“But when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of any works of righteousness that we had done, but according to his mercy, through the water of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit. This Spirit he poured out on us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs according to the hope of eternal life.” – Titus 3:4-7
What a wonderful Wesleyan text for the first Saturday of Lent! As our congregation begins a study of the theology of John and Charles Wesley this week, we will start with reflection on faith and works, justification and sanctification.
The only way that salvation comes to us is by what God does – sending his Son, Jesus Christ, to die on the cross. Our faith in Christ’s death, resurrection, and ascension is the one and only thing necessary to become “heirs according to the hope of eternal life.” We are justified by our faith in the grace of God, and nothing else. No acts we do can save us. Only God can save us.
Yet, as the three verses immediately preceding this text tell us, Paul charges us “to be obedient, to be ready for every good work, to speak evil of no one, to avoid quarreling, to be gentle, and to show every courtesy to everyone” (Titus 3:1-2).
With these words as a context, we are certain that faith in God is no lazy affair. It is not an excuse to sit on our butts and twiddle our thumbs until Christ comes again in glory. It is proof that true faith in God necessarily leads to good works – works such as the ones listed above. If we are really in love with the God who we believe saved us, then we will necessarily be compelled to act out that love toward others. In this we are drawn into a cycle of faith producing works, which in turn increases our faith, which increases our passion for works, and on and on. The further we are drawn into this cycle, the more passionately in love with God we become. Let us allow ourselves to get caught up in the cycle found here in Titus, today and every day.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
Daily Lenten Devotion for 2/27
“The next day John was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, ‘Look, here is the Lamb of God!’ The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus.” – John 1:35-37
John’s account of the calling of the first disciples differs from that of the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke). Whereas in the Synoptics Jesus approaches the first disciples, in John the disciples approach Jesus out of curiosity. I find this difference indicative of how things still are today: some people become disciples because Jesus has approached them and disrupted their lives, and others become disciples because they approach Jesus in curiosity, who in turn responds to their curiosity with the challenge to “Come and see.”
But in this account in John, I find neither Jesus nor the first disciples to be the most important characters in the calling of the first disciples. No, in this account it is John the Baptist who initiates the action. It is John the Baptist who first recognizes the presence of the Son of God, and points out that presence to his buddies.
How can we be John the Baptist today? How can we recognize the presence of Jesus Christ in our world and point that out to the people around us? How can we point others towards Christ in such a way that their curiosity is piqued? It is true that only Jesus Christ can make disciples. And it is true that only potential disciples can choose whether or not to “Come and see” what Jesus is doing. But unless we point out the Lamb of God to those who would not otherwise recognize his presence, the making of disciples will be limited by our silence.
John’s account of the calling of the first disciples differs from that of the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke). Whereas in the Synoptics Jesus approaches the first disciples, in John the disciples approach Jesus out of curiosity. I find this difference indicative of how things still are today: some people become disciples because Jesus has approached them and disrupted their lives, and others become disciples because they approach Jesus in curiosity, who in turn responds to their curiosity with the challenge to “Come and see.”
But in this account in John, I find neither Jesus nor the first disciples to be the most important characters in the calling of the first disciples. No, in this account it is John the Baptist who initiates the action. It is John the Baptist who first recognizes the presence of the Son of God, and points out that presence to his buddies.
How can we be John the Baptist today? How can we recognize the presence of Jesus Christ in our world and point that out to the people around us? How can we point others towards Christ in such a way that their curiosity is piqued? It is true that only Jesus Christ can make disciples. And it is true that only potential disciples can choose whether or not to “Come and see” what Jesus is doing. But unless we point out the Lamb of God to those who would not otherwise recognize his presence, the making of disciples will be limited by our silence.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Daily Lenten Devotion for 2/26
“My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one.” – John 17:15
This verse is part of Jesus’ larger prayer for his disciples as his arrest, suffering, and death draws near. He knows that he will soon be taken out of this world to ascend into heaven, so Jesus takes this final private moment to pray for those he will leave behind.
Those left behind: the disciples. Over the past decade, the apocalyptic Left Behind book series has been popular among many Christians. I have not read them, nor do I have any interest in reading them. But many Christians have been drawn to these fiction novels because of their focus on the apocalypse, on the end times that we supposedly are living in. I suspect the reason many Christians are drawn to apocalyptic literature like the Left Behind series is because these books give comfort to our human longing to escape from the evil of this world.
We all long to escape the evil of this world, though these longings manifest themselves in different ways. Some wish for the evil to be removed from the world, and others wish to be removed themselves from an evil world. But Jesus, in his prayer to his heavenly parent, asks not for evil to be removed from the world. Nor does he ask for faithful disciples to be removed from evil. One day the time will come to separate the wheat from the tares, but for now, followers of Jesus are left to deal with evil.
Once again, here in John’s Gospel we discover that the faithful life is far from the easy life. It is a life that requires living in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, and it appears that Jesus has no plans to remove us from it anytime soon. But there is hope. Though we will not get the relief we seek, we are promised protection. We are promised an ally in the fight against all manner of evil. We are promised a companion that will join us in our pain and suffering until the day finally comes when the harvest is ready, when the time has come to separate wheat from tares. Therefore, our prayer today must mirror the prayer of Jesus. Our prayer must not be that we are taken out of the world, but that we are protected from the evil one that lives in our midst.
This verse is part of Jesus’ larger prayer for his disciples as his arrest, suffering, and death draws near. He knows that he will soon be taken out of this world to ascend into heaven, so Jesus takes this final private moment to pray for those he will leave behind.
Those left behind: the disciples. Over the past decade, the apocalyptic Left Behind book series has been popular among many Christians. I have not read them, nor do I have any interest in reading them. But many Christians have been drawn to these fiction novels because of their focus on the apocalypse, on the end times that we supposedly are living in. I suspect the reason many Christians are drawn to apocalyptic literature like the Left Behind series is because these books give comfort to our human longing to escape from the evil of this world.
We all long to escape the evil of this world, though these longings manifest themselves in different ways. Some wish for the evil to be removed from the world, and others wish to be removed themselves from an evil world. But Jesus, in his prayer to his heavenly parent, asks not for evil to be removed from the world. Nor does he ask for faithful disciples to be removed from evil. One day the time will come to separate the wheat from the tares, but for now, followers of Jesus are left to deal with evil.
Once again, here in John’s Gospel we discover that the faithful life is far from the easy life. It is a life that requires living in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, and it appears that Jesus has no plans to remove us from it anytime soon. But there is hope. Though we will not get the relief we seek, we are promised protection. We are promised an ally in the fight against all manner of evil. We are promised a companion that will join us in our pain and suffering until the day finally comes when the harvest is ready, when the time has come to separate wheat from tares. Therefore, our prayer today must mirror the prayer of Jesus. Our prayer must not be that we are taken out of the world, but that we are protected from the evil one that lives in our midst.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Note: As my primary Lenten discipline, I have chosen to take on the practice of writing a devotion for each of the forty days of Lent. I will post them here daily so others may benefit from them, and so I may be held accountable by all of you in keeping up the practice. This is the first devotion.
Ash Wednesday – Feb. 25
Ernest Hemingway wrote the novel. Ingrid Bergman and Gary Cooper starred in the movie. Metallica sang the song. But the phrase “For Whom the Bell Tolls” was initially made popular by English poet John Donne in his Meditation XVII from Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions. The text can be found here.
I find Donne’s words rather appropriate for today, Ash Wednesday. Ash Wednesday is the day where as Christians, we are called to confront our own mortality. In Donne’s day, the custom was to toll the bell of the church when a member of that parish lay dying. When the bell was heard, each household or neighborhood sent a representative to the church to ask “for whom the bell tolls.” Once the representative returned, prayers were lifted up for the dying parishioner.
Donne supposedly wrote this meditation as he lay dying, confronting his own mortality. He heard the bell tolling for someone else, yet he knew it just as well could have been tolling for him. This understanding came from the connectional nature of the church. “The church is catholic, universal, and so are all of her actions,” Donne wrote. “All that she does belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me…And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is of one author and in one volume.”
We are all mortal, “so this bell calls us all.” And when the bell tolls for one, it tolls for all, because “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.”
The final words of Donne’s meditation are perhaps the most famous of all: “Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.”
Never send to know for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee. It tolls for you. It tolls for me. It tolls for your best friend. It tolls for your arch-enemy. It tolls for each one of us sooner or later, and when it tolls for anyone, it tolls for everyone. Each time the bell tolls, it tolls for all of humankind, who has lost another part of its one body.
This is the grim reality we face on this day of the Christian calendar, Ash Wednesday. We approach God at the altar, literally or figuratively, because we need to hear those words: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” We do not want to hear those words, but we need to hear them. They are words that toll for thee; words that toll for humankind. Let us be thankful of this reminder as we begin our Lenten journey of reflection and self-examination.
Ash Wednesday – Feb. 25
Ernest Hemingway wrote the novel. Ingrid Bergman and Gary Cooper starred in the movie. Metallica sang the song. But the phrase “For Whom the Bell Tolls” was initially made popular by English poet John Donne in his Meditation XVII from Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions. The text can be found here.
I find Donne’s words rather appropriate for today, Ash Wednesday. Ash Wednesday is the day where as Christians, we are called to confront our own mortality. In Donne’s day, the custom was to toll the bell of the church when a member of that parish lay dying. When the bell was heard, each household or neighborhood sent a representative to the church to ask “for whom the bell tolls.” Once the representative returned, prayers were lifted up for the dying parishioner.
Donne supposedly wrote this meditation as he lay dying, confronting his own mortality. He heard the bell tolling for someone else, yet he knew it just as well could have been tolling for him. This understanding came from the connectional nature of the church. “The church is catholic, universal, and so are all of her actions,” Donne wrote. “All that she does belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me…And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is of one author and in one volume.”
We are all mortal, “so this bell calls us all.” And when the bell tolls for one, it tolls for all, because “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.”
The final words of Donne’s meditation are perhaps the most famous of all: “Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.”
Never send to know for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee. It tolls for you. It tolls for me. It tolls for your best friend. It tolls for your arch-enemy. It tolls for each one of us sooner or later, and when it tolls for anyone, it tolls for everyone. Each time the bell tolls, it tolls for all of humankind, who has lost another part of its one body.
This is the grim reality we face on this day of the Christian calendar, Ash Wednesday. We approach God at the altar, literally or figuratively, because we need to hear those words: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” We do not want to hear those words, but we need to hear them. They are words that toll for thee; words that toll for humankind. Let us be thankful of this reminder as we begin our Lenten journey of reflection and self-examination.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
The Governor's Mistake
Following the Steelers' Super Bowl win, PA Governor Ed Rendell asked fans to submit essays (less than 250 words) on why they love the Steelers. The "best" essay would win a trip for two to Arizona, and four runners-up would win tickets to a 2009 Steelers home game. I put "best" in quotes because I'm not sure the winning essays were the best. The grand prize winner's essay was good. I have no problem giving him the trip to AZ. Some of the runners-up ones were awful, or merely ordinary. Read the winning essays and decide for yourself. The first runner-up had several grammatical errors and typos. Most of them were along the lines of, "I love the Steelers because my dad worked in the coal mines or in the steel mills and they represent our family's blue-collar work ethic," or "I love the Steelers because it's more than just a hobby -- I live for Steelers football." Out of the 1,300 submitted essays, I'm willing to bet at least 1,000 were centered on one or both of those premises.
I submitted an essay. And because I'm arrogant when it comes to my writing, I think my essay is pretty well-written, and the content is somewhat original. I'm not saying it was good enough to win, but it was better than most of the runner-up winners. I have decided to share it with you not because I believe an injustice has been perpetrated against me (it has), but because I am proud of my essay and proud of the stories it contains. Without further ado, my essay on why I love the Steelers:
Like many residents of Western Pennsylvania, my love for the Steelers is a family affair. My father, who was born as a Dutch citizen, moved to the United States in 1964 at the age of 10, settling in Pittsburgh. My grandfather sought to help my father fit in better at school. So they started watching American football. Through the 1960’s, the Steelers were awful, but they supported the team anyway. Through the Steelers, they taught themselves about football as well as Pittsburgh’s culture, helping them connect with neighbors, co-workers, and classmates. While working towards U.S. citizenship, my father also attained citizenship in Steeler Nation.
When I was born, I also became a citizen of Steeler Nation. The love for the Steelers my father passed down to me eventually helped me start my own family. While attending college in Ohio, my support of the Steelers grew as it faced opposition from Browns and Bengals fans. My sophomore year, a freshman and fellow Pittsburgher named Lisa arrived on campus. The first question Lisa asked her R.A. as she moved in was, “Who can I watch Steelers games with here?” Immediately, Lisa and I were introduced. Six and a half years later, Lisa and I are married and living in Western Pennsylvania.
I love the way the Steelers allow immigrants to connect with new neighbors. I love the way they bring families together on Sunday afternoons. And I love the way they create new families. How can anyone not love the Pittsburgh Steelers?
I submitted an essay. And because I'm arrogant when it comes to my writing, I think my essay is pretty well-written, and the content is somewhat original. I'm not saying it was good enough to win, but it was better than most of the runner-up winners. I have decided to share it with you not because I believe an injustice has been perpetrated against me (it has), but because I am proud of my essay and proud of the stories it contains. Without further ado, my essay on why I love the Steelers:
Like many residents of Western Pennsylvania, my love for the Steelers is a family affair. My father, who was born as a Dutch citizen, moved to the United States in 1964 at the age of 10, settling in Pittsburgh. My grandfather sought to help my father fit in better at school. So they started watching American football. Through the 1960’s, the Steelers were awful, but they supported the team anyway. Through the Steelers, they taught themselves about football as well as Pittsburgh’s culture, helping them connect with neighbors, co-workers, and classmates. While working towards U.S. citizenship, my father also attained citizenship in Steeler Nation.
When I was born, I also became a citizen of Steeler Nation. The love for the Steelers my father passed down to me eventually helped me start my own family. While attending college in Ohio, my support of the Steelers grew as it faced opposition from Browns and Bengals fans. My sophomore year, a freshman and fellow Pittsburgher named Lisa arrived on campus. The first question Lisa asked her R.A. as she moved in was, “Who can I watch Steelers games with here?” Immediately, Lisa and I were introduced. Six and a half years later, Lisa and I are married and living in Western Pennsylvania.
I love the way the Steelers allow immigrants to connect with new neighbors. I love the way they bring families together on Sunday afternoons. And I love the way they create new families. How can anyone not love the Pittsburgh Steelers?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
I Do Choose
Sermon for Sunday, February 15, 2009
Scripture: Mark 1:40-45
It was almost 2 decades ago, but it is a day that continues to live on in infamy. It was a day of rebellion, a day of battles, a day of cold, uneaten food. We were visiting my grandmother in Florida, sitting down to a peaceful dinner. But a storm was brewing. You see, it may be hard to believe now, but as a child I was a bit of a smart-mouthed kid. “Pass the potatoes,” I said as we began our meal. Like any good parent, my mother jumped in. “What’s the magic word?” she asked me. “Pass the potatoes,” I said again. “Pass the potatoes what? What do we say?” she replied. I knew full well what I was supposed to say. I was old enough to know that the magic word, the courteous word, was “please.” “Pass the potatoes please,” I was supposed to say. But today was not the day to mess with me. I was tired, I was hungry, and I really wasn’t in the mood to be polite. I wasn’t in the mood to be bossed around by some know-it-all mother. So instead, in my infinite wisdom and wit, I announced with a loud voice, “Pass the potatoes NOW!”
I suppose most of you know what happened next, because “NOW” was not the magic word. So I was sent away from the table, into the room where I was staying. No dinner for you, Mr. Smartmouth. Off I went into vacation purgatory, waiting for my fate to be decided sometime after dinner. After a minute or two, a thought came to my head. “Wait a second,” I thought to myself. This isn’t right. I don’t deserve to be treated like this. So back out I went, proudly marching back toward the dinner table. I sat back down, and without a word, began eating. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” my father asked. But I was prepared for such a time as this. “Father,” I said, “this is America. This is a free country, and I can do whatever I want!” See, I had paid attention in school! I knew all about life, liberty, and the pursuit of one’s own dinner!
Well, of course I was in the wrong. Of course I had disobeyed and disrespected my parents – which all of us do from time to time as children. We test the waters, we push back, we rebel just to see what we can get away with – it’s all part of growing up and learning what the boundaries are that our parents have set. I lost the battle that day at my grandmother’s house – a day my mother and grandmother still love to talk about (primarily because they remember how hard it was not to laugh at my brilliant argument about freedom).
On that day, I thought that I had a choice about whether or not to be polite. I thought that I could choose to say “please” and “thank you” or I could choose not to. If I chose to ignore proper manners, that was a human right protected by the founding tenets of our country. And that is exactly how we want to be. We like to have the ball in our court. We like to be the ones calling the shots, making the decisions. We don’t want others to make choices for us. We get to choose which TV station we watch, which brand salad dressing we’ll buy, who our doctor will be, which car we will drive, who our friends will be, which way we’ll drive to work today, and on and on and on. Our lives are made up of millions of decisions, one right after another. And this barrage of choices in front of us each day gives us the illusion that everything is under our control. But what if we can’t always choose? What if we are forced to admit some things are out of our control?
That day at my grandmother’s house, I thought that I could choose to be polite or not, but really I couldn’t. The choice was made for me – I was going to be a polite boy, and I had no choice but to submit to that way of operating. The leper was diseased. He did not choose to have a skin disease – would anyone choose such a thing for themselves? He had no say in the matter – he was diseased, cast out from society, and left alone in the wilderness. He did not choose leprosy – leprosy chose him. And just as his illness was not in his control, neither was his medical care. Although he desires to be healed, he is well aware that there’s nothing he can do to heal himself.
But he knows Jesus has the power to heal him. Mark doesn’t say how the leper knows of Jesus’ power, but he knows. And he approaches Jesus on his knees, begging for healing. One might expect that in such a situation, the leper’s plea would be, “Heal me. I want you to heal me. Please heal me. I beg of you, heal me.” And I suspect that some manner of desperation was present in the leper. I doubt we would expect anything different than a desperate plea for healing. But this is not the leper’s plea. He may have been desperately seeking healing, but he did not frame his plea in that way. You see, he recognized that no matter how much he pleaded, it was Jesus alone who could heal. Ultimately, his health rested in the choice of Jesus – and only Jesus. And so the words of the leper are not “I choose to be healed.” They are, “If you choose, you can make me clean.”
If Jesus chooses, the leper can be made clean. If Jesus chooses, healing will take place. And Jesus does choose. He does choose to heal by his proclamation (“Be made clean!”) and by his action (touching the leper). This is already the third healing story in Mark, and we haven’t left the first chapter yet. An unclean spirit is ordered out of the man at the synagogue, Simon’s mother is healed, and now this: a leper kneeling at the feet of Jesus and praying for healing.
In his desperate prayer for healing, the leper models the way we are to approach our own prayers for healing. He seeks out Jesus. He kneels at the feet of Jesus. He lets his desire for healing be made known. But ultimately, he acknowledges that it is Jesus’ decision. It is Jesus’ choice to heal him. All power and authority, all control over his own health rests in the hands of Jesus.
My friends, we are all lepers. We are all in need of some kind of healing. Some of us are physically diseased, with cancer, with heart ailments, with lung ailments, or even simply suffering from aches and pains. We are in need of physical healing. Some of us are emotionally diseased, infected with abusive behavior from loved ones, infected with the criticism of others, or even infected with our own criticism of ourselves. We are in need of emotional healing, of sewing up the wounds inflicted within our own minds. And all of us are in need of spiritual healing. All of us are marked with the disease of original sin. All of us are marked as sinners who daily fall short of perfection. All of us have infected ourselves with the sin that keeps us from being in relationship with God. And so we are all in need of spiritual healing, of reconciliation with the Lord our God. All of us are in need of Jesus’ healing acts in his earthly life. All of us need to be healed by his death on the cross. And all of us need to be healed by his resurrection. We are all lepers in need of a healer.
How then do we approach Jesus Christ? How do we ask for healing? Do we approach with humility, kneeling and begging? Do we submit that it is Jesus Christ alone who can heal, and that it is up to Jesus to decide if and how healing will take place? Do we let our own desires fade away and place all authority in our lives into the hands of the Savior? Or do we rush to Jesus and look him in the eye, demanding that we choose our destiny, or demanding that God’s choices be made in our favor? How do we approach the throne of grace? Do we let Jesus be the healer, or do we demand that we be allowed to choose our own destiny?
Susannah Wesley had a parenting style that my parents unwittingly followed during the outburst at my grandmother’s house. Susannah Wesley was the mother of John and Charles Wesley, the founders of the Methodist movement. She was a strict disciplinarian, demanding that all of her 10 children learn early on that a child’s will must conform to the will of his or her parent’s will. Only if a child can conform her will to her parent’s will can she then learn to conform her will to God’s will.
C.S. Lewis once wrote that “There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, ‘Thy will be done,’ and those to whom God says, in the end, ‘Thy will be done.’” Not our will, but your will, O God. This is how we are to pray – just as the leper prayed. God chooses how to act in our lives. We have no control over God’s actions. And ultimately it is not what we want that is important – it is what God wants that is important. We must submit to God’s will – although we often act as if it is the other way around. We often act as if God may someday submit to our will. But that is not the reality to which we are called. We are called to the reality that Jesus chooses to heal us as he may. We are called to the reality that Jesus has already chosen to heal our spiritual wounds through his death on the cross and his ascendance into heaven. As we enter into the liturgical season of Lent, we will begin to follow Jesus towards this reality. We will discover how Jesus has already healed our souls, and we will discover how he continues to work in our lives to provide healing, mysterious as it may be. We will wrestle with what it means to submit to the will of God when we really don’t want to. And hopefully, we will approach Jesus Christ with the same humble spirit as the leper, admitting that all power and authority lies in God alone. Hopefully, we will accept God’s will in our lives and be reminded of the hope which lies in this morning’s story: Jesus does choose healing. Jesus does choose to reach out and touch us. Jesus does choose us. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Scripture: Mark 1:40-45
It was almost 2 decades ago, but it is a day that continues to live on in infamy. It was a day of rebellion, a day of battles, a day of cold, uneaten food. We were visiting my grandmother in Florida, sitting down to a peaceful dinner. But a storm was brewing. You see, it may be hard to believe now, but as a child I was a bit of a smart-mouthed kid. “Pass the potatoes,” I said as we began our meal. Like any good parent, my mother jumped in. “What’s the magic word?” she asked me. “Pass the potatoes,” I said again. “Pass the potatoes what? What do we say?” she replied. I knew full well what I was supposed to say. I was old enough to know that the magic word, the courteous word, was “please.” “Pass the potatoes please,” I was supposed to say. But today was not the day to mess with me. I was tired, I was hungry, and I really wasn’t in the mood to be polite. I wasn’t in the mood to be bossed around by some know-it-all mother. So instead, in my infinite wisdom and wit, I announced with a loud voice, “Pass the potatoes NOW!”
I suppose most of you know what happened next, because “NOW” was not the magic word. So I was sent away from the table, into the room where I was staying. No dinner for you, Mr. Smartmouth. Off I went into vacation purgatory, waiting for my fate to be decided sometime after dinner. After a minute or two, a thought came to my head. “Wait a second,” I thought to myself. This isn’t right. I don’t deserve to be treated like this. So back out I went, proudly marching back toward the dinner table. I sat back down, and without a word, began eating. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” my father asked. But I was prepared for such a time as this. “Father,” I said, “this is America. This is a free country, and I can do whatever I want!” See, I had paid attention in school! I knew all about life, liberty, and the pursuit of one’s own dinner!
Well, of course I was in the wrong. Of course I had disobeyed and disrespected my parents – which all of us do from time to time as children. We test the waters, we push back, we rebel just to see what we can get away with – it’s all part of growing up and learning what the boundaries are that our parents have set. I lost the battle that day at my grandmother’s house – a day my mother and grandmother still love to talk about (primarily because they remember how hard it was not to laugh at my brilliant argument about freedom).
On that day, I thought that I had a choice about whether or not to be polite. I thought that I could choose to say “please” and “thank you” or I could choose not to. If I chose to ignore proper manners, that was a human right protected by the founding tenets of our country. And that is exactly how we want to be. We like to have the ball in our court. We like to be the ones calling the shots, making the decisions. We don’t want others to make choices for us. We get to choose which TV station we watch, which brand salad dressing we’ll buy, who our doctor will be, which car we will drive, who our friends will be, which way we’ll drive to work today, and on and on and on. Our lives are made up of millions of decisions, one right after another. And this barrage of choices in front of us each day gives us the illusion that everything is under our control. But what if we can’t always choose? What if we are forced to admit some things are out of our control?
That day at my grandmother’s house, I thought that I could choose to be polite or not, but really I couldn’t. The choice was made for me – I was going to be a polite boy, and I had no choice but to submit to that way of operating. The leper was diseased. He did not choose to have a skin disease – would anyone choose such a thing for themselves? He had no say in the matter – he was diseased, cast out from society, and left alone in the wilderness. He did not choose leprosy – leprosy chose him. And just as his illness was not in his control, neither was his medical care. Although he desires to be healed, he is well aware that there’s nothing he can do to heal himself.
But he knows Jesus has the power to heal him. Mark doesn’t say how the leper knows of Jesus’ power, but he knows. And he approaches Jesus on his knees, begging for healing. One might expect that in such a situation, the leper’s plea would be, “Heal me. I want you to heal me. Please heal me. I beg of you, heal me.” And I suspect that some manner of desperation was present in the leper. I doubt we would expect anything different than a desperate plea for healing. But this is not the leper’s plea. He may have been desperately seeking healing, but he did not frame his plea in that way. You see, he recognized that no matter how much he pleaded, it was Jesus alone who could heal. Ultimately, his health rested in the choice of Jesus – and only Jesus. And so the words of the leper are not “I choose to be healed.” They are, “If you choose, you can make me clean.”
If Jesus chooses, the leper can be made clean. If Jesus chooses, healing will take place. And Jesus does choose. He does choose to heal by his proclamation (“Be made clean!”) and by his action (touching the leper). This is already the third healing story in Mark, and we haven’t left the first chapter yet. An unclean spirit is ordered out of the man at the synagogue, Simon’s mother is healed, and now this: a leper kneeling at the feet of Jesus and praying for healing.
In his desperate prayer for healing, the leper models the way we are to approach our own prayers for healing. He seeks out Jesus. He kneels at the feet of Jesus. He lets his desire for healing be made known. But ultimately, he acknowledges that it is Jesus’ decision. It is Jesus’ choice to heal him. All power and authority, all control over his own health rests in the hands of Jesus.
My friends, we are all lepers. We are all in need of some kind of healing. Some of us are physically diseased, with cancer, with heart ailments, with lung ailments, or even simply suffering from aches and pains. We are in need of physical healing. Some of us are emotionally diseased, infected with abusive behavior from loved ones, infected with the criticism of others, or even infected with our own criticism of ourselves. We are in need of emotional healing, of sewing up the wounds inflicted within our own minds. And all of us are in need of spiritual healing. All of us are marked with the disease of original sin. All of us are marked as sinners who daily fall short of perfection. All of us have infected ourselves with the sin that keeps us from being in relationship with God. And so we are all in need of spiritual healing, of reconciliation with the Lord our God. All of us are in need of Jesus’ healing acts in his earthly life. All of us need to be healed by his death on the cross. And all of us need to be healed by his resurrection. We are all lepers in need of a healer.
How then do we approach Jesus Christ? How do we ask for healing? Do we approach with humility, kneeling and begging? Do we submit that it is Jesus Christ alone who can heal, and that it is up to Jesus to decide if and how healing will take place? Do we let our own desires fade away and place all authority in our lives into the hands of the Savior? Or do we rush to Jesus and look him in the eye, demanding that we choose our destiny, or demanding that God’s choices be made in our favor? How do we approach the throne of grace? Do we let Jesus be the healer, or do we demand that we be allowed to choose our own destiny?
Susannah Wesley had a parenting style that my parents unwittingly followed during the outburst at my grandmother’s house. Susannah Wesley was the mother of John and Charles Wesley, the founders of the Methodist movement. She was a strict disciplinarian, demanding that all of her 10 children learn early on that a child’s will must conform to the will of his or her parent’s will. Only if a child can conform her will to her parent’s will can she then learn to conform her will to God’s will.
C.S. Lewis once wrote that “There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, ‘Thy will be done,’ and those to whom God says, in the end, ‘Thy will be done.’” Not our will, but your will, O God. This is how we are to pray – just as the leper prayed. God chooses how to act in our lives. We have no control over God’s actions. And ultimately it is not what we want that is important – it is what God wants that is important. We must submit to God’s will – although we often act as if it is the other way around. We often act as if God may someday submit to our will. But that is not the reality to which we are called. We are called to the reality that Jesus chooses to heal us as he may. We are called to the reality that Jesus has already chosen to heal our spiritual wounds through his death on the cross and his ascendance into heaven. As we enter into the liturgical season of Lent, we will begin to follow Jesus towards this reality. We will discover how Jesus has already healed our souls, and we will discover how he continues to work in our lives to provide healing, mysterious as it may be. We will wrestle with what it means to submit to the will of God when we really don’t want to. And hopefully, we will approach Jesus Christ with the same humble spirit as the leper, admitting that all power and authority lies in God alone. Hopefully, we will accept God’s will in our lives and be reminded of the hope which lies in this morning’s story: Jesus does choose healing. Jesus does choose to reach out and touch us. Jesus does choose us. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
150K
This afternoon, at 12:32 pm EST, on PA Route 136 just south of Madison PA, my car traveled its 150,000th mile. The car, my 1999 blue Nissan Maxima, began as a demo model at John Sisson Motors in Washington, PA, and was bought by my father in the fall of 1999. When he tired of her in 2002, I bought the car from him over Christmas break during my sophomore year of college. She has since lived with me in Ada, OH, Decatur, GA, and now resides in West Newton, PA.
Among those 150,000 miles are trips back and forth to college in Ada and seminary in Decatur. My car has taken day trips for ballgames in Chicago, Cincinnati, Cleveland, and Detroit. She's made spontaneous trips to Miami, OH. She's seen where my grandmother lives in Florida. She's been to New Hampshire. She's traveled to Hilton Head a couple times. She even made it as far west as St. Louis once. She's endured the chill and salt of northern winters and the wilting heat of southern summers. And she's still going.
I congratulate you, 1999 blue Nissan Maxima (or "Julie", as I've often called you), on this historic accomplishment. We've made it this far. Let's go for 200,000. At the mileage pace I'm going right now, the next 50K might take us 8-10 years. But I think we can do it. Whaddya say? 200K or bust. I just pray that it's 200K that comes before bust.
Among those 150,000 miles are trips back and forth to college in Ada and seminary in Decatur. My car has taken day trips for ballgames in Chicago, Cincinnati, Cleveland, and Detroit. She's made spontaneous trips to Miami, OH. She's seen where my grandmother lives in Florida. She's been to New Hampshire. She's traveled to Hilton Head a couple times. She even made it as far west as St. Louis once. She's endured the chill and salt of northern winters and the wilting heat of southern summers. And she's still going.
I congratulate you, 1999 blue Nissan Maxima (or "Julie", as I've often called you), on this historic accomplishment. We've made it this far. Let's go for 200,000. At the mileage pace I'm going right now, the next 50K might take us 8-10 years. But I think we can do it. Whaddya say? 200K or bust. I just pray that it's 200K that comes before bust.
Monday, February 9, 2009
The Case of the Missing Jesus
Sermon for Sunday, February 8
Scripture: Mark 1:29-39
This morning, I stand before you with a confession to make. I have a hidden obsession. This obsession started when I was about 8 or 9, and to this day I have never been able to rid myself of it. It’s an obsession that no one except my wife, and maybe my parents, know about. As I reveal this obsession to you, I ask that you not rush to judgment. It may shock you, it may disgust you, but I really feel like I need to share it with you. I, Erik Hoeke, your pastor, am obsessed…with hats.
I love hats. Specifically, I love baseball caps. I love getting a new, fresh hat and spending the first few days breaking it in. I cut out the lining so it fits my head more snugly. I get it wet and throw it in the dryer to shrink and soften the material. I bend the bill to my exact specifications so it really looks cool. I work it and rework it so that the hat is absolutely beat up, worn, comfortable – the way a ballcap should be. Hats are like a fine wine or a good block of aged Wisconsin cheddar – they get better with age.
I also love stocking caps for the winter months. I missed wearing them in Atlanta, but the northern winters have offered me the chance to wear those hats I love so dearly. My favorite one is my Steelers hat, the one most of you have seen me wearing all winter. But a couple weeks ago, I lost this hat. As I went to leave for work one morning, I discovered my hat was not in its usual home, perched atop the coat rack in our front hallway. I spent about 15 minutes turning our house upside down looking for that dang hat. I looked upstairs, downstairs, in my car, even in the attic – and there was no way it was in the attic. But hey, I had to check. I love that hat, and I can’t live without it. I knew I wore it to a meeting the night before, and I thought for sure I wore it home. So where was that dang hat?
I finally gave up my search, and when I got to the church that morning I discovered I’d left it here. Whew, that was a close one! Another close call came once when I was on a chorus trip in High School. We were at Myrtle Beach, and I accidentally left my favorite hat at a restaurant. It was this beautiful, worn, ragged, smelly, old Pirates hat. I realized it as soon as we got on the bus, but it was too late. I couldn’t go back. I thought it was gone forever. I’d lost my most treasured hat. Luckily, the next morning we found ourselves near the restaurant, and I was able to retrieve my hat.
When I lose a hat, it doesn’t take me long to notice that it’s gone. A few minutes, a few hours, but never more than 24 hours. I always know if I’m missing the hats that I so dearly love.
When we search the attics and garages of our homes, we find that they are filled with “missing” items. They are filled with things that that used to be integral parts of our lives – baseball cards, electronics, camping equipment, old cassette tapes, home movies, 2008 Christmas gifts. We have piles of stuff that at one time or another we couldn’t live without, but somehow they went missing in our lives and were banished to the dark corners of our homes, where we seldom notice their existence anymore. If my baseball card collection went missing when I was 8, I would’ve noticed immediately. If my baseball cards went missing now, it might take me months to notice.
In this morning’s gospel lesson, Simon and the other disciples discover something missing in their lives. After spending a day with Jesus, at the synagogue, at Simon’s house, and healing people all around town, the disciples are starting to form a relationship with Jesus. He’s their buddy now, the miracle worker from Nazareth. He’s their leader. But then, in the middle of the night, after hanging out with these guys all day, Jesus slips out the back door and retreats into the wilderness, into a “deserted place.” Jesus, if you will, needs some alone time. He needs to get away from it all and pray. And we like this image of Jesus. This text is often used to justify our own need to escape into the wilderness from time to time. See, Jesus takes time off, so we should too. If the savior of the world needs a vacation from time to time, then aren’t we entitled to one as well?
Well, we do need to escape into the wilderness from time to time, but to focus on this as the meaning of Jesus’ retreat is to miss the point. Jesus is not retreating because he needs a vacation, but because he needs to pray. He needs to reconnect with God in heaven, and the middle of the night is the only time people won’t be looking for him to heal them – it’s the only time of day when people won’t notice he’s gone.
But eventually, Simon and the other disciples do look for Jesus, and eventually they find him, praying in the desert. How long it took them to do so is unclear, and I think that’s the beauty of this passage. We have no idea how long it took the disciples to notice Jesus was gone, and we have no idea how long it was before they found him again. Most people assume it was just a couple hours, but we have no way of knowing. Mark, the writer of this gospel, leaves out a lot of details. For all we know, it could have been days, weeks, or even months between the time Jesus left and the time Jesus was found by the disciples.
That’s what I love about this story when I read it. I call it “the case of the missing Jesus.” Jesus goes missing, and the first question the story raises for us is, “how long did it take the disciples to notice?” When Jesus went missing in the disciples’ lives, how long did it take them to notice? I find myself wondering what would happen if I were one of the disciples when Jesus went missing. If Jesus went missing, if he slipped out the back door of my house in the middle of the night, how long would it take me to notice? Would I notice as soon as I woke up, like I’d notice if my arm was missing? Would it take me an hour, and I’d notice once I started walking out the door to go to work? Would it take me a day or two, when I finally start to sense there’s something missing from my life? Or would it take me weeks or months, when I finally visit the spot in the attic I’d been storing my Jesus, and find that he’s gone missing? How long would it take me to notice my Jesus is missing?
How long would it take you to notice if Jesus was missing in your life? A minute? An hour? A day? A few weeks, months, or even years? How long would it be before you noticed Jesus was no longer part of your life? How long would it take for us to notice Jesus has gone missing? This is the first question that this morning’s gospel lesson poses for us.
The second question is, “What do we do once we discover that Jesus has gone missing?” What do we do? Do we turn our house upside down trying to find him? Do we search through the streets and post flyers on all the telephone poles trying desperately to find our lost Jesus? Or do we shrug our shoulders and say, “Huh, that’s too bad, but I’ve already replaced my Jesus with something else.” What do we do when we find out our Jesus has gone missing?
The Gospel writer, Mark, says the disciples “hunted for him.” The original Greek text uses the verb “katadioko” – they pursued him with hostile intent. They hunted him down. They were angry. How dare their leader, their miracle worker, their Jesus, call them to follow and then, just as quickly, go missing?! How dare Jesus leave our side, abandon us! How dare he not stay where we left him! And like we scold our dogs when they don’t stay where we told them to stay, we look at our runaway Savior and firmly say, “BAD JESUS!”
But Jesus is no dog for us to own. He is no collection of baseball cards for us to store in our attic so we may pull him out and admire him a couple times a year. He is no winter coat or hat that we wear only for a season. Jesus is not to be treated as a possession, as something we own. So we dare not treat him the way the disciples did.
“Where have you been, Jesus?” the disciples ask, like panicky parents react to their teenager coming home 3 hours late. Where you been? Everyone’s searching for you, and they’re mad that you aren’t around to heal them. People are upset you’re not where they think you should be. So what do you think about that, Jesus?
How often we treat Jesus the same way. “How dare you leave us,” we say. “Some kind of leader you are.” It seems as though the disciples were hunting him down because they wanted him to return to Capernaum and perform more healings. Mike Graves, a professor at Central Baptist Theological Seminary, says, “Simon, who stands for all of the disciples, does nothing in this text other than to request, or perhaps to compel, Jesus to come back from his time of praying so that more healing may take place. The motives of Jesus and Peter are not entirely clear, although Jesus clearly has another agenda.”
In this text, Jesus does have a different agenda than the disciples. Rather than return to Capernaum for more healings, Jesus goes on to neighboring towns to preach the message there also, for as Jesus tells them, “that is what I came out to do.” The disciples say, “It’s time to GET BACK.” Jesus replies, “It’s time to GO ON.”
There are times that Jesus seems to go missing in our lives. Sooner or later, we notice he’s missing. So we hunt him down to find him, perhaps scold him, and try to convince him to come back into the comfort of our home. C’mon Jesus, get out of the woods, out of the dark, deserted wilderness. It’s kinda scary out here in the middle of nowhere. We don’t want to follow you if it means going out here. Let’s get back to where good things were happening. Let’s get back to Capernaum, Jesus, so we can give the crowds what they want, give them what they need. Let’s go back to where we were before, back to where we were doing ministry that was working!
But Jesus has a different idea. Jesus does not want to return to Capernaum just yet. Jesus’ plans are not the same as those of the disciples, the plan to return home to safe, familiar surroundings. No, says Jesus, we are not returning to the comforts of the past. That is not where I’m leading you. Follow me into new towns, new places, new opportunities for ministry. Jesus refuses to simply lead the disciples back home. He does not intend to stay in one place, and he does not intend for his disciples to stay in one place either. He intends to lead his disciples into new places. For Jesus, the plan is about GOING ON rather than GETTING BACK.
This morning I invite you to go on with Jesus. I invite you to go wherever he may lead you, whether it’s a dark, deserted place or a new town full of strangers. I invite you to keep regular daily contact with Jesus, so that if he does in fact go missing in your life, you’ll notice right away. And rest assured, we will all lose Jesus along the way from time to time. But that’s okay – hopefully we’ll quickly notice and we’ll seek him until we find him again. I hope and pray this morning that when we find Jesus missing in our lives, it won’t be long before we seek him out to lead us once again – not to the places that we would have him go, but to the places that he would have us go. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Scripture: Mark 1:29-39
This morning, I stand before you with a confession to make. I have a hidden obsession. This obsession started when I was about 8 or 9, and to this day I have never been able to rid myself of it. It’s an obsession that no one except my wife, and maybe my parents, know about. As I reveal this obsession to you, I ask that you not rush to judgment. It may shock you, it may disgust you, but I really feel like I need to share it with you. I, Erik Hoeke, your pastor, am obsessed…with hats.
I love hats. Specifically, I love baseball caps. I love getting a new, fresh hat and spending the first few days breaking it in. I cut out the lining so it fits my head more snugly. I get it wet and throw it in the dryer to shrink and soften the material. I bend the bill to my exact specifications so it really looks cool. I work it and rework it so that the hat is absolutely beat up, worn, comfortable – the way a ballcap should be. Hats are like a fine wine or a good block of aged Wisconsin cheddar – they get better with age.
I also love stocking caps for the winter months. I missed wearing them in Atlanta, but the northern winters have offered me the chance to wear those hats I love so dearly. My favorite one is my Steelers hat, the one most of you have seen me wearing all winter. But a couple weeks ago, I lost this hat. As I went to leave for work one morning, I discovered my hat was not in its usual home, perched atop the coat rack in our front hallway. I spent about 15 minutes turning our house upside down looking for that dang hat. I looked upstairs, downstairs, in my car, even in the attic – and there was no way it was in the attic. But hey, I had to check. I love that hat, and I can’t live without it. I knew I wore it to a meeting the night before, and I thought for sure I wore it home. So where was that dang hat?
I finally gave up my search, and when I got to the church that morning I discovered I’d left it here. Whew, that was a close one! Another close call came once when I was on a chorus trip in High School. We were at Myrtle Beach, and I accidentally left my favorite hat at a restaurant. It was this beautiful, worn, ragged, smelly, old Pirates hat. I realized it as soon as we got on the bus, but it was too late. I couldn’t go back. I thought it was gone forever. I’d lost my most treasured hat. Luckily, the next morning we found ourselves near the restaurant, and I was able to retrieve my hat.
When I lose a hat, it doesn’t take me long to notice that it’s gone. A few minutes, a few hours, but never more than 24 hours. I always know if I’m missing the hats that I so dearly love.
When we search the attics and garages of our homes, we find that they are filled with “missing” items. They are filled with things that that used to be integral parts of our lives – baseball cards, electronics, camping equipment, old cassette tapes, home movies, 2008 Christmas gifts. We have piles of stuff that at one time or another we couldn’t live without, but somehow they went missing in our lives and were banished to the dark corners of our homes, where we seldom notice their existence anymore. If my baseball card collection went missing when I was 8, I would’ve noticed immediately. If my baseball cards went missing now, it might take me months to notice.
In this morning’s gospel lesson, Simon and the other disciples discover something missing in their lives. After spending a day with Jesus, at the synagogue, at Simon’s house, and healing people all around town, the disciples are starting to form a relationship with Jesus. He’s their buddy now, the miracle worker from Nazareth. He’s their leader. But then, in the middle of the night, after hanging out with these guys all day, Jesus slips out the back door and retreats into the wilderness, into a “deserted place.” Jesus, if you will, needs some alone time. He needs to get away from it all and pray. And we like this image of Jesus. This text is often used to justify our own need to escape into the wilderness from time to time. See, Jesus takes time off, so we should too. If the savior of the world needs a vacation from time to time, then aren’t we entitled to one as well?
Well, we do need to escape into the wilderness from time to time, but to focus on this as the meaning of Jesus’ retreat is to miss the point. Jesus is not retreating because he needs a vacation, but because he needs to pray. He needs to reconnect with God in heaven, and the middle of the night is the only time people won’t be looking for him to heal them – it’s the only time of day when people won’t notice he’s gone.
But eventually, Simon and the other disciples do look for Jesus, and eventually they find him, praying in the desert. How long it took them to do so is unclear, and I think that’s the beauty of this passage. We have no idea how long it took the disciples to notice Jesus was gone, and we have no idea how long it was before they found him again. Most people assume it was just a couple hours, but we have no way of knowing. Mark, the writer of this gospel, leaves out a lot of details. For all we know, it could have been days, weeks, or even months between the time Jesus left and the time Jesus was found by the disciples.
That’s what I love about this story when I read it. I call it “the case of the missing Jesus.” Jesus goes missing, and the first question the story raises for us is, “how long did it take the disciples to notice?” When Jesus went missing in the disciples’ lives, how long did it take them to notice? I find myself wondering what would happen if I were one of the disciples when Jesus went missing. If Jesus went missing, if he slipped out the back door of my house in the middle of the night, how long would it take me to notice? Would I notice as soon as I woke up, like I’d notice if my arm was missing? Would it take me an hour, and I’d notice once I started walking out the door to go to work? Would it take me a day or two, when I finally start to sense there’s something missing from my life? Or would it take me weeks or months, when I finally visit the spot in the attic I’d been storing my Jesus, and find that he’s gone missing? How long would it take me to notice my Jesus is missing?
How long would it take you to notice if Jesus was missing in your life? A minute? An hour? A day? A few weeks, months, or even years? How long would it be before you noticed Jesus was no longer part of your life? How long would it take for us to notice Jesus has gone missing? This is the first question that this morning’s gospel lesson poses for us.
The second question is, “What do we do once we discover that Jesus has gone missing?” What do we do? Do we turn our house upside down trying to find him? Do we search through the streets and post flyers on all the telephone poles trying desperately to find our lost Jesus? Or do we shrug our shoulders and say, “Huh, that’s too bad, but I’ve already replaced my Jesus with something else.” What do we do when we find out our Jesus has gone missing?
The Gospel writer, Mark, says the disciples “hunted for him.” The original Greek text uses the verb “katadioko” – they pursued him with hostile intent. They hunted him down. They were angry. How dare their leader, their miracle worker, their Jesus, call them to follow and then, just as quickly, go missing?! How dare Jesus leave our side, abandon us! How dare he not stay where we left him! And like we scold our dogs when they don’t stay where we told them to stay, we look at our runaway Savior and firmly say, “BAD JESUS!”
But Jesus is no dog for us to own. He is no collection of baseball cards for us to store in our attic so we may pull him out and admire him a couple times a year. He is no winter coat or hat that we wear only for a season. Jesus is not to be treated as a possession, as something we own. So we dare not treat him the way the disciples did.
“Where have you been, Jesus?” the disciples ask, like panicky parents react to their teenager coming home 3 hours late. Where you been? Everyone’s searching for you, and they’re mad that you aren’t around to heal them. People are upset you’re not where they think you should be. So what do you think about that, Jesus?
How often we treat Jesus the same way. “How dare you leave us,” we say. “Some kind of leader you are.” It seems as though the disciples were hunting him down because they wanted him to return to Capernaum and perform more healings. Mike Graves, a professor at Central Baptist Theological Seminary, says, “Simon, who stands for all of the disciples, does nothing in this text other than to request, or perhaps to compel, Jesus to come back from his time of praying so that more healing may take place. The motives of Jesus and Peter are not entirely clear, although Jesus clearly has another agenda.”
In this text, Jesus does have a different agenda than the disciples. Rather than return to Capernaum for more healings, Jesus goes on to neighboring towns to preach the message there also, for as Jesus tells them, “that is what I came out to do.” The disciples say, “It’s time to GET BACK.” Jesus replies, “It’s time to GO ON.”
There are times that Jesus seems to go missing in our lives. Sooner or later, we notice he’s missing. So we hunt him down to find him, perhaps scold him, and try to convince him to come back into the comfort of our home. C’mon Jesus, get out of the woods, out of the dark, deserted wilderness. It’s kinda scary out here in the middle of nowhere. We don’t want to follow you if it means going out here. Let’s get back to where good things were happening. Let’s get back to Capernaum, Jesus, so we can give the crowds what they want, give them what they need. Let’s go back to where we were before, back to where we were doing ministry that was working!
But Jesus has a different idea. Jesus does not want to return to Capernaum just yet. Jesus’ plans are not the same as those of the disciples, the plan to return home to safe, familiar surroundings. No, says Jesus, we are not returning to the comforts of the past. That is not where I’m leading you. Follow me into new towns, new places, new opportunities for ministry. Jesus refuses to simply lead the disciples back home. He does not intend to stay in one place, and he does not intend for his disciples to stay in one place either. He intends to lead his disciples into new places. For Jesus, the plan is about GOING ON rather than GETTING BACK.
This morning I invite you to go on with Jesus. I invite you to go wherever he may lead you, whether it’s a dark, deserted place or a new town full of strangers. I invite you to keep regular daily contact with Jesus, so that if he does in fact go missing in your life, you’ll notice right away. And rest assured, we will all lose Jesus along the way from time to time. But that’s okay – hopefully we’ll quickly notice and we’ll seek him until we find him again. I hope and pray this morning that when we find Jesus missing in our lives, it won’t be long before we seek him out to lead us once again – not to the places that we would have him go, but to the places that he would have us go. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Champions Again!
We're the first team to win 6 Super Bowls! Yay! We're celebratin' in the Steel City tonight!
Keeping things in Perspective
This is my prayer as we Christians who happen to be Steeler fans gather for worship this morning:
Almighty God, we greet you this morning with football games and parties on our mind. As Western Pennsylvanians, we are at the height of Steeler fever today. But we know better than to make that the focus of this day. We know that a silly football game is far less important than taking the time to worship you. And so we gather in your house to worship you and you alone. Help us to set aside the concerns of this world, to ignore the temptation to worship false idols, so that we are completely focused on you today. Center us, O God. Bring our wills into accordance with your will as we seek to live and worship you this hour. In the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns in us, Amen.
Almighty God, we greet you this morning with football games and parties on our mind. As Western Pennsylvanians, we are at the height of Steeler fever today. But we know better than to make that the focus of this day. We know that a silly football game is far less important than taking the time to worship you. And so we gather in your house to worship you and you alone. Help us to set aside the concerns of this world, to ignore the temptation to worship false idols, so that we are completely focused on you today. Center us, O God. Bring our wills into accordance with your will as we seek to live and worship you this hour. In the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns in us, Amen.
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