Sermons from
Park Hill Congregational UCC
Denver, Colorado
 
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
pastor@parkhillchurch.org
 
February 28, 2021
 
“Losing My Religion”

 
Mark 8: 31-38 – New Revised Standard Version
31 Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. 32 He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. 33 But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
34 He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 35 For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel,[a] will save it. 36 For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? 37 Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? 38 Those who are ashamed of me and of my words[b] in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”
 
 

Will Willimon said, “The American church often presents the gospel as the solution to our problems, a technique for better marriages and smarter kids, a way to make nice people nicer, and successful people even more successful.  You hear a lot of, ‘My life was a mess but then I met Jesus and now everything’s fixed.’”[1]  That’s great!  The problem is, actually meeting Jesus is messy and would probably scare the be-jesus out of us!
 
In today’s gospel, Jesus told his disciples that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, be rejected, and killed.  And after three days, rise again.  That last part would be great if we could skip all the suffering, rejection, and death.  Peter agreed, because when he heard this, he took Jesus aside privately and rebuked him, a pretty strong word.  This must not happen to you – because… well, maybe because Peter loved Jesus too much to see him suffer.  Maybe because Peter had just minutes before declared Jesus the Messiah, and such things do not happen to messiahs.  What kind of messiah gets killed?  Or…maybe because, I’m just looking to be a nicer and more successful person.  
 
But, in response to Peter’s private scolding, Jesus turned and publicly rebuked Peter.  And if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, Jesus called Peter “Satan” because Jesus said he was putting human things, like avoiding pain and conflict, in front of divine things.  This is the “easier” part of today’s text.  The Son of Man must undergo great suffering, rejection, and death.   Then, Jesus called out to the crowd, “And if any of you want to become my followers…” 
 
Those crowds had just kept growing.  Despite telling people to keep things quiet, more and more people followed Jesus.  And why not?  He was the best show in town.  Free food and entertainment.  Imagine watching demons scream as they’re called out of the possessed.  Healings of one kind after another – the blind, the lame, the diseased.  He walked on water.  Calmed a storm.  Dared to argue with Pharisees.  One day, he fed 5,000 people with just five loaves of bread and two fish.  And just a couple of verses before today’s reading, he fed another 4,000 people with 7 loaves of bread, with 7 loaves leftover.  And yet, after all that, Jesus said to the disciples, “And you still don’t understand?”[2]  So, Jesus made the first of three attempts to make it crystal clear.  Understand this:  “If any of you want to become my followers, you must deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me.” 
 
I want to sit with this for a minute.  He didn’t say, “If any of you want to become my followers, you must love God and love your neighbors as yourself.  And love your enemies.  And forgive 70 times 7.  Be more compassionate, etc.”  Those things are all true.  And feed the hungry and clothe the naked and shelter the homeless.  Those things are all true, as well.  But it’s not the love thing that makes following Jesus difficult.  It’s the whole “deny yourself and take up your cross” thing. 
 
On Thursday, once again, we had a powerful conversation about this text at our Lunch and Lectionary on Zoom.  By the way, you’re invited to join us.  Among the things we discussed was an observation by Phil that “only those with a self can deny their self.”  Wow.  And with SafeHouse Denver as our mission partner this month, that’s even more obvious.[3]  For survivors of domestic violence, it’s not that they don’t have a “self,” but many have been told that they should simply accept their abuse as “their cross to bear,” tragically often by pastors or family members.  If only they loved their spouses more, they would stop being abused.  Let me be clear:  This is outrageous, and this is false.  And if that is what your religion tells you, run.  Run like hell and rebuke it as you go.  That is truly the logic of Satan.
 
Again, Jesus said, “If any of you want to become my followers, you must deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me.” 
 
Now, what is “denying yourself?”  It’s more than not having a second cookie, or a second glass of wine, or a house with a bigger back yard.  It’s not a Lenten discipline.  That’s too small.  Jesus pairs this line with “and take up your cross.” 
 
So, we might think of “taking up your cross” as a personal burden.  Something that is uniquely your struggle.  Yes, but not really.  At least, not here.  It is not a difficulty or a particular weight on your shoulders.  That’s not to dismiss your own personal struggles and burdens.  It’s just not the meaning of this text.  Perhaps we should ask:  When Jesus spoke of crosses, what did the crowd hear?  Take up your cross?
 
Crosses littered the landscape.  The cross wasn’t unique to Jesus.  The Roman Empire crucified thousands of people.  In fact, when Jesus was just a boy, Romans crucified 2,000 Galileans at once.  “Romans put up crosses like billboards advertising Caesar’s supremacy and the fate of any who dared to challenge it.”[4]  In that way, the cross is very much like the lynching tree, as Dr. James Cone writes.  “In both cases, the purpose was to strike terror in the subject community.”[5]
 
Black men, women, and children were lynched, hung from trees, for no reason at all – for looking in the “wrong” direction.[6]  The point wasn’t the infraction.  It was the terror.  Like confederate flags, statues of Robert E. Lee, and militarized police forces in places like Ferguson, Missouri.  And the whole debacle at the US capitol.  They’re all warnings meant to terrorize. 
 
Terror was the point for Rome too.  Crosses were used as instruments of a torturous death against anyone whom they deemed a threat.  The cross was a weapon and a message for anyone who dared to question Rome’s occupation.  Of all things, why would Jesus tell people to pick up a cross?
 
We sing sentimental songs about old rugged crosses, but the cross, like a lynching tree, like the executioner’s chair on death row, would have sent nice potential followers fleeing.  In fact, I wonder how many followers he had at the end of that day?  I can picture one person after another slipping away from the back.  Running for their lives.  It should make us seriously question whether we want anything to do with this Jesus movement.  But, then again, what good is a religion that only asks you, politely, to be nice? 
 
Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “any religion that professes concern for the souls of men and is not equally concerned about the slums that damn them, the economic conditions that strangle them, and the social conditions that cripple them is a spiritually moribund religion only waiting for the day to be buried.”
 
Jesus does give one compelling reason why they should, why we should, stay.  He asks, “What good is gaining the whole world but losing your soul?”  Perhaps we could say, you can have your soul or you can have your stuff.  But, not really, because that’s too small, too individualistic. 
 
Perhaps a more appropriate question (among others) is:  what good is having everything you want if you’ve sold everyone out to get it?  With Jesus, there’s always a collective impact to consider.  For example, Jesus didn’t just heal individuals.  He healed individuals so they could be reunited and heal their communities. 
 
That part is hard to fully comprehend because Americans, white Americans, make things about the individual – almost like our civil religion.  The whole mask thing baffles me.  It’s my right to choose not to wear a mask.  What kind of religion would go along with putting the whole community at risk of infection because it’s my “right” to do so?  It’s our right to hold super-spreader events?  But on behalf of 524,670[7] dead people, as of this morning and counting, I ask, “What good is gaining the whole world but losing your soul?”  Of course, I have the same question of Jerry Falwell and company, especially as they bow at the religion of a literal golden calf Trump sculpture this weekend.  If you haven’t seen it, google it.[8]
 
Jesus said, “If any of you want to become my followers, you must deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me.”  The cross.  This thing used as an instrument of suffering and death, of terror and oppression.  
 
Dr. Cone has been asked many times how the truth of the black experience of lynching and the cross of Christianity can be reconciled.  He said, “Both the cross and the lynching tree represented the worst in human beings and at the same time ‘an unquenchable ontological thirst’ for life that refuses to let the worst determine our final meaning.”  They are transformed “symbols that represent both death and the promise of redemption, judgment and the offer of mercy, suffering and the power of hope.”  A religion that is real because, like today’s gospel says, there is no rising on the third day without transforming the human experience of suffering, rejection, and death.
 
I don’t know why Jesus said the Son of Man “must” suffer, but he certainly understands that all humans do.  To be human is to know rejection.  And death.  And so, to be in solidarity with suffering humanity, he must experience life as we do.  But Jesus shows how following him transforms it.  And how the cross represents hope.
 
Just like Dr. Cone said, “God took the evil of the cross and the lynching tree and transformed them both into the triumphant beauty of the divine.”
 
And if the followers of Jesus would actually, truly and finally confront the evil and terrorism of white supremacy with repentance and reparation, we could be, we will be, a triumphantly beautiful nation.  But, nice won’t do it.  Nice isn’t enough.  We must deny ourselves and take up our cross.   And if your religion doesn’t ask that of you, lose it.  And take up the cross of Jesus instead.


[1] Lectionary Sermon Resource, Year B, Part 1, Abingdon Press, 2017

[2] Mark 8:17

[3] https://safehouse-denver.org/

[4] W. Hulitt Gloer, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 2, Westminster John Knox Press, 2008, page 73

[5] https://www.orbisbooks.com/the-cross-and-the-lynching-tree.html

[6] Learn more at eji.org

[7] https://www.worldometers.info/coronavirus/country/us/ February 28, 2021

[8] https://www.marketwatch.com/story/this-cpac-golden-calf-trump-statue-is-spurring-backlash-of-biblical-proportions-11614360507

 
 
Sermons from
Park Hill Congregational UCC
Denver, Colorado
 
 
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
pastor@parkhillchurch.org
 
 
February 21, 2021
 
 
“The Future of Our Choosing”
  
 
Psalm 115 – New Revised Standard Version
Not to us, O Lord, not to us, but to your name give glory,
    for the sake of your steadfast love and your faithfulness.
2 Why should the nations say, “Where is their God?”
3 Our God is in the heavens; God does whatever God pleases.
4 Their idols are silver and gold, the work of human hands.
5 They have mouths, but do not speak;
    eyes, but do not see.
6 They have ears, but do not hear;
    noses, but do not smell.
7 They have hands, but do not feel;
    feet, but do not walk;
    they make no sound in their throats.
8 Those who make them are like them;
    so are all who trust in them.
9 O Israel, trust in the Lord!  Their help and their shield.
10 O house of Aaron, trust in the Lord! Their help and their shield.
11 You who fear the Lord, trust in the Lord!  Their help and their shield.
12 The Lord has been mindful of us; and will bless us;
    bless the house of Israel; bless the house of Aaron;
13  bless those who fear the Lord, both small and great.
14 May the Lord give you increase, both you and your children.
15 May you be blessed by the Lord, who made heaven and earth.
16 The heavens are the Lord’s heavens,
    but the earth he has given to human beings.
17 The dead do not praise the Lord, nor do any that go down into silence.
18 But we will bless the Lord from this time on and forevermore.
Praise the Lord!
 
 

When Terri and I discussed a theme for Lent, we decided to focus on the Psalms. We’re especially interested in exploring the Psalms through the eyes of artists and the words of poets.  That’s exactly what the videos from The Work of the People do.  In fact, I wouldn’t have chosen Psalm 115 without the accompanying video.[1] (go to www.theworkofthepeople.com and search for Psalm 115.
 
First of all, I love hearing Walter Brueggemann speak.  He’s 90 years old, still writing books, articles, and until the pandemic, still lecturing around the country.  I saw him just last year at Montview, about this time in February.  Walter is ordained in the UCC but is internationally renowned as the premier scholar of the Psalms and Old Testament – and known for his cutting-edge interpretation in the best prophetic social justice tradition of Jeremiah and Amos – all based on our covenantal relationship with God and one another.  A classic Brueggemann quote:  Hunger for God minus love for neighbor is an oxymoron.
 
So, to prepare for this Lent, I’ve been brushing up on my Psalm studies.  Phil Campbell reminded us at our Lunch and Lectionary on Thursday that Brueggemann categorizes the Psalms as psalms of orientation, psalms of disorientation, and psalms of re-orientation.  Or, a new orientation.  So, as we move forward in Lent, I thought it might be helpful to lay out this model. 
 
Briefly, psalms of orientation are ones we often read in church about praising God with cymbals and dancing.  "Let everything with breath praise the Lord.  The Lord is my shepherd.  My help comes from the Lord, maker of heaven and earth."  They tell us who we are, give us our identity.  But, Brueggemann says, praise songs are “not the most interesting.”  Laura Jean Truman, however, calls them, “Psalms for people whose lives are going just spiffy, thanks very much; for people that don’t have much to report but thankfulness for a good harvest and a recitation of old sayings like “the early bird gets the worm!” and “God helps those who help themselves!”  Well, not exactly.
 
But, she asks, what happens when a collection of cliches falls apart?  As they always do.  What happens when the façade has at last been penetrated and the perfect world folds in on itself?  These psalms of collapse are the psalms of disorientation.
 
We may not be as familiar with these Psalms, but we know them deep in our hearts.  These are lived experiences of anger and despair.  Psalm 13: “How long will you hide your face from me?”  We may politely call them psalms of lament, but more deeply, they are the anguish that arises out of the experience of suffering, or seeing suffering, while the wicked walk around happy and free. 
 
Laura Jean said these Psalms exist because someone asked, ”But why are you so angry?”  Sometimes, when someone says that to you, doesn't it make you want to scream!  Or explode?  Moreover, sometimes we have experiences of such radical dissonance we find ourselves praying for revenge and retribution.  Like Psalm 35:  “Let disaster come to them when they don’t expect it.”  Psalm 35 is a trip.  For times when we feel God has betrayed us.  “How long are you going to let this happen?”  This isn’t supposed to happen to me.
 
The wonderful thing about such Psalms is that they are full of the stuff that good Christians aren’t supposed to think, let alone say out loud.  With the Psalms, however, "Israel insists that communion with God must be real and honest, open to criticism, argumentative, and thereby capable of transformation."  
 
Naturally then, we move along to re-orientation.  But not so fast.  This isn’t a workout program.  The psalms of reorientation, Laura Jean Truman says, aren’t about self-help.  “They are the words of people who have experienced a miracle, against all odds.”  Listen to her beautiful descriptions:  “Gasps of thankfulness when the impossible breaks through.  Whispers of delight when the unimaginable has happened.  When God has broken into time and space and done something with our efforts that we could not have anticipated and certainly could not have created alone.  The psalms of reorientation speak of surprise and wonder, miracle and amazement, when a new orientation has been granted to the disoriented, especially when there was no reason to expect it.” [14]
 
She advises, we don’t “get out of” disorientation by our achievements or on our own timetable.  These psalms aren’t something we’ve built out of the rubble of our deconstructed house.  It’s looking back and realizing what God has done for us.  Although, it’s not a return to something we once knew.  It’s the gift of a brand-new thing – a new heaven and a new earth.  God says, “See! I am making all things new!”
 
Of course, not surprisingly, all 150 psalms do not fit into such neatly defined categories.  Psalm 115 fits, at least in part, as a psalm of orientation that explains their identity as a monotheistic people.  A celebration of God also intended as a defense of monotheism – one god, the God of Israel, a god who cannot be seen.  A God who does what she pleases.  Quirky line, right!  They were surrounded by polytheistic cultures – nations with many gods – whom the Psalmist memorably describes:

5 They have mouths, but do not speak;
    eyes, but do not see.
6 They have ears, but do not hear;
    noses, but do not smell.
7 They have hands, but do not feel;
    feet, but do not walk;
    they make no sound in their throats.
 
On the one hand, that’s really funny to imagine.  On the other hand, this is highly offensive.  It smacks of smug, self-righteousness.  Religious exceptionalism.  In fact, the word idol itself is what we say about someone else.  We are smarter or more faithful or more righteous than those “other people” who…  So, it’s important to identify this temptation to create idols out of things other people do. 
 
Therefore, perhaps we should just get rid of the concept of idol worship altogether.  And yet, the video images of ecological destruction and people behind fences helps us see – there are real idols made of silver and gold.  That have real consequences.
 
For example, who has a mouth that doesn’t speak?  Like the image in the video, politicians in front of a microphone.
Who has ears but cannot hear?  Anyone who can ignore the cries of kids in cages.
Who has eyes but can’t see?  The video shows people walking past a hungry man.  It’s also anyone who hears the cacophony of cries from across the country “I can’t breathe” but refuses to see systemic racism.  What idol is being worshiped?  Right alongside white supremacy, the idol of complicit silence.
Who has a nose that doesn’t smell?  Those who put toxic dumps next to low-wealth neighborhoods or dump sewage into rivers and lakes.  And so on and so on.
 
And so, the Psalmist says, “Those who make idols are like their idols, so are all who trust in them.  But, O Israel, trust in the Lord!  House of Aaron, trust in the Lord.  All who fear the Lord, trust in the Lord.  God is your help and protector.  God is mindful of us, blesses us and gives us increase.” 
 
This Psalm is a praise song to their God, about their identity, set against what other people do -- worship idols.  But a faithful interpreter of this text asks us, what idols do we worship?  And might that not explain, in part, why we feel disoriented at times?  And then set us on the path toward reorientation? 
 
That’s my natural inclination.  A three-step process.  What can I do?  What plans can we make?  Let’s set goals and work toward them.  But what does it mean if we can’t achieve re-orientation based on our own hard work and good efforts?  Notice that my idol is "achievement?"  And a few more things!
 
Let’s go back to that quirky line:  God does what she pleases.
 
Walter told the story of a neighbor who won’t wear a mask.  “Well, if I die, it must be my time.”  He said, “It’s such a statement of despair and resignation.  A refusal to take any initiative or responsibility.  Utterly without hope or expectation for anything new.  A passive recipient of what comes, whether what comes is from God or elsewhere.”  Just like inanimate and powerless idols who can do nothing.  They can’t even make a sound in their throats. 
 
Walter said, “I don’t conclude that my neighbor is a worshiper of idols.  I do conclude that she has willingly signed on for a world in which she is not expected to play any role in shaping the future that is to come upon us.”  Because those who worship powerless idols become like those idols – powerless and inanimate.  
 
No, instead, we worship a God who does what God pleases.  Which sounds like a capricious God who could care less whether or not you and I get Covid 19, too busy having fun in heaven.  But Walter’s point is that if we worship a God who can do anything she pleases, then we worship a living God – not an inanimate one who has no power in the world.  You become like that which you worship.  So, “if we worship the God who freely does what she pleases, we become free like the God of freedom.” 
 
In this psalm of orientation, we affirm, Israel is not passive.  Throughout scripture, it is repeatedly asked to “choose life so that you may live.”  And neither are we passive.  
 
Indeed, the future is of our choosing.  That’s not meant to make us feel powerful.  Much to the contrary, the implications are overwhelming.  The freedom to choose always is.
 
But get ready for what is really overwhelming:  
The gasps of thankfulness when the impossible breaks through.  We worship a God for whom the impossible breaks through. 
 
Get ready for whispers of delight when the unimaginable has happened.  Because we worship a God from whom the unimaginable happens all the time. 
 
Get ready for the God who breaks into time and space and does something with our efforts that we could not have anticipated and certainly could not have created alone.
 
Let us trust in and, through what we choose to worship, become more like this God.
 
 
Sources quoted and consulted:
https://churchanew.org/brueggemann/red-meat-for-white-idols
https://churchanew.org/brueggemann/destiny-not-fate
Walter Brueggemann, Spirituality of the Psalms (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2002).
https://laurajeantruman.com/2018/02/08/deconstruction-disorientation-and-brueggemanns-psalms/
http://paearly.com/blog/2014/11/11/orientation-disorientation-reorientation
The Psalms and the Life of Faith, Walter Brueggemann. “The Psalms and the Life of Faith: A Suggested Typology of Function.” Ed. Patrick D. Miller.


[1] www.theworkofthepeople.com – search for Psalm 115

 
Sermons from
Park Hill Congregational UCC
Denver, Colorado
  
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
pastor@parkhillchurch.org
  
February 14, 2021
  
“What Love Does”
 

1st Corinthians 13: 1-13 – New Revised Standard Version
If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.
4 Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant 5 or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; 6 it does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in the truth. 7 It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
8 Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. 9 For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; 10 but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. 
11 When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. 12 For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. 
13 And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.
 
 
This passage suffers from familiarity.  It’s heard so often at weddings that we could easily assume that chapter 13 is about two lovers.  If you want something for that, go the steamy poetry of Song of Solomon, that’s where you’ll find biblical erotica. 
 
I didn’t choose to read this passage because it’s Valentine’s Day.  Well, maybe I did a few weeks ago.  But I actually think this text is a fitting response to this week’s trial of the former president.  
 
It was a hard week.  Like you, I watched again with horror the images of violent mobs, incited by their commander, smashing doors and windows; crushing law enforcement between doors and beating them with pipes and flag poles; we heard them chant death to the vice-president, a gallows built and noose hung conveniently nearby;  I felt something in my throat as horrified Senators scurried through the labyrinth of hallways to avoid the mobs; and I cried while house members recounted grabbing gas masks and removing their congressional pins, listening as battering rams tried to break into the chamber.  This week was traumatizing for them and for all of us, the whole country, all over again. 
 
Or it was no big deal.  Boring enough to sit doodling with your feet up.  Are we really so divided that we can’t even agree on this?
 
Paul was so concerned about what he heard regarding the bitterly divided Corinthian church, he sat down to compose a letter to them.  Perhaps we might consider his words about love. 
 
But first, we can’t skip to the words of love in chapter 13 without first going through conflict in chapter 12.  Paul received word about contention among the Corinthians, arguing about whose gifts were the greatest.  He wrote to them that there are a variety of gifts that all come from the same Spirit.  To one person is given wisdom, to another knowledge; to one is given faith, and to another healing.  Or prophecy, or discernment of spirits, miracles, tongues, and the interpretation of tongues.  There are lots of gifts of the Spirit.  But he kept repeating, not one of them is better than another because they all come from the same Spirit.  The Spirit decides who gets what.  How could one thing be better?  So, stop arguing.  
 
Paul continued by describing or comparing the church to the body of Christ.  No part of the body is more important than another.  He explained, the eye can’t say to the hand, I don’t need you.  Furthermore, no part of the body is more honorable than another.  In fact, Paul said, the less “respectable” members should be treated with greater respect.   
 
This wasn’t meant as just metaphor or rhetoric.  The early church was radically egalitarian.  Men and women shared leadership, often to the amazement of outsiders.  In the church, people who were slaves and people who were free were to be equals.  Jews and Gentiles worshiped together, although, they were still debating such questions as whether non-Jewish believers had to first become Jewish to be Christian?  That was also part of the conflict Paul addressed in 1st Corinthians.
 
Chapter 12 is one of the most important and consequential parts of the Bible laying out, in the midst of conflict, a beautiful description of the Christian way.  No part of the body is more important than another; as Paul said, honor was to be given to the least.  And, of the many wonderful gifts of the spirit, not one of them is better than another, because the same Spirit gives them all. 
 
He then ended chapter 12 by saying, “But strive for the greater gifts.”  Wait.  I didn’t think any gift was better than another, but some are “greater”?  And still more curiously, these are not Spirit given?  We have to strive for them?  That’s when he told a bitterly divided people that he would show them “a still more excellent way” and said:
 
“If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.”  Those words have a context among a divided people.  They aren’t the flowery words of an imaginary world but a real challenge to living, breathing people. 
 
“If I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.  If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.” 
 
Paul explained this is the “still more excellent way.”  There’s faith.  And there’s hope.  And there’s love.  But the greatest of these is love.  For which he calls us to strive.
 
Love is patient.  Or are we to strive for love that is patient?  Love is kind.  Or are we to strive for love that is kind?  Perhaps both.  That love is and we must strive for love that is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude.  Strive for love that does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in truth.  Strive for love that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  Strive for love that never ends.
 
On the one hand, all that striving sounds exhausting.  Not exactly a gift.  On the other hand, I can do that.  That’s hopeful because we can strive for love when we’re not feeling it.  We can strive for love that never ends, although, I have to add, in my experience, and perhaps in your experience too, some love ends.  Some love is asked to bear, put up with, too many things, even becoming an excuse for abuse.  Maybe that’s one way we know this passage isn’t first and foremost about two lovers or a marriage.  But neither do I think a community or country should simply “put up with” anything and everything.  I appreciate Paul’s clarification that love that does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in truth.
 
But then there’s the Senate.  We were not only traumatized by repeated images of violent mobs, pictures of gallows and noose, haunted by chants and screams and battering rams.  Worse, the means for even a modicum of justice was offered but denied in monstrous and preposterous ways – to use the words of the indefensible.  Truth was spoken, but to use the words of Paul, people rejoiced in wrongdoing.  
 
Can we be honest?  Love?  I don’t love those people.  I don’t want to love those people.  They have no interest in loving back.  I’m tired of striving for love from hateful people.  But of course, to be clear, there are some good but misguided people in that mix – not in the sense of very fine nazis.  But people with whom we simply share a different world view, some of whom are members of our families.  Yet it’s the others that draw me dangerously close to hate.  That is, if we dare be honest.
 
To which I hear Paul saying, keep striving for the more excellent way.  Keep striving for love.  And that will make a difference.  Dr. King had a lot of personal experience with this, and he explained:
Hatred paralyzes life; love releases it.
Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it.
Hatred darkens life; love illuminates it.
That’s what love does.
 
That’s why I think 1st Corinthians 13 is just what we need today.  Strive for love, love that is patient and kind and all the rest.  Keep hoping for it.  Praying for it.  For as long as necessary.  Love doesn’t give up.  And because God is love, our striving for love puts us into the presence of God, and with that, we can do anything.  
 
I know it was a hard week.  But we can keep striving for love.  Together.
 

Prayer for Victims at the U.S. Capitol and Our Nation

Holy Spirit, mighty in your mercy, give tender consolation to the victims of terrorism at the US Capitol, and be with our leaders as they relive violence and trauma. Be with all who suffer nightmares: those who frantically reached for gas masks, removed their Congressional pins, listened to the screams of insurrectionists using battering rams to break through the doors that separated them from mobs. We pray for those watching footage of their rush to safety through the labyrinth of hallways to avoid the violent mobs, grateful for those who protected them. Console the families who received afternoon phones calls saying, “I love you.” We especially pray for those who died while protecting Members of Congress, and those who took their lives afterward. Lord, in your mercy, we beseech you to touch them with healing grace.
​
January 6th wasn’t a day isolated from others. The fevered pitch of lies ignored, the foreshadowing violence unheeded. Not in our country, we thought. Our innocence violated, assumed of foreigners who wish to undermine democracy, not our neighbors. We also pray for people of color and religious minorities, forced to relive their trauma, the same violent acts of terror throughout history and today by white supremacists and neo-Nazis and “Christian” nationalists demanding their privilege, refusing the rest of us the simple freedom to live without fear of violence and terror. Open the eyes and ears of all in denial who say, “this is not who we are.” Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayers.

We also pray for those who stormed the capitol, those who erected gallows and hung nooses, who chanted death to the vice-president, who smashed doors and windows, and assaulted law enforcement with pipes and flag poles, attempting to overthrow the government. All for lies and power at all costs. Touch their hearts with the insight of their actions, with the truth that sets us free, that we may turn together toward peace and goodness, respect for all life, and appreciation for our wonderfully diverse country, a banner of hope for many around the world. Convict the conscience and awaken the minds of the Senators who refuse to acknowledge their complicity, who refuse the healing for the rest of us that comes from accepting consequences. We beseech your mercy, O God, to touch their hearts with healing grace, too. The healing that comes only through accountability, especially for the instigator in chief.

O God, Holy Spirit, consoler, tender but mighty in your mercy, let justice flow like mighty streams and righteousness like ever-flowing waters, and hear our prayers. Amen

Rev. Dr. David Bahr, Pastor
Park Hill Congregational UCC, Denver, Colorado

 
Sermons from
Park Hill Congregational UCC
Denver, Colorado
  
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
pastor@parkhillchurch.org
  
February 7, 2021
  
“The Promises of God”
 

Mark 1: 29-39 – New Revised Standard Version
As soon as they left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. 30 Now Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. 31 He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.
32 That evening, at sunset, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. 33 And the whole city was gathered around the door. 34 And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.
35 In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. 36 And Simon and his companions hunted for him. 37 When they found him, they said to him, “Everyone is searching for you.” 38 He answered, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” 39 And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.
 
  

I grew up in a church with very traditional gender roles.  More than likely, you did too.  Women cooked and served.  Men built and repaired.  The board of elders were all men.  The Sunday School teachers were all women.  Similarly, boys helped fix things.  Girls helped in the kitchen, which is why it was so odd and out of place that I preferred to be in the kitchen, washing and drying dishes.  But I found it much more interesting to listen to their conversations than talk about fertilizer and football.  By the way, I hear there’s some kind of game later today.
 
In rural North Dakota where I was raised, churches would often have an annual dinner for the whole community.  Northwood, the town where I went to school, only had two churches:  Lutheran and Lutheran.  One served an annual ham dinner.  The other, Swedish meatballs (although that’s kind of odd since they were all Norwegians).  People drove from miles around for those meatballs, along with boiled potatoes and lefse.  One year, one of the organizers had a hip replacement and couldn’t be there to guide the process.  She worried they would use boxed potatoes to avoid the pain of peeling them all.  The pastor went to visit Helen a few days before the event and assured her that there were people at the church that very morning peeling potatoes.  He said, “You sure must love cooking.”  She replied, “oh heavens no.  I don’t love cooking at all, but I love Jesus, and this is what I can do for him.”  Nice!  I love Jesus.  And this is what I can do.
 
In today’s text, Simon’s mother-in-law had such a high fever, she was confined to bed.  It’s not like she could have just taken some Advil.  Fevers were a serious and potentially fatal problem.  It must have taken a lot out of her.  Therefore, don’t you think the least Simon could have done is let her get some rest before jumping up to serve?  Why didn’t he say, “Hey ma, take it easy.  I’ll make the sandwiches this time.”  But clearly, healing by Jesus provided full restoration.  There was no time needed for recuperation.  She jumped right up to offer hospitality to her guests.  “To serve,” the text says.
 
With our modern ears and sensibilities, my first reaction is to say “there we go again.  Reinforcing gender stereotypes.”  But if we dig a little deeper, we’ll realize that she and Jesus were upending stereotypes.
 
Here’s a couple of reasons why:  First of all, she got it.  Throughout his gospel, Mark tells one story after another about how the men didn’t get it.  For example, they argued with each other about who was the greatest.[1]  They pushed children away who wanted to approach Jesus.[2]  It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. 
 
One time, Jesus actually told Simon, whom we later know as Peter, “Get behind me, Satan.”[3]  Later, three times he denied even knowing Jesus.  “I tell you, I don’t know him!”[4]  The third time, he heard a cock crow in the distance.  On the other hand, his mother-in-law?  She immediately got up and served Jesus.
 
However, the word “serve” here doesn’t mean she went into the kitchen to fix sandwiches.  It’s a specific word Jesus used for himself.  One day, James and John came to Jesus and said, “We want you to do whatever we ask of you.”  Um, OK, what’s that?  “We want to sit next to you in your glory, one at your right hand and one at your left.”[5]  Picture Anthony Fauci standing behind Trump.  Palm to his face. 
 
Jesus responded by telling the disciples about rulers and tyrants who try to lord over people.  “But not among you; whoever wishes to be great must be your servant.”  And added, “I came to serve, not to be served.”[6]  That’s not a generic word, but the same one specifically ascribed to Simon’s mother-in-law. 
 
She is the living demonstration of faithfulness in the eyes of Jesus.  She and many other women, who “followed him and provided for him (served) when he was in Galilee; and still other women who had come to Jerusalem with him.”[7]  While the men hid in fear, they all courageously stood by Jesus while he hung from the cross.
 
Simon’s mother-in-law got it.  She understood and immediately began to serve.  But there’s one more thing.  Back in verse 31, it says the fever left her when “Jesus took her by the hand and lifted her up.”  But “lifted up” is not exactly right.  Other versions[8] more accurately translate, “raised her up.”  A parallel with Jesus.  This word is used only one other time in Mark.  In the second to the very last verse in the Gospel of Mark, the women who came to prepare Jesus’ body for burial were told he was not there.  Why?  “He has been… raised up.”
 
Simon’s mother-in-law is definitely not a gender stereotype.  She is a powerful demonstration, a model for the kind of liberation Jesus practiced, which is why it’s so upsetting to see this text misused to claim, “see, the Bible says a woman’s place is in the kitchen.”  As Cynthia Briggs Kittredge said, this woman is “an icon of resurrection and a paradigm [for] Christian ministry.”[9]  Not simply a paradigm for women, but for anyone who loves and wishes to be Christ-like.  
 
When news got out about the healing of Simon’s mother-in-law, the “whole city” gathered around the door.  Jesus cured many and cast out many demons.  Terri talked about the meaning of demon casting last week.
 
Well, after an exhausting night like that, he got up early and went into the wilderness so he could be alone and pray.  When Simon and his companions “hunted him down,” Jesus told them that it was time to leave Capernaum and go on to neighboring towns to “proclaim the message.  Because that’s what I came out to do.”
 
“Proclaim the message.”  I was curious.  I didn’t want to assume I knew the answer, so I went back to the beginning of Mark.  What’s “the message?”  It says, “Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God.”[10]  Which kind of just leads to another question:  What is the good news of God?
 
So, I asked our group at Lunch and Lectionary on Thursday.  Laura pointed to the Exodus story and said the good news of God is liberation.  And the prophets who proclaim justice and mercy.  Marlene said, the good news of God is that God is love.  John said, and not only that, the good news of God is that “we’re loved and we don’t have to do anything to earn it.”  Bob added, “no matter what we’ve done, no matter our past or history.”  Sharyl agreed and added, furthermore, the good news of God is that “we’re God’s skin in the world to each other.”  We’re called to pass that love on.  Or, in other words, we’re called to “serve.”  In whatever ways we can.
 
Some days we love Jesus by peeling potatoes.  Other days it’s working to overturn the death penalty.  Some days it’s buying socks to give to women and men living on the street.  Other days it’s calling members of Congress to demand accountability for lies and incitement to violence.  Repent!  Every day we can love Jesus by denouncing white “christian” nationalists – who, if they picked up a Bible and read some stories of Jesus, might realize there is nothing “Christian” whatsoever about supremacy and privilege.  Jesus warned against tyrants like that – those who argue about who is great and demand to sit in seats of power.  
 
But, if you love me, serve. Raise one another up. Free the captive. Mourn with the grieving. Bless the meek. Save the earth.
 
What would you say is the good news of God?  Yes, it’s that we are loved unconditionally.  It’s also justice and mercy and liberation, which we see in real life through examples of courage like Colin Kaepernick.  That’s the good news of God.  And the perseverance of Bryan Stevenson, who said, “Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”  The good news of God is expressions of faith like Stacy Abrams.  And the brilliance of Amanda Gorman.  And the promise that we can change.
 
From today’s text, ultimately, the good news of God is everything you do for a neighbor who can’t do anything back for you.
 


[1] Mark 9:34

[2] Mark 10:13

[3] Mark 8:33

[4] Mark 14:66

[5] Mark 10:37

[6] Mark 10: 41-47

[7] Mark 15:41

[8] Like the Common English Bible and many others

[9] Commentary on workingpreaching.com

[10] Mark 1:14

​Sermons from
Park Hill Congregational UCC
Denver, Colorado
 
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
pastor@parkhillchurch.org
 
January 24, 2021
 
“To Repair Our Nation”

 
Mark 1: 14-20 – New Revised Standard Version
John 14 Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, 15 and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”
 
16 As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. 17 And Jesus said to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” 18 And immediately they left their nets and followed him. 19 As he went a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets. 20 Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him.
 
  

I want to read one more piece of “scripture.”  You might recognize it:
“We will not march back to what was but move to what shall be:
A country that is bruised but whole,
benevolent but bold,
fierce and free.
We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation
because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation.”
 
Amanda Gorman’s poem at the inauguration on Wednesday made me feel like I’d been to church.  But then again, so did President Biden’s speech.  He gave a “sermon” full of themes about love and healing.  He quoted Saint Augustine.  And he stopped for a moment so we could pray together in silence – actually acknowledging the deaths of 400,000 citizens, a horrible percentage among 2 million globally.  And actually acknowledging systemic racism “400 years in the making.”  He even quoted the Psalms, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy will come in the morning.”  That’s Psalm 30, verse 5.  Eugene Peterson translates it this way:  “The nights of crying your eyes out, will give way to days of laughter.”
 
It’s a new day in America.  Breathe!  Again, to quote Biden:  A day for “hope, not fear.  Unity, not division.  Decency and dignity.  Greatness and goodness.” 
 
Yes!  Let’s Make America Good Again.  Kind.  Decent – with admonitions, of course, not to whitewash our history.  Whenever we say, “We’re better than that, that’s not who we are,” that willfully ignores our legacy of lynching and Jim Crow laws and mass incarceration, the Trail of Tears and broken treaties, internment camps and kids in cages.  Yet, I felt inspired to do better.  
 
As Amanda Gorman said,
“And yes, we are far from polished,
far from pristine,
but that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect.
We are striving to forge a union with purpose: 
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and conditions of man.”
 
We have waited four long years – really, more like an emotional decade; we have long waited to hear an American president say:  “There is truth and there are lies, lies told for power and for profit.”  I appreciated that very important qualifier.  And then, he admonished, “Our duty is to defend the truth and defeat the lies.” 
 
And one more line from Amanda Gorman: 
“Being American is more than a pride we inherit,
it’s the past we step into and how we repair it.”
 
Yes, that is “The Hill We Climb.”  And after all our waiting, I’m ready.  Are you?
 
Perhaps like you, I have been thinking this week about my call for this new day in America.  As a Christian, or as a person of faith, or simply as a person with a moral conscience – to what are you being called today?  To what is our church being called?  Is it something different?  That’s the essential question of our text from the Gospel of Mark. 
 
Four men in today’s reading quickly left their nets behind to follow Jesus.  You can’t encounter that reading without asking, “Why?”  At our Lunch and Lectionary on Thursday, Susan Yarbrough mused on that “infectious immediacy of Jesus.” Marlene Lederer says the same thing happens all the time.  You see something and change direction.  But as Larry Ricketts noted from his own life, not unless someone asks you.  Most of us wait until we’re asked. 
 
Perhaps those four men had been pondering their future as they sat in their boats, day after day, casting their nets.  Overfishing and Roman taxation had made their work almost worthless.  Why even bother?  And then along came Jesus.  Was there something specifically about him?  There couldn’t have been much economic enticement about fishing for people – whatever that meant – instead of catching fish to sell or even fish for the supper table. 
 
My friend Kate Huey said, “the difference is that Jesus didn’t give the disciples something new to do.  Instead, he called them into new ways of being in the world.” 
 
That sentiment is reinforced by one scholar who translated the Greek, not to mean that Jesus called them to fish for people, but rather, Jesus called them to become fishers of people.  A calling to become someone more rather than to do something different.  
 
Let me say again:  Jesus didn’t give the disciples something new to do.  Instead, he called them into new ways of being in the world.  I think that’s true for us today, too.
 
We have had a unique calling for the past four years.  The operative word for many of us these last four years has been “resist.”  I have the word resist above the door as I walk into my office.  But, I’m ready for what’s next.  How about you?
 
To quote Amanda Gorman again,
“Being American is more than a pride we inherit,
it’s the past we step into and how we repair it.”
 
That is so right.  It’s time to step beyond our commitment to resist and now to restore, reestablish, reinstate, return, renew…  Biblically, to repair.  Perhaps we should call her Reverend Gorman because she preached to us the biblical call of the Prophet Isaiah:  to be “repairers of the breach.”
 
Here’s a little behind the story:  After decades in Babylon, the exiles returned home to Jerusalem only to find their homes destroyed and their Temple in ruins.  They didn’t know what else to do, so they went back to what they had done before, holding their fasts and rituals in the ruins of the old temple.  But, in their minds, nothing was happening. 
 
With self-righteous pity, they complained to God, “Why do we fast if you don’t see?  Why humble ourselves if you won’t notice?”  I’m not sure what they expected, but God replied, in Isaiah 58, verses 6-8, “Is this not the fast I choose?  To break the chains of injustice, to set the oppressed free?” 
 
“The fast I choose is to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin.  Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly.”  And to end verse 12, Isaiah said:  “You shall be called repairers of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in.”  
 
Interesting coincidence:  Rev. William Barber used this same text for the inaugural prayer service, which I didn’t realize until after I wrote this.
 
Again, Amanda Gorman:  
“Being American is more than a pride we inherit,
it’s the past we step into and how we repair it.” 
 
As I contemplate this new day in America, that has a ring of authenticity to it.  And a broad enough range that all of us can find our calling within it.  Repairers of the breach – whether we are artists or economists, whether we are urban or rural, whether we are age 15 or 75, whether we have empty bank accounts or a healthy stock portfolio, together as Christians and Jews and Muslims and Hindus and Buddhists – we can all become repairers of the breach.  
 
We may not yet know how, but perhaps just thinking about it this morning will help you contemplate your call for this new day in America.  I find the language of repair helpful.  And then, Isaiah said, our healing shall spring up quickly, if we break the chains of injustice and set the oppressed free.
 
Just a quick clarification.  Repair is not a return to what was normal.  It too was broken.  Repairing the breach reaches farther back than the previous administration.  True repair establishes a justice that was yet to be.
 
And a note of caution:  In this new era where our convictions are closer to the president and party now in power, it is important to remember that our call is not to always be in agreement with political agendas but in alignment with the gospel values.  Such as, actual economic justice and real racial equity – talk about a breach to repair!  We’re not called to be sycophants, but bridge builders and prophets, which is, at times to offer support and at other times to critique.  Like Dr. King said:  “the church is not called to be the master or servant of the state, but rather to be the conscience of the state.” 
 
And yet, perhaps today we can simply relish that it is a new day in America.  We can breathe.  And remember from the not yet but certainly could be Reverend Gorman:

[when we] merge mercy with might,
and might with right,
then love becomes our legacy
and [we’ve changed] our children’s birthright.

​Park Hill Congregational UCC - Denver, Colorado
Daily Reflection - January 7, 2021

Rev. Dr. David Bahr, Pastor

Thank you, Mr. Trump (again).

I was reminded this morning of a piece I wrote the day after Mr. Trump tear gassed and shot rubber bullets into peaceful protestors so he could stage a photo op in front of St. John’s Episcopal Church, awkwardly holding a Bible.  I told him thank you.  I thanked him for not entering the church, not opening the bible, not uttering a single word.  Thank you, I said, for simply making it baldly obvious that it was just a publicity stunt for his supporters, momentarily even unnerving some of them.  But only momentarily.

I thought of that moment and many more, like Charlottesville, this morning when trying to discern what I should offer in the way of a daily reflection.  Like all of you, I am shocked, appalled, and saddened.  I was stunned, but, like many of you, ultimately not surprised.  As many others have said, it was exactly what he wanted.  He loved it.  He loved the unhinged devotion, as any cult leader does.  He told the Proud Boys and everyone missing the glory days of slavery and lynching and segregation to come to Washington because it’s going to be wild.  He ginned up the crowd and sent them to the capitol.  To drink the Kool Aid.

In my own life, I have been trying to focus on gratitude.  At our gratitude group on Tuesday night, I asked the 17 participants to share what they were grateful for in 2020.  Don’t just be glad it’s a new year.  For what are you grateful?  It was a wonderful conversation.

Yesterday’s shameful activities deserve the same question.  I do not mean to diminish the terror inflicted on members of Congress.  I do not mean to dismiss 4 dead people because of that coup attempt.  Pause for a moment to recognize the trauma to our country. 

But for what might we be grateful in the aftermath of yesterday’s insurrection attempt?

I am grateful because the evil of acts of men must exposed to the light of day.  It is necessary for change.  Yesterday was disturbing.  And hopeful.  There were no winks and nods and dog whistles.  KKK members used to walk around in hoods.  Today they wave Trump flags and wear red MAGA hats.  White supremacy was on full display.  Without masks to hide. An act of desperation.  It was, I pray, the last gasping breaths of a death rattle.  It’s not gone.  This isn’t over.  But yesterday was a turning point.  Politicians who disingenuously denounce violence but still support the lie of a fraudulent election are on notice.  You are a hypocrite.  The people who vote for them are on notice.  We are moving forward as a rainbow nation of all races, creeds, and colors.  Yesterday backfired.  And moved us a little closer to a world that is open, inclusive, just, and compassionate.  And for that I am grateful.

But it also can’t stand as a disturbing moment in time, momentarily even moving Lindsay Graham to flip flop once more and denounce the president.  We may wish to look away, to rush forward to two weeks from now and breathe a sigh of relief that our long national nightmare is over.  We can’t.  Mr. Trump must be held accountable.  He must be impeached again.  I expect that some of the mask-less rioters will be arrested – all of them should be.  But the man who told them to drink the Kool Aid must ultimately pay the highest price.

So, thank you, Mr. Trump, for making your intentions obvious enough that everyone can see clearly that you must be stopped.  This morning we pray for the restoration of calm and peace and decorum in the Capitol.  We pray for the soothing of the nerves of scared citizens.  But I also pray that God fill members of Congress with enough shame and disgust that they won’t walk too quickly away.  Enough is enough.

Thank you, Mr. Trump.

 
​
Sermons from
Park Hill Congregational UCC
Denver, Colorado
 
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
pastor@parkhillchurch.org

January 10, 2020
 
“A Polar Plunge Baptism”

 
Mark 1: 4-12 – The Message
John the Baptizer appeared in the wild, preaching a baptism of life-change that leads to forgiveness of sins. People thronged to him from Judea and Jerusalem and, as they confessed their sins, were baptized by him in the Jordan River into a changed life. John wore a camel-hair habit, tied at the waist with a leather belt. He ate locusts and wild field honey.
7-8 As he preached, he said, “The real action comes next: The star in this drama, to whom I’m a mere stagehand, will change your life. I’m baptizing you here in the river, turning your old life in for a kingdom life. His baptism—a holy baptism by the Holy Spirit—will change you from the inside out.”
9-11 At this time, Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. The moment he came out of the water, he saw the sky split open and God’s Spirit, looking like a dove, come down on him. Along with the Spirit, a voice: “You are my Son, chosen and marked by my love, pride of my life.”
12-13 At once, this same Spirit pushed Jesus out into the wild. For forty wilderness days and nights he was tested.
 

When you picture a baptism, what do you see?  Maybe memories of a smiling family, the pastor sprinkling a few drops of water, perhaps enough for a little to run down the face.  I can picture a cooing baby, to which we respond with awes, or screaming, to which we laugh.  Most baptisms in our tradition are of infants, perhaps young children, and occasionally adults, like Lily last year and Shaun.  They are delightful occasions.  Covid baptisms have included humorous suggestions that pastors should stand across the room with super soakers to maintain social distance.
 
Some of you may have been present for baptisms by immersion – perhaps even some of you were baptized by immersion.  It’s a much more dramatic representation of dying and rising to new life.  And I would imagine it would take a little more consideration, and for me, trepidation.  I don’t like when my head goes below water – when it gets in my ears and nose.  And I would definitely emerge from the water coughing and gasping for air a little more dramatically than necessary.
 
Some years ago, a Connecticut pastor suggested that baptism should involve something terror inducing – like skydiving.[1]  After making your vows, step out of a plane thousands of feet in the air and free fall plummet to the earth before pulling a cord to land safely on solid ground.  To kiss the ground and cry Thank you, God.  Thank you, God.  Or some other equally frightening activity.  Like bungee jumping off a bridge.  I suspect he wasn’t suggesting that for infants but rather adults about to be baptized.
 
If that were the case, everyone in the church would have had a shared experience of overcoming sheer terror as part of their common Christian experience.  Young people would look at their elders with walkers and canes and marvel that they too once jumped from a plane.  What if baptism meant confronting your fears? 
 
Of course, standing here next to freezing water gives me another idea.  A polar plunge baptism!
(Note:  This is recorded in Rocky Mountain National Park next to freezing/frozen water)
 
When David Aromin moved from Philadelphia to Anchorage, he jumped into 32-degree water.  He and some fellow transplants did it as part of a fundraiser for Special Olympics.  He said, "I'm new to Alaska, and this is one way to be baptized."[2]  Interesting choice of words for this signature Alaskan experience.  Of course, Special Olympics holds polar plunge fundraisers all over the country.  One of the most famous in Chicago, however, like many other things this year, will be entirely virtual.  They suggest jumping into a snowbank instead of Lake Michigan or running through a sprinkler in the back yard, which sounds pretty lame in comparison.[3]
 
Remember the ice-bucket challenge?  One of the co-creators of the challenge died last month.[4]  That viral sensation raised $220 million worldwide for ALS research since 2014.  Among the participants were George W. Bush and Britany Spears.  And I’ll give credit where credit is due, pre-president, Donald Trump did it too.[5]
 
What if we made this a baptismal rite?  No more droplets and dribbles, but do you promise, by the grace of God, to be a disciple, to follow in the way of Jesus Christ, to resist oppression and hatred, to show love and justice, and to witness to the work and word of Jesus Christ, as best you are able?  Yes?  Then, here, pour this bucket of ice and water over your head as a symbol of your vows.  Or jump out the door of this plane.  Or plunge into this freezing water. 
 
There’s some rhyme to my reason – or reason to my rhyme.  Michele’s reading from the Gospel of Mark said that when Jesus came up out of the water, “he saw the sky split open and God’s Spirit, looking like a dove, come down upon him.”  I can picture the clouds parting, revealing the rays of the sun and a gentle dove descending, landing sweetly on his shoulder, cooing a lovely song.  But that’s not what’s going on here.
 
This is one passage where Eugene Peterson’s translation doesn’t quite capture the whole message.  In the New Revised Standard Version, it says, “Just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove.”  The dove still sounds like a gentle breeze rather than, more appropriately, one of those birds that divebombs for fish.  That’s because the words “torn apart” mean much more than we give credit.  The Greek word Mark used here is skhizein.  (sky-zen)  Some translations say, “ripped apart” or “torn open.”  There’s something almost violent in its imagery.  It should get our attention.
 
This word is used as a bookend to the life of Jesus.  You may recall that Mark doesn’t tell a birth story.  Mark just plunges right in and by chapter 1, verse 9, Jesus is already emerging from the water of his baptism.  At that moment, the heavens were “torn apart.”  It’s not like the heavens opened and the sun emerged after a thunder storm.  It’s skhizein.  The only other time Mark uses that specific word is when Jesus hung from a cross and took his last breath.  At that very moment, the curtain of the Temple was torn apart, skhizein, ripped from top to bottom.  Matthew adds an earthquake.  But ripping the Temple curtain wasn’t like pulling a bed sheet apart.  The curtain that hung in the Temple was as thick as a rug or as dense as tapestry.  Human hands could have never torn it apart.  Only with God could such a thing be accomplished. 
 
What does it mean that Mark equalizes the exact moments of his baptism and his death in this way?  It’s really a disconnect from most of our images of baptism.
 
I suggest that baptism calls us to confront our fears – not necessarily skydiving, polar-plunging, but rather:  Our fear that to actually follow the call of Jesus is to really, literally, resist oppression and hatred.  It is to really, literally, show love and justice.  Like two of my modern Christian heroes – Bree Newsome and Colin Kaepernick. 
 
Bree Newsome is a devout Christian, daughter of the longtime Dean of the Howard University School of Divinity.  Following the murder of the Mother Emmanuel Nine in 2015, she climbed up a flagpole on the capitol grounds in South Carolina to rip down the Confederate flag.  As she descended holding the ultimate symbol of white supremacy, she quoted scripture, “The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?”  She said, “I refuse to be ruled by fear.  How can America be free and be ruled by fear?  How can anyone be?”[6]
 
Just like my Christian hero, Colin Kaepernick, enacting his faith every time he took a knee.[7]  Did you know that among his tattoos are scripture passages?  On his left bicep, Kaepernick inked Psalm 27:3: “Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear and though war break out against me, even then I will be confident.”  Baptized Methodist, confirmed Lutheran, his meek non-violent act of kneeling makes the mighty and powerful feel threatened.  He is a beautiful living representation of Mary’s Magnificat and Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount.
 
Polar plunging, skydiving, climbing a flagpole, taking a knee against injustice at the risk of everything.  These may come to mind as dare devil activities, something beyond our grasp.  But I want to suggest something even scarier.  What would it mean for you to take a risk for love?  For example, against whom are you holding a grudge?  In this new year, dare you forgive, or seek forgiveness?  Even forgiving yourself.  What if baptism really did mean confronting fears like that?  Not for the sake of a thrill but to stand for something or stand up for someone.  What would that be for you?  You’re capable of more than you think.  Look at the year you’ve just been through.
 
So, get your water ready and I’m going to ask you to reaffirm your baptismal vows again:  “Do you promise, by the grace of God, to be a disciple, to follow in the way of Jesus Christ, to resist oppression and hatred, to show love and justice, and to witness to the work and word of Jesus Christ, as best you are able?”
 
Really?  Literally?
 
If that frightens you, remember what Bree Newsome said:  “The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?”  
 
As Colin Kaepernick said, “Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear and though war break out against me, even then I will be confident.”  
 
So, this year, as we remember the baptism of Jesus and our own, touch your forehead with water and repeat after me:  “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”


[1] Maxwell Grant on day1.org

[2] https://apnews.com/article/08c9031f604942ef907ade481f136a73

[3] https://sochicago.org/chicago-polar-plunge/

[4] https://www.npr.org/2020/11/23/937859693/ice-bucket-challenge-co-creator-dies-at-37

[5] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oF3mmcYFoYs

[6] https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/post-nation/wp/2015/06/29/why-bree-newsome-took-down-the-confederate-flag-in-s-c-i-refuse-to-be-ruled-by-fear/

[7] https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/acts-of-faith/wp/2017/09/24/colin-kaepernick-and-the-powerful-religious-act-of-kneeling/

​
Sermons from
Park Hill Congregational UCC
Denver, Colorado
 
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
pastor@parkhillchurch.org
  
“To Show Us the Way”

Christmas Eve 2020
 
 
What is Christmas about?  We heard Matthias, Aidan, and Kian read the story of Jesus’ birth from the Gospel of Luke.  We know the Gospel of Matthew tells a slightly different story, one that includes three wise people who followed a star in the East, bearing gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.  Mark’s Gospel says nothing.  And John says nothing except, “And the Word became flesh and lived among us.”  That’s the story I want to fill in.  Why did God do that?  Why did God become flesh, human, to live among us?  Listen to this story:
 
One Christmas Eve, Samantha looked out her window at the snow swirling down and listened to the frosty wind whistle through the cracks in the window frame.  
 
She was home alone.  Her family was at church for the Christmas Eve service, but as usual, Sam chose not to go.  For many reasons and no reason in particular, church just wasn’t her thing. 
 
Suddenly, she realized, "The barn!  Oh, my goodness, I forgot all about the animals!  What in the world’s wrong with me?"  She quickly put on her boots and coat and opened the back door to a blast of frigid air.  She carefully walked down the icy steps and across the yard.  With a big pull on the wooden barn door, it creaked open and Sam walked inside.
 
It was almost as cold inside as out.  Her breath hung in white clouds in front of her.  She struck a match and began lighting the heaters and stood around one of them, rubbing her hands together.  The animals welcomed the warmth and light too.  Sam fed them and soon they were warm and full.
 
When Sam walked back outside, snowflakes danced around her head and she remembered when she was a girl running around in the snow trying to catch them on her tongue.  She had the idea to try it again, except that Mrs. Crowder, their neighbor, would probably see her out the window and have some juicy news to share the next day.
 
It was so cold, the snow crunched under her feet.  She looked up and noticed some sparrows perched on the bare limbs of a pear tree. The bitter wind ruffled their feathers.  They seemed almost frozen to the limb.  Some of them had fallen to the ground and were flopping around.
 
"Poor little sparrows," she said out loud.  Sam knew that without shelter, they might soon freeze to death, so she tried, again and again, to shoo them toward the barn, but as she moved toward them, they flopped away.  They were afraid of this giant creature.  They didn’t understand she was only trying to help.
 
Frustrated, she thought, "If only I could become a sparrow, I could help them.  They could follow me and wouldn’t be afraid."
 
At that moment in the distance, Sam heard the bells ring from the church steeple.  She stood up to listen.  It was midnight.  Christmas.  When she looked back down, she had an idea.
 
She got a sack of seed from the barn and threw some onto the snow.  Slowly, one sparrow after another moved toward the seed and began to eat.  Sam made a path of seed that led them right into the barn.  She closed the big wooden door and looked through a crack.  The birds were frightened and confused at first, but soon they soared to the barn rafters and perched there, safe and warm.  And Samantha smiled.[1]
 
One of the ways Sam thought she could help the sparrows was by becoming one of them.  In a very simple way, that’s the idea of Christmas.  The angels kept saying, to Mary, to the shepherds, to everyone:  “Do not fear.”  God is becoming one of us to save us and show us a better way of life – a life of service and generosity and kindness and sacrificial love.  Just as the gospels explain the life of Jesus.
 
“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” to show us the way of justice and compassion.  Not merely for ourselves, for that wouldn’t be very Christ-like, but with families at the border, with the mass incarcerated and wrongly imprisoned, with those on death row and in Covid wards tonight alone. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us for them.  And for us.  To show us compassion, for us to be compassion.  That’s why God did it.
 
And that is what will bring us all a Merry Christmas.


[1] Sam & the Sparrows by Bass Mitchell, adapted

Sermons from
Park Hill Congregational UCC
Denver, Colorado
 
Rev. Dr. David Bahr
pastor@parkhillchurch.org
 
December 20, 2020
 
“Mary's Radical Magnificat”

Luke 1: 46-55 New Revised Standard Version

And Mary said,
“My soul magnifies the Lord,
47     and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
48 for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.
    Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
49 for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
    and holy is his name.
50 His mercy is for those who fear him
    from generation to generation.
51 He has shown strength with his arm;
    he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
52 He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
    and lifted up the lowly;
53 he has filled the hungry with good things,
    and sent the rich away empty.
54 He has helped his servant Israel,
    in remembrance of his mercy,
55 according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
    to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”

​This is one of my favorite texts in the Bible.  It is so hopeful.  It’s how I got through the Trump administration.  God scattering the proud in the thoughts of their hearts; bringing the powerful down from their thrones and lifting up the lowly; filling the hungry with good things and sending the rich away empty.
 
Mary the Revolutionary.  In fact, some governments know that Mary wasn’t meek and mild.  In the past century, in three separate instances, India, Guatemala, and Argentina all banned the public recitation of the Magnificat.[1]  Its message, they feared, was too subversive.  Others of course ignore it completely.  A poll of white evangelicals revealed only 8% percent had ever heard it read in worship.  How many people take this passage from the Gospel of Luke seriously?
 
The one “benefit” of having Covid is that after my Covid brain fog lifted, I had time to read some good books.  Among them, I read Jon Meacham’s biography of John Lewis.  We all know Lewis’ story – or at least two major parts:  one) how he was beaten and his skull cracked as he attempted to cross the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma and two) his long tenure as a Congressman from Georgia.  John’s activism as a young person was through the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee, otherwise known as Snick, of which he was a founding member. 
 
We are much more familiar with the men of the Civil Rights Movement than the women.  Uniquely, Snick was one of the most egalitarian organizations, but even so, while John and Hosea Williams are known for their bravery at the front of the line in Selma, it was actually Diane Nash, another founding Snick member, and her husband who implemented it.  After reading John Lewis, I realized I needed to know more about Diane Nash.  I found a book called Hands on the Freedom Plow.  It contains 55 personal accounts by women in Snick.  It’s fascinating, inspiring – and I highly recommend it.  And one piece of Diane’s story really spoke to me when thinking about Mary, the mother Jesus, today.
 
It was the summer of 1961.  Diane and her husband Rev. James Bevell were providing workshops for young people in Mississippi to prepare them to join the Freedom Rides.  She was 23 and five of her students were under 21 years of age.  She was arrested and charged with contributing to the delinquency of minors by encouraging them to break the law to desegregate interstate buses.  She was found guilty of five counts, each carrying a sentence of 6 months – a combined total sentence of 2 ½ years.
 
She appealed and the NAACP sent a $2,500 bond, but the appeals court deliberately didn’t inform her of the court date.  So, when she didn’t appear, there was now a warrant out for her arrest.  That warrant provided quite a dilemma – she could either leave the state and abandon the work she felt passionately called to do or go to jail.  She and her husband planned to spend their lives in Mississippi working for the liberation of Black people.  She said, “I didn’t want Mississippi white men or anyone else deciding for me where we could live and work.  I didn’t want anybody to run me anywhere I did not want to go.”  Furthermore, if she left the state, the NAACP would lose $2,500, which is worth over $20,000 today.
 
But even more complicated, or rather, much more complicated, she was six months pregnant, which would mean her child would be born in jail and she would lose out on the first two years of his life.
 
She wrote:  “It was a dreadful, dreadful position, so I retreated to my bedroom.  [I told Bevel I didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone.]  I did nothing but eat, sleep, think, and pray.  After three days I made the decision to surrender and serve the term.  With intense meditation, I had tapped into a very powerful force that I can’t totally explain.  I thought over every eventuality and was prepared to face anything.  I knew I could handle it.  There was really nothing anybody could do to hurt me.  And if they killed me, I was ready.  I had come to a place of strength and peace.”  Bevel was very supportive, but faced a lot of criticism.  “Oh, Rev. Bevel, you shouldn’t make your wife do that.  That’s too much.”  They only thought of me as “the Reverend’s wife,” and as a woman, incapable of making a decision like that on her own.
 
But part of why Diane wanted to serve her term was an issue Snick often highlighted:  “jail-no-bail.”  “Staying in jail focuses attention on the injustice.  It puts the financial burden on the state, making the state pay the cost of enforcing unjust laws.  Posting bond puts the financial burden on our community of supporters and takes the authorities off the hook, defeating much of the purpose for going to jail.”
 
So, she presented herself to the sheriff, ready to serve her sentence.  He was clearly amused at her bulging midsection and told her to appear in Judge Moore’s court, the same Judge Moore who, by the way, found Byron De La Beckwith not guilty of killing Medgar Evers – with a gun Judge Moore kept hidden in his home.
 
Diane entered the court but wasn’t going to sit in the “colored section” so she walked right down to the front, along with two fellow Snick workers who accompanied her for moral support.  For their “protest” of sitting in the front row, she was charged with defiance of local segregation laws and sentenced to 10 days in jail.  The other two were sent to a prison farm for 40 days of repeated beating by prison guards.
 
The jail provided absolutely no accommodation for her advanced pregnancy, clearly wanting to make her stay as miserable as possible.  No vitamin pills allowed, no change of clothes or even a toothbrush.  She was kept isolated from other prisoners so as not to corrupt them with her talk of civil rights.  Only one guard was willing to engage her in conversation and, one day, seemed genuinely interested when Diane told her about the discrepancy in public school funding.  For example, in Holly Bluff they spent $191.77 per white child and $1.26 per black child.  But the worst of her jail experience, she said, was the cockroaches, masses of them crawling up the walls at night, the clicking of their feet, and then falling from the ceiling right over her concrete slab of a bed.
 
After 10 days she appeared before Judge Moore.  He proclaimed her sentence was complete and she was free to go.  She asked, “aren’t you going to hear the case of my contributing to the delinquency of minors?”  He said no.  But she didn’t want to discover later that another warrant was out for her arrest on those charges.  She told the judge very clearly that she was going to go right back to teaching young people how to do non-violent civil disobedience.  She told him her full home address for the court records so they couldn’t say they couldn’t find her.  “I want you to know I’m not hiding from you.”  But that was it.  What had happened?   
 
Because their home phone had been tapped, fortunately, the Mississippi authorities were aware that every civil rights organization in the nation knew her case.  She had been quoted in Jet Magazine saying, “This will be a Negro child born in Mississippi, and so wherever he is born, he will be in jail.”  Therefore, the authorities decided that keeping her in jail was more of a public relations liability than they wanted.
 
Diane said, “I came away from the whole experience much strengthened. I grew spiritually through tapping into the power of an extraordinary force through meditation.  In jail I learned that I could live with very little.  The oppressive authorities imprisoned me and withheld basic necessities to frighten and control me, but it backfired.  They are the ones who got scared.  In the end, I was freer, more determined, and stronger than ever.”  Doesn’t that sound like the Magnificat?
 
Today, Diane Nash is 82 and living in Chicago, still engaged in critical issues.  The peacefulness which Diane brought to her revolutionary cause, her resolve to lift up the lowly and topple the powerful from their thrones reminds me of the time when the angel Gabriel told Mary she would bear a son, the Son of the Most High, the heir to the throne of David.  She asked how.  And then, full of the Spirit of God, fully aware of the consequences, Mary responded, “Here I am, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” 
 
Despite the heartache and pain that she knew would come her way, this child would save the world.  For God, through her willingness, so loved the world that God scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts, brought the powerful down from their thrones and lifted up the lowly.  Yes, God loves the world that much.
 
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor executed by the Nazi’s, realized the power of the Magnificat.  He said, “The song of Mary is at once the most passionate, the wildest, most revolutionary hymn ever sung. This is not the gentle, tender, dreamy Mary seen in paintings.…This song has none of the sweet, nostalgic, or even playful tones of some of our Christmas carols. It is instead a hard, strong, inexorable song about the power of God…” 
 
The power of God lived through people like Mary and Diane Nash who understood the meaning of these words and took them seriously.
 
May it be so in your spirit too.