The Mayberry Preacher

BRAVING THE INNER COURT

Esther 4:10 - 5:3
Steve Lindsley
May 17 2009

As best as I can remember I've known only three Esthers in my life.  There's one who lives here in Mount Airy that I used to coach in swimming.  There's another one who sat next to me in 7th grade math, and she'd always help me with the problems I didn't understand (which was most of them).  I also knew an Esther; an elderly lady who lived down the street from where I lived in Richmond.  She made excellent oatmeal raisin cookies. 

There's one other Esther that I know about but have never had the pleasure of meeting her – although I'd like to very much.  In fact, I wish we all could.  We learn about her in the scripture reading Mark just read – an amazing story about how an obscure Jewish woman finds herself queen to the Persian King, and the unbelievably difficult choice she comes to face.

The book of Esther in the Old Testament has all kinds of stuff that makes for a good story – romance, drama, betrayal, lies, justice.  I like to tell my college students that it's like a soap opera, except a good one.  To try and do justice to the whole story would be hard in a sermon.  But suffice to know that a plan has been set in motion by some in the king's court with ill intent; a plan that would result in the extermination of every Jewish person living in the kingdom.  The king himself is not aware of this, nor is he aware that his beloved wife Esther is, in fact, a Jew herself.

It is frightening, I know, just to talk about this sort of thing, the wiping out of a whole group of people; especially when that group is the Jewish nation.  It wasn't too long ago that our world was faced with that very prospect, and someone who actually set out to do it.

Esther, by the way, is aware of what's going on, so it would seem like a no-brainer that she run and tell the king as soon as possible, right?  Ah, but see, there's the catch (and there's always a catch in a good story, isn't there?)  The catch is that no one – and I mean no one – was ever to appear in the king's inner court unannounced.  You could only go in when the king himself summoned you there.  Crashing the scene was not just poor form, it was a most egregious transgression that could get you put to death – literally.  They weren't fooling around.  And it applied to everyone, including the queen whom the king loved so much. 

So it's a difficult choice Esther faces in the fourth chapter:  either risk her life speaking to the king the truth he needs to hear, or keep her mouth shut and witness the horrible injustice.  If this were really a soap opera, we'd be cutting to commercial right about now, with the camera focusing in on the conflicted face of the great queen, mood music in a minor key pulsating as the screen went to black. 

After commercials we'd come back to the mood music and find Queen Esther, all decked out in her Sunday best, standing at the entrance of the king's inner court.  I have no idea what that entrance looked like, but let's imagine it was pretty noticeable – an awning, a large curtain, something which separated everything outside from what was inside.  Esther is standing there, fighting off her fears and the distinct possibility that she could be taking the last few steps of her life.  She breathes in a deep breath and proceeds forward; and on the other side she is greeted by the surprised and horrified looks of the court hands and the king himself.  The attendants glare at Esther as if she is a walking dead woman; but the king nevertheless extends to her his royal scepter – a kingly way of saying, “hey, we're cool.”  Most curious as to why his queen has risked her life, he asks Esther what she wants.  And Esther invites the king to a special dinner, for him and one of his highest court hands, who she knows instigated this plan against her people in the first place.  And it is there at that meal where she will speak the truth to the king and tell him all that is happening around him, exposing the injustice before his eyes.   And in the end, like any good story, the bad guy loses, the Jewish people are spared, and Esther is hailed as a hero.

It's an amazing story about an amazing woman who spoke the truth, even when it wasn't convenient for her to do so, even when it could have cost her her life.  Even though every fiber of her being wanted to resist, she chose to go ahead and step inside the inner court.  The inner court – that place where reality is not as real as it should be, where people have either grown accustomed to the brokenness that surrounds them or are unaware of it.  Where the temptation is not to go in, but instead to stay outside and keep to yourself.  The inner court is that place in our world, in our communities, in our families, in society where God's good word is not fully good yet.

Esther's story is not unique to the Bible, we know.  Countless others found themselves in the same place – the choice between keeping their mouths shut or speaking the truth.  Moses told Pharaoh to let God's people go. The prophet Amos told the rich landowners to stop preying on the poor.  Nathan said to King David, as he revealed his great sin, “you are the man!”  John told the crowds that he was preparing a way.  Jesus told his accusers that he was God's son.  All of them, like Esther, had a decision to make – play it safe or take a risk.  And all of them made the choice to brave the inner court.

I wish we could all be more like Esther, don't you?  As individuals in our own lives.  And especially as the church.  Especially as the church.  We've been called as the body of Christ to “go out into the world, baptizing in the name of the Father and Son and Holy Spirit, teaching everything we've been commanded.”  But it's easier said than done, isn't it?  You know as well as I do that, just as the church has done some wonderful things in the name of Jesus, there have also been some not-so-wonderful things done in his name, too.  The Crusades, The Spanish Inquisition, indulgences.  And it's not just about what has been done, but even moreso what's been left undone.  Consider this, from an op-ed piece I read in the newspaper this past week:

Between 1933 and 1945, as a series of restrictive laws, brutal programs and mass deportations culminated in the slaughter of 6 million Jews, the Christian church, with isolated exceptions, watched in silence.

Between 1955 and 1968, as the forces of oppression used terrorist bombings, police violence and kangaroo courts to deny African Americans their freedom, the Christian church, with isolated exceptions, watched in silence.

Beginning in 1980, as a mysterious and deadly new disease called AIDS began to rage through the homosexual community like an unchecked fire, the Christian church, with isolated exceptions, watched in silence.
(http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/opinion/2009177077_opinc06pitts.html, visited on 5.11.2009)

Now it'd probably be good to mention that the writer of this column is not some anti-Christian with an ax to grind.  On the contrary, he's an active member of his church.  But he's a church member who recognizes the many instances where the church has chosen to remain on the sidelines with issues that the gospel speaks to directly, opting not to enter the inner court but instead to “play it safe” and focus on more benign elements of faith that easily distract from a higher calling.

Ouch!  But you know, hard as it is to admit, he's got a point.  And not only has the church had a tendency to stand pat from time to time, it's also watched as others have gone on to do our work for us.  Last month my family attended this year's Earth Day celebration at Wake Forest University.  Hundreds of organizations, groups, schools, students, musicians, and businesspeople came together to educate, inform and inspire.  Know how many Christian churches or groups took part?  Not a one.  The church has stood at the entrance to the inner court and watched as others have taken up this cause, even though we label as “God's word” a holy book where God creates everything, calls it good, and commends it to our care.

We've stood at the entrance and watched a late-night comedian on Comedy Central take center stage in the debate over torture.  A late-night comedian!  We've stood and remained silent, even though the one to whom we pledge our utmost faith was a Middle-Eastern man who was arrested by the imperial government of his day, unjustly imprisoned, and wound up being a victim of the worst kind of torture himself.

We've stood at the entrance to the inner court and watched as dozens of rock stars and movie celebrities banded together to form The One Campaign, to tell the world about the tens of thousands dying of hunger each day – a football stadium of people, disappearing from the face of the earth every 24 hours.  We've stood there, even though we follow a man who once saw thousands of hungry on the countryside and commanded his disciples to give them something to eat.

Now don't get me wrong: I'm glad these folks have done what they've done.  It just frustrates me sometimes that the church hasn't been at the forefront, you know?  How is it that we have grown so comfortable standing outside the inner court?  How is it that we as the church have sometimes become, as that writer described in his column:

...a people who live contentedly in our moral comfort zones, doing spiritual busywork and clutching pieties, things that let you feel good, but never require you to put anything at risk, take a leap, make that lonely stand...

How is that?  You know, there are probably a hundred answers to that question, each with some varying degree of truth.  Some think the church needs to change things totally and embark on a completely different course; others believe the church must “get back to the basics.”  There are those who think the church needs to look more like the culture in which it exists if it wants to be effective; while others believe it should totally remove itself from the culture.

There is no easy answer.  There rarely is.  But there is one thing I am convinced of, beyond a shadow of doubt – and that is that the church is worth fighting for.  Just this past week I had a conversation with a friend, someone who has struggled in her relationship with the church over the years.  She feels like the church is too hypocritical, too exclusive, too focused on fear.  And while I think that's a pretty big generalization there, I have to admit she's got a point.

At one point in our conversation she told me, I'll become part of a church when they get their act together.  I don't want to be part of something and have to try to fix it at the same time.  And that's when I suggested to her that the only way to really “fix” anything, including the church, is to become part of it – if you believe enough in it, if you have a passion to make it better, to make it more like it should've been all along.  Besides, I asked, aren't the things we care most about the very things worth fighting for?

That's why more and more I sense our calling as the church, in this day and time, is to be like Esther and brave the inner court.  We need to be reminded that the God who transforms our lives and offers us redemption can do the same for his church.  We need to find our voice – not a voice of condemnation but one of love; not a voice of reticence but one that speaks out against injustice; not a voice that excludes anyone, but one that includes everyone; not a voice of fear but one of hope and promise.   We need to find this voice alongside other Christians, especially those we don't always agree with, and especially with Christians all over the world.  We need to find our collective voice together, not acting out of our own agendas and desires, but pursuing something larger than us: pursuing the very kingdom of God on earth.

You know, in so many ways the church of the 21st century is standing outside that inner court with some incredibly good news to share!  The question is: will we be brave enough to go in?  Will we be brave enough to speak to and live out the grace and mercy and love of our God?  My friends, they don't call it “faith” for nothing!  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

CONFESSIONS OF AN UNSUSPECTING INKEEPER

I know you’ve heard of me before – everyone has.  Let me tell you what it’s like being me – imagine being remembered as the guy who called the timeout near the end of the Carolina-Michigan championship basketball game when there wasn’t a timeout left?  Or the Chicago Tribune back in 1948 predicting Dewey over Truman?  Or Napoleon at Waterloo?  Well, some will say you’ll find me in this select company.

See, I’m the innkeeper, the one who, on a cold winter night long ago, relegated a scared-looking young man and his pregnant wife to my stables in the backyard.  I had to do so, you see, because all the rooms in my inn were booked up.  Not one single vacancy, I promise.  And yes, of course I felt bad that they had to stay outside in that dirty manger, especially with the young woman about to give birth to her first child.  But what were my choices?  What options did I have - kick a tenant out?  I couldn’t do such a thing.

You see, it had been a very busy couple of weeks.  The Emperor at the time, Augustus of Rome, had issued a decree for a massive census to be taken.  This census covered the whole Roman empire - which ended up being most of the civilized world at the time.  Quite an undertaking - not only for the government, but for its residents as well.  You see, everyone had to register in their original hometown, their place of birth.  This caused a huge movement of people across the land as they traveled to their destinations.  You can bet I was thrilled with this!  For quite some time my inn remained booked solid, and in just a few weeks I took in more income than I had all year.  Suffice to say that the emperor’s census was good for the empire and even better for my business!

I guess I was so used to turning people away that when the young couple came to my door late that night I didn’t hesitate with my standard response:  Sorry, no room.  It was then that I noticed two things: first of all, the young woman was pregnant – very pregnant, in fact.  Secondly, I saw how tired she was - both of them, for that matter.  I guess that was what compelled me, as they slowly turned away and headed back to the street, to call to them: Hold on a minute!  Listen, I don’t have any room inside.  But I do have an empty stable in the back.  It’s not much, but it’s shelter and the hay will keep you and the baby warm.  I sensed a ray of hope in their eyes and a slight smile; and they followed me to the backyard.

Now let me stop here for a second to say that this wasn’t a standard business practice of mine – just in case you were wondering!  I don’t typically make a habit of utilizing my animal stables as room overflow.  But you would’ve thought I gave them the president’s suite at the Taj Mahal, the way they reacted.  We entered the dingy, smelly stable and I pulled some hay loose for them.  The young man lovingly and carefully helped his wife off the donkey she was riding and lay her to rest in the hay.  I brought them a pail of water and a few old torn blankets that had lived out their human usefulness and were now part of stable supply.  They thanked me profusely - I actually felt embarrassed.  With that I left this couple in the dark of night.

You know, actually I remember now - it wasn’t all that dark.  It was strange.  Sometimes, when the moon is full it’ll light up the sky to the point that you can see the whole terrain before you.  That’s the way it looked this night.  But it wasn’t the moon.  It was that strange star.  I had never seen it before.  It hung there high in the sky, glistening in the night.  It seemed to warm up the chill in the air.  It made everything it touched seem as bright as day.  As long as I live, I will never forget that star.

I remember the star not only because it was so bright, but because its light allowed me to witness the strange events that unfolded.  You wouldn’t believe what happened next!  Actually, I take that back.  I know you believe what happened because you talk about it every year around this time.  You tell this story over and over again.  Your ministers preach about it.  Your children act it out in their Christmas pageants.  Your choirs sing about it in their Cantatas, and your advent wreaths and the hymns you sing tell the story.  So of course you believe all of this.  But try putting yourself in my shoes, just for a second, to see what it was like to be the first witness to all of this.

I guess the young woman had had her child by now - I saw her and her husband cradling what looked like a tiny baby in their arms.  In my stable - wrapped in my old blankets, they had their child!  Later that night a group of shepherds came and visited them.  And I thought that was the strangest thing.  I mean, shepherds are known for being nomads and folks out on the fringes of society.  They didn’t appear to be acquaintances or friends - so how did they know these people? 

My question was answered as their excited voices traveled from the stable to my window.  They had received a message from an angel, they said, that a child was being born, and that child was….the Messiah!  I must confess to you that my cynicism kicked in at first - maybe these shepherds had been spending a little too much time out in the middle of nowhere!  But the man and woman seemed happy to have them there, and they showed them the newborn child, to which they paid great honor and respect.  It was almost as if the young couple anticipated the strangeness of these events.  It was almost as if they knew…

A few days passed and this couple and their newborn child went on their way.  They thanked me for the accommodations; and once again I felt embarrassed.  I haven't seen them since.  But I’ve heard the stories.  I heard about how they were paid a visit by three kings from the east not long after they left me; men who had heard of this birth and who followed that star, which still lit up the midnight sky.  Imagine that - a child so revered that he would command the attention of both nameless shepherds and great kings!  It was then that I began to let go of my cynicism and start believing that perhaps – perhaps – this was a special child.

My beliefs were confirmed many years later; it didn’t take long for me to hear the wonderful tales about this man.  How he roamed the countryside, preaching and teaching about God.  How he healed those who were sick and even brought a young girl back from the dead.  How he challenged the authority of the Sadducees and Pharisees and tried to share with folks something new about the God they believed and worshipped.  And, of course, how he would be put to death for a crime he didn’t commit and was resurrected three days later.  So now I can see in hindsight what I would’ve never imagined before.  Jesus, child of Mary, born in a stable; savior of humankind, Son of God. 

I know today you all make a big deal of this.  You call it Christmas, and you go all out with it.  You decorate your houses and have parties for each other, you give presents to loved ones and remember those in need.  Your entire schedule and way of life is dramatically changed for a month or so because of this.  Most importantly, you experience the never-ending reality of God’s grace and love for you.  And to think this all started in my stable, with some old blankets, some hay, a bright star, and some visiting shepherds. 

Some people ask me if I ever regret doing what I did - putting them in the stable.  My answer is always the same - No.  No, I don’t regret it.  I didn’t give them much, but I gave them what I had to give.  And over the years I’ve come to understand that that is exactly what God expects of you and me – to give God what we have, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem.  Out of so little came so much.  Out of a stable comes the Christ.  Don’t you see the truth, the beauty of it?  I have; and I’ll tell you, it has changed my life forever.  I hope it does the same for you.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

SHEPHERDING 2.0

Ezekiel 34: 1-16, John 21: 15-17
Steve Lindsley
November 16, 2008

I have a college buddy in Atlanta who owns a small business with a dozen or so employees.  We were catching up a few weeks ago – we were instant messaging on Facebook!  We do this about once a month.  I guess we could pick up the phone and actually talk, but Facebook is so much easier.

Anyway, our conversations usually revolve around the standard “how are you doing” stuff.  I, of course, I tell him about this wonderful church that I have the pleasure of serving, all the great things we have going on here; the fact that there's a little bit of dust around because of the construction but you know, at least we're warmer now....

It's a different kind of response when I ask the same thing of him.  It's one of those deals where you ask someone how they're doing, and you kind of figure it'll be the obligatory “fine” or “great,” but you wind up with a five-minute answer that's much more than you bargained for – you know what I mean?  My friend usually goes into some story about how things are tough with his company, and it's not just the economy.  There's the employee who didn't get the package in the mail on time, the office manager who missed their deadline, the business partner who never seems to carry his own weight.  My friend laments that he has to step in all the time to keep the wheels spinning, even if it means taking on the work of others. 

And most every time he's nearing the end of his rant, he closes with the well-known line: You know, Steve, if you want a job done right, you gotta do it yourself.  And every time he says this I can't help but feel a little sorry for him, you know?  That he feels like he's the only one who can do it right; that he doesn't feel he can put his faith and trust in his fellow co-workers, that he seems to think his way is the only way.

Maybe that's what's going on here – I kind of have a suspicion it is.  But then again, maybe it's not.  Sometimes people really do mess up, fall down on the job; and the boss has to come in and straighten everything out, make everything right, do it all on their own.  I mean, it doesn't say it explicity in our scripture reading today, but that seems to be pretty much what God does in the 34th chapter of Ezekiel, don't you think?  If you want a job done right, you gotta do it yourself. 

It's the middle of the sixth century before Christ, and the lives of God's people have been thrown into chaos.  The entire nation of Israel had been hauled off to live in Babylon, taken away from their homeland.  The people were defeated and demoralized, and their leaders were either gone or had become a shadow of their former selves.  They had failed to be the kind of leaders God had hoped they'd be, and the people needed them to be.

So the prophet Ezekiel enters into the fray, preaching a message of hope and renewal for the captives.  Except he doesn't call them captives, or people even.  He refers to them “sheep.”  And if you think about it, it's a perfect image, albeit not a very flattering one!  Sheep, generally speaking, are not the smartest animals in the barn.  They kind of wander around in groups, always in danger of going astray and never finding their way back to the fold.  They are fully dependent on their caretakers, the shepherds, to guide them from one green pasture to another.

As rough as the sheep have it, it isn't a picnic for the shepherds, either.  It's a 24-7 job just to keep up with all those sheep.  Good shepherds have to be attentive at all times, watching over their flock to make sure every one is okay.  But they can't just be focused on the here-and-now.  Shepherds have to always be thinking ahead of the game, to where the next green pasture would be, and make sure that their sheep get there safe and sound.

So the way Ezekiel sees it, Israel is the sheep, and their leaders are the shepherds.  Over the years God had sent them many shepherds, kings and priests and the like, to watch over the people and lead them to “greener pastures.”  But in this time of exile, when the sheep needed help the most, the shepherds had failed them.  The leaders of Israel had not been leaders; and they had failed their people in four specific ways:
     - They had not strengthened the weak;
     - They had not bound up the injured;
     - They had not brought back home those who had strayed;
     - And they had not taken time to seek out those who were lost.

Now according to Ezekiel, God has something to say about this.  God calls the leaders on the carpet, essentially saying to them, “You have failed your job!”  But that's not all God does.  In the next few verses, God puts on his best Donald Trump, “Apprentice” imitation and tells them, “You're fired!”  These no-good shepherds are out of a job, because they didn't do the job.

God has one more thing to say, and happens to be the divine equivalent of, if you want a job done right, you gotta do it yourself.  Amazingly, God declares, “I am the new shepherd!”  And God proceeds to do the very things the old shepherds should've done all along.  God will be the one to give strength to the weak, to bind up the injured, to bring back those who have wandered away, and to seek out the lost.  God will take care of the people, and no longer will they be forgotten or left to fend on their own.  God will be the new shepherd of Israel, and Israel – even in captivity – will be all the better for it.

Now no verses in scripture capture this image of God as shepherd any better than the 23rd Psalm – The Lord is my shepherd, it begins.  And what does this shepherd do?  He makes us lie down in green pastures; he leads us beside still waters.  He restores our soul.  With God as our shepherd, we are cared for, and we will never be forgotten again.  With God as our shepherd, we are protected from those who would do us harm.  With God as our shepherd, all wrongs are made right.  It 's great that God is our shepherd, isn't it?  It's something we celebrate in the joyous moments of our lives; and it's something we cling to when life is dealing out its worst.  It is a wonderful thing to have God as our shepherd.

I know I could end the sermon right here, but I'm not going to!  Because you know something?  At the risk of discounting God's love and grace, which I'm certainly not doing, there's a small part of me that feels funny about this.  And it's not God's fault – I think we're all grateful for all God does.  I'm pretty fond of the green pastures and cool waters myself.  It's just....it's just that it's a shame that God had to step in and take over the shepherding business in the first place.  It's a shame that God had to go all Donald Trump on us.  Because that used to be our job.  That's what we were supposed to be doing.  So while it's great that God stepped in like God did, shouldn't we feel sort of bad about failing to be the shepherds we were called to be?  Shouldn't we want our job back?

And I say “we” very intentionally here, my friends.  Because it is “we” that Ezekiel is speaking to.  When we're talking about “shepherds,” we're not just talking about the pastor, or the session, or the Congregational Care ministry team.  We're talking about all of us.  Do me a quick favor if you would – take your bulletin and look at the back, at the bottom, where all the staff are listed. Do you see the very first thing?  It says: Ministers: All the members of the church.  I'm not the only minister here, folks.  Every single one of you is a minister too – a shepherd.  Which makes it kind of interesting, really; because the fact is that you are both the members and the ministers; you are both the sheep and the shepherds.  You need to be cared for and kept in the fold, nurtured and loved.  But you also need to be the ones who care, who are the “keepers of the fold.” You're not just sheep.  You're shepherds too.

Jesus himself made this crystal clear when he met with his disciples on the lakeshore one morning after his resurrection – hanging out on the beach, munching on some grilled fish. He turns to Peter, whom he had previously called the rock upon which he would build his church.  And what does he say to Peter, what are his last words as he prepares to leave the future of the church in their hands?  Feed my sheep, he tells him.  That's what shepherds do for their sheep.  And that's what you and I are supposed to be doing for each other.

And that's the problem, isn't it? That's where we fall short.  Because we still don't quite have this shepherding thing down all that well, if we're honest with ourselves.  I mean, sometimes we're pretty good at it.  Sometimes we're great about seeing the needs around us and responding as the shepherds we're called to be.  But other times we're not so great.  You know, maybe we're okay with being a shepherd, but for a particular kind of sheep – the easy ones, the ones that don't require a lot of effort.  Or maybe we're fine with the whole shepherding thing, but we really want to do it as it's convenient for us, on our own timetable.  Then we can be shepherds.  Or maybe we feel, you know, that we've already done our time as shepherds, so we walk away from the flock, assuming that someone is going to step in take our place. 

I can't help but think as I read this story in Ezekiel that God's action forces us to ask ourselves all kinds of questions.  Are we really being the kind of shepherds God needs us to be?  Are we?  Are we being the kind of shepherds God needs us to be in our families?  Are we being the kind of shepherds God needs us to be for this church – because there's a whole lot of sheep here, ya'll, and there's plenty of shepherding to do!  Are we?  Are we being the kind of shepherds God needs us to be for our community, for our world; where the needs are great, where plenty of people have strayed from the flock, where there is precious little of those green pastures and cool waters to nurture and sustain us.  Are we being the kind of shepherds that God needs us to be?

That's the question this story poses to us, and the mandate Jesus gives us – to be shepherds in a world of lost sheep.  And I wish you and I could see, every minute of every day, what a wonderful privilege it is to serve God, to serve this church, and to serve our people.  I wish we had the ability to fully grasp how awesome it is, with God's help, to pick up our shepherd's crook and go out into a world of lost sheep.

I really wish we could be more like the lady that Shasta spoke to on the phone this past week.  This lady had called the church, like so many other people this time of year, about Thanksgiving meals – the ones the youth fundraised for and you all donated for.  You know, every year about this time there's a running joke around the church office – that when the phone rings we really don't need to answer it “First Presbyterian Church” but rather “Shasta's Thanksgiving meal answering service!”  You have no idea how many calls we get from people asking about their Thanksgiving meal.  It gets crazy.

On a particularly crazy day this past week, Lynn buzzed Shasta in her office: Phone for you about you-know-what.  Shasta picked up the phone.  The lady on the other end quickly introduced herself and then cut to the chase.  I need to talk to you about Thanksgiving meals, she said.  So Shasta dutifully launched into her spiel – how this woman would need to speak with so-and-so at the Salvation Army, how they would reserve the meals with them, how she could pick everything up on the Wednesday afternoon before Thanksgiving at such-and-such a time.....

Shasta said that when she finished, the lady patiently responded that she was not calling about a meal for herself.  She was calling because she wanted to make a donation, and she explained why.  She told Shasta about how her two sisters had experienced difficult times in recent years, really struggled with some things in their lives, and money was more than tight.  But thanks to the work of this church, their families had not had to experience a Thanksgiving holiday without a Thanksgiving meal.  This lady told Shasta, “You all fed my sisters and their families when they couldn't feed themselves.  Now it's my turn to help you feed someone else's sister.”

Feed my sheep, Jesus said.  Wow.  I don't know about you, but that woman on the other end of the phone sounds an awful lot like a shepherd to me.  Because a shepherd strengthens the weak and binds up the injured.  A shepherd brings home the strayed and seeks out the lost.  A shepherd serves God and serves everyone around them, not necessarily because they want to all the time, but because God needs them to all the time.  And listen – I don't doubt for one second that God will always be our shepherd.  It's just that I think we should do everything we possibly can to get our old job back.  Let's get our job back, shall we?  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

EXTREME MAKEOVER: SOUL EDITION

2 Corinthians 5: 16-21
Steve Lindsley
October 26, 2008

First there was just Extreme Makeover.  It aired on Thursday nights at 9:00 on ABC.   According to its website, it described itself as “. . . a real life fairy tale in which (people’s) wishes come true, not just to change their looks, but their lives and destinies. This magic is conjured up through the skills of an ‘Extreme Team,’ including the nation's top plastic surgeons, eye surgeons and cosmetic dentists, along with a talented team of hair and makeup artists, stylists and personal trainers, led by an on-camera Extreme Makeover expert.”  The show concluded as each person had their “climactic unveiling” – a staged and tremendously over-hyped event where he or she finally emerged through the curtains and appeared before their loved ones, who'd hoot and holler, whose mouths gaped open in amazement, and who inevitably cried tears of joy over their “new” mom or wife.

Then came Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.  It had the same basic concept except it involved – you guessed it – a house.  It focused on some family who had gotten a raw deal in life – a natural disaster that destroyed some or all of their home, someone in the family with a terminal illness, some kind of situation that was ripe for a shot in the arm.  Over the course of seven days, the family is shuffled off for a first-rate vacation (paid for by the show's producers), while ringleader Ty Pennington rallies local contractors and other willing hands to totally redo the house – new rooms, appliances, walls – no expense is spared.  Sometimes it involves totally demolishing the old structure and building a new one.  At the end of the show, the family is standing on the other side of the road from their house, whose view is blocked by a bus.  And when the bus is moved, the family literally freaks out as they gaze upon the new creation – all of which is captured on television for the viewing pleasure of millions. 

Who knows what the next evolution will be?  It's interesting how fascinated the public can be about this sort of thing – the work itself (whatever is being “made over”), as well as the emotions and drama of the final “unveiling.”  Lives are changed!.......or are they?  You know, it's rare that they ever do any kind of “follow-up” with these individuals or families a year or two down the road.  It'd be interesting to see what happens after the camera crews leave and the fervor dies down, don't you think?  I mean, is the life of that woman who lost all that weight and had that fancy haircut really changed?  How about the family who is faced with trying to sell a monster of a house in this economy in a neighborhood where the average home is half its size?  These makeovers make for great TV – but do they really change lives?

Changing lives, after all, was what the apostle Paul was writing about in his second letter to the church in Corinth; a church he had had a long-standing relationship with.  And like any relationship, there were some good times and then there were some not-so-good times.  This was one of those “not-so-good” times.  Apparently Paul had endured what he referred to as a “painful visit” not too long before, and the tension and anger were still very much there as he put pen to paper.

And, you know, you gotta feel for Paul.  I mean, it's not like he's trying to tick everyone off.  It's not like wants to make a bunch of enemies, or be the thorn in their collective side.  All he wants is for people to emulate in their lives their relationship with Jesus Christ.  Not simply touched by it; not just giving them a “warm fuzzy feeling” inside.  Paul wants their habits, their routines, their thinking, their reasoning and their actions to undergo radical change.  He wants them to realize, as he says in the verse Octavia read, that anyone in Christ is a new creation – everything old has passed away, and everything has become new.  In other words: Extreme Makeover – Soul Edition.

It's kind of funny, you know.  I mean, it took a number of years before folks came up with a name for these people.  “New Creations” just didn't quite roll off the tongue all that well.  So eventually – years and years after Jesus' death – they took to calling them Christians. “Little Christs” is what the term really means.  People trying to model one's self after what they saw in Jesus.  And notice one thing – it wasn't all about what those people believed.  In fact, in many ways they were still working that part out.  What the word “christian” meant back in the day was how one lived, and how their relationship with Jesus changed the way they lived.

So who exactly is a Christian?  It's not as easy as it sounds, is it?  I mean, what ultimately makes a Christian a Christian?  Is it that they once made a profession of faith – is that it?  Is it that they're active in a church, or on their member rolls – is that who a Christian is?  There are people who think that just because your family attends church makes you a Christian, and then there are people who believe that being a Christian has absolutely nothing to do with going to church.  Defining who and what a Christian is in our day and time can be a tricky business.

Not too long ago I came across a wonderful quote by writer Henri Nouwen; and I want to lift it up to you as a brilliant way of understanding who and what a Christian is.  I've asked Lynn to print it on the back of the announcements page this morning, and as I read it out loud I want to ask you to read it silently with me:

You are Christian only so long
as you constantly pose critical questions to the society you live in,
so long as you emphasize the need of conversion both for yourself and for the world,
so long as you in no way let yourself become established in the situation of the world,

so long as you stay unsatisfied with the status quo
and keep saying that a new world is yet to come.
You are Christian only when you believe you have a role to play
in the realization of the new kingdom,
and when you urge everyone you meet with holy unrest to make haste
so that the promise might soon be fulfilled.
So long as you live as a Christian you keep looking for a new order,
a new structure, a new life.

(http://www.brianmclaren.net/archives/blog/nouwen-quote.html, visited on 7.8.2008)

How about that!  You know, you could take each one of these stanzas and make an entire sermon out of them!  Maybe I'll do that sometime. Because it's not a bad understanding of who and what a Christian is, is it?  It's so much broader, so much deeper than what you and I tend to think of.  It's not about what family someone comes from, or where someone attends church, or whether they even attend church at all. What it boils down to is the rather simple yet terribly difficult notion of allowing your relationship with Christ to change not just your life, but the lives of those around you.

And that is precisely what the apostle Paul was trying to get across to those Christians in Corinth – those wonderful, spirit-filled, faithful, divisive, argumentative, misguided Christians.  People who claim Jesus as Lord don't see things or do things like the way the world sees them and does them.  People who claim Jesus as Lord pose questions to the greater society that no one else dares to ask.  People who claim Jesus as Lord do not only see the need for conversion in everyone else, but first see that same need in themselves.  People who claim Jesus as Lord do not sit idly by, but instead are actively engaged in doing their part to usher in God's kingdom on earth.  And people who claim Jesus – and I love how Nouwen puts this – urge everyone with holy unrest to join in the mission.  “Holy unrest” - there's no time to waste!  The extreme makeover, soul edition begins right now.

And so I wonder – how do Paul's words challenge you, some 2000 years later?  That's the question, isn't it?  How do we enact this new creation as members of First Presbyterian Church of Mount Airy?  Just days away from an important election, how does Christ call us to behave and vote our conscience instead of our fears?  How do we as Christians engage issues like hunger and poverty, torture, AIDS?  Those less fortunate than us, a dying world, a lonely child, a fractured family, a church preparing to conclude its 150th year of service?

You're beginning to see, I hope, that being a Christian is a whole lot more involved than simply following that “A-B-C” formula on the back of the tract you find stuck in the frame of the mirror in the public bathroom.  And the beauty of it is, the kind of “extreme makeover” that Paul talks about – seeking reconciliation and being ambassadors of that reconciliation – is not restricted at all to the confines of a church building.  The embodiment of this new creation can take place just about anywhere.

Tony Campolo knows this is true.  Campolo is a wonderful speaker, writer and evangelist who has an uncanny way of seeing the church in the world around us.  A few years back, Tony traveled to the east coast for a speaking engagement.  It was late at night when he got there, and the time change had played havoc with his sleeping pattern, so he found himself in a run-down doughnut shop well after midnight.  As Tony enjoyed his doughnut and coffee, he also picked up that this place was a gathering point for, of all people, some of the local hooker crowd.

At one point his booth was adjacent to two of those young women in conversation; one of whom was named Agnes.  He heard Agnes say to the other, “You know what?  Tomorrow's my birthday.  I'm gonna be 39.”  Her friend snapped back, “So what d'ya want from me? A birthday party? Huh?  You want me to get a cake and sing happy birthday to you?”  With a sullen look on her face Agnes replied, “Aw, come on, why do you have to be so mean?  Why do you have to put me down?  I'm just sayin' it's my birthday.  I don't want anything from you.  I mean, why should I have a birthday party?  I've never had a birthday party in my whole life.  Why should I have one now?”

The two women eventually left, but Tony stayed.  He stayed because hearing this exchange gave him idea.  He got up and found the doughnut shop owner and asked him if Agnes came in every night.  And when he said yes, Tony invited him to take part in what he called a “surprise party conspiracy.”  The owner's wife even got involved.  Together they arranged for a cake, candles, and typical party decorations for Agnes, who, other than a familiar face, was known to none of them.  They planned all of this out for the next night, when Tony and the others would spring their surprise.

Tony got there a little earlier the next night, just to be sure. And when Agnes eventually walked in, Tony and all the other patrons shouted out, “Surprise!”   At first Agnes was clueless – and a little frightened! But when she finally made the connection, and realized what was going on, and realized this was all for her, she couldn't believe it.  The doughnut shop patrons sang, and when it came time to blow out the candles Agnes struggled to do so through the tears rolling down her face.  And when it came time to cut the cake, Agnes asked if it would be okay if they didn't cut it, and if she could take it home just like it was, to keep it for a while and savor the moment.  So she left, carrying her cake down the street that night as if it were the greatest of treasures.

Tony led the guests in a prayer for Agnes, after which the shop owner told Tony he didn't realize Tony was a preacher. He asked what kind of church Tony came from, and Tony replied, “I belong to a church that throws birthday parties for prostitutes at 3:30 in the morning.”

The shop owner couldn't believe him.  “No you don't.  There ain't no church like that, he said.  If there was, I'd join it.  In a heartbeat.”

(As told by Brian McLaren from his book The Secret Message of Jesus: Uncovering the Truth That Could Change Everything: Thomas Nelson Publishing, 2006 pgs. 144-145)

Folks, it's true that our church is in the middle of a makeover of sorts.  And there may be a little dust and dirt around, and the staff can tell you it gets pretty noisy around here sometimes.  But the real important makeover is the one that takes place in each of our hearts, and how that makeover plays itself out in the lives we live as followers of Christ.  “New Creations,” Paul calls us. Christians.  With God's blessing, may we be the kind of church that changes lives, and that others, like that doughnut shop owner, long to become part of.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

MORE THAN JUST BELIEVING: REDISCOVERING "GOING GREEN"

(Note to readers: well, I'm not preaching again this week!  Our church is having its first-ever Homecoming as part of our 150th anniversary celebration, and we are honored to have the Rev. Steve McCutchan preaching as I assist in worship.

So, to fill the gap this week, I've decided to repost a sermon I preached earlier this year as part of my Lenten Sermon Series.  I was led to repost this particular one in light of the recent release of "The Green Bible," an environmentally-aware publication of the NRSV translation.  It's pretty nifty, and I'd encourage you to read more about it in a post I made on my other blog.

It is kind of sad that those who were given the command "to till and keep the earth" have fallen so far behind in the environmental quest for our earth.  This sermon was an attempt to call us back to that very endeavor.)

 
 
Genesis 1: 26-31; Psalm 24: 1-2, 7-10
Steve Lindsley
March 2, 2008

There is a story that goes like this: a group of scientists, world-renowned experts in their various fields, were reviewing all the scientific accomplishments of the last millennium – diseases that had been cured, food that had been artificially manufactured, even life created in a test tube.  And they came to a unanimous conclusion – the human race did not need God anymore.  Things had gotten to the point, they surmised, where they could sustain the many species and the world without the Divine’s help. So they thought it would be the courteous thing to inform God of their decision, so that God would feel free to find another universe to oversee.

They came before God and shared their thoughts.  God, being a realist, admitted to the amazing strides the human race had made over the years.  So God was willing to leave humanity on its own if this group of experts could pass one small test.  I want you to create life, God asked them, just like I did in the beginning, with a handful of dirt.  The scientists took this challenge to heart.  They convened over the next few weeks, working day and night.  And finally – eureka!  They determined that, together, they possessed the scientific knowledge to meet God’s challenge.
So they went back to God and told God they had figured it out.  Show me, God asked.  One of the scientists ran outside and came back in with a vial full of dirt.  But before they got any further, God stopped them and said, Oh, I’m sorry, you must have misunderstood.  I meant for you to get your own dirt!

Now getting their “own dirt,” of course, is not something those scientists could’ve done.  Kind of ironic, isn’t it, that in a world where we can order fast food fast, where a few clicks on Amazon.com can put a book in our mailbox in a matter of days, where an old t-shirt can be discarded and replaced with a new one – in a world with so much of so much, one of the very few things we cannot get more of is dirt.  What we’ve got is all we’re ever going to have.

You know, it’s the same thing with this earth of ours.  As you know, our sermon series this Lenten season is focusing on More Than Just Believing. It’s about the idea that thoughts lead to actions, convictions lead to change, believing leads to following.  Last week we talked about how our faith calls us not only to think nice things about “the least of these,” but to stand alongside and align ourselves with them.  Today it’s not people we’re talking about, but something else that certainly needs our attention.  Consider the following:

• One-fifth of our planet’s tropical rainforests – crucial to the overall world climate – have been cleared since 1960.  Currently they’re disappearing at 1% each year.
• We are currently operating at 100 to 1000 times the normal extinction rate, which means that today, one in four mammal species, one in ten bird species, one in four amphibian species, and half of all primate species are threatened with extinction.
• In our lakes, rivers and oceans, fisheries are being depleted at twice their replacement rate.
• And speaking of water, by 2020 one in three people will suffer from fresh water shortages.  This has already been experienced in third-world countries, and is being felt now in industrialized nations, even in our own state of North Carolina, where some counties and municipalities are still under water restrictions.

I imagine many of you have heard these statistics or others like them before.  Now, here’s the interesting part: these were not compiled by some scientist or some stereotypical environmental activist.  These statistics were assembled by internationally acclaimed Christian writer and theologian Brian McLaren in his most recent book, aptly titled Everything Must Change. Brian is no push-over: he is a Biblical scholar who is part of a new movement – or more appropriately a new-old movement – to reclaim, among other things, the environmental component of the Christian faith.   He is making the important case that “going green,” as the current lingo goes, is not simply a nice thing for people of faith to do, but is in fact a Biblical mandate and duty for every follower of Christ.

Perhaps it may surprise us to look at this particular issue through the lens of faith – we’re not really used to that.  It is almost as if, over the years, we Christians have managed to remove ourselves from this conversation.  And that’s a shame – because this conversation is not only one we should be part of, but in fact it is one that we started, a very long time ago.

Remember back to the beginning of it all, the book of Genesis, and the beautiful account of how our world, and everything in it, came to be.  The heavens and the earth, day and night, created on the first day.  The sky above and waters below on the second and third.  The sun and moon and stars on the fourth; the fish in the seas and birds in the air on the fifth.  Animals roaming the earth on the sixth.  All the world was an intentional act of God; an act that had meaning and purpose and (something which will make us Presbyterians happy) order.

Also on the sixth day, God created humankind, male and female.  And there is something wonderfully unique about this particular creature in God’s order – it was given the following directive:

Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and every living thing that moves upon the earth.

Dominion.  It’s a powerful sort of word, isn’t it?  It comes from the Latin word dominus which literally means “lord” or “master.”  Webster’s defines “dominion” as “having supreme authority and absolute power.”  That’s strong stuff!  We think of someone having “dominion” over another and imagine total and complete ownership – where the domineering one completely subjugates the other, and can do with it as it pleases.

Which strikes me, because that’s exactly how it seems we’ve viewed our role in the created order over the years.  The human race has taken this “dominion” thing to an unfortunate extreme – thus the kinds of statistics and examples McLaren and many others continue to bring to our attention.  There is a carelessness and ignorance here, both of which are quite tragic.   Common sense dictates that we are setting up our world, and future generations, for disaster if we persist in habits that lead to the world’s detriment.  It’s just not very smart.

But you know what concerns me as a person of faith, more than this “not being very smart?”  It’s also horrible theology!  As Christians, we are making some assumptions about the world and our role in it that are way out of line with what the Bible tells us.  I’m reminded of the televangelist I once saw on TV who told his millions of viewers that, because God had given us “dominion” over all creation, we could literally do with it whatever we want.  It is ours – we own it!  There are even some who view the current environmental crises as somehow fulfilling Biblical prophecy about the “End Times;” so that the decline of the earth is to be welcomed with open arms.  What this does, of course, is rearrange the whole order of things.  Instead of God being at the center of the universe, we are.  Instead of God’s needs being the ones that matter the most, it’s our needs – our whims and desires, to be more accurate.  It is flawed theology, it is unbiblical, it is dangerous and – let’s just say it – it’s wrong.

There is an ancient story about two men in a rowboat heading toward land. Suddenly, with land still far away, one of the men begins to dig a hole in the bottom of the boat underneath his feet.  The other man asks him what in the world he’s doing.  To which the first replies, This is none of your business. I am digging the hole on my side of the boat!  The point of the story, of course, is that the earth is like a boat, our means of transport in this gift of life; and what one person does with this “boat” affects all who are on it with them.

You know, I wonder what would’ve happened if the televangelist mentioned earlier had taken a closer look at this Genesis passage, and this word “dominion.”  It’s kind of interesting, actually.  The Hebrew word used here, rada, has a connotation that differs dramatically from what the English translation suggests.   It is not at all about exploitation and domination; it’s about bearing a responsibility of care-giving and nurturing. Creation-care, if you will.  Think about that.  To “have dominion” over the world does not mean we can do with it what we want.  To have dominion over the world doesn’t mean it’s ours at all.  As the Psalmist says quite emphatically, The Earth is the LORD’s.  We are commissioned with the care and nurture of all creation; protecting rather than exploiting, building up instead of tearing down, being wise and thoughtful instead of instinctive and selfish.

Now that kind of changes things, doesn’t it?  It makes us wonder: what would the earth look like if Christians everywhere took this little rada word to heart?  What would it look like if we really did see our role, our responsibility, our duty as people of faith, to take care of creation and the creatures within it?  What might that look like?  Well, let me at least tell you what it’s going to look like here at First Presbyterian Church.  Just last month, our session unanimously adopted an initiative titled “FPC Goes Green;” created through the hard work of church members Dave Petri, Lorie Lindsley and Joe Lampl.  You have a copy of this on the back of your announcements page, and I’d like to invite you to follow me as I read it:

“The Earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it” – Psalm 24:1
The Psalmist reminds us that creation is a gift from God.
And yet humanity has for the most part failed to acknowledge this,
assuming that the world is ours to do with as we please.
So we have engaged in practices that harm the environment,
contribute to global warming, and serve our own interests.
.As people of faith, the Christian community should stand opposed to this mindset
and do what it can to re-educate the faith community
that “going green” is not simply  a nice thing to do,
but is in fact a theological and Biblical mandate.
Therefore, as part of the 150th celebration of First Presbyterian Church of Mount Airy,
the session endorses the “FPC Goes Green” initiative.

So what exactly is this initiative?  How is our church going to “go green?”  I’m glad you asked!

First, we are in the process of switching our incandescent lighting to more energy-efficient CFL bulbs.  We’ve already done this with the standard 60-watt bulbs at various places around the church, as well as the spotlights in the Fellowship Hall and here in the sanctuary.  In addition to being much better for the environment by not using nearly as much electricity (thus burning less coal at the energy plant), our calculations suggest that the church will save as much as $600 a year on lighting expenses alone.

Second, beginning with this Sunday’s bulletin and this month’s Grapevine, we are switching to recycled paper in the church office.  Our mailings and other publications will follow suit.  For the most part, you’ll know we’re using recycled paper when you see the logo “Printed on Recycled Paper,” like the one on the back of today’s bulletin.

Third, we are beginning today an in-church recycling program of paper, plastics, magazines, aluminum cans and glass.  You’ll notice special marked blue containers at various points around the church.  All church members will be asked to use these bins for recyclables generated here at the church – bulletins you aren’t taking home with you, soda cans after a fellowship meal (and after you rinse them out, of course), just to name a few examples.  The staff will also use these bins during the week for paper office products, junk mail and catalogs.

To help with the recyclables, we are looking for volunteers to serve on what is being called the “Green Team.”  Twice a month, someone from this group will take the church’s recyclables to the recycling center here in Mount Airy.  We hope to get at least twelve people on the team so each person would only have to do this twice a year.  If you are interested in serving on the “Green Team,” please plan on signing up on the sign-up sheet down the hall after worship.

And finally, we are encouraging all church members to “go green” in their own homes.  You’ll find a handout in the bulletin this morning that gives you some very simple, practical steps on how to do this.  Take this home with you today and, if you would, make time in the coming week to read it with your family.  As you’ll see, it doesn’t involve anything terribly complicated or even expensive.  All it really takes is the willingness to acquire a new set of habits and routines in your home.

Friends, this is how our church, and hopefully its members as well, will “go green” in this year of celebration!  And you know what the really great thing about all of this is?  We’re not just “believing” that it’s good to take care of God’s earth.  We’re not just thinking that it’s a nice thing to do. We’re actually doing something about it as a people of faith!  We’re following Jesus; following his lead as he reminds us that having dominion over the earth means you and I have been given an incredible responsibility – and an incredible opportunity – to be the caretakers of this world that we were always intended to be.  So let’s all “go green:” not even though we’re Christians, but because we’re Christians.  Thanks be to God, AMEN.

THE BEATITUDES - JESUS' REVOLUTIONARY MESSAGE

Matthew 5: 1-12
Steve Lindsley
September 28, 2008 – Dedication Sunday

Dust is what's on our mind.  And on our sandals and legs, on our hands and arms, in our lungs and in the air.  Dust is everywhere.  And so is the sun – the hot Palestinian sun beating down on us, further aging our already-aged Middle-Eastern skin.  We are surrounded by dust and sun. We're also surrounded by the crowd – a huge crowd of familiar faces and not-so familiar ones.  The crowd is everywhere, just like the dust and the sun, gathered together to hear him speak.

There is an odd quiet of anticipation that falls over the crowd, and it's then that we see him standing up on an embankment.  And other than the occasional sound of a crying child we hear him as clear as day.  And this is what he says:

You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope:
with less of you there is more of God.
You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you:
only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.
You're blessed when you don't have much: that's the moment that you find yourself proud owners of everything that can't be bought.
You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God:
he's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat.
You're blessed when you show mercy to others, whether or not they show it to you:
If you are merciful, you will receive it.
You're blessed when your mind and heart – your inside world – is set right:
then you can see God in the outside world.
You're blessed when you seek a better way other than conflict or competition:
that's when you discover how much a part of God's family you really are.
You're blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution:
and that persecution drives you even deeper into God's kingdom.
And you're blessed when people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me.  It wasn't any different for the prophets, and it won't be any different for you.

So be glad when that happens – give a cheer!
All heaven applauds because you are so blessed.

(Adapted from The Message: The Bible in Contemporary Language by Eugene Peterson (Colorado Springs: NavPress, 2002), 1750-1751.  With all due respect to Peterson's wonderful rendering of the scriptures, I've adapted some of the language to better reflect what I think the Beatitudes are trying to get at.)

We listen to Jesus, and we are taken aback.  No one has ever spoken like this before.  Not our parents or our rabbis or our leaders.  Not the Zealots, or the Herodians, or the Essenes, or the Pharisees.  No one.  And it's not that Jesus is just engaging in some fantastic rhetorical exercise.  His words actually speak to our very heart; each and every one of us in that dusty, sun-scorched crowd.  And it's obvious that Jesus wants things to be dramatically different from the way they are right now.

And that's when it hits us: if Jesus wants things to be so different, then why in the world is he talking to us??  I mean, we are a vast assortment of “nobodys” - shepherds and farmers, tradesmen and crafsmen.  Women and men, young and old, all gathered together like sardines in a can in the dusty, sunny desert.  We don't have influence over our own lives, much less the lives of others.  Surely if Jesus wants things to change so much, he should be talking to people who actually have the power to do it.  People like Herod, the governor; diplomats of state; the Sanhedrin priestly council.  Even the Roman emperor himself.  Why is he not talking to them?  Why is he talking to us?

Why indeed?  In a sense that's the question we've been asking ourselves for the past three weeks, as we've been looking at these Beatitudes during our Fall Stewardship sermon series.  Today, of course, is Dedication Sunday – when we dedicate to God's church not only our pledge for the coming year, but indeed our very lives, as we “celebrate God's mission for our church.”  The Beatitudes, I believe, are an appropriate thing for us to look at as we consider our stewardship response.  We know Jesus was being prophetic, calling out the powers of the world.  We know he was being political, refusing to be “pigeon-holed” into this group or that group.  But what else was Jesus trying to accomplish here?  And why is he talking to us?

I mean, surely he was doing more than just offering us some “moral exhortations;” standards we're supposed to achieve and the rewards we get when we achieve them.  Surely he's doing more than that.  Because it's not that the meek are striving to be meek, is it?  Do the hungry and thirsty really want to be hungry and thirsty? 

No, we think to ourselves, it's got to be more than that.  These Beatitudes have got to be more along the lines of what one commentator calls “objective realities.”  They simply state what already is.  They state that the people of God are blessed.  Not that we will be blessed, not that we can be blessed if we do certain things, but that we are blessed, right here and right now.  And if that's the case, they also tell us something quite shocking: that we are the poor in spirit.  We are the meek.  We are the peacemakers.  We are the hungry and thirsty.

See, the issue is not about whether we are these things or not.  The issue is whether we realize that we are.    And that, right here, is the heart of the revolutionary message of Jesus, my friends – the heart of its message, and also its greatest challenge.

It's a challenge for us because it plays with our concept of how the world operates.  How, for instance, can anyone who is poor or humble or thirsty or persecuted ever be blessed?  It flies in the face of everything you and I have been brought up to believe and trust in.  It forces us to ask questions like: can the meek succeed in a business world that promotes hard work and success at all costs?  Can the merciful survive in a society where the prevalent belief is summed up best in the slogan I once saw etched on a sheriff deputy’s car in my old stomping grounds of Davidson County: “You do the crime, you pay the time?”  Can those who mourn survive in a culture that looks down on open expressions of grief?  Can the persecuted make it in a world where “winning is everything?”

Maybe – just maybe – the Beatitudes are there to tell us that we truly do have it all backwards.  I remember a story that Shasta shared at our Bob Chilton Bible study this past week.  She was talking about her time with the Beacons on the mission trip in Toronto earlier this summer.  One morning she and a few other youth were making their rounds through downtown, taking breakfast to the homeless there.  At one point they came upon a man sleeping on the park bench – and literally the only thing he had with him were the clothes on his back.  They gave him his breakfast, which he received gratefully, and then asked him if he needed anything else.  And this homeless man, in downtown Toronto, looked at Shasta and the kids and said with a smile, “I've got a beautiful sun rising today, I've got air in my lungs, and you fine folks have just brought me breakfast.  What more do I need?”

What more do you need??? My gosh, you need a home, man!  You need some more clothes, because the ones you've got are filthy.  You need a job, so you can make money, and then use that money to get more stuff you need.  What do you mean, what more do you need? You need everything!  That's what we think when we hear this guy, isn't it?  Our society is based on the premise that people who sleep on park benches with only the clothes on their back have nothing.  We have no idea what to do when a guy like this tells he has everything he needs. And the fact that he can even say this shows us that this guy understands the revolutionary message of the Beatitudes far better than you and I do.  He understands that it points us to another way of living – not in a different place, not removed from things – but a different way of existing in the here and the now.  In some ways the Beatitudes tell us we're already doing it – but they also point us to a time that is to come.  Jesus and the scriptures have a name for this other way of living.  They call it the kingdom of heaven on earth.

Let me be clear about something: this is not heaven that's being talked about – although heaven will certainly be wonderful too.  The “kingdom of heaven on earth,” as Jesus envisions it, is exactly what it says: a time when God's way, God's economy, God's reality is our reality.  It is a time when we hear the teachings and wisdom of Jesus not with our own ears, but with the new ears God has given us.  It's a time when people aren’t so concerned about understanding everything or having every answer; because they’re quite comfortable and satisfied knowing that God has all the answers. Most importantly, it's a time when folks are always willing to grow, always excited about the new things that God has to reveal to them; even when – and especially when – it may differ from what others around them believe, or from what they’ve believed before.

“Kingdom living” is how some refer to it. It's not leaving the world behind, and it's not just 'following rules,” and it's not about fighting until we win.  It's about choosing to see things differently and then acting on those differences in the crowds of our life.  Like Jesus' Beatitudes, it's not something that can be described all that well.  But a few weeks ago I came across something by Christian writer Brian McLaren that I thought did as good a job as anything of showing us what the kingdom of heaven on earth might be like.  Listen:

A friend returns from vacation and tells you about this new land she has seen, and it sounds wonderful.  You've always been more or less satisfied with your homeland: it's the only reality you've ever known.  But her stories make you notice things you've never noticed before.  Compared to the new land your friend has described, your homeland suffers from stifling air pollution; the scenery is blah; the culture is boring, crude and uncreative; and the economy is stagnant.  The more you replay the scenes and stories described by your friend – stories of exciting people, vibrant culture, beautiful scenery, and a robust economy – the more you feel restless. One evening, your dinner is interrupted by six successive calls from telemarketers selling gas masks so you can breathe more easily on high-pollution days, and something in you snaps.  That's it!  I've had it!  I'm leaving, and I'm going to start a new life in this new land my friend has told me about.
   
So you slowly begin to imagine life in the new kingdom.  Gradually, you can see yourself there – and life is better.  Still, you're not sure.  Do you have enough faith to pack your suitcase and head to the border?  Do you really trust your friend enough to make a move like this?  You share with her you dreams – and your doubts – and she says, “If you go, I'll go with you.  Ever since I visited, I can't stop thinking about going back for good.”  And that tips the balance.  You sell your house and all your possessions, and the two of you set off.
   
With some apprehension, you approach the border and declare yourself an immigrant.  They ask you one simple question: “Do you wish to leave your past behind and start a new life in a new kingdom?”  When you say yes, they let you in – no questions asked.  You step into the new land and take a deep breath, and your lungs feel as if you're inhaling pure health, joy and peace.  It's as if the spirit of the new kingdom is entering into your body.
   
You find a new home, meet your new neighbors, and settle into a whole new life.  You quickly realize you have a lot to learn.  The people speak a new dialect here. It's not the familiar accent of pride, judgment, bragging, misleading, insulting or lying.  Rather, it's an accent or gratitude, encouragement, truth-telling, admitting faults, and celebrating joys. You also notice that people here live at a different pace than you're used to – they're not lazy, but they're not workaholics either.  They live with a certain rhythm, weaving rest and work and worship and play and fellowship and feasting and fasting.  As you settle into your new life, you almost feel that you have been born into a new autobiography and a new world.

(Adapted from The Secret Message of Jesus: Uncovering the Truth That Could Change Everything by Brian McLaren (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2006), 112-113.)

The kingdom of heaven on earth is coming, my friends.  In fact, it's already here.  Jesus painted a picture of it with his words ing the fifth chapter of the gospel of Matthew  - words that call us to live into the prophetic, political and revolutionary message of his love. What in the world are we waiting for?  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

PETER GIVES 'EM A KISS!

Acts 2: 14, 22-24, 33, 37-42; Psalm 116: 1-4, 12-19
Steve Lindsley
August 31, 2008

After preaching from this pulpit for the better part of 5½ years I'm sure you've come to learn a few things about my “preaching style.”  You've probably picked up on the fact, for instance, that I try to stay away from the “three-points-and-a-poem” formula.  You may have noticed that I make every effort to keep sermons at around 15 minutes, give or take a few.

You may have also realized that I'm kind of particular when it comes to sermon titles.  I have no evidence to prove this, but I've always felt that a good sermon title kind of catches the eyes of folks as they're glancing over the bulletin before worship, or scanning our church website or sermon blog.  I'd like to think that it sort of reels you in, gets you thinking and has you asking questions before I've even stepped in the pulpit.

So assuming this is the case, I can only wonder what kind of thoughts and what kind of questions entered your mind as you read today's sermon title.  Perhaps you've found yourself asking something like:

Why is Peter making affectionate motions to the crowd?
or:
Does Peter really need to hand out little chocolate candies to keep his audience engaged?
or maybe even:
Why is Peter hanging out with a 1970's metal back known for wearing makeup and singing songs like “Detroit Rock City” and “Rock & Roll All Night”??

None of these, of course, are what the sermon is about, but you knew that.  You probably also knew that, at the very least, this sermon is about a guy named Peter, who is speaking to a crowd.  It's an interesting crowd to say the least.  Some of the people there are followers of Jesus, like Peter; they have gathered together as instructed by Jesus, who is no longer with them.  And quite unexpectedly something marvelous happens, and they are filled with a powerful Spirit as never before; and begin to do miraculous things like speak in foreign languages and be emboldened beyond their normal nature.  The rest of the crowd, as Acts tells it, are those who rush to the scene when they hear all the commotion.  Some seem genuinely impressed with what's going on, while others surmise that these wackos are either a few clowns short of a circus, or have hit the local watering hole way too early in the day.

And that is when our hero Peter enters the scene.  Stepping up to the proverbial mic he launches into what turns out to be a sermon for the ages.  With the skill of a seasoned preacher – something fishermen weren't typically known for – he weaves Hebrew scripture from the book of Joel into words about the Jesus who has brought them there.  He has the crowd eating out of his hand, hanging on to his every word.  And as the sermon rises to a fever pitch the crowd is mobilized into action: What must we do, they shout.   And in his best rendition of a tent revival meeting Peter answers back, Repent and be baptized!  And they do exactly that – in droves.  In fact, according to scripture, 3000 people make the decision to leave their old lives behind and begin a new one.

Three-thousand. That's a lot of people!  That has to rival even the best Billy Graham crusade, don't you think?  That's larger than some small towns!

How did he do this?  How did “fisherman Peter” rise to the occasion and preach a once-in-a-lifetime sermon that led thousands to “see the light?”  I'll tell you how he didn't do it.  He didn't do it with a high-tech, slick computer interface with PowerPoint program, state-of-the-art light show and the best praise and worship band around.  He didn't do it by scaring them into submission – using fear to motivate and cajole, which seems to be all the rage these days in some political and religious circles.  And he didn't do it by promising his listeners some financial benefit for their faithfulness – known more commonly today as the “prosperity gospel” promulgated by the likes of pastor Kenneth Copeland and the popular Prayer of Jabez book a few years ago.

How did Peter bring 3000 people to the faith?  How does anybody come to faith, really?  How do we come to believe what we believe; something that, while still being a work in progress, nevertheless brings us to sit in a church sanctuary every Sunday morning?  How do we come to a point where we consciously choose to do as those 3000 did – respond to the gospel with our very lives?

Well, if you happen to be the writer of the 116th psalm, you apparently come to it like this: you encounter some hardship in your life; something that rocks your boat with tidal-sized waves.  The psalmist speaks of “the snares of death” encompassing us and “the pangs of Sheol” laying hold on our soul.  He's speaking in generalities, of course; but we get the picture – it ain't good.  So we do what we tend to do in tough spots like this: we pray as the psalmist did: O Lord, save my life! And at some point we experience transformation; or, to put it more exact, we experience deliverance.  God has stepped in and answered our prayer.  The difficulty in our life subsides; the storm's waves retreat into calmer oceans.

And with this experience and knowledge, we know that our lives cannot be the same anymore.  We make a commitment to lift up the one who lifted us up:

I will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord,
I will pay my vows to the Lord in the presence of all his people.
I will offer (to the Lord) a thanksgiving sacrifice and call on the name of the Lord.

 

Trials and tribulations – to deliverance – to proclamation.  That's what the Psalmist is doing here.  And in a sense, that's what Peter was doing on that Pentecost Sunday!  Throughout his life with Jesus, Peter struggled– struggled to believe, struggled to have faith, and on Jesus' last day struggled to admit he was the disciple he in fact was.

And yet in the midst of all of that, Peter felt God's grace wash over him like a fresh mountain stream; felt those waves subside.  He felt and experienced deliverance from his time of trial.  And that is when Peter made the decision to respond to that gift of deliverance by helping others experience the same thing themselves.

So in a sense it was not a fisherman who stood up before that crowd on Pentecost Sunday.  It was not a wayward disciple who always seemed to have a knack for speaking before thinking.  No, the one who stepped up to the mic in front of that mass of people was a transformed man who did nothing more – nothing more – than tell people about Jesus: I mean, it's kind funny when you think about it.  No gimmicks, no slicked-up talking points, no tricks of the trade.  He just tells these people about:

Jesus of Nazareth a man attested to you by God
with deeds of power, wonders, and signs that God did through him among you,
this man, handed over to you according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God,
you crucified and killed by the hands of those outside the law.
But God raised him up, having freed him from death,
because it was impossible for him to be held in its power.

I mean, you can't get any more basic than that, can you?  Jesus, born as son of God.  Jesus, teacher and preacher and healer.  Jesus, crucified.  Jesus, risen.  I will call upon the name of the Lord in the presence of all of the peoples – the Psalmist declared it; Peter did it.  And they responded to it by the thousands.

Is it that simple, really?  Is it as simple as just telling people about Jesus? It's almost silly that we have to even ask that question.  But look at our track record over thousands of years of history in the church. Look at our track record and you can see.

Back in Peter's day it was simple.  The early church grew because people were brought into the transforming presence of Jesus Christ – that was it.  Churches sprung up in people's living rooms, and they sought refuge there.  The world outside may not have been the most accommodating of places, but inside the fellowship of Christ-followers nurtured one another for the journey.  And when they all got together they did three simple things: they praised God, they broke bread, and they looked to share the story of Jesus with themselves and with others.

But things changed dramatically a couple of hundred years later when the Roman emperor Constantine came to the throne and decreed that the empire was now a Christian one.  When he did that he took the church out of the living room and put it in the public square.  Christians were not followers anymore as much as they were citizens.  The church was no longer a movement as much as it was an institution.  Missions became programs, nurturing became indoctrination, and fellowship was fostered not out of genuine love but moreso out of necessity.

You and I live in light of this legacy in the year 2008.  And while I am certainly not one to discount the thousands of years of rich church history – not to mention the 150 years at this particular church – I do think it's important for us to recognize: to recognize how far, in some ways, we in the church have fallen away from what brought us together in the first place; what binds us as one and sustains us through the hard times.  We have important things in the church like schedules and programs and committees and budgets and buildings and structure – but so does the rest of the world.  So does the rest of the world.  What we in the church have that the world does not have is Jesus.  And whatever we do, however we do it, we need to make absolutely certain that we as followers of Christ remember that our primary mission, our reason for being, is just to tell people about Jesus.

Is it really that simple?  I think it may be.  And that's why I think Peter most certainly gave those thousands of people a KISS on that Pentecost Sunday long ago.  Which brings us back to the sermon title – and no, it was not a sign of affection or a chocolate candy or a heavy metal band.  It's the kind of KISS that was brought up at the Bob Chilton Bible Study this past week – ironically, after the study was over and most folks had left.  We had been studying these passages from Psalms and Acts; and one person came up to me and quite matter-of-factly said, You know, Steve, it's the KISS principle.  And I had no idea what he was talking about.  So I asked him what the KISS principle was, and he told me: K-I-S-S.  Keep It Simple, Stupid!

How's that for a Peter-like mantra for the church?  Keep it simple!  Peter very well may have told them, and may be telling us: Keep it simple!  Don't get bogged down in this and that, in how the church is run, or what doctrines are “correct.”  Don't get sidetracked by competing agendas or plans for the future or immaterial things.  These things have their place, but never let them consume you.  And most of all, don't ever forget that the church is not about you.  It's never about you.  It's always about God.  It's about Jesus.  Keep it simple.

My friends, there are many, many wonderful things going on right now in this church.  We have a session who is committed to the betterment of this congregation.  We have a Fall Stewardship season approaching that will enable the church's members to support God's mission and vision here.  We have new people visiting almost every Sunday, new members joining in significant numbers, and a youth group that has seen its numbers more than double in less than a year.  From the world's view we are a success.

But you and I know the truth, don't we?  We know that these things are not about success as much as they are about the spirit – the same spirit that descended on those disciples  two thousand years ago and gave them something to talk about.  And like Peter we know that this spirit is not of our own doing.  We know it is because of Jesus – the living Jesus inside you, inside me, inside us all.  And more than any program or church structure, that is what people are hungry for.

So let's keep it simple, shall we?  Let's never stop telling them about Jesus.  It's what they need to hear.  And it's what we need to be telling them, and showing them, in all that we do, in all that we are.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.