Sermons from Mission Hills UCC San Diego, California Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] July 24, 2022 “How Much More” Luke 10: 38-42 – Common English Bible One day he was praying in a certain place. When he finished, one of his disciples said, “Master, teach us to pray just as John taught his disciples.” 2-4 So he said, “When you pray, say, Father, Reveal who you are. Set the world right. Keep us alive with three square meals. Keep us forgiven with you and forgiving others. Keep us safe from ourselves and the Devil.” 5-6 Then he said, “Imagine what would happen if you went to a friend in the middle of the night and said, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread. An old friend traveling through just showed up, and I don’t have a thing on hand.’ 7 “The friend answers from his bed, ‘Don’t bother me. The door’s locked; my children are all down for the night; I can’t get up to give you anything.’ 8 “But let me tell you, even if he won’t get up because he’s a friend, if you stand your ground, knocking and waking all the neighbors, he’ll finally get up and get you whatever you need. 9 “Here’s what I’m saying: Ask and you’ll get; Seek and you’ll find; Knock and the door will open. 10-13 “Don’t bargain with God. Be direct. Ask for what you need. This is not a cat-and-mouse, hide-and-seek game we’re in. If your little boy asks for a serving of fish, do you scare him with a live snake on his plate? If your little girl asks for an egg, do you trick her with a spider? As bad as you are, you wouldn’t think of such a thing—you’re at least decent to your own children. And don’t you think the Father who conceived you in love will give the Holy Spirit when you ask him?” Have you ever taken a road trip with a child who asks, all too often, “are we there yet?” Or, “how much longer?” Eyes rolling, you reply, “five minutes less than the last time you asked, dear.” Annoying, right? An hour later, “my dear child” might morph into “My dear God, how much more of this can I take?” That is, without losing patience, without losing your temper, without losing your mind. Well, this question comes up for me from that odd couple of verses at the end of the reading: “Which of you is going to give your child a snake if they ask for a fish? Which of you is going to give your child a scorpion if they ask for an egg?” Who would do that? Well, not even someone who has lost their patience, temper, and mind! The point being made is that even someone who has lost it will do the right thing. Or as the text says, “even people who are evil know how to give good gifts to their children, so how much more will our divine parent do for those who ask?” But first, tragically, we have to acknowledge that this is not always true and I don’t want to dismiss the experience of children whose parents were or are not loving or kind. But, Jesus promises, our divine parent is. As you heard, Luke places these verses in a passage that teaches the disciples what we know as the Lord’s Prayer. But compared to what we’re used to praying in church, it’s pretty bare bones. Just four requests, or as some say, four demands: 1)Bring in your kingdom 2)Give us bread 3)Forgive us 4)Save us from temptation Matthew and Luke both have these four requests but there are a couple of minor differences.
As you heard the text being read, you may have thought to yourself, wait something is missing. But neither Matthew or Luke say “for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever.” That’s a later addition in the evolving liturgy of the church. But as many of you know, Catholics don’t add that line to the Our Father either. Any number of times I’ve visited a Catholic mass and been the lone Protestant in an echoing cathedral “For thine is the…” Sorry! Perhaps it’s happened to you too. Mark doesn’t include the Lord’s Prayer at all. Mark is the first of the gospels in our Bible written. Matthew and Luke both had access to Mark and used it extensively for their gospels, which is why there is so much similarity between them – similar but often in different order with different details for different audiences making different points. Both include the parable from today and those odd verses about eggs and scorpions, though Matthew uses bread and stones. But in Matthew, these have nothing to do with the Lord’s Prayer. C’mon guys. Get your stories straight! Again, Mark doesn’t include the Lord’s Prayer and Matthew and Luke didn’t have access to each other’s work, so how could their prayer be so remarkably similar? And this isn’t the only time they share something in common that wasn’t in Mark. Scholars maintain there was another gospel that was lost they call Q, for the word Quelle in German meaning source. Perhaps this is all more than you want to know, but maybe it will help you answer a trivia question. And even better, understand a little more of the complexity of this Bible we treasure. Jesus went on to a strange parable about a neighbor who is pestered for food in the middle of the night. If you’re wondering what it’s about: Imagine an unexpected guest shows up at your house at midnight. What do you do? At the time, culturally there would be no question that you would invite the guest inside your home and offer them something to eat and drink. It’s not something you’d even have to think about. That’s just what you do – no matter how inconvenient. But what if you have no food to give them? You don’t say sorry. You go next door to ask your neighbor, who would also be culturally obligated to respond. No questions asked. Except this neighbor did. He complained. We’re in bed. Leave us alone. But the guy who has a guest at his home ready to eat will not give up because it’s his obligation. To not respond would bring shame upon both their households. And so, if the reluctant neighbor is willing to get up and give as you ask, then how much more does our divine parent want to give those who ask. Therefore, ask, and like the neighbor be as persistent as necessary. You will receive. Seek, don’t take no for an answer, and you will find. Knock, and keep knocking, until the door is opened for you. Does that help the parable make sense? It’s a confusing one for sure. But wait. Have you always received when you’ve asked? It sure doesn’t always feel that way. Have you always found when you have been seeking? Has the door always opened when you’ve knocked? An honest person can only answer no. In fact, sometimes there have been so many disappointments, we may stop asking, not wanting to be let down. Or blame ourselves. But imagine a relationship in which we have stopped asking anything of a friend or spouse; a relationship where we have stopped trusting or even communicating all together. A relationship in which instead we ask, “How much more.” How much more of this can I take? Perhaps because it’s all give, give, give – all they ever want from me is what I can give them. Or maybe it’s betrayals. They promised never to do it again, six times ago. You’ve probably got stories of siblings or friends or former spouses about whom you’ve asked, “how much more of this…” Or a job, a volunteer organization, a church. Or God. I want to ask, how much more of this pandemic can we take? Are we there yet? I ask of the division in our country, how much more of this can we take. I want to ask of homophobia and xenophobia and domestic terrorism – how much more must we endure. Or suffer chronic pain and hurt feelings and lost loved ones. What more can we survive? But how much more than all of that does our divine parent want to give. Look at that neighbor, or that parent, or that friend. And how much more does God want for you? Here’s the interpretative question, the key question. Is this about how much more God will do for you? Or is this about how much more God loves you, hopes for you, will never give up on you? Or that God won’t ever stop asking, God will persist in seeking you, God will keep knocking until you answer. When we make this text about how much God does or doesn’t do for us, we have to admit that sometimes I’ve asked and not received. Isn’t that honest? I’ve sought and not found. Isn’t that painful? I’ve knocked and the door has remained shut. If this prayer and parable and odd saying about scorpions and eggs are about getting what we ask for, we may be disappointed. But know this: Whenever we say, “How much more can I take” of hurt and pain and loss, God’s response is how much more do I love you than that.[1] More than even all of that. Whenever we say, “How much more can I take” of feeling abandoned, alone, and rejected, God responds, whatever you are feeling, I love you more than even that. Whenever we say, “How much more can I take” of disillusionment and disappointment, God will say, “How much more than that do I love you.” Our Father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be your name Your kingdom come, your will be done, On earth as it is in heaven Give us this day our daily bread Forgive our debts as we forgive our debtors And lead us now into temptation But deliver us from evil (For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever!) When Jesus taught his disciples to pray, it was not to a grand unknowable almighty being that we cannot possibly understand, but to something, someone as easily understood, though certainly not uncomplicated, as a parent. In fact, father is still too formal. Jesus prayed to Abba, a meaning closer to daddy than a strict authoritarian figure we may imagine. All to say, how much more do I love you than that. [1] Karoline Lewis, workingpreacher.org
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Sermons from Mission Hills UCC San Diego, California Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] July 17, 2022 “Marsha and Sylvia” Luke 10: 38-42 – Common English Bible After While Jesus and his disciples were traveling, Jesus entered a village where a woman named Martha welcomed him as a guest. 39 She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to his message. 40 By contrast, Martha was preoccupied with getting everything ready for their meal. So Martha came to him and said, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to prepare the table all by myself? Tell her to help me.” 41 The Lord answered, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things. 42 One thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the better part. It won’t be taken away from her.” Sermons about Mary and Martha often contrast the spiritual life – for example, some people are doers and some people are “be-ers.” But this text isn’t about how some people are one thing and some people are another. It says, “Martha, you’re too focused on other things. Look at your sister. She chose the better thing.” Theologian Dr. Karoline Lewis has had it with sermons that compare and contrast Mary and Martha. She said, it creates a competition between women, or even worse, rivalry between sisters. In very strong words, she said, preachers, more often than not men, “elevate and exacerbate our insecurities, part of the way our society fosters and depends on the socialization of women toward competition, judgment, and expectation. It’s a way to control women.”[1] Dr. Lewis laments that inevitably, women who identify as Marthas, and churches are full of and often completely dependent on Marthas, feel chastised. “Martha, you’re too focused on other things. Look at your sister. She chose the better thing.” Could that really be the point Jesus intended? It might help to recognize that the story of Mary and Martha is paired with the parable of the Good Samaritan, which immediately precedes. Jesus praises the unlikely Samaritan. And the very next thing Jesus does is praise Mary, an unlikely disciple. Mary sitting at the feet of Jesus listening is clearly the posture of a disciple. As the Jesus Seminar folks point out, “Both the Samaritan and Mary step out of conventional roles in Luke’s gospel” and are praised.[2] And yet, so much of the challenge of this story still rests on the word “better.” One of them chose the “better thing.” Or, Mary made the “right choice.” She chose the “good part.” But the intention certainly cannot be to pit one against the other because service and learning are both hallmarks of following Jesus. Imagine removing all references to hospitality and eating together from the Gospels. Who’s going to feed everyone? Ultimately, the image left in our minds from this story shouldn’t be Martha feeling dejected, though she’s still clearly still frustrated with her sister. The image we should hold on to is that of a female disciple, sitting at the feet of Jesus. It is to imagine Jesus upholding the Samaritan as an unlikely hero and Mary as an unconventional disciple. Jesus is always expanding previously accepted boundaries, opening wider our understanding of the Kingdom of God which is both here and not yet. Here and not yet. Just like the LGBTQ+ Pride we celebrate this weekend. Fernando López is the executive director of San Diego Pride and on Thursday he wrote this: “Cresting over the horizon is the brilliant liberation of our dreams. But looming are growing shadows of hate. It is why we have Pride. We don’t have Pride because we are free. We have Pride because we are not. Our community will not let fear, hate, and intimidation win. We will not shrink ourselves or return to the closets and prisons of our past. He added, “this Pride, we will unshackle our hearts and bodies from anyone’s expectations but our own. We will rise unapologetically to indulge in being radically only and absolutely who we know we truly are. I invite you to bravely discard fear. Seize hope. Be free.” 1969 was the year of the Stonewall Riot. What a different world we live in and yet, while so much has changed, so much has not, exemplified in part by two brave individuals at the Stonewall Inn that night in June, Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera. Marsha was born in 1945 and named Malcolm. She began wearing dresses at age 5, but stopped after being teased. After graduating from high school, Marsha moved to New York City with a bag of clothes and $15. She landed in Greenwich Village which was one of the most tolerant places for people like her, but it didn’t protect her and others from constant harassment, including by the police. The police were responsible for enforcing horrible laws, including one that required individuals to wear at least three items of clothing that matched your gender. Three. Not two. And how would that be enforced without violating the most personal parts of the body? That indignity might have been small, however, compared to the fact that no one would hire someone like Marsha. She was frequently homeless and like many others at the time, dependent on prostitution to survive. In the face of all this, Marsha was generous, jubilant, and open to any and every one. And she was religious. She said she loved Jesus because “he is the only man I can really trust. He listens to all my problems and has never laughed at me.” Marsha took in anyone in need, which is how she met Sylvia Rivera. Sylvia’s father abandoned her at birth. Her mother committed suicide when Sylvia was three. She then went to live with her grandmother, but Sylvia was beaten every time she was caught trying on her grandmother’s clothing or makeup. At age 11 she ran away and became a prostitute. That’s when she met Marsha on the street. Marsha took in young people and offered the kind of stability and love of a home they had never experienced. Marsha and Sylvia were together at the Stonewall Inn that night when police raided the bar at 1:20 am, the second time that week alone. Interesting side note: bars that served queer people couldn’t get liquor licenses, so most of the gay bars in New York City were run as private clubs by the mob. It was tremendously profitable for them. That night, for whatever reason, the patrons had had enough of the constant harassment. They fought back. Patrons had never fought back before. But this time, when police hit a Black woman wearing pants named Storme, she hit back. They tried three times to shove her into a police car but she kept fighting her way out. Someone then yelled to turn over the car. Previously docile patrons who patiently got into police paddy wagons to go to jail instead began taunting the police, throwing coins and then beer cans. This caught officers off guard. Things escalated. Patrons began scooping cobblestones out of the street and throwing them at police who retreated inside the bar. Someone pulled a parking meter out of the ground and used it as a battering ram to force the door open. Trash cans were set on fire. Someone threw lighter fluid and a match into the bar through broken windows. It was a riot. From inside, Inspector Pine was within seconds of ordering his officers to fire their guns, but backup finally arrived and began to haul rioters away. But not like before. Not everyone would go quietly. Tensions remained high, added to by a growing number of people from the neighborhood and other bars who gathered around, unaware that they were witnessing the birth of the modern LGBTQ+ liberation movement. However, Stonewall wasn’t the first time queer people fought back. There was the “Cooper’s Do-nuts Riot” in Los Angeles in 1959. The “Compton’s Cafeteria Riot” in San Francisco in 1966. Both riots involved the same kind of crowd that gathered at the Stonewall Inn. Racially mixed, mostly poor, women who dressed in shirts and trousers, men who called themselves drag queens, and a collection of people who weren’t welcome anywhere else. There was one other event that preceded Stonewall. A “Sip-In” at Julius’ in New York City. A group of well-dressed men visited bars, told bartenders they were gay, and ordered drinks to try to challenge the law against serving homosexuals. Already raided that week, the bartender at Julius’ denied them service which ultimately led to a court case that overturned the law. And yet, three years later, patrons like Marsha and Sylvia at the Stonewall Inn were still being harassed and arrested. By the way, Stonewall wasn’t a one-night event. Skirmishes continued throughout the weekend and into a sixth day. At “gay liberation” protests that followed in the days and years after, people like Marsha and Sylvia were pushed off stage. Literally. More “respectable, dignified,” white men became the face of gay liberation. I understand it and I hate that I understand it. Well, things came to a head at the Pride March in 1973 when Sylvia was repeatedly blocked from speaking. When she finally grabbed the microphone, she shouted, “if it wasn’t for the drag queens, there would be no gay liberation movement. We’re the front-liners.” She was booed and jeered and took the rejection hard. Later that day she attempted suicide. Marsha found her and saved her life. They founded an organization called STAR: Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries but eventually Sylvia gave up her activism and Marsha focused on saving the never-ending line of young people escaping the brutality of their homes for freedom in New York City and later caring for people with AIDS. It occurs to me that the same competition that pits Mary and Martha against each other could characterize Stonewell and the modern Pride movements. Which is better? Is one better? Serving or listening. The more “dignified” or the more colorful. Those trying to prove we’re all the same or those just trying to live in harmony with their identity. Watch as the governors and legislatures in places like Florida and Texas intensify their harassment and persecution of transgender people, fostering judgment and competition in the LGBTQ community, trying to elevate and exacerbate our insecurities. The religious right sees this as a way to divide our allies and the LGBTQ community – to control us and make us compete against each other. Don’t fall for the trap. Anyone who says “they’re not like me” or “why can’t they tone it down” or make comments on their looks is betraying everything we’ve been fighting for. Martha should be Martha. And Mary should be Mary. The only thing better about either one is that they better be themselves. And you should be you. And I’ll be me. But until everyone can be the radically and absolutely only person God created us to be, none of us will ever be free. This Pride unshackle your hearts so we can rise together unapologetically. A final word. The officer who led the police into the Stonewall Inn that night, Inspector Pine, formally apologized for his role, 15 years before the police department gave an official apology. He understood the power of redemption and the possibility of transformation when he said, “if what I did helped gay people, then I’m glad.” But we can never forget, nothing would have happened that night if not for the beautiful people God created like Marsha and Sylvia. [1] https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/no-comparison [2] The Five Gospels: What Did Jesus Really Say, 1993, p 325 Sermons from Mission Hills UCC San Diego, California Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] July 10, 2022 “Peace Upon Every House” Luke 10: 1-11 After these things, Jesus commissioned seventy-two others and sent them on ahead in pairs to every city and place he was about to go. 2 He said to them, “The harvest is bigger than you can imagine, but there are few workers. Therefore, plead with the Lord of the harvest to send out workers for his harvest. 3 Go! Be warned, though, that I’m sending you out as lambs among wolves. 4 Carry no wallet, no bag, and no sandals. Don’t even greet anyone along the way. 5 Whenever you enter a house, first say, ‘May peace be on this house.’ 6 If anyone there shares God’s peace, then your peace will rest on that person. If not, your blessing will return to you. 7 Remain in this house, eating and drinking whatever they set before you, for workers deserve their pay. Don’t move from house to house. 8 Whenever you enter a city and its people welcome you, eat what they set before you. 9 Heal the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘God’s kingdom has come upon you.’ 10 Whenever you enter a city and the people don’t welcome you, go out into the streets and say, 11 ‘As a complaint against you, we brush off the dust of your city that has collected on our feet. But know this: God’s kingdom has come to you.’! There’s so much going on in this text that it’s not easy to wrap our arms all the way around it.
There’s a lot here to think about. Too much. But first, there’s one more verse the lectionary committee clearly intentionally left out that completes the paragraph: for the people who don’t welcome you, who don’t receive your peace, who refuse to offer hospitality to you who are a stranger in their midst – it will be a better day in Sodom than it will be for them. Verse 12: “I assure you that Sodom will be better off on Judgment day than that city.” They obviously left this sentence out for a reason. And on the one hand, I’m glad. Hearing the word Sodom and/or Gomorrah strikes fear in our hearts, especially for queer people. Add the word “judgment” and oh Lord, here it comes. Locate the nearest exit and run for your lives. But on the other hand, it’s a shame that verse 12 is not included in the lectionary because if it were, we would be challenged to deal with what the sin of Sodom really is. It’s the refusal to welcome the stranger or provide hospitality. Or, like it says very clearly in Ezekiel 16:49: 49 This is the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were proud, had plenty to eat and enjoyed peace and prosperity; but she didn’t help the poor and the needy.” The sin of Sodom. And so, if someone doesn’t welcome you, shake the dust off your feet and keep moving. Let them deal with the consequences of their frosty reception. And let it serve as a warning to you. Anyway, as I said at the beginning, there’s a lot going on in this text. We could talk more about hospitality. We could talk about discipleship and the wisdom of having a companion with whom to share your faith and good works. Or we could speak of why there is such urgency that you don’t even talk to anyone on the road. Or the apocalypse, that awkward reference to harvest… We could ask, why the number 72, and why is it 70 in some Bibles? We could talk about traveling light, leaving our baggage and even our cell phones behind, or risk taking and vulnerability – for example, eating whatever they put in front of you. Or we could talk about being the recipients of hospitality, not the givers of it. The awkward, upside-down power dynamic of needing help instead of giving it. What is it like to depend on the hospitality of others who may not offer it? But of all these possibilities, the issue I do want to talk about this morning is verses 5 and 6: Peace. Whenever you enter a house, say to them, “May peace be upon this house.” But wait. You don’t know these people. You don’t know what they think. You don’t know what they’ve done. Bless them anyway. But what if… they’re one of those people. You know, there’s a lot of “those kind of people” around today. Well, just like I would expect Jesus to say, bless them anyway. “Peace be upon their house.” However, and this is a quite unexpected however, if they don’t offer peace back in return, move on. That’s such an interesting twist. I can imagine Jesus saying, if they don’t return peace, try harder. Win them over with your charm and your wit. Don’t ever, ever, ever give up. But no, Jesus said, if they don’t offer peace in return, move on. And he adds, don’t worry. You won’t lose anything by offering peace and not having it returned because your peace will come back to you. We have nothing to lose by going around house to house proclaiming peace upon it. Nothing to lose except maybe mistrust and suspicion of our neighbors. We have so many misgivings about our neighbors and even members of our families that this doesn’t sound… possible. Among many essays on the topic, a recent article in the Washington Post had a very appropriate title: “Nothing feels safe: Americans are divided, anxious, and quick to panic.”[1] In it, Professor Thane Rosenbaum described, “There is a fundamental national insecurity right now.” And think about it. National insecurity:
There are days I feel absolutely helpless. That’s what I was feeling this week as I studied this gospel passage. Hopeless. And that’s when I thought, OK, in a time of national insecurity, what do we need? Well, one thing from the gospel today: Peace. What can we do? Commit to proclaiming peace upon every house. And it will bring inner peace. Peace among neighbors. And especially peace in our nation. No matter who they are, what they believe, or what they have done. Proclaim peace upon every house. But then there’s this peculiar statement from Jesus. He adds, and if the people to whom you offer peace don’t want it, won’t return it, move on. That seems so strange. Out of place. Odd even for Jesus. Amy Oden offers this: Notice, “Jesus does not instruct them to argue, convince, or threaten. Just shake the dust off your feet so you are not weighted down by rejection or paralyzed with trying to figure out what you’ve done wrong or could have done differently.”[2] That makes so much sense. Move on and use your energy on someone else. It’s not that you are giving up because there is someone waiting for, hoping for, desperate for a word of peace from you. Try, but if necessary, it’s OK. Move on and don’t make it about you. You’re not called to be people pleasers but bearers of God’s peace. And sometimes that means, shake off the dust. Not even as a judgment against someone else, let God do that, but as a way to stop judging yourself. There are more important things to do. There’s an Iranian/African American poet named Anis Mojgani who wrote a poem called Shake the Dust.[3] He said it’s for people on the margins – the ones who are easily overlooked, bullied, and beaten down; whose stories are mostly unaccounted for. It’s a poem like Jesus told the 72, meant to reassure the reader to find courage, to risk, and when necessary, shake off the dust. This is for the fat girls This is for the little brothers This is for the schoolyard wimps and the childhood bullies that tormented them Shake the dust This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them For the bus drivers who drive a million broken hymns For the men who have to hold down three jobs simply to hold up their children For the nighttime schoolers And for the midnight bikers who are trying to fly Shake the dust This is for the two year olds Who cannot be understood because they speak half English and half God Shake the dust For those gym class wallflowers and the twelve year olds afraid of taking public showers For the kid who is always late to class because he forgets the combination to his locker For the girl who loves somebody else Shake the dust This is for the hard men who want love but know that it won't come For the ones who are forgotten The ones the amendments do not stand up for For the ones who are told speak only when you are spoken to And then are never spoken to Speak every time you stand so you do not forget yourself Do not let one moment go by that doesn't remind you That your heart, it beats 900 times every single day And that there are enough gallons of blood to make everyone of you oceans Do not settle for letting these waves that settle And for the dust to collect in your veins For the poetry teachers and for the people who go on vacation alone For the sweat that drips off of Mick Jaggers' singing lips And for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner's shaking hips For the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived This is for the tired and for the dreamers For those families that want to be like the Cleavers with perfectly made dinners And songs like Wally and the Beaver This is for the bigots, for the sexists, and for the killers And for the big house pin sentenced cats becoming redeemers And for the springtime that somehow seems to show up right after every single winter This is for everyone of you Shake the dust grab this world by its clothespins And shake it out again and again And jump on top and take it for a spin And when you hop off shake it again For this is yours, this is yours If you strip away all the extraneous words and metaphors Jesus used in this passage today, he made it super simple. All you need are the clothes on your back, the companionship of a friend, and the word of peace on your lips. Then come back and report the miracles God achieved through you and your friend, blessing your efforts. As verse 17 says, “The seventy-two returned joyously, saying, “Lord, even the demons submit themselves to us in your name.” Remember: You are bearers of God’s peace, not people pleasers. You and a friend can give it your best and give yourself permission to fail. It’s all OK. Because regardless, you have just helped the Kingdom of God come nearer than it was before. [1] https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2022/07/05/americans-shootings-panic/ [2] https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-14-3/commentary-on-luke-101-11-16-20-4 [3] https://genius.com/artists/Anis-mojgani - shortened slightly Sermons from Mission Hills UCC San Diego, California Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] July 3, 2022 “Freedom For” Psalm 66: 1-12 Shout joyfully to God, all the earth! 2 Sing praises to the glory of God’s name! Make glorious God’s praise! 3 Say to God: “How awesome are your works! Because of your great strength, your enemies cringe before you. 4 All the earth worships you, sings praises to you, sings praises to your name!” 5 Come and see God’s deeds; because God’s works for human beings are awesome: 6 God turned the sea into dry land so they could cross the river on foot. Right there we rejoiced! 7 God rules with power forever; keeps a good eye on the nations. So don’t let the rebellious exalt themselves. 8 All you nations, bless our God! Let the sound of God’s praise be heard! 9 God preserved us among the living; and didn’t let our feet slip a bit. 10 But you, God, have tested us-- you’ve refined us like silver, 11 trapped us in a net, laid burdens on our backs, 12 let other people run right over our heads-- we’ve been through fire and water. But you brought us out to freedom! This passage celebrates three defining markers. 1) Creation. The Psalmist begins, “Make a joyful noise all the earth. How awesome are God’s wonderful deeds. 2) The Exodus. They celebrate how God turned the sea into dry land so our ancestors could escape slavery in Egypt. This refrain is written into prayer and after prayer. Remember. Remember. Remember. The scriptures are filled with references to their freedom. And 3) The Exile. God tested us, laid burdens on our backs, let people ride over our heads. We went through fire and through water. Or, as Eugene Peterson puts it in The Message, “God trained us first, passed us through refining fires like we are silver, pushed us to our very limit, road-tested us inside and out, took us all the way to hell and back.” They’ve clearly returned home from exile, but they’re still trying to figure what happened? And what do we do with it? Always, what do we do with it. But first, when we approach this text, one very basic question is whether we believe God “tests us.” Verse 10 says: “You, God, have tested us.” Does that speak to you? Some of us, speaking from our own experiences, affirm that we have felt tested by God while at the same time wrestling with whether that’s something God does. I would absolutely never tell someone else “I think God is testing you.” What a horrible burden to place on someone. But if I’m telling the truth of my own experience, at certain times, it has certainly felt like a test from God. Was it God? If that question doesn’t speak to you, perhaps a better question is simply whether you have ever gone through a period of testing in your life. I think we can all say that. Life is a series of tests, right? Sometimes too many all at once. I like Peterson’s words, How many times have you felt “pushed to your very limit, road-tested inside and out, taken to hell and back.” In the case of the exiled people, the prophets warned them over and over. But they didn’t want to listen. They didn’t care for the poor, the widows and orphans. They didn’t care about justice. They didn’t want to change their ways. They wouldn’t change their ways. And so, catastrophe came upon them. Jeremiah warned of false prophets, “cheap preachers.” Saying what people want to hear. They’ll say, don’t worry about it. It’ll all return to normal, any time now. Two years max. But Jeremiah said, “Get used to strangeness. Get used to feeling like an outsider. Get used to having a new home in a place that feels threatening to you.” Walter Brueggemann wrote that description of Jeremiah’s words almost 10 years ago, but it feels this new morning in America very fresh. I fear we are in for a wild ride of quickly shifting sands. Rights and responsibilities and freedoms. One day here, gone the next. And this threat, this fear isn’t going to end any time soon. If we listen to the wisdom of the Prophet Jeremiah, we should get used to strangeness. For those of us unaccustomed to discrimination, a lack of autonomy, get used to feeling like, or rather, being, an outsider. Get used to having a new home in a place that feels threatening. Some people don’t know what this feels like and some people know it all too well for all too long. In Psalm 66, looking back from the other side of the exile, the Psalmist made an assessment. God was testing us. But… and this is a big but… You brought us out to freedom. Brueggemann describes this Psalm of creation, exodus, and exile as a pattern for life: First, remember the extraordinary goodness of God. Secondly, tell the truth about your present tests, stresses, challenges, fears, threats. Then, thirdly, “Yet, nevertheless.” Road-tested inside and out, yet, nevertheless. Taken to hell and back. Yet, nevertheless, you have brought us out to freedom. But that was then and this is now. What if we’re still in the exile stage? A promise is one thing. Faith, trust. Not because God is testing us, but living in this strange land, what do we do now? One thing, Jeremiah answered, is to “pray for the people whom you fear.” Don’t just pray for yourselves but pray for the Babylonians. Because when God gives them peace, God will give it to you with them. Pray for their welfare. All of us are in this together. Feeling helpless? Don’t trust them? Think of other people as an enemy? Don’t just pray for yourself. Pray for the people whom you fear, or you don’t trust, or you simply don’t like and watch things change – if not in others, in us. Watch what can happen. Once there was a monastery so beautiful and peaceful that people drove way out of their way just to wander around and sit on its lush green lawn under the big cottonwood trees. The monastery had gained a reputation among people who were always feeling frenetically hurried and perpetually stressed. Go there and you will find relief. Grieving people came to sit under the gently swaying weeping willows to experience hopeful quietness, not just the quiet of loneliness. But the monastery fell upon hard times. Many of the monks left in dissatisfaction. Soon, only a handful of them and the abbot remained. They were constantly fighting among themselves, each blaming their hard times on the faults and failings of the other. Such an atmosphere overtook the grounds. And, slowly, people stopped visiting. There was something different in the air. One day a travelling rabbi stopped at the monastery to rest for the night. He ate and prayed alongside the monks. The next day, as the rabbi prepared to leave, the abbot drew him aside. He told him the problems of his monastery. Having been there just one night, the rabbi shook his head as though he understood exactly what the abbot was saying. The abbot pleaded for help. “Give me some advice to share with the other monks.” The rabbi said nothing. The abbot begged again. “Can’t you give me any idea how to save my monastery?” “No. But, I did discover that the Messiah lives at this monastery.” “What? Where. There’s nobody here but us.” “Well, I’m not sure who, but tell your monks to be on the lookout. One day you’ll know.” The abbot was frustrated that the rabbi had no real advice but thanked him and wished him well on his way. He then gathered the monks together to tell them what the rabbi said. As they looked at each other, they were genuinely skeptical. And while no one said it, each of them thought, there’s certainly no Messiah among this bunch of SOBs…sad ornery brothers. Certainly not Brother Henry. He was such a pessimist, he could find the downside of the sun rising in the morning. Certainly not Brother Thomas. He never shut up. Always going on about one thing or another, getting into people’s private business. Or Brother Michael either. He’s too quiet. We never even know what he thinks. But, maybe… And certainly not Brother Robert. He’s so gruff and disagreeable. He never, ever has a smile on his face. Or maybe that’s just a disguise… Maybe… Maybe it’s the abbot. But eventually each of them got around to the thought – uh oh. What if it’s me? Like Brother Clarence thought, my attitude often makes me the least likely of any of us. But, what if I’m the Messiah? A few months later, Brother Michael asked the others: “Doesn’t it seem like every day there are a few more people wandering around, sitting under the cottonwood trees?” Brother Adam agreed, “yes, every week it seems like there are more cars here than the week before.” The atmosphere had, in fact, become palpably different as each of the monks began to see the potential that any one of them might be the Messiah – even themselves. In time, some of those wandering the grounds asked about joining. In time, every room in the monastery housed a new monk. And once again it was a thriving community. The Psalmist spoke of creation, exodus, and exile. The exiles have returned home from Babylon, but they’re still trying to figure out, what happened? Well, they were tested. And God brought them out to freedom. To freedom. There are many ways to think about freedom, but I wonder about two things. Freedom from and freedom for what. Freedom from what? With faith in the goodness of the God of creation, remembering the liberating God of the exodus, there is freedom – freedom from despair. There is freedom from hopelessness and helplessness. Because God has made us free for something. Freedom for what? Well, in this present time of strangeness, God grant us courage. Some wisdom and serenity too. Wherever hatred stalks, we can choose to sing of love. Where fear roars, to stand with courage. Where pain overwhelms, to extend comfort. Where bigotry rages, using our freedom, to call for justice. And where systems oppress, with our freedom, to work for change. But not everyone came home from Exile. The change we work for may come in our lifetime or for our grandchildren’s children. Friends, use your freedom to work for change until our nation’s pursuit of a “more perfect union” actually extends “liberty and justice for all.” Not just a generic, unspecified “all,” but to everyone of all races, not just one; all genders, not just one; every religion, not just one; every sexual orientation, not just one. Liberty and justice regardless of bank account or access to power, language or kind of status. Rights extended, love extended, freedom for, not just some of us, but all of us. |
AuthorI love being a Archives
March 2024
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