"This is the body of Christ, broken for you."
"This is the blood of Christ, shed for you."
In my short life, I have celebrated communion hundreds (maybe even thousands) of times. In all those times, I have never heard these words shouted. I have never heard them proclaimed with strong authority. I have never even heard them loud enough to create an echo, or be heard more than a few feet away. No, these are words that are always said in a holy whisper. Whether the server is a bishop or a teenager, it is always whispered:
"This is the body of Christ, broken for you."
"This is the blood of Christ, shed for you."
Maybe the whispers are signs of reverence and awe of what Christ has done and is doing. We know that the presence of God is passing from server's hands to congregant's hands, and therefore too important to announce casually.
Maybe the whispers are remnants of the early church, whose people whispered these words because saying it any louder could invite persecution, arrest, or even death. In the face of danger, they whispered to keep the holy mystery alive.
Maybe it is because the distribution of bread and cup is too intimate to shout. No matter how large the congregation, it is one person feeding another, as long as it takes, until all have eaten. This is the body of Christ, for you. This piece of bread, these few drops of wine, are not for your neighbor. They will receive their own. No, this morsel, this drop, is for you, picked out especially for you by the God who loves you, and I say these words so that you and you alone may hear.
Maybe it's something else entirely. Whatever it is, I am glad to give and receive this holy whisper. I am glad because it reminds me of the saints before me, the saints around me, and the saints to come. And it reminds me that sometimes, God speaks in a still, small voice, perhaps even a holy whisper.
Showing posts with label Sacraments. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sacraments. Show all posts
Monday, June 4, 2012
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Remembering My Baptism
Yesterday, I visited the church where I was baptized for the first time since I was 2 years old. Although I spent my first 2 years at Crafton UMC, this was the first time I recall being in the building. As I was there, the words echoed through the sanctuary: Remember your baptism and be thankful.
I've heard those words before, but yesterday, those words had new meaning. Now, when I thankfully remember my baptism, I am able to picture the physical location, whereas previously I could not. It's a significant moment in my spiritual journey that has more life to it than it did 2 days ago.
Now, I think back to the Crafton UMC congregation of 1983, celebrating the baptism of an infant named Erik Andrew, son of Tom and Connie Hoeke, promising to help raise this child in the Christian faith. I doubt back then they thought they were baptizing a future United Methodist pastor, or that they would not see that child grow up beyond age 2. Surely, other churches have had a more memorable role in my spiritual life. But Crafton UMC will always hold a special place in my heart. I will always be thankful of this community of believers and the commitment they made on behalf of the church universal when I remember my baptism.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Permission Granted
Here at First UMC of West Newton, the time-honored way of celebrating Communion is by kneeling at the altar rail to receive the bread and cup. We celebrate with small cubes of homemade bread and the "shot glass" distribution of the juice.
When I first arrived here, I was struck by the extreme passivity of the parishioners in this sacrament. They would not do anything unless directed by the pastor. They stand at the altar and stare at me or their shoelaces, waiting for the imperative to "kneel as you are able." Then they receive the bread and cup, but will not eat or drink until the pastor gives some verbal cue to do so. The first time I presided over Communion here was a bit awkward, as I had not prepared to give such directives. I did not expect pastoral ministry would require me to boss people around in the celebration of a sacrament. I'm not the type of person who particularly enjoys telling other people what to do - especially in something as simple as eating a cube of bread and drinking a shot of grape juice. Who are these people, anyway? These are adults; they shouldn't need me to hold their hand and walk them through every step of Communion. Perhaps this is what the Bishop meant when he commissioned me to "Order."
But now, I'm beginning to understand. These people don't need someone to give them verbal cues. They're not waiting for permission. What's really going on here is a deep understanding of why we call it Holy Communion. These people know this isn't a frivolous monthly practice. While we ought not take Communion too seriously, we should approach it with some sense of reverence. After all, this is Jesus Christ, broken for us, poured out for us, present with us in the giving of the bread and cup. Maybe we ought not to rush into the eating and drinking, lest we suffer from spiritual indigestion. Maybe we should take our time and allow someone to tell us what we are really doing at the table, so we have time to process the magnitude of our actions.
And, this congregation also understands why it is Holy Communion. With each group of 15-20 that approaches the altar, they wait to kneel so all may kneel together. They wait to eat so all may eat together. They wait to drink so all may drink together. In this, the celebrant is not the "boss" but the conductor. I am not ordering them what to do and when. No, I'm helping them eat together, to commune. Perhaps this is the role of a pastor - to help the assembled kneel together, eat together, drink together, and pray together, so that Christ may come alive in our midst. May it be so on the first Sunday of every month, and all the days in between.
When I first arrived here, I was struck by the extreme passivity of the parishioners in this sacrament. They would not do anything unless directed by the pastor. They stand at the altar and stare at me or their shoelaces, waiting for the imperative to "kneel as you are able." Then they receive the bread and cup, but will not eat or drink until the pastor gives some verbal cue to do so. The first time I presided over Communion here was a bit awkward, as I had not prepared to give such directives. I did not expect pastoral ministry would require me to boss people around in the celebration of a sacrament. I'm not the type of person who particularly enjoys telling other people what to do - especially in something as simple as eating a cube of bread and drinking a shot of grape juice. Who are these people, anyway? These are adults; they shouldn't need me to hold their hand and walk them through every step of Communion. Perhaps this is what the Bishop meant when he commissioned me to "Order."
But now, I'm beginning to understand. These people don't need someone to give them verbal cues. They're not waiting for permission. What's really going on here is a deep understanding of why we call it Holy Communion. These people know this isn't a frivolous monthly practice. While we ought not take Communion too seriously, we should approach it with some sense of reverence. After all, this is Jesus Christ, broken for us, poured out for us, present with us in the giving of the bread and cup. Maybe we ought not to rush into the eating and drinking, lest we suffer from spiritual indigestion. Maybe we should take our time and allow someone to tell us what we are really doing at the table, so we have time to process the magnitude of our actions.
And, this congregation also understands why it is Holy Communion. With each group of 15-20 that approaches the altar, they wait to kneel so all may kneel together. They wait to eat so all may eat together. They wait to drink so all may drink together. In this, the celebrant is not the "boss" but the conductor. I am not ordering them what to do and when. No, I'm helping them eat together, to commune. Perhaps this is the role of a pastor - to help the assembled kneel together, eat together, drink together, and pray together, so that Christ may come alive in our midst. May it be so on the first Sunday of every month, and all the days in between.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Anam Cara: Part 2 of Several
An Anam Cara is a soul friend. Join me as I share experiences of soul friends that have walked with me in my continuing journey of faith.
My name is Erik, I’m a pastor, I enjoy reading, cooking, going to ball games, and long, slow, reaffirmation of baptismal covenant services on the beach.
The first time I attended such a service, I was in St. Lucia on a mission trip with my youth group. Our last night there, we headed to the beach for some evening relaxation and closing worship. One of the pastors at our church, Rev. Eric Park, led the service, which was centered on reaffirmation of our baptismal covenants and the celebration of Holy Communion. I will never forget that service, particularly because of the way the sacrament of communion was served.
Imagine the sight of 80 senior high youth and adult leaders, worshipping on a Caribbean beach. Now imagine Eric, a bowling ball of a man, leading the service while standing knee deep in the ocean, holding the elements of bread and wine in his outstretched arms and inviting us to the Lord’s Supper. Imagine further that Eric is wearing athletic shorts, a Scooby Doo cut-off t-shirt, and a bandana on his head. This is the scene of one of the most memorable and comical experiences of communion in my life.
Before then, I had received communion countless times. But until that night, I had never seen it administered by someone wearing sleeveless Scooby Doo vestments. Then again, Eric is the type of guy who, as an adult, still reads comic books and watches cartoons, so none of us were in any way surprised at his attire.
As a high school student, I had already begun to sense a call to ordained ministry. However, I was a teenager, so I wasn’t really sure what it all meant. I needed guidance on the matter. Though my parents were pastors themselves, our conversations on the subject seemed guarded. It was almost as if my parents wanted to support my potential call to ministry, but maintain enough distance that I didn’t feel any added pressure to follow in their footsteps. So Eric began to be a person I turned to for guidance.
Occasionally, I would swing by the church after school to chat with Eric. He shared his passions for Star Trek and comic books with me, and I shared my passion for baseball with him. We found (and still find) common ground with Duke basketball, Steelers football, Seinfeld, and a desire to follow Jesus Christ. And sometimes, we would discuss my call to ministry. Eric gave me a lot of great advice, some of which I remember and some of which I’m sure I have long forgotten. Over the years, Eric has remained somewhat of a mentor for me, particularly now that I have begun to fulfill my calling back here in Western PA as one of his colleagues.
Of the many things Eric has taught me, one very important lesson came on that warm summer night on the beach in St. Lucia. That night, as a high school senior, I learned that to be a pastor does not mean one must sacrifice his or her identity. Eric surely knows when wearing the image of a cartoon dog is acceptable, and when a clergy robe is more appropriate for administration of sacraments. But he did teach me that sometimes, we pastors need to let our personalities shine through. Just because I am now a pastor does not mean I must sacrifice who I am, hobbies and wardrobe included. This I know because of a pastor willing to adorn a cut-off t-shirt while administering communion.
On the eve of Thanksgiving, I am thankful for many anam caras, but I am especially thankful for Eric and the important lessons he continues to teach me. How he spells his name may clearly be inferior to the way I spell mine, but I am thankful to have a colleague and a brother in Christ like Eric Park.
My name is Erik, I’m a pastor, I enjoy reading, cooking, going to ball games, and long, slow, reaffirmation of baptismal covenant services on the beach.
The first time I attended such a service, I was in St. Lucia on a mission trip with my youth group. Our last night there, we headed to the beach for some evening relaxation and closing worship. One of the pastors at our church, Rev. Eric Park, led the service, which was centered on reaffirmation of our baptismal covenants and the celebration of Holy Communion. I will never forget that service, particularly because of the way the sacrament of communion was served.
Imagine the sight of 80 senior high youth and adult leaders, worshipping on a Caribbean beach. Now imagine Eric, a bowling ball of a man, leading the service while standing knee deep in the ocean, holding the elements of bread and wine in his outstretched arms and inviting us to the Lord’s Supper. Imagine further that Eric is wearing athletic shorts, a Scooby Doo cut-off t-shirt, and a bandana on his head. This is the scene of one of the most memorable and comical experiences of communion in my life.
Before then, I had received communion countless times. But until that night, I had never seen it administered by someone wearing sleeveless Scooby Doo vestments. Then again, Eric is the type of guy who, as an adult, still reads comic books and watches cartoons, so none of us were in any way surprised at his attire.
As a high school student, I had already begun to sense a call to ordained ministry. However, I was a teenager, so I wasn’t really sure what it all meant. I needed guidance on the matter. Though my parents were pastors themselves, our conversations on the subject seemed guarded. It was almost as if my parents wanted to support my potential call to ministry, but maintain enough distance that I didn’t feel any added pressure to follow in their footsteps. So Eric began to be a person I turned to for guidance.
Occasionally, I would swing by the church after school to chat with Eric. He shared his passions for Star Trek and comic books with me, and I shared my passion for baseball with him. We found (and still find) common ground with Duke basketball, Steelers football, Seinfeld, and a desire to follow Jesus Christ. And sometimes, we would discuss my call to ministry. Eric gave me a lot of great advice, some of which I remember and some of which I’m sure I have long forgotten. Over the years, Eric has remained somewhat of a mentor for me, particularly now that I have begun to fulfill my calling back here in Western PA as one of his colleagues.
Of the many things Eric has taught me, one very important lesson came on that warm summer night on the beach in St. Lucia. That night, as a high school senior, I learned that to be a pastor does not mean one must sacrifice his or her identity. Eric surely knows when wearing the image of a cartoon dog is acceptable, and when a clergy robe is more appropriate for administration of sacraments. But he did teach me that sometimes, we pastors need to let our personalities shine through. Just because I am now a pastor does not mean I must sacrifice who I am, hobbies and wardrobe included. This I know because of a pastor willing to adorn a cut-off t-shirt while administering communion.
On the eve of Thanksgiving, I am thankful for many anam caras, but I am especially thankful for Eric and the important lessons he continues to teach me. How he spells his name may clearly be inferior to the way I spell mine, but I am thankful to have a colleague and a brother in Christ like Eric Park.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Lead us not into temptation
About an hour later, a celebration of a different sort occurred just 45 minutes to the north of our church. On the North Shore of Pittsburgh, the brand new Rivers Casino had its grand opening. In an effort to boost the state’s economy, Pennsylvania’s government has chosen to expand gambling. No longer will Western Pennsylvanians have the inconvenience of driving to West Virginia to slowly give away their hard-earned money on the false hope of slot machines. Now, my beloved hometown of Pittsburgh is a gaming town. Hoorah.
However one feels about gambling, there is no denying the reality that it tempts us to press our luck in the hopes that we can “hit the jackpot.” There is also no denying that the old adages of gambling possess some truth: “It takes a lot of losers to make one big winner,” and “The house always wins.”
As of yesterday, we have a new, shiny, beautiful temptation in our midst. It will tempt many “recreational gamblers” who are looking to have a little harmless fun. It will also tempt those with serious existing gambling addictions. It will tempt those with addictive personalities who never knew the joy of gambling, and they will soon learn the perils of gambling that accompany that joy.
Breena has made a conscious decision to live a life guided by the cleansing waters of holy baptism. But just a short drive away is the tempting waters of the Rivers Casino, seeking to lure her (and the rest of us) in with false promises of hope. I pray that we may continue to place our hope in Christ and Christ alone, and that others may come to know the grace that we already enjoy. I pray also that we are not led into the temptation of the new business in our midst, and that when lives are negatively impacted by it, we may find the wisdom and courage to be in ministry with those “down on their luck.”
Monday, August 3, 2009
God STRENGTHENS
Sermon for Sunday, August 2, 2009
Scripture: John 6:24-35
(Part 3 of a 4-part Sermon Series on Igniting God's Vision at West Newton UMC)
On the day I graduated high school, my family drove me to our high school’s baseball field. I didn’t know why we were going there, but they kept saying they had a surprise for me, and my sister had a strange, giddy look on her face the whole way. When we got out of the car, there were 2 kids playing catch out on the infield. My sister kindly asked if we could borrow the field for a few minutes. They obliged, and then my family told me to run the bases.
“Why?” I asked.
“Just do it,” they all replied.
"This is stupid,” I said as I rolled my eyes. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, you have to,” my mom said.
“Just do it,” they all replied.
"This is stupid,” I said as I rolled my eyes. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, you have to,” my mom said.
So off I went – still in my cap and gown, mind you – starting at home plate, running to first, making the wide turn and heading for second, then making my way to third, and finally jogging down the home stretch. All of this, I’m doing with 2 younger high school kids sitting in the dugout, undoubtedly getting some laughs at my expense. I looked so silly out there. Well, when I got to home plate, my family was waiting for me. And as I approached the plate, there was an envelope lying on top of it. Inside was a card from my sister explaining how proud she was that I had graduated high school, and 2 tickets to a baseball game at historic Fenway Park in Boston.
I’d always wanted to see a game in Fenway, and now, that dream would become reality. As a graduation gift, my sister was taking me on a road trip to Boston – a pilgrimage to see one of baseball’s most holy temples. It was a wonderful trip, one I still remember vividly. It remains one of the greatest gifts anyone has ever given me.
Fast forward a few years. I’m a senior in college, and my sister and I haven’t spoken for almost 2 years. Not after that huge fight we had – the one where I said some really nasty things I shouldn’t have said, and where she said some really nasty things she shouldn’t have said. And we’re sitting together in the same room for the first time since that fight, using our extended family as a buffer between us so we don’t have to speak to one another. But occasionally, our eyes meet, and we see the pain in each other’s eyes. We see the pain each of us has caused in the other in our fighting, and the pain we have caused in my mother. And so we make the decision to begin toward reconciliation.
Fast forward to the present day. My sister and I still aren’t fully reconciled, but we’re getting there. We’re talking again, spending time together again, and trying to figure out how to really love each other after those years of bitterness and broken relationship. We’ve never been the type of siblings to profess love for one another, but we know that love is there. I know that despite what’s been said and done in the past, she loves me, her brother. And I know that I love her, my sister.
But sometimes, I still doubt that love. Sometimes I wonder if my sister ever did love me, or if she just pretended to love me, just to make our parents happy. And when I have those moments of doubt – those moments where I wonder if my sister cares for me or not – I think of that trip to Fenway. I think of how much love went into giving me that gift. If my sister didn’t love me, she wouldn’t have taken me on my dream road trip to Fenway. If she didn’t care about me, she wouldn’t have spent the money to make it happen. If she didn’t enjoy my company, she wouldn’t have taken the time out of her busy college life for a road trip with her geeky kid brother. That gift, that thoughtful, selfless, loving gift, is a manifestation of the love my sister has for me.
God gave us a gift as a manifestation of His love for us. He gave us the gift of his Son, Jesus Christ. And we hear in the Gospels of this Son, Jesus Christ, traveling all around teaching, preaching, and enacting miracles, signs, and wonders. Last week, we heard of Christ’s ministry with the beach crowd, where he fed 5000 people with just a few loaves and a couple fish. This crowd is the same group of people who have tracked him down in this morning’s lesson. They want to know why Jesus’ trip to their area was just a day trip. Why did he leave so quickly, they wonder. He gave us this generous gift of abundant food, and then left! They wanted to see a sign, and they saw it, but now they want more! Now that they’ve tasted the presence of Jesus Christ in their lives, they’re hungering for more! “We want more of the gift!” they shout.
So, as they approach Jesus, they have many questions. “Why’d you leave?” “What must we do to perform the works of God?” “If you’re really God’s son, why did you only give us bread once? After all, Moses gave our ancestors manna in the wilderness each day! And we want you to do the same! We’re starving!”
And Jesus lovingly draws them in, responding to each question in turn. And when they hunger for more bread, he gently teaches them about the true meaning of the manna, and the true meaning of the giving of the loaves. He teaches them that in both cases, the bread came from above – it came from God in heaven. He tells them that these gifts came not because people asked for it, and not because they deserved it, but simply because God loved them. And as they clamor for another few loaves of bread, Jesus kindly but firmly instructs them that He is the bread which they hunger for. Not manna in the wilderness, not loaves on a beach, but the Son of God. “I am the bread of life,” he says. “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”
The crowd received the gift of bread, but they didn’t understand it. They thought their gift, good though it may have been, is already gone. They thought it was a one-time gift of food, and are seeking the same gift once again. But Jesus, revealing himself as the bread of life, shows them that they have already received the gift which they seek. You see, all along they thought the bread was the gift. But the real gift was not the bread. The real gift was the love of God who sent Jesus Christ to teach them, to heal them, to redeem them, and to walk alongside them as they journey through life. The real gift is the everyday presence of God, through Jesus Christ, in their lives. And it is that same everyday presence of God, through Jesus Christ, that is the greatest gift in our lives. The real gift is the love that we see in the death and resurrection, but also the LIFE, of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. In chapter 3, verse 16, John writes, “For God so loved the world…” What? Do you know the rest?
For God so loved the world, that he gave us the bread of life. For God so loved the world, that he gave us a son who “surely” is with us “always, to the very end of the age.” For God so loved the world, that he continues to walk alongside us, teaching us when we do not understand, feeding us when we are hungry, healing us when we are sick, being our rock when we lose our footing, guiding us when we are lost, and being our strength when we are weak. For God so loved the world…
Some of you may know the poem, “Footprints in the Sand” by Mary Stevenson. I’d like to share that poem with you now:
One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
Other times there were one set of footprints.
This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life,
When I was suffering from anguish, sorrow, or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.
So I said to the Lord,
“You promised me, Lord, that if I followed you,
You would walk with me always.
But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life,
There have only been one set of footprints in the sand.
Why, when I needed you most, have you not been there for me?”
The Lord replied,
"The times when you have seen only one set of footprints in the sand,
Is when I carried you.”
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
Other times there were one set of footprints.
This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life,
When I was suffering from anguish, sorrow, or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.
So I said to the Lord,
“You promised me, Lord, that if I followed you,
You would walk with me always.
But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life,
There have only been one set of footprints in the sand.
Why, when I needed you most, have you not been there for me?”
The Lord replied,
"The times when you have seen only one set of footprints in the sand,
Is when I carried you.”
You may not always know it or feel it, but God is always with you. Christ is always walking beside you, and when you are weak, he is your strength. That gift has already been given to us. The crowds hungered for more material gifts from Jesus. But in doing so, they missed the point. They thought the bread itself was the gift, but as Christ teaches them, the bread itself is not the gift. No, the true gift is the Christ that carries us along the beach in our times of anguish, sorrow, and defeat. The true gift is the nourishing, strengthening, sustaining presence of Christ in their lives. Any nourishment the crowd receives from a loaf of bread is fleeting, but the strength and nourishment they receive from Christ lasts forever. The best gift of all is the love of God manifested in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, that love that keeps us going when life overwhelms us.
My sister gave me the gift of a trip to a historic baseball park. But I know that the baseball pilgrimage itself was not the gift. No, my trip to Fenway was a manifestation of a perfect gift: the gift of a sister’s love for her kid brother. The bread, this bread right here, is a manifestation of the perfect gift: The love of God that finds the lost, redeems the sinners, restores the broken, reconciles the estranged, heals the sick, teaches the confused, protects the abused, strengthens the weak, and feeds us all – from just one loaf.
This IS the body of Christ. It IS the presence of Jesus Christ, right here, right now, at this moment in our lives. It IS the gift of love, given freely and abundantly for each one of us, not because we asked for it or deserve it, but because God loves us. Let’s enjoy this blessed gift together. Amen.Monday, June 8, 2009
The Call at the Table
Sermon for Sunday, June 7 - Trinity Sunday, Communion Sunday
Scripture: Isaiah 6:1-8
I like mornings. Mornings just feel so fresh and new and peaceful, and it seems like you start again with a “clean slate.” When you wake up in the morning, yesterday officially becomes a memory. It doesn’t matter what you said or did yesterday, because it’s gone and you can’t change it. The page has turned, and today is a blank page just waiting to be filled.
Wayne Albertson, my pastor in college, used to start all conversations with the phrase, “Welcome to the day.” It didn’t matter what time of day it was, he was ready to welcome you to the day. “Welcome to the day” – what an inviting phrase. It was a subtle reminder that every day begins anew. Every day is a fresh start, a “re-do” called out from the kickball field in the schoolyard. Every day is a clean slate waiting to be written on, a blank page waiting to be filled. Every day invites us to new opportunities, new possibilities, new challenges. Each day is a new day, a day that the Lord has made, a day for us to shed our old mistakes and start over.
We’d all be foolish to say we’ve gone through a day without messing something up. A few weeks ago, I had one of those days where I was just a model citizen, a model Christian, a model husband, and so on. I was just being as loving and caring as someone could be. I was helping out friends, family, and even a stranger or two along the way. I’ll tell you, I took that new day and made the most of it. I filled that blank page with all sorts of good deeds. But by dinnertime, I’d begun to notice how awesome I was being. And a thought crept into my head: “Man, I’m such a good person. I’m just doing everything right today. God must be so proud of me right now!”
And just like that, my perfect day was ruined by my ego. Just like that, all the humility I’d displayed all day was completely cancelled out by my sin of pride. Just like that, my perfect day was over. No matter how awesome, how loving we are in a particular day, we’re going to mess up at some point. Sin is going to reign over us sooner or later – it’s not a question of if sin enters our lives, but when.
Isaiah was a sinner, just like us – and just like everyone else. “Woe is me!” he cried. “I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” As he says this, he is standing in the temple, in the presence of the Lord. Isaiah is overcome with the sight of flowing robes and seraphs, the sound of heavenly praises, the smell of holy smoke, and the feeling of God’s power whipping through the doorways. Surely the presence of the Lord surrounds him – which is exactly what Isaiah has come for. Isaiah has come to the temple, approaching the throne of God, and lo and behold, God has filled the place with the sights and sounds and smells of His presence!
But Isaiah didn’t initially come to the temple to confess his sin. He didn’t come expecting to cry out, “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips!” He wasn’t lost – he knew exactly where he was. But encountering God at the temple convinced him of his need to repent. It was a moment of conviction. This temple experience reminded him that he’s not “all that and a bag of chips.” It caused a moment of self-reflection, where Isaiah recognizes he is unclean – he is a sinner, just like everyone else.
We often fool ourselves into believing that we are not sinners. Or, even if we admit we’re sinners, the sins we commit are just little mistakes on the way – not like the sins of those “other” people. Isn’t it interesting how the sins we’re guilty of always turn out to be just minor hiccups, and the sins that we never personally commit are the ones that are always the most awful? It’s just another way of building ourselves up. “I’m not a sinner,” we say. Or, “Yeah, I’m a sinner, but I’m not as bad as those sinners over there – they’re way worse sinners than I am.” Maybe we say this instead: “I’m a sinner, but so is everyone else, so what’s the big deal?” And have you heard this one: “I was a sinner, but God redeemed me, so now I’m all set. No need for any more redemption here.”
Whatever tactic we use, we like to rationalize and reason our way out of our continual need to receive God’s grace. We continually convince ourselves that we’re “not that bad,” that “we generally believe in God and follow God, so it’s alright.” We’re God’s chosen ones, the once-lost but now-saved, and we are worthy of the God’s favor.
Or, alternatively, we sink into total despair. “No matter what I do, I’m a sinner in the eyes of God.” Or, “There’s nothing I can do to receive God’s grace.” Maybe you’ve heard or even used this one: “I don’t deserve God’s love. I don’t deserve God’s grace.” Again, we rationalize our way out of letting God love us, because “what’s the use? We’re just going to screw up again anyway!”
Both these arguments are common as we approach the Lord’s Table for Holy Communion. Either we say, “Hey, I earned it. I deserve to receive God’s grace. I’m worthy of partaking of the bread and cup.” Or, we lament, “Woe is me! I am unclean! I don’t deserve this! I shouldn’t receive this!” It is a central paradox of Communion – the question, “Who is worthy to receive?”
Who is worthy to receive? This is a question that has surrounded this sacrament since its inception. Who is worthy to receive? No one. Who is worthy to receive? Everyone. Let me explain:
All of us are, by nature, sinful. All of us are people of unclean lips, just as Isaiah is. All of us are unworthy to receive such a holy, perfect, and pure sacrament. No one is worthy to receive the Lord’s Supper. Yet, in the same token, through the suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, all are made worthy to receive God’s grace. Christ cleanses us, wipes our slate clean, breaks us from the bondage of sin, so that we may perfectly approach the table and receive such grace. So we are totally unworthy of receiving Communion, yet Christ has made us totally worthy. At the same time, we are completely worthy and completely unworthy. Talk about a holy mystery!
The liturgy we use to celebrate Communion is relatively unchanged from the liturgy used by Christians for the past 1700 years. And it is no coincidence that our liturgy begins with a very Isaiah-like confession, admitting our sinfulness. You will notice that our first prayer together is the prayer of confession and pardon. We confess our sins – “Woe are we, for we are people of unclean lips, living among people of unclean lips!” The first step of communion is recognizing that we are not worthy – a recognition brought about by encountering God at the temple. And the second step is confessing those sins. After confession, we are then able to approach God with the intention of being made clean.
And so we will move through this liturgy in just a few minutes, making a similar confession to that of Isaiah. We’ve come to encounter God in the temple. But that encounter has convicted us, calling us into self-examination of our sinful nature. And we will approach the table with the same lamenting cry as Isaiah: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man [or woman] of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips!” We will admit our complete unworthiness to receive such a holy gift, the bread and cup.
“Forgive us,” we will pray. “Free us for joyful obedience, so we may more perfectly love you, O Lord.” Make us worthy through the suffering, death, and resurrection of your Son, Jesus Christ. Make us worthy to receive this holy gift. And then we will proclaim the refrain many of you have committed to memory: “In the name of Jesus Christ, you are forgiven!”
We’ll come to Christ’s table, kneeling as totally unworthy and totally worthy people, sinners that have been forgiven. We will, like Isaiah, be completely aware of the continual need for the cleansing of our souls, a cleansing that can come only from the God who sits on the highest throne. “Woe is me! I am lost, and I have somehow found my way to your temple and to your table!” This is why John Wesley believed in receiving communion as frequently as you can – because we are always sinners in need of God’s grace, and kneeling at the Lord’s Table reminds us of this truth.
Of course, this morning we will not be receiving a fiery coal from a heavenly being like Isaiah did. Instead, we will receive the bread and cup from the outstretched arms of Jesus Christ. And when these elements touch our lips, our guilt will depart and our sin will be blotted out. What a glorious and celebratory moment that is – the cleansing of our souls, the blotting out of sin, the departing of guilt – all wrapped up in the mystery we encounter at Christ’s table.
Communion is, among many things, a reminder of the love and forgiveness of God, offered in the form of Jesus Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit. Communion is a reminder of the cleansing work of the cross. Communion is an act of getting a fresh start – wiping the slate clean, turning the page, waking up to a new day, turning over a new leaf. However you want to say it, letting the bread and cup touch our lips blots out the past and flushes out the guilt. It frees us for a new day of joyful obedience and perfect love of God and neighbor.
We may approach the table, tired and weary from our days of sin and guilt. “Woe is me! I am lost!” But when we let the bread and cup touch our lips, we are welcomed to a new day. “Welcome to the day,” God says in this sacrament. Welcome to a new day where your guilt has departed and your sin has been blotted out. Whatever mistakes you’ve made, whatever transgressions you’ve committed, and no matter how lost you’ve become by wandering away from God, the gift of forgiveness awaits you. Welcome to the day – to your fresh start in Christ Jesus.
Isaiah came to the temple, and stumbled upon a meaningful encounter with God. He cried out for salvation, and it was given to him in a mysterious act. But the most amazing thing about Isaiah’s call narrative is what happened after he is cleansed of sin and guilt. Once his sin and guilt is cleared away, he suddenly becomes aware of the voice of God. It seems the Lord had already been talking to him, but not until his sin and guilt departed was he able to hear the voice of God. Sin and guilt was like waxy buildup in Isaiah’s ear, and the fiery coal acted as a Q-tip, opening up the pathway to hearing God’s call.
"Then I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” Isaiah has turned the page to a new day, and discovered that this new day is calling out to him. “Welcome to the day,” says the Lord. “Will you live this day for me? Will you be my servant today?”
Folks, when we celebrate communion and let sin and guilt depart from us, we then become freed for that joyful obedience we ask for. When we turn the page, we find the Lord calling out to us, asking us to take his message to the people of unclean lips. But we cannot hear this call unless we are first cleansed from sin and guilt. We cannot hear this call unless we let the bread and cup touch our lips, reminding us that we are forgiven and reconciled people, called to respond to our temple experience on this day. Isaiah, a sinner, was cleansed by the Lord, and responded by living the life that God called him to. All of us, sinners like Isaiah, are cleansed by the Lord, and our call this morning through the sacrament of Holy Communion is to live out a life that is acceptable and pleasing to God. We’ve been given the gift of a new day. What will we do with this precious gift? In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Scripture: Isaiah 6:1-8
I like mornings. Mornings just feel so fresh and new and peaceful, and it seems like you start again with a “clean slate.” When you wake up in the morning, yesterday officially becomes a memory. It doesn’t matter what you said or did yesterday, because it’s gone and you can’t change it. The page has turned, and today is a blank page just waiting to be filled.
Wayne Albertson, my pastor in college, used to start all conversations with the phrase, “Welcome to the day.” It didn’t matter what time of day it was, he was ready to welcome you to the day. “Welcome to the day” – what an inviting phrase. It was a subtle reminder that every day begins anew. Every day is a fresh start, a “re-do” called out from the kickball field in the schoolyard. Every day is a clean slate waiting to be written on, a blank page waiting to be filled. Every day invites us to new opportunities, new possibilities, new challenges. Each day is a new day, a day that the Lord has made, a day for us to shed our old mistakes and start over.
We’d all be foolish to say we’ve gone through a day without messing something up. A few weeks ago, I had one of those days where I was just a model citizen, a model Christian, a model husband, and so on. I was just being as loving and caring as someone could be. I was helping out friends, family, and even a stranger or two along the way. I’ll tell you, I took that new day and made the most of it. I filled that blank page with all sorts of good deeds. But by dinnertime, I’d begun to notice how awesome I was being. And a thought crept into my head: “Man, I’m such a good person. I’m just doing everything right today. God must be so proud of me right now!”
And just like that, my perfect day was ruined by my ego. Just like that, all the humility I’d displayed all day was completely cancelled out by my sin of pride. Just like that, my perfect day was over. No matter how awesome, how loving we are in a particular day, we’re going to mess up at some point. Sin is going to reign over us sooner or later – it’s not a question of if sin enters our lives, but when.
Isaiah was a sinner, just like us – and just like everyone else. “Woe is me!” he cried. “I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” As he says this, he is standing in the temple, in the presence of the Lord. Isaiah is overcome with the sight of flowing robes and seraphs, the sound of heavenly praises, the smell of holy smoke, and the feeling of God’s power whipping through the doorways. Surely the presence of the Lord surrounds him – which is exactly what Isaiah has come for. Isaiah has come to the temple, approaching the throne of God, and lo and behold, God has filled the place with the sights and sounds and smells of His presence!
But Isaiah didn’t initially come to the temple to confess his sin. He didn’t come expecting to cry out, “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips!” He wasn’t lost – he knew exactly where he was. But encountering God at the temple convinced him of his need to repent. It was a moment of conviction. This temple experience reminded him that he’s not “all that and a bag of chips.” It caused a moment of self-reflection, where Isaiah recognizes he is unclean – he is a sinner, just like everyone else.
We often fool ourselves into believing that we are not sinners. Or, even if we admit we’re sinners, the sins we commit are just little mistakes on the way – not like the sins of those “other” people. Isn’t it interesting how the sins we’re guilty of always turn out to be just minor hiccups, and the sins that we never personally commit are the ones that are always the most awful? It’s just another way of building ourselves up. “I’m not a sinner,” we say. Or, “Yeah, I’m a sinner, but I’m not as bad as those sinners over there – they’re way worse sinners than I am.” Maybe we say this instead: “I’m a sinner, but so is everyone else, so what’s the big deal?” And have you heard this one: “I was a sinner, but God redeemed me, so now I’m all set. No need for any more redemption here.”
Whatever tactic we use, we like to rationalize and reason our way out of our continual need to receive God’s grace. We continually convince ourselves that we’re “not that bad,” that “we generally believe in God and follow God, so it’s alright.” We’re God’s chosen ones, the once-lost but now-saved, and we are worthy of the God’s favor.
Or, alternatively, we sink into total despair. “No matter what I do, I’m a sinner in the eyes of God.” Or, “There’s nothing I can do to receive God’s grace.” Maybe you’ve heard or even used this one: “I don’t deserve God’s love. I don’t deserve God’s grace.” Again, we rationalize our way out of letting God love us, because “what’s the use? We’re just going to screw up again anyway!”
Both these arguments are common as we approach the Lord’s Table for Holy Communion. Either we say, “Hey, I earned it. I deserve to receive God’s grace. I’m worthy of partaking of the bread and cup.” Or, we lament, “Woe is me! I am unclean! I don’t deserve this! I shouldn’t receive this!” It is a central paradox of Communion – the question, “Who is worthy to receive?”
Who is worthy to receive? This is a question that has surrounded this sacrament since its inception. Who is worthy to receive? No one. Who is worthy to receive? Everyone. Let me explain:
All of us are, by nature, sinful. All of us are people of unclean lips, just as Isaiah is. All of us are unworthy to receive such a holy, perfect, and pure sacrament. No one is worthy to receive the Lord’s Supper. Yet, in the same token, through the suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, all are made worthy to receive God’s grace. Christ cleanses us, wipes our slate clean, breaks us from the bondage of sin, so that we may perfectly approach the table and receive such grace. So we are totally unworthy of receiving Communion, yet Christ has made us totally worthy. At the same time, we are completely worthy and completely unworthy. Talk about a holy mystery!
The liturgy we use to celebrate Communion is relatively unchanged from the liturgy used by Christians for the past 1700 years. And it is no coincidence that our liturgy begins with a very Isaiah-like confession, admitting our sinfulness. You will notice that our first prayer together is the prayer of confession and pardon. We confess our sins – “Woe are we, for we are people of unclean lips, living among people of unclean lips!” The first step of communion is recognizing that we are not worthy – a recognition brought about by encountering God at the temple. And the second step is confessing those sins. After confession, we are then able to approach God with the intention of being made clean.
And so we will move through this liturgy in just a few minutes, making a similar confession to that of Isaiah. We’ve come to encounter God in the temple. But that encounter has convicted us, calling us into self-examination of our sinful nature. And we will approach the table with the same lamenting cry as Isaiah: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man [or woman] of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips!” We will admit our complete unworthiness to receive such a holy gift, the bread and cup.
“Forgive us,” we will pray. “Free us for joyful obedience, so we may more perfectly love you, O Lord.” Make us worthy through the suffering, death, and resurrection of your Son, Jesus Christ. Make us worthy to receive this holy gift. And then we will proclaim the refrain many of you have committed to memory: “In the name of Jesus Christ, you are forgiven!”
We’ll come to Christ’s table, kneeling as totally unworthy and totally worthy people, sinners that have been forgiven. We will, like Isaiah, be completely aware of the continual need for the cleansing of our souls, a cleansing that can come only from the God who sits on the highest throne. “Woe is me! I am lost, and I have somehow found my way to your temple and to your table!” This is why John Wesley believed in receiving communion as frequently as you can – because we are always sinners in need of God’s grace, and kneeling at the Lord’s Table reminds us of this truth.
Of course, this morning we will not be receiving a fiery coal from a heavenly being like Isaiah did. Instead, we will receive the bread and cup from the outstretched arms of Jesus Christ. And when these elements touch our lips, our guilt will depart and our sin will be blotted out. What a glorious and celebratory moment that is – the cleansing of our souls, the blotting out of sin, the departing of guilt – all wrapped up in the mystery we encounter at Christ’s table.
Communion is, among many things, a reminder of the love and forgiveness of God, offered in the form of Jesus Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit. Communion is a reminder of the cleansing work of the cross. Communion is an act of getting a fresh start – wiping the slate clean, turning the page, waking up to a new day, turning over a new leaf. However you want to say it, letting the bread and cup touch our lips blots out the past and flushes out the guilt. It frees us for a new day of joyful obedience and perfect love of God and neighbor.
We may approach the table, tired and weary from our days of sin and guilt. “Woe is me! I am lost!” But when we let the bread and cup touch our lips, we are welcomed to a new day. “Welcome to the day,” God says in this sacrament. Welcome to a new day where your guilt has departed and your sin has been blotted out. Whatever mistakes you’ve made, whatever transgressions you’ve committed, and no matter how lost you’ve become by wandering away from God, the gift of forgiveness awaits you. Welcome to the day – to your fresh start in Christ Jesus.
Isaiah came to the temple, and stumbled upon a meaningful encounter with God. He cried out for salvation, and it was given to him in a mysterious act. But the most amazing thing about Isaiah’s call narrative is what happened after he is cleansed of sin and guilt. Once his sin and guilt is cleared away, he suddenly becomes aware of the voice of God. It seems the Lord had already been talking to him, but not until his sin and guilt departed was he able to hear the voice of God. Sin and guilt was like waxy buildup in Isaiah’s ear, and the fiery coal acted as a Q-tip, opening up the pathway to hearing God’s call.
"Then I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” Isaiah has turned the page to a new day, and discovered that this new day is calling out to him. “Welcome to the day,” says the Lord. “Will you live this day for me? Will you be my servant today?”
Folks, when we celebrate communion and let sin and guilt depart from us, we then become freed for that joyful obedience we ask for. When we turn the page, we find the Lord calling out to us, asking us to take his message to the people of unclean lips. But we cannot hear this call unless we are first cleansed from sin and guilt. We cannot hear this call unless we let the bread and cup touch our lips, reminding us that we are forgiven and reconciled people, called to respond to our temple experience on this day. Isaiah, a sinner, was cleansed by the Lord, and responded by living the life that God called him to. All of us, sinners like Isaiah, are cleansed by the Lord, and our call this morning through the sacrament of Holy Communion is to live out a life that is acceptable and pleasing to God. We’ve been given the gift of a new day. What will we do with this precious gift? In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Steal Away To Jesus
Over the weekend, this happened. Not knowing many details, such as whether the man was acting in threatening or dangerous ways, it is difficult to fully comment on it. However, it made me wonder how, as a pastor, I would react in such a situation.
If it was obvious this man was a danger to those around him, then the congregation's efforts to contain him seemed like the correct response. However, my hope is that getting the police involved was for safety reasons rather than because this man stole some body of Christ wafers. There's nothing inherently "un-Christian" or sacreligous about wanting to be fed by the sacrament of Holy Communion, even if it is misunderstood as a "snack time" rather than an outward and visible sign of the grace of God freely given to us.
If the man was in fact just hungry, and not endangering those around him with threatening behavior, then I would not have held him down or let others do so. I would have made sure there was still enough of the elements for everyone else, tried to calm him down enough to finish the service, then taken him into my office for counsel and to help him find food. I'd make it clear to him that whatever communion is, it is not "free snack time." Then I'd make sure his immediate needs were met.
Now, this is not meant as a condemnation of what this congregation did. The fact that this was a Catholic church cannot be overlooked. Their theology of the sacrament of Holy Communion differs from my own Wesleyan theology. They consider the elements to be the body and blood of Christ in a way different than I, so to them this man was acting irreverently towards Jesus Christ our Lord. In their mind, he was committing a monumental transgression, and they responded according to their theology, whether they realized it or not.
Still, the image of this man stealing the wafers, desperately hungering for that which is the body of Christ, is a powerful one. What if we approached the table with such passion and desire to partake of Holy Communion, even if we misunderstood and tried to "take" communion rather than receive it? What if we desired Christ so fervently that we were willing to risk being held down, risk being arrested?
If it was obvious this man was a danger to those around him, then the congregation's efforts to contain him seemed like the correct response. However, my hope is that getting the police involved was for safety reasons rather than because this man stole some body of Christ wafers. There's nothing inherently "un-Christian" or sacreligous about wanting to be fed by the sacrament of Holy Communion, even if it is misunderstood as a "snack time" rather than an outward and visible sign of the grace of God freely given to us.
If the man was in fact just hungry, and not endangering those around him with threatening behavior, then I would not have held him down or let others do so. I would have made sure there was still enough of the elements for everyone else, tried to calm him down enough to finish the service, then taken him into my office for counsel and to help him find food. I'd make it clear to him that whatever communion is, it is not "free snack time." Then I'd make sure his immediate needs were met.
Now, this is not meant as a condemnation of what this congregation did. The fact that this was a Catholic church cannot be overlooked. Their theology of the sacrament of Holy Communion differs from my own Wesleyan theology. They consider the elements to be the body and blood of Christ in a way different than I, so to them this man was acting irreverently towards Jesus Christ our Lord. In their mind, he was committing a monumental transgression, and they responded according to their theology, whether they realized it or not.
Still, the image of this man stealing the wafers, desperately hungering for that which is the body of Christ, is a powerful one. What if we approached the table with such passion and desire to partake of Holy Communion, even if we misunderstood and tried to "take" communion rather than receive it? What if we desired Christ so fervently that we were willing to risk being held down, risk being arrested?
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
World Communion Sunday
This Sunday is World Communion Sunday. That means our church will celebrate, along with other churches around the world, the interconnectedness of Christ's church. We will commune in our small town church as one body, but we will also commune with our brothers and sisters around the world, figuratively gathering around one table, breaking one loaf, and drinking from one cup of blessing. In honor of World Communion Sunday, I have decorated the altar with items from many countries around the world. These are all items that Lisa or I have obtained from our own travels or the travels of our friends and family. I also have multiple lapel pins representing countries from around the world -- most of them from my childhood journeys through Disney World's Epcot Center -- that I plan to wear pinned to my robe. Finally, I will use the modified liturgy found in the UM Book of Worship that was written for just such an occasion.
Our church only celebrates the sacrament of the Lord's Supper about 3-4 times a year, but I would love to move us toward more frequent communion, as per Wesley's and the UMC's request. Since we're not there yet, this Sunday will be only the second time I will preside over communion. Those who know me won't be surprised to hear that I have been eagerly anticipating this Sunday's service. All week, I've been walking around with an extra bounce in my step. The mere prospect of a communion Sunday is enough to lift my spirits for an entire week! But what is it about communion that gets me going?
Maybe it's the beauty and comfort of the communion liturgy, which has remained relatively unchanged for almost two milennia. Maybe it's the multiple meanings that communion holds for us as Christians: thanksgiving, community, remembrance of Christ's mighty acts, sacrifice, life-giving action of the Holy Spirit, and hope for the coming of Christ's kingdom. Maybe it's the chance to preside over such a sacred act in the life of the church, serving the body and blood of Christ to the body of Christ as its members kneel at the throne of grace. More than likely, it's all of these things.
The last reason, the responsibility and authority that has been bestowed on me to preside, has tremendous meaning for me as a pastor. Not just anyone can preside over the Lord's Supper, which at times seems harsh, but reminds us of the nature of clergy as "set apart." By "set apart", I do not mean this to be elitist or self-righteous, but humbly called by God to do the work of the church, including the administering of sacraments. Presiding over the table reminds me of my own call to ordained ministry. It humbles me because I know that I am terribly unqualified to serve in this capacity. It brings me to tears because in the moment of administering this sacrament, I feel more sure than at any other moment that I am called by God to dedicate my life to ordained ministry in the United Methodist Church.
For everyone, communion is meant to be an uplifting event in the life of the church. It reminds us of why we believe what we do, it centers us on the meaning of Christ's life and actions, and it connects us with the God who unites us all. It gives us a purpose for living, a purpose for loving, a purpose for serving. If we allow it, the sacrament of the Lord's Supper will provide us with an extra bounce in our step for a few weeks, days, hours, maybe even just minutes. May this be so in your life on this Sunday morning as we remember that "we, though many, throughout the earth, we are one body in this one, Lord."
Our church only celebrates the sacrament of the Lord's Supper about 3-4 times a year, but I would love to move us toward more frequent communion, as per Wesley's and the UMC's request. Since we're not there yet, this Sunday will be only the second time I will preside over communion. Those who know me won't be surprised to hear that I have been eagerly anticipating this Sunday's service. All week, I've been walking around with an extra bounce in my step. The mere prospect of a communion Sunday is enough to lift my spirits for an entire week! But what is it about communion that gets me going?
Maybe it's the beauty and comfort of the communion liturgy, which has remained relatively unchanged for almost two milennia. Maybe it's the multiple meanings that communion holds for us as Christians: thanksgiving, community, remembrance of Christ's mighty acts, sacrifice, life-giving action of the Holy Spirit, and hope for the coming of Christ's kingdom. Maybe it's the chance to preside over such a sacred act in the life of the church, serving the body and blood of Christ to the body of Christ as its members kneel at the throne of grace. More than likely, it's all of these things.
The last reason, the responsibility and authority that has been bestowed on me to preside, has tremendous meaning for me as a pastor. Not just anyone can preside over the Lord's Supper, which at times seems harsh, but reminds us of the nature of clergy as "set apart." By "set apart", I do not mean this to be elitist or self-righteous, but humbly called by God to do the work of the church, including the administering of sacraments. Presiding over the table reminds me of my own call to ordained ministry. It humbles me because I know that I am terribly unqualified to serve in this capacity. It brings me to tears because in the moment of administering this sacrament, I feel more sure than at any other moment that I am called by God to dedicate my life to ordained ministry in the United Methodist Church.
For everyone, communion is meant to be an uplifting event in the life of the church. It reminds us of why we believe what we do, it centers us on the meaning of Christ's life and actions, and it connects us with the God who unites us all. It gives us a purpose for living, a purpose for loving, a purpose for serving. If we allow it, the sacrament of the Lord's Supper will provide us with an extra bounce in our step for a few weeks, days, hours, maybe even just minutes. May this be so in your life on this Sunday morning as we remember that "we, though many, throughout the earth, we are one body in this one, Lord."
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Weekend in Ohio
I took my first Sunday off this past weekend. Lisa and I attended her college roommate's wedding, about 30 minutes from our college town of Ada. Lisa was a bridesmaid, I was a bridesmaid's husband (i.e. gopher), and we saw lots of people we rarely see. The weekend was a blast, the wedding was a blast, and it reminded us that we're now back within driving distance of many of our college friends. We also got to see Wayne and Fern Albertson, the pastor of the UMC in Ada
and his wife. He officiated our wedding, and they've both been dear mentors and friends to Lisa and I over the years. We love them and love the people at their church. We attended there Sunday morning and saw many folks from the congregation that we should keep in touch with and simply don't. It was probably the last chance in a long, long, long time that we'll get to attend Ada First UMC, since it's hard for me to justify taking too many of my precious few Sundays off to spend the weekend surrounded by Ohio cornfields. While there, apparently the person preparing the communion elements can't count, and cut the bread into fours and set out four chalices. Well, there was only supposed to be 3 sets of servers. Anyway, when Wayne saw that, he decided to invite "The Rev. Erik Hoeke and his wife, Lisa," to be additional communion servers. We weren't expecting it at all, but it turned out to be a memorable moment for us, as we got to serve many of the members who served nurtured us as we began dating and as we began the journey towards ordained ministry. It was special.
Now, September is in full swing and there's meetings practically every night at the church for the next 3 weeks. There's 2 tonight back-to-back that I'll be leaving for shortly, another one tomorrow, 3 next week, 3 the week after that, and so on. It was so smart of me to plan a 7 week Bible study in the midst of charge conference planning. But it was now or during Nov. and Dec., when the holidays tend to keep people from committing to evening studies. That's all for now.
and his wife. He officiated our wedding, and they've both been dear mentors and friends to Lisa and I over the years. We love them and love the people at their church. We attended there Sunday morning and saw many folks from the congregation that we should keep in touch with and simply don't. It was probably the last chance in a long, long, long time that we'll get to attend Ada First UMC, since it's hard for me to justify taking too many of my precious few Sundays off to spend the weekend surrounded by Ohio cornfields. While there, apparently the person preparing the communion elements can't count, and cut the bread into fours and set out four chalices. Well, there was only supposed to be 3 sets of servers. Anyway, when Wayne saw that, he decided to invite "The Rev. Erik Hoeke and his wife, Lisa," to be additional communion servers. We weren't expecting it at all, but it turned out to be a memorable moment for us, as we got to serve many of the members who served nurtured us as we began dating and as we began the journey towards ordained ministry. It was special.
Now, September is in full swing and there's meetings practically every night at the church for the next 3 weeks. There's 2 tonight back-to-back that I'll be leaving for shortly, another one tomorrow, 3 next week, 3 the week after that, and so on. It was so smart of me to plan a 7 week Bible study in the midst of charge conference planning. But it was now or during Nov. and Dec., when the holidays tend to keep people from committing to evening studies. That's all for now.
Monday, August 4, 2008
The Blessing of Inadequacy
This is my sermon from 8/3, a Communion Sunday. The Scripture is Matthew 14:13-21, the Feeding of the Five Thousand.
The Blessing of Inadequacy
I’m not sure why my mother sent me six Hershey bars in January of my sophomore year of college, but she did. And they sat on my desk for a week or so without being eaten. Then I went upstairs one evening to visit my friend Lisa, the tall, pretty Steelers fan. She had a half a bag of marshmallows left over from some engineering class project. They were going to solve the world’s bridge problems with Twizzlers and marshmallows. She’d already eaten the leftover Twizzlers, but there were all these marshmallows with no purpose.
We wished aloud we had Graham crackers so we could make S’mores. And within 5 minutes, we found someone with a half-eaten box of Graham crackers. Lisa and I spent that night roasting marshmallows on the dorm kitchen stove, with mechanical pencils as our roasting sticks. That night, a few Hershey bars, some leftover marshmallows, and the only Graham crackers in the building fed the entire dorm.
The crowds had gathered around Jesus. They were sitting at home that day, and heard the word that he would be in their area. They ran out their doors without any preparation, because who wastes time preparing when the Son of God is in town? So here’s a crowd of thousands, gathered around Jesus. And Jesus prays and teaches and heals among them, all day. But it’s getting dark, and no one remembered to bring oil lamps, because there was no time to prepare. And no one brought food, because there was no time to prepare. So the people that had gathered around Jesus was about to disperse. And those disciples were going to let it happen. “We’ve done enough to satisfy the crowds,” they’re saying. “We’re not expected to do anything else for them. So we should let them get on their way – close up shop for the night.”
But Jesus isn’t satisfied with the disciples only doing the bare minimum. He’s not ready to stop just because, well, how much can a dozen disciples really do for a crowd of 5,000? Jesus is ready to show love, to show compassion, to turn a little love into a great banquet. But the disciples resisted. “There’s no way we have the resources to love these people any more today. We’re not capable of doing anything on such a grand scale!”
“But we can feed them,” said Jesus. “We can give these hungry people some dinner.”
As it turns out, the disciples had packed some provisions. But not many – the disciples could barely have a meal out of the meager peasant offerings of a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish. These crowds were out of luck. Too bad, no room at the inn, no free handouts today. Our funds are dried up, and our resources are depleted, and we can’t be held responsible for the crowds’ poor planning and lack of foresight. After all, we’re only a small group of people – we can only do so much!
Can you blame those disciples? They wanted to help, but they knew that with the little that they had, it wasn’t possible. But Jesus taught them a lesson about true compassion and true ministry. He taught them that “budgetary restraints” is not an excuse to “halt all ministry until further notice.” He taught them that “we’re just a small church, so we can’t do as much as the larger churches” is not a valid complaint. He taught them that “we’re tired and ready for bed” is not an excuse to shut the door on the guests we’ve invited in. He taught them that in giving what we have, ministry can occur on a greater scale than we could ever do on our own. But the gifts and resources must be placed in God’s hands if ministry is to truly occur on God’s scale.
“Bring them here to me.” That’s what Jesus commanded the disciples on that day. “I don’t care that you aren’t adequately prepared; just bring me what you can. Bring me what you have, even if it’s only enough for a few fish sandwiches. Bring me the few congregation members that you have, even if it’s only 5% of your town. Bring me the resources your church does have, and I will bless them and prepare them for abundant ministry.”
Those five loaves and two fish in the hands of the disciples were completely inadequate to meet the present need. But those five loaves and two fish in the hands of Jesus Christ were more than adequate. They were so abundant that there were leftovers.
In this story, we see a collection of meager fishermen giving over one basket of food to Jesus, and when Jesus is done with that one basket, there are twelve baskets of leftovers, and 5,000 people have eaten. 5,000 people have been fed by the act of compassion. 5,000 people were cared for by Jesus and the disciples.
Why do so many disciples of Jesus insist that the storeroom must be full in order to be in ministry? Why must we always be adequately prepared in order to meet needs? Why are we making excuses for not doing the ministry we’re called to do?
If we look around the room, we all have about five loaves and two fish to offer, and that’s it. And that’s not enough. It’ll never be enough to meet the needs of this community. It’s just plain inadequate. But in the hands of Christ, it’s more than enough. It’s enough to feed an army.
Admitting that what we have isn’t enough is easy. It’s not hard to make excuses due to inadequacy. We don’t have enough talented players, so how can you expect us to win? You don’t have adequate medical coverage for this procedure, and we don’t give handouts. I’m sorry homeless man, but I only have 6 dollars in my wallet, and if I put than in your cup, how will I eat dinner? I just graduated school, and I’m in debt myself. We’re just a small country church, not like those mega-churches in the city, so we’re just doing the best we can – and it may not be much, but what can you expect from just a few people?
We’re all inadequate in some way. None of us have enough to love 5,000 people at a time, people who are in need because they are lazy or suffering from addiction. But Jesus doesn’t let his disciples off that easy. He doesn’t let us off that easy. “I can’t” is not a valid excuse for a Christian. “I can’t” is not a valid excuse for a Church. “The crowds don’t deserve it and should fend for themselves” is not a valid excuse for the disciples, and it’s not a valid excuse for us. Because when we can’t, or we don’t want to, Jesus can, Jesus wants to, and Jesus will. When all we have is a little bit, God is able to transform that into a blessing for thousands of people.
As you may or may not know, each year all the clergy and an equal number of lay representatives of Western PA gather at Grove City College for Annual Conference. We gather for reunion with old friends and the meeting of new friends. We gather for worship and Bible study and even legislation. We gather to learn about the shared ministry we have and to plan shared ministry for the future. And this year, there was a annual conference children’s choir that they assembled. It was about 8-10 children of people who were at conference that week, and they sang a couple of songs. At the end of their singing, the adults started herding these children off the stage. And they got all of them herded off – except one little girl, maybe 3 years old. She ran the opposite direction, to a microphone close to the floor. And she stood there and sang, in her tiny little voice: “I am the church, you are the church, we are the church together…”
By the end of the song, there were 1500 people singing along with her in utter childlike joy. And that moment felt more blessed by God than any other moment of Annual Conference. A girl with nothing to offer but a tiny voice and a simple Sunday school song ministered to a crowd of thousands. She put her song into the hands of Christ, and all sang and were full of blessing.
In this story, the people are filled with the love of Jesus and his disciples. They are filled by the act of feeding, not just by the amount of food. Jesus guides the disciples into joyful giving out of inadequate resources. The motive of this miracle is what heals people and fills them up. The act done out of compassion and love is the act of ministry, because any act of compassion and love is an act of ministry.
Lisa and I made about a dozen S’mores that winter night from some leftovers, a ratty old stove, and a mechanical pencil. As we did so, we rounded up everyone we could find in the dorm and brought them to the kitchen. And you know what happened? 2, 3, sometimes 4 people shared one S’more, because everyone wanted a fresh S’more on a cold winter night. We invited friends, and they invited friends, and they brought even more people. Some people went back to their room and grabbed more snacks to share with others. For some, their S’more was the first S’more they’d ever had. For others, it took them back to summer nights around a bonfire with friends and family. For still others, it conjured up memories of summer camp or camping trips with the family. But for everyone, that night was a blessing. And for everyone, the S’mores tasted of compassion.
A few people had some leftover food that, by itself, wasn’t much, and even together only created a small snack. But compassion went into giving out the little bit of food that we had, and compassion spread as others agreed to share what little was there. And it was a night filled with love and sharing. It was a night that God had blessed.
As we celebrate the Lord’s Supper this morning, we all come to this table with less than adequate resources. We come with all that we have, but it’s not much. And by laying what little we have at Christ’s table which has been prepared for us, that little bit is blessed by God and returned to us, so that it may become an abundant blessing for others. In this miracle story we see the four actions of the Last Supper. Jesus TAKES the loaves and fishes, BLESSES them, BREAKS them, and GAVE them to the disciples, which they in turn gave to the crowds. The loaves and fishes we bring to the table this morning will be TAKEN by Christ, BLESSED by God, BROKEN and PREPARED by the working of the Holy Spirit, and GIVEN back to us so that we may in turn GIVE to those in need.
“Bring them here to me,” Christ says. Bring what you have to my table. Come and kneel at this altar with what you have, and I will bless all of it. I will bless your gifts and send you forth to bless others abundantly with your less-than-adequate offerings. As we come to the Table this morning, remember Christ’s call – “Bring them here to me.” And we will bring what little we have to the table, and it will be blessed by God through the bread and wine that themselves taste of compassion. And we will be sent forth from the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper with opportunities to share that blessing with others as we reach out in compassion and love. May all these things be so in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
The Blessing of Inadequacy
I’m not sure why my mother sent me six Hershey bars in January of my sophomore year of college, but she did. And they sat on my desk for a week or so without being eaten. Then I went upstairs one evening to visit my friend Lisa, the tall, pretty Steelers fan. She had a half a bag of marshmallows left over from some engineering class project. They were going to solve the world’s bridge problems with Twizzlers and marshmallows. She’d already eaten the leftover Twizzlers, but there were all these marshmallows with no purpose.
We wished aloud we had Graham crackers so we could make S’mores. And within 5 minutes, we found someone with a half-eaten box of Graham crackers. Lisa and I spent that night roasting marshmallows on the dorm kitchen stove, with mechanical pencils as our roasting sticks. That night, a few Hershey bars, some leftover marshmallows, and the only Graham crackers in the building fed the entire dorm.
The crowds had gathered around Jesus. They were sitting at home that day, and heard the word that he would be in their area. They ran out their doors without any preparation, because who wastes time preparing when the Son of God is in town? So here’s a crowd of thousands, gathered around Jesus. And Jesus prays and teaches and heals among them, all day. But it’s getting dark, and no one remembered to bring oil lamps, because there was no time to prepare. And no one brought food, because there was no time to prepare. So the people that had gathered around Jesus was about to disperse. And those disciples were going to let it happen. “We’ve done enough to satisfy the crowds,” they’re saying. “We’re not expected to do anything else for them. So we should let them get on their way – close up shop for the night.”
But Jesus isn’t satisfied with the disciples only doing the bare minimum. He’s not ready to stop just because, well, how much can a dozen disciples really do for a crowd of 5,000? Jesus is ready to show love, to show compassion, to turn a little love into a great banquet. But the disciples resisted. “There’s no way we have the resources to love these people any more today. We’re not capable of doing anything on such a grand scale!”
“But we can feed them,” said Jesus. “We can give these hungry people some dinner.”
As it turns out, the disciples had packed some provisions. But not many – the disciples could barely have a meal out of the meager peasant offerings of a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish. These crowds were out of luck. Too bad, no room at the inn, no free handouts today. Our funds are dried up, and our resources are depleted, and we can’t be held responsible for the crowds’ poor planning and lack of foresight. After all, we’re only a small group of people – we can only do so much!
Can you blame those disciples? They wanted to help, but they knew that with the little that they had, it wasn’t possible. But Jesus taught them a lesson about true compassion and true ministry. He taught them that “budgetary restraints” is not an excuse to “halt all ministry until further notice.” He taught them that “we’re just a small church, so we can’t do as much as the larger churches” is not a valid complaint. He taught them that “we’re tired and ready for bed” is not an excuse to shut the door on the guests we’ve invited in. He taught them that in giving what we have, ministry can occur on a greater scale than we could ever do on our own. But the gifts and resources must be placed in God’s hands if ministry is to truly occur on God’s scale.
“Bring them here to me.” That’s what Jesus commanded the disciples on that day. “I don’t care that you aren’t adequately prepared; just bring me what you can. Bring me what you have, even if it’s only enough for a few fish sandwiches. Bring me the few congregation members that you have, even if it’s only 5% of your town. Bring me the resources your church does have, and I will bless them and prepare them for abundant ministry.”
Those five loaves and two fish in the hands of the disciples were completely inadequate to meet the present need. But those five loaves and two fish in the hands of Jesus Christ were more than adequate. They were so abundant that there were leftovers.
In this story, we see a collection of meager fishermen giving over one basket of food to Jesus, and when Jesus is done with that one basket, there are twelve baskets of leftovers, and 5,000 people have eaten. 5,000 people have been fed by the act of compassion. 5,000 people were cared for by Jesus and the disciples.
Why do so many disciples of Jesus insist that the storeroom must be full in order to be in ministry? Why must we always be adequately prepared in order to meet needs? Why are we making excuses for not doing the ministry we’re called to do?
If we look around the room, we all have about five loaves and two fish to offer, and that’s it. And that’s not enough. It’ll never be enough to meet the needs of this community. It’s just plain inadequate. But in the hands of Christ, it’s more than enough. It’s enough to feed an army.
Admitting that what we have isn’t enough is easy. It’s not hard to make excuses due to inadequacy. We don’t have enough talented players, so how can you expect us to win? You don’t have adequate medical coverage for this procedure, and we don’t give handouts. I’m sorry homeless man, but I only have 6 dollars in my wallet, and if I put than in your cup, how will I eat dinner? I just graduated school, and I’m in debt myself. We’re just a small country church, not like those mega-churches in the city, so we’re just doing the best we can – and it may not be much, but what can you expect from just a few people?
We’re all inadequate in some way. None of us have enough to love 5,000 people at a time, people who are in need because they are lazy or suffering from addiction. But Jesus doesn’t let his disciples off that easy. He doesn’t let us off that easy. “I can’t” is not a valid excuse for a Christian. “I can’t” is not a valid excuse for a Church. “The crowds don’t deserve it and should fend for themselves” is not a valid excuse for the disciples, and it’s not a valid excuse for us. Because when we can’t, or we don’t want to, Jesus can, Jesus wants to, and Jesus will. When all we have is a little bit, God is able to transform that into a blessing for thousands of people.
As you may or may not know, each year all the clergy and an equal number of lay representatives of Western PA gather at Grove City College for Annual Conference. We gather for reunion with old friends and the meeting of new friends. We gather for worship and Bible study and even legislation. We gather to learn about the shared ministry we have and to plan shared ministry for the future. And this year, there was a annual conference children’s choir that they assembled. It was about 8-10 children of people who were at conference that week, and they sang a couple of songs. At the end of their singing, the adults started herding these children off the stage. And they got all of them herded off – except one little girl, maybe 3 years old. She ran the opposite direction, to a microphone close to the floor. And she stood there and sang, in her tiny little voice: “I am the church, you are the church, we are the church together…”
By the end of the song, there were 1500 people singing along with her in utter childlike joy. And that moment felt more blessed by God than any other moment of Annual Conference. A girl with nothing to offer but a tiny voice and a simple Sunday school song ministered to a crowd of thousands. She put her song into the hands of Christ, and all sang and were full of blessing.
In this story, the people are filled with the love of Jesus and his disciples. They are filled by the act of feeding, not just by the amount of food. Jesus guides the disciples into joyful giving out of inadequate resources. The motive of this miracle is what heals people and fills them up. The act done out of compassion and love is the act of ministry, because any act of compassion and love is an act of ministry.
Lisa and I made about a dozen S’mores that winter night from some leftovers, a ratty old stove, and a mechanical pencil. As we did so, we rounded up everyone we could find in the dorm and brought them to the kitchen. And you know what happened? 2, 3, sometimes 4 people shared one S’more, because everyone wanted a fresh S’more on a cold winter night. We invited friends, and they invited friends, and they brought even more people. Some people went back to their room and grabbed more snacks to share with others. For some, their S’more was the first S’more they’d ever had. For others, it took them back to summer nights around a bonfire with friends and family. For still others, it conjured up memories of summer camp or camping trips with the family. But for everyone, that night was a blessing. And for everyone, the S’mores tasted of compassion.
A few people had some leftover food that, by itself, wasn’t much, and even together only created a small snack. But compassion went into giving out the little bit of food that we had, and compassion spread as others agreed to share what little was there. And it was a night filled with love and sharing. It was a night that God had blessed.
As we celebrate the Lord’s Supper this morning, we all come to this table with less than adequate resources. We come with all that we have, but it’s not much. And by laying what little we have at Christ’s table which has been prepared for us, that little bit is blessed by God and returned to us, so that it may become an abundant blessing for others. In this miracle story we see the four actions of the Last Supper. Jesus TAKES the loaves and fishes, BLESSES them, BREAKS them, and GAVE them to the disciples, which they in turn gave to the crowds. The loaves and fishes we bring to the table this morning will be TAKEN by Christ, BLESSED by God, BROKEN and PREPARED by the working of the Holy Spirit, and GIVEN back to us so that we may in turn GIVE to those in need.
“Bring them here to me,” Christ says. Bring what you have to my table. Come and kneel at this altar with what you have, and I will bless all of it. I will bless your gifts and send you forth to bless others abundantly with your less-than-adequate offerings. As we come to the Table this morning, remember Christ’s call – “Bring them here to me.” And we will bring what little we have to the table, and it will be blessed by God through the bread and wine that themselves taste of compassion. And we will be sent forth from the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper with opportunities to share that blessing with others as we reach out in compassion and love. May all these things be so in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Communion Sunday
I've already spent a lot of time thinking and preparing for communion this Sunday, the first time I'll be presiding over the Lord's Supper. I'm very excited about the opportunity, and am weaving some eucharistic theology into my sermon. Apparently, West Newton UMC doesn't celebrate communion that often, and I'm not sure why. But usually it's due to a lack of understanding or a misunderstanding of what this sacrament is, what it represents, and how it is supposed to transform us. Part of me wants to just read J-Dub's "On the Duty of Constant Communion" sermon so the congregation can get some exposure to his works, but of course that would make for a very boring and unfulfilling time of worship. In any event, I'm thrilled that we'll be celebrating the Lord's Supper this Sunday, and I hope that I can show the congregation why it's meaningful.
That's something I've been thinking a lot about lately. We use the terms relevant and meaningful, particularly with regards to worship, but what do we mean when we use them? Are we trying to make irrelevant and meaningless scripture and liturgy come to life and become relevant and meaningful, or is it already relevant? In talking with my seminary pal Lance, I began to understand why I've always been uncomfortable with talk about "making worship relevant." We don't make it relevant. Worship, scripture, liturgy, prayer, singing old and new hymns...all these things are already relevant and meaningful. The problem is, we don't see how it's relevant and meaningful for us. That's what we should be striving for -- to show the meaning already present in these things. We're not doing congregations any favors by pretending that we have some magical key that attaches meaning to otherwise meaningless aspects of God and worship of God.
That's something I've been thinking a lot about lately. We use the terms relevant and meaningful, particularly with regards to worship, but what do we mean when we use them? Are we trying to make irrelevant and meaningless scripture and liturgy come to life and become relevant and meaningful, or is it already relevant? In talking with my seminary pal Lance, I began to understand why I've always been uncomfortable with talk about "making worship relevant." We don't make it relevant. Worship, scripture, liturgy, prayer, singing old and new hymns...all these things are already relevant and meaningful. The problem is, we don't see how it's relevant and meaningful for us. That's what we should be striving for -- to show the meaning already present in these things. We're not doing congregations any favors by pretending that we have some magical key that attaches meaning to otherwise meaningless aspects of God and worship of God.
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