The Mayberry Preacher: Cantata

I did not preach in worship this morning - our church choir had its Christmas Cantata; and hearing their lovely voices proclaim "light shining in the darkness" and "a baby born in a manger" turned out to be the perfect message for our church on a day when so many of us were still overwhelmed with sadness and grief. You can hear the worship service in its entirety HERE.

While I didn't preach, I did take the opportunity to address the shooting in my Prayers of the People this morning. Here's the text of that prayer. Feel free to share with others, and please add your own thoughts of comfort in the comments.

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Lord, we have just had the pleasure of listening to the “sounds of the season;” the music of our wonderful choir singing songs of great joy – songs of Christmastide and hope and peace and promises fulfilled. About your son, Jesus Christ, born in a manger and wrapped in bands of cloths, and visited throughout the night and over the weeks by wayward shepherds and wise men. About Jesus, being born into our world.

And it is here, God, where we take pause. “Jesus, born into our world” – it sends a chill up our spine when we hear it now. It didn’t last Thursday, or the days before. But for the past three days, it certainly has. We wonder why in the world Jesus would want to come into a world where a madman can take the lives of twenty children and six adults so randomly, so completely, so suddenly? How can we ever welcome Jesus into a world like this?

Our president summed up the thoughts of many: our hearts are indeed broken. And we have been here too many times before. We are shocked, sickened, saddened. We want to hug our children a little tighter; we struggle with what to share with them and what to hide from them. We struggle because, honestly, we’re still trying to wrap our minds around it ourselves.

And we ask individually and as your people, where is the peace and hope we're supposed to seek this time of year? Where is the star in the sky shining light in the midst of such darkness? Where is the Good News??

And it is then when we are reminded of the fact that on that night long ago when Jesus was born, he was not born into a world of peace and hope. There was little good news to be found. There was more darkness than light. There was Roman rule and oppression, and a system fraught with injustice, and a young unmarried pregnant teenager, and a long and grueling trip to Bethlehem, and no room at the inn. It was chaotic, it was crazy, it was out of control. Just like this past Friday.

And so we pray this morning for so many things, God. We pray for our brothers and sisters in Newtown, Connecticut who are having to deal with the unthinkable. We pray for a community in a very dark place this weekend. We pray for our schools here and everywhere who are hit especially hard by this. We pray for our children, who through no fault of their own are born into a broken world of uncertainty and risk.

And as we pray all of this, we pray together as the people of God: Come, Immanuel, Come. Never have those words meant more to us than now. We just want Jesus to get here, and get here as soon as possible. To bring that peace and hope we obviously are in such desperate need of. To give us some good news for a change.

We pray together as the people of God: Come, Immanuel, Come. It's not a catch phrase anymore; not a fancy slogan for the season, not a fun little hymn we sing. It is a heartfelt plea from God’s children for God to be with us in the midst of such turmoil and confusion.

We pray together as the people of God: Come, Immanuel, Come. Bring us songs of joy, calm our hearts, renew our spirits, bring us hope. Hope that shows us love is always, always greater than fear. Hope so that we can live boldly in the world and pave the way for your mighty acts of grace.

We pray together as the people of God: Come, Immanuel, Come. Come, even as a baby born into a world of darkness, vulnerable and at risk as all our children are. Come into our world and bring us light, bring us warmth, bring us love. Bring us peace. Because now that we think about it, baby Jesus, your birth could not have come at a better time.

We pray all of these things in the name of Jesus, who is coming soon, who is here right now, and may all of God’s children say, AMEN.

(Note to reader: for a few years now we have done a joint sermon/Easter Cantata on Palm Sunday, with the choir singing a few songs interspersed with little "sermonettes." It seems to work well. The best way to experience a sermon like this is to hear it as well as read it - so make sure you go to www.fpcma.com and listen to the service there).

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Steve Lindsley
March 28, 2010

From the 24th Psalm, verses 8 through 10. Listen this morning to the word of the Lord:

Lift up your heads, O gates! And be lifted up, O ancient doors!
That the King of glory may come in.
Who is the King of glory?
The Lord, strong and mighty; the Lord, mighty in battle.
Lift up your head, O gates! And be lifted up, O ancient doors!
That the King of glory may come in.
Who is this King of glory?
The Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory.

We are told in the gospels that, when Jesus made his entrance into Jerusalem, the streets were lined with people shouting praises to him. I have to figure that someone in that crowd surely quoted from the 24th Psalm: Lift up your heads, O gates / and be lifted up, o ancient doors / that the king of glory may come in! And I also figure, at the very least in their thoughts, there were those who asked the same question the Psalmist did: who IS this king of glory? Who is this man, really? We've heard the stories; we've seen him in action. But we're still trying to figure out who this king is.

If for no other reason they were wondering this because he wasn't the only king making his way into Jerusalem that day. On the other side of the city, there was another procession going on at the same time. It happened every year, every Passover, ever since the Romans took over. Hundreds of thousands made the pilgrimage from all over Palestine to Jerusalem, and the city swelled to twice its normal size. So the Romans started a procession at the main city gates, where the Roman governor was welcomed in with all pomp and circumstance. It was a marvelous sight, seeing the Roman legions decked out in their finest. But there was a serious message behind it all; a not-so-subtle reminder that it was the Romans in charge, and not the masses of faithful followers of an ancient religion. It was also a warning of what would happen to those who might get the two confused.

That's the procession that went on that day on the other side of Jerusalem. Which makes the one we read about here in the gospels more than some innocent celebration. It was by its very essence a radical counter-cultural statement in treasonous opposition to the Roman “king.” On the other side of town they claimed Caesar as their Lord; the source of hope and faith and very life. Here, we claim Jesus as our “Lord” – even borrowing Rome's own imperial language to do it! And to this day, on this day, churches al over the world willfully participate in this subversive exercise, even allowing our children to lead the way, parading palm branches down the center aisle!

It is so much more than a simple parade. Which is why they asked the questions; why we still ask those questions: Who is this king of glory? Who is this king of peace?

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King of Glory, King of Peace, I will love thee
And, that love may never cease, I will move thee
Thou hast granted my request, thou has heard me
Thou didst note my working breast, thou hast spared me.
Wherefore with my utmost art, I will sing Thee
And the cream of all my heart I will bring Thee.
Though my sins against me cried, Thou didst clear me,
And alone they replied, Thou didst hear me.
Seven whole days, not one in seven, I will praise Thee
In my heart, though not in heaven, I can raise Thee.
Small it is, in this poor sort to enrol Thee
E'en eternity's too short to extol Thee
Amen!
(King of Glory, King of Peace - Thiman)

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You have to wonder what they were thinking, don't you? That whole time with Jesus in Jerusalem, all that this week of Passover celebration brought them. What did those disciples make of this man – this man they had lived with for three years; this man they had seen with their own eyes do some amazing things and heard with their own ears say some amazing things. Where was all of this heading? What did this week mean?

When he went in the temple and overturned the tables because the salesmen were taking advantage of the poor by selling animals at an inflated price – what did they think of him then? Did they wonder if he was nothing more than a loose cannon, or was he more like a prophet literally turning the tables on the old ways?

When he spoke to the crowds in Jerusalem about whether they should pay taxes or what the greatest commandment was - what did they think of him then? Did they wonder how he would handle the pressure of the religious authorities, who already were keeping a close eye on him? What about that vineyard parable he told, a pretty obvious indictment of the powers-that be – would that push the authorities over the edge?

When Jesus stated that the poor widow's offering at the temple was far greater than the rich folk who contributed their large sums, what did they think of him then? If the math didn't add up, then what kind of giving was Jesus talking about?

And how about that Thursday evening, when Jesus invited them to join him for a meal, a Passover celebration. Why did it feel different from all the other meals they shared together? And when they thought the meal was done, the same Passover meal they'd celebrated all of their lives and their ancestors thousands of years before them, why did Jesus reach for the bread and the cup again? Why did he want so badly for them to remember him? Was something about to happen to him? Was something about to happen to them?
What did those disciples really think of Jesus during that last week in Jerusalem? Who was he to them? Who is he to us?

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Jesus gathered the chosen together.
Then he asked this question: Who do people say the Son of Man is?
Who do they say I am? Why do you say I am?
You are the Christ, You are the Messiah
You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God
You are the King, You are the Savior
You are the way, the truth, the life
You are the Christ! O Lord most high, You are the Christ!
Once unto every man and nation comes a moment to decide.
What will our answer be to Jesus? Will we in faith reply?
You are the Christ, You are the Messiah
You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God
You are the King, You are the Savior
You are the way, the truth, the life
You are the Christ! O Lord most high, You are the Christ!
(You Are the Christ! - Martin)

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A few years ago, a pastor was sitting in his study working on the Sunday sermon, when he heard a knock at his door. He looked up to see a strange gentleman standing in his doorway. He was in his 60’s and looked worn from the journey. His beard was unkempt and his eyes hollow. He asked if he could speak with the pastor, and my friend invited him to take a seat.

The man sat down, and it was obvious from the first word out of his mouth that he had one agenda with his visit; a single question for which he sought an answer: what happened to the steeple? Turns out the church was doing some renovation and remodeling; and one of the items being tended to that week was the steeple above the sanctuary. It had been removed and would be cleaned and replaced by the end of the week. It had only been down since earlier that morning.

The pastor informed the man of this, and it was then that the visitor shared his story. He was a Korean war vet. It had been a brutal experience for him, and he had seen and endured more than his share of the horrors of war. Upon returning home after the war, he decided to “get away from it all” to work on repairing his broken soul. So with the little money he had, this man bought some remote land outside of town and built a shack of a house on a slight hill where one could see part of the city skyline. For forty years he rarely left home to enter society, except to grab groceries once a week and make the occasional visit to the Veteran’s Hospital to have his post-traumatic stress disorder tended to.

But there was one thing in the city that received his attention every single day. Every morning for four decades, after mostly sleepless, nightmare-filled nights, this man would wake and gaze out his window to the city skyline in the distance, and his tortured soul would feel its agony. And then, in the light of early dawn, he would gaze upon a tiny steeple in the distance, upon which rested a cross. It was always there for him– winter, spring, summer, fall; on his bad days and on his really bad days. Day after day, that cross reminded him that there was someone else who knew exactly how he felt. Somehow, gazing upon an instrument of torture by which tens of thousands were once executed in painful agony served to assure him that he was not alone in his pain and suffering. This man looked at that cross every day for forty years; until this morning, when he looked out his window and it wasn’t there. So he hopped in his car and found himself in the pastor’s study telling his story, and most desperately wanting his cross back.

(as told by Steve McCutchan, then pastor of Highland Presbyterian Church in Winston-Salem, NC)

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When I survey the wondrous cross on which the Prince of Glory died;
My richest gain I count but loss and pour contempt on all my pride.
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, save in the death of Christ, my God;
All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to his blood.
See, from his head, his hands, his feet, sorrow and love flow mingled down.
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet or thorns compose so rich a crown.
Were the whole realm of nature mine that were an offering far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.
(When I Survey the Wondrous Cross - Watts)