"Even Cars Can't Stay in the Garage!"

The January 3 issue of USA Today had an article titled “God, Religion, Atheism ‘So What?’ That’s what many say”.The article takes note of a trend in society away from all types of searches for meaning and truth and purpose. It is not just that people are turning from being “religious” to “spiritual”, or from “spiritual” to “atheist” – it is that more and more people just don’t care about any of it.

“God? Purpose? You don’t need an opinion on those things to function,” the article quotes one engineer as saying. Another, discounting the possibility of a spiritual component to our existence,  says, “we might as well be cars. That, to me, makes more sense than believing what you can’t see.”

I’m not so sure it was much different in the time of Jesus, either. I mean, if everyone was on the same page, why was Jesus going around saying to people “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news”? No, Jesus, fresh from his baptism, has what he believes is good news for people who had yet to hear it, and he wants to share that with them.

There is an old model of what we call “church” – a model that is still very much in existence in our world – which says that what we need to be about as church is to get people in the doors and into the pews – it is about membership. And there is something to this, because, after all, Jesus’ great commandment is to “go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them and teaching them as I have commanded you.”  And so baptism is the rite by which you join the church.

The danger, of course, is that we leave it at that. With the idea that church is about what happens in here, that the purpose of the church is to support its members.

But look at Jesus and what happens after his baptism. Far from retreating to some sort of spiritual haven where he can be surrounded by like-minded and adoring folk, he goes off into the hustle and bustle of the world, in and among all the people who are spiritually adrift, apathetic, and just uninterested, who are all tied up in the minutia of doing things like they had always done them without remembering why.

And Jesus comes to them, and with his words, and with his teaching, and with his healing, he tells them and shows them that there is more to their world than appears on the surface, that the people are not just “cars”, but instead are beloved children of their Creator; that another kingdom, a kingdom greater than that of Rome or the petty governor ruling their corner of the world, has come near, breaking the power of injustice and tyranny; that there is something which you can’t see – to quote the USA Today article – something called “love”, which is stronger even than death.

Jesus says to them “repent”, which means, literally, “to turn around.” Turn yourself around, he say, turn your face to the warm rays of the rising Son and believe the good news and change your life, so that you might have abundant and eternal life starting today.

This is our mission, this is our task. We, who are in the church, we, who have like Jesus been baptized, we need to repent, to literally turn around, and march back out those doors that so warmly let us in. Our mission is not in here, it is out there, to be the church in the world. Even cars are supposed to be out on the road, not stuck in the garage!

St. Francis told his Friars, as he sent them out into the towns and villages among the poorest of the poor, “Preach the gospel always – if necessary, use words.” That is our mission, as well. We preach the good news as much by what we do as by what we say – as we practice love of neighbor not just by exhibiting a kind attitude to those we see on the street, but by reaching out to the world in acts of generosity and caring and seeking justice for those who are oppressed.

We do that as individuals: as one volunteers down at A Baby Center in Hyannis, an organization which helps lower income parents of newborns and infants with cribs, diapers, strollers, and clothes; as otherstake a few hours each week to be a Big Brother and a Big Sister to kids who lack an adult presence in their life. We each can do that in the individual things we do to share the love of God with others by caring for them.

But we also are called to do this as a church, as together we serve the world in a variety of ways: working together on a Habitat build, or serving a meal at the NOAH Shelter, or going on a mission trip to New Orleans, and so on.

Friends, let us remember our baptism, and how we are called into the church to be sent out into the world, blessed so that we, in our turn, can be a blessing.

"When the Floods Threaten to Overwhelm Us"

The water is not under our control. Something I came to realize once again as I struggled with the shut-off valve hidden back behind the washing machine, while getting drenched from the spray of the burst inflow hose. Something that hit home even deeper when the lever of the valve sheared off in my hand, and I frantically ran towards the basement in search of the master valve which cuts off water to the entire house.

            Something we learned here on Thursday morning, when the crew removing the old underground oil tank next to Jenkins Hall accidently severed the water pipe leading from the well into the building, forcing us to close the school and send the students home.

            Global warming is here, and it is coming on stronger all the time; the ice caps are melting, and since that ice melt has to go somewhere, sea levels are rising. Meteorologists tells us we can expect more and more violent storms, hurricanes, typhoons, and twisters, and that the risks of flood and coastal inundation are creeping ever upward.

Bottom line, you don’t need to have a doctorate or be a post-Katrina resident of New Orleans or post-tsunami coastal Japan to understand that the waters are not under our control. And it was precisely that same understanding which was held by the ancient Hebrews – that water can betray us, can threaten us, can wreak havoc upon us.

            Way back when in the pre-modern Middle East, Israel’s neighbors told stories about a great primeval flood. In their stories, divine beings would battle it out with each other, only noticing humanity when our noise became too annoying to them.  So they decided to use water to wipe the planet clean. In the ancient epic Gilgamesh, the gods sent a flood which wiped everything out, except one family and the animals that they saved.

            The Hebrews knew that story, but then they retold it, retold it in a way that comported with their understanding of how their God worked. And so it does not start with a battle in the heavens between rival gods, but with a divine response to human violence; rain pours down, yes, but also a blessing, in that humanity, through righteous Noah and his family, is rescued; and it ends with a promise by God not just to humanity, but to “all flesh”, a promise that never again will the waters of chaos prevail. God will not dis-member the good creation – God will remember it,. God would remember his creation, and as a sign of that covenant, just as a warrior returning to hearth and home would hang his bow over the fireplace, God would hang his mighty bow over the clouds.

            Friends, for me the point of the account in Genesis of Noah and the flood is not whether or not “it really happened”, and I don’t believe the point of the account for the ancient Hebrews was limited so narrowly, either. They knew that chaos exists, and that chaos was a constant threat to their civilization – the chaos of famine and flood, of disease and invasion. But they also trusted that God had remembered them in the past, and would remember them in the future.

            But we know that as well. We know how it feels like we are being swamped, that the floodgates of chaos have been opened and threaten to sweep it all away.

            When you struggle to keep the grades up and there is all that pressure to get into college and the coach seems to hate you and the guy you secretly pine for doesn’t even look at you and all of a sudden everyone is picking on you on Facebook and somehow you got grounded right before the big dance. High School can be like that.

            When the officers slap the cuffs on your wrist, and the magistrate says “No bail”, and the barred door to the cell slams closed behind you.

            When the sheriff walks up to your door and serves you with a lawsuit accusing you of stealing funds from the charitable organization you had faithfully served for years.

            When a routine chest x-ray comes back and your doctor says, “There seems to be a mass.”

            When after thirty years in the same company your manager comes in and says “We’re sorry, but we are going to have to let you go”, and you have no idea of where that next job might ever be.

            When your spouse says, “I’ve found my soul mate” -- and they are not talking about you.

            When you realize that you can no longer make it in your beloved home, and need to transition to “assisted living” or even a nursing facility.

            I suspect we all know what it can be like to feel as if we are being swamped, as if the waters of chaos will have their way with us.

            Which is why the eternal truth standing behind the account of Noah and the Flood is such good news for us. The good news that God’s grace will prevail, that just as God conquers the unconquerable waters, God can control the chaos that threatens to overwhelm us. That God remembers us; remembers us in the sense that God calls us to mind when we are in danger of being swamped, when we fear that we are alone and forgotten and that God just does not care; but more than that, that God re-members us – God will join us together as one once again, will put us back together, not just as ourselves, but also in solidarity with all creation and with our Creator.

            The Noah story anticipates the Jesus story; God’s promise to remember us is fulfilled in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. Far from abandoning us, God comes to us, takes on our own fragile and failing humanity, and remembers us, put us back together, heals and saves us. And once again it is water that is at the heart of the story, but this time, instead of a rampaging flood, it is waters which cleanse, which heal, which remember us into a new community: the waters of our baptism.

            God remembers; and so let us, in our turn, remember as well.

A Fishing Tale

I recall fishing with my father and grandfather when I was a kid, maybe 10 years old or so.

My grandfather, my mother’s father, was always trying to show us kids that my Dad did not really get it, and so when we were fishing said he was going to teach me to cast, that the way my Dad had taught me was all wrong. So he took my rod, leaned way back, and made a huge overhand cast.

The line did not go very far, because he had left the drag on, and to my grandfather’s chagrin (and probably my Dad’s delight)  the rod followed the line right over the side and down to the bottom of the bay.

Well, we kept on fishing, me using my Dad’s rod, until finally I got a huge tug on the line. We were fishing for flounder, and as I am tugging on the line I am thinking that this had to be the biggest one ever, and when I pulled the line in, I saw I had a flounder on one of the two hooks of the flounder rig.

But the other hook had snagged on a line – and when we pulled that line in, there was my rod! And when we pulled its line in, I had 2 flounder on that one!

I take this is a metaphor of the life of giving. We share what we have, we cast our bread on the waters, and miraculously we find that the rewards are far greater than the cost, that what we get back far exceeds what we had put in.

“Faith is Not A “Get Out of Jail Free” Card”

            You might think that right now we are experiencing or should be experiencing a mountain-top experience. We made it through those long weeks of Advent and growing winter darkness and shortening days, and then, at last, Christ is born, and angels sing, and shepherds glory, and magi come from afar to worship and bring gifts.

            And for Mark, the evangelist whose gospel has no birth narrative, we have that awesome moment when Jesus learns his identity and mission, his baptism by John in the river Jordan. (Mark 1:9-15)

            And so, now what?

            Will Willimon tells of the pastor whose little daughter was playing alone in her room. When he checked in on her, he heard the toilet flushing repeatedly in her bathroom. Drawing closer he heard her repeating the words, each times she flushed, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and down the hole you go.” Seems she was a bit confused about baptism “in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

            Or maybe not.

            Because here is Jesus at what should have been, what must have been, a pinnacle experience, rising from the water, the Spirit descending upon him as if a dove, the voice of his heavenly Father ringing in his ears, proclaiming his love and pleasure. And then, down the hole he goes.

            Immediately that same Spirit, the one descending moments ago like a dove, now like a screaming eagle drives Jesus out into the wilderness, where he will be tempted for forty days. Just as the Israelites, having escaped from Pharaoh’s Egypt, endured forty years of temptation in the wilderness, so too Jesus endures a period when he must wrestle with what he will do with his life, how he will exercise the powers attendant to the special relationship he has been gifted with.

            And it gets no better after that wilderness testing, for Jesus emerges to be greeted by the news that John has been arrested, and in a few short chapters will have his head served up on a platter to Herod. And not too long after that, Jesus will once again find himself tested, this time in a garden after the Passover meal, and then writhing in agony on a cross while onlookers mock him.

            Down the hole he goes.

            The Christian faith is often presented to folk as the solution to all their problems. A “Get out of Jail Free” card to life’s troubles. Having trouble finding a purpose for your life? We can help you with that, got a book and a few lesson plans that should do the trick. Kids acting up? We can help you with that, just bring them to Sunday School and youth group. Got an addiction you want to beat? Take a few steps up into the Meetinghouse. Financially insecure? Some churches will say we got you covered there as well. A National Football League quarterback with few conventional quarterbacking skills, but a devoted follower of Jesus Christ his personal Lord and Savior? Yeah, according to many of his fans, he’s covered there.

            But to be fair to Tim Tebow, the Bronco who wears eye-black patches under his eyes reading “John 3:16”, who kneels for a moment of prayer after victories and big plays, he has yet to say, as do some of his fans, that God is on his side when it comes to the outcome of football games.  I think he knows that his faith does not exempt him from the challenges of professional football, will not prevent his being sacked, will not mean that he will never fumble or throw an interception, will not stave off the bone-jarring hits that are part and parcel of life for a professional athlete.

            It is, sadly, the same for us. Baptized into the faith and family of Jesus Christ, far from being handed that “Get out of Jail Free” card, down the hole we go. We rise from the waters of baptism, dead to the old life, ready for a new life in Jesus Christ, and find that if we really do what we profess, if we really try to follow in the footsteps on the one in whose name we are baptized, that new life might look a whole lot different than we had expected.

            Because we remember that Jesus told us that he came not to be served, but to serve. And so if we are to walk with him, we will be serving as well. And we remember that Jesus told his followers it was about a new community, which means that we have to deal with everyone else who somehow got into this place called “church.” And we remember how he told his follows, after he set his face towards Jerusalem, as he readied himself for the last leg of his journey, a journey that would take him to arrest, and torture, and death, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up the cross and follow me.”

            Because we remember that Jesus, far from exalting himself and aiming for the skies, humbled himself, even to the extent of taking on lowly human form and vulnerability and suffering. And so if we are to imitate him, those mountaintop experiences will be few and far between, and mostly we will find ourselves down in some valley ladling soup in a homeless shelter, or hammering nails on a Habitat for Humanity build or a New Orleans Katrina restoration project, or standing in the cold outside of the halls of power holding a sign urging justice for all and care for the poor, or wiping the nose of a crying baby in the crib/toddler room on a  Sunday morning, or out on a balcony in Memphis in the crosshairs of a rifle, or yes, even doing the unglamorous task of writing out a check each week to help enable ministries here and in the world beyond.

            I guess the good news of all this is that Christianity is a faith not just for the mountaintop experiences -- the Christmas and Easter celebrations, the joy of baptism and the excitement of Confirmation, the occasional “aha” moment or even, for some of us, that special moment of intimacy with the divine. Christianity is also a faith for the valleys. Because most of us don’t live on the mountaintop in a world of continual spiritual highs and visions and glowing satisfaction – we live down in the valley where we basically trudge along, try to make it all work, try to do what we can when we can, dealing with blitzing linebackers and red dogging safeties and a life than can seem like a two-minute hurry-up offense.

            And yet it is there, right there in the muck and mire of daily living, that God comes to us. God does not wait for us to come to him, to climb the spiritual mountain, to master the life of prayer, to outdo Sister Theresa in good works.  Jesus comes to us there, in the mess of a manger, in the muddy waters of solidarity, in the dust of the long road, even on the smelly garbage heap at the end of our days. Maybe not offering a “Get out of Jail Free” card, no – but always offering his hand, a smile, and a promise to be with us always – both down in the hole, yes, but also along the banks of the river of the water of life which flows  through the heavenly city.