 was a long summer of conflicts.  Things escalated when construction workers bulldozed a section of privately-owned land which the tribe had claimed as sacred ground.  In September, security workers used attack dogs on demonstrators, which bit at least six people and one horse, reminiscent of Bull Connor’s dogs in 1960s Birmingham.  In October, militarized police in tanks cleared an encampment situated on the proposed path of the pipeline.  In November, in freezing weather, police used water cannons on protesters for hours, consequently drawing even more significant media attention and led to increasing national and global support for the protests.
 
But industry had the law on their side, with laws often paid for by commercial interests.  The water protectors wouldn’t necessarily say they had “God” on their side but they were breaking the law on behalf of the earth itself.  As we know, not all laws are just. 
 
While Martin Luther King, Jr. sat in jail for disturbing the peace, he reminded the world, “We should never forget that everything Adolph Hitler did was “legal.”  It was “illegal” to aid and comfort a Jew in Hitler’s Germany.
 
Again, “a just law is one that upholds human dignity and is directed at the common good.”[3]  And laws that fail to do so are unjust and improper.  
 
Perhaps we should ask, what is the motivation of any law?  For example, what was the motivation behind the orders of the High Council for the apostles to stop teaching?  And what are the motivations behind laws that restrict handing out food and water to people in line to vote?  What are the motivations behind laws that refuse to teach the history of enslaved people?  What are the motivations behind laws forbidding the use of the word gay in public school?
 
As followers of Jesus, these are appropriate questions, for when it says in today’s reading, “We gave you strict orders not to teach in this name, and yet here you are,” we have to wonder what the apostles meant when they responded, “We must obey God rather than any human authority.” 
 
What did they mean?  How about this?  Anything less than disobedience on behalf of human dignity and the common good would betray our heritage and calling as Christians.
 
Now, talking about obeying God vs. human authority is ripe for demagogues to proclaim their “truth” about God.  Yet, is it any less true?  If we believed that water is alive, what else could we do but stand with its relatives?  As Christians we have a special relationship with water.  Of just two sacraments, baptism, water is a vessel of the Holy Spirit.  It is through the water of Mary's womb that Jesus was born. 

​Is water a commodity?  Or is it the reason we have life?
 


[1] Kellogg Institute for International Studies, introduction of Archbishop Oscar Romero

[2] Meghan J. Clark, Why the Christian call to justice supersedes the legal order,” USCatholic.org

[3] Meghan J. Clark, Why the Christian call to justice supersedes the legal order,” USCatholic.org 

Sermons from Mission Hills UCC
San Diego, California
 
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
david.bahr@missionhillsucc.org
  
Easter – April 17, 2022
 
“What Difference Does It Make?”
 

Luke 24: 1-12 – Common English Bible
Jesus Very early in the morning on the first day of the week, the women went to the tomb, bringing the fragrant spices they had prepared. 2 They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, 3 but when they went in, they didn’t find the body of the Lord Jesus. 4 They didn’t know what to make of this. Suddenly, two men were standing beside them in gleaming bright clothing. 5 The women were frightened and bowed their faces toward the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? 6 He isn’t here, but has been raised. Remember what he told you while he was still in Galilee, 7 that the Human One[a] must be handed over to sinners, be crucified, and on the third day rise again.” 8 Then they remembered his words. 9 When they returned from the tomb, they reported all these things to the eleven and all the others. 10 It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told these things to the apostles. 11 Their words struck the apostles as nonsense, and they didn’t believe the women. 12 But Peter ran to the tomb. When he bent over to look inside, he saw only the linen cloth. Then he returned home, wondering what had happened.
 
  
Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and all the other women who had been following Jesus since Galilee… they came at dawn on Sunday morning to properly prepare the body of Jesus who had been executed on Friday, but he had to be quickly laid in Joseph’s tomb before sundown.  I’m sure they hadn’t slept as they waited for the end of the Sabbath at dawn on Sunday.  If they had, it would have only been nightmares replaying in their heads.  Just imagine the horrific violence they had just witnessed. 
 
So, when morning finally came, these women were ready.  But Rome had ordered everyone to stay away.  They had even posted soldiers to guard the tomb.  Well, no soldier was going to stop these women.  They marched to the tomb filled with grief… and rebellion.  I think sometimes when we visualize the women who went to the tomb, we imagine them as meek and mild.  But these were not submissive, subservient women.  They were subversive.  For the sake of their loved one, they would not be timid but determined to disobey the soldiers if necessary. 
 
I think they’re like the fearless and bold women throughout history who have fought for their communities and loved ones.  For example, I can picture Gloria Richardson.  During the civil rights movement of the 1960s, very few women were allowed to lead.  They had to endure a similar scent of paternalism like the disciples who thought the women were only telling fairy tales, nonsense about Jesus’ resurrection. 
 
But Gloria, a force to be reckoned with, led the 1960s movement in Cambridge, Maryland.  There’s a famous, iconic, photo of an officer pointing a bayonet at her head.  The photo is snapped just as she pushed it away and walked past him, giving him a look of disdain, like “just try it.”  I can see her do the same thing to a Roman soldier.  Get out of my way. 
 
Or women like Prathia Hall who worked for SNCC (Snick), the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee.  She and her fellow Snick workers were doing voter education in Southwest Georgia in 1962.  They were very much an unwelcome presence.  She described one hazy day in the town of Sasser.  While she and some freedom workers were walking down a dirt road, a pickup truck screeched to a halt in front of them.  An extremely agitated man wearing a little tin badge with a bright red face jumped out of his truck and screamed at them:  “I’m a deputy marshal.  What are you doing?” 
 
Prathia answered that they were teaching people about voting.  He began screaming curses at the top of his lungs until he was literally foaming at the mouth.  Trembling with rage he pulled out his gun and began firing at the ground around their feet.  Eventually the group was shoved into a two-room jail, only a little larger than an outhouse, but which smelled just as bad.  She said, “We didn’t know if we would be eaten first by the rats and monstrous bugs in this vermin-infested slime pit or taken out in the dark of night and murdered in the woods.”  But there was nothing with which they could be charged, so after this intimidation, they were let go.  Back to continue their work.
 
Prathia and her colleagues knew they were in danger just talking to people.  In fact, the people they were trying to help often shooed them away.  They didn’t want any trouble.  Only a few churches were willing to allow movement workers to use their buildings for meetings.  Too many were burned down shortly after. 
 
It was dangerous, life-threatening work.  Why, or how, did anyone do it?  Freedom-faith, she called it.  She was the daughter of a Baptist preacher and she became one herself – one of the first women ordained by the northern Baptists.  She worked for SNCC three more years and then enrolled in Princeton where she earned her Master of Divinity, Master of Theology, and PhD.
 
Freedom-faith fired and fueled her fight.  The now Rev. Dr. Prathia Hall described how the power of faith was expressed in the songs and prayers of the movement.  It transcended the violent reality of our situation, she said – fashioning fear into faith, cringing into courage, despair into defiance, and pain into protest.  In 2002 she said, even today “when I am going through a storm, I breathe those hymns and prayers.”[1]
 
Just like the women who witnessed the empty tomb.  With their fear fashioned into faith and their pain into protest, they transcended the violent reality of their situation.  And experienced resurrection.
 
Of all the difficult beliefs to believe in the Christian faith, resurrection is about the most difficult.  But that’s only if we focus on trying to explain the mechanics or focusing on things like whether it was literal or not.  I don’t care whether we “believe” it or how it happened.  But I do know it’s still happening today.
 
One of the most inspiring stories I heard this Lent comes from First United Church in Oak Park, Illinois – a church that looks a lot like ours.  In the tradition of giving something up for Lent, the church decided to give up whiteness, which meant they were abstaining from hymns and music composed or written by white musicians and in its place used only music written by African American and non-white musicians from around the globe.  Among the daffodils on the church lawn, they put up a sign that said “Fasting from Whiteness.”  It’s a small, symbolic gesture but part of the church’s broader anti-racist mission, meant to make people think.  The pastor said, the work of anti-racism in this country is to take whiteness out of the center for other perspectives to have space.  It’s not the hatred of white people, it’s not forever banishing Bach and Beethoven.  It’s a symbolic act of inclusion for all people.
 
And then all hell broke loose.  This benign and simple act was noticed by some in the national media.  Online and cable news went apoplectic.  In the tradition of the red-faced marshal with his tin badge frothing at the mouth and trembling with anger, this church was seen as a serious threat to white supremacy.  The church was slammed with hundreds of hateful and vulgar letters and emails and voicemails a day, including threats against the pastor’s life.  Threats of violence against the church meant that while local and federal law enforcement could investigate and secure the church, their Palm Sunday service was only online to ensure the safety of the congregation.  This is 2022!  Not 1962.  Last week!  The church members have had only one complaint.  Their message should have been bolder.[2]
 
Well, resurrection is God’s answer to that kind of hatred and violence.  It’s God’s “no” to the powers of crucifixion.  But resurrection wasn’t “accomplished” on what we call Easter morning.  Resurrection was begun.  Resurrection was unleashed.  You get that?  Resurrection began that day.  God didn’t stop violence or grieving or suffering.  God invites us to take the violence and grieving and suffering that happens every day and transform it.  As Dr. Hall described it – to fashion fear into faith, cringing into courage, despair into defiance, and pain into protest.  That’s resurrection.
 

• It is resurrection whenever our church distributes food in the parking lot, like we will again on Tuesday, because people are still hungry and God is still raising.
• It is resurrection whenever we raise money to help resettle refugees or provide disaster relief, like we will today, because people are still suffering and God is still raising.
• It is resurrection whenever we march together in queer pride, like we will finally do again this summer, because transgender people are still being excluded, targeted, silenced, and even murdered and God is still raising.
• It is resurrection whenever we furnish another apartment for women fleeing domestic violence, because people are still being abused and God is still raising.
• It is resurrection whenever we take food to the homes of our members in need, because we are community and God is still raising.
• It is resurrection whenever we have gathered to stand around a mosque to protect it from violence
  • and provided support for foster youth or
  • built a tower for low income seniors
  • and so much more I don’t have time because there’s work to and God is still raising.

 
And what does that have to do us with?  Whenever we care for one another and engage in social justice or direct service, it is God still raising.  Resurrection.  Our acts of compassion and justice are rooted in this story that refuses to die.  A story that has been told on Easter mornings for 2,000 years.  A story that doesn’t allow hate to be the last word.  It starts there.  A story that doesn’t end in despair.  It simply starts there.  That’s why we keep coming back not as a rehearsal of the past but a very present help in times of trouble.  All who yearn for social justice need stories like this so we can remain vigilant and resilient, and a community, a place to root our work because this work is life-long. 
 
These women who willing to witness the violence on Friday were the first witnesses to resurrection on Sunday.  They were the first preachers of the gospel.  They watched his rejection, betrayal, suffering, and crucifixion, and then proclaimed the good news.  He lives.
 
And Jesus still lives through his resurrected body.  You!  The Body of Christ in the world today.  Called to act with justice, called to love tenderly, called to serve one another, and called to walk humbly with God.


[1] From Hands on the Freedom Plow: Personal Accounts by Women in SNCC, University of Illinois Press, 2012

[2] https://chicago.suntimes.com/news/2022/4/8/23016850/oak-park-pastor-fasting-whiteness-lent-race-diversity

 
​
Sermons from Mission Hills UCC
San Diego, California
 
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
david.bahr@missionhillsucc.org
 
April 3, 2022
 
“Mary the Prophet”
 
  
John 12: 1-8 – Common English Bible
Six days before Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, home of Lazarus, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. 2 Lazarus and his sisters hosted a dinner for him. Martha served and Lazarus was among those who joined him at the table. 3 Then Mary took an extraordinary amount, almost three-quarters of a pound,[a] of very expensive perfume made of pure nard. She anointed Jesus’ feet with it, then wiped his feet dry with her hair. The house was filled with the aroma of the perfume. 4 Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), complained, 5 “This perfume was worth a year’s wages![b] Why wasn’t it sold and the money given to the poor?” (6 He said this not because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief. He carried the money bag and would take what was in it.)
7 Then Jesus said, “Leave her alone. This perfume was to be used in preparation for my burial, and this is how she has used it. 8 You will always have the poor among you, but you won’t always have me.”

 
Mary did four scandalous things in a row.  And just to be clear, with a Bible full of Mary’s, this is Mary of Bethany – Mary of the famous duo Mary and Martha, sisters of Lazarus. 
 
So, four scandalous things:
1)She loosened her hair in a room full of men, which an “honorable” woman would never do.
2)She poured perfume on Jesus’ feet.  The head, maybe.  People put oil on the heads of kings – living kings – but never the feet.  That was for the dead.
3)She was a single woman rubbing a single man’s feet.  That’s something that would never be done, not even among friends.
4)She wiped Jesus’ feet with her hair, which to me, frankly, just seems gross.  Inexplicable.  An all-around bizarre way to end an all-around bizarre series of very inappropriate acts.
 
Well, there was one more scandalous thing.  She spent a year’s wages on that one jar of perfume.  Let’s say you make $10,000 a year.  She spent your annual salary of $10,000.  The cost of living in Bethany was less than it is in San Diego.
 
A version of this same story is told in all four gospels, but with different details:
 
In Matthew and Mark, an unnamed woman anoints Jesus’ head with expensive oil at the home of Simon the Leper during the last  days of his life.  The disciples were angry at the expense, calling it wasteful.
 
In Luke, a “notorious sinner” comes into the home of Simon the Pharisee and kisses Jesus’ feet and anoints them with her tears and perfumed oil, wiping his feet with her hair.  But this is early in Jesus’ ministry, not within days of his execution.  In this case, Jesus holds this “notorious sinner” up as a positive example of hospitality in contrast to the rudeness of this host, Simon the Pharisee.  This is not related to his death.
 
And as you heard, in John, it is Mary who anointed his feet and wiped them with her hair.  Not a stranger, not a notorious sinner.  And it’s in the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus – dear friends of Jesus, not Simon somebody.  That’s the same Lazarus that Jesus had just a short time ago raised from the dead – after sitting decomposing for four days.  On that occasion, concern was expressed about the overwhelming smell from four days of decomposing flesh.  At this dinner, mention is made about the overwhelming scent of perfume filling the room, even stinging the nostrils.  The odor of death replaced with the odor of love – in preparation for his death.  And in this case, only Judas, not the disciples, expressed anger at the expense, which John explained was because he was a thief.
 
I don’t know why this one story is told in so many different ways with such a variation on the details, but this is my favorite version.  Mary.  She got it.  She listened intently, sometimes maybe a little too much for Martha’s taste.  You may remember that infamous dinner party. 
 
But Mary got it.  Jesus had already told The Twelve three times that he would suffer, be rejected and killed at the hands of the authorities in Jerusalem and on the third day rise.  They didn’t get it.  Peter even scolded Jesus for saying such things.  But Mary paid close attention and carefully prepared her response.  She pulled together a massive amount of money.
 
When you go to most Indian reservations, it’s hard not to see the extreme poverty.  I’ve taken groups of youth and adults to the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation 8 times.  Pine Ridge lies in the far southwest corner of South Dakota, about a hundred miles from Mount Rushmore.  The last time I checked the statistics, it is the third most impoverished county in the country.  The other two are also reservations in South Dakota.  The only place with a lower life expectancy in the Western Hemisphere is Haiti.  Casinos have brought economic activity to many tribes, but Pine Ridge is too remote for much of an impact.  The unemployment rate is 80 to 90%.  In an area the size of Connecticut, there is one full service grocery and one Indian Health Service hospital.  There are clinics in some villages open once a week that will serve the first six clients in line. 
 
Behind all the obvious poverty, there is much that visitors can miss at first glance.  Beauty, strength, creativity, and resilience.  And extraordinary generosity, especially for the dead.  Scattered around the reservation are tiny little cemeteries, some with just a dozen or more graves.  Many of those graves have absolutely beautiful, elaborate head stones.  Among the first things a first-time guest will ask – why would people who are so poor spend so much money on a head stone?
 
How would you answer?  An act of love?  Careless and wasteful?  A sign of respect for the dead?  We could debate the wisdom of this expenditure, but I think that’s best left for people to decide for themselves.
 
Mary is using her “head stone” money in advance, while Jesus is still alive.  It’s often said that we should have wakes for the living so we can hear how much people love us, not talk about the dead after they’re dead.  Mary didn’t want to wait. 
 
But yet, why spend so much money?  Judas’ motivations may have been faulty but his question wasn’t wrong.  Why wasn’t this money given to the poor?  But Jesus quickly brushed his concern aside.  “Leave her alone,” he said.  “She bought it for the day of my burial.  You’ll always have the poor with you but you will not always have me.”  Mary understood his time was running out.  Jesus said it would happen in Jerusalem, and here they were.  Bethany is practically a suburb.
 
“You’ll always have the poor.”  How many times have you heard that quote?  Usually as an excuse to do nothing.  Or it’s something about God’s will.  It’s an abusive use of scripture.  His audience would have known the context of his comment.  In Deuteronomy 15:11 it says, “Poor persons will never disappear from the earth.  That’s why I’m giving you this command:  You must open your hand generously to your fellow Israelites, to the needy among you (OK, take care of your own), and to the poor who live with you in your land,” i.e. immigrants, foreigners, and “those people.” 
 
As a faithful Jew, what she spent on that expensive perfume would have been in addition to what she already gave for people who are poor.  No, as one of the disciples, not one of the 12, but one of the disciples who paid close attention to Jesus, she was preparing for his death.  But her actions were also like those of a prophet.
 
Prophets often did strange and bizarre things.  Scandalous things.  For example, Ezekiel ate the scroll of the Lord.  It was a sign that he carried the word of God around inside of him.  Isaiah walked around naked.  It was a message against the nations.  Jeremiah paid money to buy a field in the middle of a garbage dump, perhaps not so unlike Mary who spent a year’s wages to buy expensive perfume to pour on feet of someone who is alive.  Each of these shocking actions was meant to send a message.  Most people write prophets off as nuts.  But they are acting out a truth that few people can see.  While some laugh at prophets, others silently recognize that prophets bring disturbing news from God.  Mary, the disciple and prophet, was delivering the news that Jesus’ death was imminent.  There’s no time to waste.
 
That extravagant perfume was a disturbing sign of Jesus’ death and called wasteful by some.  But that exorbitant amount of money was also news of an extravagant God, which some people find just as wasteful and disturbing.
 
My church in Cleveland was a hub for people in recovery.  In addition to nine different AA, CA, and NA groups every week, we had turned our parsonage into a home for people in recovery – a three-quarter house.  Halfway between a halfway house and full independence.  Dozens of people went in and out of our basement fellowship hall every night but only a few at a time came up the steps to the sanctuary on Sunday.
 
One day at the coffeehouse next door to the church, I recognized a man I’ll call Jerry who went down into the fellowship hall regularly.  I waved and said, “Hey, you should come upstairs some time.”  He laughed and said, “No, you don’t want the building to fall down!”  Not the first time I’d heard that.  We kept up this friendly exchange until one day he called me over to his table and we began talking.  After about a year Jerry told me I’d see him in church on Sunday.  Shocked and pleased, I knew it would never happen.  It wasn’t necessary for him to keep concocting excuses why he couldn’t – work, car problems…  I understood.  He may have wanted to, but Jerry didn’t believe in the God I described to him.  A God of love and forgiveness.  He didn’t want that.  He hated the story of the prodigal son.  Unrealistic, he said.  Jerry wanted a God he could trust, which meant he believed in a God without mercy.  A strict authoritarian figure, maybe to help keep him on his recovery track.  He thought things like love and grace would be wasted on someone like him. 
 
I liked Jerry.  I think he liked me, as geeky as I was next to him.  I just wish he could have liked himself.  Or at least allowed God to like him.  Jesus loved him whether he wanted it or not.  But like a lot of our hard-living neighbors, Jerry didn't dare to believe that and perhaps thought it too risky to even hope. 
 
Following this meal at the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus, Jesus will gather one last time with his friends and followers.  Around one more supper table.  And there, more shocking than the extravagance of the perfume and shame of Mary’s hair and physical touch, more scandalous than all that, the Messiah will strip down, tie a towel around his waist, lower himself down on the floor, and wash his disciples’ feet.  They must have thought he’d lost his mind.  And then it made sense.  He gave them a new commandment.  As I have loved you, love one another.  Especially Judas and Jerry.
 
Around that table, at least one of the disciples will argue with him, one will betray him, one will later deny him.  But perhaps a few disciples will remember how the prophet Mary already enacted this ritual in advance.  Before Jesus told them his new commandment to love, Mary had already shown them how.
 
Mary, the prophet and the beloved disciple who models faithfulness for us:  to share generously, to love one another extravagantly, and to participate in healing the deep wounds of the world.  And maybe even dare to accept the healing of our own wounds.
 

 
Sermons from
Mission Hills UCC
San Diego, California
 
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
david.bahr@missionhillsucc.org
 
March 27, 2022
 
“The Grumblers and Grumbled-About”
 
   
Luke 15: 11b-32 – Common English Bible
All the tax collectors and sinners were gathering around Jesus to listen to him. 2 The Pharisees and legal experts were grumbling, saying, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”
3 Jesus told them this parable: “A certain man had two sons. 12 The younger son said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the inheritance.’ Then the father divided his estate between them. 13 Soon afterward, the younger son gathered everything together and took a trip to a land far away. There, he wasted his wealth through extravagant living.

14 “When he had used up his resources, a severe food shortage arose in that country and he began to be in need. 15 He hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed pigs. 16 He longed to eat his fill from what the pigs ate, but no one gave him anything. 17 When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have more than enough food, but I’m starving to death! 18 I will get up and go to my father, and say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19 I no longer deserve to be called your son. Take me on as one of your hired hands.” ’ 20 So he got up and went to his father.

“While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was moved with compassion. His father ran to him, hugged him, and kissed him. 21 Then his son said, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son.’ 22 But the father said to his servants, ‘Quickly, bring out the best robe and put it on him! Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet! 23 Fetch the fattened calf and slaughter it. We must celebrate with feasting 24 because this son of mine was dead and has come back to life! He was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

25 “Now his older son was in the field. Coming in from the field, he approached the house and heard music and dancing. 26 He called one of the servants and asked what was going on. 27 The servant replied, ‘Your brother has arrived, and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf because he received his son back safe and sound.’ 28 Then the older son was furious and didn’t want to enter in, but his father came out and begged him. 29 He answered his father, ‘Look, I’ve served you all these years, and I never disobeyed your instruction. Yet you’ve never given me as much as a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours returned, after gobbling up your estate on prostitutes, you slaughtered the fattened calf for him.’ 31 Then his father said, ‘Son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and be glad because this brother of yours was dead and is alive. He was lost and is found.’”
 
 
Did you know this was made into a Lifetime movie?  I’m not usually a fan of Lifetime or Hallmark movies, but Pastor Brown was actually really good.  Set in a Black megachurch, one Sunday as Pastor Brown was preaching in the pulpit, he had a heart attack.  As he lay dying in the hospital, Pastor Brown named his successor – one of his two daughters.  But not the daughter who dutifully stayed by his side running the church year after year.  Instead, he named his daughter Jesse who had completed seminary but is now an exotic dancer.  You know, it’s a classic tale of a seminarian turned stripper. 
 
Jesse had been so disconnected from the family that she hadn’t even come home for her mother’s funeral, claiming she “couldn’t get time off work.”  Yet her father never stopped hoping she would return.
 
When the older daughter heard her father’s last dying wish, she was understandably hurt, angry, disappointed…  And the Deacon Board expressed its extreme displeasure with the idea of an exotic dancer as their pastor.  More than anyone, however, Jesse felt completely unworthy of the honor. 
 
I won’t spoil the end of the movie for you, but I was amazed at how well they followed the “script” of the prodigal son.  But more than that, I was amused by the reviews.
 
Jill O’Rourke said that when the older daughter complained of being overlooked, she nodded in agreement so vigorously, she almost gave herself whiplash.  “Look,” she wrote, “I’m not saying Pastor Brown should’ve condemned Jesse to eternal damnation or refused to speak to her again.  Forgiveness and parental support are fine.  But people who have redeemed themselves after doing shameful things do not deserve more credit or attention than people who have striven to be good all along.  Why should Jesse, who abandoned her family and doesn’t even want to be the pastor; why should she receive her father’s blessing above a daughter who has been responsible and worked hard.  I mean, give me a break.  More than the one who remains loyal, we’re supposed to root for the ‘Stripper with a Heart of Gold’?”
 
And there we have it.  Both the movie and the parable connect us on an emotional level with the various characters.  Some in parental roles.  Some of us as the oldest sibling or the youngest.  Like usual, if you are the middle child, there is no mention of you. 
 
I want to make a couple of quick points:
 
The younger child asked for an early pay-out of their share of inheritance.  After spending all that money having a good time, he got a job feeding pigs, which, as a Jew, would have signified he had truly hit rock bottom.
 
As we know, humbled, he came to his senses and composed a speech asking his father to become a servant, not reunited as a child.
 
But the father had obviously not given up hope for his son’s return.  He must have been standing on the horizon looking for his son for a long, long time.  And then, overjoyed, filled with compassion, even before the son could give his speech, the father had already ordered a robe, a ring, and a lavish homecoming party.
 
That joy soured, however, when upon returning from the fields, the older sibling felt a combination of anger, hurt, disappointment… and lashed out to complain about “this son of yours.”
 
To which the father replied, “This brother of yours” was lost but now he is found.  Rejoice.
 
And then we’re left to fill in the blanks.  Inquiring minds want to know, what happened next?  Were they reconciled?  One of the more cynical reviewers of the movie speculated that both Pastor Jesse and the prodigal son wouldn’t have lasted more than six months before a stripper pole called out to both of them again.  Cynical and tasteless!
 
But, that’s kind of the context.  Jesus has been spending a lot of time with people of questionable reputation.  Religious folks were grumbling and growling about it.  In response, Jesus told three parables.  First, the parable of the lost sheep.  Secondly, the parable of the lost coin.  And finally, carrying on the theme, the parable of the lost son.  Each of them has a variation on “rejoice!  What was lost is now found.” 
 
The genius of this parable is that we can easily relate to different characters in the story.  In different ways and at different times, we may be all of them.  Perhaps we can identify as someone who is heartbroken, waiting, never giving up hope, yet criticized by others who say “good riddance.”  Or like how I felt in school.  I always thought it was unfair that the students who were acting up got the most attention.  Or how we can never live up to the reputation of our “perfect at everything” brother?  Why can’t you be like him?  So why not just leave?
 
There are so many characters and so many different ways to relate to this story, including as one the servants watching these family dynamics all play out right in front of us.  And then there’s the religious people – at times we might be among the grumblers.  Or we might be the people of doubtful reputation watching our lives debated.  The grumbled-about.
 
You may not know that the United Methodist Church is currently going through a very nasty divorce.  There will soon be a separate entity known as the Global Methodist Church composed of congregations and even whole conferences who leave largely over opposition to people like me.  One of perhaps multiple denominations to form in the next few years.  You might say this split was 50 years in the making, as soon as a line was added to their Book of Discipline in 1972 stating that “homosexuality is incompatible with Christian teaching” and thereby prohibiting the ordination of LGBTQ folks and clergy officiating at same-gender weddings.  That happened to be the same year the first openly gay man, Bill Johnson, was ordained in the UCC.
 
Methodists have split before.  In the lead up to the Civil War, the church split into a northern and a Methodist Church South in 1845.  You know the church next to St. Paul’s Cathedral with the angel on top?  That was one of those southern churches.  Their breach wasn’t repaired until 1939.  But many of the same regional divisions began to appear little more than 30 years later, this time not over slavery but homosexuality.  And again, a full out breach that may take another 100 years to repair.
 
In the last few decades, various attempts at compromise or resolution have failed.  The most recent proposal was called One Church – to essentially live-and-let live.  It would have been a truce between congregations that were LGBTQ affirming and those who weren’t – a model somewhat like the UCC that is congregationally based.  Except that Methodists are not congregational.  They have a very distinct hierarchy unlike ours that has a lot to do with money and property.  And with that comes power.  And conflict. 
 
I left the United Methodist Church of my youth 35 years ago.  It’s painful to be among the grumbled-about who are “ruining” the church with their dissolute ways.
 
So, back to today’s parable.  It’s familiar.  But what is it actually about?  The genius of a parable is that it has the potential for many different meanings, but forgiveness is frequently given as the answer to this one.  It seems so simple.  The father forgave his son.  Or did he?
 
Amy-Jill Levine is a professor at Vanderbilt School of Divinity and one of very few Jewish scholars of Christian scripture.  With this unique perspective, she often sees things in the New Testament that Christians don’t.  She asks, what makes so many people think this story is about forgiveness?  Yes, the younger son certainly acted unwisely, but for what reason did he need forgiveness?  He didn’t steal the father’s money.  He didn’t run away from home. 
 
Dr. Levine exposes interpretations she identifies as anti-Semitic.  For example, for many centuries this parable has been seen as an allegory in which the younger brother represents Christians while God the father chastises the angry and indignant older brother, who represent Jews.  What else might this parable be about?
 
First of all, what parent gives a 20-year-old the family fortune and expects them to always make good choices?  Why do we refer to this story as the parable of the “prodigal” son?  Why not call him the prodigal father?  Wasn’t the father the wasteful one?  He liquidated a portion of the family’s assets upon which the whole family depended? 
 
So, let’s back up.  What does prodigal mean?  Prodigal means wasteful and reckless.  But it also means extravagant.  The hospitality the father extends to his son upon his return might be called wasteful or it might be called extravagant.  Certainly the older son saw it as wasteful, wasting resources on someone who did not deserve it.  How did the father see it?  How do you see it?
 
Setting aside the wisdom of dispersing inheritance money to a 20-year-old in advance, did the father waste money on welcoming the son back home?  Should the father have acted with such extravagance?  I mean, killing the fatted calf that might have been intended for sacrifice at the Temple? 
 
But here’s the heart of my message today.  We often think that the father in this story represents God.  If so, how about calling this the Parable of the Prodigal God?  You know, wasteful, reckless, and extravagant. 
 
I think this is a story about a God who is prodigal, who “wastes” grace on the grumbled-about.  And what about the grumblers?  Like the older brother, God welcomes them to the feast too.  They’re not sent to bed without their supper, go think about what you’ve just done. 
 
But on top of all this, look at these characters. I also see this as a parable of wonderfully reckless, wastefully extravagant hope.
 
Hopeful like the father who never stopped watching the horizon.  Who are you hoping to see come back?  It’s not a waste to hope. 
 
Or hopeful like the older brother.  Maybe he just felt excluded.  Maybe his hurt was his hope that his father would see him, appreciate him, or simply be in relationship with him.  Where do you feel excluded or unwanted?  Don’t give up.  It’s not a waste to hope.
 
Or hopeful like the younger brother, who feared his estrangement was permanent, his choices unforgivable.  It’s not true.  It’s never true.  But wait.  Why did the younger brother leave?  For some reason I never thought to ask before.  Did he feel like he had to leave because of a questionable reputation, someone grumbled-about?  I assumed he was just greedy, but is that like a story we make up about someone dismiss them?  To avoid the real issue?  I’ll have to think about that some more.  The point is, however, he was hopeful, not knowing if he would be accepted.  He came back, not to resume a place in the family but to find a home among the servants.  It’s not a waste to hope.
 
I mean, if there’s any reason to think there is hope for a seminarian turned stripper turned pastor, surely there is hope for all of us from a very prodigal God.  This prodigal God who “wastes” grace on people of doubtful reputation – the grumbled-about and grumblers both.

​ 
Sermons from Mission Hills UCC
San Diego, California
 
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
david.bahr@missionhillsucc.org
 
March 20, 2022
 
“What’s the Urgency?”
 
Luke 13: 1-9 – The Message
About that time some people came up and told him about the Galileans Pilate had killed while they were at worship, mixing their blood with the blood of the sacrifices on the altar. Jesus responded, “Do you think those murdered Galileans were worse sinners than all other Galileans? Not at all. Unless you turn to God, you, too, will die. And those eighteen in Jerusalem the other day, the ones crushed and killed when the Tower of Siloam collapsed and fell on them, do you think they were worse citizens than all other Jerusalemites? Not at all. Unless you turn to God, you, too, will die.”
6-7 Then he told them a story: “A man had an apple tree planted in his front yard. He came to it expecting to find apples, but there weren’t any. He said to his gardener, ‘What’s going on here? For three years now I’ve come to this tree expecting apples and not one apple have I found. Chop it down! Why waste good ground with it any longer?’
8-9 “The gardener said, ‘Let’s give it another year. I’ll dig around it and fertilize, and maybe it will produce next year; if it doesn’t, then chop it down.’”
 
 
The gospel passage for today begins with this most bizarre, obscure reference.  Bizarre to us, but relevant to Jesus’ audience, an incident fresh in their memories.  Some Galileans had travelled to Jerusalem to worship in the Temple.  That’s not like jumping in the car to go to church.  It’s 80 miles of walking in between.  About a four-day journey one way, it’s a sacred pilgrimage.  While they were worshiping in the Temple, Pilate had some of them murdered.  Which means, as the gory scene describes, their blood ran in streams together with the blood of the sacrifices used in worship.  Horrific.  Jesus asked, now what had they done wrong.  What had they done to deserve this?  Nothing.
 
But hold on.  A social justice, liberation theology would note:  this wasn’t random.  This is yet one more example of how cruelly the occupying forces of the Roman Empire treated the people.  Supposedly there was some talk of rebellion up in Galilee, but what did that have to do with faithful people who made an 80-mile trek to worship in the Temple.  Just more of the daily senseless abuse they suffered under the reigns of both Pilate and Herod.  What had the people done wrong?
 
The second example Jesus gave seems more straightforward.  Eighteen people died when a tower collapsed on them.  What had they done wrong to deserve that?  Nothing. 
 
But a social justice, liberation theology might ask, why did the tower collapse?  When the audience heard that reference, did they know something we don’t?  For example, if I mention the Flint water crisis, something terrible immediately comes to mind.  Thousands of children poisoned with lead in their drinking water.  But it wasn’t an overnight accident that was fixed immediately.  And once responsibility was determined, not addressed but denied.  What had these kids done wrong?  Nothing.  But that doesn’t mean someone else did nothing wrong.  It’s hardly random that out of all the cities where this could have happened that Flint is a poverty-stricken majority-Black city.  Neither the children, nor their parents and families, did anything wrong to deserve this.  But it would certainly be wrong if those who were responsible got away without any justice.  In Flint or at the Tower in Jerusalem.
 
The stories of the Galileans and the victims of the tower crash both seem like pretty simple straightforward answers to the ageless question:  why do bad things happen to good people.  As Jesus said elsewhere, it rains both on the just and the unjust.  But that’s not ultimately what this passage is about.
 
And, despite all that additional information I shared about that gruesome cruelty against the Galileans, Jesus didn’t use the occasion to rage against Rome, as at least some in the crowd must have wished.  Instead, he turned to the crowd and asked, “And what about you?”  And regardless of whether the tower collapse was malicious or not, Jesus turned back to them and asked again, “And what about you?” 
 
In our passage today read from The Message, you heard Jesus say, “Unless you turn to God, you, too, will die.”  While this paraphrase is easier to understand, I don’t agree with the translation of this line.  It doesn’t even make sense.  Unless you turn to God you will die.  We will all die regardless.
 
The Common English Bible is clearer.  “Unless you change your hearts and lives, you will die just as they did.”  Sudden and innocent?  I don’t think this is entirely clear either.  But how about this?  Essentially, the liberation Jesus preaches in this story is not liberation from Rome but to embrace the change that brings liberation for ourselves.  For these people with no power, he tells them to seek liberation from within.
 
Even so, Jesus makes clear, you better get on it.  You never know when a madman like Pilate might order some indiscriminate massacre or some random tower might fall on you.  Why put off until tomorrow what you can do today?  Change your hearts and lives now.  Turn to God now.  Repent.  That’s what the New Revised Standard Version in our pews says.  “Repent.”
 
Cue the music and bring in Billie Graham.  Repent is one of most loaded words in Christianity.  It’s so hard not to hear the word and stop listening, certain that some long pointy finger is waiting for you.
 
Brittany Cooper had heard plenty of that.  Her father was a dyed-in-the-wool, ‘baptize with fire’ Baptist preacher.  She described the church she grew up in as obsessed with sin and repentance.  She didn’t dare approach God in prayer without first dutifully cataloguing a litany of sins she had committed since the last time she prayed.  She was constantly made to feel unworthy, unholy, and exhausted by her own inadequacy.  She shared that as an adult, “to be a Black woman in America is to be confronted on a daily basis with [the same] catalog of one’s supposed inadequacy and unworthiness.”  I didn’t need that from God too, she said.
 
Brittany is now Dr. Cooper, a pastor and professor of hip hop feminism at Rutgers University.  She asked, if we could get past the religious baggage that comes along with it, could a queer-affirming, anti-imperial, anti-patriarchal, pro-Black lives gospel preacher dare talk about repentance?
 
Well, let’s get out from under the revival tent and ask, what if repentance just meant we are willing to change our mind?  Change our hearts, minds, and ways in whatever direction that is more loving, more merciful, more grace-filled, and more justice-seeking than we were before. 
 
What if to grow in the Christian faith meant to continue changing our minds, mending our ways, and going in directions that were more loving, more merciful, more grace-filled, and more justice seeking than we were before.  I like that!  That kind of repentance feels really good.  Liberating, actually.
 
Christianity has so thoroughly indoctrinated people that repentance is about the pursuit of personal salvation.  We are to confess our shortcomings until the next time we confess our shortcomings until the next time we confess our shortcomings without ever considering any other or deeper change.  What does all that repentance get us if we are stuck in some circle of unholy inadequacy? 
 
What if saying “I repent” just meant I’m willing to change.  To say, I’ve learned something – about myself, about my community, about the world.  When a scientist discovers new information, they move in that direction, not stay stuck on what it used to be.  Liberation Christians could do the same thing.  As we learn, as our eyes and hearts and minds are opened to new information, shouldn’t we turn and go in the direction of liberation?  I think that’s what it means – or could mean – to repent.  But there’s more.
 
Jesus continues with the image of the fig-less fig tree or the apple-less apple tree.  The owner wants to chop it down.  The gardener pleads to allow him to give it a little extra attention and some more manure.  Give it another year.  And then if it doesn’t produce, cut it down.  I like the plea to give it another year.  I don’t care for the “or cut it down.”  Will there be grace again the following year?  Or is this really just communicating the urgency, the immediacy of this need?
 
We can’t read Jesus without recognizing that among all the things that can describe him, he and John the Baptist were apocalyptic prophets.  They sincerely believed the end was near, some sort of end or at least some sort of cosmic disruption.  Time was of the essence for them.  Early Christians were so convinced the end was near that Paul actually wrote to the Corinthians it was better not to get married, “unless you can’t help yourself!”  Soon, it’s not going to matter.  “The appointed time has grown very short.”
 
Since we are not particularly concerned about the immediate end of the world, does that mean we should just shrug off any sense of immediacy?  Like we do with the climate crisis?  Where’s the urgency?  What’s the point of waiting until later to be more loving, more merciful, more grace-filled, and more justice-seeking than we were before.  Justice seeking for our next generation.   What is our lack of urgency about?
 
As a white Christian, one of the most impactful things I think Dr. King ever said was written from his jail cell in Birmingham.  He was in jail for his participation in a non-violent demonstration.  A group of white clergy accused him of being too impatient.  But, he said, “For years now I have heard the word "wait." It rings in the ear with a piercing familiarity. This "wait" has almost always meant "never."
 
We have waited for more than three hundred and forty years for our God-given and constitutional rights.
 
The nations of Asia and Africa are moving with jet-like speed toward the goal of political independence, and we still creep at horse-and-buggy pace toward the gaining of a cup of coffee at a lunch counter.
 
I guess it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts to say "wait."  But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim;

• when you have seen hate-filled policemen curse, kick, brutalize, and even kill your black brothers and sisters with impunity;
• when you see the vast majority of your twenty million [Black] brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society;
• when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are [Black], living constantly at tiptoe stance, never knowing what to expect next, and plagued with inner fears and outer resentments;

-- then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait.
 
I can’t help but hear Jesus tell the story about the cruelty of Rome toward its Galilean citizens and compare it to our fellow citizens whose lives don’t seem to matter much more than that.  And what has anyone done to deserve their treatment than to be born in our respective day and time?
 
That’s when Jesus turns to the crowd, then as now, to them and to us, and asks, “And what are you going to do about it?”  You must turn to God.  You must change your heart and lives.  You must repent.  We might ask, but what’s the hurry?
 
Let me ask you to listen to this and determine whether this was written in the 1960s or the summer of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor:
 
I’m more disappointed with white moderates who prefer the absence of tension to the presence of justice;

• who constantly says, "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can't agree with your methods";
• who paternalistically feels that [they] can set the timetable for another [person]'s freedom;
• who lives by the myth of time;
• and who constantly advises to wait until a "more convenient season."

 
When was it said?  It was Dr. King, but you weren’t quite sure, right?  Dr. King also said, “Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.”
 
If the Bible were ever opened up to add more material, Letter from Birmingham Jail would go right between Paul’s letters to the Romans and the Corinthians.
 
And when I hear Dr. King speak in that way, I now understand the urgency about which Jesus is speaking.  Repentance not for the sake of my own soul, but to repent on behalf of this world we share and which God’s loves so much. 
 
Repent by changing our hearts, minds, and ways in whatever direction that is more loving, more merciful, more grace-filled, and more justice-seeking than we were before.  And keep changing.  What good is repentance that gets us stuck in some circle of unholy inadequacy?

 
Sermons from Mission Hills UCC
San Diego, California
 
 Rev. Dr. David Bahr
david.bahr@missionhillsucc.org
 
March 13, 2022
 
“Under God’s Wings”

 
Luke 13: 31-35 – Common English Bible
At that time, some Pharisees approached Jesus and said, “Go! Get away from here, because Herod wants to kill you.”
32 Jesus said to them, “Go, tell that fox, ‘Look, I’m throwing out demons and healing people today and tomorrow, and on the third day I will complete my work. 33 However, it’s necessary for me to travel today, tomorrow, and the next day because it’s impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.’
34 “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those who were sent to you! How often I have wanted to gather your people just as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. But you didn’t want that. 35 Look, your house is abandoned. I tell you, you won’t see me until the time comes when you say, Blessings on the one who comes in the Lord’s name
 
 
Context.  You expected me to use that word, right!?  OK, here goes.  Leading up to today’s reading, Jesus has been teaching.  For example, the Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed.  The Kingdom of God is like yeast.  He’s been on a roll, but the teaching part of his life is coming to a close.  The last words before our reading today, Jesus said, “The last shall be first and the first shall be last.”  That’s when some Pharisees approached and warned him to get out of there because Herod wants to kill you.  The Pharisees.  Now, who were they again?
 
The Pharisees were part of a reform movement within Judaism concerned with purity.  Unfortunately, sometimes they were so focused on every jot and tittle in the law that they lost sight of the people.  For example, they complained about Jesus healing a man on the sabbath, implying it’s more important to hold sabbath than to heal on it.  Those are the kinds of things that really upset Jesus.
 
Jesus has been really rough on them.  Just two chapters before, Jesus was eating a meal with some Pharisees.  That’s a good thing.  Eating together was everything is those days.  But while sitting around the table, Jesus told them they were stuffed with greed and wickedness.  Jesus called them foolish.  Repeatedly.  He told them that even though they were very diligent in giving their tithes to the Temple, they neglected justice and love for God.  He kept repeating “How terrible for you, how terrible for you…  You’re like ‘unmarked graves that people walk on.’”  Talk about something that would make them impure!
 
And this wasn’t behind their back after dinner.  This was to their face.  So, why would any Pharisee want to protect Jesus from Herod? 
 
But Pharisees were not a monolithic group.  Some Pharisees were actually devout followers of Jesus.  Some believed he was the Messiah.  Some Pharisees belonged to early Christian communities, but there was a falling out over whether someone had to become Jewish first before they became a Christian.  Pharisees argued for it and lost the argument.  Topics for another day. 
 
So anyway, were today’s Pharisees Jesus’ friends or foes?  We don’t know.  The text just says that “some” Pharisees approached Jesus to warm him about Herod.  But, wait, who was Herod again? 
 
Actually, there were lots of them.  The Herod family reigned for about 140 years.  This one is Herod Antipas, the son of Herod the Great.  Remember the wise men from Christmas?  Herod the Great was the one the wise men went to see.  They asked for directions to the newborn King of the Jews.  A new king was a threat to his legacy.  Therefore, among the horrific things this Herod did was to order the massacre of every boy under the age of 2 in and around Bethlehem.  We call it the massacre of the innocents.
 
Shortly after this, Herod the Great died and his son Herod Antipas became king, except that they weren’t really kings.  They were tetrarchs, which means they were put in place by the Roman Empire, the occupying force.  Like puppets, right?  They were Jewish but only served at the pleasure of Rome.  And though they were Jewish, they didn’t care about Judaism.  The Herods had power but no popularity among their own people.  And they ruled with the same impulsive cruelty as Rome, such as ordering the massacre of infant boys.  Rome didn’t care.  They actually liked it.
 
Herod Antipas was cruel, ambitious, and lustful.  One night he had a lavish banquet where his step-daughter danced for him.  It’s as creepy as it sounds.  Herod was so enthralled by her, he offered to give her anything she wanted.  Her mother told her to ask for John the Baptist’s head on a platter.  John had called out some really appalling behavior and she was angry about it.  She got back at him, though.  In front of all the party guests, John’s head was indeed served on a platter. 
 
But when the Pharisees warned Jesus that Herod Antipas was out to get him, his response was “Who, him?  Go tell that fox I’ve got more important things to do.”  A fox was a pathetic, scared little animal – definitely an insult, but Jesus didn’t care.  He had a mission and was on the way to Jerusalem for his final confrontation with power.  Jesus actually did eventually face the fox.  It was the last day of his life.  Jesus first stood accused in front of the chief priests and legal scholars, then faced trial in front of Pilate who sent him to Herod, who sent him back to Pilate and on to a cross for crucifixion.  But for today’s reading, at this point he is still on his journey to Jerusalem.  
 
OK, so that’s a long back story.  How is it relevant?  Ukraine is on my heart this morning, likely yours too.  And the reason I wanted to make sure you knew exactly who Herod is… It’s Vladimir Putin.  I lament for Ukraine. 
 
I lament how Herod the Great ordered the massacre of all those innocent infant and toddler boys around Bethlehem.  Just like I lament over Vladimir Putin who ordered, or doesn’t mind, the destruction of maternity hospitals full of mothers giving birth.  How can we comprehend the intended death of infants in Bethlehem?  By watching it play out in Kyiv.  Sadly, the Bible is all too relevant today.  And what can we learn?  Lamentation. 
 
In response to the massacre of those children, the prophecy of Jeremiah was cited:  “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they were no more.”  Lamentation.
 
I lament for babies born in bunkers underneath hospitals.  And scenes of the elderly crawling through rubble to save themselves.  And families waiting on crowded train platforms that resemble the train platforms of World War 2.  I lament for teenagers sent to fight a war that serves only the purpose of one ambitious, lustful, and cruel man.  Not for Herod.  Putin.
 
Jesus lamented over Jerusalem.  Jesus wished he could be a mother hen who protects her chicks under her wings from the Herods of the world.  We lament over Kyiv.  And I wish the world could protect the men, women, and children of Ukraine under the protective shelter of our Mother God against another mad man.
 
We can respond with generosity toward the millions of refugees, but otherwise, I feel helpless.  And so, I think the word lament is really helpful.  We can pray for them, but sometimes prayer feels like too small a word.  Especially when paired as “thoughts and prayers,” as though prayer is something we think about.  Lament is something we feel.  Deeply. 
 
So, what is lament?  Here’s five things:
 
1.Lament is like a biblical vocabulary beyond words – often found in groans and sighs too deep for words.  It’s a language of sorrow that comes from the gut when words aren’t enough.  And it’s a language God understands.

2.But lament is also a means for holding silence.  Sacred silence.  We don’t always have to say something.  It’s OK when we have nothing to say.  Sometimes it’s best to say nothing.  Just to hold silence.

3.But lament also welcomes us to shake our fist and complain and protest.  Complaining to God is good.  The Psalmists did it all the time.  It’s an expression of grief mixed with faith.  God can take it.

4.Lament isn’t just a feeling.  It’s a process for our pain, like the stages of grief:  denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.  But lament is also explicitly about faith, that knows God is with us in the denial, anger, and the rest.  

​5.Because lament is also worship.  Grief-filled prayers of pain are among the deepest expressions of worship.  It is when we most feel dependent on God.
 
As we sit here today, far removed, what can we say about Ukraine other than to groan or sigh because we have no words.  To be silent.  And shake our fist and complain.  And not be afraid of grief because we trust that God is with us, the only source of comfort we can always rely on.  Whom we worship and upon whom we depend.
 
I think the word lament helps.  It’s something we can do – to lament for Ukraine today.  To lament for the people of Russia.  To lament for Europe.  May they all find shelter under the safety of God’s wing. 
 
In the words of Psalm 27:
May God hide them in Her shelter in the day of trouble;
May God conceal them under the cover of Her tent;
May She will set them high on a rock away from danger;
May She keep them strong to take courage in their heart.