Sermons from Mission Hills UCC San Diego, California Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] February 27, 2022 “A Mountaintop Experience” Picture is of Holmes United Methodist Church in rural Reynolds, North Dakota Luke 9: 28-36 – Common English Bible Jesus About eight days after Jesus said these things, he took Peter, John, and James, and went up on a mountain to pray. 29 As he was praying, the appearance of his face changed and his clothes flashed white like lightning. 30 Two men, Moses and Elijah, were talking with him. 31 They were clothed with heavenly splendor and spoke about Jesus’ departure, which he would achieve in Jerusalem. 32 Peter and those with him were almost overcome by sleep, but they managed to stay awake and saw his glory as well as the two men with him. 33 As the two men were about to leave Jesus, Peter said to him, “Master, it’s good that we’re here. We should construct three shrines: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah”—but he didn’t know what he was saying. 34 Peter was still speaking when a cloud overshadowed them. As they entered the cloud, they were overcome with awe. 35 Then a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, my chosen one. Listen to him!” 36 Even as the voice spoke, Jesus was found alone. They were speechless and at the time told no one what they had seen. I grew up in a country church in North Dakota at the crossroads of two gravel roads, cut out of the corner of a field. There’s a parsonage and a cemetery in the back where generations of hard-working farm families are buried, including my parents, grand and great-grand parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and neighbors. Idyllic, straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting. They were very religious people, expressed in duty however, not emotion. I mean “duty” in the very best sense. They were quietly rock solid, faithful, devoted Christians. Quiet, being a key word. One year a family from the nearby Air Force base moved onto an old farmstead. They were Baptists from Texas and Frank, the father, couldn’t help but exclaim Amen during the minister’s long dry sermons. Dry, being the key word! People were startled every time and expressed annoyance to each other that such enthusiasm was out of place in church. Every fall after the harvest had been gathered in, the church had a weeklong series of evening revival services. A quiet, rather dry, revival. We sang hymns, heard a sermon from a guest minister who invited people to go to the altar and offer their lives to Jesus. Probably to the music of Just As I Am. One night when I was 7 years old I heard something, felt something, as though the minister was speaking directly to me. My face grew hot and I felt my “heart strangely warmed” – a term former Methodists might recognize. I didn’t understand what was happening but when the minister offered the invitation, I knew it was meant for me. My mother sensed something was happening. And when I looked up at her, she said, it’s OK. So, I knelt at the altar, confessed all the sins a 7-year-old might have committed and gave my life to Jesus as my Lord and Savior. There was no clapping or rejoicing, no shouts of glory hallelujah. The congregation responded by smiling deeply, satisfied that one of their young people had made this decision, as it was their duty to teach. I was excited to go the next night. I felt very grown up now and serious about my faith. Once again, we sang hymns, heard a sermon and the minister invited people to the altar where they could offer their lives to Jesus. There were three of us the night of my conversion experience. But this very next night, those other two went again. And the next night. I was confused. What could have happened in the 24 hours in between that they lost their faith and needed to come back and confess and do it all over again? How could, or rather, why would, someone go back and try to repeat such an experience again? I was reminded of that childhood experience when I read the gospel text for today of an experience that can’t be fully understood and certainly not repeated. Today is officially Transfiguration Sunday, always the last Sunday before Lent. Trans-what? Not transformation or transition. Those would be easier to explain than Jesus was “transfigured.” Every year on Transfiguration Sunday, a version of this gospel text from either Matthew, Mark, or Luke is told. The fact that all three gospels include this story means it’s important. Why it’s important is still debated. The question begins with what was it. Some ideas that have been suggested include: It’s a misplaced resurrection narrative. It’s an example of a divine revelation. It’s a tale from the Hellenistic mystery tradition. Or it’s an example of an epiphany, or a theophany, or a Christophany. Theologians love such big words. And pastors like to use such big words to sound like we earned our education. Did you know that in seminary we don’t take a course called Sermon Writing 101? It’s called “Homiletics.” And right now, I’m engaging in “hermeneutical interpretation,” which means I’m applying scripture to real life. Somehow, I think congregations might be better served by classes simply called “How to Write a Good Sermon.” Transfiguration. A story told in three gospels but a word only used by Matthew and Mark. Luke tells the story but must have learned in Sermon Writing 101 that the meaning of the word transfiguration isn’t very clear so he simply described what happened: “As Jesus was praying, the appearance of his face changed and his clothes flashed white like lightning.” That still leaves the question why. What’s the point? Why does it matter? And more importantly, what to do with it. What did this experience lead the disciples to do? Or not do? And why does it matter to us? After we’ve had a powerful experience, what’s the first thing we might want to do? Do it again. And again. But sadly, with diminishing results if it doesn’t lead us to something else. Like Peter, we may also want to stay there, never leave, or build a memorial to what happened on that spot. “Let’s construct three shines,” Peter said. But I think his idea to stay might have had more to do with not wanting to go back down the mountain. Not because the mountaintop was so great but because what was waiting was so terrifying. Any story like this needs context. What happened before and what happens next? Shortly before, Jesus told the disciples “the Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, chief priests, and scholars, be killed and raised on the third day.” It was the first of three times Jesus told the disciples. They never liked hearing it. Who would?! Then Jesus added, “All who want to come along must say no to themselves, take up their cross daily, and follow me.” Follow me to… what was that? Suffering, rejection, and death. About 8 days after this, Jesus took Peter, James, and John up on a mountain and he was “transfigured.” His face and his appearance changed right before them. I’ve always wondered if that wasn’t the moment Jesus went to his own altar to say finally yes. He said, “I’ll go” and felt peace – his heart strangely warmed. Then they saw Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah – a very intentional detail. You may recall that Jesus said the commandment to love was the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets. That’s what Moses and Elijah represent. Anyway, with all suffering, rejection, and death on the horizon, no wonder Peter suggested they stay up there. I’d want to too. I love mountaintop experiences. You’ve had them but might not have called them that. Those epic and rare moments where something amazing happens. Or changes something within us, or maybe even changes everything. Perhaps it’s gaining insight or a new perspective. That split second where everything comes into focus. Maybe a job change, ending a toxic relationship, sobriety. Often, they are spiritual highs. Or maybe rock bottom. Summer camp was almost always like a mountaintop experience, from which I never wanted to go home. But going home or going forward is the point. It’s not to build a shelter or memorial to the experience. What do we do with the amazing experience, or insight, or spiritual high? It’s not to try and re-create it again but use them for a new chapter in our life. It was also when I was 7 years old that I remember the first time I shook the hand of a Black man. Also in that idyllic little church in North Dakota. It was 1972 and Mr. Treadwell’s son was marrying a young woman in our church. Looking back now I marvel at what it must have felt like for him to be a Black man in that church at the crossroads of two gravel roads in 1972 – only 5 years after the Supreme Court made inter-racial marriage legal in all 50 states. And I wonder how the congregation felt about an inter-racial marriage in their church, but if they felt something, I doubt they would have said anything too loud. The bride was the daughter of one of the most respected men in the church. My Sunday School teacher. My dad’s best friend. But here’s what I remember about shaking Mr. Treadwell’s hand. It felt like mine. I have no idea what else I might have thought it would feel like, but I remember marveling at how it was the same. Juanita asked me to share that story. For Black History Month she wanted me to share why Black Lives Matter so much to me. I’ve been reflecting all week on whether there was a mountaintop moment that changed everything when I went back down? I moved to Minneapolis to go to seminary in 1987 but I also moved there to be gay. I came out in college in South Dakota, one of probably 2 or 3 students who wouldn’t dare be seen together on our campus of 500. But once I moved to Minneapolis I was free to explore who I am – or could be – and make friends. There were a number of gay bars where someone new in town could go to meet people, except that I don’t like bars. I’m really shy, uncomfortable and incredibly self-conscious in situations like that. Still, in those days, that’s where you went. Among all those bars was The Gay 90s – a complex of bars under one roof with areas that different groups hung out together. Wandering around alone, my self-conscious awkward self always welcomed into the area of the bar where Black men hung out, not at all aware they didn’t feel welcome in other parts of the bar. But in their space, they made me feel included. But I had no clue what their lives were really like. We were really just acquaintances, not friends. That changed when I moved to Washington, DC. I attended a Martin Luther King Day worship service at Peoples Congregational UCC and met a man who invited me to dinner to meet some of his friends. They instantly took me in as a member of their family. It was extraordinary. And I was exposed to a whole new world of foods and customs and books and TV shows. And church. Very unlike the quiet dry church of my youth, every Sunday seemed filled with transcendent experiences. Every Sunday had an altar call, but I never went forward. I did that when I was 7 and I thought it still applied. At church on Sunday morning and at the dinner table on Sunday night, I heard stories about small slights and big injustices that happened in the normal course of a Black man’s life. They weren’t teaching me, they were just talking about life. So in between I read James Baldwin, learned about Bayard Rustin, and so forth. I loved those men. How could I not care about what happened to them and their families and their communities? Their lives mattered. I hated to leave but I moved to Cleveland and when I started serving a church there I knew I wanted to build a community of all races and cultures, but the biggest impediment was the church. Everything about it was white – how it was organized, worship, even the food afterward was white. And quiet. It took 10 years to shift the culture until people of all races felt like they were represented in such things as worship, music, and food. When I left after 15 years, one-third of the church were People of Color. It was deliberate and hard and totally worth it. And, of course, it was in Cleveland that I met Art. Difficult for it not to be personal after that. Six years later we moved to Denver and started all over again building a more diverse congregation. But this time it was with Lance. How could my activism not go deeper as I watched our own young Black man drive off in his car, down the same streets by the church where another teenage Black man had been pulled over and nearly beaten to death by the police. They got off scot-free. The city paid out a million dollars. The same officers did it again, and are still on the streets. Denver has paid out more money from losing civil suits like these than almost any city except Baltimore. The church was also around the corner where another young woman of color was shot by police. We hosted a controversial memorial service for her and ultimately became the place where groups went to organize for racial justice. It seemed like my life was transformed every week. So when I think back, when did this racial justice journey start? Maybe it was at age 7 when I shook Mr. Treadwell’s hand in the same church and in the same year as I chose to make Jesus Christ my personal Savior. The same Jesus who told his disciples that he would “suffer many things and be rejected and be killed and be raised on the third day. And anyone who wants to come along with me must say no to themselves, take up their cross daily, and follow me.” That’s not about feeling good. That’s about doing good. Which, by the way, what happened after the transfiguration? Down below, Jesus and the disciples soon came upon a road. A crossroads. “That” road. That dreaded road which goes in the direction of Jerusalem and would set in motion all those things they would have preferred to avoid by building shrines instead. The time had come. Therefore, the story each year we tell on our last Sunday before Lent. But today is to party.
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Sermons from Mission Hills UCC San Diego, California Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] February 20, 2022 “Love, Bless, and Pray” Luke 6: 27-38 – Common English Bible “But I say to you who are willing to hear: Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. 28 Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who mistreat you. 29 If someone slaps you on the cheek, offer the other one as well. If someone takes your coat, don’t withhold your shirt either. 30 Give to everyone who asks and don’t demand your things back from those who take them. 31 Treat people in the same way that you want them to treat you. 32 “If you love those who love you, why should you be commended? Even sinners love those who love them. 33 If you do good to those who do good to you, why should you be commended? Even sinners do that. 34 If you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, why should you be commended? Even sinners lend to sinners expecting to be paid back in full. 35 Instead, love your enemies, do good, and lend expecting nothing in return. If you do, you will have a great reward. You will be acting the way children of the Most High act, for God is kind to ungrateful and wicked people. 36 Be compassionate just as God is compassionate. 37 “Don’t judge, and you won’t be judged. Don’t condemn, and you won’t be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. 38 Give, and it will be given to you. A good portion—packed down, firmly shaken, and overflowing—will fall into your lap. The portion you give will determine the portion you receive in return.” This scripture text from the Gospel of Luke is a continuation of last week’s Sermon on the Plain. To recap: crowds of desperate people pressed in on Jesus seeking healing. With his eyes overflowing with compassion and his heart filled with love, Jesus pronounced blessing on the poor. Not the “poor in spirit,” like in Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount focused on the teachings of Jesus. Luke focuses on the actions of Jesus who stands on level ground among people who are literally poor, hungry and weeping. And he calls them blessed. But then, as he looked over at the powerful observing him, he lamented, and pronounced woe to those who are rich and well fed and laughing. A reversal of fortune. Jesus invited them and invites us all to imagine and aspire to a new world called the Kingdom of God. This Sermon on the Plain then immediately continues with these words, “But I say to you that listen:” love your enemies, bless those who curse you, and pray for those who mistreat you. Do good to those who hate you. And then he offers three practical, although not easy, actions: If someone slaps you on the cheek, offer the other as well. If someone takes your coat, give them your shirt too. Give to everyone who asks and don’t demand your things back from those who take them. Why? They sounds like instructions for how to be a doormat. But Jesus didn’t say, “Just take it.” He provided very concrete examples of the reversal of fortune for the poor and rich. And some ways how to do it. People understandably don’t like the idea of turning the other cheek, but what Jesus is saying is more complex than that. If someone slaps you, they are intending to humiliate you, not do you bodily harm. Therefore, if you turn your cheek, it means you refuse to be humiliated. The “victim” takes control of the situation and dares the offender to do it again – a humbling reversal of fortune in front of other people watching. Therefore, Jesus said, If someone slaps you on the cheek, offer the other as well. A reversal of fortune in the upside-down world made up-side right Kingdom of God. If someone takes your coat… Perhaps it’s a robbery. More likely it’s a Roman solider commandeering your property, which Rome permitted them to do. Poor people would often only have one undergarment and a cloak, meaning, if you took off both, you would be standing in front of the perpetrator naked. In the ancient world, standing in front of someone naked does not humiliate the naked person but the person who sees. It says to the robber or the soldier, I refuse to be a victim. Therefore, Jesus said, If someone takes your coat, give them your shirt too. Being a beggar must be an embarrassing experience, but in Jesus’ time it was simply necessary. Jesus eliminates the need to beg by giving to everyone who asks. And without expectation that it should be paid back. Sinners do that. No longer will the poor live in constant fear of debt. And, no longer will the rich feel superior. Therefore, Jesus said, Give to everyone who asks and don’t demand your things back from those who take them. Jesus further discusses this related to lending and debt. When it comes to the poor, Luke is very practical. Interestingly, Matthew doesn’t mention this part about lending or debt. Many of these instructions are very similar to Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount in which each section begins by Jesus saying, “You have often heard it has been said.” For example, in Matthew, in parallel to the verses in Luke, Jesus said, “You have heard it has been said an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, but I say turn the other cheek, go a second mile, give your shirt as well as your cloak.” It’s subverts the power. The second mile specifically refers to soldiers who were permitted to force peasants to carry their packs for a mile. But they were restricted to only one mile. If the peasant carried it further, it subjected the soldier to punishment. According to Walter Wink, Jesus was teaching non-violence, not excusing abuse. Again, Jesus doesn’t counsel “just take it.” It’s a method for living under Roman occupation or Jim Crow laws in the South. Jesus takes the power away from the oppressor and articulates examples of living in a violent world without violence. Julio Diaz was walking off the train on a nearly deserted platform one evening when a teenage boy walked up to him and pulled a knife. Diaz said, “He wanted my money, so I just gave him my wallet and said, ‘Here you go.” As the teen began to walk away, Diaz told him, “Hey, wait a minute. You forgot something. If you’re going to be out here robbing people all night, you might as well take my coat to keep warm.” The teen looked at Diaz like he was crazy, but asked, “Why are you doing this?” “If you’re willing to risk going to jail for just a few dollars, then I guess you really need the money. I mean, all I wanted to do was get some dinner. Hey, why don’t you join me? You’re more than welcome.” So they went to a diner and sat in a booth. The manager came by to say hi. The dishwashers walked past and called him by name. Waiters stopped to chat like they were friends. The teen asked, “Do you own this place? Why does everyone know you?” “I just try to treat everyone the way I’d like to be treated. Weren’t you taught to do that too?” The teen replied, “Yea, but I didn’t think anyone actually did it.” When the bill came, Diaz told the teen, “Look I guess you’re going to have to pay because you have all my money and I can’t pay for this. But if you give me my wallet back, I’ll gladly treat you.” Diaz said the teen didn’t even think about it. He just handed it over and I gave him $20. I hope it helps him. “Then I asked him for his knife and he just handed it over.” Jesus consistently taught that the reversal of fortune does not come about through violence, even though he himself was a victim of violence. He didn’t want this in return from his followers. And yet, Gandhi once said, "Everyone in the world knows that Jesus and His teachings are [about] non-violence. Everyone knows, except for Christians." As we honor Black History Month, we remember that civil rights activists were not excusing abuse. They were illustrating the absurdity of it. It takes greater creativity, skill, and strength of character not to meet violence with violence. Otherwise, an eye for an eye for an eye just leaves a lot of people walking around blind. Jesus taught another way – some creative methods to love your enemies without hating yourself, to bless those who curse you without letting their hate sink in. As Dr. King said, hate is too great a burden to bear. And to pray for those who mistreat you by subverting their abuse back on to them. Jesus said, you will be acting like children of the Most High act. “Because God is kind to ungrateful and wicked people.” I almost didn’t notice that line, but it especially caught my attention because we just read Psalm 37. “Evildoers will be eliminated. In just a little while the wicked won’t exist.” I don’t like those verses so I just sort of skip over them. So I went back again, “For God is kind to ungrateful and wicked people.” I wondered if other translations said it that clearly. We’ve seen many instances where a single word is translated in multiple, even contradictory, ways. The New Revised Standard Version says, “For God is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked.” Traditionalists will consult the King James: “For God is kind unto the unthankful and to the evil.” Evangelicals often the use the New International Version: “Because God is kind to the ungrateful and wicked.” I looked at that verse in a list of about 60 translations and there was almost unanimous agreement that God is kind to people who are wicked or evil. I was glad to see that, and yet the Bible, in particular the Psalms, and especially the author of Psalm 77, say the opposite very clearly. 11 God is a righteous judge, a God who is angry at evil every single day. 12 If someone doesn’t change their ways, God will sharpen his sword, will bend his bow, will string an arrow. 13 God has deadly weapons in store. And for those who won’t change, he gets his flaming arrows ready! I googled “Does God hate wicked people?” To which Google offered 107 million results. Here’s one the top result: “Clearly, God hates the thoughts, deeds, and desires of evil people. But further, in some way he hates the evil people themselves. His soul reacts to them with righteous revulsion as his arm extends toward them in holy fury.” In an article entitled God Hates Wicked People, the author explained why: “God created humanity to be perfect and sinless, to live in joyful submission to him, to offer him pure worship.” Of course, I don’t agree with him. In fact, I find it revolting. And I was grateful that when I googled “Is God kind,” Google offered 1.2 billion results. Why, then, does it sometimes feel like there’s an almost cultural assumption that though God may be kind, God is only kind to certain kinds of people? I’m grateful Jesus made it so clear. “You have heard it has been said…” but Jesus just said, God is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. I won’t get into who that may or may not be. These verses today are so rich and complex, I could keep going on. But I do want to offer one more of those subtle but significant contrasts between Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount and Luke’s Sermon on the Plain. With Jesus teaching from a mountain, Matthew ends, “Be perfect as God is perfect,” as in righteous. At the end of the Luke’s Sermon, as he stood on level ground surrounded by hurting people, Jesus said, “Be compassionate just as your God is compassionate.” I find the difference absolutely fascinating. And for another day. Fascinating or not, Luke’s compassionate Jesus boils it down to this: I say to you, “don’t judge, and you won’t be judged. Don’t condemn, and you won’t be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.” How is that about compassion? We don’t know what’s going on in the life of the person in front of us. Instead of assuming motivations, we have to listen first. And so we pray, make me a channel of your peace. Sermons from Mission Hills UCC San Diego, California Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] February 13, 2022 “Imagination or Aspiration” Luke 6: 17-26 - New Revised Standard Version Jesus came down with them and stood on a level place, with a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon. 18 They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases; and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured. 19 And all in the crowd were trying to touch him, for power came out from him and healed all of them. 20 Then he looked up at his disciples and said: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. 21 “Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. “Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. 22 “Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you[a] on account of the Son of Man. 23 Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets. 24 “But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. 25 “Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. “Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. 26 “Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets. This is one of those scriptures that should come with a warning label: This text may induce high blood pressure and blindness. One commentator warned pastors: speaking these words simply and straightforwardly in any worship gathering will get you accused of being a disloyal leftist engaging in class warfare. In fact, the governors of some states might create a tip line for parishioners who feel discomfort. If nothing else, this text is certainly unsettling. And that’s the point. Sometimes we hear Jesus and feel comforted. And sometimes we hear Jesus and not only feel discomfort, we feel offended. But is it ever the goal of Jesus to offend? Well, there were certainly times it seems like he intended to offend – or rather, provoke. You don’t call religious people hypocrites and broods of vipers as a strategy to make more friends. So, our first question might be: Is this unsettling scripture easy or difficult to understand? Mickey ScottBey Jones talks about Public Theology and asks some excellent questions that are perfect to ask about his text. A little about her: She has an incredible resume, but one thing I think many of you will find interesting: She was on the core team of The People’s Supper which, since the 2016 election, has gathered more than 10,000 people around tables for bridging and healing conversations. Jones calls herself a Justice Doula – helping people birth more love, justice and shalom into our world. Huffington Post named her one of the top Black Christian leaders changing the world. As we explore this text, these are some essential questions: Does our theology make sense to the “least of these?” Or for that matter, the rest of us. Is our interpretation linked with the pursuit of justice? Is this text about blessings and woes an agent of healing or harm? And, is its purpose a weapon or a source of healing? But first, a little more about today’s reading. It may sound vaguely familiar to a text we’ve heard before from the Gospel of Matthew, known as the Beatitudes. But there are some very clear differences. First of all, Matthew doesn’t include these woes. It’s all blessings, no woes. And let’s look at the setting. Matthew’s text is called the Sermon on the Mount. It evokes memories of Moses and the Law on Mount Sinai. In Matthew, Jesus sat down and began to teach. In Luke, this is often known as the Sermon on the Plain. Jesus was literally standing on flat ground and figuratively speaking to people on their own level. Picture the scene: He is surrounded by masses of people who are troubled or who had come to him out of desperation to be healed of their illnesses and diseases. Everyone was pushing in on him trying to touch him, believing he had the power to heal them. In the midst of the chaos of this human suffering, Jesus looked to the disciples and said, “Blessed are they…” Who are the blessed? Matthew and Luke have some similar but subtle and significant differences as to who is blessed. Matthew and Luke both bless those who are mourning or weeping. Matthew promises comfort. Luke promises they will laugh, but adds, if you’re laughing now, you will mourn and weep. I always wonder whether that’s meant as a threat. But here’s the significant difference: Matthew proclaims blessings on the poor “in spirit.” For Luke it is people who are literally poor. Matthew talks about those who hunger and thirst “for righteousness.” For Luke it is people who are literally hungry. Luke is consistent in this way throughout his gospel. He does not spiritualize poverty, which is why Luke is often considered the social justice gospel. When we spiritualize poverty, it’s easy to look at people who are poor with admiration and marvel at how well they navigate the challenges of their life or have sympathy but do nothing to change it. Luke is practical. With some of these contrasts in mind, what is the meaning of Luke’s text for today? As I said, in Luke’s version, Jesus is surrounded by people desperate to touch him. While he pronounces blessings upon the humanity pressing in upon him, I can’t help but imagine his eyes were filled with compassion, his heart full of love. The eyes of those he touched must have been overflowing with tears as well. Hopeful, grateful, humble. But Jesus was also always being observed by powerful people, some of whom were religious authorities, some of whom were representatives of the Roman Empire, tasked with keeping an eye out for dangerous radicals with ideas of revolution. I’m curious what they were thinking as all of this was playing out. What did they make of Jesus and his woes. Did they feel threatened? As we try to understand this text, one interpretative question we have to ask is about the tone of Jesus’ voice as he proclaimed “Woe.” Was it condemning, accusatory? WOE is you! Or were his eyes also filled with compassion for them, his heart full of love. As he looked over at the powerful did he pronounce woe… As in, I feel so badly for you. If you believe this is all there is for you… If you think this will ultimately satisfy you and make you happy, then woe is you. Don’t you understand? Poverty is not a curse and prosperity is not a reward. Grief comes to us all. WOE! Or woe… Our choice of what tone we think Jesus used matters. It will answer the question: Was he condemning the rich? Threatening them? Accusing them? Were they offended by him? Or maybe they heard his unsettling words and woke up. Do we realize: Jesus simply observes our reality and offers a new vision. It would be simple and simplistic to assume Jesus was condemning all wealthy people or wealth itself. Or maybe that’s a cop out by someone like myself with relative privilege and wealth in the context of the world. So that’s where I think Micky ScottBey Jones’ questions are important for a faithful response. Does our interpretation of this text make sense to the least of these? Is our interpretation linked with the pursuit of justice? Is our interpretation of this text an agent of healing or harm? Is this text meant as a weapon or a source of healing? Outside of a few strange culturally-influenced scripture texts, I don’t think any part of the Bible is meant to be used as a weapon or as an agent of harm. Of course, that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been used in that way. Many of us have personal experience of scripture used against us or have seen cruelty justified by twisted interpretations. Often prefaced with, “Well, the Bible says…” Or, “scripture is clear…” Rev. Dr. Katie Cannon said, “I went to seminary, not as a born-again, God struck me dead kind of person. I went as an agnostic. I went to find out if Christianity is a slave religion, [and if so,] I wanted to be in the vanguard telling people, ‘We gotta get out.’ Our liberation, our freedom is worth more than being numbed out by this religion that’s keeping us from being free.” Poor and Black people have often been told, accept your suffering now because in the great hereafter you will receive an even greater reward. It was 1970 and the convergence of multiple movements toward civil rights, women’s rights, gay rights, farmworkers, environmental issues. In the midst of all that, writers like Dr. James Cone were opening minds to the ideas of Black Liberation Theology, equating Jesus on the cross with Black bodies on lynching trees. He influenced students like the future Dr. Cannon, who said, “The hermeneutical principle we used in our three years at [seminary] was that when we read Barth and Tillich, and Schleiermacher [in other words, three dead white men] we always asked, “How is this relevant?” “So, we mastered that stuff, but we mastered it with a purpose, and we would go up for four and five hours at a time theologizing, tearing a text apart. In the end we concluded, ‘No, we don’t have to give up Christianity. What we need to be free is right here in this religion. It just hasn’t been unleashed, and that’s our job as liberating liberation theologians – to get the good news of the Gospel – to set the captives free.’” She said, “The call for me was to get the word out that Christianity is not a slave religion, but Christianity is a liberating religion.”[1] Is Christianity a liberating religion? With his blessings and especially his unsettling woes, I think Jesus offers a liberating vision of the world – for both poor and rich, for LGBTQ folks and straight, for People of Color and white. For you and for me. That’s because I think he invites us to imagine a new world, not accept the one we have. He speaks of that reversal of fortune, on earth as it is in heaven, upside-down world made right-side-up that his mother Mary sang about while he was still in the womb. He flips the tables on the idea that the poor should accept their suffering now because in the great hereafter you will receive an even greater reward. But not everyone will be happy with this vision. We see it play out time and time again. It always amazes, and saddens, me that when some form of equality is finally achieved, those with privilege now feel that such equality is persecution. And others will be unhappy because it questions a world where our joy doesn’t come through the accumulation of wealth and power but of increased equity and deeper relationships across our divides. Part of liberation is to recognize how captive we are to consuming as a measure of our happiness. But is Jesus simply inviting his followers to imagine a new world? What is our theology for? I’ve used this phrase before but, are we talking about “something sound on the ground while we’re still around, or pie in the sky by and by when we die?” Well, we might ask, what difference does it make in the life of those whom Jesus proclaimed blessed? To simply imagine a new world is to sing and pray and go home. “Blessed are the poor. One day they’ll know it.” To aspire to a new world is to sing and pray and get organized – to study the Bible until we are convinced and ready to use it as a tool of liberation. To not create wealth on the backs of the poor and then praise them for their bravery. To collectively use our wealth to alleviate suffering. And then to repair the damage that’s been done. And then to build a world that is open, inclusive, just, and compassionate and change the conditions for all of us, on earth as it is in heaven. Mission Hills folks: how does this apply to us? Is that the fantasy of imagination or the call of aspiration? Well, back to our original questions: Does it make sense to the least of these? I think so. Is it linked with the pursuit of justice? Absolutely. Is our calling to be agents of healing or harm? Like the prophets, we are called to be “repairers of the breach.” Is our religion a weapon for division or a source of healing? What would Jesus say? If we’re not participating in the healing of the world, then we’re doing it wrong and WOE is us! Or… woe, is us… But, with his eyes filled with compassion and a heart full of love, Jesus doesn’t threaten. He says to you and me, there’s another way. Come, follow me. [1] https://fteleaders.org/blog/rev.-dr.-katie-geneva-cannon-in-her-own-words Sermons from Mission Hills UCC San Diego, California Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] February 6, 2022 “Holy Moly” Isaiah 6: 1-8 - New Revised Standard Version In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. 2 Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. 3 And one called to another and said: “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.” 4 The pivots[a] on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke. 5 And I said: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” 6 Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. 7 The seraph[b] touched my mouth with it and said: “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.” 8 Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me!” Verse 5 from Isaiah 6 is very different depending on the translation you use. We heard, “Woe is me. I am lost.” But of the dozens of translations out there, relatively few use the phrase “I am lost.” Several others, including The King James, says “Woe is me. I am undone.” Many more translate, “I am ruined” or “doomed.” What an odd response. Isaiah has just had the most incredible, magnificent experience of God. A glorious “holy moly” epiphany. Intense. Imagine: Isaiah had a vision of God seated on a throne wearing a robe so big it filled the room. He saw six-winged seraphs flying around God in circles. I had to look up seraphs. Encyclopedia Britannica defines them as “angelic beings, regarded in traditional Christian angelology as belonging to the highest order of the nine-fold celestial hierarchy.” I’ve never heard of angelology (and didn’t know we had a “traditional” form of it). And I don’t know what the nine-fold celestial hierarchy is. I can only assume that the highest of that would indeed be magnificent, glorious, and splendiferous. So, why is Isaiah’s response to all of this majesty to express woe and say he is lost or undone or ruined? To have had such an ecstatic experience, why didn’t he express gratitude? Or, more likely, awe or fear… He could have legitimately said, I am terrified! But again, depending on the translation, he said, “I am lost,” or “I am undone,” or “I am ruined.” Those three words are not synonymous, so what do they all have in common? What can’t the translators all seem to agree on? What does Isaiah really mean? To get to that question, I think we first have to consider how we think of or speak of God. In particular, these two ways: immanent and transcendent. To speak of God’s immanence is to recognize the closeness of God, the God within. To say God is immanent means that God is not some unmovable being in the sky, or a deity that started creation and has kept their hands off ever since. Rather, God is present, personal, alongside us, who comforts the mourning, binds up the brokenhearted. But if God is only that, then our God is too small. And with a small God, we might keep the focus on ourselves. One writer suggested that keeping God small helps us keep things the way we want them to be. Manageable. Or worse, status quo. Another writer said, if God is too small, then God is rather a like a bouncer we call upon to move things and people out of way, or a heavenly butler, always on call to get the things we need or want. Or God is like a great hotel concierge who can mysteriously get tickets for even the best sold-out show – a miracle if there’s ever been one. But to say God is transcendent is to experience mystery, to recognize how beyond our human understanding God really is. Instead of God within, a transcendent God is wholly other. Like a being on a throne with six winged seraphs flying around. The problem with being wholly other is a God who is wholly unrelatable. But sometimes when we are too focused on ourselves, we need a transcendent God to remember that we are not the center of the universe so that we can connect with the vastness of the cosmos. There’s a story that Saint Augustine was walking along the beach one day, puzzling over the complicated doctrine of the Trinity. He wasn’t paying attention and almost stumbled over a little boy with a bucket. The boy was running back and forth to the ocean to pour water into a little hole he had dug in the sand. I think I’ve seen that at least once every time I’ve gone to the beach. In fact, yesterday I saw an abandoned attempt at the beach in Del Mar. Augustine asked, “What are you doing?” The boy said, “I’m putting the ocean into this hole.” Augustine laughed to himself and realized that’s what he was doing too. He had an epiphany. He had been trying to put an infinite God into his finite mind. But the ocean will not fit into a hole we dig. And neither will complete understanding of God fit into our mind. And so, sometimes we make God too small. And here’s the kicker: a small God will never ask too much of us. But when we make God too big, a big God won’t even notice us, so we can shrink into the crowd and never be called upon. But God is both immanent and transcendent, like one of my favorite communion prayers: “God is as close to us as our breathing, and as distant as the farthest star.” Clearly, Isaiah has just had a transcendent experience, one that brought him very close to home because in response he said, “Woe is me. I am lost. I am undone. I am ruined.” Again, those words are not synonymous, so what do they all have in common? Maybe what they have in common is the word “I.” Maybe Isaiah had an epiphany that Isaiah is not the center of the universe. And therefore, he responded, “I am ruined.” An experience of God changes us and therefore, in fact, “I” am undone. It’s hard for the ego to realize “I” am not the most important thing in the world. And in that way, “I” am lost is not wandering aimlessly but released. Do you see what I’m trying to say? To experience the transcendence of God means we can’t help but realize: Oh my God, this is no longer about “me.” To experience that kind of transcendent God makes us care more for our world and less about our own small place in it. And once the “me” is out of the way, watch out what “we” can do. That "we" is our unity with God and consequently, our unity with each other and all creation. That oneness brings us close with all creation. It transcends our self-created limitations. It’s rare. And also frightening, because as Isaiah discovered, we find ourselves surrendering our will. And when that happens, when I am ruined, we can finally hear, we finally discover, this calling to things that are audacious and impossible. But no longer are they things that I want for me, but what God desires for us that is required of me. Isaiah might not have wanted to do what was asked of him. Maybe he hoped God wouldn’t even notice him. Maybe he was intimidated by God or thought he had a good excuse to get out of it but God moved those obstacles right out of the way. And once Isaiah's “self” was out of the way, he could freely surrender to his calling, saying “Here I am.” An "I" now focused on "we." Our Lunch and Lectionary group on Thursday concluded that Isaiah had two epiphanies. First, he experienced the magnificent splendiference of God. And humbled by it, he realized he could do what God needed him to do. And God would be with him, right alongside. Great things grow out of humility, don’t they? We can only say “Here I am” after we have humbly asked, what does God desire for us that is required of me? |
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March 2024
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