The Mayberry Preacher

RETURN NO ONE EVIL FOR EVIL

1 Samuel 24: 1-13, 16-22; Romans 12: 9-18
Steve Lindsley
May 22, 2011

Her name is Celie, and she is the main character and narrator in the movie The Color Purple, based on the Pulitzer-prize winning book by Alice Walker.  It is a harsh look at life for African-American women in the early part of the 20th century.  Set in rural Georgia in the 1930’s, Celie’s early years are marked by abuse at the hands of two men in her life – first her stepfather, with whom she has two children who are taken from her; and then with the man she was given to in marriage at fourteen years of age.  Known only as “Mister,” he treats Celie as something between a maid and a household pet – endless and ruthless days of cleaning his house, shaving his face, and caring for his three children who are not much younger than she.  Other women come in and out of his life, and Celie is shoved aside in every instance.  Mister shows no remorse as he tells her and others how “ugly” she is, and he drives out of her life the only person she ever loved – her sister Nettie. 

It is a joyless existence, precariously living one mistake away from a serious beating.  And yet throughout it all, Celie never raises her voice, never lashes out in anger, never takes advantage of multiple opportunities to end his life in order to save her own.  For better or for worse, Celie is always there for Mister and his kids, even as they are never there for her.  Even as evil is returned to her over and over and over and over again.

When I was a kid in Raleigh, my pastor would conclude every worship service with the same benediction.  I never heard him say another for 29 years.  And it wasn’t just the words that were the same.  It was the rhythm and cadence with which he said it: the times his voice would rise and fall; the phrases he’d blend together and the places he took pause.  I heard this benediction so many times that it became for me like a favorite book or song; where it’s not just something you read with your eyes or hear with your ears, but something you feel in your soul.  After a while, without thinking, I found myself mouthing it along with him every Sunday, so that it wasn’t just him saying it but me too.

Years later, when I was ordained at that church, another family gave me this framed copy of the benediction as a gift – and it hangs in my office to this day.  I say this benediction every now and then:

Go out into the world in peace,
Have courage, hold on to that which is good.
Return no one evil for evil,
Strengthen the fainthearted, support the weak,
Help the suffering, honor all people,
Love and serve the Lord,
Rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit!

I remember one time asking my 3rd-grade Sunday school teacher what that whole “return no one evil for evil” thing meant.   I wasn’t sure how one could ever be “returned,” but if there was I wanted to inquire about my younger brother.

I remember my Sunday school teacher opening their Bible and reading a story that sounded a little like Celie’s.  It involved two men of power; two men with very different ideas about that power. There was Saul, the one no one liked, the simple farmer who stumbled into being Israel’s first king and had been stumbling ever since.  And then there was David, the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, the king-to-be whose defeat of Goliath as a young boy set the stage for his greatness. 

Saul had been hunting David down to take his life, we were told, because he felt threatened by him, intimidated by his charm and ever-growing popularity.   It forced David into a life on the run, hiding in foreign lands as his nemesis relentlessly pursued him.  Except in one instance, when the tables were turned and Saul became the vulnerable one.  He had unknowingly placed himself within David’s reach, with no royal guards around.  David’s sword was drawn and ready. His companions urged David to seize the moment and take the king’s life, putting an end to his adversary and laying claim to the throne he’d already been anointed for.  Your enemy is before you for the taking, they whispered in his ear.  Surely this is what God wants!

But David simply cut off a piece of his royal cloak.  And later, when Saul was at a distance, the young man called out to the king and held the torn fabric high in his hands.  And he yelled to him, I could have killed you, but I didn’t.  You have nothing to fear from me.  It ends here!   And Saul, deeply humbled and humiliated, promised young David through tears of contrition that he no longer would seek to take his life.

Of course, our teacher told us, the pursuit did not end.  It never would.  That’s because when the fear of losing something so important to you gets a hold of you, when it sinks its claws deep into your soul, it is not something that is easily given up.  It is not something that can simply “end.”  And so Saul’s pursuit of David would continue, even as David himself chose to “return no one evil for evil,” as my Sunday school teacher explained.

And I remember at that young age thinking: did David really do the right thing?  Shouldn’t he have just taken Saul’s life when he had the chance?  He was the future king, wasn’t he?  Wouldn’t Celie have been justified, with razor in hand for Mister’s daily shave, if she happened to cut just a little deeper on his throat?  Hard questions, aren’t they?  Because it’s one thing to “return no one evil for evil” when you’re called names or someone cuts you off in traffic. You repeat to yourself that childhood mantra: “stick and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.”  You take a few deep breaths and keep both hands on the steering wheel and your foot off the gas pedal. 

But what exactly do you do with situations of real evil; where those with power and influence abuse that power and the people under it?  What’s that saying: Absolute power corrupts absolutely.  How else can you fight a raging fire except with more fire?  Is “returning no one evil for evil” even a legitimate option for us in our day and time?

I wonder.  I wonder if it depends on how you look at it – how you view the story of David and Saul, how you view Celie and others like her.  How you look at the notion of justice and “making wrongs right” and whether the end always justifies the means.  Especially in our culture as we vanquish political enemies or take out terrorists or do whatever is necessary to protect self-interests.  In so many ways we’ve become a culture where returning evil for evil is not only a valid way, but the only way.

All of this, I imagine, was swirling around in David’s head at that seminal moment, making him dizzy: sword in hand, his enemy mere feet away, totally his for the taking.  All his friends, whispering excitedly in his ear, practically begging him to draw his sword and end Saul’s life.  And instead he uses that sword for fabric alteration!

I wonder.  I wonder what caused David to choose to do something different from what everyone else was telling him.  If, at some level, David had thoughts similar to those of noted theologian Henri Nouwen, when he said this:

What makes the temptation of power so irresistible? Maybe it is that power offers an easy substitute for the harder task of love. It seems easier to be God than to love God, easier to control people than to love people, easier to own life than to love life. (Quoted in Christianity Today, Feb. 8, 1999).

Could that really be it?  Could that be what made the difference for David – love?  It makes you wonder.  If David had acted on his impulses, had he done what everyone was telling him to do, he would’ve gotten his life back.  He would’ve become the new king.  He would’ve been free! 

Except he wouldn’t really be free, would he?  Because despite what he and everyone else thought, David would’ve been imprisoned by the vicious cycle of violence and revenge and paranoia that had long before taken Saul.  And when the tables were later turned, when David was the one trying to hold onto power, he would’ve been the one in pursuit.

But thanks be to God, none of that happened.  Because in that single moment, David chose something else entirely.  He chose love.  And love changes the game, doesn’t it?  Love makes for an entirely different kind of power.  It’s about recognizing that there’s something beyond our experience in this world; something far greater than the structures and systems we set up to make things work for us.  Love grounded not in human will and reliance, but love grounded in our heartfelt beliefs and convictions, and the very manifestation of God’s presence in the world. 

And rarely is that kind of power celebrated in our society – because it’s not flashy and brilliant.  Instead, that power is found in the simple things: the group walking on a Sunday afternoon to end hunger, the loving daughter who wipes food from her ailing mother’s mouth after the rest home meal, the average Joe who lays the first cinderblock on a Habitat for Humanity house, the state-employed teacher who daily negotiates the tumultuous waters of her first-grade class, wondering if she’ll be around to do it next year.  That kind of power is not found on the front pages of the newspaper; it’s rarely the lead-off story on the news channels.  But it’s the kind of power through which God does God’s greatest work.

Which is why it’s inevitable that there will come a time when you and I must follow David’s lead, despite the whisperings in our ears, and echo his words to Saul: IT ENDS HERE.  There comes a time when we must break the vicious cycle that threatens to consume us if we let it, and instead choose love over hate, compassion over violence, hope over fear.

Just like Celie did.  Near the end of the movie, as she finally decides to leave Mister for good.  You’ll be back!  he screams at her, as she climbs in the car that will drive her away.  You’ll be back!  as he senses his power over her dissipating like a morning fog.  And in perhaps one of the more powerful scenes of the story, as he lunges to strike her one last time, Celie raises her hand, three digits extended, as if to magically stop him dead in his tracks.  Which it does.  And in a voice that embodies, for the first time, almost pity, Celie says to Mister, Everything you’ve ever done to me, you’ve already done to yourself.

The cycle has been broken.  But it’s not the end of the story.  Years later, Celie returns to that rural Georgia town to take over her father’s business.  And as the movie soundtrack plays in the background the gospel tune, “God’s trying to tell you something,” we watch as Mister removes his savings from its hiding place and uses it to pay the immigration fees; so Celie could be reunited with her beloved sister Nettie, who had fled to Africa decades before.  And see, that’s why returning no one evil for evil is such a powerful, powerful thing when put into practice.  Because it not only leads to our redemption – it redeems the other too.  

God’s everlasting love is always more powerful than the world’s hate. It is also contagious!  Here’s hoping we all catch it sooner rather than later.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

THROWING DARTS AND DRAWING TARGETS

Romans 5: 12-21
Steve Lindsley
October 31, 2010

In just a few hours the streets of Mount Airy will be a very scary place.  They will be overrun with all manner of vampires and witches, goblins and ghosts.  These beasts will be roaming our town, pillaging households one by one and consuming all their sweetness.  There might be a super hero in the mix, maybe a cowboy or a princess, perhaps.  But for every Luke Skywalker you can bet there will be a Darth Vader.  For every Buzz Lightyear, you're gonna find a Zurg.  And if things really turn bad you might just come across a Justin Bieber.  Now that's scary!

Halloween's a lot of fun, of course.  We get a kick out of being scared from time to time.  And speaking of being scared, you know what else is scary?  Our scripture reading today, for a few reasons.   See, the book of Romans differs from all the others letters that the apostle Paul wrote.  Most of them were directed to church communities that Paul had already visited or had some relationship with – so they have a “personal touch” to them.  They even extended warm greetings to his friends there.  But Romans is a whole different beast.  He didn't have any relationships with the churches there yet.  It appears that he was writing his letter to solicit financial support for his mission travels.  That may explain why the letter reads like a dense, repetitive, heady textbook on the ins and outs of Paul's  theology, moreso than anything else he wrote.  Scary stuff!

But you know what's really scary?  It's not Paul's writing style, but what he's actually writing about: SIN.  Ooh, I get goosebumps just saying it!  Sin.  It takes us all the way back to the very beginning; back to the Garden of Eden and two people and a misguided choice that, as one of my seminary professors used to say, each of us acts out every day of our lives.  Sin.  It's the antithesis of who we were created to be; children of God in perfect communion with the Creator.  It's something we wrestle with all of our lives.  In the book Children's Letters to God, 9-year old Tim writes: “Dear God: I wish that there wasn't any sin.  Maybe Cain and Abel would not kill each other so much if they had their own rooms.  It works with me and my brother.” (Children's Letters to God, compiled by Stuart Hample & Eric Marshall. Workman Publishing, 1991).

Ah, cute kids.  They're not scary.  But sin is!  And Paul talks about sin a whole lot in the fifth chapter of Romans.  Actually, he has a very unique way of describing sin that's worth mentioning.  If we read Romans in Paul's original Greek, we'd see that the word he uses for “sin” is “hamartia.”  And that's wild, really, because “hamartia” is not about bad behavior or making mistakes or willfully doing something wrong.   It's an archery term; and it literally means “missing the target.”  How's that for a way to look at sin?  It's not that we're intentionally trying to mess up or are inherently evil or anything.  We're just bad archers.  We pull back the bow, we take careful aim and we release the arrow.   But no matter what we do, we miss.  Every time.  We sin.

Speaking of missing the target – I have a confession to make, and I'm going to warn you, it's scary.  Back when I was a kid I took riflery class at summer camp – shot five rounds of five for five days.  And I never hit the target. Never.  Not even the paper!  We tried everything – we traded out rifles, had me shoot sitting down and standing up.  None of it made a difference.  And let me assure you – I was trying hard.  I did not want to be known as the kid at camp who completely failed rifelry.  But no matter what I did, I kept on missing the target.  I was a pretty big sinner that summer!

Now I'm comfortable sharing this with you because I know it won't make you think any less of me, and also because since then I've redeemed myself at the riflery range, thank goodness.  But I also know the hard truth: that we are all poor marksmen.  We're all pretty excellent sinners.   And the thing is, we’re in great company.  The Bible is full of folks who excelled at missing the target.  David missed it when he sent Bathsheba’s husband to the front lines to be killed so he could have her as his own.  God’s people missed it when they let themselves be swayed by surrounding influences and neglected to keep up their end of the covenant.  Peter missed it when, in the heat of the moment, he denied ever knowing Jesus.  And on and on and on it goes, shots misfired all over the place.  When it comes to that kind of poor marksmanship, we're all in the same boat.

That's why we're incredibly grateful for this little thing called “grace” that Paul also talks about in his letter.  There's a verse in particular that has always jumped out at me: Wherever sin increases, grace abounds all the more.  I've referred in sermons before to The Message, a contemporary version of the Bible translated by Eugene Peterson, a good Presbyterian.  Here's how he puts it: When it's sin versus grace, grace wins hands-down.  I love that image of grace; don't you?  It's like it's some sort of race where our guy is always in the lead, always a few steps ahead. And if sin starts getting a little faster, so does grace.

As a pastor friend of mine always would say, we are “thankful for the grace.”  We are grateful for the fact that God doesn't keep score every time we “miss the target.”  But that doesn't mean we're out of the woods.  Because, to be honest, missing the mark is not what's most frightening.  There's something even scarier than that!  Something that, on this Halloween day, would make all those ghosts and goblins run for the hills.  Something that should concern us to the depths of our souls.  And it has nothing to do with poor marksmanship. 

This past summer I was watching a theological debate, streamed live on my computer screen.  It took place on the floor of the General Assembly, our denomination's bi-annual gathering of national leaders; and it was a debate on a controversial subject we have been arguing about for years.  What was being argued, though, was not as striking as how it was being argued.  In good Presbyterian fashion there were two lines, one “for” and one “against” the amendment.  And one by one, people would step up to the microphone and make their case.  They would use any manner of scripture or theology or church history or doctrine to reinforce their particular stance.  The would finish, most times on their own, a few times when they were cut off by the moderator for exceeding the time limit.  Then they would step away, and someone from the other side would speak.  It was like a verbal tennis match that went on for hours, always sitting at a score of “love.”  It was very organized and civilized, but at the same time it was chaotic and going nowhere fast.

Does this not sound like some of the conversations you've had before?  Does this not feel like the standard “MO” of so many things in our culture – our religion, our politics, our families, our life?

It took a young college student in attendance to rise to the occasion and call out this particular sin, dead-on.  He stepped to the mic and said, I've been watching and listening to this debate for the past hour now, and I've not been sure what to make of it.  And then it finally occurred to me what's happening here.  We are not really interested in trying to do what God wants us to do. We're not interested in “hitting the target” in this discussion.  What we're doing is more like throwing darts against the wall, and then drawing the target around them. That way, we're always right and the other guy is wrong.  And that's why this isn't getting us anywhere.

The debate went on for a little longer, but to be honest, I had seen all I needed to see.  And I knew – that guy was right.  He was exactly right!   And it's not just debates on the floor of General Assembly where this sort of thing happens.  In life, in so many ways, we're just trying to hit the target.  That's all God wants of us; that's all we want from ourselves.  We're going to miss it; we know that.  But we keep trying anyway.

But where we get ourselves into trouble is when we do what that guy said – when we start throwing darts and then drawing the target.  When we do that, we change the equation entirely.  We alter the arrangement that God has made with us.  When we throw darts and draw the target, we rule out any possibility for meaningful dialogue and discussion; for transformation and growth.  When we throw darts and draw the target, we manufacture our own truths and set our own agendas.  We essentially take the role of God on ourselves.  And that's really scary.

It's precisely why Paul had such a problem with what he called the “law” – or, more accurately, what people had done to the law.  Those ancient Hebrew writings had always been about freeing people, so that they might become who God had always intended for them to be.  But over the years that law had been twisted into a laundry list of sorts – follow these rules and you'll earn your way to righteousness.  So people started choosing certain laws to fixate on, or deemed some laws more important than other ones.  That's when people of faith got real good at throwing darts and drawing targets.

And let me tell you, it's scary stuff.  It's scary when anyone feels like they have all the answers; that they alone possess the keys to the kingdom.  It's scary when people cherry-pick an “issue” or two and set them above all others – and ironically, it's those issues that the people are most afraid of.   It's scary when we in the church draw lines of who is “in” and who is “out” – and we, of course, are always “in.” It's scary when we do things like this.  As Paul himself said, the law has led to the condemnation of us all.

But thanks be to God that the law does not have the last word!  Not for Paul, not for any of us.  Thanks be to God that grace does.  A number of years ago at a British conference on comparative religions, experts from around the world were debating about something.  They were trying to figure out if there was any one belief unique to the Christian faith.  They began eliminating possibilities. Incarnation?  No, other religions had different versions of gods appearing in human form. Resurrection?  Not really – the idea of a deity coming back to life was found in other faiths. One by one, every attempt at defining a unique doctrine was ruled out.

Until a man by the name of C.S. Lewis wandered in.  He heard the conversation, and someone asked him if he knew any belief that was found only in Christianity.  "Oh, that's easy,” Lewis responded.  “It's grace."  And after some discussion, the others agreed.  The notion of God's love coming to us free of charge, no strings attached, seemed to go against every instinct of humanity and its religions.  Only Christianity dared to make God's love unconditional. (http://homileticsonline.com/subscriber/illustration_search.asp?item_topic_id=840, visited on 10.27.2010)

Grace is what makes the law not meaningless, but full of meaning.  Grace is what reminds us that it is not our job to draw targets, but to just work, with God's help, on throwing the darts a little better.  Grace, as writer Frederick Buechner once put it,

….means something like this: Here is your life.  Here is the world.  Beautiful and terrible things will happen.  Don't be afraid.  I am with you.  Nothing can ever separate us.  I love you.  (Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC. Harper & Row, 1973. pg. 34)

And you know what's really, really scary?  The fact that so many people in this world today have yet to experience this grace.  In his letter to the churches in Rome, Paul was trying to change that.  In the lives that you and lead, in the people who are part of them, let us do the same.  Wherever sin increases, grace abounds all the more!  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

WHEN GOD SENDS AN EMAIL

Romans 5: 1-8
Steve Lindsley
Confirmation Sunday
April 25, 2009

A minister friend of mine once told me a story that he used to share with his church's confirmation class.  A man was hiking in the mountains; and as he negotiated the precipice of a mountain peak, he slipped and fell off the cliff.  Thankfully he managed to grab a tree limb on his way down to stop his fall – at least for the moment.

Now this man had never really believed all that much in God, but as he hung there precariously with his life literally hanging in the balance, he figured it sure wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot.  So he looked up to the heavens and called out, "Is there anyone up there?"

To both his surprise and relief, he got an answer: "Yes, I'm here,” the voice said.  “I am the Lord. Do you believe in me?" No time like the present, the man thought.  "Yes, yes, Lord; I believe.  I really, really believe.  But I gotta tell you, Lord, I don’t know that I can hang on much longer."

"That's all right,” replied the voice.  “If you really believe in me, you have nothing to worry about. I will save you. Just let go of the branch and I’ll take care of everything."

The man thought about this for a moment; then he looked back up at the sky and said, “Umm, is there anyone else up there?”

Now I'm not entirely sure, but if I had to guess I'd say that my minister friend used this story as a way to show his confirmation class that faith is kind of like hanging over a cliff, holding onto a branch.  It's about taking risks, about letting go of control and handing our very lives over to God.  No time like the present.  On this wonderful day, ten of our young people – our largest confirmation class ever, by the way – ten have made a profession of faith and have been confirmed as members of this church.  They have done this with the help of an adult mentor, who now is more of a friend, really.  Together they've journeyed over the past four months and have shared in a wonderful experience.  As a congregational family, you all should be extremely proud of these young people.

Which brings me to my little dilemma.  See, this is the same problem I face every year on Confirmation Sunday –  that there's really nothing else for me to say.  Because honestly, you all have been the sermon for the past four months.  You have amazed us with your insight, your wisdom, your faith.  I mean, to listen to your faith statements – part of which we all will say together in a minute – to listen to those, to witness your profession of faith, to watch as you knelt and became confirmed members of this church – well, there just doesn’t seem to be anything else that needs to be said! 

So I resigned myself this past week to the fact that it would make no sense for me to prepare a sermon for this Sunday.  I figure I'd let it slide and no one would notice – after all, this is your Sunday, right?  I'd just skip a week.

And that's when I arrived in my office this morning, logged on to my computer, and lo and behold, found that I had actually received an email from God.  I'm just glad it didn't go to my spam.  The subject read: To the Confirmands.   Let me get my laptop here.....  Anyway, it seems that God wasn't hip on the idea of something not being said on your behalf today.  So if you'll allow me, I'd like to share this email with you. Here goes:

************

Dear Claire, Anna, Catherine, Sarah, Madison, Joseph, Sam, Cody, Mary Glen, and Jai:

I don’t usually make a habit of giving ministers their sermons without some work on their part.  But this yahoo here left me with no choice.  And to be honest, I can't blame him.  It’s never easy knowing what to say to a group of young people as awesome as you are - especially on the day you join my church.

You see, life is about a string of journeys, tied together, end to end.  You started one the day you were born.  You began another when you learned to walk, to speak, went to school for the first time.  You were part of a journey when you attended your first birthday party or learned to swim.  Just a couple of months ago you began a very special journey called confirmation.  You met with your mentors every week and learned all kinds of things about me and my son and the Christian faith.  Last week you met with the session at your church and shared your statements of faith.  Today you’ve answered some questions that Presbyterians require you in order to join the church, and you are now a member of it.

But let me warn you – if you think your journey is over, if you think this day marks the conclusion of your “faith travels,” well, think again!  In fact, the REAL journey is only now beginning.  Seriously.  It starts the minute you walk out the doors of my house here, and into the great big wide world.  A new journey begins for you, and this one will last for the rest of your life.

It's a journey that you and I will take together – not that we haven't been hanging out so far, mind you.  This one is just.....well, it's different.  It's a little more in-depth.  I'm not just some story you read about in a Sunday school class, or some creed you learn to memorize.  I'm someone who walks with you, before you, behind you, beside you.  This is the way it's going to be – you and me, forever.  Along the way you’ll keep growing in what you believe.  You’ll learn more about me, you’ll have other experiences that will impact your faith.
 
And one think you'll always have on this journey are questions.  You know, I’ve been part of a lot of confirmation classes in my time, as I’m sure you can imagine.  And without a doubt, one thing that confirmation classes are full of are questions.  Lots of them!  I know Steve and Shasta told you at the beginning that there was no such thing as a bad question.  And you know what?  They were right.  It's amazing to me some of the questions you and other confirmation classes have come up with.  For instance:

After the flood, where did all the water go?
Is God like a person or a spirit, or something else?
Do you got to hell when you commit suicide?
Who made God?
If God made the universe, what was there before then?
How did all the different races of people come about?
And my personal favorite:
What if the Bible was written by a bunch of crazy people and we believe what it says anyway?

These are some amazing questions.  And I'll clue you in on a little something: the adults around you have the same questions as you; they just don't usually ask them.  I'm glad you ask them.  And I know they'll get more complicated and more important to you as you grow in your faith.  They'll be questions like: why are there people in this world with so much and others with so little?   Why is there violence and hatred in a world God loves?  Where are you, God, when I need you the most? 
   
See, I absolutely love it when you ask those questions.  Even though I know it’s a bit frustrating to not always get the answer you’re looking for.  Poor Shasta and Steve!  You thought they knew everything, didn’t you?  The truth of the matter is that faith isn’t really about the answers.  In fact, the more you grow in faith, the more questions you’ll have – and not always answers to go with them! 
   
When you get right down to it, faith isn’t just about understanding.  It can be – and when you have one of those crystal clear moments where everything seems to make sense, be thankful for it!  Because that’s not the way most of life is.  Life is lived in the gray places, the uncertain areas.  And that’s why faith isn’t about understanding as much as it’s about BELIEVING, and that’s different.  Belief is when you allow something to become part of you even when you don’t fully understand it.
 
Just ask some of the folks who’ve worked with me before.  You think Moses understood why I was asking him to lead my people out of Egypt?  No.  He even tried to talk me out of it.  But eventually he went along because he BELIEVED me.  You think Mary understood how she was going to have my son?  She didn’t have a clue.  But it was because of her BELIEF that she became the mother of Jesus.  You think the crazy mission trips I sent the apostle Paul on for all those years made a bit of sense to him?  Of course not.  But because he BELIEVED, my church became what it is today.

 Now this doesn’t mean, by the way, that you're excused from working on understanding your faith.  Sorry, but you're not off the hook.  Keep reading your Bible.  Keep going to youth group, to Sunday School, to worship.  Be part of this community of faith at First Presbyterian – not only because it's a pretty great place to be, but also because, from the looks of things I can tell: they like you all.  They like you a lot. 
   
And do me a favor, would you?  Do one more thing that, to be honest, is even more important than believing.  Don't just believe in me – FOLLOW me.  Go where I go.  See, here's the thing.  I've got millions and millions of people all over the world who believe in me – and that's great.  But I don't have as many followers – in other words, I don't have people who are willing to take their faith and put it into action, you know?  I guess they're comfortable with just keeping it in their heads and their hearts, but I'm not comfortable with that.  And I don't want you to be comfortable with it, either. 
   
I want you to live your life as a follower of Jesus.  I want you to look for places in this world that need me, and then help me get there.  It can be helping a homeless man on the street get a place to stay for the night.  It can be that kid who always sits by himself in the lunchroom and joining him one day so he's not alone.  It can be the hug you give someone at a funeral home.  It can be that card you make for a homebound member of this church.  There are so many ways to follow me it boggles the mind!  So you'll never get bored doing it, I promise you. 
   
And I guess the main thing I want to ask you on this special day is to promise that you'll stick with me no matter what life throws at you.  Because believe me, I've seen it all.  I know how hard life can get.  And I want to be right there with you, during the great times and the bad times too.  All of it.  I want you to keep asking those questions and growing in what you believe.  And I want you to keep following me, no matter where I lead.
   
So congratulations.  Congratulations to each of you – not only for who you are and what you've already done, but for who you're becoming and what you will do.  This church is proud of you.  I'm proud of you!  And I know that we're going to do some amazing things together.  I can't wait to get started.  Sincerely, God.

************
Words that speak to all of us, don't you think?  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

IN THE WILDERNESS: A TRIUMPHANT ENTRY LEADS TO GETHSEMANE

Mark 11: 1-11; Mark 14: 32-42
Steve Lindsley
April 5, 2009

(NOTE: today's sermon is a joint venture between myself and the chancel choir, where the choir sings a song and a I follow with a short first-person sermonette.  I think it came out pretty cool.)

Lift yp your heads, ye mighty gates, ye everlasting doors
Fling open wide your hearts and greet the coming of the Lord
Who is the King of glory?  The Lord of hosts! 
He is the King of glory
All glory, laud and honor to Thee, Redeemer, King
To whom the lips of children made hosannas ring.
Thou art the King of Israel, Thou David's royal Son
Who in the Lord's name comes, the King and Holy One!
("The King of Glory" - Martin)

They have him on this colt and they're parading him through the streets of Jerusalem.  It's quite a sight.  They're laying their cloaks down in front of him; waving palm branches high in the air.  Some of them are shouting all kinds of things: Hosanna!  Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!  It's not that he needs the adoration or even wants it.  But I can tell – it means a lot to them.  It means a lot to our people who've had it hard for so long.  For once, we're finally getting a chance to celebrate.  For once, we can smile.

And yet as great as this is, I wonder – I wonder if they really understand what it is they're doing.  Because way on the other side of the city, there's another parade going on.  It's the parade that happens every year at this time, ever since the Romans took over.  See, this is the week of Passover, the most holy week of our Jewish faith.  Hundreds of thousands make the pilgrimage from all over Palestine to Jerusalem, to be at the temple, to sacrifice and worship God.  This city swells to twice its normal size, perhaps even more.  That's a lot of people – a lot of people that make the Romans nervous.  They have to hold on to their precious Pax Romana – Roman peace – by any means necessary.  Any means.

So a while back they started sending a not-so-subtle message on the first day of Passover – they staged a parade.  They hold it at the main city gates, on the other side of the city.  The Roman governor is welcomed in with all the pomp and circumstance, legions of Rome's military finest, trumpets blaring and purple and gold flags waving.    People come out by the thousands.  It's a lot of fun – the kids all point at things and “ooh” and “aah.”  But it's also dead serious, and everyone knows what's really going on.  No trouble during Passover – or else.

That's the parade that's happening right now on the other side of Jerusalem.  Which means this little thing we have going on here is not some innocent celebration.   Over there, they're claiming Caesar as their Lord.  Over there they are putting their trust and faith in Rome's military might and the false illusion that true power comes from how many troops you have, or how many cavalries process in, or how much clout you possess.  Over there, they are waving their palm branches and throwing down their cloaks for something else entirely.

But here, here we are claiming Jesus to be “Lord” - borrowing Rome's own imperial language, even!  Here we are putting our trust and faith in a man who was trained as a carpenter and has spent the better part of three years wandering the countryside in flip-flops and a worn cloak.  Here we recognize that true power comes from nothing of this world. 

They have him on a colt and they're riding him through Jerusalem.  And I don't think any of them have a clue how dangerous this is, or where it's all heading.  I guess we'll find that out soon enough.

Flowering trees shower petals and leaves
all around on the ground where He weeps on his knees
Flowering trees shed their leaves in the garden of ears
In the garden alone, Jesus prays for the courage to face the day
Though He has known from birth why He came to earth
the reality now is moments away
Just a heartbeat away, lay his friends sleeping on their innocence
Completely unaware of the burden he bears
All alone in the garden of tears
In the garden of tears, Jesus' sweat drops like blood,
as he pleads with the Father to take away the cup
Yet He knows Ye will drink His fill on Calvary's hill,
Do the Father's will
In the darkness, the soldiers appear, like a lamb he is led away
Flowering trees shed their leaves in the garden of tears.
("Garden of Tears" - Schram)

I don't want this, okay?  There, I said it.  I don't want any of this.  I'm tired, God.  I'm so tired.  I've been at this for – what – three years, now?  And where has it gotten me?  Here, in this garden, all by myself.  And I know they're coming – I can feel it.  I've felt it all week long, from the minute I sat on that colt and they paraded me through town and greeted me like a king.  I knew it would come to this, when the crowds would be gone and I'd be left only with my thoughts and fears.   And I don't want this any more.  You can have all of it back.

Why did I not follow in my father's footsteps – I mean, my other father?  I could be at home right now, sleeping peacefully in my own bed.  I could wake up later this morning and head to my shop for a full day's work.  Maybe I'd make a table for the family down the street, or a gate and fence for the herdsmen in town.  Man, what I'd give for the life of a carpenter right now!  I was pretty good at it, you know.  I could've had a family and kids, and watched them grow up as I grew old.  I could be anywhere other than here – all by myself.  Even my friends can't stay awake.  I don't want this!

You know, the thing is, maybe I'd be able to come to terms with this a little easier if I thought more folks actually got it.  But most people saw in me only what they wanted to see.  The Zealots saw the leader of their military revolution that would bring the Roman empire to its knees.  The Pharisees saw the source of all their law-abiding angst – an easy target.  The rich young man saw validation for a lifestyle he was not willing to part with.  Even my disciples, my closest friends, even they had their own agendas at play.

And that's why I lived for those moments when your brilliance shone through to me, when I knew beyond a shadow of doubt that you were right there in the thick of it all.  When Peter recognized me for who I was!  When the blind man was able to see!  When thousands of people on a mountainside went home with full stomachs!  When that little guy up in the tree had me over for dinner!  Those were the times I lived for, when I knew who I was and what I was here to do.

And now, I'm here in this garden.  And I'm going to be honest with you, okay? I'm going to shoot straight – if there's any way to sidestep this, to go a different route; if there's any way for me to exit stage left and kind of ride off into the sunset, I'll take it.  In a heartbeat.  You made me human, God, you made me to feel like this. I can't help but want it to end a different way.  I can't help but be scared.

But I know, Daddy, I know.  I know what happens to people who dare to show and tell the world just how much you love them.  I know.  So I'll go along with this, okay?  I'll go along with your plan.  Just don't leave me, alright?  You haven't left me yet.  All I'm asking is that you don't leave me now.  Especially now. 

Alas!  And did my Savior bleed, and did my Sovereign die!
Would He devote that sacred head for sinners such as I!
Was it for sins that I have done He suffered on the tree?
Amazing pity!  Grace unknown!  And love, love beyond degree!
Will might the sun in darkness hide, and shut its glories in
When Christ the Great Redeemer died for human creatures' sin
Christ died for our sin!
But drops of grief can ne'er repay the debt of love I owe
Here, Lord, I give myself away, tis all that I can do
Christ laid down His life for me, what love, what love beyond degree!
("Love Beyond Degree" - Johnson)

THE UNEATEN APPLE THEORY

Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7, 22-24 & Romans 5:19-6:2, 12-14
Steve Lindsley
August 3, 2008

Ever play the biblical game of “what if?” You know, what if something in the Bible didn’t happen the way it did, or didn’t happen at all, and how different things would be? For instance: what if Pharaoh’s daughter never picked Moses up out of the Nile? Or what if Isaiah heard God’s call to be a prophet and said, “Naah, I’ll do something else”? Or what if Esther hadn’t dared to enter the king’s quarters to spare the lives of her Jewish people? And what if Jesus hadn’t handed himself over to be crucified?

Makes you think, doesn’t it, about how different our faith would be – if we even had one. But none of these ruffle feathers like the king of all biblical what ifs. Perhaps you’ve heard of it before; it’s known in some circles as the “Uneaten Apple Theory.” It goes back to the very beginning and asks the time-old question that has puzzled us for centuries: What if Adam and Eve had never eaten the apple?

You know the story. God created Adam and Eve and gave them paradise to live in. A perfect world. They had each other, they had the company of animals. And they had food – lots of it. Except for one little tree sitting in the middle of the place. It had bright red fruits hanging from its branches – you couldn’t help but admire them. It was the one thing, the one thing they were not allowed to have, they were told - which, of course, meant it was the one thing they wanted. Temptation slithered into paradise and convinced them that not only was it what they wanted, but what they needed. So they chose to go against God’s one restriction, grabbing a shiny red fruit and chomping away. And for their disobedience they were removed from paradise, never to return.

So, the question again: What if they didn’t eat the apple? If they hadn’t eaten the apple, does that mean they would’ve continued to live indefinitely in paradise, in a perfect world? It seems logical, doesn’t it? And if that’s the case, does that mean that you and I, theoretically descendants of these two, would still be living in paradise today? Think about it. A world with no wars and no death, no pain and suffering. A world where not one child goes to sleep at night hungry; where we could walk the streets in the middle of night and not be concerned about our safety; where buildings would not have planes flown into them and where there would be no such thing as hate crimes or discrimination or incurable disease or terrorist threats. How much would it be worth to you to catch just a glimpse of this kind of world?

Well, I’m here to tell you this morning that I’ve seen this world – at least one pretty close to it. And from a movie, nonetheless. It was called Pleasantville, and it came out a few years ago staring Reese Witherspoon and Tobey Maguire. If you haven’t seen this movie let me give you a quick synopsis. The movie tells the story of two teenage siblings, David and Jennifer. Like most brothers and sisters they are quite the opposite of each other – she the popular, wild partier; he the reclusive coach potato. David’s favorite shows are reruns of a “Leave it to Beaver” black-and-white style sitcom called “Pleasantville.” In this wonderful world, set in the nostalgic 50’s, Bud and Mary Sue are teenage siblings living in a stereotypical, traditional home – their father works, their mother stays at home, cleans the house, make the meals. Everything in Pleasantville is “perfect” – it’s a world where firemen rescue cats from trees because there never is a fire; where the state-champion high school basketball team never misses a shot and is undefeated. It’s a world where all roads in Pleasantville go in circles – there is no outside world; there doesn’t need to be! Everyone is innocent and pure; there’s no such thing as crime. The show is an escape for young David and stands in stark contrast to his own world, where his parents are going through a nasty divorce and he is shunned by his peers at school.

By way of a freak accident while wrestling over the TV remote one night, David and Jennifer are mysteriously transformed into the black-and-white world of Pleasantville, literally taking on the roles of Bud and Mary Sue. They wear their clothes, they have their parents, they socialize with their friends. The tension – and the heart of the movie – is that they still know the outside world that no one else is aware of; and over time this knowledge and their subsequent actions cause things to change around them. Bud teaches the firemen how to actually put out a fire. Mary Sue helps her friends begin to understand that there is a world outside of their perfect little town.

Change begins to slowly creep into this deterministic world – there’s “real rain” for the first time. The books at the library suddenly have words in them. Bud and Mary Sue’s father comes home from work one evening and, to his horror, no wife is there to greet him, take his coat and serve a warm meal at the table. And as if to parallel these changes, little by little their black-and-white world starts to turn to color. The town is in upheaval – Pleasantville, it seems, is no longer as pleasant as it used to be.

Pretty wild concept, isn't it? And it leads us to ask an obvious question: if we could live in a Pleasantville, where everything was perfect but pre-determined; or live in an imperfect world like our own where we have choices, which one would we want? How's that for a “what if?” Would you take the perfect world where you had no choice, or stick with the one we've got now?

In many ways that's exactly the question Genesis asks us – specifically our passage today. You know, I’m struck by a phrase that the serpent and God both used when referring to that tree of knowledge – that eating its fruits would cause humankind to know good and evil. It’s a curious sort of phrase. A quick read might lead us to assume it’s talking about knowing the difference between good and evil. But that’s not really what it’s saying, is it? It seems to me that this phrase goes much deeper than simply understanding what is right and wrong. The Hebrew verb for “know” here can also mean “to perceive” or “to see.” That adds a whole new dimension to it. For when we “know” or “perceive” or “see” good and evil, we are aware that they exist; and when we are aware that good and evil exist, we have a choice to make. I wonder if “knowing good and evil” is perhaps the first biblical account of a human trait God granted us from day one – what you and I have come to call free will.

There’s a story I once heard about a young boy whose bad behavior had tried the patience of his mother and father and his teachers and coaches and scout masters for quite some time. So in desperation they went to their pastor, who told them the cure-all was for their son to “pray away his problems,” asking God for help. Following this advice, they went home and instructed their son to sit in a chair in the corner of his room, as they secretly listened outside the door. It was quiet for some time. Finally their son spoke; and with the utter sincerity of a child the boy proceeded to pray this prayer: “Dear Jesus, please make me a better boy and help me understand what I’m doing wrong. But if you can’t or don’t want to, don’t worry – I’m having a really good time the way I am!”

Sometimes it seems better to be kind of ignorant, doesn’t it? If we don’t know whether what we’re doing is right or wrong, if we don’t ”know good and evil,” we can’t be held accountable, can we? I sense this struggle in that little boy’s prayer, not sure he really wants to know how to be better. I sense it in the people of Pleasantville as free will is introduced into their structured existence and they are suddenly faced with choices they never had to make and outcomes they never had to consider before.

And I sense this same struggle in my life and in yours, as we move through the routines of our day; as we come to a fork in the road and have to decide whether to go this way or that way. We wrestle with this as we face the choice between risky surgery or slow death, as we stand in the voting booth and decide whose name to mark by, as we deal with problems and issues in which there is no clear-cut answer. The world in Pleasantville may be black and white, but friends, it is rare that yours and mine is.

It seems to me that the tree of knowledge in the Genesis story opened up a whole new world for Adam and Eve; a world which they had no idea how to handle. And thousands and thousands of years later, despite all the advancements in technology and science and human development, it doesn’t seem that we’re that much better at handling it ourselves.

Which leads us to yet another question that plays off the first one: why did God give us free will? And don't think yours truly is going to stand up here and give you the definitive answer! Because I’ll be honest with you – I’ve often wondered why our world is the way it is and, more importantly, why God gave us the ability to make it this way. Doesn’t God want a perfect world? Doesn’t God want a world free from war and death, free from pain and suffering, free from disobedience so everyone can be obedient to God? It doesn’t make sense – especially when all God had to do was wave God’s magic hand and wipe free will out of existence. Do away with the tree of knowledge so “knowing good and evil” was never a possibility to begin with. And rather than suffer in this mess of a world, we would remain blissfully lost in the perfection of Eden. I would imagine that I am not alone in this struggle.

You know, I remember a discussion I once had along these lines with a high school Sunday school class; and I'll always remember what someone in that class said – they suggested that God gives us free will because God wants “true followers.” That was the expression he used: “true followers.” Another went on to say that God wants people to act on their own accord instead of being nothing more than “robots” with no mind of their own. We got into a good discussion, and the general consensus of the group was that it was important to God that we choose to be loyal, even if it means some people choose otherwise.

Do you see? Do you see why that makes sense? We’re not following God because we have to; we’re following God because we want to. As we gather before this table to celebrate the sacrament of communion – and you hear me say this every time we eat the bread and drink the cup – we come here not because we must, not because God makes us, but because we may – we choose to. We are given a choice and we’re choosing God – and nothing can diminish God’s joy when one of us feels the baptismal waters, confesses their faith or partakes of the bread and cup; and in doing so says with everything they are, I choose to follow you.

The apostle Paul says as much in his letter to the church in Rome – another community wrestling with their place in an imperfect world. Listen:

The law came in (think ” knowing good and evil”), with the result that the trespass multiplied (think “our wrong choices”); but where sin increased, grace abounded all the more, so that, just as sin exercised dominion in death, so grace might also exercise dominion through Jesus Christ.

I wonder if one reason God chose to grant us free will is because it allows God to do what God is best at. When we make good decisions, God rejoices; but when we choose poorly, God steps in to set things right. When we are loving and kind, God is present with us; but when we are stubborn and inconsiderate and spiteful, God goes into overdrive and offers forgiveness and healing. When all is right with the world, the kingdom of God is celebrated; but when we wage wars and hurt each other and selfishly seek our own gratifications and desires, the kingdom of God is at hand. God offers us the one gift that gets stronger the weaker we become; the one gift that keeps multiplying the more we fail and falter – and that is grace. Where sin increased, grace abounded all the more.

You know, I almost hesitate to say this, but I’m not so sure I’d want to live in Eden. I mean, paradise would be nice and all. Pleasantville does have its perks. But because of the grace of God through Jesus Christ, you and I get to witness every day miracle upon miracle upon miracle; as our imperfect world and imperfect lives are set right through the marvelous works God performs right in our midst. Perhaps this is where we recognize the beauty of our free will – choosing God, as God most assuredly has already chosen us. AMEN.