God, Our Parent

Sermon based on Isaiah 43: 1-7; 16-19

Preached at Frazer Mennonite Church

Parenting has been the most humbling experience of my life.  Having worked in child welfare for the first six years of my adult working life, I had seen a lot of bad parenting, the kind of parenting that gets kids taken out of their family of origin and put into other hopefully better circumstances for a time.  In my work–having seen the impact of irresponsible parenting–I had gotten pretty judgey about what I perceived as bad parenting.  

A few years before I became a parent, I was in the craft store with a friend, and a mom was trying to get her kids through the store.  And she was struggling. The kids were being disobedient and she was losing her cool.  

After encountering this mom and her children in the aisle, I turn down another aisle and said to my friend, “Wow.  I’m not going to be that kind of mom.” 

And that poor mom, as it turned out, heard my comment.  She confronted my friend and I about my snarky judgey comments about her parenting.  I don’t remember what she said exactly; in my shame I shut out everything. I knew I was wrong to be judgmental.  Because what did I really know about trying to get hungry or tired or difficult children through a store.  

Fast forward a few years later, and I was sitting in Will’s room with him.  He had just had an epic meltdown, that involved throwing his toys, putting a hole in his door and hitting me.  And I had responded in exasperation with my own adult sized tantrum. I screamed, I threw his toys, I was more forceful than I should have been.  

And, in the heat of the moment, he looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “I thought you were supposed to be the parent here!”

My son’s words cut right through me.  I could only see my son’s terrified face at he watched me explode, while I also remembered my encounter with that struggling mom in the craft store.   

I had a lot to learn about being a parent.  And I knew that I had to try a different approach–for my own sake, and for the sake of relationship with my children.  I needed to try another way to reach them–an approach that came out of love, not anger. One that built relationship with my kids, not fear of me. 

Today we finish our series on The God of the Hebrew Bible–we’ve seen many of the characteristics of God, some that have been appealing to us, and some that have caused us to wince a little bit.  

And this Sunday, in our final week looking at these characteristics of God, we listen in on a conversation with God speaking through the prophet Isaiah to the people who were enslaved and in exile from their promised land.  The people had been through a lot and God had been through a lot with the people.  

God engaged in relationship with God’s people at their best and worst, rescuing them from enslavement in Egypt, feeding them in the wilderness, and correcting their misdeeds.  

When the people wanted a King to rule them, God said, “That’s a real bad idea” but they persisted, so God relented and gave them a king.  And–as God predicted–it was a really bad idea. The kings were corrupt and abusive, and while the people were prosperous for a time, they eventually began to suffer under the corruption and cruelty of their kings.  

And finally the people were overpowered by the Babylonians.  The folks who had education and training were taken off to serve the Babylon empire, and the remaining folks were left destitute in what was left of a ransacked Israel.  

Here is where we meet God’s people in the Isaiah text.  They were in exile, far from home, many separated from family members.  They were waiting for God to act.  

In today’s text from Isaiah, God recited all the things God had done for the people, and then God said to the people, who were longing for intervention from God:  

Forget the events of the past, 

Ignore the things of long ago!

Look, I am doing something new!

Now it springs forth–can’t you see it?

God said to the people that God was going to do something new.  

We don’t know the mind of God, but this text has me wondering if God, after looking at the history between God and the people, decided that it was time to try a different approach.  Maybe this was the moment that God decided, “I have to do something new. This way of being with my people is not sustainable.”  

Perhaps, here as God watched the people enslaved–again–this is where God hatched the incarnation idea.  

Some theologians have gone as far as to say that God recognized her lack of empathy for humanity, and decided that sending Jesus–God in human form–would be a way to better empathize with our broken, sinful, imperfect human condition.  

I like this idea.  God’s character did not change–God continued to be creative, all powerful, all knowing, and–at the same time very personal.  But God’s approach to humanity changed.  

Forget the events of the past, 

Ignore the things of long ago!

Look, I am doing something new!

Now it springs forth–can’t you see it?

God sent us Jesus so that God could understand our human condition better.  This, perhaps, was the new thing God was doing. It certainly had not been done before.  

And through the eyes of Jesus, God saw the difficulties of human life–not from an outsiders perspective.  God felt the difficulties of living in the bones, sinew, muscle and skin of Jesus. God felt what we felt because God saw life through Jesus’ eyes, heard it with his ears, felt the anger rising in Jesus’ human body, wept tears with and for humanity.  

Look, I am doing something new. 

But, this new thing came at a cost for humanity.  It demanded something of us. Mitri Raheb said of Jesus’ arrival on the scene, that “…the belief in Jesus as the yearned-for Messiah replaced the idea of divine intervention with direct intervention of the faithful.  It was now those who believed in Christ who had to step into this world to engage and to bring change…”

Jesus was the big change for God.  God entered into our humanity in a new way, and in doing that asked us to participate in the reign of God in a new way.  

God changed God’s parenting style.  

It was no longer a God over us, but a God with us.  And it was no longer the people waiting for God, it was God giving the people the tools they needed to be participants in their liberation, participants in the reign of God.  

It’s not a relationship of equals, by any stretch, and neither is parenting.  It became a relationship where God better understood what the people were experiencing, and empathized with their struggle, even while calling them to be God’s hands and feet, God’s mouth and eyes in the world.  

I have been very candid with many of you about my struggles to parent Willem, who deals with anxiety and Attention Deficit Disorder.  And Willem has been candid with many of you about that too. This is no big family secret. I had a moment–many actually–where I realized that I did not understand what it felt like to be in his skin.  And in order to be the best mom I could be to him, I needed to empathize with him, and to understand how difficult life felt for him. And I needed to learn how to challenge him and push him beyond his fears into new opportunities.  

I have failed so many times on this journey of parenting.  I have screamed when I should have empathized, I have given in when I should have stood firm, I have been harder at times, and too easy other times.  It’s been tough to find that balance. 

My experience of parenting has been about finding a new way, trying a new thing.  The way I had been parenting before was not sustainable. 

This week, as we come to the end of our study of the Hebrew Bible; we see God doing a little soul searching.  Perhaps God has wondered if there might be a better way to engage the people. Perhaps God wondered if the way should be one based in love, not fear, in relationship, not domination.  

It gives me great comfort today to think that God’s character remained the same, while God’s approach changed.  And it is a challenge too. Because God’s empathy sent us Jesus, and Jesus–the living, breathing human embodiment of God–taught us and teaches us how to live as compassionate humans in this world.  Jesus’ life and example now means that we are participants in the reign of God. We aren’t just standing around waiting for God to act. God is here. God has shown us how to live. It’s up to us now to live into this vision that God has for us. 

That is the new thing God is doing among us.  Can you see it? AMEN.

The Prophets Among Us

Sermon based on Amos 5:18-24; Hosea 6:1-6; Joel 2: 12-17

The Prophets Among Us

Preached at Frazer Mennonite Church on November 10, 2019

Sometimes God speaks through an angel or messenger, sometimes in a burning bush.  Sometimes in a mysterious figure that wrestles you all night. Sometimes God speaks in creation, or even in silence.

And sometimes God shows up in the form of prophets that say things we don’t want to hear. 

We heard from three prophets this morning–Amos, Joel and Hosea–and they were saying some hard things to God’s people, things that God’s people did not want to hear.  

These prophets were speaking to the people of God before their enslavement in Babylon.  And–in the case of Hosea and Amos–the people were doing pretty well, at least some of them were.  The rich were getting richer, but the poor were getting poorer. There was prosperity among the elite, and they were enjoying their wealth, without much care for the poor or for God. 

And to the wealthy people of God, the prophet Amos said, “I despise and reject your feasts.  I am not appeased by your solemn assemblies. I reject your offerings and refuse to look at your sacrifices of fattened cattle.  Spare me the racket of your chanting. Relieve me the strumming or your harps.”

The prophet Hosea said, “Oh Ephraim and Judah, what am I going to do with you?  Your devotion is like the morning fog, like the dew of the morning that vanishes!”

Now, for the prophet, Joel, the message was different.  Because the circumstances were different. In the midst of a prosperous season, the people experienced a locust infestation, which destroyed their crops.  There was also–at the same time–a terrible drought. The combination of the two led to wildfires and a great famine. The people were in ecological crisis and were suffering.  Joel called the people back to God–Tear open your hearts, not your clothing. Return to God who is gracious and loving, quick to forgive and abundantly tenderhearted. Who knows? God may relent and leave a blessing behind.”

We don’t hear much from the prophets in our  worship and life together. We use certain parts of the biblical text to emphasize things we want to hear, like “Let justice roll down like a river and righteousness like an unfailing stream.”  or “I desire mercy, not sacrifice, acknowledgement of God, not burnt offerings.” 

We nod our heads when we hear those words from the prophets, and say, “yes, it’s true.”  But conveniently when we read these texts we leave out the parts that are condemning of us.  The parts about how we need to change.  

God shows up in the scriptures in the form of these harsh, hard hitting prophets, from the wrong families and wrong social class, saying the wrong things.  They were dressed badly, and weren’t welcome in the religious centers. And what did the people do to the prophets among them? They killed them. Or if they were being “nice”, they destroyed their character.  They did everything they could do to silence the voices telling the people that they were in trouble, and that they must change their ways. Or else.

God sent prophets to the people, to say hard things to them.  And God’s work of sending prophets continues. I want to highlight some modern day prophets, their messages, what happens to them when they speak, and what happens to us when we ignore them.

Greta Thunburg, Mari Copeny and Jamie Margolin are among several young women who are working against climate change in our world.  Greta’s name is the one you are most likely to hear. Greta is a 16 year old Swedish girl who in 2018 protested her government for not doing enough to curb climate change.  This summer she took a two week solar powered boat ride from Europe to the US to participate in a national youth led climate strike.  

This is what she said to the United Nations this fall, “This is all wrong. I shouldn’t be up here. I should be back in school on the other side of the ocean. Yet you all come to us young people for hope? How dare you! You have stolen my dreams and my childhood with your empty words. And yet I’m one of the lucky ones. People are suffering. People are dying. Entire ecosystems are collapsing….and all you can talk about is money and fairytales of eternal economic growth. How dare you!”

These words enraged world leaders.  People began to strike back at her with conspiracies that she had been funded by left leaning corporations to say these words.  Political leaders said that she was young, and what did she know. People criticized her parents for letting her take this trip instead of going to school.  

But it’s hard to deny that her words sound a lot like those of the prophets.  “People are suffering. People are dying. Ecosystems are collapsing….and all you can talk about is money….how dare you.”  

In 2011, the Occupy Movement began in New York’s financial district in response to big banks getting buyouts while everyday folks were suffering from the recession. It was a movement that spread from New York to Philly and all over the country.  

The movement was made up of young folks, who were fresh out of college and still feeling the reverberations of joblessness in the recession economy.  There was not one message of this movement, or was there one leader. The movement made every effort to decentralize leadership and messaging, which confounded just about everyone.  

Folks were camping out by the hundreds in central locations in cities.  In Philadelphia the Occupy Movement had a nonstop presence just outside city hall.  They were there for two months, creating an alternative community. They were making sure that everyone there had a voice, was fed, and was cared for.  

There was talk in November that the Occupy movement in Philadelphia would be disbursed forcefully, and there were calls for clergy to go downtown to be witnesses and to encourage peaceful responses on all sides.  So I went down with another Mennonite pastor. This is one of the few instances where I wore a clerical collar, because it was important–as a public witness and for my safety–that I be recognized as a pastor. It happened that there was an Eagles game letting out at the same time that the Occupy Movement in Philly was being threatened, so folks were flowing up from the subway and coming into the City Hall area, where the encampment was.  Some were drunk, and many were angry and scoffing at the occupy folks. I overheard two drunk guys saying that they were going to enter the encampment and hurt people, and just as they said it, I locked eyes with them. They disappeared from my sight for a moment as I frantically looked for them, to make sure they didn’t do anything dangerous. Then they appeared in front of me again. They said, “Father (because I had a collar on), we were going to go into the Occupy space and beat some people up, but then we saw you and we couldn’t go through with it.”  

This encounter was an opportunity for both of us.  We talked some about the reasons for the Occupy movement.  These guys were angry that a bunch of deadbeats were hanging out instead of going and getting jobs.  But, as I dug deeper with these guys, they confessed that even though they were Union Electricians, they couldn’t get work either.  They were hustling between two and three part time jobs and living with their parents unable to make ends meet.  

And then they had that moment of epiphany.  Without me even having to say it for them, they realized the connection–they were struggling the same way that the folks in the Occupy encampment were.  They didn’t like the message or methods of the Occupy Movement, but with a little time, they understood the connection between their struggle and those messengers whose words they despised.  

As a little side note, I hired these electricians to work in my house, and they were fantastic.  

The occupy movement was confusing, yet powerful. They were very much like the prophets of old–hated and despised, speaking from outside of the centers of power, yet with challenging words reaching into the deepest parts of economic systems.  And, like the ancient prophets, the people wanted to see them destroyed.

We don’t always understand the messenger, or appreciate that message, we don’t always see the prophets as people of God, but that doesn’t mean that God isn’t speaking through these prophets.  

This summer I spoke on a panel with other Mennonite pastors at the Mennonite convention. The topic was “Prophetic Preaching.” If you’ve ever seen a panel, you know how it goes–the moderator poses a question and the people on the panel answer and try to look smart.  

But. as the microphone was being passed from expert to expert, I had to say to the group that prophetic preaching is a dangerous thing for a pastor.  Because we know what happened to the prophets of old–they were killed, or their names were drug through the mud. Prophets were not welcome in their home towns or home denominations.  So, calling a pastor a prophet means they are about to get their pink slip and sent off. Or maybe the get to write a book that no one reads.

Mostly prophets don’t come from the inside of the walls of power.  They don’t come from inside the church or inside of wall street. They are the ones screaming in the city squares, saying “The end is near.”  They are the ones challenging the powerful by exposing the ways that our systems fail all but the wealthy and privileged.  

So if we are looking for God’s prophetic voice to show up inside the walls of the church, we’d better look again. God has sent us prophets, and these prophets are speaking to us from the outside of the church.  They are not usually welcomed in the church, and maybe they wouldn’t want to come in anyway.

These prophets are calling us out on the ho-hum day to day worship that’s been going on for centuries.  They are telling us –enough. God is sick of this. Open your hearts, turn to God. Enough of your solemn feasts and assemblies.  Enough of worship as usual. Enough business as usual. Open your hearts and let God’s justice transform you and this world.  

God is showing up today, just as God did thousands of years ago–God is coming to us in the form of prophets who say the words we do not want to hear.  We could destroy these prophets, or we could listen and change our ways. Changing our ways is more than just a behavior tweak. It’s a radical change, a 180 degree turn to God.  

The prophets have spoken to us–in ancient and modern times.  What then will we do?

God in Silence

Sermon Preached at Frazer Mennonite Church

Based on I King 19

Some days I wish that God would send me a text message, or leave me a voice mail, or send me a letter.  Some days I wish I could have that sort of clear, direct communication, so I’d know what to do. 

Do you know this feeling?  

Most days I have no idea what I’m doing.  Most days, I’m just doing the best I can, trying to live in this broken world in a way that Jesus has called me.  And most days, I wish God would just be a little more directive, tell me the game plan, let me know the turns to take in life.  But that’s not exactly how God is, is it?

And truth be told, if God gave me a play book and told me to follow it, I’d be aggravated that God was being too directive.  I’d shake my fists in the air and say, “Where’s my free will, God?” “Let me be fully human, God!”

So, I’d like God to be directive, but also, maybe not.  

In our text today, we heard Jonathan and Louis tell the story of God speaking to Elijah–not in some grand way–not with wind, or fire, or earthquake, but in the silence.  How does God speak in silence? How does God speak in that absence, in that void? 

To give you a little background to our morning’s text, Queen Jezebel had just promised to kill Elijah and he was running for his life.  At the time of the prophet Elijah, it was not unusual for prophets to be killed for speaking out against the evil ways of King Ahab and his pagan Queen Jezebel.  A prophet would speak out, a prophet would die. Just another ho-hum headline in the reign of King Ahab.  

It was a hard time to be an Israelite.  King Ahab was a powerful ruler during a time of great famine.  The people were really suffering. And when they spoke out, they were killed.  We’ve seen regimes like this in the past. We know from our history books just how terrifying they are. 

But this death threat against Elijah was a little unusual because Elijah had just done something that was both amazing.  

Elijah, knowing that he could be killed, presented himself to King Ahab, saying, “You are not following the ways of the God of Israel, and God isn’t happy. Let me prove to you and the people that the God of Israel is powerful, more powerful than you imagine.”

Ahab found this amusing, calling Elijah, “Israel’s troublemaker”, but he agreed to this little experiment.  

So, Ahab called all the people of Israel to Mt. Carmel, along with all the pagan priests.  He also brought 2 bulls to the top of the mountain as was instructed by Elijah. And there, on the top of this mountain, Elijah submitted a challenge to the Pagan priests.  

He said, “Let’s each sacrifice a bull on a pyre.  We’ll each put our bull out, and call on God to consume the bull with fire.  Whoevers god responds by consuming the bull with fire, will prove to be the most powerful God.”

The pagan priests, assembled their sacrifice, and they called out to their god.  Meanwhile Elijah mocked them, saying “Maybe your god is busy, or preoccupied with another matter. You should yell louder.”  

And they did.

And nothing happened.  The Pagan god did not respond.  

So, Elijah assembled his sacrifice.  He surrounded his pyre with 12 stones,  and he cut his bull into 12 pieces. And then he dug a trench around the pyre, and covered the whole scene with water, over and over, until the trench was full and the bull and wooden pyre were soaked through.  

And he called out to the God of Israel, and God responded by sending fire to consume the sacrifice.  

The people were–of course–amazed by this.  Who wouldn’t be? And while the people of Israel were praising God in amazement, Elijah gathered the 400 Pagan priests and killed them all.  

This is one of those places in the scripture where those of us who believe in non-violence shake our heads and say, “Elijah, now why’d you have to go and do that?  We already saw this great miracle? Why was such barbarism necessary?”

And I don’t know why Elijah did this. But he did.  And I think God dealt with Elijah on this at the end of his ministry, though it’s not directly addressed in this passage.  

But, After all this, Jezebel was furious, and put a price on Elijah’s head.  After all that bravery and bravado from Elijah, he was really scared by Jezebel’s threat.  He ran from Mt. Carmel, and headed South. And after 100 miles or so of running–I’m assuming that this is taking days and weeks, and Elijah is hiding from his enemies all along the way.  After miles of running, Elijah stopped in the desert, sat under a tree and begged God to let him die. Sounds a lot like Jonah, who after God did this amazing thing in Nineveh, Jonah went off under a tree and wished he would die.  Prophets can be a little dramatic, don’t you think?

There in the desert he was attended by God, or an angel, or a messenger–depends on the translation.  Elijah was fed and given water in the desert by this celestial creature, and encouraged to keep going.  He kept going for 7 more weeks, until he reached the Mountain of God, Mt. Horeb.  

And God spoke to him, asking Elijah what he was doing there.  And this is where we hear Elijah moan and complain.  

“God, I’ve been working so hard for you.  All the other prophets have died, and I’m scared that I–the last prophet–will soon die as well.”

And God spoke to Elijah, saying, “Go to the mountain, and stand in my presence.  I am about to pass by.”

Now, if you remember, this same thing happened to Moses in this same mountain.  Moses asked to see the face of God, and God said no, but hid Moses in the cleft of the rock, so Moses could see a glimpse of God passing by. 

But here Elijah was in a similar position with God that Moses was.  He found a cave at the top of the mountain, in the presence of God, and waited for God to pass by.

Elijah saw quite a display of power on that mountain–the landscape torn apart by wind, fire, earthquakes.  And in each display of power, Elijah was clear that God was not in those things.  

But after all these displays of incredible power, there is silence.  Imagine that scene for a moment–Elijah had just experienced the intensity of the earth shaking, the heat of fire, the violent sound of wind.  And after all those sounds and smells, and after all that intensity, Elijah heard God in the intense absence, in the silence.  

It’s there in the silence that God whispered to Elijah.  We don’t know what Elijah heard. All we know is that in the absence of sound and fury and all of the fireworks of the natural world, THAT’s where God was. 

There are some key things to notice in this story.  

First of all, Elijah just saw God perform a miracle–God burned the water logged pyre in front of all the people of Israel, proving that the God of Israel was better than the God of Asherah and Baal.  That was enough for the people, but it was not enough for Elijah.  

Elijah needed to hear from God, not the displays of power.  

Second thing to notice here:  The text made it clear that Elijah stood on the mountain in the presence of God.  We understand here that God’s show of strength is quite separate from God’s presence.  In that show of strength, God is not in the act, but right there with Elijah.  

And finally, Elijah is not impressed by any of these terrifying events on the Mountain of God.  Elijah is most profoundly impacted by the silence, by the barely perceptible whisper of God. 

In this story of Elijah, we find a God that is incredibly powerful, capable of great shows of strength.  And we find a God that gives us exactly what we need. For Elijah, he needed some food, and then he just needed to hear a whisper from God, just a little hint to know God was there.  

But in order for Elijah to hear this whisper from God, he had to stop running.  He had to stop making complaints against God–even though, truthfully, these complaints were quite legitimate. And Elijah had to just sit in the presence of God.  And wait. And listen.  

I am going to speak for myself here, but I do a lot of running from thing to thing, trying to do some good here and there.  And, folks, I’m tired.  

But here’s the thing.  I run because I think I am in control.  And that I can fix it all. I run because I think, “Who else is going to do this?”  I run because, if I stop, then….what will happen?

We have this balancing act of being the people of God, being the hands and feet of God in this world that needs God and us.  And we have to stop sometime. We have to listen. We have to be in the void, in the silence, and listen for God.  

God’s presence is with us in the running and in the silence.  But in the wind, and fire and earthquakes of our lives, we can’t always hear God.  

So, stop for a moment.  Listen for God. God is speaking.  We don’t need a text message from God, or sky writing or a letter in the mail.  We just need to stop. And listen. God is always there. God is always read to speak to us. AMEN.

God Rules

Sermon preached at Frazer Mennonite Church on October 19, 2019

Based on Leviticus

How many of you enjoy reading penal codes and laws?  

Not many of us.  

We tend to see the law as boring, and–depending on the laws we are reading–they may not apply directly to our lives or enhance our living much.  

The law is boring and irrelevant until we actually need it.  

This morning, we continue our trip through the Hebrew scripture, looking at who God is to the people of God then, and to us now.  This is another one of these weeks where I thought three months ago that preaching on the book of Leviticus would be fun. And this week, I’m wishing for some texts that relate less to skin diseases and animal sacrifice.  But, here we are. In Leviticus.  

The book of Leviticus is the 3rd of the five books of Torah.  It is the center–the heart–of the torah, the very substance of what God asks of the people of Israel. 

God called the people God’s “Chosen People.”  And this was more than just a title. There was an expectation for the people to fulfill.  The book of Leviticus is the recipe book for chosenness. These were the things the people had to do in order to be the chosen people God created them to be.  

The people of God were supposed to be different–to look, to act, to respond differently. Because, if you recall from our text a few weeks ago, this God–the God of the newly freed people–was not like the other gods.  This God is radically free, radically different. This God is very large and untamed, yet as close to us as our breath. And because this God was different, God expected the people to be different too.  

The book of Leviticus is divided up into three sections.  The first section is for the temple system. How to slaughter animals.  How to keep the temple. How to maintain the holiness of the space for a holy God.  

The second section is about bodies.  What to do about bodily secretions, spots of leprosy, and the like.  

The final section is about the holiness of all the people.  What are the rules that we–the everyday people of God–need to follow?  And in this final portion of the Levitical codes we hear the excerpts we are probably most familiar with.  

• Be holy for I am holy
• Don’t hate your brother or Sister
• There are six days when you may work, but the seventh day is a sabbath of rest.  
• Follow my decrees and obey my laws and you will live safely in the land.  

As 21st century Christians, we might find it really easy to dismiss certain parts of the bible.  And Leviticus might be at the top of the list for you of irrelevant text to your faith. These laws about animal sacrifices teach us nothing.  These rules about skin diseases and bodily secretions are gross, and don’t mean much to us thousands of years later.  

But I want to argue that they tell us some very important things.  

The heart of these texts are two key concepts:  

First, holiness.  

Now, I grew up in the holiness tradition–the Church of the Nazarene.  And this notion of holiness was a big one for us. We talked about holiness as the pursuit of purity and perfection. Just as God is pure and perfect, we too should be perfect.  And, to be honest, I think this misses the mark a bit. Holiness not about perfection. It is about being set apart–different–from others. In that set-apart-ness, there are specific things that guide the lives of God followers that should be different from those that do not follow the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.  

The second thing that centers these levitical codes is love.  Love your neighbor as yourself. Follow these laws if you love God.  Treat the stranger among you with respect. Leave extra at the edges of your fields for the poor to gather.  The law centers us on love. The laws are centered on love for others, and love for God, who is holy.  

There are ways that we live that are distinct from others because we live our lives as holy people, set apart people. And those ways of living are centered on love.  

Now, maybe you are thinking:  Amy, this is all good and fine, but we are followers of Jesus.  We don’t need the law! We don’t need to worry about this Leviticus stuff, even if it’s about love and the holiness of God.  

It’s true that Jesus said in Matthew 5:17, “Don’t think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; no, I have come to fulfill it!”

So Jesus here did not come to stomp on the heart of the Torah.  Jesus came to fulfill it. Jesus came to show God’s people what living a life of holiness and love looks like.  

The love of Jesus and the way of holiness Jesus lived sometimes appeared to clash with the levitical codes.  When Jesus ate with the “sinners,” folks balked that he was breaking the law. But, as Jesus understood it, he was living the way of love.  And also, by the way religious leaders, we are all sinners, even when we follow the law to the letter.  

When Jesus healed on the Sabbath day of rest, folks became more upset about his healing on the Sabbath than that he actually. Healed. Someone.  For Jesus this was about love first and foremost. And in that healing, Jesus engaged in a conversation about the most important aspects of the law.  Because, for Jesus, love was an act of holiness, an act of living in the light of a holy God, an act of being set apart. 

Mitri Raheb says in his book, Faith in the Face of Empire, which many of us are reading right now, that when empires try to crush oppressed people, that oppressed groups grow more concerned with personal purity.  Dr. Raheb’s observation is not just about what’s happening in Palestine today; it’s about what always happens to oppressed people. They double down on religious purity when forces are seeking to crush them. So, it’s no surprise here that Jesus was pushing up against that, reminding people that the law is about living as set apart people, and living in love.  It’s not an obsession with getting the law perfect. It’s about living as the chosen people, the people God created them, and us, to be.  

But let’s get back to the law here.  Because in this series we are talking about the attributes of God. And this week, we recognize that God has given God’s people law.  So, how then shall we live?  

We follow Yahweh, who is like no other.  And God has set us apart, and asked us to live differently than other people.  We Mennonites don’t look different than others any more. Many, though never all, Mennonites used to wear plain clothes, most women wore head coverings.  Folks drove plain cars–I’m sure my Mennonite ancestors are rolling in their grave to see my teal colored car. There were many marker to distinguish us visually from others.  

That’s less true nowadays.  We tend to live in the world incognito.  But, our behavior is what’s different. We Mennonites seek to live in the world, but with our allegiances centered on God, and our intentions set to being like Jesus.  This means we live and act differently.  

For me, I feel the difference most profoundly in public spaces, when I’m asked to pledge my allegiance to the flag, or to the state.  I cannot say those words because it is in opposition to my allegiance to God. I feel it when our political leaders–Republican and Democrat alike–favor borders over humanity and love.  I feel it when our society needs to scapegoat by name calling and isolating people who worship differently, people whose names we struggle to pronounce and who’s cultures we do not understand, and people who love in ways that make us uncomfortable.  

The God that gave the chosen people these laws millenia ago is still the same God.  And this God still wants us to seek holiness, and to seek love. Those principles may clash with our religious laws and our cultural norms, but this is the way to which we are called: to be holy, and to love.  

“And what does the Lord require of you?  To do justice, love mercy and kindness,and walk humbly with God.”  This is the law God calls us to follow. This is the way of Jesus. Let’s live the law of God’s love and holiness, as God’s chosen people, and as people who follow in the way of Jesus. AMEN.

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Sermon Preached at Frazer Mennonite Church

God Provides

Exodus 16:1-18

I have a confession to make.  I chose this text in our sermon series “God of the Hebrew BIble” because I knew that after several weeks of hard hitting texts from the Hebrew scripture–like Hagar, like Sodom and Gomorrah, and like Moses meeting the God who’s name we cannot pronounce–I thought this one would be easy.  A preaching reprieve for me–I get to say simple, beautiful things about God and we all get to leave feeling good about ourselves. 

And imagine my surprise and disappointment when I read the text for the week, and realized that this is a difficult word and a word from God and about God that we need to hear.  

So if you are coming for some easy comfort this morning, let me tell you from the get go that this text may surprise you.  It certainly has taken me by surprise this week.  

In this text, we meet the chosen people of God in the wilderness, having recently been freed from enslavement by the Egyptian people, they walked through the Red Sea that God parted, while their enemies and enslavers followed behind and were consumed by the Sea.  

This was an incredible way to be saved from enslavement–with the seas parting just for the Israelites.  What an act of power on God’s part.  

And there the Israelites were–just a stone’s throw away from their former home.  They had been radically freed by a radically free God, the God who–if you recall last week’s sermon–is too big to be named and contained by our human imagination and capacity.  

The Israelites were free.  And in their freedom they are also homeless.  And hungry. And in a desert.  

The problem of enslavement had been solved, but in their freedom they had some other pressing problems to solve.  And the people begin to freak out.

If you’ve ever watched the original reality television show, Survivor, you have a pretty good understanding of what happens to people when resources are scarce and folks are trying to survive on very little.  FIghting and accusations ensue. 

God’s chosen people had just been saved in a big, spectacular way, but very quickly they began to complain to Aaron and Moses, “If only we had died by God’s hand in the land of Egypt, when we sat next to pots of meat and ate our bread till we were filled! But now you have brought the whole community out into the wilderness to die of hunger!”

Before Aaron and Moses could even bring this to God, God told Moses, “Oh for goodness sakes.  Do these people not trust me? I will take care of my people. Every night I will send quail into the encampment for you to eat and every morning I will send Manna (which literally translated means, “What is it”) to you.  But here’s the catch. Take only what you need.”

And everyone took as much as they needed. Some took a little, some took a lot according to their need, but when it was measured, it was all the same amount. 

On the 7th day, it was their sabbath, and they were not to work, but to gather twice as much on the 6th day, to hold them over.  But this was the only time they were to do this. Any other day that they took more than they needed the food would become rancid and full of maggots.  

God had already showed the people that God would provide.  God had already showed the people that God would look out for them.  But the people continued to worry that they were freed from slavery only to starve and die in the desert. So God had to show them again.  With Manna and Quail. This is only one of many ways that God showed up for the Israelites, protecting them, providing for them, and caring for them.  

******

I’m aware of just how difficult it is to trust that God will provide.  

Because we are really used to taking care of things ourselves.  Many of us have the resources to take care of those financial crises that may hit.  Many of us have the relationships we need to get support when we need it.  

But have you ever felt a time when you had used up all your resources–financial, relational, and emotional–and realized that you were not going to be able to make it work?

******

When Charlie was in graduate school, we were both living on my meager social work salary.  It was the end of the semester, and the little bit of money we had, I had just used to pay for our rent.  And we had no food in the house.  

And I was really scared.  

We were really careful with our money.  We never went out to eat, we shopped at the cheapest grocery store in town.  I tried to only shop at thrift stores. I was militant about electricity usage.  

And even with all the scrimping and trimming, we had no money.  

I remember sitting in our living room in West Philly, on our ugly, scratchy second hand sofa, crying.  In desperation, I called out to God and asked for a miracle.  

And then I heard the mail carrier arrive.  I fixed my face, went out to the mailbox, and found our tax return, which was equivalent to a week of my salary at the time.  We had just enough to buy groceries, and pay the back bills that were hovering over us.  

Before I had even asked for God’s help, God was already providing for us at just the right time.  

******

My friend, Hamed, runs a little non-profit in Palestine where he provides emergency assistance for Palestinians that live in especially precarious situations, that are the result of living in occupation.  My small part of the work is to wire him money from his US fundraising account.  

When the money gets low, Hamed frets and he and I both lose sleep about how we will pay for the work. Inevitably, the money shows up.  And we breathe a collective sigh of relief. He’ll say Hamdillallah, and I’ll say “Thanks be to God.” And we mean it. Those moments of relief happen more than we’d like, but every time, God provides. 

******

I bet you have had some moments like that in your life.  Maybe it was with a financial need, or maybe it was a friend showing up just in time.  In our lives, God provides, God sends us Manna. 

But this is not the only meaning of this Manna story.  And unfortunately, this is not where the sermon ends.  

In this story from Exodus, God was testing the people.  “Collect only as much as you need,” said God. “I will be watching you,” said God. God provided and God wanted the people to remember who was doing the providing.  It was not the people’s work that made this happen–it was God’s work, God’s power. 

And there are a couple of ways that God made sure that people remembered who was doing the providing.  

First, the manna went bad if the people tried to squirrel a little bit away for another day.  God is clever with this consequence. But the message was clear. Worry about today. Tomorrow will take care of itself.  

And second, God made the people take a day of rest. They were not to gather food on the Sabbath.  Because rest from our labors is important. Because we are more than our work. 

This is only the beginning of the economic guidelines God put into place for the people.  God told the people to leave a little grain on the edges of the field for those in need. God told the people to observe Jubilee, and forgive debts and return land every 70 years.  God told the people to give a tithe–10 percent of all they created and earned–back to God.  

These aren’t arbitrary God rules.  These are intentional rules to help the people remember that God was the provider.  Not them. God.  

But how often do we follow these financial guidelines?  I admit that I don’t. I don’t give as much as God has asked me to.  And I certainly don’t practice sabbath as I should. So, this text hits close to home for me.  

Because I don’t practice jubilee or sabbath, I know my sense of who provides for me becomes distorted.  It becomes twisted to the point that I believe I am in control, that I am providing for my needs, that I am responsible when I am successful.  

This text invites us into the practice of jubilee.  God invites us, just as God invited the people of Israel to take only what we need.  God invites us to practice sabbath, taking a break from accomplishing and maintaining that false sense of power over our lives.  

Our culture is one that drives us to always be working, always accomplishing, always doing.  And God calls us back to these counter-intuitive acts of resting and only taking what we need. 

I want to go back to this.  I want to get back to these spiritual practices.  Today I will take that small step back to the spiritual practice of sabbath keeping.  I need the rest. I need to rest in the promise that God will provide for my needs. It’s not me. It’s not what I can do.  It’s only through God. 

As you go out from this place today, pray about what spiritual practices you can implement to increase your awareness of God’s provision. Maybe it’s a TV and social media fast one day a week.  Maybe it’s a day a week where you don’t buy anything. Maybe you commit to increasing your giving by 1% a year. Perhaps you take a year long fast from buying new things.  

Regardless of whether you do this or not, God is always providing.  But when we practice Sabbath, when we practice only taking what we need, when we rest we find that we can really see what God can do.  This is the difficult challenge of this text.  Can we trust in God’s provisions? Or are we trusting in our own means? 

Let us trust in the God of the Hebrew Bible, the God who sent us Jesus. Let us trust in God who created us and called us very good, who is with us in difficult times, who calls us to hospitality, who wrestles with us, and who is too big to be named and contained.  Let us trust today in God’s provisions. AMEN.  

As Close as Your Breath

Sermon Preached at Frazer Mennonite Church

October 6, 2019

As Close as Your Breath

Based on Exodus 3

Borrowed heavily from the work of beloved Rabbi Arthur Wascow

The Hebrew word for God is made up of four Hebrew letters. Yud-Hey-Vav-Hey.  In Christian circles we read that word as Yahweh, or Jehovah (depending on what vowels you use) which we interpret as “I am.”  

Yahweh is known as an unpronounceable name in the Jewish tradition.  It’s so holy that it dare not be uttered. When Jewish folks read the Bible and come to the Yud-Hey-Vav-Hey, they refuse to pronounce it.  Instead, the name is read as “Adonai” which means “Lord” or “Hashem” which means “the name.”  

The name is so holy that you cannot destroy a piece of paper that has the name of God written on it.  Most Jewish folks don’t even write the name of God down for fear of it being destroyed. The name of God is sacred, holy and unspeakable to them.  

In seminary, I studied the history of this name in a memorable piece called, “The ineffable name of God.”  After reading about this tradition, I picked the kids up at school, and on the drive home, I began talking to the kids about this practice of not speaking the name of God.  Will engaged with the idea immediately. We talked about what you’d call God, if you can’t use God’s actual name. The conversation went on for some time, the two of us spit-balling ideas back and forth, until we heard Reba four year old pipe up from the back seat exasperatedly, “Can’t we just call God, ‘Bob?’”

It would be easier to call God by a more practical name like “Bob”, I guess.  It certainly makes God seem more inviting, casual and friendly. But this is not what God is going for here.  God has no intention of making themselves more accessible and easier to access. This God here is quite the opposite, refusing to make themselves fit any human character, personality or mold.  

And today’s story is a perfect example of God refusing to be named and confined.  

We meet Moses today in an encounter with YHVH at the burning bush.  But, in order to understand this encounter, we need to understand where Moses came from.  

Now, Moses was a two culture kid.  He was born an Israelite child to enslaved Israelite parents.  But because the Egyptians were trying to kill Israelite babies, Moses’ mom devised a plan to save him.  She sent him down the river in a floating basket, which ended up floating right to the Queen of Egypt. So Moses, a Israelite baby meant to be murdered by the king, was raised as an Egyptian in royalty.  His biological mother became his nursemaid, and–from all the clues we have in the text–taught him about his people and culture, so that he would know where he came from.  

And this child was named, Moses, which means son in the Egyptian language of the time, and means “deliverer” in Hebrew.  A simple, generic name in the Egyptian court held incredible promise for the Israelite people.  

When Moses grew up, he encountered an Egyptian slave driver that was trying to kill an Israelite.  Moses responded by killing the slave driver, and then fleeing Egypt to the desert. And there Moses lived a simple life, a sheepherder for his father in law, and a husband and parent to a new family.  

Moses knew how to live as a wealthy Egyptian, and as a Israelite.  Moses straddled both worlds, and was perfectly equipped to speak about the enslavement of his people.  

Moses understood the culture of the Egyptian royalty, and he also understood the religion of the empire.  At the time, Egyptian gods and goddesses were invoked according to different needs. Ra was the sun god and was widely considered to be the most powerful.  Isis, the mother god, was called upon to protect people in need. Horus was the sky god, and the Egyptian King, Pharaoh, was considered the embodiment of Horus on earth.  And so on… Each god was represented by an animal or creature.  

Moses understood the religion of the empire, and the religion of his own people.  He was perfectly placed to be a messenger from the God of the Israelite underdogs to the Pharaoh, the living embodiment of the Egyptian sky god.  

While Moses was herding sheep, he encountered God in the bush that was burning but not consumed.  And there God revealed God’s self to Moses.  

And there God called Moses to go back to Egypt, back to that place where he was a wanted man with a price on his head, and back to save his people, the Israelites, from slavery.  

Moses asked an important question of God in this moment.  He asked: “When I go to the children of Israel and say to them, “the God of your ancestors has sent me to you,’ if they ask me, “what is this God’s name?’ what am I to tell them?”

It seems like a weird question to ask, doesn’t it?  What’s the name for God I’m supposed to give to the people of Israel when they ask?  But Moses knew it was a question the Israelites would ask. They would want to know which god Moses was invoking here.  

And God answered with one word–YHVH. This is the first time this name for God is used in the Hebrew scripture.  Before this, the name that is usually used is Elohim, a rather generic name for God which essentially means “divine being”.  And this name–Elohim–is plural. But this new name for God, YHVH–means many things: “I am as I am, I am who I am, I will be who I will be.” And God said to Moses, “This is what you will tell the Israelites: ‘I AM has sent me to you.’”

“I am” has sent me.  This is our God, who refuses to be named, refuses to be confined by a verb tense, a proper noun, or even vowels to help us pronounce the name.  This God, our God, is, was and will be.  

And YHVH here refuses to be confined by a single characteristic.  This separates God from the Egyptian Gods responsible for their own domains.  No name will suffice for the God of the Israelite people, the God the people call on for any and all needs.  

God made it clear here in God’s name, that God was not playing by the rules of the Egyptian empire, the enslavers of the Israelites. God will not be tamed or confined.  

YHVH for the name of our God.  This is an elusive name. It can neither be pronounced well or defined well.  It’s a name that says, “You cannot control me or domesticate me.”  

This is a radically free God, who radically frees God’s people.  

Let’s go even further with this name for God.  Try something with me. Let’s collectively take a deep breath in. 

And now out.  

Again. In.  and Out.  

Yah

Weh.  

Yah

Weh.  

The God of the people of Israel, is the sound of the very essence of life itself.  God who cannot be named or pronounced is the very essence of our lives. God is the very breath we breathe.  In-Yah–and out–Weh. 

And Moses will tell the people of Israel that their God is the God of life, the God of the very air we breathe.  And Moses will tell the Pharaoh that his God is the God that cannot be named or tamed. And that God will set the enslaved people free.  

The new name for God is a revolution, friends.  The God of Israel goes from being a generic divine being creating the new people known as Israel, or the “God wrestlers”, to a God that is so vast, so big, so wild and untamed that there is literally no pronunciation for this God.  

And yet, this big wild God is also a personal one.  This big, wild, radically free God, the God who created us and calls us very good, this same God invites relationship with us wants to see us be radically free too.  

This God, whose name cannot even be spoken is as close to us as our breath.  Yah. Weh. Yah. Weh.  

Yahweh doesn’t care about Pharaoh’s rules or the rules of this or any nation.  In fact, God seems to be actively trying to liberate us from all of that.  

I’ve been trying to understand this all week.  It seems like too much to understand that such a BIG expansive and undomesticated God loves us, created us, and calls us very good.  And maybe that’s why the name is so important. Yahweh, YHVH, is too big for any name we ascribe. And yet, God is as close to us as our very breath.  An enormous, yet personal God.  

This is the God we serve and worship.  Yahweh, who liberates and saves, who loves us all and knows you personally.  Yahweh, the God who was and is and is to come. AMEN.

God who Wrestles with Us

Sermon based on Genesis 32:22-32

Jacob Wrestled

On our congregational retreat last week, our speaker, Bryan Moyer Suderman, offered two ways that people approach the Biblical text: 

Thy Word is a Lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path

And

Wrestling with the Scripture, Wrestling with the word.

While I love the certainty of the Amy Grant praise song, which originally comes from the Psalmist, I identify more with the wrestling metaphor from Bryan’s song and from our biblical text today.  

I am suspicious of easy answers, because they have not served my faith.  

I am dubious of certainty because–truth be told–I’ve rarely experienced God in certainty.

I am a scripture wrestler.  I am a God wrestler. I do not receive the word of God or the call of God,  unless I have examined it, argued with it, doubted it, and finally come to an uneasy peace with it.  

So, as you might imagine, this story from Jacob is a special one for me. Not just because of the wrestling, but because of Jacob’s journey up to this point.  

Jacob, grandson of Abraham, and son of Isaac, was a difficult person.  He was born a twin, his brother, Esau was just minutes older than Jacob, and so his brother received the generational wealth, the family birthright as an elder son.  This did not sit well with Jacob, and so twice he successfully managed to steal his brother’s birthright, his blessing. He traded his famished brother the birthright for a bowl of soup.  And he deceived his blind, ailing father, Isaac, into giving him a blessing on Isaac’s deathbed. 

And, it seems that bad feelings about the deception stayed with Jacob, worried him, even tormented him.  Because of this act of selfishness, Jacob was estranged from his brother and lived in fear of retribution from Esau.  

Jacob decided, after decades apart from his twin sibling, that he needed a time of reconciliation, so he headed towards his brother’s home, with his family and livestock in tow.  Jacob sent a messenger to Esau, saying, “I’m headed towards your home. Is it ok for me to visit?” And the messenger came back saying, “Esau is coming to you with 400 riders.” 

Well this sent Jacob’s imagination spinning into his worst fear– that Esau was heading toward his family with an army to destroy them.   

So Jacob came up with a plan, and sent the family and livestock across the river.  But Jacob returned to the other side of the river, furthest away from Esau and the potential conflict.  And there, on the shores of the Yabbok river, he was alone. Or so he thought. 

And there he wrestled with someone.  Here in this text we meet the same mysterious character we’ve met in the last few weeks of texts:  the angel, messenger, God character. And they begin to wrestle.  

It’s important to note here that Yabbok means crossroads.  And it’s also important to know that this river is not one that has clear boundaries.  It’s muddy, and there’s not much of a shoreline. Modern day tourists that try to get there cannot.  There are no roads to this part of the Yabbok river. Only mud. So,it’s more like Jacob was wrestling in a swamp with this angel, messenger, God character.  

So not only are they wrestling all night, but they are wrestling at an important crossroads in Jacob’s life, and that crossroads river is so completely and utterly murkey and muddy.  The metaphor and poetry of the words and their meaning are not lost on the writer and the original listener here.  

They wrestle all night long, and Jacob will not give up.  And this “someone”, seeing that Jacob would not be easily defeated, pulled out their big wrestling move.  This adversary kicks Jacob. Many texts say that Jacob is kicked in the hip. But, have you ever thought about how weird it is to be kicked in the hip?  Hardly ever happens. I think this is the translator’s way of being nice to us English readers and our Victorian sensibilities. Scholars are pretty sure that the kick was placed right between the hips, in a place that surely would end a long wrestling match.  

And still Jacob did not give up.  His adversary, after landing this painful kick, says to Jacob, “Let me go.” and Jacob refused to let him go until he had received a blessing from this mysterious stranger.  

Jacob, who stole his blessing from his brother and father, struggles with that and wanted a blessing, on that is obtained in truth and honesty.  And there, God gave him a blessing in the form of a new name, calling Jacob, “Israel” which means,”Wrestles with God”.

And now, we as people of God, as spiritual descendants of the people of Israel, are also those who are called to wrestle with God.

The fall series is about naming those characteristics of God, and here I want to name God as the one who invites us to wrestle, who identifies in our name a core characteristic–the ones who wrestle with God.  

And more than that, we are invited to wrestle with God!  The God who loves us and calls us very good, the god who cares about us on a personal level, the God who demands our hospitality is also the God who is approachable, even in wrestling match form.  

I am grateful for a God who wrestles with us.  Because the wrestling is the only way I’m here in the church.  

I wrestled with God when my Mom died.  I blamed God, screamed at God, raged at the church’s fear of my wrestling, and their fear of my questions. And I came out the other side, with a limp, a sign that I had encountered God and was forever altered by that experience.  

This week I watched a friend wrestling with God.  She came out of the closet 2 years ago, and was rejected by friends and family.  She’s at the crossroads now, wrestling in the mud with God about her healing and wholeness and whether she has the strength to re-engage the church and her family after all this pain.  

I cautioned my friend to not try to rush through the wrestling, not to try to have easy answers, and not to avoid the opportunity to understand this at a deeper level.  

And I warned her that she would walk away from this experience with God with a limp and maybe some scars, but knowing she’s been blessed by God, and seen by a God that WANTS to wrestle with her.  

Many of you are at crossroads in your lives.  With your health, with your family, with your work, and with the dis-ease of the unanswered questions of our faith.  And God invites you into the wrestling mud pit at this crossroads. God invites the wrestling. We do not need to fear God here.  This is where God does some of their best work, in the mud, in the mess and in the unanswered questions.  

Just look at Job, for example.  Job was called an upright man of God, and after being afflicted by every imaginable difficulty known to humans, Job began to wrestle and argue and shake his fists at God.  And God was silent for a bit, but did wrestle with Job in the mess of his life. Job’s life was never the same. He didn’t get his family or his wealth back. He didn’t return to the old “normal”.  He received a new normal, a new family and a new and richer understanding of God.  

Jesus wrestled with God as he headed to the cross, saying to God, “Let this cup pass from me.” On the cross, Jesus called out to God, saying “Eli Eli Lamach Sabachtani”–“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  Jesus wrestled through into his death, and came out of the tomb three days later bearing the marks of his encounter with God. And he emerged from that tomb a changed person, a Jesus who understood even more clearly what God sent him to do. 

Today’s text is an invitation to get into the mud pit with God, to wrestle, to refuse to let go of God, to demand answers, to demand God’s blessing in our lives.  And God in all that mess, within all the demands we make, God will hang in there with us.  

When we walk away after our long night of wrestling with God, we will not be the same.  We will come away changed, maybe a little bruised and 

broken, but always with a deeper appreciation for God our creator, who cares about us and calls us very good.  AMEN. 

God who demands hospitality

Preached on September 15, 2019 at Frazer Mennonite Church

Sermon based on Genesis 19

Before I left for my trip to Palestine in August, I told you about my friends, the Issa family, who live just outside of Jerusalem in the refugee camp of Anata.  The wall that divides the West Bank from Israel literally runs through their back yard. They are that close to Jerusalem, and they cannot legally enter. 

When I told you about the family in August, I told you about their amazing hospitality to me, helping me and my delegation when we were lost, even though the language difference between us would have made it easy for them to say, “Sorry, we can’t help” and walk away.  

This year, I went back to visit the family, and this time I brought my mother in law, Judy, and my Rabbi friend, Linda.  And all along the way, from the city of Jerusalem, on the bus and in the Issa family’s home, we received incredible hospitality. Again.  

The bus driver knew where to drop us off, because I showed him a text in Arabic that my friend sent me and told me to show the driver.  And when he saw me looking worried on the bus, because the ride was taking longer than I remembered, he assured me that our stop was coming up.  

When we got off the bus, and I confidently headed up the hill towards the Issa’s house, guess what? I got us lost–again.  And because I was travelling with women who had difficulty getting around, I was really nervous. So the minute I thought I recognized the Issa house in the distance, I saw a neighbor, waved him down, and pointed to the house for confirmation.  

Turned out this neighbor spoke English, confirmed that we were headed to the right house, except that to get to the house, we’d have to slip through his olive grove, and jump off a two foot high wall.  No big deal for me, but he was worried about my companions, so he accompanied us, and held our hands as we maneuvered our way down the wall.  

We arrived at the Issa’s house, and I shared some gifts I had brought for the family.  It included a quilted wall hanging, made by Annabelle, Sydney and Kay, some Penn State swag for Papa Issa, and for the kids–Pop rocks.  Let me tell you the pop rocks were HOURS of entertainment.  

And then Mama Issa asked us if we’d had dinner, which we had not.  And the kitchen went into a frenzy. Before our delicious dinner, we were offered cake, juice, and fruit.  So, by the time we got to dinner, we were full. But we knew better than not to eat. If we didn’t eat, we were going to be stared down by mom.  

And then she brought out the cake.  And the hookah. And coffee. And tea.  We were all stuffed, but we had to eat it.  It felt like an insult not to. And also, it was so good.  

By now it was 11pm, and I thought maybe we should get going.  After visiting for five hours, we were all getting tired. But then they were showing us picture from a recent wedding they attended, and when I remarked on the amazing 5 inch heels they wore, mom made me put hers on.  

They were amazing heels.  Terrifying, but I looked good in them and they fit me perfectly. 

By midnight I was putting my foot down.  It was really time to leave. But the family wanted us to stay overnight.  This was not just a “no…please…stay….” It was a genuine invitation, which we declined.  But I promised them that next year, I would stay over.  

Dad called a car to drive us back to Jerusalem, but when the driver arrived, we had to wait a few minutes so he could have tea, then coffee, then he–of course needed cake.  And a cigarette.  

It was another day of hospitality in a place where I felt so undeserving of it.  It was all so lovely, so genuine, so heartfelt. And this hospitality had not western time table.  It didn’t care that we thought it was time to go. We just had to enjoy it. 

In our text today we heard one of the most awful stories in the Hebrew Bible.  The story begins with God sending two angels to visit Sodom. I want to remind you that the angel/messenger character in last week’s text becomes God later, so these strangers entering Sodom also have the opportunity to be God–even if that is never said in this text.

God sends angels/messengers to Sodom, and like travelers did at the time, they waited at the gate of the city for someone to offer them hospitality.  Lot was at the gates of Sodom, and welcomed the guests to his home, offering them a place to bathe, refresh themselves and eat. These angels refused the request politely, but Lot insisted.  

He brought the visitors home made sure they were able to eat and clean up after being on the dusty road for so long.  And just as they were getting ready to sleep, Lot’s home was surrounded by all the men of Sodom who demanded that they “know” these men.  

This act the men of the town wished to inflict on these angels is the worst form of humiliation for a person.  It’s not an act of pleasure, but an act of power.  

And Lot, himself a product of his own culture, which valued strangers over his own female children, offered up his own daughters instead of these angel strangers.  

I admit that’s a part of the story I have to take a big cleansing breath after.  Because I am so angry with Lot his lack of value for his daughters.  

And, I remember, that while God is present in this story, and a truth is being told, these stories are written down by humans with their own biases and value systems.  And, once again, we will need to wade through those to get to the truth God has in this story for us.  

Lot tried to talk the angry mob out of their evil plans, and his neighbors, noting Lot’s status as a foreigner, threaten to do WORSE to him than they had planned for the strangers.  

Here in this story, the stranger and the foreigner had no value.  In the eyes of the people of Sodom, they are free to assert power over Lot and the angels, not treat them as revered guests, neighbors and friends.

The strangers pull Lot back inside the house and mad sure he found a way out of his home and to safety.  And they said to Lot, “We are going to destroy this city. The outcry to the Lord against God’s people is so strong that God has sent us here to destroy this place.”

The idea of God destroying people doesn’t feel good, but wow, I do empathize with God on this one.  These people that want to exert power in violent and destructive ways over people that they do not know or understand–that is the height of inhospitable.  And it is clear that God despises this lack of hospitality.  

Hospitality is a central value to God.  So central, in fact, that there are countless verses in the bible that talk about kindness to strangers and outsiders.  Deuteronomy says, “Love the stranger, for you were once strangers in the land of Egypt.” Psalm 146 says, “The Lord watches over the strangers; God upholds the orphan and the widow, but the way of the wicked are brought to ruin.” Jesus in Matthew 25, says “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me…in as much as you did it to the least of these, you’ve done it to me. Hospitality to the stranger is very important to God. 

So much so, in fact, that God destroys those that are unable to practice this central value of hospitality.  The prophet Jeremiah writes, “For if you truly amend your ways and your doings, if you truly act justly one with another, if you do not oppress the alien, the orphan, and the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not go after other Gods,, then I will dwell with you in this place.”

In case you are wondering about this particular interpretation of the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, in case this telling of the story is new to you, let me assure you that it is affirmed by the prophet Ezekial who wrote “‘Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy. They were haughty and did detestable things before me. Therefore I did away with them as you have seen.”

Jesus also affirmed this understanding of the text when he said in Matthew 10, “And if any one will not receive you or listen to your words, shake off the dust from your feet as you leave that house or town. Truly, I say to you, it shall be more tolerable on the day of judgment for the land of Sodom and Gomorrah than for that town.” This text from Jesus is about the disciples looking for hospitality among the towns they enter to preach the good news. 

The crime of Sodom and Gomorrah is their lack of hospitality. And yet, over the centuries, the popular moral of this story has become that God despises gay people.  If this text was about gay people, it would be some of the men coming to surround the town, in fact, statistically speaking, it would have been about 10% of the men in the town.  But it was all of them that surrounded that house. This was about power.  

Jewish and Christian readers of the text understood this Sodom and Gomorrah story to be about the lack of hospitality show to the angels, up until the 2nd and 3rd century, during the time of Constantine, who made Christianity the religion of the empire.  Lack of hospitality might cut too close for Empire Christianity, and it would be easier to blame the sexual outcasts for the destruction of Sodom than it would be to take a look at how we treat those who are not like us. 

It’s easier to blame the outsider–in this case gay folks–than it is to face the truth of this story: that we do not welcome the stranger.  And that lack of hospitality will be the death of us. 

The story of Sodom has me looking at myself differently.  Where have I lacked hospitality? Where have I seen myself as better than others?  Where I have refused to help, and to share what I have? I can think of plenty of instances.   

The story of Sodom has me looking at God differently. It’s clear throughout human history that God tolerates a lot from us humans.  But this thing is too much for God. God loves us and created us as very good, an when we twist that around and decide that we are God and outsiders are bad, God cannot abide this.    

The story of Sodom helps me to see what our lack of hospitality has done to us and is doing to us. 

But there is hope.  We can change. We can be the hospitable people God created us to be. 

Back to the Issa family. I told you I brought my mother in law and my Rabbi friend.  We didn’t tell the Issa’s that Linda was a Rabbi because we weren’t sure how they would react.  But after a few hours at the home, Linda decided she was ready to tell him. And when she did, they were surprised, and then completely delighted.  They began to call family and friend and tell them they had a Rabbi in their home that loved Palestinians. This was a really big deal to them. The wall behind their home–the one that separated them from Jerusalem–that wall was still there, but we were watching other wall being torn down as we shared our lives together. There is hope for us to change.

Yesterday was the last day of food distribution at the garden. I’ve loved being out there every Saturday, meeting our neighbors and sharing the bounty of the garden.  It feels good to tell our neighbors, “Take what you need, there’s plenty.” It feels good to see that there is always enough–more than enough–for us and them. 

And our neighbors that come every week bring things for us too.  Yesterday a Chinese neighbor brought moon cakes from their recent festival.  A few weeks ago a Moroccan woman brought us tea and fresh bread she made. Other neighbors like to sit with us, one friend to another, as we share stories about our lives together.  We promise to pray for them as they are facing housing transitions, difficulties with families and uncertainty about job prospects. It felt good–and holy–to stop our busyness and share our lives together.  There is hope for all of us to be the hospitable people God created us to be. 

Hospitality that we share and that we receive is life changing.  And it’s what God wants for us. The hospitality that God expects from us is because we are very good in God’s eyes and we are called to reflect that goodness.  When we start acting like we are God, and when we make the strangers among us less in our eyes, God is angry. Because God loves them too. God also created the stranger as very good. 

God loves us.  God calls us very good.  We know that from Genesis 1.  God cares about us, deeply. We know that from Genesis 16, the story of Hagar.  And that love demands something of us. God demands our hospitality–God asks us to open our doors, to unlock our gates, to expand our hearts.  

That is an ongoing process, and as we open ourselves little by little, we get to know God more, and we see that God is among us, in the stranger, in the messenger, in our neighbor.  AMEN.

We have a story for times like this

This Easter Sermon was preached at Frazer Mennonite Church on April 21, 2019.

Several years ago, you may remember the stories coming out of Philadelphia about the school budget problems.  As a parent of Philly school kids, it was a traumatic, difficult time. I watched my kid’s school lose their nurse, school counselor and safety patrol, along with the gifted program and art department.  

It was a terrible time to be in the school district, but we were determined not to give up.  In truth, we could supplement our kid’s education with special after school programs, but so many families didn’t have this luxury.  

The school crisis was something that local clergy talked about a lot.  How do we respond to this crisis? At one local clergy gathering, we were talking about this, and a colleague, who walked in late, jumped into the conversation rather abruptly.  

He said, “Schools have gotten so bad that i think we just need to give up on them. The era of public schools is over”  This colleague named the neighborhood school my children attended as part of his diatribe. He declared something I cherish and champion–dead.  

Needless to say, I was pretty angry.  

After the meeting, two pastor friends, Jarrett and Martin, surrounded me, to check in on me and me still raging blood pressure.  They had watched as my face turned red, as I shifted angrily in my chair, and they secretly enjoyed watching me call him out.

I struggled, with them, to understand how someone could give up on schools and our children like this.  

After a couple of minutes of debriefing together, Jarrett reminded us,“You know, we have a story for this. We are Easter people.  Resurrection people.”

We are resurrection people, friends.  And when things feel difficult, when things feel dead and buried, we know better.  We know we have a story for moments like this.

Here’s the part of resurrection that we don’t often like dwell on at Easter. And this is an uncomfortable truth about this season. We have no idea what resurrection looks like until we’ve experienced death.  If we have not experienced death, pain suffering, then resurrection just looks like spring. Resurrection looks like daffodils and lillies. We can look at these flowers and think, “There’s that new life. That promise of spring. That must be what resurrection is.”   

But that resurrection is only six inches deep.  The resurrection I’m talking about is the kind that is dead and buried six feet underground, forgotten about, and restored to life–against all hope.

The women were the witnesses to Jesus suffering on the cross, his death (they saw him in the tomb), and finally his resurrection.  Had they not witnessed to the suffering of Jesus on the cross, had they not seen him dead in the tomb, they may not have experienced the joyful, incredulous reaction to the resurrection.   So let this be a lesson to you all–listen to women. Believe women. They know what they are talking about.

One year while travelling in Jerusalem, we stopped at an alternative burial site for Jesus.  It was just outside the Damascus gate, a quiet, secluded, and cool spot to rest before our next event.  After we debriefed about what we had seen that day, a volunteer tour guide from Texas showed us around the gardens.  He pointed out the spot that may be where Jesus had been crucified–what is now a Palestinian bus station.  He suggested we sing a hymn. We did not. It felt forced. Hokey even.

Then the Texas tour guide showed us the empty tomb where he believed Jesus was buried.  He led us into the tomb, let us touch the walls, sit at the spot where Jesus may have been laid after his death.  We irreverently took photos coming out of the tomb (a thing that apparently a lot of tourists like to do.) And still we didn’t feel anything.   

We didn’t see Jesus on the cross.  We didn’t watch his suffering. So that empty tomb was just empty to us. Meaningless.    

But the women at the tomb knew that suffering.  They stayed at the cross on that terrible night. They saw Jesus struggling, ridiculed, gasping for breathe, for comfort and for a sign that God was there.  They witnessed these things and they did not look away. They stayed until the end. And they felt their own pain as they watched helplessly. If we don’t know what death, pain, and difficulty are, we don’t know what the resurrection is.   

But, people of Frazer Mennonite, you know what the resurrection looks like. You have stories of sadness, death and confusion here.  Several years ago, you saw the need for new life, and you prayed for families with children. And guess what–a lot of families with children came.  Ten years ago, you had conflicts with the conference about who was allowed to be part of this congregation. After what felt like death, you joined a new conference, and felt the new energy and new life in Atlantic coast.  

You have opened your building to folks in recovery.  Almost every night of the week, the parking lot is filled with people who find our fellowship hall to be a safe space, a space for healing from addiction. You wondered what you were called to do, and found that call in the soil on this very property.  And now, because of a garden, we have people that come to our building and our property, and can eat. We have a story for these times. We have the resurrection story. It is our story.

We live in difficult times.  We live in times where angry people cause carnage.  We live in times where fearful people put up walls, literal walls, to keep out people they fear.  We live in times where our government legislates hate. We are witnessing suffering and death every time we tune into the news.   

We have urges to shelter ourselves from this, to turn off the news, to run away from the realities of our world.  We have urges to protect ourselves from personal harm–to escape vulnerability–I find myself trying to do that with my kids and family all the time.  But, we can’t really know how good the resurrection is, until we’ve experienced pain, or sat with those in crisis.

That’s when resurrection is truly miraculous.   

To those who haven’t experienced suffering, perhaps this story–the one we Christian tell of resurrection seems like an idle tale, a silly, unbelievable story, told by overwrought women who didn’t know what they were talking about.  Maybe those who haven’t experienced suffering and pain can appreciate this story, but it doesn’t connect at a deep level.

But we’ve seen death.  We’ve seen pain. We know what heartache looks like, because we’ve shed our fair share of tears, and have called out to God saying, “Where are you?”  So, when hope comes, when God shows God’s self to us, when something comes from utter desolation, we have a name for it. It is called resurrection.

We have a story for difficult times.  The story is resurrection. It’s not just something that happened to Jesus.  It is something that happens to us and in us. This is our story. The resurrection story.  

It is Finished….

I preached this sermon at a Seven Last Words Community Service. I had the sixth word–It is finished.

My daughter, Reba, was two when I entered seminary.  On days when I didn’t have class, and it was just her and I at home, I would sometimes take her into school, to run around the beautiful grounds.  One morning I took her into the main building on my seminary campus, and there she encountered her very first crucifix, and a life sized one at that–Jesus hanging limp on the cross, in obvious pain.  Reba was aghast. “Who is THAT, Mama?”

It was at that moment that I realized she only had memories of encountering a cute, cuddly, helpless baby Jesus in the manger.  She knew how the story began, but not how it ended.

At that age, I had never talked to her about how Jesus died.  I don’t think it was a deficit in my parenting. Who should have to explain Jesus’ death to a toddler?  Who wants to explain Jesus’ death to a child, let alone look at death, facing the reality of the cross where Jesus was crucified at the hands of the state, an ancient version of the lynching tree, gas chambers, firing line, the executioners chair. No one should have to explain that to a child.

So, while I wasn’t sorry I held back, I also wasn’t exactly ready for her to meet dying Jesus like this.

Two year old wide eyed Reba looked up at life sized Jesus, hanging in agony on that cross, black body against black wood.  She saw his form, degraded and humiliated on the cross. She touched Jesus’ feet tenderly, tracing his toes and the nails in his feet.  Then she turned and looked at me, with her most serious, intense, two year old face, and said, “Poor Jesus. He needs a doctor.”

I feel badly for laughing at her in that moment.  It wasn’t a “kids say the darndest thing” moment. It was a moment of deep sadness for my daughter.  She saw the pain of Jesus on that cross, a pain to which I had become numb. I walked by that same Jesus hanging on that same cross several times a day, and never gave it a thought.  I never noticed the pain in his tense muscles, recognized the agony on his face. It is important to see that pain, and I was glad that my daughter brought me back to that in the crucifix.  

But, there is much more to this story than the pain. So, while we pay attention to the state torture of Jesus on that cross, I want us on this Good Friday to also notice these words.  “It is finished.”

“It is finished” is one word in greek–tetelestia.  And while “it is finished” sounds more final, more poetic, a more accurate translation is “It is completed.”  

It is completed.  

Here in this moment on the cross, Jesus finished the work of teaching us and showing us how to live.  After three years of ministry, after a lifetime of worrying his Mama and learning carpentry from his Pop, after escaping death at an early age, after learning all he could in the Synagogue as a young child, after walking through cities and countryside alike, preaching and teaching, after making religious and political leaders angry enough to kill him, he had completed his work. He had done all he had set out to do.

To everyone else at Golgotha, the place of death, Jesus was a mockery, a joke.  To them, he had received the appropriate consequences for messing with the powers of Rome and the powers of the established religious authorities.  

But, even in his agony up on the cross, Jesus knew better.  He knew his work was completed. It was finished, for now. It was finished for the time being.  And soon–in three short days–all would see. First the women would see it, because while women were and are underappreciated and undervalued, they often have more wisdom than those that claim to be wise.  Soon, those women would see that what had been completed in Jesus ministry would be sealed in the resurrection, and soon they would tell everyone.

That resurrection was an “I told you so” to the “it is finished” on the cross.  The resurrection was a “you didn’t think I would, but I did” to that cross. The resurrection, witnessed first by the women who stayed for Jesus’ very last breath, was Jesus’ hold my beer oh ye of little faith.  Watch what I do next.

It is finished.  It is completed. Jesus taught us up until his last moments how to live, without fear.  Jesus taught us, in his every breath, to live as the people God has created us to be. Jesus taught us to bring our fully human selves to the work of discipleship, just as he did.  

Another story about Reba.  When she was 8, she heard an animal crying in our backyard.  We looked for the source of the cry, and finally, found the tiniest kitten wedged between our fence and our neighbors.  I struggled for a while to rescue this sick, dying kitten, and finally gave up. “Reba, we can’t get to it. I’m sorry. I think it might die.”  

I went back inside, and Reba stormed in behind me.  She would not take “no” for an answer. “Mom, you told me to always look after God’s creatures.  And that’s what I’m trying to do. You are a pastor! You’d better help me!”

Emotional manipulation at its finest.  But she was right. Yet again I had become numb to suffering. This kitten need saving and we were her only hope.  So, what could I do? We had to go back out there. By then, this kitten, small enough to fit into the palm of my hand, had freed herself.  She was sick and malnourished. But she would be ok. She found us and we would carry on the work of caring for this sweet kitten, a work that continues to this day.

As always my kids model to me the way of faith.  Reba made the connection between someone else’s suffering, and her responsibility, between the “it is finished” and our own call as faithful followers of Jesus Christ.  On the cross, Jesus completed his work of teaching us how to live, of showing us what lived faith looks like, and now he has passed the work onto us.  Jesus work in human form is now down and we take up the cross and the example of Christ. We become the living stories of healing, hope, comfort, care and inclusion that Jesus lived in the gospel.

Jesus took his work from birth to his death on the cross, and now it is complete.  So–the challenge of Good Friday is–what will we do to live fully as the people God created us to be?  How will we follow Jesus’ example and care for all God’s children?

God, who began a good work in us, will be faithful to complete it, just as he faithfully walked with Jesus who completed his work on the cross.  

This holy week, let us follow in the way of Jesus, being fully the people God created us to be.  Let us continue on this uncertain road of discipleship, knowing that God will complete the work in us, walking with us, showing us the way, remaining with us until the very end, until our work is completed. AMEN.