A pastor friend of mine once told me a story of his early days in ministry.  He was the pastor of a small rural church, and many in that community just expected each other to attend church on Sunday.  After worship one Sunday, the pastor was driving home when he passed by the home of a church member, who was out in his yard pruning his bushes.  The pastor stopped, rolled down the window, and remarked, “We sure would have loved to have you in church today.”  The man replied, “I would have loved to be there, but you know, when the ox is in the ditch…”  He then went back to his pruning.

The man was referring to Luke 14:5, which echoes concerns about the Sabbath that we see in this reading from one chapter before.  The notion is that some emergencies require work to be done on the Sabbath.  Now, whether pruning one’s bushes qualifies as an emergency is up for debate, but it’s clear that Jesus lived in a world in which a great deal of attention was given to the custom of observing the Sabbath.  Most people living in first century Palestine would have been familiar with the fourth commandment: “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.”  As we can see from the aforementioned texts from Luke’s gospel, there was some disagreement over what this “remembering” and “keeping” was to be.

The small community in which my pastor friend began his ministry had a certain Pharasaic quality to its observance of the Sabbath.  The Sabbath meant going to church, and if anyone in the community chose not to attend, then high-horsed churchgoers would be free to wag their fingers in the faces at them while giving a speech about what they were expected to do on the Lord’s Day.  The Pharisees butted heads with Jesus precisely over this expectation.  In their radical adherence to the “jot and tittle” of the law, they became the moral and ceremonial watchdogs of the community.  Jesus’ responses to them show us that Sabbath-keeping isn’t really about wagging one’s finger at the non-churchgoers, but something else entirely.

Consider the unmistakable language of bondage and freedom that pervades this text.  The woman comes to Jesus “bent over and unable to stand”.  The image is of someone weighed down and crippled by some burden.  Jesus heals her by proclaiming, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.”  She then stands up straight, as if a weight pressing down upon her has been removed.  When the leader of the synagogue challenges Jesus, he replies, “You hypocrites!  Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?”

The language of bondage and freedom is not accidental.  Rather than observing the Sabbath as some moral obligation that shackles the people, Jesus uses it as an occasion to set the people free!  It’s been said that Jesus came not to polish our chains, but to set us free.  That’s the message of this text, and it has clear implications on our observance of the sabbath day.

When I look out over the pews on Sunday morning, I undoubtedly see the faces of at least some who feel obligated to be there.  Some have come to church simply because it is their sabbath duty, and they will also be the ones chastising others for not attending.  However, we make a mistake when we assume that everyone approaches the Sabbath with that mindset.  The truth is that everyone who c0mes to church – even those who feel compelled to be their against their will! – come as people in need.  They come carrying heavy burdens, weighed down by the baggage of life.  They come as people who have stooped under life’s pressure for so long that they have forgotten what it feels like to stand up, to lift their heads high, to walk straight as unencumbered people.  In other words, we all forget what it feels like to be free.  We have to be reminded.

We are not unlike the crippled woman who came to Jesus, stooped and burdened.  Jesus healed her by setting her free.  She stood straight.  Now of course, she’ll depart from him and once again be assailed by the burdens of life.  She slowly come to take on more pressure, more pain, more weight, until she may even begin to bend.  But in that moment she may well remember the one who set her free, and perhaps she’ll stand a little straighter, or feel the pressures of life lessen a bit.  She’ll be reminded that she now walks as a free woman.

That’s what Sabbath is for us.  Though we may not be able to escape from the pressures that weigh us down, we may nevertheless be reminded each time we gather that we walk as free people.  Perhaps our burdens will lessen, and in that moment we’ll remember the one who set us free.

And we’ll rejoice at all the wonderful things he is doing.

* * * * *

First Look is a weekly commentary on the upcoming gospel lectionary text, written by Rev. Lee A. Koontz.  It is usually published on Mondays.

Text: Luke 12:13-21

Last year, an article entitled “We Don’t Need Another Superhero” appeared in the Wall Street Journal, and in it media critic James Bowman noted the flood of superhero movies that have been released since September 11, 2001. (The Wall Street Journal, August 11, 2006.)  In the six years following that horrible day there were nearly thirty movies about superheroes in our theaters, with more in the works.  There have been three Superman movies, three X-Men movies, as well as Batman Begins, The Fantastic Four, The Hulk, and others – the list goes on and on.  Most people would agree that it’s no accident that this flood of superhero movies has occurred during a time when insecurity defines our culture.  Life doesn’t seem quite as secure as it once did.  There was a time when we didn’t have to worry about terrorist attacks or factions of people who make it their mission to kill Americans.

Just last week my family and I were on vacation in Maryland.  On our way up there we noticed electronic signs on the Washington, D.C. beltway urging people to report any suspicious activities.  Those signs are relatively recent additions to the Washington landscape.  The news is full of updates on the strength of Al Qaeda or the increasing power of the Taliban.  And of course, there are other reminders of our insecurity as well.  Daily the headlines offer us reminders of how quickly life can go from normalcy to tragedy.  And certainly if the last few weeks of life in our own congregation have taught us anything, it’s that death is very much a part of life.  That’s something that we all face.  It’s part of being human.  A very natural response to all this is the intense desire to feel secure again.

Maybe that’s why superheroes have been so popular in the last several years.  We gain some comfort and hope seeing the story of someone who is larger than life, super-sized, able to rise above the insecurities of this world and somehow make life secure again.  The creation of Superman is a fascinating example of this.  Superman was created by Jerry Siegel during a time in his life of intense helplessness.  His father had been shot and killed and the police never found the murderer.  Siegel never talked much about his father’s death.  What he did was create in his mind a bullet-proof father who could not be killed, and would go about the world restraining evil and defeating death.  If he could not bring justice to his father, he would create a world in which justice was secured by an invulnerable, super-sized hero.  Superman arose out of the almost universal desire to have security and protection in the face of insecurity and death.  Don’t we all have that desire to be secure in this world of insecurity?

Theologian Reinhold Niebuhr went so far as to say that human nature was paradoxical.  On the one hand, we are immersed in nature and subject to all of its perils, including death.  But on the other hand, human beings have the ability to transcend nature and ponder not only our finitude and the reality of death but also how we might respond to it. (Reinhold Niebuhr, The Nature and Destiny of Man (New York 1941), p. 182.)  We are bound by our limited human nature, our finitude, but at the same time we are free to respond to the perils of life on earth in any way we choose.  That, I believe, is what Jesus’ parable of the rich fool is really about.  It’s about how to respond to insecurity, finitude, and death.

At first glance the parable of the rich fool seems to be a simple parable about greed.  Jesus is interrupted by a man who wants help in acquiring half of his family’s inheritance.  Presumably this man has an older brother who is due to receive the entire family inheritance (that’s the way things worked back then), and we can assume that the older brother has just gotten the inheritance because the father of these two sons has just died.  The younger son’s desire to have half of the inheritance isn’t just greed for the sake of having more stuff – it’s a response to the reality of death.  This man’s father has just died.  He’s the younger son and stands to get nothing.  Suddenly, his life has become insecure.  In response to this, he is attempting to make security for himself through obtaining possessions.

Now I know that may seem like reading a lot into the text, but consider the parable itself.  There’s a wealthy landowner whose crops produce abundantly, so abundantly in fact that he doesn’t have room to store it all.  In that day and age famine could hit without warning and set in for years, putting everyone’s lives at risk.  So this landowner does a very prudent thing – he super-sizes his barns so that he can store his bumper crop and thereby secure his future against the threat of famine.  If we’re honest with ourselves, we will admit that’s probably what any of us would do.  We would invest in our future and try to secure our lives for as long as we can.  But just when the landowner has done this, his time is up.  “This very night,” God says, “your life is being demanded of you.  And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?”  His attempt to secure his own future is ruined by the very thing that he hopes to avoid by storing up all his grain – death.  It’s a sad story less about greed and more about how to live when life becomes insecure.

This is a universal human situation.  When life is insecure, we seek security.  Sometimes our desire for security is so strong that it leads us to relentlessly search for the one thing that will make life secure again.  We may find ourselves storing up possessions, barricading ourselves with ‘stuff’.  We may place our hopes for security or happiness upon one person or thing that we keep at the center of our lives.  As long as we have that one person or have that one thing, we may feel secure and happy for a time.  But ultimately that will fail and we will find ourselves searching for something else that will fill the void and quench our desire to be secure.

Do you remember that scene in the movie, “Jaws” when they catch and kill a huge shark, then cut it open to see what it’s eaten?  Out of the stomach comes a bunch of half-eaten fish, an old tire, some bones, a piece of a boat, a clock, and a license plate.  Great white sharks are known for being voracious and very indiscriminant eaters, sort of like us when we relentlessly search for one life solution after another.  We are hungry people looking for wholeness and security.  We try to fashion these things out of our possessions but that doesn’t work; we’re still hungry.  We try to find fulfillment in work or faulty relationships, in this product or that drug, in super-sized versions of things we don’t need.  But we don’t find it.  We consume and possess things indiscriminately, relentlessly grabbing for this and that, hoping to insulate ourselves from our limitations, our insecurities, and our fears.  We try to be content with that which never satisfies.  And so we are left yearning for more.

That is the literal meaning of the Greek word that Jesus uses and we translate as “greed”.  It means yearning for more.  A better English word for it might be avarice, the insatiable desire for more.  Luke, by situating the parable of the rich fool right in the middle of Jesus’ predictions of his own death and the plots to kill him, connects this universal human desire for more with universal human insecurity and fear of death.  Luke knows that living in an age of insecurity increases certain temptations, namely the desire to regain our security even if it means fashioning it ourselves.  He also knows that such a response is doomed to fail us, and it just might be at odds with the good news of the gospel.

Leading up to the year 2000 and this new millennium, some Christians were focusing solely on insecurity.  They expected a catastrophe, the coming of the Antichrist, and on the advice of their pastors they stocked their Y2K shelters with rice and beans, portable generators and ammunition.  Never mind that this fear was totally contrary to the gospel, which promises that God looks after the sparrows and the lilies of the field and yes, even more so we human beings.  Never mind that hoarding food supplies and guarding them with guns was totally at odds with the gospel.  If that time was notable for anything, it was that in some places, Christians themselves had become anti-Christians. (The Christian Century, July 27, 2004, p. 20.)

Jesus, immediately after the parable of the rich fool, says,“Do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear.  For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing.  Can any of you by worrying about these things add a single hour to your life?  If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about the rest?  Do not keep striving for what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not keep worrying.  For it is the nations of the world that strive after all these things, and your Father knows that you need them. Instead, strive for his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.  Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.  Sell your possessions, and give to the poor.  Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys.”

Jesus speaks these words even as he approaches Jerusalem, the place where prophets go to die.  Jesus speaks these words even as the scribes and Pharisees plot to kill him.  How could he say those things knowing that death for him was right around the corner?

Jesus knew, more so than we ever will, that God alone is Lord of both our lives and our deaths.  He knew that true security, true fulfillment, true life can only be found through trust in God.  Of course, following Jesus and trusting in God doesn’t mean that you won’t die.  It also doesn’t mean that you won’t come face to face with some super-sized problems during your time in this world.  What it does mean is that even when life is insecure and the threat of death is all too real, we can nevertheless affirm that the God who created and redeems the world is the God who was, is, and always will be.  Even those things that threaten our security and our lives are situated in the dominion of our faithful God.  This is the super-sized good news of the gospel: We belong not to ourselves, but to God…  who is infinite, all-powerful, larger than life and larger than death.  To God, who is gracious.  Loving.  Secure.

Thanks be to God.  Amen.

This sermon was written by Rev. Lee A. Koontz.  All rights reserved.

So, as Jesus tells us, a man was traveling this road alone and sure enough, the thieves got him and left him “half dead” on the side of the road.  A priest and a Levite, both of whom were holy men, walk right by the dying victim.  They sound evil, but it’s not as if the priest and the Levite were simply bad people.  They had legitimate reasons for acting as they did.  Any contact with blood or a dead body would have rendered them unclean according to their purity laws.  No one who was “unclean” could enter the holy places of the temple.  So, walking over and touching this dying or dead man, even just to see if he was alive, was out of the question.  It would have disqualified them from their religious duties.

Believe it or not, we’re not so different from them.  Several years ago a group of researchers conducted an experiment in which seminary students were each told that they had been selected to help record a talk about the Good Samaritan.  The problem was that the recording was to be done in a building all the way across campus, and because of a tight schedule they would have to hurry to get there.  On the path to the other building the researchers had planted an actor playing a sick homeless man slumped in an alley, coughing and suffering.  The excited students each hurried across campus for their important assignment, and as it turned out, almost none of them turned out to actually be Good Samaritans.  Almost all of them hurried past the suffering man.  One student even stepped over the man’s body as he rushed across campus to teach about the parable of the Good Samaritan! (Darley, J. M., and Batson, C.D., “From Jerusalem to Jericho: A study of Situational and Dispositional Variables in Helping Behavior”. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 1973, 27, 100-108.)

The seminary students, of course, were not bad people.  They were just human.  Like the priest and the Levite, they simply had other priorities that kept them from acting with compassion.  Knowing the right thing to do and actually doing the right thing are two completely different things.  For instance we all value compassion.  Very few of us, however, actually act compassionately to those in need when given the chance.

That’s what sets the Good Samaritan apart.  He had plenty of reasons to do as the priest and Levite did, passing by on the other side of the road.  He was traveling the ‘Bloody Way’ and needed to get to his destination as soon as he could.  The dying man could have been a trap used to lure him into an ambush by thieves.  Any number of things could have gotten in the way of his compassion…  but for some reason, they didn’t.  He did the unthinkable.  He stopped, putting himself at risk.  He touched the man and bandaged his wounds, rendering himself unclean.  He put him on his own horse, slowing his journey on the treacherous road.  He took him to an inn and cared for him, devoting more of his precious travel time.  He paid the innkeeper to take care of him indefinitely, likely costing him a fortune.  Remarkably, none of these things got in the way of his compassion.

I’m reminded of an astonishing incident that happened this past winter in New York City.  A construction worker named Wesley Autrey was standing on a subway platform with his two young daughters, waiting on a train.  Suddenly another man on the platform suffered a seizure and fell down onto the subway tracks just as a rapidly approaching train neared the platform.  With no thought for himself, Autrey jumped down onto the tracks to rescue the man by dragging him out of the way of the train.  But he immediately realized that the train was coming too fast and there wasn’t time to pull the man off the tracks.  So Autrey pressed the man into the low place between the rails and spread his own body over him to protect him as the train arrived. The train cleared Autrey by mere inches, and actually left grease marks on his cap.

Immediately, Wesley Autrey became a national hero.  People were astonished by his bravery and his selflessness.  He had no real reason to help this stranger.  He didn’t know the man.  He had two young daughters.  What he did was a severe risk to his own life.  But a human being was in desperate need and, moved with compassion, Autrey did what he could to save him.  He was dubbed “The Subway Superman” and the headline in one newspaper described Autrey in biblical terms.  It read, “Good Samaritan Saves Man on Subway Tracks.” (Newsday, January 2, 2007.)

The actions of Good Samaritans are so remarkable because they are so far beyond what most of us would do.  Like the priest and the Levite and the seminary student guinea pigs, each of us would probably find ourselves passing by on the other side of the road, or staring down in horror at the man who fell on the tracks.  It is simply not in our nature to forget ourselves and risk everything for a stranger. We can’t simply decide to move ourselves to compassion.  Something has to move us.

That, I think, is what Jesus’ parable is really all about.  Jesus isn’t simply telling the lawyer to go imitate good works.  If Jesus merely wants us to go out and do as the Good Samaritan did, then we’re in trouble.  Almost certainly, none of us can do it.  None of us can simply decide to move ourselves to that level of compassion and selflessness.  Though we may know the right thing to do in any given situation, there’s no guarantee that we would actually do it.  Being a Good Samaritan takes more than a change of mind.  It takes a change of heart.

I wonder what brought about that change of heart in the Good Samaritan.  I wonder what changed Wesley Autrey into a man who would risk his life for a stranger.  I wonder what changes any of us from priests and Levites into Good Samaritans.  Considering Jesus’ parable, the answer might lie in the victim who is attacked and left for dead.  Does he seem familiar to you?  We know that he’s come from a very high place to a very low place.  He’s risking suffering and death to get there, and he’s eventually stripped, beaten, and left dying.  His suffering is even ignored by the religious leaders of the day.  There’s something vaguely Christ-like about him.

If you think about it, he is the Christ-figure of the story.  For ages Christians have seen Christ in the compassionate self-sacrifice of the Good Samaritan, but shouldn’t we see Christ in the one suffering as well?  Jesus did teach that whatsoever we do to the least of these, we do to Jesus himself.  Are we not called to recognize the face of Christ in the poor, the needy, the outcast, and the lowly?  We may not be able to force ourselves to act with compassion, but we can at the very least open ourselves up to the possibility that Christ is in every lowly, needy, or suffering person we meet.  We can seek to put ourselves in contact with more and more people who are living in need.  We can be friends to those in low places.  This has been the calling of the Church from the very beginning.

In the days of ancient Rome, unwanted children were frequently abandoned somewhere in the wilderness, exposed to the elements so that they would die quickly.  This happened primarily with female children, who were not as valuable to the family as male children.  One of the earliest ministries of the church was to find these children, to nurse them back to health, and to raise them as their own.  When the plagues spread through Europe the church ministered to those who were dying from the diseases.  Even though people in the church died from catching those diseases, they would still care for those who were sick.  In the Middle Ages hospitals arose primarily from Christian churches.  Orphanages and schools for women were built around the world as Protestant missionaries met needy people in countries they visited.  Again and again churches had compassion on the weak, the needy, the outcast, and the lowly.

Where do these kinds of things come from?  I don’t think they come from just trying to imitate the works of the Good Samaritan.  They come from something deeper.  They come from God.  God’s compassion for us makes us compassionate.  God’s love for us makes us more loving to others.  Compassion is not simply something we can imitate.  Compassion awakens within us when we see the face of Christ himself in those who suffer.  We have compassion because our hearts have been changed by good news:  God came down to us.  God lived among us and shared our pain and our suffering.  God loves us, not by remaining far off in high places, but by being a friend to those in low places.

Can we go and do likewise?

* * * * *

This sermon was written by Rev. Lee A. Koontz.

“Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me.”

The seventy returned with joy, saying, “Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!”  He said to them, “I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning.  See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you.  Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”

Jesus’ sending of the seventy (which appears only in Luke) is full of symbolic language.  The number 70, for instance, was likely a connected with Genesis 10, in which 70 nations are named.  It is implied here that Jesus sends the seventy to cover the entire known world at the time, including hostile nations as well as hated ones.  For this reason Jesus tells the seventy that they are to be “sheep in the midst of wolves.”

Jesus also instructs them to eat whatever is placed before them, which obviously wouldn’t be a concern had the seventy been sent out to other predominantly Jewish regions who ate the same things that they did!  Implied here is that the pairs Jesus sends out will find themselves at table with pagans and gentiles, and in those instances they are to enjoy the food (and fellowship) of their foreign hosts.

Thirdly, this text is infused with eschatological imagery.  Jesus speaks in terms of harvest time, the moment just before the fields are gleaned so that the grain can be separated from the chaff.  It is understood that the seventy are to be laborers in this harvest, proclaiming words of peace initially, but then delivering their primary message: “The Kingdom of God has come near to you!”  And that, I think, is really the point of this passage.

If Jesus’ sending of the seventy is a function of God’s Kingdom realized in Jesus Christ himself, then God’s Kingdom is exhibited in things like hospitality, outreach to strangers, compassionate healing, the proclamation of peace, and the ultimate sharing of good news.  All to often today, we maintain inward-focused programs in our churches.  We are far more concerned with what happens inside our walls than with what’s going on outside them.  It’s the church members who get the attention rather than the surrounding community.  Here in Luke 10, we see a different way of doing things.  We also see a blueprint of sorts for the “missional” church.

If you aren’t familiar with the concept of the missional church, here’s a short video that attempts to explain it:

Secondly, if you have some time, here’s Michael Frost’s excellent presentation on what it means to be missional:

If we take this text from Luke 10 seriously, then we’ll see the importance of sending.  Being a church isn’t simply a matter of “if you build it, they will come”.  There are plenty of churches that have been built, but no one is coming!  We must learn to rethink church, and see it as a place from which people are sent into the surrounding community and the world with a mission: proclaiming peace, sharing hospitality, and telling the good news of the nearness of God’s Kingdom.  I often wonder how many mainline churches see the community that surrounds them as a mission field.

Perhaps we’re missing how near the Kingdom really is.

* * * * *

First Look is a weekly commentary on the upcoming lectionary gospel text written by Rev. Lee A. Koontz.  It is usually published on Mondays.

Text: Luke 9:57-62

Many of you will recall a worship service in which I quoted a pastor who said, “The Word of God should comfort us when we are troubled, and trouble us when we are comfortable.”  All of us experience times when we read scripture and think, “Gee, I thought this was supposed to be the good news!”  There are plenty of times that scripture seems like not-so-good news, and you may already have realized that our scripture reading from the Gospel of Luke this morning is one of those troubling passages.  I don’t know about you, but whenever I hear Jesus tell that poor man that he can’t even go bury his father before joining him, I think it sounds a bit harsh.  I find myself pleading on the man’s behalf, saying, “Come on, Jesus, give the guy a break!”  What’s wrong with wanting to go bury your father before meeting up with Jesus somewhere down the road?  Likewise, the first person that comes up to Jesus seems very enthusiastic about following him.  You would think that Jesus would be happy to have some more company on his way to Jerusalem, but instead he says, “Wait a minute!  You should know that following me is no picnic!  Foxes have holes, and birds have nests, but I don’t have any place to lay my head.”  Lastly, there is the man who wants to follow Jesus, but also wants to go say goodbye to his family first.  Jesus finds this unacceptable, essentially telling the man that it is now or never.  Once you decide to follow Jesus, there is no looking back.

It’s been said that Jesus wouldn’t last two weeks as the pastor of a church.  If that’s true, then this scripture reading must be a very good example of why Jesus would be out on the street instead of living in the manse.  His words to these three would-be disciples are less than welcoming.  Instead of greeting them he warns them.  Instead of welcoming them into the number of disciples who follow him, he seems content to turn them away.  Instead of promising security and happiness, he promises uncertainty, and the opportunity to persevere.  This isn’t exactly a model that would be called ‘successful’ in today’s growth-oriented churches.

In so many churches today, there is such a great emphasis on increasing membership, and that’s not a bad thing.  We want to share the love of Christ with as many people as possible through the church.  Sometimes, however, this is accomplished by presenting a version of Christian faith that is sterile and non-invasive.  It is a faith that fits nicely into our schedules.  It doesn’t threaten us or challenge our daily obligations.  It doesn’t intrude where it isn’t wanted.  It comes in easily-managed bite-sized pieces that are secure and comfortable.  As we all know, people are more likely to go where they are comfortable (or, in churches that serve breakfast, where there are eggs and bacon).  It seems in many cases that if you want to increase membership in a church, you do the exact opposite of what Jesus does to these three potential disciples.

One pastor once wrote in an article:  “I often visit newcomers in town and find them to be church shopping. They want to know what they can get out of church.  Churches are one more consumer commodity. Worship services are not a place for us to serve God and neighbor but a place where people expect to purchase the best: Inspiring worship, good music, moving sermons, quality child care. As if we buy God and not vice versa.”

Why are we here this morning?  What is it that brought us to church in the first place?  Are we here to be inspired by the music?  Are we here to hear a good sermon?  Are we here to be entertained?  Are we here for the child care, or the breakfast, or something else?  Why are we here?  In light of our troubling scripture this morning, we might answer that we are all here to follow Christ, just like those three would-be disciples.  “Jesus!” we say, “We will follow you wherever you go!”  However, as our reading shows, following Christ is easier said than done.  It would be easier just to come here for the eggs and bacon.

Jesus says, “You want to be a disciple?  Let me tell you what that means.  It won’t be comfortable.  It won’t be easy.  Security is not guaranteed.  Foxes have holes and birds have nests, but if you follow me, we very well may not have any place to stay.”

Jesus says, “You want to be a disciple?  Let me tell you what that means.  If you follow me, you will do what I say to do, not what society says is proper.”  The man who wants to go bury his father is concerned with fulfilling the obligations of the societal law.  At the time, it was the obligation of the family to bury anyone who dies.  In this instance, the law gets in the way of his following Jesus.  Jesus certainly wouldn’t think there is anything wrong with the man burying his father.  The trouble is that his obligation to this law gets in the way of his following Christ.  True discipleship isn’t convenient, nor does it operate according to the convention of society’s laws.

Jesus says, “You want to be a disciple?  Let me tell you what that means.  Discipleship does not come on your terms.  It comes on my terms.”  The third would-be disciple wants to follow Jesus, but he insists on his own terms.  He wants to follow, but on the condition that he be allowed to say goodbye to his family.  Once again, Jesus wouldn’t think there is anything wrong with saying goodbye to one’s family, but in this case it gets in the way of following Christ.  Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German pastor who opposed Hitler and was put to death at the concentration camp in Flossenburg, Germany, wrote:

“The trouble about this third would-be disciple is that at the very moment he expresses his willingness to follow, he ceases to want to follow at all.  By making his offer on his own terms, he alters the whole position, for discipleship can tolerate no conditions which might come between Jesus and our obedience to him.”  Jesus never told us that we should choose between him and the devil…  that would be too easy!  Instead, Jesus says that we must choose between him and those we love.  If the ones you love get in the way of following Christ, choose Christ instead.

Have we really come here this morning to choose Christ?  Do we truly come here to be disciples, or do things get in the way?  Are we really going to walk with Jesus step by step towards Jerusalem?  Or do we want faith on our own terms?  Are we here to be completely claimed by God, and follow where the Lord leads us?  Or are we here to buy God, and insist upon our own way?

The reverend Fred Craddock, in an address to other ministers, spoke about discipleship in our ‘instant’ society. “To give my life for Christ appears glorious,” he said. “To pour myself out for others. . . to pay the ultimate price of martyrdom — I’ll do it. I’m ready, Lord, to go out in a blaze of glory. We think giving our all to the Lord is like taking $l,000 bill and laying it on the table– ‘Here’s my life, Lord. I’m giving it all.’ But the reality for most of us is that he sends us to the bank and has us cash in the $l,000 for quarters. We go through life putting out 25 cents here and 50 cents there. Listen to the neighbor kid’s troubles instead of saying, ‘Get lost.’ Go to a committee meeting. Give a cup of water to a shaky old man in a nursing home. Usually giving our life to Christ isn’t glorious. It’s done in all those little acts of love, 25 cents at a time. It would be easy to go out in a flash of glory; it’s harder to live the Christian life little by little over the long haul.” (Leadership, Fall 1984)

It’s harder to live Christian life little by little over the long haul, but that is precisely the kind of Christian life that following Christ will mean.  Jesus does not want disciples who think discipleship is like throwing down a one-thousand dollar bill in a blaze of glory.  To them he says, “You better know what you are getting yourself into.  Foxes have holes, and birds have nests, but life with me won’t be so luxurious.”

Jesus does not want disciples who insist on their own way.  That isn’t discipleship; it is self-righteousness.  Jesus wants disciples who will follow where he leads, spending twenty-five cents here and fifty cents there in service to others.  Jesus wants to set us free from our self-sufficiency.  He wants to set us free from all the things that get in the way of following him.  He wants to set us free from our insistence on our own way, and instead follow him on his way.  At first glance, it might appear that Jesus is turning away disciples right and left with harsh words, but in reality he is telling them how they can be free.

That is what keeps this passage from being so troubling and terrifying that we close our Bibles and never open them again.  In this passage we hear the good news:  It is the call of Christ: Come, and follow me!  Don’t let anything get in your way!

Maybe Jesus knows what he is doing after all.  Maybe what draws us here together time and time again is not entertainment, or good sermons, or inspiring music, or even eggs and bacon.  Maybe we are here because following Jesus gives us the promise of a new life of freedom.  Little by little – twenty-five cents here, fifty cents there – we can cultivate a life of faithful service over the long haul, and be part of something much bigger than ourselves.  Maybe we are here to be set free from everything that would stand in the way of following Jesus, and living a life of discipleship.  We may recall here the words of the apostle Paul:  “For freedom Christ has set us free.  You were called to freedom, brothers and sisters, only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one-another.”

Eugene Peterson, author of a translation of the Bible known as The Message also wrote a book on discipleship called, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction.  In it, he writes that in Christian life, we all live a transition from oppression, to freedom, to a new servitude.  By following Christ we use our freedom most appropriately, by living under the lordship of a merciful God, and by giving ourselves completely in God’s service.  Peterson writes, “I have never yet heard a servant Christian complain about the oppressiveness of his servitude.  I have never yet heard a servant Christian rail against the restrictions of her service.  A servant Christian is the freest person on earth.”

Now that is good news!

May God bless Christian disciples all over the world with the freedom of service.

Thanks be to God.

* * * * *

This sermon was written by Rev. Lee A. Koontz.

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.”  And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”  To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.”  But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”  Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.”  Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

Note: My sermon on verses 57-62 of this passage can be found here.

Jews and Samaritans did not get along.  In fact, they openly despised each other, and a Jew could be considered unclean just by passing into Samaritan territory.  Considering the pervasive hatred between the two groups, it is astonishing that Jesus decided to enter a Samaritan village in the first place.  It was not a convenient stop on the road to Jerusalem, yet Jesus goes out of his way to contact the hated Samaritans living there.  That he is denied entry “because his face is set toward Jerusalem” is significant.  It speaks to the Samaritans’ own hatred for the center of Jewish religious practice, as well as their suspicion of Jesus, a Jew, coming so far out of his way to see them.

I’ve always found something a bit humorous about the disciples asking Jesus if they should command fire to come down from heaven and consume the Samaritans.  Who, exactly, do they think they are?  Do they seriously believe that they could do such a thing?  Their question is undoubtedly born not just out of their hatred for the Samaritans, but their misguided understanding about what it means to be a disciple of Jesus.  They obviously seem to understand that following Jesus gives them some sort of divine power, which they could use to smite whomever they wish.  They do not yet understand the power or the scope of Jesus’ ministry.  But the time will come.  They will eventually see that Jesus’ power lies in sacrifice and self-giving love.  They will eventually see that Jesus’ ministry is for all kinds of people – even Samaritans.

The theme of the disciples’ misunderstanding continues into the second half of this passage.  Seemingly eager to follow Jesus wherever he goes, someone tells Jesus that he will follow him wherever he goes.  Jesus simply issues a warning that following him won’t exactly be a picnic.  He has no permanent home, and travels from place to place (even Samaritan villages!) to proclaim the good news.  Jesus speaks about two would-be followers who seem just as eager to follow, yet they want to follow on their terms, not his.  There is a qualifying “but” in each of their statements.  I want to follow you… but I need to go bury my father.  I want to follow you…  but I need to go say goodbye first.

It seems a bit harsh that Jesus would instruct someone not to go bury their father, or say goodbye to their own family, but he makes a demanding point by doing so.  The fact is that for those who would follow Jesus, nothing must get in the way.  Following Jesus required the ultimate sacrifice and the ultimate commitment.  Anyone who lets death or even family get in the way of their discipleship compromises the work of God’s kingdom.

Of course, there is more disciple in us than there is Christ, so we will undoubtedly find ourselves playing the role of misunderstanding follower.  There will be times when we look to those who will not receive us or Jesus with hatred and contempt.  Still, Jesus teaches us another way.  There will be times when we seem eager to follow Jesus, but let the demands of life get in the way of our service and commitment.  Still, Jesus teaches us another way.

We can only hope and pray that as the journey of our discipleship continues from day to day, we will gradually exhibit more tolerance than hatred, and more commitment than selfishness.

* * * * *

First Look is a weekly commentary on the upcoming lectionary gospel text written by Rev. Lee A. Koontz.  It is usually published on Mondays.

Here we have two great crowds meeting at the town gate, each symbolizing opposing forces.  Coming out of the town we see a great crowd of mourners, following a widow woman who has just lost her son.  They carry him through the gate on a funeral bier, and according to custom would have held him high into the air, crying loudly and vocalizing their grief in a chaotic mass of wailing and tears.  It was the loud, unmistakable sound of human suffering and grief.  It was death.

Coming into the town we see Jesus, accompanied by his disciples and a great crowd of people who had just heard Jesus heal a centurion’s slave at Capernaum (Luke 7:1-10).  It is unlikely that these witnesses with who Jesus walked carried the clamor and chaos of a funeral procession.  No, they had witnessed the joy of healing and restoration.  They had seen the remarkable faith of the centurion and his love for his slave first hand.  This crowd was a celebratory one.  It was the steady, persistent march of renewal.  It was life.

At the gate the two collided.  Jesus, moved deeply by the widow’s sorrow, tells her not to cry.  He touches the bier and tells the dead man to rise.  The dead man sits up and speaks!  he is restored!  Death has given way to life!  A new cry sounds from the gathered witnesses: “A great prophet has risen among us! God has looked favorably on his people!”  Those who once proclaimed the finality and sorrow of death now proclaim the arrival of Jesus and his grace, compassion, and love.  They say he “has risen”, unknowingly pointing ahead to his own victory of life over death.  Risen, indeed.

This isn’t a terribly comfortable picture of God, here.  All too often we think of God as some far-off, dispassionate other, who is perfect but maintains that perfection through lack of emotion.  We assume that God’s knowledge of all events, past, present, and future, render God unaffected by the events occurring in the world.  We remove from God what we believe makes us weak and changeable: emotion.

Yet, in this text this God in Jesus Christ reminds us of God’s involvement in our joys and sorrows.  Rather than remain far-off, unmoved by our suffering, God joins us in it.  Jesus was “moved to the depths of his being”, and we can infer that God is no less moved by our suffering than Jesus was.  Ours is a God who meets us in our suffering, speaks a word of comfort in the midst of the struggle, and finally shows us the once-and-for-all victory of life over death.

The Apostle Paul said it this way:

We do not live to ourselves, and we do not die to ourselves.  If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.  For to this end Christ died and lived again, so that he might be Lord of both the dead and the living.

And that’s the thing.  As we see these two opposing groups meet at Nain’s town gate, we can be confident that Jesus is Lord of both!

* * * * *

First Look is a weekly commentary on the upcoming lectionary gospel text written by Rev. Lee A. Koontz.  It is usually published on Mondays.

These three verses, which appear in the Lectionary for Trinity Sunday, form a short passage in which we see the three “persons” of the Trinity: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  While this text clearly is not a theological treatise on the Doctrine of the Trinity, it nevertheless presents us with a glimpse of that mystery by which we understand how God relates to us.

Some Christians have a difficult time understanding the Doctrine of the Trinity, which in pure mathematical terms makes no sense.  How can one equal three and vice versa?  Ever since the Council of Chalcedon declared that God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit are united in one substance and in one single person (εἰς ἓν πρόσωπον καὶ μίαν ὑπόστασιν, eis hen prosopon kai mian hupostasin) we’ve had a mathematical problem on our hands.  As a result, the inner workings of our trinitarian God remain hard to pin down.

But you know what?  Maybe that’s the point.

Speaking of God

I’ve taught many classes on Christian doctrine, all of which eventually contained some discussion of the Trinity.  It can be a difficult thing to express in simple terms, and even the best metaphors don’t quite clear things up.  For instance, I’ve often used the metaphor of familial relationship to help people gain a better understanding of the Trinity.  I am presently understood as a father to my two boys, as well as a son to my parents and a husband to my wife.  I am father, son, and husband.  My relating to my family in these three fundamentally different ways, however, doesn’t mean that I’ve undergone some division of self.  I’m still me.  I still exist as one person in three definite roles.  This metaphor can help Christians better understand how one can equal three, but it still falls short of explaining our trinitiarian God.  The “three” of which we speak when we discuss the trinity means three persons, not three roles, and it’s inadequate to speak of God in a way that suggests that God simply changes hats when relating to us as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Another way I’ve tried to shed some light on the notion of a trinitarian God is through the image of an alloy.  We might take three different metals and solidify them together into one concrete structure while the properties of each metal are retained.  Still, this image doesn’t exactly bear the full weight of God’s relationship to us.  How are we ever going to figure this thing out?

It helps, I think, to recognize that trinitarian language is necessarily poetic.  We must approach the Doctrine of the Trinity with the understanding that the thing that it describes – God – cannot be adequately described in linguistic terms.  The infinite cannot be contained within the finite.  As a result, even our best language about who God is leaves something unsaid, precisely because we lack the words to say it.  There remains a mystery of God which we are unable to comprehend or describe in the language we speak.  The best we can do is render some kind of poetic description, and this is precisely what the doctrine of the Trinity is.  It’s not meant to be a full exposition of God’s self, but a symbolic description of how God relates to us in God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  It’s not perfect, but it’s the best we can do.

In a Mirror Dimly?

The Apostle Paul famously wrote, “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.” It’s a beautiful way of expressing the limits of our human understanding, particularly when speaking of God.  There’s a point at which we must simply resign ourselves to the fact that we aren’t meant to understand all things.  In the gospel text above from John 16 Jesus tells his disciples, “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.” How difficult that is for us to hear!  There is still truth to be revealed, but we are not ready to hear it!  We must simply be content to live in the tension between the “already” and the “not yet”.  The reality of God in Jesus Christ has already come to us, but the fullness of God’s kingdom is not yet to be.  So too, our understanding of God is left knocking at the door of mystery, but for now the door remains closed to us.  The day will come when all will be revealed to us through God’s Spirit, but in the words of Juba from Gladiator, “Not yet…  not yet.”

Rather than perceive the ever-present reality of God’s mystery as a loss, why not perceive it as something to celebrate?  Albert Einstein wrote:

The most beautiful and deepest experience a man can have is the sense of the mysterious. It is the underlying principle of religion as well as all serious endeavour in art and science. He who never had this experience seems to me, if not dead, then at least blind. To sense that behind anything that can be experienced there is a something that our mind cannot grasp and whose beauty and sublimity reaches us only indirectly and as a feeble reflection, this is religiousness. In this sense I am religious. To me it suffices to wonder at these secrets and to attempt humbly to grasp with my mind a mere image of the lofty structure of all that there is.  (The World As I See It)

We generally do a poor job of resting in the mysterious.  There’s something about the unknown that makes us uncomfortable.  Yet, in the mysterious there lies something beautiful, something beyond our reach, something that knows us and knows all things far better than we ever could.  It is in that mystery that we live, and move, and have our being.

We call it “Father”.  We call it “Son”.  And we call it “Holy Spirit”.  We may not fully understand that of which we speak.

But that’s why we worship.

* * * * *

First Look is a weekly commentary on the upcoming gospel lectionary texts written by Rev. Lee A. Koontz.  It is usually published on Mondays.

Text: Acts 2:1-21

From the “Inspiration in the Inbox” department: Earlier this week I received an email from a church member.  It was entitled “The Safest Place” and it read:

How to stay safe in the world today:

1. Avoid riding in automobiles because they are responsible for 20% of all fatal accidents.

2. Do not stay home because 17% of all accidents occur in the home.

3. Avoid walking on streets or sidewalks because 14% of all accidents occur to pedestrians.

4. Avoid traveling by air, rail, or water because 16% of all accidents involve these forms of transportation.

5. Of the remaining 33%, 32% of all deaths occur in hospitals.  So above all else, avoid hospitals.

But…

You will be pleased to learn that only .001% of all deaths occur in worship services at church, and these are usually related to previous physical disorders.  Therefore, logic tells us that the safest place for you to be at any given moment is at church!

Isn’t it nice that there are statistics proving that church is a safe place?  After all, church should be a safe and secure place for Christian believers.  I think about all the visitors who find a place in these pews Sunday after Sunday, looking for a new church home.  In a very real way this place, this sanctuary, should be just that – a place of peace and comfort, acceptance and welcome.  Visitors should feel safe to visit and join this church.  I also think about our homeless neighbors who join us every Wednesday during the fall and winter months.  In talking to them, I’ve discovered that many of them have been to this church before and recognize it the minute they step into the Fellowship Hall for dinner.  One of them once told me, “I’ve been to this church before, and when I saw that we were coming back here tonight I was so excited.”  I was glad to hear that.  Our church should be a safe and secure place for those who have little to no safety or security.

Anne Lamott in here wonderful book Traveling Mercies tells the story of a little girl who got lost in her home town and couldn’t find her way home.  Apparently a helpful police officer saw the girl, and after asking her some questions let her get into the front seat of his patrol car so he could drive her around.  His hope was that she would eventually recognize a familiar landmark.  After a few minutes, the little girl suddenly sat straight up in the seat and said to the officer, “There’s my church.  You can let me out here.”  Shouldn’t church be like that?  Shouldn’t this or any church be a safe place for lost children and lost adults alike?

We Presbyterians have historically been quite good at safety and security in church.  We like to do things “decently and in order”.  We like non-threatening, comfortable worship services and friendly, safe people sharing the pews with us.  We excel at this, and so through most of the church year, we become accustomed to safe and secure Sunday mornings at church with no surprises.

But then comes Pentecost.

It all began with the breath of God, God’s Spirit, when it roared through that place where the disciples were gathered.  It shook the walls and rattled the doors.  It blew over tables and chairs, and made casual observers dive for cover.  Suddenly tongues of fire appeared on the head of each disciple.  Quite literally, they were on fire!  This sounds like something straight out of a science fiction movie, doesn’t it?  Some people have called Pentecost “the divine disturbance”.  I think that’s putting it lightly.  A disturbance is when a gnat flits around your head while you’re trying to read.  A disturbance is when a faucet drip… drip… drip…  in the bathroom keeps you awake.  Pentecost was not a mere disturbance.  It was all-out explosion of God’s holy power.  It was not decent.  It was not orderly.  And it was anything but safe.

That’s just how it is with God’s Holy Spirit.  You see, scripture tells us that God’s Spirit hovered over the watery void, the formless nothingness, and at the moment of creation brought order out of chaos.  You only have to read the first three verses of your Bible to see that.  God’s Spirit is well known for turning chaos into order.  But, there are plenty of other instances in the Bible and throughout history when God’s Spirit does just the opposite.  God turns order into complete chaos.  That’s the part of God’s presence that we decent and orderly folk don’t do so well with.  We’d much rather have a God who behaves, a God who does predictable and non-threatening things, a God who simply comforts us when we are afflicted.  When God suddenly turns around and afflicts us when we are comfortable, well, then we’ve got a problem.

I think for that reason God’s Holy Spirit is fairly misunderstood.  We have a pretty good idea what we mean when we speak of God as Father, and an even better idea of what we mean when we speak of God as the Son, Jesus Christ, but we have little to no idea what the Holy Spirit does.  Several months ago I got a good laugh out of reading an article I found on a satirical news website.  The headline read, “Holy Spirit Gets Laid Off”.  The article went like this:  “Calling the Holy Trinity ‘overstaffed and over budget,’ God announced plans Monday to downsize the group by slowly phasing out the Holy Ghost. ‘Given the poor economic climate and the unclear nature of the Holy Ghost’s duties, I felt this was a sensible and necessary decision,’ God said. ‘The Holy Ghost will be given fewer and fewer responsibilities until His formal resignation from Trinity duty following Easter services this year. Thereafter, the Father and the Son shall be referred to as the Holy Duo.’”  I laughed because I think many Christians wouldn’t mind seeing the Holy Spirit take a little break for a while, especially when that Holy Spirit is responsible for bursting through the windows and doors with a violent wind and tongues of fire.

Though we might rather God’s Spirit not do things like that to us, Pentecost is our yearly reminder that God’s Holy Spirit breaks into the comfort, the security, and the complacency of our lives and turns the whole joint upside down with chaotic power.  We may find ourselves wondering how the same Holy Spirit that brought order out of chaos in the Genesis creation narrative can also bring chaos out of order in the story of Pentecost.  I think the answer is pretty clear once we stop assuming that order is better for us than chaos is.  The Holy Spirit seems unconcerned with either the order or the chaos as ends in themselves, as scripture describes it.  What the Holy Spirit does is bring about a new creation.  Sometimes, as we see in the creation narrative, that means creating new order out of old chaos.  However, there are just as many instances in which God’s Holy Spirit creates a new chaos out of an old order.  It’s called renewal.  It’s called rebirth.  It’s called new life.

It’s interesting to me that Luke, who wrote both the gospel of Luke and the book of Acts, uses the word “power” here.  In the gospel, he describes Jesus telling the disciples to “stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high” (Luke 24:49).  Again in Acts, Jesus says “you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you” (Acts 1:8).  And here, in our New Testament reading for this morning, we hear that the disciples begin speaking in different languages, proclaiming God’s deeds of power.  To know what Luke means by “power” we can’t just go to a dictionary, as the definition would be too general.  Too know what Luke means by using that word we have to look at the other places he uses it.  As it turns out, Luke uses the word five times in the first two chapters of his gospel alone, and in each instance, power is connected with pregnancy and birth.  For instance, Mary is told by the angel Gabriel, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you and the power of the Most High will overshadow you” (Luke 1:35).  The power of God’s Holy Spirit is one of creation, conception, and new life.  Those in scripture who have an encounter with God’s Holy Spirit can do nothing but yield to it.  They are blown by God’s Holy wind wherever God wants them to be.  The windblown journey is the Christian life.  You don’t make demands of it.  You don’t try to establish safety and security in it.  You just go where it takes you.

How often do we really pray for God’s Holy Spirit to create something new in us?  I think more often than not, when we pray, we ask God for things that merely help maintain our safety and our security.  But Jesus called his disciples to far more than safety and security.  In fact, he told them precisely that they would not be safe.  They would not be secure.  He sent them out into the world to turn it upside down, to welcome the last as if they were the first, to treat the smallest like they were the biggest, to join the poorest as if they were the richest.  How often do we pray for God to do the same thing with us?

Christian author Shane Claiborne wrote about one of his college professors who told the class, “All around you, people will be tiptoeing through life, just to arrive at death safely.  But dear children, do not tiptoe.  Run, hop, skip, or dance, just don’t tiptoe.” (The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical, p. 225.)

Brother and sisters, Pentecost reminds us that the church should never just be a safe and secure place, by which we merely tiptoe through the Christian life to arrive safely at death.  Pray for God to create something new with you, to use you to turn the world upside-down.  Go visit the Urban Ministry Center, or the Correctional Center, or one of our area’s many hospitals, and look into the eyes of the people that Jesus called “the least of these”.  Trust God’s Holy Spirit to carry you into the lives of people in need.  William Sloane Coffin once said that “God is always beckoning us toward horizons we aren’t sure we want to reach!” (Credo, p. 146.) On Pentecost, that is particularly clear.  God’s Pentecost wind is liable to surprise you at any moment.  I can’t promise that you’ll be safe.  I can’t guarantee that you’ll feel secure.  But I can promise you – because God promises it to each of us – that you will feel God’s power, that you will experience new life, and that God will create something brand new through you, in you, around you.  That’s what church really is.

Thanks be to God.  Amen.

* * * * *

This sermon was written by Rev. Lee A. Koontz

Text: John 14:8-27

Note: My commentary on this text can be found here.

We’ve all heard the old adage that “the only thing constant in life is change.”  It’s a simple fact of life that in everything we do, we will see changes occur.  Usually these changes are minor, and we adapt to them quickly without too much trouble.  However, sometimes drastic unwanted changes occur, and we find ourselves grasping for any sense of normalcy as our world gets turned upside-down.  This can have devastating consequences if we don’t learn to adapt to our surroundings, especially when the changes occur in what is probably the one place that we always expect will stay the same: church!

The truth is, however, that churches are not immune to changes.  Pastors come and go.  New members join and old members leave.  Decisions must be made, some of which alter the landscape of our life together.  What can we say?  We change.  Church changes.  It’s just how it is.

But as it turns out, there are a lot of things we can say about change in the church.  We can remind ourselves of scripture readings that speak of change, passages like Psalm 46, which reads:

God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;
though its waters roar and foam,
though the mountains tremble with its tumult.

We can also pray together, asking God’s blessing upon us in the midst of our changing circumstances, even daring to use the prayer of Jesus himself, who prayed, “thy will be done.”

But what we usually do is just ask questions.  Sometimes change in the church reminds me of the last New Year’s Eve of the previous millennium.  Back then, there were a lot of questions as to whether or not we would survive the calendar change from 1999 to 2000.  The anxiety about the coming of the New Millennium was so memorable and vivid that it defined our culture in the weeks leading up to that date.  Maybe it’s not surprising then, that sometimes when faced with drastic change we find ourselves wondering, Will the computers around here still work? Will the Sunday School classes continue?  Will the bulletins still turn out OK?  Will people still get visited in the hospital?  Will people still show up for worship on Sunday?

Of course, these are all just silly questions, even though they do express the anxiety that all of us might be feeling.  Of course, the computers will still work.  The church won’t fall down around our ears, and we will all continue to worship here on Sunday mornings.  Life will go on no matter what:  The bulletins will be done, the visits will be made, and our Sunday School classes will keep right on going.  Life will be different here when things change, that’s for sure.  However, that doesn’t mean that life won’t be good.

Anytime we face deep change in the church we can more easily imagine what the disciples went through when Jesus finally left them.  Now this is not meant to in any way to trivialize Jesus’ departure from the disciples, but instead to underscore the point that we may be able to better relate to the disciples and their anxiety at that moment.  After all, if we are so anxious and uncertain about the changes we face, just imagine how the disciples felt when they realized they would never again see their Master and Lord!  Talk about anxiety and fear!  The disciples at that time had to make the decision to keep going forward, a decision to continue the work that Jesus had started, or else the Christian life would come to a sputtering halt like a car running out of gas.

Jesus had foreseen this, and tried to prepare them.  In our scripture reading this morning from the gospel of John, Jesus tells them, “I have said these things to you while I am still with you.  But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.  Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.  Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”  It is a measure of great comfort that Jesus describes the presence of the Holy Spirit, who is with the disciples even after Jesus departs.

Unfortunately, in many protestant churches the Holy Spirit is treated like the ‘odd man out’ of the Trinity.  We speak a lot about God, and a lot about Jesus, but the Holy Spirit doesn’t get quite as much air play.  While preparing for this morning’s service I ran across a humorous fake news article.  The headline reads, Holy Spirit Gets Laid Off.  It reads,

“Calling the Holy Trinity “overstaffed and over budget,” God announced plans Monday to downsize the group by slowly phasing out the Holy Ghost. “Given the poor economic climate and the unclear nature of the Holy Ghost’s duties, I felt this was a sensible and necessary decision,” God said. “The Holy Ghost will be given fewer and fewer responsibilities until His formal resignation from Trinity duty following Easter services this year. Thereafter, the Father and the Son shall be referred to as the Holy Duo.””

Whether you find such an article humorous or sacrilegious, there is a grain of truth in it.  We don’t really talk about the Holy Spirit as much as the other ways that we encounter God – in Jesus Christ and in God the Father.  Oftentimes, even when we read scripture, it’s easy for us to miss the Holy Spirit.  A question I like to ask people sometimes is, “Where does the Holy Spirit first appear in scripture?”  Answers to this question range from the Baptism of Jesus, to Jesus’ ascension, to Pentecost.  The correct answer is that if you begin with Genesis 1:1 and began reading, it would only take you twenty-nine words to find the Holy Spirit.  Genesis 1:2 reads, “the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while the Spirit of God swept over the face of the waters.”  Even before God has said anything or created anything, God’s Holy Spirit is there, involved in the very creation of all that is.  If you want to know what the Holy Spirit’s introduction in scripture has to do with us today, you have to start with the phrase, formless and void.

Now I have to tell you, I don’t like that phrase.  That phrase is one instance in which the English translation doesn’t preserve the poetic quality of the original Hebrew language.  The phrase formless and void is a rough translation of the Hebrew phrase, tohu’webohu.  Tohu’webohu is so wonderfully poetic because the phrase itself seems to be formless and void, little more than a jumble of letters that takes some linguistic gymnastics to pronounce.  Tohu’webohu.  To an ancient Israelite, teho’webohu meant complete chaos.  It is the complete absence of any kind of order.  You and I might think of tohu’webohu as ‘topsy-turvy’.  When you have one of those days that everything goes wrong that possibly can, you are in deep tohu’webohu.  There are instances of chaos that we all experience, when it seems like the rug has been pulled out from under us.  It seems like we’ve lost all our bearings and things around us aren’t as recognizable as they used to be, and all around us is formless and void.  We might describe these times as change or transition.  The ancient Hebrews called them tohu’webohu.

There are instances of tohu’webohu throughout scripture.  When the great flood overwhelms the earth for forty days and forty nights, the earth is in tohu’webohu.  When Jesus cries out from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” he is experiencing tohu’webohu.  And yes, when Jesus finally departs and leaves his disciples to carry on the work that he began with them, they find themselves in deep tohu’webohu.  Likewise, we have plenty of tohu’webohu in our own lives.  It’s bad news that none of us have to look too far to find tohu’webohu.  The good news is that God’s Holy Spirit specializes in dealing with it.

The Holy Spirit that brought life out of a formless void is the same Holy Spirit that Jesus speaks about to his disciples.  The Holy Spirit is with you, he says, and it will continue to create life out of your moments of tohu’webohu.  The Holy Spirit isn’t just some abstract force floating around in the cosmos like fairy dust.  It is God’s Holy Spirit, that abides in us and with us.  It is the Spirit of truth, the advocate, the comforter, the bringer of peace, and the everlasting power of God.

It has been written that power can be used in at least two ways: it can be unleashed, or it can be harnessed.  You can unleash the explosive energy in ten gallons of gasoline by throwing a lighted match on it.  You can also channel it through the engine of a car in a controlled burn and transport a person 350 miles. Explosions are spectacular, but controlled burns have lasting effect. The Holy Spirit works both ways. At Pentecost, God’s Holy Spirit exploded on the scene like “tongues of fire” (Acts 2:3).  Thousands were affected by one burst of God’s power.  But the Holy Spirit also works through the church—where God means for us to stay in it for the long haul.  Through worship, fellowship, and service, Christians are provided with a persistent driving force.  Life goes on.

Jesus reminds the disciples about the persistent power of the Holy Spirit just before his arrest and crucifixion.  He knows that they will be tested by his absence.  He knows that a number of things are about to change for them.  He knows how easy it is to be overcome by anxiety and fear, and how hard it is to realize that life goes on.  We are no different.  It’s very easy to let the anxiety and fear of change overwhelm us.  We need to be reminded from time to time that God is here with us, no matter what circumstances arise.

There is an interesting map on display in the British Museum in London.  It’s an old mariner’s chart, drawn in 1525, outlining the North American coastline and adjacent waters. The cartographer made some intriguing notations on areas of the map that represented regions not yet explored. He wrote: “Here be giants,” “Here be fiery scorpions,” and “Here be dragons.” Eventually, the map came into the possession of Sir John Franklin, a British explorer in the early 1800s. Scratching out the fearful inscriptions, he wrote these words across the map: “Here is God.”

We could easily take a copy of any church history book, with its thorough account of the church’s history, and looking back through the years write things in the page margins like, “Here be dragons”.  We actually could write “Here be persecution”, “Here be the depression”, “Here be war”, “Here be transition and change”, “Here be goodbyes”, “Here be sadness”, “Here be sickness”, and “Here be death”.

We could go through and make notes about all the dangers and difficult times that we have faced over the years, but not without also writing on the cover, ‘Here is God.”

As we look ahead, we place the future of the church in the hands of God, who does not change.  At the same time, we realize that we, as His Church, are His instruments in our community; and pray that God will continue to guide and bless our ministry together.

Change.  Growth.  Change.  It isn’t always easy.  I remember the sentiments of a longtime Elder at who lived to the ripe old age of 96.  Just before his 95th birthday, a local newspaper reporter interviewed him about all of the changes he had seen during his life.  While being asked about his church life, the reporter said to him, “I bet you’ve seen a lot of changes here.”  He replied, “Yes I have, and I’ve voted against every one.”

I’m sure we all have encountered changes that we would have voted against if we could.  The changes that we face may not be what we desire.  But even when it feels like the world has gone topsy-turvy and we are knee-deep in tohu’webohu, we reaffirm what scripture teaches us:  The power of God’s Holy Spirit is here.  Life goes on.

Thanks be to God.

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This sermon was written by Rev. Lee A. Koontz