The Word: Knowledge, Wisdom, and A.I. -- Sermon Series 2024

John 1:1-5

July 7, 2024

 

            When Brent and I decided to make our big trip to Greece and Portugal, we also started doing our research – mainly on Portugal. In Greece, we have a local connection with my sister. But Lisbon was much less known to us. So, we watched travel videos about it, and I did Pinterest searches, and we googled all the recommendations for the things you must do in Lisbon. One of the sights that is a must see is the Monument to the Discoveries in Belem, which is the neighborhood that borders one end of the city. And Belem is the port at the Tagus River where the great Portuguese explorers like Vasco de Gama departed from on their voyages of discovery.

            The discoveries are a huge part of Portuguese history. The scale of this monument to them reflects that. It is a large stone sculpture of a Caravel, the ship that allowed the Portuguese mariners to cross the Atlantic Ocean. There are stone depictions of historical figures on either side of the Caravel, all leading up to the main one, Prince Henry the Navigator. Others like de Gama and Magellan are represented, as well as others who were vital to the discoveries.

            Now, as I understand it, for many generations Portuguese sailors were only able to sail along the coastline because they didn’t have the ships or the navigational abilities that could handle the Atlantic. The Atlantic Ocean was the great unknown. Who knew how far it went or how deep were its waters? Who knew the dangers that awaited in that great unknown? To say that it was a great risk to sail out into its depths was an understatement. We learned that in trying to find the right ship that could take on the Atlantic, at least 70 ships and their large crews were sent out and never heard from again. To lose that many ships, maybe many more, was a tremendous cost in lives, in materials, and in hope.

            However, with the advent of ships like the Caravel and innovations in navigational technology like the astrolabe, that helped sailors chart their path by following the stars, the Portuguese were able to cross the Atlantic. They were able to sail further and longer and map new trade routes, and they cornered the market on spices and other riches from distant lands. It made Portugal rich, and they were a mighty empire in the 15^th and 16^th centuries. Of course there is a fallout to this. Because on the other side of those leading these discoveries were peoples, cultures, and civilizations, who didn’t know they needed to be discovered. They had been in existence for thousands of years too, so why did they need to be discovered? They were already there. The reality is that the discoveries opened the door for slavery, colonization, exploitation of indigenous peoples and their lands. I read once that our technology is always farther along than our wisdom to know how to use it. I’m pretty sure this was in reference to the technology of this century and the last, but it seems to me that it rings true for every human innovation since figuring out how to start fire and realizing that a circle that rolls moves things faster. And it would be true of the discoveries as well.

            So, here we are at, maybe not the dawn of new technology, but certainly in the early days of this technology known as artificial intelligence. Before I go any further, I need to make a full discloser. In trying to decide how I would structure a sermon series about faith and artificial intelligence – from now on known as AI – I used AI to get started. You may not realize this, but if you have Microsoft you have access to AI. Microsoft has Copilot, your everyday AI companion. All you have to do is pull up Copilot, type in a question or key words, and it will generate an answer. I ran my questions about this sermon series several different times using different keywords. Copilot gave me some possible outlines, which got me thinking, and then I put the outline together that I wanted to work with. I sat and read through a variety of scripture passages, played around with themes for each Sunday, etc. etc. My point in telling you this is that while AI gave me a creative nudge, I did the preparation and the theological legwork myself.

            I emphasize this, because one of the ethical landmines of AI is that it does the work that people are supposed to do. I have a good friend who teaches at Belmont, and she told me that they not only have to check students’ work for plagiarism, but teachers also must check to see that it wasn’t written by AI. And now, she told me recently, they have to check to see that a student’s parent has not tried to “help them” by taking the student’s work and using AI to clean it up.

AI is everywhere, more than most of us realize. So, what is it exactly? Here is one definition of AI that I found from Techopedia.

Artificial intelligence (AI) is the development, deployment, and maintenance of computational systems that can replicate certain types of human intelligence. Currently, this aspect of computer science is focused on creating algorithms and programming machine learning (ML) models that can analyze vast amounts of data to gain insights and make data-driven decisions autonomously.

            And then there is also generative AI, which according to Merriam Webster “is a computer tool that can create text that sounds like it was written by a human, based on a given starting point.”

            This is all heady stuff, but what does it mean for us? What does it mean for the church? What does it mean for our faith? Is the advancement of AI really that big of a deal when it comes to our faith, except that we want to make sure Pastor Amy isn’t using AI to write her sermons for her? Which, on my honor, I did not. I mean technology is with us to stay. We learned very quickly at the onset of the pandemic that keeping going as a church meant using technology – whether it was the weekly church emails to keep everyone informed about protocols to zoom meetings for session and for bible studies to broadcasting our services on Facebook and YouTube, a practice that will continue. And most of the time it’s great to have powerful computers in the palm of our hands. When you’re in a foreign city and you’re trying to navigate from one site to the next, it's reassuring to have a GPS program literally at your fingertips that can help you do just that.

            But I keep going back to that statement I referenced earlier. Our technology is always more advanced than our wisdom to use it. This was true for the technology that powered the discoveries and it’s true for the technology of AI. It may be helpful to have technology that can simulate human intelligence, but do we have the wisdom to know how to use it?

            It seems to me that one reality of human existence is that we are not necessarily born with humility. That’s something that we have to learn, most often in the hardest of ways. One of the overarching themes of scripture is that the people of God kept thinking they knew better than God. It got them kicked out of the garden, it got them stuck wandering in the wilderness for 40 years, it got them sent into exile. It’s not just that humans have a hard time listening and trusting God, it’s that we think we know better. We may not consciously think that, but our actions speak volumes. And it’s not that I think God created us to be mindless drones, just following along blindly. We were created with minds that think and given the gift of reason and free will. God created us with the ability to choose. But God also created us for relationship, with God and with one another. God created out of love. And all that we do, say, and learn should be to build up that love, that relationship.

            That is the knowledge that comes from God, and I think that is the Word that John’s gospel is referring to. In the beginning was the Word, the logos of God. The logos of God is the knowledge of God, the wisdom of God, the creative spark of God, the love of God, the breath of God. The Word of God was at the beginning of creation. This is John’s version of the creation story. I don’t believe he was trying to rewrite Genesis, but I do suspect that he was trying to add to the depth of what creation was and is. In the beginning was the Word – it was the fullness of God’s wisdom and love for all creation, including us humans, despite our lack of humility, our lack of trust, our lack of understanding. God loves us in spite of ourselves, so God the Word, wisdom and knowledge, put on flesh and came to live among us, for our salvation and to show us what it means to be fully human, truly human.

            As I said earlier, one aspect of being human is that we’re not necessarily born understanding that knowledge requires humility. I’m all for intellectual pursuits, I love learning, and increasing our knowledge. And I’m not opposed to technology. It can help human life in so many ways. But I have to go back to the knowledge that I possess – or think that I possess – versus the knowledge of God. I have to return to the God that knows me and, I think, longs to be known by me. I don’t think God wants us to not use our minds, our brains, our intellects. But I also think God wants us to understand that with all we know, we’ll never know all. I think God wants us to approach knowledge with humility. When Paul wrote about knowledge puffing up, he was talking specifically about food sacrificed for idols, but his point about thinking that we know better than others, especially that we know better than God, can be extended to many subjects – including AI.

            We can know a lot. Our knowledge can be extensive, but if it isn’t used for the purpose of building up others, of helping others, of creating a better life for others, than we’re just puffed up and puffing up. We are not building up. We are not extending the love of God. We are not sharing the love of Christ.

            So, where does this leave us? As a preaching professor of mine used to ask, what does this mean for us on Tuesday? I’m not sure I have an answer to that yet. That’s what we’ll be grappling with over the next few Sundays. But I know that AI is with us to stay, and it is probably going to be present in more and more aspects of our lives, including church. So, I hope that I will practice what I preach … that I will approach this subject with humility and the recognition that with all that I know and all that I may learn, there is more out there in God’s universe than I can ever possibly understand. And that’s okay. May we all grow in wisdom and love, and may we more fully know the God who loves us and longs to be known by us. Thanks be to God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

           

A House Divided

I Samuel 8:4-20/Mark 3:20-35

June 9, 2024

 

            Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.

            That’s a phrase I didn’t understand as a child. Why would I ever want to be careful what I wish for? Why would I ever not want to get what I wish for? But then I read books like Freaky Friday, do you remember that one? It’s where a mother and a daughter switch bodies but stay themselves on the inside. The daughter wishes she had her mom’s life, because her mom is an adult and has no problems and everything is so much easier when you’re grown up, while her life as a young teenager is completely untenable.

On one fateful and freaky Friday, the daughter wakes up as herself but in her mother’s body, and the mother does the same. The whole premise of the book is the daughter trying to navigate the world as her mom and realizing that being an adult with responsibilities is not as easy as it looks. Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it. 

Like I said, as a child I didn’t understand this phrase … until I did. Until some of the things I wished for happened, and while getting what I wished for wasn’t bad per se, getting what I wished for also didn’t make my life perfect or easier or magically change the way things were.

It seems to me that the underlying theme in our passages today is “be careful what you wish for”. The elders of Israel go to Samuel and ask him, demand him really, to appoint a king. As one commentator wrote, Samuel was a wise and good prophet, a wise and good leader … until he wasn’t. And the wasn’t is described in the first sentences of chapter 8. Sentences that the lectionary left out. These first three sentences set the scene by telling the reader that when Samuel was old, he appointed his two sons as judges over Israel. But Samuel’s sons are not like Samuel. They are not wise. They are not good leaders. They are not good judges for or of the people.

If you remember the beginnings of Samuel’s story, he was called by God as a young boy when he was serving the priest, Eli. Eli also had two sons, who did not follow in their father’s footsteps when it came to leading and serving God and God’s people. They were corrupt and inept. The first word from the Lord that Samuel received was to tell Eli that he would bear the consequences of his sons’ bad judgment. Now it seems that Samuel is experiencing the same dilemma. Samuel is a human being after all, and appointing his sons to be judges reveals that as a human he can make mistakes just like all humans do. And the Israelites, humans as well are about to make a big mistake.

They want a king. They don’t want Samuel’s sons to lead. Instead they want a king. They want a monarch, forgetting, it would seem, that the monarchy passes on from father to son as well. But the people have spoken. Samuel prays to God about it, and God responds by telling Samuel that the people are not rejecting Samuel. They are rejecting God. They don’t trust God, not really. They did this when God led them through the wilderness. Life got hard and they wanted to go back to Egypt. Why did God lead them away from the devastation of slavery only to let them starve in the wilderness? They didn’t trust God then. They don’t trust God now. They were not rejecting Samuel by asking for a king, they were rejecting God.

God instructs Samuel to warn the people about what life under the rule of a king will really be like. And Samuel tries.

“These will be the ways of the king who will reign over you: he will take your sons and appoint them to his chariots and to be his horsemen, and to run before his chariots; and he will appoint for himself commanders of thousands and commanders of fifties, and some to plow his ground and to reap his harvest, and to make his implements of war and the equipment of his chariots. He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive orchards and give them to his courtiers. He will take one-tenth of your grain and of your vineyards and give it to his officers and his courtiers.”

            He will take, and he will take, and he will take. The list Samel gives them goes on and on. It sounds horrible, doesn’t it? The consequences of having a king sound much worse than not having one, but the people don’t care. They want to be like other nations. They’re like children who want what the other kids have. All the other nations have kings, why can’t we?! They want a king to fight their battles for them. They want a king to solve their problems for them. And in the end, God gives them what they wish for. God gives them a king. Saul becomes their first king, and it does not end well. Some might say that it’s an unmitigated disaster. But that’s a story for another sermon.

            Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.

            The monarchy eventually leads to exile. And when exile ends, occupation by Rome begins. The people turned their hope toward one greater than a king – a Messiah. But just like their desire for a king, they don’t know what they wish for. And many do not recognize the messiah when he stands right in front of them.

            Mark’s gospel tells us that Jesus has gone home. Just before he returns home, he has called all twelve of his disciples. Not only has he called them to proclaim the good news of God, the message that the kingdom of God is now in their midst, he has also given them authority to cast out demons. Exorcising demons is a big deal in Mark’s gospel, so the disciples being given this authority is also a big deal. And now he returns to his hometown. If Jesus expected his homecoming to be warm and welcoming, he was wrong.

            The growing crowd of people following Jesus does not dissipate when he goes home. They show up there too. That must have been unsettling for the people who knew Jesus when. It’s one thing to have this carpenter’s son come back home with twelve of his friends. But to have hordes of people following him? That’s too much. And this crowd of folks seems to think that Jesus can actually heal people! They think he can cast out demons! What?!

            Obviously this hometown boy has gone off the rails. His family heard about this, and they go to Jesus and try to stop him. The text says they try to restrain him. I don’t know if Mark means they used a literal restraint or a verbal one, but either way, his family wants him to stop doing and saying what he’s doing and saying.

            The scribes from Jerusalem have also followed Jesus, but not because they’re fans. They stir up the opposition to this hometown boy even more, saying that he has Beelzebul, and that he casts out demons through the power of the ruler of the demons.

            But Jesus turns this claim completely on its head and shows it to be ridiculous.

            “How can Satan cast out Satan? If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand.”

            I must admit to you all that I was an adult before I realized that Abraham Lincoln was quoting scripture when he spoke these words. But he was and this is the scripture. A house divided against itself cannot stand. If I am Satan, why would I cast out Satan? If the ruler of the demons had power over me, then I wouldn’t be casting out demons. You refuse to see what is right in front of you. You cannot recognize what is holy in your midst. And blaspheming against what is holy is going to land you in an eternal world of hurt.

            It is at this moment that Jesus’ family comes back into the narrative. Jesus is surrounded by the crowd, the crowd of believers, the crowd of those who are hungry for the Word of God, the crowd of people who may be outsiders in every other context, in every other part of their lives. And as Jesus is surrounded by these people, someone tells him that his mother and brothers and sisters are outside. They want to talk to him. I suspect that they want to stop him from getting into any more trouble, from bringing anymore attention to himself – and to them. I suspect they don’t want to be known as the family of this man that the scribes believe to be ruled by the ruler of demons.

            But Jesus does not bow to their desires. Instead he says words that sound harsh, that are harsh.

            “Who are my mother and my brothers?” “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and my sister and my mother.”

            Yes, these words are harsh, and there is a part of me that wants Jesus to soften them, to at least go out and hug his mother, acknowledge his family. But maybe this is also a matter of being careful what you wish for. You wished and prayed and hoped for the messiah. You wished and prayed and hoped for God to hear you, to come to you. But when God comes, everything gets turned upside down. What is outside becomes inside, what is inside becomes out. Boundaries are redrawn. Even familial boundaries are changed. And none of it is easy. But it comes back to trust, doesn’t it? The people trusted their inclinations for a king far more than they trusted God. They thought a worldly leader would save them, but no leader of this world can. And the people who thought they knew best, who believed they understood God and the Law and their place in the world did not trust that God was bigger than the box they put him in, that the messiah would be not the one they constructed. They could not trust what their eyes saw, and their hearts knew; this Jesus was more than they could know or comprehend.

            What exactly are we wishing for, praying for, hoping for in our church, in our community, in our country? Even more than that, who is that we trust? Do we trust God? Do we really trust God? Or is our trust misplaced and misdirected?

            I think the good news of these stories probably doesn’t feel like good news at first. I think that the good news is that sometimes God gives us exactly what we wish for, not so that we can fail or fall, but so that we can understand a little better that being faithful requires that we trust in God more. Being faithful requires that we trust in God more. Trust. In. God. More. Thanks be to God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

           

           

 

Good Sabbath

Mark 2:23-3:6

June 2, 2024

 

            I had a seminary professor who told our class that when she was growing up her family took the sabbath seriously, really, really seriously. There was no doing homework on the sabbath. If you hadn’t gotten your homework finished by Sunday, it was not getting finished. If the weather was warm and sunny and your friends were going to go swimming, you weren’t. I don’t remember if she shared with us how her family handled meals on the sabbath. I suspect they ate leftovers, so meal preparation would not have to be done on Sunday. But the point is, her family took sabbath seriously. I’m not sure this professor was quite as strict with her own children about the Sabbath as her parents were, but this strict observation of the sabbath stuck with my professor her entire life.

            When she told us about her family’s observance of the sabbath, it reminded me of the book Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I remember reading it for the first time as a little girl and being struck with how Laura and her family observed the sabbath, and how much Laura hated it. Laura and her sisters had to sit still and quietly all day long. They could hold their dolls and look at them, but they couldn’t play with them. Pa would play his fiddle, but his sabbath music wasn’t lively. He played hymns, slowly and somberly. Ma would have prepared food for the day beforehand. There was no having fun, no running and playing. The sabbath was about keeping quiet and being somber, and Laura hated it! She hated sitting still. She hated not being able to jump and shout and run. And one Sunday, she couldn’t stand it anymore and she began to play. She got in trouble, but then after a while Pa told her a story about her grandfather and how much stricter sabbath rules were for him.

            My family’s observance of the sabbath was not as strict as my professor’s and certainly not as strict as Laura Ingalls Wilder’s. We went to Sunday school and church. My mother started the Sunday meal before we left for church in the morning. We always had a nice Sunday dinner after church – something my kids did not get to experience growing up. It was a quieter day, but I wasn’t forbidden from playing outside. And we could watch tv and read the funnies in the Sunday newspaper. If for some reason we didn’t go back to church on Sunday night, we got to watch Wonderful World of Disney and that was huge! But looking back I realize that for my parents it was a day of rest. They weren’t working around the house. They weren’t running errands. It was their day of rest before the work week relentlessly began again the next morning.

            The sabbath was made for humankind and not humankind for the sabbath.

            This is the summary statement that Jesus tells the Pharisees who criticize his disciples for plucking grain on the sabbath day. Jesus and the disciples were walking through grainfields on the sabbath, and the disciples begin to glean from the heads of grain. The Pharisees question Jesus about this because what the disciples were doing was not lawful on the sabbath. Gleaning any other day of the week was acceptable, but not on the Sabbath.

            In response Jesus reminds them of the story of David and his companions. They were hungry. They needed food and sustenance. They entered the house of God and ate the food that had been blessed. According to the Law only the priests were allowed to eat that. But David and his companions were hungry and so they ate. The sabbath was made for humankind and not humankind for the sabbath.

            This response surely did not sit well with the Pharisees. But if they responded in any way other than appalled silence, the text doesn’t share that. Instead Mark moves us forward. Jesus enters the synagogue and there was a man with a withered hand. The Pharisees are watching Jesus closely, wondering – hoping – that Jesus would heal the man with the bad hand so they could accuse Jesus of breaking the Law. Jesus tells the man to “come forward.” He looks at the Pharisees, clearly aware that they are watching him and for what purpose, and says to them,

            “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to kill?”

            The Pharisees keep their mouths shut, and their stubborn silence angers Jesus. He grieves at their hardness of heart and tells the man to stretch out his hand. He does this and the man’s hand is healed. The Pharisees don’t say anything else to Jesus, but they leave and immediately find the Herodians to coordinate their efforts to stop this troublemaker.

            I’m going to say something controversial here, but according to the Law the Pharisees were right. The disciples were breaking the law by gleaning on the sabbath. The Law allowed for someone’s life to be saved on the sabbath, but there’s no indication from the text that the man with the withered hand was in great peril. His healing could have waited until the sabbath was over. According to the Law the Pharisees were right. Jesus and the disciples were wrong. And to add to the controversy, the Pharisees were not necessarily the villains they are made out to be. They were religious folks who were trying to do what they believed the Law and their faith instructed them to do. I often compare the Pharisees to the ministers of today, to myself and to my colleagues, but they were also the lay leadership of the day. They were me and they were the session, trying to live out their faith and abide by the Book of Order.

            But Jesus upends their understanding of the Law and of the sabbath. He doesn’t throw the Law out, nor does he claim that it has no value. It seems to me that Jesus wants the Pharisees to understand that both the sabbath and the Law were gifts. The Law was a gift from God to help God’s people be in relationship with God and with each other. And the sabbath was a gift, not only to humankind, but to all of creation. It was the gift of rest. It was the gift of restoration. It seems to me that Jesus wanted them to understand that showing compassion on the sabbath, whether it was through gleaning for food or healing a man with a non-life threatening illness, was the heart of the sabbath. Compassion was at the heart of the gift that God had given them. And again, I’m not convinced that the Pharisees were without compassion. But where they went wrong was that they made the sabbath the object when it was intended to be the means. The sabbath was made for humankind, not the other way around. The sabbath is not the object. The sabbath is the means – to restoration, to rest, to wholeness. God gave humans and all creation the gift of sabbath. The sabbath was the means not the object.

            I think the Pharisees’ struggle to understand Jesus, his words, and his actions, is the same struggle we have today. The Pharisees were trying to uphold the rules. Rules are not a bad thing. We need them. We need their limits. We need their constraints. Rules allow us to live with one another. But the rules are not the object, they are the means. And when we get so caught up in the rules that we make them the object, I think we can miss the point.

            I think that’s what angered and grieved Jesus about the Pharisees. They were missing the point. They were missing the point that compassion was the beating heart of the Law. Love was the heart of the Law. God created the Law out of love. God gave the gift of sabbath out of love. A good sabbath was a sabbath that both remembered and honored that gift.

            It’s easy to say this, but it’s much harder to do. I struggle with balancing my need for the rules and my call to be, to live, compassion. And I don’t like it when others break the rules that I think are important, no matter what their reason. No matter how much I hate to admit it, I can easily slip into the shoes of the Pharisees in stories like this, and I find it much harder to follow in the footsteps of Jesus. I doubt that I’m alone in this. I suspect that if we’re all honest with ourselves, that this is true for you as well as for me. As much as I think of myself as a compassionate person, the truth is, living according to the dictates of compassion is a tricky, tricky balancing act and more often than not it’s just plain hard.

            Living according to the Law of compassion means that I must be willing to forego my judgment of others. Living according to the Law of compassion means that I must see the Law as a means of restoration and wholeness, of life and of love. It doesn’t mean that I can always achieve that, but it does mean that should be my guiding principle.

            Miss Erlene and I must make decisions every day about who the church can help and who it can’t. It’s hard, harder than you can imagine because I want to help everybody. I want to help every poor soul who walks into this church needing assistance, and there are many poor souls out there who need help. But we can’t help everyone. We can’t help with every need, no matter how hard we try and want to. We do have rules we have to follow and guidelines that must be met. But compassion requires us to remember that the rules and guidelines are not the object, they are the means.

            The sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the sabbath. The sabbath was never meant to be the object. It was meant to be the means, a gift, a way to restoration and wholeness and life. Jesus practiced this good sabbath. Jesus lived this good sabbath. He understood that it was never the object, but the means. He meant it when he said that it was created for humankind and not the other way around. When we remember that, when we live that, we live and practice a good sabbath too; a good sabbath that is the means to restoration, wholeness, and life. Thanks be to God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!”

            Amen.

How Can These Things Be? -- Trinity Sunday

John 3:1-17 (Isaiah 6:1-8)

May 26, 2024

 

            Some people use the phrase, “sounds like Greek to me,” to show that they don’t understand something that is being said. But I don’t say that for a couple of reasons. The first is that I’ve studied ancient Greek and a little bit of modern Greek, and while it is a challenging language, there is a logic to it so it kind of makes sense – sort-of. And two, because if I’m going to use an expression that indicates that something makes absolutely no sense to me, I’m going to say, “that sounds like math.” If I say that something sounds like math, that means that I have no clue whatsoever. I don’t understand what’s being talked about or explained to me because it’s all over my head. That sounds like math.

            Math makes me anxious; really, really anxious. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve gone to a teacher for help with math, understood it – or thought I did – while I was one-on-one with the teacher, studied on my own, then got to the test and fell apart. It happened with long division. It happened with algebra. As far as geometry, no amount of extra help made that stuff make sense. I even had a tutor for a while. I got through math because I had to, but when something makes absolutely no sense, I say to myself, “that sounds like math.” Then I close my eyes, take deep breaths to release my anxiety, and hope that my head doesn’t explode.

            The reason I share this with you is because when I read this story about Nicodemus, a learned Pharisee and leader of his people, I feel for him. We generally spend a lot of time focusing on Jesus in this story. And we always zoom into verse 16 because it’s so well-known and so beloved. But what about Nicodemus?

            As I said, I feel for him because I suspect he was as lost and confused about what Jesus was trying to tell him as I am when someone tells me something that seems like math.

            Nicodemus came to Jesus by night, probably afraid that his visit to this radical rabbi would put him into hot water with his fellow pharisees. So, he uses darkness as a shield to cover him, and goes to Jesus with questions. Clearly, something about Jesus compels Nicodemus, calls to Nicodemus. He tells him,

            “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.”

            Nicodemus makes it clear that he understands that Jesus is from God. Whether he believes that he is the Messiah or God himself, we don’t know. But he recognizes the divine in Jesus and wants to know more.

            But Jesus does not seem to give him a straight answer. He doesn’t say, “Yes, you are correct, Nicodemus. I am from God.” Jesus instead replies,

            “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”

            And this is where the real confusion for Nicodemus and controversy for generations of believers to come begins. Nicodemus must have been stunned by Jesus’ words, and clearly confounded by them. You must be born from above?! What are you talking about, Jesus? Can a person return to his or her mother’s womb and be born all over again? This makes no sense! Then Jesus goes on to tell him that no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit.

            “What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit.”

            Again, Jesus is giving Nicodemus metaphorical and layered meaning answers to his questions. But Nicodemus is trying to understand Jesus’ answers literally. And this is where I say the controversy over this passage comes from. Our evangelical brothers and sisters speak of being “born again,” and it comes from these verses. You must be born from above. You must be born of the Spirit. And this more literal interpretation of Jesus’ words has translated over the generations to requiring an experience, a date and a time, when you have been born again, accepted Jesus into your heart, and allowed your life to be transformed.

            Now I am not trying in this sermon to refute that claim or dismiss that claim. It is not the claim I make about this passage, but if our siblings in Christ believe it this way, that’s their choice.  

            However, the way that I falteringly interpret this passage is that Jesus is trying to tell Nicodemus that the kingdom of God is more than just geography and that entering that kingdom is a spiritual enterprise. And he tells Nicodemus that the leaders don’t understand what he is saying when he talks about physical things, earthly things, so why should they understand when he is talking about heavenly and spiritual things?

            But none of this seems to alleviate Nicodemus’ confusion. Because he asks Jesus, “How can these things be?”

            How can these things be? Today is Trinity Sunday, the day when emphasize God the Three in One, God in relationship, God in community. But I guarantee you that any explanation I could offer about the Trinity would probably leave us all more confused, and asking the same question that Nicodemus asked, “How can these things be?”

            I suspect that this passage from John’s gospel was chosen for this day because Jesus talks about the Spirit, about how it blows where it will. You cannot see the Spirit, but you can hear it. You do not know where it comes from or where it goes, but you can recognize the transformation it leaves in its wake. The Spirit that Jesus speaks of is the Spirit of God that blew creation into existence. The Spirit that Jesus speaks of is the Spirit of Pentecost that we celebrated last Sunday. It is the Spirit that transforms and renews and creates.

            But the Spirit is part of the Trinity. It is not separate from God the Father and Jesus the Son. It is not on a lower level in some divine hierarchy. The Spirit is the presence of God, just as Jesus was the incarnation of God. And God is God.

            That sounds like math to me. The Trinity that we celebrate and put our faith in is a difficult concept to say the least. When I try to contemplate the Trinity, I feel like Nicodemus, trying to wrap around something so big and mysterious and using my literal brain to do so. It doesn’t work. Even though my Church History professor told us not to explain the Trinity to people by saying, “It’s a mystery,” the truth is that is exactly what it is.

            In our passage from Isaiah, we read about a God who is big that just the hem of his robe fills the temple where Isaiah stood. We read about a God who is so other that his attendants are seraphs. The literal translation of the word seraph, according to Working Preacher, is “the burning ones.” And seraphs were not like the little cherubs that we might imagine. They were snakes. With wings. They were burning, fiery, snakes with wings. And when we read that they were calling to one another, this was no serene, “Hey neighbor! What’s up?”

            They were screaming and screeching,

            “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts!”

            These were the attendants of God the Father. This God is so big that we cannot see more than the hem of his robe. And that hem fills every space around us, every space that is visible.

            And yet, and yet, God draws near. This big, enormous, mighty, unseeable God draws near to us. God draws near to us by becoming us in Jesus. Jesus, who was God incarnate. Jesus, who was human just like us, fully human, not just divine cloaked in a human shell. And when Jesus, God incarnate, died on the cross, the Spirit descended to keep God near because God draws near.

            That should sound like math to me, because it is confusing and confounding and more than my small brain can take in. We do not have the language to understand or describe it. But for some reason, as confusing as all this is, it does not cause me the anxiety that math does. Like Nicodemus, my ongoing question is, “How can these things be?” And I don’t have the answer. I cannot unravel this mystery, for you or for myself.

            But I do know that at the heart of this mystery of our God, Three in One, is love. That’s what is being said in verse 16 of the third chapter of John’s gospel. It’s about love. It was through love that God called the universe into being. It was because of love that God called the universe into being, and breathed life into creation. It was love that was incarnate when Jesus was born and lived and died and rose again. It was love that blew in with the Spirit to open minds and hearts, to reach beyond our narrow boundaries of who is in and who is out. It is about love.

            And because it is about love. Because it is about God drawing near in these different ways, through these different aspects, that I can embrace this mystery. I don’t have to understand it all. I don’t have to know how these things can be. It is enough to know that God draws near, and to live within the love that God gives and is and do all that I can to respond in kind, to share that love with others. Maybe “how can these things be” is not a question but a statement. These things are because God draws near in love and calls us to love in response. Thanks be to God.

            Let all God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

Spirit Filled -- Pentecost Sunday

Acts 2:1-21

May 19, 2024 

            “Where are you sheltering?”

            That was the text I read from my former Music Director and very current friend, Alice Sanders. It was 2013, and the kids and I were about to experience the first really bad spring tornado since we’d moved to Oklahoma. The word shelter had always been a comforting word for me. Shelter meant safety. Shelter meant protection. Shelter meant provision and care. It still means all that, but when you live on the western side of tornado alley – or the eastern side of it as we are learning in our home state – shelter takes on a more ominous tone when it’s part of the phrase “sheltering from the storm.”  In that context shelter and sheltering feels more precarious than anything else.

            We ended up sheltering from the storm more than a few times while we lived in the Sooner State. That first time, when Alice asked me where we were sheltering we left the house and went toward where Alice and her husband Glenn were at Oklahoma Baptist University. But the storm was hitting hard, so we pulled over and took refuge in a fire station. After that we sheltered in our bathroom. When the kids and I were sheltering, I always managed to stay calm and relatively collected because I wanted to keep them calm and relatively collected. But on the few occasions when it was just me at home alone, I would curl up in our bathtub with a pillow over my head, shaking and listening to the fierce wind blow and bluster and rage around my house. Through my fear and sometimes my tears, I would pray that the storm’s cacophony would soon be over and that our house would still be standing once it was.

            The seemingly never-ending roaring sound that we hear when a storm is raging around us makes me wonder what the disciples heard when this mighty wind from heaven began to blow. I haven’t always given much thought about the sound that the coming of the Spirit made, but the noise must have been deafening. I can imagine that it arrived as this intense wall of sound, and that must have been absolutely terrifying to the disciples. Maybe, like me, they were afraid that their shelter wouldn’t hold, that the walls of their upper room would soon crumble around them. But that wasn’t all they heard. Along with the sound of the wind, there was the sound of the flames, the hissing and the crackling as the holy fire descended upon each of them. And if that wasn’t loud enough, suddenly their own voices added to the din as they began to speak in languages they’d never spoken before.

            All of this, the noise, the chaos, the sound, must have been terrifying – terrifying for those who witnessed it and to those who were experiencing it. Scary isn’t usually a word we associate with Pentecost is it? As I’ve told folks before, Pentecost is one of my favorite feast days in the whole church year. It’s a celebration. It’s joyful. We get to wear red. But I think I love Pentecost so much because I focus on the end. I know the rest of the story. It’s different when you are in the midst of the storm, when you’re sheltering in your bathtub or praying in an upper room. When the storm and its cacophony has descended and you are sitting in the middle of it, you aren’t thinking about the rest of the story. You are just thinking about how to survive while its happening. A storm is scary for us. This descent of the Spirit must have been terrifying for the disciples, and they didn’t know the rest of the story, did they?

When Jesus ascended, he told them that they would be baptized with the Spirit. But what does that mean, Jesus? What will that look like? What will that feel like? Even with all Jesus told them, they surely could not foresee what being baptized by the Holy Spirit would actually be like. It would be loud, it would be strange, it would involve the wind of heaven and holy fire, and it would open their mouths to speak languages they had never spoken before. It would change everything. It would change them.

As we think about the scripture this morning, this familiar passage, let’s try to imagine it from the disciples’ and the witnesses’ perspective – like those who do not know the outcome, who do not understand what it means to be Spirit-filled. Not yet anyway.

As I said, it must have been terrifying. I don’t think of Pentecost as terrifying because I love this day so much and I’m glad we celebrate it like we do. But I also think that my love for this day comes from my domesticated and rather tame understanding of Pentecost, at what happened that day, at what happens any day that the Spirit shows up. When the Holy Spirit shows up, it shakes us up. When the Holy Spirit shows up, things change, people change. When the Holy Spirit shows up, we are reminded that our belief that we have control is often more of an illusion than reality. If this story of Pentecost teaches us anything it’s that when the Holy Spirit shows up, it’s not always a sweet, sweet spirit in this place. It’s not always tame and gentle. It’s not always sweet.

I realize that I pray for the power of the Holy Spirit to be with us and work through us just about every Sunday. But I have also realized that often what I’m really praying for is not that the Holy Spirit will work through me or guide me, but that the Holy Spirit will just come along on the path I’ve chosen. Instead of praying, “Come Holy Spirit, come.” I think what I’m really praying, without speaking it,

“Follow, Holy Spirit, follow.” “Do what I want you to do, Holy Spirit. Abide by my will, Holy Spirit.” “Follow, Holy Spirit, follow.”

But that’s not just how it works. The Holy Spirit blows where it will. The Holy Spirit does not obey our command, our wishes, our plans. The Holy Spirit blows where it will. And that is scary. And that is unnerving. And that does throw us headlong into the depths of the unknown. And when we think about the Spirit in this way, if we are open to the fullness of what the Spirit does and what it brings, then maybe, just maybe, we can see that we are more like those disciples and those first witnesses than we think. We go into this day knowing the outcome of their story, but the reality is, we don’t know the outcome of ours.

We’re still smack dab in the middle of our story, aren’t we? The Spirit came to the disciples on that Pentecost. But Pentecost, I mean the coming of the Holy Spirit Pentecost, is not limited to one day or one season or one age or one generation. Pentecost is any time the Spirit comes. Pentecost is any time the Spirit moves and descends. Pentecost is any time that people become Spirit-filled. And here’s something that a scholar pointed out in a commentary that I studied this week that I have never really considered before. Pentecost did not happen just to the disciples and only for the disciples. It didn’t. That’s how I’ve looked at it in the past thought. That’s been lens through which I’ve viewed this story. Pentecost happened to the disciples. Yes, when the Spirit came on that fateful day, it did change the disciples. Their change was amazing and visible to anyone who had eyes to see. They went from being frightened and confused to being courageous and confident. They went from being timid to bold. They preached and taught and led and challenged and the good news of the gospel spread – like wildfire.

But when those tongues of flames descended upon them, it wasn’t so that they could understand but so that others could understand. Think about that for a moment. When the Spirit descended on the disciples, it was not so they could understand but so that others could understand.

When the disciples became Spirit filled, others, outsiders, strangers, foreigners, heard the Word of God in their own language, in their native tongue. It didn’t matter that some folks sneered and mocked, others believed. Hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands believed.

Becoming Spirit filled was not just for the disciples’ sake, but for the sake of the others as well. Becoming Spirit filled does not just change us, it changes the world around us. When we are changed by the Spirit we are changed for the sake of all God’s children.

And what would the world look like if all God’s children were Spirit filled? Would it be perfect? Probably not. But maybe more of us would show mercy when it was needed and forgiveness when we were asked. Would there still be people who sneer and turn away. Probably. But instead of judgment they would receive compassion, and maybe if that compassion was strong enough, they might turn back. Would the world that is inhabited by Spirit filled people be one where war and disease and poverty reigned? I’m not sure, but I think hope would outweigh despair, and love would be stronger than fear. And when we can love more and fear less, we are able to give more and trust more and be more of the people God created and called us to be.

When the Spirit comes, when we are Spirit filled, change is inevitable. And change is scary. And change is hard. But when we open ourselves to the Holy Spirit, and trust that God is with us, and put our faith in the One who showed us what it really means to be human, than we can face those scary changes and live into faith and trust that the Spirit is calling us to the places and the people who need us most.

May we be Spirit filled, and may we trust that  however our story might end, God will be there just as God is here. Thanks be to God.

Let all of God’s Spirit filled children say, “Alleluia!”

Amen.

Faith of Our Mothers -- Mother's Day

II Timothy 1:3-7

May 12, 2024

 

            My mom once told me that when I was a little girl, I’m guessing probably around Garrison’s age, I came in from outside with a skinned knee or elbow or something. I did what little ones do and I showed it to her because I wanted her to take care of it and me.

She cleaned it and bandaged it and gave it a kiss and said, “There, it’s all better.” And apparently I looked askance at her when she tried to end her comfort there and said,

“Aren’t you gonna say ‘bless your little heart?!’”

            Clearly, I was a budding Presbyterian even then, because I recognized that this was not going decently and in order. I mean there is a process to these matters, mom. First you bandage the bruise, then you kiss it to make it better, then you say, you always say, “Bless your little heart.”

            At my mom’s memorial service I told another story. The first time I broke my right wrist I broke it so badly I had to have surgery. To help with the healing I had to wear it in a cast with pins and an external fixator that came out of the cast to keep it in place. After eight long weeks I was able to have the cast and the hardware removed and I was able to drive for the first time, although it was not easy.

Back then we lived in the same town as my parents did, so I carefully drove over to see them. My wrist looked terrible. It was black and blue, and my skin looked like skin looks after it has been in a cast for eight weeks. It was just awful. I need to say that I was in my early 40’s at this time with two young kids, but when my mom looked at my poor beat-up, battered wrist, she picked up my hand, kissed it, and said, “Bless your little heart.” There is a process to these things.

            Today is Mother’s Day and while it is a happy day for some, it is a challenging, difficult, and even painful day for others. That pain and difficulty needs to be recognized. I don’t want to romanticize or idealize motherhood either. Motherhood is hard, parenthood is hard, and it’s complex. Mothers are human, which means they have flaws and failings just like everyone else. My mother certainly had her failings, just as her mother did, and her mother before her, and just as I do. My kids will attest to that.

            So, as I said, I’m not trying to romanticize motherhood or mothers. But I have always found it interesting that when Paul wrote this second letter to Timothy – a letter that was meant to encourage Timothy to hold fast to his faith and to trust that God was with him, to find courage in the belief that the Holy Spirit was empowering him, and that he was being called to witness to the gospel – Paul began by telling Timothy to remember the faith of his grandmother, Lois, and his mother, Eunice. Paul writes that Timothy’s faith is not a faith that began in him first, but that was passed down to him, handed down to him, like a precious family heirloom, from his grandmother to his mother to him. Timothy’s faith is generational, and it began with these two important women in his life.

            My father was and always will be an important and beloved influence in my life and in my faith. But my mother’s faith was a constant in my life as well. As was my gramma’s. And clearly that must have been true for Timothy as well because Paul lifts these two women up as examples of faith and as the two people who planted the seed of that faith in Timothy.  

            As I said, Paul is writing to encourage Timothy in his faith and in his witness. To be a follower of Jesus at that time, especially to be one who proclaimed the faith, meant that you could literally put your life in danger. Persecution, physical literal persecution, of believers was a reality. It took trust and it took courage to share the good news of the gospel. Paul wants Timothy to not only cling to the spark of faith in him but to remember from where his faith comes and from whom it comes.

            Paul tells Timothy,

            “… rekindle the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands; for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.”

            The word rekindle, used by the New Revised Standard Version, here is a faithful translation of the scripture, but in this instance I think it loses some of the urgency, the passion that the original Greek conveys. Paul is urging Timothy to “agitate,” to “stir into a flame” this gift of God. Paul is persuading him, exhorting him to coax the embers of his faith into a brightly burning flame. Paul is telling Timothy to get stirred up!

            I wonder if Paul’s advice to Timothy is actually a warning; a warning against complacency, against a faith that is settled and predictable and placid. Don’t take the faith you have for granted! Stir it up, ignite it, take the faith of the generations before you and fashion it into a faith of your own! Stir up the faith of your family, agitate the faith of your childhood, mold it and shape it into a faith that is yours.

            In the past I have preached on this passage on Confirmation Sundays or Sundays when we emphasize Christian Education because teaching, whether its in confirmation or Christian ed or some other setting, is the way we teach our children and young people the foundations of our faith and give them permission and safe space to ask questions, to take the faith that is passed on to them and make it their own.

            But this is not just for young people. Even those of us who have passed the age of confirmation are still called to be learners of faith, learners of scripture, and to always ask questions. It’s not about being argumentative, it’s about growing in our faith, agitating our faith, and rekindling our faith. Just as Paul exhorted Timothy to get stirred up, we too are called to get stirred up. To stir up our faith, to rekindle it, to agitate it. We are never too old, and never too learned to stir up our faith through questions and discussion and learning. We may grow older, but we should never grow complacent in our faith.

After all Paul was many things, but the one thing he was not was complacent. From what we know of him, especially through his letters, was that his passion never dimmed, his fervor for Jesus and the gospel was never extinguished. His faith in Christ pushed him and helped him push others to live up the high calling they were given. Considering he was most likely writing this letter to Timothy from a jail cell, imprisoned for preaching the gospel, his faith was not only the most important thing he had, but it was also all he had. Paul understood more than most what it means to persecute and to be persecuted for faith.

            Paul agitated that flame of faith within him, and he encouraged Timothy to do the same by remembering where his faith began – in his mother and his grandmother. And we are called to do the same – to remember the faith of our mothers. But as I said earlier, not everyone can do that. Motherhood is not a perfect state of being, nor are mothers. So, what I encourage us to do is rekindle the gift of faith that is within us from whoever it came, from whoever planted it within our hearts – whether it was our mothers or fathers or grandparents or people in the church or a teacher or some other person who inspired us and loved us … or all of the above.

            Fred Rogers talked about remembering the person or people who loved us into being. Because that love is the spark of faith. That love is the seed of belief and hope and endurance. That love is the flame that pushes us and continues to grow us. Remember the person or persons who loved you into being. Give thanks for the love they gave you and the love that they inspired in you, and then rekindle it. Agitate it. Stir it up. What amazing things we can do if we stir up the faith that is within us, if we fan the spark into a flame, if we refuse to be complacent, if we remember, always remember, the faith of our mothers, our fathers, and all those who loved us into being.

            Thanks be to God for them. Thanks be to God for all of you. Thanks be to God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

 

I Chose You -- Sixth Sunday of Easter

John 15:9-17 (Acts 10:44-48)

May 5, 2024

 

            When Zach was in second grade, I went to pick him up from school and I had a chance to chat with his teacher. I didn’t get to do that very often because pick-up time was usually organized chaos. But this particular day was different, so his teacher and I were talking about how he was doing in school, his abilities, and his struggles, etc. She commented to me that it was such a treat for her to see friendships develop between the kids. Zach and another little boy in the class were becoming good friends, and they spent as much time as possible talking and talking and talking. The talking wasn’t a problem when they were doing their classwork, but when they were supposed to be getting ready for recess or lunch or getting to the bus to go home, she would have to remind them to stop talking and get a move on. Because we lived in Iowa when my kids were little, several months out of the year required lots of extra clothing to go outside – like snowpants and boots and waterproof gloves. It was already a time consuming process to get all this gear on, so if the kids dawdled and talked too much it made it even longer. But his teacher wasn’t upset about it. She was a veteran teacher; she was used to it. She just smiled and told me that this was a special time in a child’s life – the time when they really began to make friends.

            The word friends has taken on new meaning since the advent of social media. On some platforms, I am “friends” with people I’ve never met. But I’m “friends” with them because other friends connected us. I am also “friends” with people I rarely see and have no real contact with outside of the internet. And I’m even “friends” with people I didn’t much care for when we were in close proximity with one another – say junior high school. I once read a comment from a fellow preacher who said that friendship has been cheapened by social media. I can see how this is true.

            Maybe social media has cheapened the idea of friendship, but despite that, I stay with it. For one thing, if you want to plan a high school reunion or reunion of any kind, social media is the best. Social media has also helped me connect with friends I believed I’d lost. And on more than one occasion, social media has helped my friends and me help another friend who was struggling from trouble in life and in her circumstance. There are people that I’m friends with who I wish I had worked harder at interacting with when we saw each other more often. I wish I had worked harder at seeing them as fellow children of God, trying to figure out life the same as I was. If social media has cheapened the idea of friendship in some ways, in other ways it has widened my understanding of it. Social media has helped me think outside the box when it comes to friendship.

            Jesus might not have referred to his understanding of friendship with the disciples as thinking outside the box, but by calling them friends he was changing their status. They were no longer just disciples to a teacher or servants to a master, they were friends. When Jesus called them friends, he was not referring to pals or buddies or chums. He was referring to them as loved ones. Being his friends meant that they were part of his family, an integral part of his life and of him. Being friends meant more to Jesus than just a label or category. It was a relationship with God in God. Friendship meant abiding, remaining in God as well as with one another. Friendship meant obeying the commands of the True Friend, the True Vine. The number one commandment that Jesus gave was to love one another. You are my friends, you abide in me, and I abide in the Father. We all abide together in love. So, love one another as I have loved you. I chose you, and this is what I command. Love one another. And this is what love is, laying down one’s life for one’s friends.

            This is the love that Jesus embodied for his friends. Jesus literally laid down his life. He went to the cross and sacrificed his life for the love of his friends. However, Jesus does not only lay down his life for the disciples or the people of Galilee or the folks from his hometown of Nazareth. The cross was and the cross is for this world.

            Earlier in John’s gospel we hear the words “for God so loved the world …” It was for the world that Jesus was willing to die. Jesus not only preached sacrificial love, but he also lived it and he died for it. For God so loved the world – the cosmos, the entirety of God’s creation. So, I don’t think I am unfairly stretching the analogy to say that the entire world consists of Jesus’ friends, or at least a wide and beautiful diversity of people Jesus calls to be his friends and chooses to be his friends.

            In our text from Acts, Peter also gets a new understanding of what it means to be friends. All of chapter 10 consists of Peter being pushed to see through new eyes what it means to be clean and unclean, pure and impure. It begins with a centurion named Cornelius and Peter’s vision of a sheet filled with animals that by the standards of the Law were considered unclean. Peter wanted to obey the Law, to stick with what he knew and understood about what was right and what was wrong. But God insists through this vision that Peter see beyond the box that he previously dwelled in. This was not merely about clean and unclean food. This was about people. God was choosing people, calling people, all kinds of people. Saul, who persecuted believers, was chosen and called. Cornelius, a Roman centurion was chosen and called. And as we read in our verses in this chapter, the Holy Spirit descended even upon the Gentiles. In other words, a whole lot of people were chosen and called and answered that call to abide in God through Christ. A whole lot of different kinds of people were now friends.

            I know that this kind of friendship goes beyond social networking and the shallow kinds of friendships that we experience. I know that befriending the entire world is a daunting task to say the least. But I do think these passages remind us of the fact that loving God means loving God’s people, all of God’s people. And Jesus did not just suggest this, he commanded it. He commanded us to love one another, to see the other as a loved one, a member of the family. As he chose us, we must choose each other.

            Love comes up a lot in the gospels, and indeed in the whole of scripture. So, I know that I have said this before. Love is not just about how we feel. Love is not just warm fuzzy happy feelings. Let’s face it, we don’t always feel warm fuzzy even about the people we love most in the world because all of us make mistakes and mess up and hurt the people we love. Love is not just something we feel, love is something that we do. Love is a verb. Love is action. Love is deed. We may not feel love, but we must live love. We don’t have to feel love to live love. And we should always strive to live love.

Yet, it occurs to me that when Jesus commanded us to love one another, maybe he did mean that we should feel it as well. Maybe we were commanded to show love, to enact love, and to feel love for one another. By commanded us to feel love, Jesus commands us to change our hearts, change our minds, and change what we do as well. Maybe the command to love one another is to truly believe that the world is filled with our friends, our loved ones. How different would the world look if we not only acted this way, but felt this way, thought this way? What would the world look like, what would our country and communities look like, what would our church look like, if we strived to live out the commandment Jesus gave us? If we lived as though we were all friends? It is a tall order indeed. But Jesus is not just our role model. Jesus is our True Vine. We abide in him. He is the source of our love. He is the source of our friendship. He is the One from whom all friendship comes, and in whom we abide, remain, and stay. He chose us and calls us to choose one another. He laid down his life for his friends, and he did so with a loving heart. Can we do the same? Can we feel the same?

Let all of God’s children and all of our friends say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

Along the Road -- Fifth Sunday of Easter

Acts 8:26-40

April 28, 2024

 

            Ethiopia is one of the oldest civilizations in the world. Modern day Ethiopia is landlocked now, but its ancient boundaries bordered the Red Sea. The Queen of Sheba, who traveled to Israel to test the famed wisdom of King Solomon, was Ethiopian.

In north central Ethiopia in Lalibela, the Emperor Lalibela ordered rock hewn churches to be built when he reigned in around the 12^th century. When you hear the phrase, rock hewn, you might think of rough, rustic structures that are more like openings into caves. At least that’s what I thought. I couldn’t imagine what these churches might look like. These churches, which are a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and a place of pilgrimage for people of faith, are some of the most magnificent structures I’ve seen – and I’m going only from pictures. They are solid rectangular churches of granite that rise up from deep trenches. They were sculpted inside and out with magnificent detail. Even the roofs are sculpted with ornate crosses, which makes sense when you realize that the first sight of these churches comes from above. There is nothing primitive or rustic about these ancient churches. Instead they are a testament to the advanced architectural skills that have existed in Ethiopia for centuries.

            Ethiopia is also known for being one of the first countries in the world to make Christianity its state religion in around 300 ce. While it’s quite likely that with the trade routes between Ethiopia and the lands surrounding ancient Israel, word of this new religion, this Way, would have reached Ethiopia through multiple means, the credit is given to the story from Acts that we have before us this morning.

            Everything about this story of the encounter between this Ethiopian eunuch and Philip is both strange and wonderful. Unlikely is the word that comes to my mind. Philip’s story alone is remarkable. Just a few chapters before this one he and twelve others, including Stephen, were commissioned to feed and care for the widows in the community. That meant they oversaw food distribution. The apostles needed time to pray and spread the word so they laid hands on these twelve so that they would also be empowered by the Spirit to do their own unique work.  But the Spirit is never to be underestimated and it blows where it will. It moved Stephen to speak to the powers and principalities even though it meant his martyrdom by stoning. And Philip? After Stephen was killed, Saul led a severe persecution against all the believers in Jerusalem. So, except for the apostles, all the other believers were scattered. Philip traveled into Samaria. He had not been commissioned to preach or evangelize, but a calling is a calling. He preached to the Samaritans. And his preaching was extraordinary and powerful. The enmity between Israel and Samaria had not lessened since Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan, but that human animosity could not hinder the Holy Spirit working through Philip as he preached. His preaching expelled unclean spirits from those who were possessed.  Folks who were lame or paralyzed walked again. Philip’s preaching even converted a magician named Simon. Simon was baptized, and although he once performed acts that amazed all those around him, now he was amazed by the miracles and signs that happened through Philip because of the Holy Spirit.

Regardless of what the original intentions were for Philip’s ministry, the Spirit blows where it will. It directed Philip in a completely different way than any of the apostles or Philip could have imagined, and the results were astounding!

If this were another kind of story in another kind of context, we might have heard that Philip was promoted to the next level of leadership. After all, his results in Samaria were incredible, why shouldn’t he move up the ladder of success? But that’s not the story we have before us. Instead of allowing Philip to remain in Samaria and continue his work there, Philip is told by an angel of the Lord – which is another name for the Holy Spirit – to get up and go south.  Take the wilderness road that leads from Jerusalem to Gaza.

The word wilderness in this road’s name is exactly what it implies: a wilderness, desert, little or no life, arid, dangerous, wilderness. One commentator I read pointed out that telling Philip to “go south” was not only a direction but a time. He would have been told to go about noon when the heat of the day was at its most extreme.

Let’s recap. Philip is told to travel the wilderness road, the arid, deserted, possibly dangerous road in the heat of the day. No one should have been traveling on that road at that time of day. No one should have been on that road to encounter, much less to preach or witness to. And if no one was there to preach to, what use would God have for Philip to journey along that road? It was all completely unlikely.

But if Philip questioned this directive, we don’t read about it in our text. He just got up and went. 

As he walked along that unlikely road at such an unlikely time, something else completely unlikely happened. Another traveler came down that dusty, deserted stretch, and an unlikely traveler at that. An Ethiopian eunuch, an official of the court of Queen Candace, indeed the person who oversaw her treasury, was in his chariot leaving Jerusalem for home. The Spirit tells Philip to go over to the chariot. Philip ran to it and when he did he heard the eunuch reading aloud from the prophet Isaiah. Philip asked him if he understood what he was reading, and the eunuch invited him to join him and guide him in the interpretation. 

Philip began with that Isaiah passage and told him, to quote the old hymn, the story of Jesus. When they came to some water, the eunuch was moved to ask for baptism. More specifically he said, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?” 

The chariot was ordered to stop. They got out. Philip baptized the eunuch. When he and the eunuch came out of the water Philip was snatched up by the Spirit and taken away. Apparently the eunuch was not surprised by the unlikeliness of Philip disappearing from the road, because still drenched from the waters of baptism, he went on his way along that road rejoicing. Unlikely as it may have been, Philip found himself in Azotus. From there he went through each town proclaiming the good news.

            What was a court official of a queen doing on that road? What was a man, who on the surface seemed to have no qualifications to preach or evangelize or baptize, doing on that road? What was water doing on that road?! It was a wilderness road, an arid, desert road in the middle of an arid, desert land! But there it was, there when it was needed.

            And this eunuch, who was doubly an outsider – both a foreigner and one who would have been considered to be without gender, who would not have been allowed to be in the temple in Jerusalem – was not only traveling away from Jerusalem where he worshipped the God of Israel, he was also open-minded and open-hearted enough to have a stranger join him in his chariot and interpret scripture for him. Even as a eunuch, this man had greater social status and power than Philip did, but that did not prevent him from listening to Philip and trusting Philip to act in the name of Jesus.

            And Philip who was commissioned to table fellowship and nothing more has followed the Spirit’s call to preach, to witness, to go to unlikely places and unlikely people and tell the story of Jesus. Because of his willingness to go, he meets an unlikely person along that unlikely road and the good news of the gospel is shared, the Word of the Lord is heard and believed, and the world is changed once more. It’s all very unlikely.

Everything about this story, from beginning to end, resounds with the unlikely. None of it should have happened, yet it did. But why do I find the unlikeliness of this story surprising? I shouldn’t be surprised at all. None of us should. The word unlikely should really be the subtitle of scripture. The Holy Bible: An Unlikely Story about Unlikely People Being Called in Unlikely Ways to Bring an Unlikely Message to Unlikely People from God.

Abraham and Sarah, an unlikely couple who were childless and older than dirt, were promised by God that their descendants would number more than the sand on the ground and the stars in the sky. Jacob, their grandson, was a scoundrel, a schemer, a cheater, a liar, completely unlikely. But his name became Israel, and he was the father of a nation, God’s chosen people who would bring God’s blessing to the world. Moses should not have lived to see his first birthday, but the unlikely circumstances of his rescue and the unlikely way he was called by God, began the exodus of God’s people out of Egypt.

Ruth, a Moabite who should have gone back to her own people, stayed with her mother-in-law, Naomi, and married Boaz in the most unlikely of ways. Their unlikely marriage resulted in a grandson named Jesse and in a great-grandson named David. David was an unlikely choice for King, but King he was.

But what was most unlikely was that the Word became flesh, the Divine became human, starting off in life the way we all do – tiny, helpless, and powerless. And when that unlikely baby was born, the first tidings of his birth were announced to an unlikely group of shepherds! That tiny baby grew up to be an itinerant preacher and called together a woeful band of followers who never seemed to get it right; even when their teacher told them exactly what was going to happen. He would die but death would not win. In the early hours of the third day, without witnesses, he would be resurrected, the most unlikely event of all.

The expression says that “God moves in mysterious ways.” I would change the word mysterious to unlikely. God calls unlikely people to do unlikely deeds in unlikely ways. That’s how God’s purposes seem to be worked out – in the unlikely.

Our faith seems to be based on all that is unlikely. It doesn’t follow logic. To some it even sounds a bit nuts. But it seems to me that it is the unlikeliness of it all that makes the good news the Good News, because unlikely in God’s eyes does not equate to unworthy. Unlikely is not the same as unable. God’s purposes for good and for love and for life are worked out through unlikely people in unlikely places and in unlikely ways. That includes those whose call some might question. That includes foreigners and outsiders and Others. That includes all of us. God’s purposes for good and for life and for love are worked out through all of us, unlikely as we may be. And for that I say, thanks be to God.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!”

Amen.