FORCED TO SLOW DOWN

1. The Lazy Days of Summer Anticipate The Day of Jesus Christ
The summer, as you know, is full of many diversions. The Lake, The Fire-works and The Movies are among them. And, of course, all of these leisure activities are worth the effort that we can devote to them. It’s rejuvenating to lounge at the lake. It’s thrilling to watch the night sky light up in a blaze of colors. And it’s cool, literally cool, to side-step the heat for a couple hours and be absorbed by a good drama, romantic comedy or action adventure flick. In so many ways, the lazy days of summer are ready-made for these diversions. But let me suggest to you this morning an alternative pursuit for the months of July and August and that is what Philippians 1:6 refers to as “The day of Jesus Christ.”
“For I am confident that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion on the day of Jesus Christ.”

In other words, we’re not done yet. We’re like a hamburger on the grill that’s still raw inside. We’re like the potato salad that hasn’t been mixed yet with the mustard and the mayonnaise. We’re like the ice cream in the freezer that’s frozen solid and still needs to thaw out in the sun. “The day of Jesus Christ” is something that is coming toward the Philippians and toward you and me in the future. Long before he became the object of carbon dating by Vatican archaeologists, the apostle Paul exuded this confidence: “The day of Jesus Christ” will be that time beyond all time when Jesus’ life, death and resurrection will become spectacularly obvious and radiantly apparent to everyone in every place and in every time. “The day of Jesus Christ” is what the rock group U2 means when Bono sings, “I believe in kingdom come; then all the colors will bleed into one, bleed into one…” But it’s not here yet. What we have now are the ingredients or the makings for that day. In fact, the lazy days of summer anticipate the day of Jesus Christ, and what I’d like to recommend to you as a pursuit is not the chasing after your own elusive happiness, but the contemplation of those ingredients, which include other people and suffering.

I went to a baseball game, during which a video camera roamed around the stadium and took pictures of various couples. During the seventh inning stretch, for example, Citizens Bank Park did this thing, called the Kiss Cam, and if you found yourself on the big screen, next to your spouse or your significant other, over 50,000 sports fans would exhort you to kiss. Fun, right? Anyway, we were there, when the Kiss Cam found a man and a woman in the 500 level, sitting next to each other, and we heard the roar of the crowd as these two love-birds looked at one another. But there was a problem that the crowd couldn’t quite understand, and it related to the woman who sat on the other side of the man, just outside the frame of the picture and beyond the focus of the camera. So, after a few minutes, the man pointing to his left, finally got the camera man to maneuver in that direction where the true object of his affection, and it turns out his wife of over 20 years, came into view.

Now, the reason that I’m relating this episode from the ball game is to illustrate this point: in our rush to be entertained this summer we may miss out on the larger relationships upon which God would like us to reflect. There is something beyond the pursuit of happiness. Just this week Andrea and Haitham hooked me up with a World Relief program in which recent immigrants to this country, subsistence farmers, are caught in between worlds. So, Latah Valley has a garden that needs weeding. They have the skills and the experience of growing food in harsh terrain. And over two thousand years ago, from his prison cell in Rome or Ephesus, Paul indicated his confidence in three inter-related aspects of the Christian faith:
• “the one who began a good work”
• the ingredients with which God is in process “among you,” or among us
• and the completion, “the day of Jesus Christ.”

And my suggestion is that we use up the summer days and nights reflecting on the people, the places and events which are beyond the frame.
2. Selfish Ambition Is Not The Best Reason, But God Can Still Use It
Of course, one of the ironic impediments to this kind of reflection is the fact that other people are often selfish. Rather than encouraging us to slow down, Paul notes, for example, that,
“Some proclaim Christ from envy and rivalry… others proclaim Christ out of selfish ambition, not sincerely but intending to increase my suffering in my imprisonment.”

So, how are we supposed to slow down? You see, there’s something happening behind these verses that could potentially be very troubling for Paul and for us. Some, it seems, are trying to frame the story of Jesus without Paul’s preaching and teaching being included in the picture. They’re excluding the one who helped to start the church in Philippi; and while Paul is in prison, he can do nothing about it. That must have been frustrating.

I remember these kids at the beach who were building competing sand castles. One of the structures had a mote around it so that as the tide came in, the water would be channeled around its wall and tunnels. This was the castle that I happened to be working on with my friends. Next to us, however, stood this amorphous lump of seaweed and debris, and to protect this rival structure from the waves, these kids from North Jersey had spent most of their time, constructing a thick wall of sand and shells. So, I want to emphasize the differing styles of construction: one castle had a mechanism through which the surf could pass through and return to the ocean while the other had an obstruction to keep the foam and froth of the wave from passing through at all. It was, in my opinion, a futile and “shellfish” effort. Anyway, here’s what happened. When my Mom forced me to take a break and rest on the blanket, those kids from North Jersey moved into our carefully created castle.

Now listen again to Philippians 1:18:
“What does it matter? Just this, that Christ is proclaimed in every way, whether out of false motives or true and in that I rejoice…”
While the Roman government has essentially forced Paul to slow down, he observes the “selfish ambition” of those who haven’t given him any credit. And yet, instead of letting that situation gall him, he realizes that the ocean of God’s love in Christ is still coming. The waters of baptism are still going to flow. The day of Jesus Christ is still going to inundate anything that we start or fail to start. And so, when we reflect upon what we perceive to be the “selfish ambition” of others, or even ourselves, consider this: God can still use it.

3. Do Not Seek “Suffering” For Christ, But If It Comes, Look For Ways To Communicate What You Feel

But, you see, the other scenario that may deter our reflection is suffering. One of the reasons that we try to pursue our own external happiness instead of reflecting upon the day of Jesus Christ is the suffering of people close and people far from us. Philippians 1:29 speaks to this circumstance in the following way:
“For he has graciously granted you the privilege not only of believing in Christ, but of suffering for him as well—since you are having the same struggle that you saw I had and now hear that I still have.”

Now, my initial response to Paul’s words here is visceral. How can suffering of any kind be considered a “privilege?” I do not have an easy answer. But I do understand that when we experience physical, emotional pain and psychological pain, God sometimes gives us the space and the time to reflect even more deeply upon where we’re going. We’re forced to slow down, and that’s good.

In the movie clip that I played earlier, you may have observed some ordinary people trying to take pictures of one another. It’s supposed to be a happy occasion. But there’s something beyond the framing of these photographs that needs to be spoken and heard and perhaps even prayed through. Maybe it’s grief. Maybe it’s anger. Maybe it’s the grace to forgive. Maybe it’s reconciliation. Maybe it’s hope beyond all hope reflection, when we’re forced to slow down and when we anticipate the day of Jesus Christ.
I’m going to show that brief clip from Ordinary People again, but this time I’m going to offer you this context. Timothy Hutton plays Buck’s little brother, Conrad. Buck, however, is not there for the holiday; he’s died in a boating accident, leaving the family in turmoil. Conrad actually blames himself. He was there, in the middle of Lake Michigan when the storm came up and capsized boat. He stayed with the boat; his brother did not. And now, the boys’ mother refuses to reflect deeply on what’s taken place. She’s in a hurry, running to work, running to play, running until Conrad has the courage to slow down. [Play Clip]

Like most of you, I take in that story and identify with the ordinary family and thank God that it hasn’t happened to me and to my family. But maybe that’s related to what Paul writes to the Philippians. “Among you,” he says, God will complete a great work and things which seem to be now unrelated and disconnected all will come together. So, we reflect upon ourselves and the way we frame our lives. We reflect upon our relationships and the castles that we build and finally we reflect upon our suffering. Whatever it is that slows you down, embrace it. Become a person who reflects upon the day of Jesus Christ. And let’s become a community of men, women and children who are confident of its coming.

Amen.

HOPE TO SPEND TIME

1. When The Lord Permits, Spend With-Time
I’d like to reflect with you today on time—how we waste time, how we spend time, how we kill time, and, of course, how time flies when we’re having fun… And one of the first things that we notice about time is that it’s more easily quantified than it is qualified. Time is limited, and we know it. We know it in our bones and in our blood vessels. We know in our bunions and in our brain cells. But we also understand the conditional nature of time based upon the moments we spend with people.
A pastor spends the whole afternoon with a women suffering from dementia. His colleagues are hobnobbing at the club with bank presidents and CEO’s. He feels as if he’s wasting his time. The woman can’t respond coherently to anything he says. She smells like formaldehyde. But when evening falls, he knows time a little better.

There’s a woman who’s unable to have children. She tries all kinds of fertility treatments. It seems as if time is passing her by; the biological clock is ticking. But after many years she finds herself pushing a neighbor’s child on a tire-swing. Their families become close and begin to socialize; they adopt her as a proxy-grandmother and soon she knows time a little better.

Doctor Walker Percy comes down with a severe case of tuberculosis. At first he’s depressed; his lucrative practice suffers while he’s confined to the sanitarium. But, after many weeks and months, the illness gives him a new perspective. He picks up his pen and begins to write. And one of the most famous things he writes about are the men and women who don’t know what to do with themselves at 4 o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon. He writes about them generously and simpathetically, and after twenty-five novels he and his readers know time a little better.

You see, my contention today is that the decisions that we make about time are often arbitrary and whimsical. But to the extent that we measure the minutes, hours and days with people—and especially with people who remind us of the love and mercy of God—nothing is wasted. Nothing at all.
“I do not want to see you now just in passing, for I hope to spend some time with you, if the Lord permits” (v. 7).

When the apostle Paul scribbles or dictates these words aloud in the first century, I wonder if he has the faintest inkling that we would be reading them centuries and miles away from Corinth. My guess is—probably not. And what does that tell us about what we might write or do or say with our time?
Eileen is the name of the woman Douglass Rushkoff interviews for the fourth chapter of his book, Life Inc. It’s a work of non-fiction that details how our lives have been taken over and branded by the mega-corporations of the world. Eileen, for example, tells a group of clients that if you want something you should really, really want it. Want it like a child. Want it at night when you’re asleep. Post notes with pictures about what you want on your mirror. Write a check to yourself for $10 million and stick it on your refrigerator. Eileen advocates for the principles laid down in The Secret, a number one book on the New York Times Best-Seller List, with over two million DVD’s being viewed even as we speak. And it turns out that if you want to know what Eileen knows, you’ll have to read the book, watch the DVD and pay for the seminar. Never mind that you will then have to spend more time at more seminars! Don’t you want to want to want to want to know the secret of the universe?

2. Effective Work and Many Adversaries Are Not Mutually Exclusive
You see, the larger discussion that we can have about 1 Corinthians 16 has to do with what God wants versus what we want. Does God allow us the freedom to make our own decisions about what we want to do with our time? And the answer, as far as I can tell from Paul’s vocabulary, is yes. Little terms like “If” and intriguing expressions like “a wide door” do, in fact, convey a sense of personal freedom. You and I, like Paul, are free to walk through that wide door if we choose. But let’s be clear. What Paul means by “a wide door” has nothing to do with The Secret that Eileen is trying to sell. In fact, if Eileen had been alive and spouting off in the first century, she may have been among the many adversaries that Paul mentions in verse nine while he’s lingering at that wide door. “A wide door” is simply an image that he uses to describe the opportunity that he has for a spirited and Spirit-filled discussion about Jesus. By the grace of God, that’s the only thing that Paul wants. And the question this morning is—what is it that you want?
A great deal has been written about Maria Von Trappe, who is portrayed by Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. In the Hollywood version of the story, Maria returns to the Abbey to ask her Mother Superior what she should do. She thinks that she loves Captain Von Trappe, but she doesn’t want to betray her vows as a nun. And there is the complicating factor of the captain’s engagement to the Baroness from Vienna. It’s all very confusing and it’s hard for Maria to decide what to do. Musically speaking, the Reverend Mother advises her to follow her heart and to search for her dreams. In real life, Maria actually engages in a process of spiritual discernment, and through much anguished prayer it becomes reasonably clear that God has permitted her to marry the captain and take care of his children. That’s the way God wants her to share the gospel

Now, what’s curious about Sister Maria and the apostle Paul, of course, is that they both are faced with adversity. And simultaneously both are given the opportunity or the wide door for effective work. Isn’t that curious? You would think it would be quite the opposite. You would think that having adversaries would be the sign of a closed door, not an open one. But maybe we’ve got it all wrong. Maybe when there’s lots of confusion and lots of division, that’s the time when the door for God is opened the widest.

3. Count the IF Moments A Blessing and Make Your Own Opportunities
Malcolm Gladwell wrote a book, called Outliers; the Story of Success, and in that book, the author chronicles how many of the most brightest stars have taken advantage of their opportunities. First up, for example, is Bill Joy. Bill was there, at the Michigan Computer Center, in 1971. He was there for over 10,000 hours when the university had invested in one of the largest computer systems in the known universe. So it should come as no surprise, that after graduating from Michigan and then from Berkley, Bill Joy wrote the digital code for the ATT, UNIX and Macintosh Computers. So, that’s Bill Joy, getting ahead in the game of life, but here’s the apostle Paul: “I will stay in Ephesus.”
Next up in the Gladwell book are the Beatles, arguably the best rock band ever. They were there in Hamburg, Germany, in 1960. They were there, with the original Pete Best on drums; and in Hamburg on that first trip they performed 106 nights for five or more hours a night. On their second trip, they racked up 92 performances. On their third trip, 48. And on their final two gigs in 1962, prior to coming to the United States, the Beatles were on-stage for approximately 90 hours altogether. So, according to Gladwell, it’s no surprise that they became great. With those kinds of opportunities to improve and perfect their songs, it’s no wonder whatsoever. So, that’s John, Paul, George and Ringo, becoming a legend on the Ed Sullivan Show. But do you know who didn’t become a legend even though he put in the same amount of time? Pete Best, the drummer that Ringo Starr replaced…

And, you see, when I peruse the data like this, it makes total sense. People become great at what they do, based upon the opportunities they are given and the time they invest. There’s no doubt about it. But then, you and I have to account for Pete Best. Then we have to account for the Marlin Brando character in On The Waterfront. “I could have been somebody.”

Could h’… Perhaps, should h’… If Only… These wiggly words cannot be accounted for in any theory about time management or any strategy to get ahead. And the reason I think they confound us is the same reason says things like, “I hope to spend time with you, if the Lord permits.”

No matter how hard we work the time to achieve our goals, God may have other plans, and those plans aren’t just for our solo-act. According to Paul in 1 Corinthians 16, they involve Timothy and Apollos. They involve… And, let me ask you (whether I’ve mentioned your name or not), wouldn’t we want to know if God had other plans for you, plans that intimately connected with these others? Wouldn’t we want to know if that’s what Latah Valley truly is? Amen.

WHO’S YOUR DADDY?

1. To Offer Or To Receive Admonition Is No Shame
To admonish or not to admonish. That is not the question for Hamlet, but for every father who is worth his razor stubble. To admonish or not to admonish. That’s even the question for people who resemble our paternal parentage. For example, at the end of a long trip in the station wagon, it’s only your Dad who can let slip a phrase like this, “Don’t make me come back there.” He can say it and on most occasions he will not have to stop the car and come back there. That’s true for fathers, and even more apropos for various father-figures in the faith that God sends in our direction. A father-figure in the faith is more than a mentor and more than a friend. A father-figure happens to be a mature person of faith in Jesus Christ to whom we have ceded special authority and who will speak the truth to us in love. The question for the father-figure is whether to admonish or not. And the question for those of us in a relationship with the father-figure is whether or not we should receive such admonition. And the best thing I can say this morning, based upon 1 Corinthians 4, is that to offer or to receive admonition is no shame.

Eugene Peterson tells the story of growing up in a small town in Montana, and one time he hopped over a fence and walked in the tall grass of his neighbor’s farm. In the distance, atop a green John Deer tractor, sat Leonard Storm, and when old man Storm spotted Little Pete in his field, he stood up on the seat of the tractor and waved his arms. Little Pete, as he was known in those days, felt ashamed—he felt as if he had crossed a boundary and that old man Storm was reprimanding him for doing something wrong. So, the child skulked away. But later, you see, Leonard Storm approached Little Pete at worship. He said, “Little Pete, why didn’t you come to me when I called you the other day?” Peterson said, “When did you call me?” He said, “I called you from my tractor like this…” (and he waved his big hands). “How do you call people if you want them to come?” And Little Pete responded by curling his index finger. “That’s piddly. On the farm we do things big,” said the father-figure.
Now, I know the caricature of church. I understand that in North America and much of the western world, church is categorized under the rubric of a voluntary activity, or as a charitable donation, or as pious pastime. But I wonder if you will believe me if I tell you that at church big things are happening. At church we either learn about the grace of God—about God’s invitation for us to join him in plowing the field—or we feel ashamed by what we perceive to be a reprimand and we run off.
“I am not writing this to make you ashamed, but to admonish you as my beloved children. For though you might have ten thousand guardians in Christ, you do not have many fathers. Indeed, in Christ Jesus I became your father through the gospel.”

2. Being Responsible Like A Father Is A Painful Privilege
Now, if you’ve been with us for a few months, you’ve heard me admit that the church as an institution has a lot for which to be sorry….

But let me be clear. The solution to this abuse of power is not the renunciation of relational authority. On the contrary, the power that’s given to us by God is huge. And, while being responsible like a father is a painful privilege, it is a privilege that we must embrace over and over again.

In the film, Places In The Heart, where the father has died, there is even this sad moment when the surviving parent, played by Sally Field, asks her son, “What would your father do in a situation like this?” And the child responds that if his father were there, he would admonish: “For this, Pa would be pretty mad. So I reckon he’d give me four good whacks.” And, you see, if you and I are under the impression that only God has the authority to admonish and that the church has nothing to say, I’d like you to reconsider. Painfully and prayerfully the church must foster relationships that resemble a father’s connection to his child.
“What would you prefer?” says Paul in 1 Corinthians 4:21. I’ll leave it up to you. “Am I to come to you with a stick, or with love in a spirit of gentleness?” You see, that’s a painful question to have to pose to a church community. But we need not be ashamed of it. William Willimon writes,
As a college chaplain, I vividly remember a student, a young man of about 20 years, complaining to me about my generation’s inability to be parents. “Your generation didn’t tell us anything!” he complained. “I guess it’s because you didn’t want to be told anything by your parents, but you didn’t tell us what we needed to know.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“When I was home last summer, I asked my father, ‘I’m getting ready to grow up. Tell me what I need to do to have a happy life.’ He responded to me with a bunch of gibberish, nonsense about how he was miserable in his job, about how he maybe made a mistake in marrying my mother, about how nobody had ever really understood him. It was pitiful.”
I have this vivid memory of my nephew, around 17 years old, and he strolls into worship with his girlfriend, Laura. They are beaming together, and I can tell right off the bat that she has led him to the foot of the cross. She is the one who is mentoring him in faith. Anyway, a few weeks after they came to our church, Michael and Laura stayed up all night at the prom, and early in the morning Michael’s driving to a restaurant for breakfast and falls asleep. He falls asleep, the car drifts into on-coming traffic and there’s a huge collision. After the collision my nephew, who’s injured, watches as his girlfriend and guide takes her last breath. I tell you; there are not many experiences in life that are worse. But these events set the stage for Michael’s grief. His parents don’t quite know how to handle it. And one night, as he’s going out the door, Michael’s Dad, asks him where he’s going. Michael says, “Out.” The Dad then says, “What time are you going to be home?” And this brokenhearted, now eighteen year old kid, says this: “What time do you want me to be home?”

In other words, give me some structure. Help me to understand and appreciate the parameters. And I think the community of faith, even Latah Valley, needs to exercise its fatherly authority in the same way that Michael asked his father.
“I appeal to you, then, be imitators of me…”
3. The Face To Face Encounter Reveals The Power of the Kingdom
And if you ask me why this statement of the apostle Paul isn’t considered an arrogant statement, I will say it has something to do with what he says next:
“For this reason I sent you Timothy, who is my beloved and faithful child in the Lord, to remind you of my ways in Christ Jesus, as I teach them everywhere in every church.”

Paul isn’t being arrogant here. What he’s doing is telling the people what time to be home. He’s offering them the boundary of the face to face encounter. And, you see, with all due respect to e-mail communications, to blogging, to twittering and to calling people and leaving long, monologue messages on the phone, I’d like to emphasize the face to face encounter. The face to face encounter reveals the power of the kingdom that Paul mentions in verses 19 and 20. He says,
“But I will come to you soon, if the Lord wills, and I will find out not the talk of these arrogant people but their power. For the kingdom of God depends not on talk but on power.”

“Does she know me,” says an escaped psychiatric patient in Walker Percy’s novel, The Second Coming. “Should I know her?” she says to herself, while preparing to sit down on a park bench. Allison has just stowed away on truck transporting linens to and from the facility. She’s trying to act as normal as possible, but because of the electric shock therapy which she’s endured, she can’t be sure if she knows the prim and proper evangelist who has just crossed her path. With a reassuring smile, the person hands Allison a pamphlet and declares, “We’re having a meeting tonight at the church. A person like you might get a lot out of it.” “A person like me,” thinks the psych patient. “Does she know me?” Should I know her?”

I want to pause right here in the middle of this interaction—and I want to repeat what I’ve often said: Church Is Dialogue. It’s a dialogue between God and the weary people whom God is calling to himself. And, you see, it helps the dialogue for us to have a father-figure.
It helps to have someone say to the evangelist who brushes by Allison, “Slow down. Face people. Demonstrate the power of the kingdom that is revealed when you face people. Face this person that you have assumed to know and really know her.” It also helps, I think, to have a father-figure give this advice to Allison, or to whoever’s out there: “I’m sorry that you have felt unknown and a stranger in the world; we would like to know you and to be known by you in Christ.”

Amen.

BEGGING FOR A LIFE WORTHY

1. A Life Is Only Worth The Change To Which We Have Been Called
I can’t remember a time when I’ve really begged for anything. Like most of you, I have been raised in the United States, where we earn our way and where we usually will get what we pay for. And yet, there is something for which the apostle Paul begs and something for which you and I must beg this morning at Latah Valley. What could it be?

“Listen to me,” says Jean Valjean. In the Broadway musical, Les Miserables, a mysterious man has gone from stealing bread, escaping from prison and then rising to the rank of mayor in a small French village. Eventually, however, the law catches up to Jean Valjean. Lieutenant Javert tracks him down, saying that “a man such as you can never change.” But in response, Jean Valjean offers this compromise. He will go with Javert peacefully, but he needs three days, three days to intercede for a young girl, named Cosette, whose mother has recently died. “Listen to me,” says the fugitive, masquerading as an upstanding citizen. “Listen to me. (I beg you.) There is something I must do.”

Listen to me. There is something I must do. Listen to me. I beg you. Please tell me, there is something I must do. And, you see, if you ask me today about my experience in begging for food, for money or for mercy, I will have nothing to say. But if you ask me about my experience of begging God for purpose, for guidance and direction—well, where we start?
“I, therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called.”

And the first thing we need to know about this remark is that Paul, like Jean Valjean, has been incarcerated. Being in jail, I think, helps. Or, at least being restricted or being limited by certain circumstances helps us when it comes to begging for divine intervention. And it also helps us in our God-directed relationships with other people. “I beg you,” says the apostle. I can’t mandate that you lead a worthy life. I can’t pay you for it. And so, I beg you.
In the 1984 film, Tender Mercies, Mac Sledge and Rosa Lee’s ten year old child, Sonny, are baptized. It happens fairly quickly in a modest church in Texas. And on the way home, in the pick-up truck, Sonny blurts out his question: “Mac, do you feel different?” The former country singer, who lost everything to his abuse of alcohol, looks around nervously until he answers, “Not yet.” But then, all three of them, Mac, Sonny and Rosa Lee, break out in laughter. Something has happened, but they’re not sure how it’s changed them. Not yet. And what they’ve done—and what you and I are called to do—is invest in the possibility and the hope of that change.

According to Ephesians 4, a life is only worth the change to which we have been called in and through Jesus Christ. And so, if we read the Bible and sing the songs and if we say to one another that we believe in this stuff, what good is it if we are not changed by those practices. In the story of Tender Mercies, for example, Mac gets back on his feet again and begins to play music; he plays, not to make money or to impress the crowds like before his baptism, but to get closer to Sonny and Rosa Lee. And when he’s invited back into the limelight, when he has a chance to make it big in Nashville all over again, when he might as well get involved in the kind of shenanigans that made him abuse alcohol, he chooses the change to which he’s been called. In other words, he leads. He chooses to sacrifice financial gain and stardom and to replace those desires with the integrity of loving a child and his mother faithfully. He leads a life worthy.

2. The Unity of the Spirit Requires Our Exhaustive Effort
Listen up, Latah Valley. I beg you. Make “every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.” Does that sound like fun? Does that sound like a dazzling life? Does that sound like something sacred that might be worth your while? I think it is. In fact, after a careful consideration of the options, I believe that “the unity of the Spirit” is THE supreme goal to which each one of us has been called upon to devote everything that’s been given to us.
We were building a Habitat for Humanity house in North Carolina. All week we had worked extremely hard with limited abilities and limited resources, and on this final afternoon, a group of us stood on a wobbly platform that had been precariously placed atop two rickety wooden horses. So, we lifted this final piece of drywall in the air and pushed it over our heads while the one skilled laborer in our ranks screwed it in. It would be the last thing we would do to the glory of God, and our part in the construction of that home would be complete. Anyway, as the last screw was going in, the wooden horses beneath the platform collapsed and all of us—as one clumsy body—fell to the floor. And we fell hard. We fell in such a way that one young woman had to be taken to the emergency room. And in the aftermath of that crunch of exhausted bodies, during the little worship service we hosted in a humid chapel, I waited. I waited for the complaints and for the controversy about safe working environments. But this is all I heard: “We are one in the Spirit. We are one in the Lord. And we pray that all unity may one day be restored.”

You see, whether we realize it in the moment or not, the unity of the Spirit requires our exhaustive effort. In Ephesians 4:3, we don’t read about dabbling. We don’t hear the apostle Paul encouraging us to volunteer what time and what money we have left over. He says, “make every effort…” Every effort.

3. When There Appear To Be Too Many Choices, Seek The Oneness
A little bit later we are going to baptize Mikel Jonelle Allen. She will be baptized in the creek, and we’re going to do it by getting her all wet, entirely saturated, uttered soaked. Now, just to keep everyone well-informed, we don’t have to do it this way. In fact, when it comes to the method of baptism, there appear to be many, too many, choices. Presbyterians, for example, have traditionally sprinkled people with a little bit of water on the top of the head. Other denominations settle decisively on full immersion but then worry about whether a person ought to be dunked facing forward or facing backward.
Choices. Choices. Choices. What are we going to do with all of these major life decisions?

Mikel, in the interest of full disclosure, I need to inform you that as of next week, Latah Creek may run red. That’s right. According to a staff report printed in yesterday’s Spokesman Review, the Washington State Department of Ecology plans to use florescent dye to learn how quickly the water moves through the creek. So, we’re just getting you in before the water runs red. Is this the right choice? Do you still want to do this?

Before you answer, I’d like to point out that one of the first people to do this in the Jordan River ended up being crucified to death. Is this the right choice? Of course, I have also heard from reliable sources that when Jesus was raised out of the water, he saw something like a dove, fluttering around his shoulder, and he heard a voice, echoing from the clouds above. And the voice said, You are loved. I am pleased with you.

So, maybe in spite of the risks, this is the right choice. Maybe, a long time ago, God made the decision. And now, when there appear to be too many choices, all we have to do is seek the oneness. I beg you. I can’t make you. I can’t force you. I can cajole you. And so, I beg you. Live out this sentence:
“There is one body, and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.”

THE HOUSE IS READY

1.  Where Is the Dividing Wall Today?

The house is ready.   I wonder if you will believe me this morning if I tell you that the house of ready.   No, I’m not talking about this tangible building, what we’re calling The Pine House.  This literal place of worship is not entirely complete.  Not yet.   We still need interior paneling.   It would be nice to have more windows.   We still need light fixtures and a heating system, which will be installed later in the week.   We still need a paved road with lined parking spaces.   We still need.   We’re always going to need…  But the fact of the matter is that in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, something new has been created.   Something new, something very similar to a house, has been created, and we can live into and out of this sacred structure by the power of the Spirit.   The house is ready.

I know this, and I hope that you believe this because of what we’ve read in Ephesians 2:11—22.   During the month of May we described what the effects of the Holy Spirit look like in the world—and most notably last week we described what the Spirit does as launching a massive and mysterious conversation.   But, you see, after a while, that conversation demands infrastructure.   There are patterns of speech that are considered reliable.   There are habitual behaviors that are considered sturdy enough to stand the test of time.  And those patterns and behaviors resemble the raw materials out of which this household of God has been constructed.  And the house is ready.

I don’t know whether we always realize this, but when we say and hear something like “The Peace of Christ Be With You Always,” that’s like taking shelter beneath a very hefty beam of wood.   And when we take a fragment of bread and dip it into the cup, in that moment, we are completely safe and secure.  No storm in the world can touch us.   And when we begin to take on the responsibilities of a servant—when we give of ourselves sacrificially—you and I are leaning against the walls that Jesus himself has crafted.

Still, I have a question.   And the question goes like this:   if it’s true that God has transformed Jews and Non-Jews into one household, or “one new humanity,” why does it appear as if so many divisions remain?

My friend, Red-hawk, told me last week that he spent the day tearing down a brick wall around his backyard and that his dogs were so used to the boundary that even when the wall had been totally demolished they still walked around the perimeter and entered the yard through the gate.   That is, these domesticated animals acted as if the wall were still there.

Robert Frost once wrote a poem in which a gruff old man makes this statement:   “good fences make good neighbors.”    He says it, of course, as he’s trying desperately to re-construct the property line which has been marked out with stone.   Good fences make good neighbors.   But the only problem with that philosophy, according to Frost, is that “something there is that does not love a wall.”   And based upon our reading of Ephesians 2:14 and based upon where we are today, I’m wondering if that something isn’t really someone.   Namely, Jesus of Nazareth.    “In his flesh,” the text says, he has “broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us.”

So, if you to ask me today why so many dividing walls still seem to be in place around the world, I have to wonder if we’re not a little bit like Red-hawk’s dogs or the staunch neighbor of Robert Frost.    And maybe, just maybe, the Spirit of Christ is doing something that God has a tendency to do.   According to Jeremiah 30:18, “Thus says the Lord, I am going to restore the fortunes of the tents of Jacob, and have compassion on his dwellings; the city shall be rebuilt upon its mound, and the citadel set on its rightful site.”   You see, God recycles.   All the old debris doesn’t go to waste.   All the bits and pieces of the harsh past are thrown into the dumpster.   And so, what we may be seeing, when we see division, is the way God recycles and re-uses our hurt for healing.

2.  We Will Go From Strangers and Aliens To Citizens with the Saints and Members of the Household of God

I want to share with you a clip from one of my favorite movies, called, My Life As A House. It’s the story of an architect who’s been divorced, diagnosed with terminal cancer and his son is in a lot of trouble.   On the surface, everything about this character’s life seems bleak.   And yet, what he has going for him is the raw material of reconciliation.   With the time that he has left, he sets his heart and mind on renovating an old, dilapidated house that he and his ex-wife once owned on the beach.   Anyway, this dying man and his distraught, despairing son fix up this old place and in the process they make amends with another family who they had harmed in a drunk-driving accident.   Here’s the clip, and at the end of it, I’d like to draw out what the apostle Paul means when he writes,

“So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God” (v. 19).

The point here is that church can be like this.   Church can be that place where we will go from strangers and aliens to citizens with the saints and members of the household of God.   We will go from being anxious and afraid that we don’t belong to the sensation that we’ve been built into something that’s larger than our own individual lives.

I remember the moment when I went to India, when I felt this sensation.   After getting over the jet lag from the 18 hour flight, and after driving to Rajasthan, we arrived at this house that had been converted into the Bethany Bible Institute.   We were there for three days and at the end of those three days I had gone from being a stranger to being a citizen with the saints.   I was a part of group of former Muslims and Hindus and Jews—many of them alienated from their families—and we were all there, living and learning under one roof  “with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone.”

3.  The House Has Structure and Grows Into A Holy Temple

None of this works, you see, without our mutual submission to Christ Jesus himself. And I’d like to pause here to distinguish between our beliefs and our opinions about Christ Jesus and Christ Jesus himself. Christ Jesus himself is that person who knows us utterly, but who can never be fully comprehended by us.   When Simon Weil had migraine headaches, she read a George Herbert poem over and over again, and then she says that Christ Jesus himself come into those repeated words and took possession of her soul.   That’s the difference.   Our beliefs and opinions about Christ Jesus are just that—ideas that we think of as reliable and true.   But there is something or someone who is even more reliable and true and that’s Christ Jesus himself.

William Willimon tells two stories from his ministry that I’ve never forgotten.   One of them involves a mentor, named Joe, in the church’s confirmation program.   Although Joe agreed to pray with and be there for his confirmation student, it all came crashing down when the student showed up at Joe’s apartment.  Joe’s girlfriend answered the door and it was clear from her attire that she had spent the night.   When pressed on whether he should be involved in this way with this woman, Joe said it was none of the kid’s business.   He said there’s a division between what he does at home and what he believes at church.   And yet…

“In him (in Christ Jesus himself) the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple.”

The house in which we live has structure and that structure does not have anything to do with our private code of conduct.  It’s a structure that is lived out as we talk and interact with one another.   The second Willimon story makes this clear.   It’s about a deacon in the church who had been scheduled to serve communion on Sunday morning.  The only problem was that on Saturday night, this deacon had been taken into custody by police.  Apparently, he made bail and by 11 am there was Bill, standing with a bunch of abrasions and band-aids on his sad face.   “Bill, what are you doing here?” said the pastor.  “Where else should I be,” whispered the deacon.   Where else, but the household of God.  #

LET THE MASSIVE & MYSTERIOUS CONVERSATION BEGIN

1.  A Miracle For All Speaking

“All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak…”

I over-heard a mother talking with her child.  In the Garden Section of Fred Meyer last week, I over-heard her talking with someone who couldn’t have been more than one year old.   His chubby legs dangled from his stroller.  His eyes sparkled with all the colors swirling around him.   And this is what he said:  breeem… And this is the way his mother responded:  breeem… In fact, whenever he gurgled or made some incoherent noise, the mother would repeat it back.   And, of course, as often happens, that “conversation” became quite animated.  I am fairly certain that no quantifiable information passed between them, but clearly some kind of emotional, or dare I say it, some kind of spiritual connection was being forged.   And as I eavesdropped on that garden-speech I imagined that all the conversations that have ever taken place throughout history—all of them–started in this way.    Weird, inchoate flips of the tongue, vibrations of the vocal cords, throbbing of the throat.  Into a moment we let them slip.   And if we’re lucky another person is there to hear and to affirm what we say… and the rest is history.

History, I think, is made up of things combined with the sounds that we make in reference to those things.   The sounds that we make about things, of course, have to be submitted for approval.   A word is nothing more or nothing less than the sounds which have been agreed upon by a certain group of people—and then assigned to things like sunshine, dirt, water and flowers.    And, you see, on Pentecost, in first century Jerusalem, that’s what the Jews in the temple courts had been celebrating.  They celebrated the history of God giving the Law to Moses and how the people agreed upon that Law.   But here’s the glitch.   The glitch of Pentecost is that the people of faith had been scattered to the far corners of the earth; there were Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia…  And although they all had come to Jerusalem to gather around the same thing, none of them would use the same word to refer to that thing.

2.  A Miracle of Each Hearing

Think about how lonely that is.   Think about how cliquish that is.  Think about how alienating that is.   A few weeks ago, I had to take my car for an emissions inspection and I got there a little early.   So, after parking strategically along the street, I sat in the car and noticed an elderly man with a cap ambling toward me.  He had just parked his car as well, and as he approached my window, he spoke with a strange accent,  “Aaahh, we wait…”  I nodded.   “Yes, it’s not time yet,” I said.   “I Moldavia,” he responded.   “Moldavia?   How did you get to Spokane from Moldavia?  Where exactly is Moldavia?   Is it part of Russia?  Are you Russian?”   “Aaahh,” he stammered, looking at his watch.  “We wait…”

Now, I don’t mind telling you:   it annoyed me that the man didn’t understand my question.   And almost immediately I could sense his frustration too.   But what if by some miracle of speech, or by some miracle of hearing, I would have been able to cut through all the emissions chit-chat and talk about Jesus Christ?  And what if, by some miracle, he could talk to me?   This is just a subtle hint of what Pentecost in the first century must have been like.

“At this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each…”

You see, corresponding to the miracle of all of the Galilean Jews speaking is the miracle of each one hearing in the native language of each…  I’ve been wracking my brain to consider the implications of this miracle for Latah Valley and here goes:  although you and I speak predominately in English, each one of us may have a peculiar way of using the language that the Holy Spirit would like to affirm.   That’s what the Holy Spirit does in providing us with this two-fold miracle; suddenly we are forced to realize that God has something to say and only we can say it.   We are also forced to admit that God’s wondrous deeds of power cannot be contained by one person’s patterns of speech, or by one group’s special lingo.

Not too long ago, the Public Broadcasting System aired a special on a particular teacher from Iowa.   She was known as Mrs. Eliot, and as a way of teaching her students about racism and prejudice, she divided the class along the lines of  brown-eyed children and blue-eyed children.   Well, at first, this assignment seemed like a joke, and the mid-western kids didn’t take it very seriously.   But the next day they each received arm-bands with insignia’s on them—one for brown eyed children and one for blue-eyed children.   Then, Mrs. Eliot made this bold statement to the class; she said, “Statistics prove that Brown-eyed children are more intelligent than Blue-eyed Children.”   And along those lines she began to favor some of the students over others.   When a brown-eyed girl raised her hand to answer the teacher’s question, Mrs. Eliot made a special point of praising the girl.   When a blue-eyed boy raised his hand, she chastised him for not listening, and then lectured to the class about the clear superiority of Brown-eyed people.   This is how things went for over a week, and then, without warning, Mrs. Eliot reversed course and proclaimed that truly Blue-eyed Children were better.   Thinking at that point that the Blue-eyed Children would remember how they had been treated, even Mrs. Eliot was amazed when a fight broke out at recess.   “Why were you fighting?” demanded the principal.   “Because he called me a name.”   “What name did he call you?”   “Brown-eyes.”

“And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the house where they were sitting.   Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them.”

You see, what we often don’t realize is that the Holy Spirit doesn’t make everyone the same.   The Holy Spirit actually reinforces our uniqueness, our particularity.  But the Holy Spirit also obliterates the way we use our uniqueness as a weapon.   We are suddenly disarmed, and all the old excuses in which we once took refuge—all of them—are burned away.    So, let me press us here on this point.    Have the tongues of God’s fire taught you to sit down and submit to the loudest person in the room?   Or do those tongues of fire truly teach each of us to speak and to listen?

3.  A Miracle of Meaning For One Another

“All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?”

When I read through Acts 2:13 I immediately thought of something that happened at the National Spelling Bee Championship.  Maybe you saw it too.   Last Thursday night, twelve and thirteen year olds competed with one another, and nearly all of them, upon hearing a word, being pronounced, would ask for a series of questions.  One of the questions had to do with the language of origin, usually Greek, or Latin, or French, or German or some dynamic combination of them all.   But, you see, another question frequently asked by the middle-schoolers went like this:   Could I have a definition please? Or, more directly, What does it mean? Over and over again they asked these questions and quite often nailed these words without a blink of an eye.   And yet, here’s what took place at approximately 10 p.m. our time:   Kavya Shivashanker, a 13 year old girl from California, got a word that I recognized from the Bible.   The word was Laodicean, and means “Lukewarm or indifferent in matters of religion or politics.”

Now, as you may know, Kavya Shivashanker spelled the word correctly and won the last spelling bee competition in which she will ever compete.   And yet, as the competition for correct spelling is over, the meaning of the word still lingers.   It still lingers, doesn’t it?   In fact, after a word like Laodicean has been used and re-used for centuries, it’s still a miracle that people ask, “What does this mean?”

Well, let me tell you.  It doesn’t just mean “Lukewarm.”  Laodicean refers to a church.   And according to Revelation 3:15, it was once a congregation in Asia Minor that Jesus reproved.   He said to them, “Listen, I am standing at the door and knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come to you and eat with you and you with me…”

And now, I am imagining a child-prodigy in approximately fifty to one hundred years.   She’s given the word, LATAH.   What does it mean?  Can I have a definition please?

It means, “Passionate” and “Deeply involved.”

Let the massive and mysterious conversation begin.   Amen.

Are You Sure About The Blasphemy of The Holy Spirit?

1.  Do Not Demonize What You Do Not Understand.

So, allow me to tell you what you’re thinking.   After hearing this passage, you’re probably thinking, “Oh, please, please tell me.  Please tell me what it means to commit “blasphemy against the Holy Spirit.   And don’t mess around.  Tell me exactly what this ‘blasphemy’ is because I need to know where I stand.”   And if that’s not what you’re thinking, well, then, may God bless you.

Once upon time, I was seventeen years old and driving down a series of back streets in my suburban neighborhood.   And, in order to get to where I was going more quickly, I turned on this road that I ordinarily would use.   This road had been marked with a strange sign that read as follows:   “Do Not Enter Between The Hours of 4 p.m. And 6 p.m.”   Well, you see, my problem was not only that I was in a hurry, but my Plymouth Duster did not have a clock that worked.  Nor did I wear a wrist watch.   So, I had no way of knowing the exact time.    Was it between the unforgivable hours of 4 p.m. and 6 p.m.?   And would any self-respecting police officer really issue me a ticket when I could not truly judge the time of day?   What is time, anyway?   Isn’t it just this arbitrary measure of the earth’s rotation around the sun?  Let me tell you.  All of these questions and many more raced through my mind, as I then saw what I did not want to see.    A police officer, wearing mirror sun glasses and a stern expression, stood in the middle of the road, and would not let me pass.   I stopped and played it cool:  “What’s the problem?”   “The problem is you just went down a one-way street in the wrong direction.”  I responded, “It’s only one way between the hours of 4 and 6 and I don’t have a watch.   What time is it?”  He said, “It’s three minutes after 4 o’clock.  Can I see your license and registration, please?”

You see, my argument is that if we’re going to be held responsible for breaking the rules, someone should make those rules clear ahead of time.

And so it is with the blasphemy of the Holy Spirit.  If the blasphemy of the Holy Spirit is truly the only unforgivable sin, I’d appreciate it if Jesus would equip me with everything that I need not to do it.   So here goes:   according to Matthew 12, the whole issue is raised when the Pharisees take it upon themselves to demonize Jesus.   Jesus heals a person who is blind and mute, and in stead of being grateful, these religious experts drive the wrong way down the road.

Do Not Demonize What You Do Not Understand. That’s the message because in fact what you and I often do not understand is the truth that the Holy Spirit is trying to tell us.   So, don’t be so eager to join someone’s holy crusade.  Don’t be too quick to label what another person says or does as outright evil because we never really know.

“If I cast out demons by Beelzebul, by whom do your own exorcists cast them out?   Therefore they will be your judges.   But if it is by the Spirit of God that I cast out demons, then the kingdom of God has come to you.”

“It all started when I found a copy of Faust at a used bookstore.”   This is the way Gordon Atkinson blogs about being evil.   Actually Gordon Atkinson is not any more or any less evil that any other pastor from San Antonio, Texas.  But two weeks after he picked up the used book and tossed it in the back seat of his car, a young woman spotted the symbol on the cover and shrieked.  Christy had been staying with the Atkinsons, doing some odd chores and occasionally watching the kids.  She had joined the church after claiming that she had escaped from a satanic cult, an organization in which Christy’s own father had actually taken part in some of the dark rituals.   Anyway, all that was behind her—until she caught a glimpse of the Alchemy symbol on the cover of Faust.

“She stared at me for a few seconds and then I saw something I hope never to see again.  I watched her feelings for me turn from love to hatred in a matter of seconds.  I saw the whole transformation in her face.  It began with a blank look of bewilderment, then her eyes narrowed with suspicion.  She shook her head a few times in denial, as though she didn’t want to believe the worst.  Finally, her jaw set and anger flashed in her eyes…  ‘You’re one of them,’ she said, backing away.’”(RealLivePreacher.com, p. 89)

2.  The Holy Spirit Has The Reputation of the Kingdom of God to Consider.

Now, if you’ve ever been demonized yourself, you know how unflattering the experience may be.    But what’s especially disheartening and especially deflating is the damage that can be done to a person’s reputation.

In Arthur Miller’s play, The Crucible, for example, John Proctor declares that he will not sign the document that admits that he has consorted with the devil.   He’s ready to.  He actually mulls it over.   All he has to do is scribble his signature and the holy magistrate of the puritan town will let him live.   But after starting to sign, he does something that people don’t quite understand.   John Proctor grabs the parchment statement and crumples it up.  He then says, “You have my soul; leave me my name.”

You see, something about this moment makes me want to stand up and cheer.  And maybe you want to stand up and cheer too.  But what we’re cheering for is not simply the integrity of an individual who died in the 1690’s.   It’s not just the ornery attitude of Rosa Parks, who refused to surrender her seat on the bus, which resonates with us.  It’s not simply that Gandhi and Mother Teresa are great people who we might like to emulate.  What we experience in them, I think, is the future calling to us.   We celebrate and cheer, therefore, for those extraordinary times in the past and in the present when a person behaves as if evil’s hold will not last—when thy will is done on earth as it is in heaven.   And that, my friends, is the work of the Holy Spirit.   The Holy Spirit, of course, has the reputation of the kingdom of God to consider.   And let’s emphasize this point.  If you and I are under the impression that God ought to protect our own individual reputations, ask yourself why God allowed the reputation of Jesus of Nazareth to be trashed the way it was in the crucifixion.   And the answer is—God is more interested in protecting the reputation of the new heavens and the new earth that he is about to create.

3.  If You’re Worried About “The Blasphemy of the Holy Spirit,” You Probably Have Nothing to Worry About.

In Ohio, we met a man who became the feature story on something called News of the Weird.   And, as a result of the negative publicity, the man’s reputation would be shot.   His relationship with his wife and his son would be shaken.   And primarily the news had to do with the fact that this man was arrested for lewd behavior in a public restroom and that he happened to be the mayor of the town and that he sang in the choir.  Anyway, I remember a phone call that I received from another prominent official, asking me to renounce the mayor and publically condemn his actions.   I replied that I couldn’t do that because he had come to me and asked God’s forgiveness and the forgiveness of our entire church.   That, of course, didn’t make any difference to the person who complained to me.  He said that I ought to think about the reputation of my church.  And I thought about it, and the conversation grew silent.  He was right.  Our church would suffer because of its association with this perverted and hypocritical public official.   But, you see, after crying with this broken human being, after praying and pouring through the scriptures with him, I could do nothing else but support his contrition.   The reputation of the Kingdom of God superseded all other concerns.

“Therefore, I tell you, people will be forgiven for every sin and blasphemy, but blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven.”

So, let’s be clear about that.   At Latah Valley, I’d like us to be clear about that.   And I’d like us to be sure about the following phrase, which we repeat week after week:  In Jesus Christ we are forgiven.   But after gathering around that news, are you still worried about the inadvertent blasphemy of the Holy Spirit?   Are you still so conscientious as to fear that you may speak against the Holy Spirit without intending to?   Well, if that’s you, listen up:  if you are at all worried about the blasphemy of the Holy Spirit, you probably have nothing to worry about.   But, all the same, let me offer you this cautionary tale.

A little girl is drawing a picture in school.  The teacher leans over her and asks, “What are you drawing?”

“God,” says the girl.

The teacher laughs.  “No one knows what God looks like dear.”

“They will when I get finished with this drawing.”

Don’t be too sure, says the Holy Spirit.   Don’t be too sure.

Amen.

Dig Into The Cleft And Live There

A poem in meditation on the life of Chuck Gulick and our many conversations about Spirituality and Stuff.

Read Exodus 33:17–23

born Aug 8, 1955... died Apr 30, 2009

Dig into the cleft and live there.

You know you’ll be alright.

You know there’s a Face of Light

Who’s ready to singe your eye-brows

If you peak too soon, if you overlook the sediment and debris,

If you forget to carve out castles by the sea.

***

But somewhere a glint of glory slips through

The fingers of God, and thankfully you trace the multi-faceted plummet–

Wondrously you recall your days at the summit–

“Not cool!  Not cool!” you shout at the pain!

“Not cool!  Not cool!” you pray to the Name!

***

Dig into the cleft and live there.

In Manhasset, you’ll collect stamps from Berlin.

Under your pillow you’ll stuff pajamas and begin.

Again you’ll preen stories in the mirror.  Just to be nearer

Your brother will travel like Siddhartha.

Your sisters will anoint like Mary and serve like Martha.

***

And somewhere a glint of glory slips through

The fingers of God, and thankfully you trace the multi-faceted plummet–

Wondrously you recall your days at the summit–

“How cool!  How cool is that!”  you breathe in the air!

“How cool!  How cool! you conquer despair!

***

Dig into the cleft and live there.

You’ll streak once more on campus in newer skin; not a soul will be ashamed.

You’ll paddle hilariously through fog beyond the picture frame… and…

This is where the true crab pots are hauled, where, in your kayak, you’ll

Drift, totally enthralled.  Linger a moment here.  The Fire’s Feast is round the bend,

Just off the road you took to Port Townsend.

***

Yet, somewhere a glint of glory slips through

The fingers of God, and thankfully you trace the multi-faceted plummet–

Wondrously you recall your days at the summit–

“I’m cool!  I’m cool now!” you offer a smile.

“I’m cool!  I’m cool!  Let me sleep for a while.”

***

Dig into the cleft and live there.

You’ll bless Ted, Liz and Ben; they’ll savor

the fossils without saying Amen.  And then you’ll bless Patti

with new seeds to scatter.  She’ll plant them out back–between The Viking and the ladder.

And somewhere, we admit, a glint of glory slips through.

And somehow, we declare, we see it better because of you.

HERE WE GO

1. Eleven Is Not Twelve, and Thomas Needs An Attitude Adjustment Last week, on Easter Sunday, Latah Valley hosted approximately 80 people at our 6:30 sunrise service and exactly 100 people at 10 o’clock. We are genuinely enthused and grateful for each person who joined us for worship then. And this morning we are equally grateful. But I have to tell you something: it might as well have been “eleven.” “Eleven” is the number that’s provided in Matthew 28:16. And “eleven” is the two-digit symbol that represents who’s left among the original disciples of Jesus. “Eleven,” therefore, is not twelve and consequently presents a sad reminder that Judas Iscariot is not present. Now, you and I may not have liked Judas anyway. We may have been glad to see him exit the stage. But, if by choosing the original twelve peasant fishermen, not to mention the assorted zealots and random tax collector—if by choosing them in the first place—Jesus had intended to re-enact or to re-configure the twelve tribes of Israel (that are mentioned in Genesis 49:28 and Exodus 24:4), what we have now is incomplete. Eleven is incomplete. Eleven is not finished yet. And what’s even more startling is that among the eleven who are left to greet and to meet the resurrected Jesus, Matthew 28 says that “some doubted.” So, let’s re-cap. At this very crucial and monumental moment in human history, we not only do not have our full complement of disciples, but among the crowd are those who are not even fully on-board. What is this about? In the last church that we helped start, there happened to be a guy, named Tom. Tom, of course, was unrelated to the Thomas who is mentioned in John 20. But listen to what Tom said and did. During one of our first Vacation Bible School programs, we were in a tent in the middle of an open field, and we were short of craft supplies. So, when Tom’s group of children needed the crayons, he marched over to one of the other adult volunteers and in front of the five year old kids, he said, “We need these now, and so I’m taking ‘em.” Now, in weird times of miscommunication, my tendency has always been to confront. I confront and clarify what I perceive to be the problem attitude and let the chips fall where they may. But, you see, this morning I am moved to hear what Jesus says to that incomplete group of eleven disciples, including Thomas. He says, Go! He tells them, All authority has been given to me… therefore, go! And, you see, as they go and as those unruly Galileans get going, teaching and baptizing their way into the world, their message reaches all the way to here. 2. Start Here And Hear To Start Here is the place to start. And I mean that in two ways: first, we have to acknowledge the geographical presence of people here; and second, we have to let them in. We have to hear what the local people in our community have to say. Dalton Conley has a book out, called Elsewhere USA, and the premise of the book is that we’ve created a society in which people are always elsewhere. Either they e-mail or twitter or call people who are somewhere else, or they physically will get the car, hop on the plane and go there. Elsewhere is always better than here, and consequently the people who are immediately surrounding us become a means for us to get somewhere else. Now, let me offer this brief theological leap. If, in fact, Jesus has been raised from the dead, and if in fact he showed up in a specific place at a specific time in history, then each and every place where he is proclaimed—each and every place—becomes holy. And if a place becomes holy in Christ, we have to pay attention to it. Thomas Merton describes a moment when he stood at the corner of Fourth and Walnut streets in Louisville, KY. Walnut has since been re-named, Muhammad Ali Street. But in 1959, he writes, “I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved these people, that they were mine and I theirs… It was like waking from a dream of separateness, of spurious self-isolation… Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts, where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God’s eyes. If only they could see themselves as they really are. If only we could see each other that way all the time. There would be no more war, no more hatred, no more greed” (Conjectures Of A Bystander, p. 158). You see, it all starts here. And for us today HERE is the meadow, next to a creek, next to a highway, running north and south, around which are scattered houses and businesses. Who are the men, women and children who come in and out of these buildings? Today, we declare that first and foremost, they are loved by God. And that nothing they say or do can expunge that identity from them. Plus, we are incomplete without them. You and I, by the grace of God, are on a journey of discovery. The purpose of the journey will be to discover who we really are, and the people of this place will help us. “Christ plays in ten thousand places/lovely in limbs and in the features of faces.” Gerald Manley Hopkins writes these poetic words as a way of describing the experience of HERE, but also the movement to THERE. 3. Go There While Remembering Here Jesus, as you recall, has this bizarre encounter with Thomas. Thomas had doubted, and so when Jesus returned he instructed him to put his finger in the wounds that had been inflicted upon him in his death. Those wounds are still there. But then, listen to what Jesus says next: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe…” A missionary to Kenya, named Vincent Donovan, went to live among the Maasai people. He went there to tell them the story of the crucified and resurrected Jesus, but what he discovered as he traveled from the United States to east Africa is that he and the Maasai are changed together. After years of preaching and teaching with hardly any tangible results or real converts, an elder of the tribe told Donovan that they did not search for him as a priest to come to them. The priest actually followed them into the bush, into the plains, into the steppes where their cattle were, into the hills where they took their cattle for water, into their villages and into their homes. Donovan told them about God and how the Massai must search for him. But then, something strange happened. The elder said that it was not the Maasai who had searched for God, but God who had searched for the Maasai. Donovan took that conversation to heart. And later he met up with a young warrior who had spent three lonely days perched at the top of a volcanic mountain where the lava simmered. The young warrior, named Sikii, had gone out to that remote place to see God, but nothing happened. Dejected he returned to the village as if coming home empty-handed from a hunt. He had nothing to show and nothing to tell his people. And that’s when Donovan, inspired by his earlier conversation, spoke up. He said, “you have been searched for Engai… All this time he has been searching for you. He has hungered for you… We are not the lion looking for God. God is the lion looking for us. Believe me, the lion is God (p. 239). Now, I’m telling you this story about Vincent Donovan and the Maasai because of what I believe God is doing with Latah Valley. Today—with the eleven disciples from Galilee we have heard the message. That message, being heard by us here, must be lived out with the people in this specific area. But then, as we live out the gospel here, God also sends us there, and there and there.

AT CROSS PURPOSES with Death’s Way

1.  The Linen Wrappings Are Part of Death’s Way

 

In case you hadn’t noticed, death has a way.   Death has a way of getting the last word.   And I don’t like that about Death.  How about you?   Death has a way of making us over-anxious.   Death has a way of causing despair.   Death has a way of disappointing family members and friends.   Death has a way of hindering hope and of bringing an abrupt end to hopeful movements.  Death has a way of getting the last word, and I don’t like it.  

 

Then again, why argue?   Life’s too short.   And on the positive side of the spectrum, death has a way of easing the pain of those who suffer.  For a soldier in battle, death can be perceived as honorable, even glorious.   For the therapist and for the one engaged in therapy, death can be grieved and eventually accepted as a part of life.    It can be managed by funeral directors and sterilized by hospital staff.   Death can lead to the inheritance you’ve been counting on.   And if you’re not too fond of “rage against the dying of the light,” death can go easy on you in an instant.  But of all the convoluted stuff that we associate with Death’s Way, the linen wrappings of John 20 have got to be the worst.

 

The linen wrappings are a part of Death’s Way.   According to chapter 19, verse 40, they indicate the customary means by which all Jews of the first century would be buried.   But the very fact that this material is found by Peter and the other disciple—that detail alone—

symbolizes a radical shift.  Moreover, the very fact that Jesus apparently left those linen wrappings behind in the tomb—that detail alone—symbolizes that he’s going around the world totally unwrapped and flouting Death.   In fact, the way that you and I might interpret the linen wrappings of John 20, verses five and six, is that Jesus cannot stand death getting the last word anymore.   From this point on, if death has something to say, it had better say it and shut up… because the conversation about life is about to continue.

 

The conversation about life is about to continue.  

 

 

2.  The Resurrection of Jesus Proposes An Alternative Way

 

I once had a conversation with a history teacher in high school.   He happened to be a very intimidating history teacher, very much concerned with integrity and putting his students to the test.   Anyway, I forged his name.   For some inexplicable reason, I scribbled his name on a library pass; I wanted to get out of study hall and work in the library.  So I forged my teacher’s name.   Anyway, when the librarian recognized that it wasn’t the signature of Mr. Parrish, she asked me.   When I lied and told her that it was in fact his own hand-written name on that pink slip of paper, I could almost hear my death sentence.   Scott Pyle Is Guilty of Forgery in the first degree.   Will there be any consequences?   The next day, Mr. Parrish asked to see me and we had that conversation about life.   And that’s when he said something that almost devastated me.   He said that he thought he knew who I was, but that now he no longer knew.   And then my teacher took out his linen handkerchief.  His linen cloth handkerchief.  He took it out of his pocket along with my forged library pass, and he blew his nose.  

 

Now, you may not think very much of my story, but Jesus now has me wondering.   The resurrection of Jesus proposes an alternative way—a different way of remembering our lives.   You see, if it’s true, then the most important opinion in the Universes does not belong to your high school history teacher, or to lawyer, or to your doctor.   It belongs to the One who evidently left the linen wrappings in the tomb.  

 

And suppose, for a moment, that every person who believes in the crucified Jesus has forged his signature.   Just suppose we want his pass—his pass on life, his pass on health, his pass on prosperity, his pass into heaven, but we desperately want to avoid talking to him.   Well, it that’s the case, there is an image in John 20 that should help to ease our minds.  Jesus is not going to pull the linen wrapping out of his breast pocket.   He has left them behind.   Death will not have the last word, and neither will the sting of death, which is sin.  

 

 

3.  What A Church Like Latah Valley Can Do If The Easter Event Is True!!!

 

Now, there’s an interesting piece of information in John’s account of the resurrection that’s missing from Matthew, Mark and Luke, and that happens to be the piece about Peter and the other disciple running to the tomb.   Verse four almost describes it like a footrace, with the beloved disciple beating out Peter at the last minute.   Now, that’s fascinating to me because Peter has always represented that quintessential follower of Jesus.  For example, he is the first one to make this bold declaration that Jesus is the Messiah when everyone else is still scratching their heads and picking their noses.   And so, why is it that the so-called “other disciple” gets the glory at the empty tomb?   And why is it that he arrives at that miraculous place first, that he sees the linen wrappings, but doesn’t go in immediately?  Could it be that he needs time?   That he needs time to process the details?   That he needs time to reflect and to ponder deeply the cross purposes of God? 

 

In the movie, Reign On Me, starring Adam Sandler, the main character has lost his wife and his children to the tragic events of 9/11.   That, of course, would be devastating enough.  But what makes the situation even more painful is that the deceased wife’s parents want to bring their son-in-law pictures.   They want to bring him little momentos—maybe some little linen things with the kids’ names stitched on them, and he’s just not ready.  He’s not ready to let Death have the last word.

 

 

Anyway, when I saw that film, it helped me imagine what a church like Latah Valley can do if the Easter Event is true.   If the Easter Event is true, we don’t have to be exactly like the rock upon which the church was founded.  We can be like John, the other disciple, the one who knows that he was loved by Jesus, but he’s not sure yet how to love him back.   Let the conversation continue, he seems to say at the entrance to the empty tomb.  Let the conversation about life continue in spite of death, even to spite death… and let it continue here at Latah Valley, which used to be known as Hangman Valley.   Let it continue, at cross purposes with Death, here.  

Amen.