Sunday, June 30, 2013

Eyes Front

Luke 9:51-62
Ordinary 13 Year C
June 30, 2013

First and Harmony Presbyterian Churches

The Rev. Dr. Robert Wm Lowry

            “More than anything else,” Shug explains to Celie, “God love admiration.”
            “You sayin God vain?” Celie asks.  “Naw,” says Shug, “not vain, just wanting to share a good thing.  I think it makes God anry if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.”
            Alice Walker, without realizing it, summed up this text from Luke in this short exchange in her epistolary novel The Color Purple. 
            God is not vain, but God does desire and even demands our attention.  But how often do we walk right by God’s call- God’s outstretched hand- without even noticing?  How often is God our color purple?
            Jesus was certainly that unnoticed color to the Samaritans. 
            Knowing that his time was coming, Jesus set his face to Jerusalem and determined to set out to David’s city.  For whatever reason, that decision alone was enough for the Samaritans to reject him.  We do not know why they reject him, or at least why his decision to go to Jerusalem is enough to make them reject him.  But that is exactly what they do.
            It is as though they are willing to welcome Jesus but only if he is willing to come on their terms.  No passing through.  No stop along the way.  No here today off to Jerusalem tomorrow.  They will welcome him but only on their own terms.
            Some days I am such a Samaritan; ready to welcome Jesus in if only he will stay on my terms.  I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you probably have those days as well.  Days when faith in Jesus Christ is the thing we long for the most as long as it fits neatly into the lives we have made for ourselves.
            David Lose, professor of preaching at Luther Seminary in St. Paul puts the question we have from Luke this way:
Does the grace, mercy, and love of God made incarnate in Jesus trump our plans and shape our lives, or do we shape our faith to fit the lives we’ve already planned?
            The answer for the Samaritans was pretty clear.  They were willing to let Jesus in, but only if it fit their already laid plans, perspectives, priorities.
            But, hey, they were Samaritans.  They might as well have been Pharisees, right?  Sure there was that one kind and helpful Samaritan, but for the most part they were a clueless bunch always missing the point and getting things wrong.  Unlike we who are in the church/ in the know...right?
            If Luke would just leave it there, we could shake our heads at the Samaritans and their willful blindness to the Word of God; the color purple that they walk on by without noticing.  If Luke would just leave it there we could tsk tsk tsk at the poor Samaritans and go on about our business.
            Of course Luke being Luke could not leave well enough alone.  After Jesus faces down the rejection of the Samaritans, shakes the dust from his feet, and gets on the road to Jerusalem, Luke recounts one instance after another when Jesus challenges the illusion of control in the face of the call to discipleship; instances when disciples and would be disciples are called upon to let Jesus and the calling of God trump their well-laid plans.
            Someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.”
Jesus replied, “Foxes have dens and the birds in the sky have nests, but the Human One has no place to lay his head.”
As someone who travels quite a bit, I have learned a few lessons.  
Pack light.
            Don’t rely on airline timing.
                        Keep your toothbrush in your carry-on just in case you wind up in Dallas and your bag goes to Delhi.
And…there’s no place like home.
Even the most extraordinary trip to the most exotic locale cannot take away the pure comfort and joy of coming home. 
There’s no place like home.
What, then, do we make of Jesus’s reminder that for the Human One- the Son of God- there is no place like home because, well, there is no home; there is no place of safety and comfort to which he can retreat after a long journey?
If the first thing Jesus trumps is our expectations and plans, the second trump card costs us comfort; the comfort of a retreat from our calling.  Following Jesus is not a weekend getaway with home sweet home waiting at the end.  When we pack our bags to follow Him, we are, Luke reminds us, signing onto a lifelong journey.  When we follow Jesus, home is not at the end of the journey; home is wherever we find ourselves with him.
Now to be sure, I am guessing that there is great blessing in laying your head wherever our savior has called us to be, but for my part, I like having my own bed, my own home, my own place to retreat when things get to be too much or when I am just plain tired.
Yet…
“Foxes have dens and the birds in the sky have nests, but the Human One (and by extension we who follow him) has no place to lay his head.”
Then Jesus said to someone else, “Follow me.”
He replied, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.”
Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead. But you go and spread the news of God’s kingdom.”
My to-do list is never past tense. 
In my life, I do not think I have ever had a done to-do list!
Whenever I get near the end of it, I find one more project; one more must do item; one more thing that simply cannot wait that must be done.
If I am really hones with myself, more often than not my to-do list is a distraction from the things I really need to do.
I really need to do my taxes, but first I must get the lawn mowed.
I really need to finish my sermon, but first I must reorganize the kitchen cabinets.
I really need to reorient my life toward Christ, but first I must do X, Y, Z.
To be certain, the to-dos are not always just distractions.  Sometimes our own good intentions wind up standing in our way.
I want to give more time to the church, but by the time I live up to these other obligations there isn’t much time left. 
I want to give more financially to the church, but first I want to tuck a little more away for a rainy day.
I want to follow you, but first I need to bury my father.
Sometimes we use our to-dos to bide our time and sometimes our to-dos just suck up all the oxygen in the room.  Whichever it is, when Jesus comes into our lives, those to-dos get trumped. 
Jesus reminds us that the only indispensable to-do on our lists; the only thing we absolutely must get around to doing is spreading the Good News of the gospel of Christ.  If, when we reach the end of our days, there is one thing we have not left undone, let it be that.
“Let the dead bury their own dead. But you go and spread the news of God’s kingdom.”
Someone else said to Jesus, “I will follow you, Lord, but first let me say good-bye to those in my house.”
Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand on the plow and looks back is fit for God’s kingdom.”
Of all Jesus commands, this is perhaps the most difficult. 
I can learn to live with Jesus trumping my own well-laid plans; I can deal with Jesus calling me away from the comfort of the known to the unknowns of discipleship.  I can even learn to do without my to-do list.
But to leave everything behind and not even say good-bye?  To just walk away from home, family, vocation, responsibilities and relationships is just a bridge too far. 
Part of me wants to romanticize this text and say, well Jesus doesn’t really mean leave everything behind.  Luke was just trying to make a point. But that would be less than honest with the text.  Luke is in fact trying to make a point, but he is doing it with Jesus’ own words not with some heap of hyperbole
Jesus said to him…
That is what the text says.  Not “Jesus sounded like he was saying” or “it was as if Jesus had said…”  No, “Jesus said to him…” The text is clear on the exchange.
Let me say good-bye.
No.
That is tough medicine; tough stuff to swallow.
And that, my friends, takes us right down to the whole blessed truth of the gospel; the truth of the grace of Jesus Christ.
It is tough.
Grace is tough.
The calling of Christ and the grace that abides it are not pliable like spiritual play-dough that we can make and mold into the shape that best fits our lives. 
Grace is tough, sometimes even bitter.
In his classic Christian text The Cost of Discipleship, Deitrich Bonheoffer wrote that the grace of God is cheapened when it is made undemanding, easy, and little more than the moral equivalent of a Hallmark greeting card.  He wrote,
"cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline. Communion without confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ."
In other words, grace- true grace- is grace that intrudes on our well planned lives, disrupts us from our comfort, calls us to a new way of living and demands of us allegiance to something that is beyond our whims, our desires, our very lives.
            Bonhoeffer knew from bitter experience that daring to follow Christ in a world that can at times, be radically hostile to the Good News is a risky endeavor.  When we answer the call of Christ, when we stop for a moment to notice the color purple right in front of us, we risk losing control; or at least the illusion of control.
            That is the Christian life.  Or more precisely, that is the life of Christ in us.  Because make no mistake about it, Christ still has work to do in the world.  And when we open ourselves to allow the grace of God guide and even take over our lives, we allow the Christ of grace to live in and through us.  That is how we as the church can lay claim to being the body of Christ in the world. 
            Not by any merit of our own as though we have some monopoly on the love and favor of God.
            Not by any special power we possess over good, evil, right or wrong as though we somehow have a monopoly on righteousness.
            Not by any position of privilege we might claim in the sight of God.
            No, we are the body of Christ in the world only by means of the Christ who lives in us.  Because when we let go the illusion of control, when we let Christ trump our plans and take control of our lives, we get a glimpse of what the scriptures call becoming kathos Christos- “like Christ.”
            And when we let Christ live in us; when we stop and notice our color purple; when we become kathos Christos,
            The plans and agendas of this world fall away,
                        home becomes wherever he may lead us,
                                    all those to-dos we manufacture boil down to one command,
                                                and our eyes become firmly affixed on what is to come.
            When we let Christ live in us, we will never look back again because nothing, absolutely nothing, that ever was will compare to what might be with Christ alive in us.
            Amen.

                                                                        

Sunday, June 23, 2013

But What about the Pigs?

Psalm 42/43 and Luke 8:29-36
Fifth Sunday after Pentecost Year C
June 23, 2013
First and Harmony Presbyterian Churches

Dr. Robert Wm Lowry          


          From time to time I find myself wondering if the writers of hymns pay attention to what they write.
          Some just don’t make sense.  Consider the Christmas hymn, a sentimental favorite, Away in a Manger.  According to the hymn…
          The cattle are lowing,
          The poor baby wakes,
          But little Lord Jesus,
          No crying he makes.
          Really?  NO crying?  Has this guy ever spent a night in a house with a newborn?  My guess is that more than one time those first few nights, sleepless Mary turned to sleepless Joseph and said with a sleepy gaze, “your turn.”
          Some hymns are just badly written and overwrought or sentimental to the point that their sweetness hurts your teeth when you sing them.
          Some, though, are just theologically bad. 
          One of those theologically bad hymns came to mind as I was doing the pre-writing dance with this text.
          Written in the early 1800’s by a prolific hymn writer, Arthur T. Russell, O God of Life, Whose Power Benign may be the most theologically bankrupt piece of music I have ever heard. 
O God of life, whose power benign
Doth oér the world in mercy shine,
Accept our praise, for we are Thine. 
          Whose power benign?
          Did this guy ever read Luke?  Did he ever read this story?  Did he ever think about the fact that if God’s power is anything it is anything but benign? 
          The God who created heaven and earth;
          The God who brought the people of Israel out of Egypt;
          The God who raised Jesus from the dead is not benign.
          If the power of God is anything it is anything but benign.
          In the story recounted for us in Luke’s gospel this morning, Jesus encounters a man tormented by demons.  Not just one or two but so many that they call themselves legion- he is possessed by an army of demons.  At the heart of this text is the truth of the care and love of Jesus Christ for us all and that is a comforting story- an important story.
          When Jesus encounters the man, the demons have such total control over him that they speak first.  It is as if they have taken total control of the poor man and he is without any will or identity of his own.  If ever there was a candidate for Jesus’s healing mercy, this guy fits the bill.
          The legion of demons confronts Jesus and recognizing him as the son of God and the power that entails they ask that if Jesus is going to cast them out to at least cast them into some other living being so that they are not sent back into the abyss.  For reasons left unexplained, Jesus, ever gracious and ever generous, acquiesces to their request and drives the demons from the man into a nearby herd of pigs.  Of course the favor is short lived because the pigs run over the cliff into the sea and are drowned.  But for that brief moment, even the demons know the grace and generosity of God.
          There is nothing benign in that moment; not in in Jesus’s healing and there is nothing benign in that sort of love- that sort of divine generosity that even a legion of demons possessing a man’s body is granted the wish of its heart.  That sort of love is active, it is transformative, it is awe-inspiring.  It is anything but benign.
At the heart of this text is the truth of the powerful and transformative care and love of Jesus Christ for us all and that is a comforting story- an important story.-  but it is not the whole story.
          Beyond the wonder of Jesus’s gracious act in healing the possessed man and granting Legion’s request and beyond the wonder of a God whose love is so incredibly vast is a question that demands our attention…what about the pigs?
          Yes, Jesus does a generous thing and yes Jesus does a miraculous thing but on some level we have to acknowledge that Jesus also did a pretty costly and troublign thing.  He cast the demons out of the man and into some poor herdsman’s livelihood.  Herds of domesticated pigs did not just wander around the ancient near east.  Where there was a herd of anything there was a herdsman charged with their care so it does not take too much of a leap to assume that with these pigs there was someone who cared for and about them. 
          How, I wonder, did he react to Jesus’s act of incredible generosity toward Legion?
          How did he feel about the events that day?
          My guess is that he did not like it much.  I sure wouldn’t.  Think about it.  How would you feel if your neighbor called on Jesus for help and Jesus responded by destroying your career.  That is essentially what happens here.  Do you think anyone would hire that herdsman again?  No one is going to trust a new herd to the guy who lost his last herd off a cliff!
          If I was in his shoes, I wouldn’t like the events of this story very much.  No I would not like it at all.
          Yes, Jesus was generous.  Yes, Jesus was merciful.  Yes, Jesus was kind.  But Jesus ruined my job!  No, I would not have liked this one bit.
          And that, friends, brings us to the rest of the heart of this story.
          God’s is a disruptive power.
          Luke is silent about the reaction of the herdsman whose livelihood just ran headlong into the lake, but he does tell us about the reaction of the crowd that witnessed this miracle of healing and the crowd that gathered to hear the story retold; they were afraid.
          They were afraid.
          Given the speed with which the possessed man shows up on the scene, it is safe to say that he was known to the people in the community.  His madness, his ravings, his oddness was not unknown and although they might have tried to put him out of mind, they knew him and were, on some level, used to him.
          When Jesus shows up on the scene and his first act is to heal the man, you would think that the crowd would stand in awe and wonder celebrating the miraculous work of God and that word of the healing would draw a crowd of admirers or at least curious onlookers.  But they don’t. 
          They were afraid.
          They saw the work of God in their midst and they were afraid.
          They saw the power of God and witnessed its disruptive power and collectively they thought, “better the devil you know.” 
          How often do we do that?  How often are we confronted by the work and the power of God only to retreat into the familiar?  It was easier for them to accept the madness of their possessed neighbor than to accept the potential cost and disruption that would come from letting the work of God loose in their midst.  The power of God was right there in front of them and they asked it to leave town rather than bear the cost that may come with it.
          Better the devil you know, you know?
          This text is a favorite among some transitional pastors.  Part of congregational transformation is working with a church to excise those things that are dragging down its spirit and ministry; naming the legion of bad habits and old patterns that though familiar are nonetheless holding us back.  Part of letting go of those old habits is understanding that they may take something or someone valuable with them when they go. 
          When we allow God to chase out the forces of anxiety about the future, it may just rob us of the illusion of control.
          When we allow God to cast out the power of “we always did it that way,” it may just take the ease of stale but familiar ministry with it.
          When we allow God to exorcise our reliance on the same small group of volunteers to do everything, it may just cost us a little of our own time to make the ministries of the church thrive.
          The work of God in our midst comes with a cost.  The question that confronts us- that confronted the Gerasene community in Luke’s gospel- is whether or not we are willing to give a little of the familiar to make room for the divine. 
          Can we let go the devil we know to make room for the blessing we do not?
          That day on the lakeshore, a Gerasene man experienced what I think Luke wants us all to know; when we allow God to work in our midst, it may be frightening, it may be costly, but it will always be worth it.
          God’s is a disruptive power but it is God’s and God is gracious, generous, loving and merciful.  I don’t know about you, but I could use a disruption like that in my life.  Even if it means losing a few pigs along the way.

          Sola Deo Gloria!  To God alone be the glory!  Amen.