Ally, Ally, in come free.

Luke 15:1-10
15:1 Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him.And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them."
So he told them this parable:

"Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.'

Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.

"Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.'

Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents."

I’ve never raised sheep. I grew up in the village, and I spent summers on my Aunt and Uncle’s farm – but we only ever had a few sheep at a time. I remember them as dirty animals and rather stupid. We raised cows. I really love cows. They are smart and have great personalities.

Aunt Sharol and Uncle Terry had about 80 cows for most of my childhood. We would milk them every day and feed them twice a day. When we first arrived every summer I would be terrified of the cows. When you’re a little kid – cows are HUGE animals. Uncle Terry relished in sharing stories of cows gone wild – always ending with a little boy getting trampled for not minding the adults around him. I was also disgusted by the smell. Farms smell really bad.

But after the first week or two of returning to the farm, I would get used to the animals again. I wouldn’t mind the smell and I would begin to get to know the cows. On our farm, cows are named using the first letter of the first name of their mother.
Lady was the mother of Lucky who was the mother of Lucy. It’s a good system to keep things organized. The summer I was 7 Lucy was pregnant and Aunt Sharol and Uncle

Terry promised me that I could name her baby calf. It had to start with an L.
This was a very important task and I spent my days with Lucy getting to know her personality. I would sing to Lucy at night to make sure she was comfortable. One night Uncle Terry sent me to bed and told me that Lucy would probably have her baby the next day.

It was like Christmas morning – I woke up at 5 AM giddy with excitement. After feeding the cows and eating a big breakfast, though, I began to get sleepy. I fell asleep on the dining room floor. I woke up to the sound of Uncle Terry stomping through the house. Something was wrong.

It was time for Lucy to deliver, but she wasn’t in the barn. Maybe she had wandered off, maybe the dogs or a wolf had chased her off, but she was somewhere in the pasture and she was having her baby. We called and we called, but she didn’t come in. She was lost. And without help she would lose her baby as well.

We gathered together and made a plan. Our families would go out and search the entire farm. We spread out and walked through the pasture. I was with my cousin Kimberly. She was 11 years older than me and practically an adult. Kimberly walked quickly through the pasture – she knew how to avoid the “mud pies” , a skill I hadn’t developed yet – and I tried to keep up. After an hour or more, we saw some movement off in the distance. Kimberly began to run, and I began screaming with excitement.

Lucy had given birth to her baby, but it wasn’t doing well. Cousin Kimberly threw the calf over her shoulders and ran to the barn. My sister, mom, and I walked with Lucy back to the barn – just hoping that the baby would live.

We got back to the barn and Uncle Terry came to meet us. He said, “Well, Michael, what are we gonna name it?” I was thrilled. The calf had survived and I finally had my chance to name a cow; even if it was a little sickly. I named her Liberty Bell.

My family had been to Philadelphia the week before, and I was so impressed by the bell that had been wrung at the moment of my countries independence - wrung so loudly that it cracked. Even though the Bell was cracked, it still represented our freedom. So, her official name was Liberty Bell – but we all called her liberty.

There’s a sense of freedom in being found.

We read these stories and they remind us of lost and found moments in our own lives. That time that a wallet was returned after a very scary week without money. We read these two stories in a row and we think, “yes – God searches out what is lost” and we move on with our lives. We should slow down. These stories are very different and they tell us very different things about God and our relationship with God.
The woman and her silver coins appears to be a straightforward “lost and found story.” We’ve all lost money – it’s a terrible experience. But when we look at the story in depth; some questions arise. Why is it a woman and not just a person? Why the specific number? Why?

These silver coins are more than money – these were the adornment of coins that women wore. This was her dowry. She would have never removed these 10 coins from her body – even when she was asleep. These 10 coins defined who she was. They defined her future and her present purity. Losing one of these coins was a very big deal.

My mother once lost the diamond out of her wedding ring. For days she was agitated and upset. She searched the house from top to bottom several times. The diamond in her ring is probably not so valuable – my parents aren’t wealthy and they certainly were not wealthy 30 years ago when they got married. The diamond was valuable to my mother because it was a symbol – it was a symbol that her marriage vows are forever – like a diamond. The diamond had been with her for all the years of her marriage – it represented who she was as a person. When she saw a sparkle out of the corner of her eye she rejoiced as she picked the diamond out of a rug where it had fallen almost a week before.

She regained her identity as a wife.

The story of the woman and her 10 coins tells us that God will search for us – but it tells us so much more. Jesus tells us that God finds identity in the act of finding us. We are valuable to God – we symbolize who God is. We are a symbol of who God is.


The story of the 99 is even more intriguing.

Which one of you who has 100 grieven, finding that he only has 99 leaves the pile of money behind to search for the 1.

(At this point, I will set 99 UAH down on a table and begin to search for the 1. I will have a few people ready to begin taking some of the money from the stack.)

Okay, maybe I left it in the office (have more people take more money).

Found it. I found it. Everything is good! I found the UAH! Hooray!

"Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?”
Which of us? Really? None of us would do this! We would never leave 99 perfectly good sheep to the threats of nature in order to save 1 lamb that got away.

In the story of the woman and her 10 silver coins we learn that God will clean the house to search for us when we are lost. God will search in the same ways we would to get back that which is lost. In this story we learn that God will go much further than we would.

We enjoy safety and comfort. God is willing to take risks.

God is willing to risk everything for the salvation of the world.

Everything.

Even his only son.

So we can compare these stories with our own moments of lost and found - buy we must
go much further. Not only will God search like we will - God will search much deeper. God will find meaning and purpose in our salvation.

Jesus, by eating dinner with sinners and tax-collectors is showing the level of risk that God is willing to take. Jesus is willing to let go of any status and prestige he has. My parent’s constantly reminded me that they had worked hard to build a good name for our family and that I was not to destroy it by hanging out with the “wrong people.” Jesus cares enough about the lost that he is willing to risk his standing with those who have already been found.

The Jewish leaders lost any respect they had for Jesus as they watched him eating and drinking with sinner. No one who loved God would do this.

Jesus knew that everything had to change. Until this point, the Jewish community only reached out by allowing others in. They never went out and told others about God. Only when an inquirer came in would a Jewish person be willing to tell them about the good news of God. With Jesus this changed. We are directly commanded to go out – to leave these four walls behind – and to tell people the good news.

We’re not supposed to wait until interested people show up at Pilgrims and then tell them about God. We are supposed to take risks. We are supposed to go out and eat and drink with sinners and share the good news of the God who is searching for them. Of the God who takes risks for them.

I don't know where you are in your life - but I know where God is. God is searching. God is searching for his little lost lamb. God is searching for her tenth coin. God is searching for you and your heart. Your safety and your salvation.


When I was young the neighborhood kids would play flashlight tag. We would wait until dark and one person would be "it" and, with flashlight in hand, would try to find everyone before they made it back to "home base."

As a kid, when I heard these stories of lost and found – or of the idea that Jesus was searching for me- I would always think of this game - that I was hiding in the dark and afraid that Jesus would find me. I thought that God wanted to punish me for my sins. I was so afraid that the shepherd would find the lamb and punish it for running away – that God would find me and punish me for my sins. My whole idea of God was wrong.

Our game had one other rule. If you wanted the game to end for some reason – maybe it had gone on for too long because someone had a really good hiding spot, or maybe someone’s mother had called them home, or for whatever reason - anyone could shout "ally, ally, in come free!". It meant that we could all come back to home - no running or penalties or fear. But it also meant that the person who called it automatically became “it” for the next round. Even if you were home safely – if you called “ally, ally, in come free” you were it.

This is closer to God searching for us. It’s not some attempt to find us and punish us. It’s an end to the game. You get to come home free and Jesus takes the punishment of having lost the game – even though he hadn’t lost the game.

Our busy lives seem to resemble a game gone terribly wrong. We work all day and night for goals that don’t really matter. We hide in all the wrong places and we misunderstand what God is all about. God feels its time that we stop playing the game and start living life to the fullest.

When God risked everything and sent his son - God finished the game. The cry goes out, ally ally in come free.

taxes

I think that everyone should go here and try this experiment to see how their political stances would affect the long term deficit.

It's interesting to see how things would work if you were in charge.

Jesus as Anti-Hero

Superman had a single weakness. Kryptonite could bring him down. He was eternally good; kind, caring, sympathetic, strong, masculine, etc. Superman was a hero. My grandfather and father read the comics. They received their notion of what a hero was from the man of steel. Of course, He had many imitators. There were many heroes for their generations. Hundreds of men (and a handful of women) who were heroes. Who were essentially infallible, minus one small flaw.

In the earlier portion of the 20th century the Christian faith had few qualms with tweaking Jesus here and there to make him more Superman-like. By this point, Jesus already glowed in the pictures. The scene of Him overturning the money-changers' tables in the temple became more prevalent. We sing cheesy up-tempo lyrics "Jesus is my super-hero" without a hint of sarcasm or shame. And, of course, Jesus is the savior of the world ... so this shouldn't be a problem.

If you're watching TV or reading books today, you'll see something a little different. Our superstars play anti-heroes. The biggest shows center on highly-conflicted protagonists.

Dexter is a serial-killer who only kills other serial killers. You find yourself rooting for him, hoping that the kill is clean and that he doesn't get caught. True Blood is filled with anti-heroes. People that you love and hope for, but people who are also conflicted. Almost every popular show touches on this phenomenon. Characters are no longer all-loving heroes. It's no longer black and white. Everything is gray.

Christians who lived through the 1950s still cling to the black-and-white world that Superman dominated. But what is left for those of us who have grown up in the gray?

When Jesus arrived on the scene, the people felt that they finally had their Messiah. But Jesus had a major flaw in the eyes of the people. Jesus refused to give the people what they wanted. They wanted a strong political and military leader - and Jesus, who would have been more than capable of such a feat, absolutely refused.

He squandered opportunities to incite uprisings. He disbanded crowds when they got too large. He healed miraculously, but he didn't heal those whom the people wished that he would. He healed poor beggars, women, children, racial-misfits, and even the young lover-boy of a Roman centurion - one more victim of the enemies rule - because of the Roman guard's "great faith!" He never found His Lois Lane. When he had his chance to ride in on a white stallion and make His declaration, he chose a young donkey instead.

Jesus was not Super-man. This is most shocking because Jesus could have been. As fully God, Jesus could have used the full weight of His divinity in any number of ways (and the devil tried to get him to do it...) but Jesus refused the role of Superman. Jesus chose the role of Anti-Hero.

He lived in dark shadows, ate with sinners, talked with the untouchables, and loved to the point of death without receiving love in return.



Christianity hangs in the balance. The church is dissolving because Superhero Jesus is failing to deliver, and my generation is turning it's back because we simply don't believe (or really want to believe) in superhero stories anymore. We want a savior, fully God and fully man.

And, oddly enough, that's exactly how the Gospel narrative has read all along.

Cackle.

Nina cackles when she wins a head-to-head game of Uno. Her high-pitched head laugh reverberates around the room. It sounds like the laugh of the crypt keeper from the TV show I wasn't allowed to watch as a child. If you met her and her laugh was anything else you would be disappointed.

Sometimes Nina seems impossibly old. And impossibly fierce. Not only did she survive WWII, but probably the first one. She held on to the Unsinkable Molly Brown in the lifeboat off the Titanic. She walloped Ivan the Terrible on the back of his head for smarting off to her when he was a kid.

Nina is the "grandmother" of the center for street kids. In reality we think she's early 60s, but the math is always fuzzy at best. She's tough with the kids so that the rest of us (workers and volunteers) don't have to be. Which is nice. She treats me like one of the unruly kids. Which is not so nice.

And they ARE unruly. As a rule. There' a whole lot of crazy, a lot of crying, and screaming, and tantrums ... and the kids are bad, too. Our goal at the center is to model the idea of a healthy family to kids/young adults who live on the streets and at risk families who pass through our doors.

We offer warm meals and a safe environment. And a grandmother who very well could smack the silly right out yo mouth if you push too far.

Hahahahahahahahah.

The church according to Alan Ball

Alan Ball is the genius behind some of HBO's biggest hits. His credits include writer/produce of Six Feet Under and True Blood. If you haven't seen these shows - I apologize in advance. These are not "christian" shows. These are not even shows which can be viewed un-edited on basic cable TVs during daylight hours.

Six Feet Under follows a family of undertakers through the lens of the people they are burying. True Blood is about vampires.

I know, I know. It sounds pretty ridiculous, right? It's not. They are amazing shows - well written, filmed, acted, and produced pieces of art that reflect and shape our culture. I hope that my children study the impact Alan Ball left on the world.

I am absolutely fascinated by Alan Ball's treatment of Christianity. Ball is openly gay and grew up in the south. In the wealthy suburbs of Atlanta. Of any American experience - surely his would lead to open hostility to the church.

Let's take True Blood for example:

Yes, some characters are stock religious nuts. Terra's mother, Lettie May, makes Jesus look like a jerk sometimes. And, yet, she is at least a real example. She is a complicated person who would like to make Jesus and the Christian faith an integral part of her life and the lives of those around her. Which of us isn't conflicted ... dare I say, hypocritical ... sometimes?

The "Fellowship of the Sun" is a "church" based on the idea that all Christians should hate vampires. It's full of nuts - and not too loosely based on some televangelist ministries.

But the real surprise is the good and faithful Christians sprinkled throughout the story. There's an old country church in Bon Temps, LA which could hold it's own against any church in history.

The main characters grandmother is a faithful member. She is a loving, caring Christian who ministers to all around her. She raised her grandchildren after their parent's death. She risks the ire of the town to invite Vampire Bill to come and speak at the Bon Temps historical society which meets at the church.

Hoyt Fortenberry is a committed Christian. He stands up to his mother for not following the teachings of Jesus - he calls her out for hating everyone, including Methodists. In one recent scene, a main character, Jason, calls out Hoyt "You're a Christian Hoyt, it ain't cool to judge." after he makes a judgmental comment about a girl. Hoyt waited until he was in love before he had sex (the show hadn't really brought up the possibility of human/vampire marriage at that time) - and he even joined Jessica, his vampire girlfriend, in a synthetic blood substitute beverage to show his love for her. Sex wasn't the expression of love, it was an after effect.

Now, the genius of Alan Ball, and the thing that I appreciate most is that there is a dichotomy between these two groups. There are crazy, ridiculous religious figures and then there are the Christians. There are those who make a mockery out of religion and there are those who follow Christ.

Six Feet Under deals with death. Every episode begins with someone's death. The rest of the episode features the inter-personal relationships of the dysfunctional family who runs the funeral home - through the eyes and life experience of the recently deceased.

Death and religion go hand in hand. This series offered no sanitized views on faith - there was nothing palatable; but it showed real and frank discussion on the topic of religion.

Angry people who hate God for taking their loved ones.

Christian people who couldn't survive without their faith.

The main family, as dysfunctional as any in America, attends church together infrequently. The mother lives out Christianity by trying to find joy in a setting that lacks any sense of joy. Let's just say that they wouldn't play it on the Hallmark Channel. But - it's real. It's an honest look at a (more or less) American family interacting with religion. It isn't the core of who they are - it's a fringe issue in their lives. And, ultimately, viewers get the idea that they might be much happier if they re-prioritized a little bit.

I'm glad that Alan Ball has provided these three things; an honest view of church and how it relates to an average family, specific indicators of what a crazy religious setting would look and feel like, and a tone that creates genuine appreciation for the gentle faith of characters who lead full lives and also happen to be followers of Jesus Christ.

Thank you.

Easy

I would like to start out by saying that I think Jon Stewart is a very funny man. The Daily Show is my greatest source of news (this is true for many people of my generation).

Recently he said this, "Being a Methodist is easy. It’s like the The University of Phoenix of religions: you just send them 50 bucks and click “I agree” and you are saved.”

Now, luckily, I'm a United Methodist so I'm allowed to have a sense of humor. I find this quote very funny. Just like everything else he says.

Just because it hurts doesn't mean it's not funny.

Maybe we've made it too easy to be a United Methodist. Maybe the criticism is accurate. Of any denomination, we're the least likely to take a strong dramatic stance on a hot button issue. Some might consider this a bad thing. But I think it's a good thing. >> Our decades of social justice work have accomplished pretty much every goal we all agreed on. The hot button issues we face today are fringe issues on which the Bible is not incredibly clear.

We believe strongly that God loves all peoples. Even people on the other side of the aisle. We count Hillary Clinton and George W. Bush as members. Dick Cheney is a member, too - and we are a church where both of his daughters would feel comfortable worshiping with their families - traditional or not.

We are a church that believes that God is not always black and white. And we can join hands and rejoice that some of our theology is in a state of gray. A polarized society might find this a huge detractor of the level of our faithfulness; but as a community of Christ followers who vow to live in the tension of the mystery of Christ, I can't imagine any theology being more faithful to God.

I think that religion should be easy. After one of my friends had been proposed to, I asked if saying yes was a hard decision. She said it was the easiest decision she had ever made. I think that religion should be easy.

Jon Stewart's statement is a little ironic, because in the same news cycle, Jon Stewart could have reported on Dan Terry, a United Methodist who found it easy to give his life for the cause of Christ, who died in Afghanistan during a medical aid mission.

Is it easy to be a United Methodist?

You bet. It's the kind of decision, the sort of religion that defines everything else you ever do. It makes every choice you'll ever make easier.

Thank you Mr. Stewart - we'll take your comments into consideration at our next General Conference. I'd nominate you to be a speaker, even! Well, as long as you've checked the box and sent in your check.

Best Commencement speech ever. Ever.

Here I stand :: Erica Goldson

There is a story of a young, but earnest Zen student who approached his teacher, and asked the Master, "If I work very hard and diligently, how long will it take for me to find Zen? The Master thought about this, then replied, "Ten years . ." The student then said, "But what if I work very, very hard and really apply myself to learn fast -- How long then?" Replied the Master, "Well, twenty years." "But, if I really, really work at it, how long then?" asked the student. "Thirty years," replied the Master. "But, I do not understand," said the disappointed student. "At each time that I say I will work harder, you say it will take me longer. Why do you say that?" Replied the Master, "When you have one eye on the goal, you only have one eye on the path."

This is the dilemma I've faced within the American education system. We are so focused on a goal, whether it be passing a test, or graduating as first in the class. However, in this way, we do not really learn. We do whatever it takes to achieve our original objective.

Some of you may be thinking, "Well, if you pass a test, or become valedictorian, didn't you learn something? Well, yes, you learned something, but not all that you could have. Perhaps, you only learned how to memorize names, places, and dates to later on forget in order to clear your mind for the next test. School is not all that it can be. Right now, it is a place for most people to determine that their goal is to get out as soon as possible.

I am now accomplishing that goal. I am graduating. I should look at this as a positive experience, especially being at the top of my class. However, in retrospect, I cannot say that I am any more intelligent than my peers. I can attest that I am only the best at doing what I am told and working the system. Yet, here I stand, and I am supposed to be proud that I have completed this period of indoctrination. I will leave in the fall to go on to the next phase expected of me, in order to receive a paper document that certifies that I am capable of work. But I contest that I am a human being, a thinker, an adventurer - not a worker. A worker is someone who is trapped within repetition - a slave of the system set up before him. But now, I have successfully shown that I was the best slave. I did what I was told to the extreme. While others sat in class and doodled to later become great artists, I sat in class to take notes and become a great test-taker. While others would come to class without their homework done because they were reading about an interest of theirs, I never missed an assignment. While others were creating music and writing lyrics, I decided to do extra credit, even though I never needed it. So, I wonder, why did I even want this position? Sure, I earned it, but what will come of it? When I leave educational institutionalism, will I be successful or forever lost? I have no clue about what I want to do with my life; I have no interests because I saw every subject of study as work, and I excelled at every subject just for the purpose of excelling, not learning. And quite frankly, now I'm scared.

John Taylor Gatto, a retired school teacher and activist critical of compulsory schooling, asserts, "We could encourage the best qualities of youthfulness - curiosity, adventure, resilience, the capacity for surprising insight simply by being more flexible about time, texts, and tests, by introducing kids into truly competent adults, and by giving each student what autonomy he or she needs in order to take a risk every now and then. But we don't do that." Between these cinderblock walls, we are all expected to be the same. We are trained to ace every standardized test, and those who deviate and see light through a different lens are worthless to the scheme of public education, and therefore viewed with contempt.

H. L. Mencken wrote in The American Mercury for April 1924 that the aim of public education is not "to fill the young of the species with knowledge and awaken their intelligence. ... Nothing could be further from the truth. The aim ... is simply to reduce as many individuals as possible to the same safe level, to breed and train a standardized citizenry, to put down dissent and originality. That is its aim in the United States."

To illustrate this idea, doesn't it perturb you to learn about the idea of "critical thinking." Is there really such a thing as "uncritically thinking?" To think is to process information in order to form an opinion. But if we are not critical when processing this information, are we really thinking? Or are we mindlessly accepting other opinions as truth?

This was happening to me, and if it wasn't for the rare occurrence of an avant-garde tenth grade English teacher, Donna Bryan, who allowed me to open my mind and ask questions before accepting textbook doctrine, I would have been doomed. I am now enlightened, but my mind still feels disabled. I must retrain myself and constantly remember how insane this ostensibly sane place really is.

And now here I am in a world guided by fear, a world suppressing the uniqueness that lies inside each of us, a world where we can either acquiesce to the inhuman nonsense of corporatism and materialism or insist on change. We are not enlivened by an educational system that clandestinely sets us up for jobs that could be automated, for work that need not be done, for enslavement without fervency for meaningful achievement. We have no choices in life when money is our motivational force. Our motivational force ought to be passion, but this is lost from the moment we step into a system that trains us, rather than inspires us.

We are more than robotic bookshelves, conditioned to blurt out facts we were taught in school. We are all very special, every human on this planet is so special, so aren't we all deserving of something better, of using our minds for innovation, rather than memorization, for creativity, rather than futile activity, for rumination rather than stagnation? We are not here to get a degree, to then get a job, so we can consume industry-approved placation after placation. There is more, and more still.

The saddest part is that the majority of students don't have the opportunity to reflect as I did. The majority of students are put through the same brainwashing techniques in order to create a complacent labor force working in the interests of large corporations and secretive government, and worst of all, they are completely unaware of it. I will never be able to turn back these 18 years. I can't run away to another country with an education system meant to enlighten rather than condition. This part of my life is over, and I want to make sure that no other child will have his or her potential suppressed by powers meant to exploit and control. We are human beings. We are thinkers, dreamers, explorers, artists, writers, engineers. We are anything we want to be - but only if we have an educational system that supports us rather than holds us down. A tree can grow, but only if its roots are given a healthy foundation.

For those of you out there that must continue to sit in desks and yield to the authoritarian ideologies of instructors, do not be disheartened. You still have the opportunity to stand up, ask questions, be critical, and create your own perspective. Demand a setting that will provide you with intellectual capabilities that allow you to expand your mind instead of directing it. Demand that you be interested in class. Demand that the excuse, "You have to learn this for the test" is not good enough for you. Education is an excellent tool, if used properly, but focus more on learning rather than getting good grades.

For those of you that work within the system that I am condemning, I do not mean to insult; I intend to motivate. You have the power to change the incompetencies of this system. I know that you did not become a teacher or administrator to see your students bored. You cannot accept the authority of the governing bodies that tell you what to teach, how to teach it, and that you will be punished if you do not comply. Our potential is at stake.

For those of you that are now leaving this establishment, I say, do not forget what went on in these classrooms. Do not abandon those that come after you. We are the new future and we are not going to let tradition stand. We will break down the walls of corruption to let a garden of knowledge grow throughout America. Once educated properly, we will have the power to do anything, and best of all, we will only use that power for good, for we will be cultivated and wise. We will not accept anything at face value. We will ask questions, and we will demand truth.

So, here I stand. I am not standing here as valedictorian by myself. I was molded by my environment, by all of my peers who are sitting here watching me. I couldn't have accomplished this without all of you. It was all of you who truly made me the person I am today. It was all of you who were my competition, yet my backbone. In that way, we are all valedictorians.

I am now supposed to say farewell to this institution, those who maintain it, and those who stand with me and behind me, but I hope this farewell is more of a "see you later" when we are all working together to rear a pedagogic movement. But first, let's go get those pieces of paper that tell us that we're smart enough to do so!

[My Hero]

At the hight of the apartheid struggle in South Africa - when white South Africans held all the positions of power and black South Africans appeared to be roundly defeated - Bishop Desmond Tutu stood up in a room full of white men in positions of power. Elected a Bishop in the Anglican church in his 50s he was not allowed to vote in South African politics. He wasn't white. He stood up in front of this room full of voting men and he said, "It's not too late. It's not too late to join the right side."

I don't really have a hero. I have a hero-type. I love people who stand up at the wrong moment and say the right thing.

I love when people say something that makes the room grow silent and cold; when people find themselves in the statement.

This is so much more than a good speaker. It takes a certain person - a certain life - to have the moral authority to speak such words.

The Pharisees were always on Jesus' case about the issue of authority. They wanted an establishment to have granted credibility to this preacher - Jesus had the authority of God, and His life to back that up.

Jimmy Carter had the courage to say that he would rather be a good Christian than a good president.

My Godfather apologized in the middle of a sermon for a joke he had made earlier in the day that, upon reconsideration, was probably a little bit racist. He just stopped mid-sentence and began his apology.

Mother Teresa left no sacred cows unscathed as she tore apart the brutal world after it awarded her its Nobel Peace Prize.

Jonathan Graham Pound stood up to the administration and fought for the rights of students on our campus.

Sophie Scholl smoke, drank, and loved Jesus in the same conversation. She was also a communist. She gave her life trying to topple the Nazis - she confessed her guilt in order to refute the idea that the mentally challenged don't deserve to live.

Corrie Ten Boom shook the hand of an SS guard and offered him the forgiveness of Jesus Christ.

My mother taught me to love these people. Debbie Airgood is shy and reserved. Throughout our childhood she worked tirelessly to insure that my sister and I would not inherit that quality. She taught us to love the Truth and to speak boldly. She laughs some times at the monsters she has created - but deep down she knows that we will leave our mark on the world.


I don't want to have a lot of money.

I don't want a big house.

I hope that I always remain in weird shadows, off the radar, ministering to people who need to know that Jesus Christ loves EVEN them.

But someday I want to stand up and speak words that will change the world.

I want to be my hero.

Last night I went for a walk with a friend from English camp. Yana and her brother Dima are really fun to be around.

We went for a walk.

In Ukraine, going for a walk is a normal activity for friends hanging out. It's even a pleasant date idea. The correct translation of "hang out" in Russian is literally "to walk." We walked for four and a half hours.

We had planned to end with dinner. At hour two it was decided that McDonald's would be a nice end to the evening. I decided on my usual - a hamburger and an ice cream cone. At hour four I supersized to a Big Mac, fries, and a Coca-Cola (with ice!).

When we began to eat, Yana noticed that I didn't pray before eating. At camp we had prayed before every meal, and she was a little surprised that I didn't pray before my meals. I told her, "It's okay - it's easier to ask forgiveness later than to ask permission now.

Any theology that considers smoking cigarettes a sin would be incomplete and insincere if it didn't also include trips to McDonald's as sinful.

We're quick to label things as sinful - as long as their not the things we do. This is odd, primarily because a lot of what we hold quite dear is actually sinful.

Yes, Virginia, prayer chains are just gossip loops.
Yes, the fact that American Idol has the word "idol" in the title should tip us off that Christians shouldn't be flocking to it.
No, you shouldn't live in a house with more bathrooms than people.
No, you shouldn't eat food that kills you (because, like the case against cigarettes, your body is a temple of the Lord).

The real reason I didn't pray before eating at McDonald's is because Jesus taught his disciples to not pray in public or to make a show of their prayers - and perhaps doing so is also a sin.

political in nature

Generally speaking, progressive types tend to shy away from missions. People happen to view missions and missionaries as the prerogative of “holy rollers” and “Bible thumpers.” Usually people of a conservative persuasion are more thoroughly convinced that others must believe exactly as they in order to obtain eternal life.

Conservative missionaries tend to attract conservative people from the host culture. Those people in turn become even more conservative under the influence of the conservative missionary – or at least they find value and reason behind their conservative views.

This has happened all throughout Eurasia. Baptist missionaries targeted Russia and the former soviet countries after the fall of communism. Thousands of conservative Russians became Christians and quickly fell into the mold of conservative Christianity. But, oddly, the missionaries never made any attempt to enculturate the political views – they simply supplanted American political views. We have thousands of Jerry Fallwell conservatives all around Eurasia. It’s really bizarre.

They aren’t opposed to their own politicians – they dislike Bill Clinton and Barack Obama. Even Christians who don’t speak English know that the KJV is a superior translation of the English Bible. Even after leading Evangelicals dismissed the works and finding of Ron Wyatt, an “archeologist” who managed to “prove” almost all of the Old Testament, Christians in this part of the world still cling to his findings.

Now, I’m rather progressive. As useful as titles are, I’m thoroughly Wesleyan but close enough to Mainline Protestant. I’m conservative enough that people say they can “still work with” me, but liberal enough that I make them uncomfortable when people ask me questions on social issues.

First and foremost I try and learn a lesson from the mistakes others have made. I work hard to remind myself that there is no political viewpoint that is as important as the Gospel message. Missionaries should never convey a political opinion with the same gusto and fervor as they do the good news of Jesus Christ.

When I do discuss politics, I try to offer my viewpoint as one possibility. I try to ask questions and offer feedback. I challenge easy answers as often as they are given. I change the subject when confronted with conversations about American politics.

A good case study is GLBT rights. Eurasian Christians have been taught all of the Jerry Fallwell rhetoric on this issue. They know the Focus on the Family Facts. They know that they do not support gay rights and that GLBT people are not welcome in their churches. But our countries, governments, and cultures are at two very different places on this issue – and our churches should react in two very different ways. In our culture, GLBT people are readily accepted and our churches must deal with how we will show loving acceptance and tolerance without showing that we accept their sin. It’s a high wire act for sure. In Eurasian culture, GLBT people face a living hell. Openly gay people are routinely targets of hate crimes. Lesbians are raped with some regularity by men who feel that they “can turn them straight”. These governments offer no protection (and some former soviet states were still executing homosexuals well into the 1990s!), no rights, and no equality. The churches here face a very different side of the issue and should respond very differently. The church here has an amazing opportunity to be on the forefront of a movement calling for greater human rights for an oppressed minority. But, sadly, we taught them to view the issue through the lens of our American political situation.

Often when discussing politics, I tend to overcompensate.

It disgusts me that missionaries who entered after the Cold War have taught a new generation of Christians that war is good and profitable. This is one “political” topic which I make no bones about sharing. I routinely remind those around me that it is because of my Christian belief that I am strongly opposed to war.
Ultimately I feel that Christian belief should transform the way in which people view politics. We should have the full realization that political thought pales in comparison with the richness of Jesus Christ and is but a small facet of the diamond that is Christianity. A flat side of a diamond can’t cut glass – you need an edge where several sides come together to form a point in order to cut glass. If our religion is really supposed to transform cultures, politics will play a small but important part.

I was having a discussion with a progressive friend here in Ukraine. She asked me if my Christian friends here would accept and welcome her. I would hate to sell my friends short, but I don’t think they would. They have been taught one (extremely-politicized) angle of Christianity and they would probably reject her based on that viewpoint.

As a missionary who happens to be a progressive Christian, I feel a very strong sense of call to reach out to those on the other side of the aisle. I’m here to let progressive people know that Jesus came for them, too. Jesus lived and died for all people, regardless of political persuasion. And the churches we leave behind should follow to Golgotha and also show no regard for political persuasion.

Sometimes the fear paralyzes my courage.

Their arms, scarred unfathomably deep, remind me that I have lived a life of privilege. I have slept outside only for the fun of it. Only after purchasing expensive equipment to do so safely. I can count the number of nights I have lived in transition; always from one bed to another. I have never known a night without a promise of morning.

My greatest fear is that my heart will grow hard - that their pain will become routine. That I will stop noticing the scars. But perhaps that is all they want.

Maybe they are counting on my courage to kick in and for me to see them as normal.

It seems I can't ever find enough down time to write all the things I want to write. And that when I do have down time, I can't think of the things I have thought to write.

When I was at my college, it seemed that no one could find a pastor who preached a good sermon. The sermons weren't exegetical enough - "He only tells stories" - or they were too boring - "It wouldn't kill him to tell a joke every now and then" - or anything else on the list of complaints.

I was quite critical of my pastors' sermons. This was a reflection of my theological education. There's something about learning the Bible that makes you feel vastly superior to everyone else.

Now I feel differently. I feel that a pastor who cares about his or her congregation really can't preach a bad sermon. A caring pastor might not hit the needs of every member ever week - but he or she will work to meet the needs of the people through the spoken word. And ultimately, I think that's all that matters.

I preach somewhat regularly at Youth to Jesus. I enjoy this role. It's a creative outlet - it's difficult, but in a good way.

I imagine my college peers would feel that my sermons aren't exegetical enough (meaning that I don't go through and explain the Greek word by word and explain every custom of the Hebrew people to extract the exact meaning as originally given) (but, I mean ... I've read Jesus' sermons and it seems to me that he told a lot of stories, too)

I think that some pastors are really great public speakers. And good for them. But, I don't think that should be understood to make them great pastors. Fancy words don't make a pastor great.

Our lives are the sermons we preach most often. I would rather have a pastor who consistently preaches 5s and 6s from the pulpit, but knocks it out of the ballpark with 9s and 10s in daily life sermons.

Healing

My hand suffered a small cut on December 5, 2009. It was a big day and the cut was an insignificant part of it. The cut happened to be only a centimeter or two, but it took months to heal. The emotional damage of that day was significantly more severe - and I don't know how long it will take to heal.

Goodbyes hurt for a lifetime. While my cut was still scabbing over in March, it eventually healed and only left a small scar. I don't know if the rest of me will be so lucky.

An old man was once telling me about his wife. She had died years before, but he described her and his love for her in such words that it seemed that she had passed during the night and the ambulance was still sitting in the driveway.

It's safe to assume that goodbyes don't get easier with age. Just more numerous.

Dad told me that I had to talk louder. I was already yelling, but dad told me that I had to yell louder. I didn't understand, because Aunt Carol wasn't hard of hearing. Only a few weeks before I had shared the joke [How do you make a hanky dance? You put a little boogie in it!] with her. She had shared it with everyone at the hospital. Staff and other patients. She told us about one patient who had escaped from the cancer ward to go drink at a local bar. It was clear from her description of his shots that she may have also escaped for a few drinks. And when she wanted a hug I refused because I was scared. She had so many machines hooked up to her and she was screaming to be heard. I was only 8. I never said goodbye.

[What's harder than saying goodbye? Not saying goodbye!]

Sermon July 15th

Mary and Martha.
Luke 9:38 - 42 As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!"
"Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her."


We enter into a situation of sibling rivalry in our story today. We find ourselves with Jesus seeing an all too common side of human life. There were other sibling rivalries in the Bible – Cain and Able, Jacob and Esau – and they didn’t end so well. We enter the lives and we think we know the story – we think we have lived this story.

My sister and I are four years apart. When we were in school my sister was perfect. I say this not out of spite or in exaggeration, but simply as a fact. It’s _____ insert current weather______ outside today and my sister was perfect. My sister was a natural leader and an obvious teacher’s pet. She would grow up to be a doctor, and her academic resume reflect her future career path. She visited teaching hospitals throughout High School and sang and played her instrument in regional competitions.

I was not perfect. I was awkwardly shaped and couldn’t do many things well. I wasn’t a leader. I didn’t like school and my teachers knew it. I didn’t play an instrument well and I didn’t sing well yet. I did my own thing. I was artsy and thought outside of the box.

It was sometimes a miserable experience to grow up in the shadow of my big sister. I can’t count the times teachers explained to me how much smarter my sister was and how much better she was.

When I read today’s story I immediately tense up. He visited “Martha’s home.” Not the home of Mary and Martha … or even the home of Martha and Mary … but the home of Martha.

We find value in busyness. In offices we jokingly "look busy" when the boss walks through the room. Martha is a busy person. As head of the household it is her responsibility to ensure that everyone is healthy, happy, and well fed. There is always a roast in the oven and dishes to be done. Martha feels as though she simply can't get ahead.

I dislike all repetitive tasks. I always try to get out of doing dishes. Washing, hanging, and folding laundry is tedious. Making my bed is pointless. The same dishes will be dirty and stacked in the sink tomorrow, the clothes will just get dirty again, and no one will see my neatly pressed sheets before I mess them up again the next night.

I tell people that I hate doing these things because I'm a boy - but I think it goes deeper than that. I think I'm a Mary person.

Perhaps the whole world can be broken down into Martha people and Mary people.

We don’t value Mary people the way we should

Mary was an afterthought. Mary could never measure up to her big sister. Perhaps she was a little lazy and maybe not as bright or put together as her sister.
Maybe Mary was all of these things – but at least she had her priorities straight. When she was interested or intrigued she followed her gut. When Jesus of Nazareth came through Mary realized that the dishes in the sink didn’t matter.
Jesus had just come from teaching. He had been out and about and a religious leader asks “Who is my neighbor.” He tells the story of the good Samaritan. In the familiar story, 2 good people pass by one of their own and only the last, a political enemy stops to help the injured man. In David’s telling of the story, the Russian politician is the one who shows mercy.

The question is aked - who is my neighbor? Whom do I have to love? And Jesus resoundly answers … EVERYONE.

And in this setting, the all too familiar setting of sibling rivalry, the question is posed again - whom do I have to love? EVERYONE, even your sister. How often do I have to love? ALWAYS.

As a Christian, I need to love everyone. Even my perfect sister.

They say that sharing your faith with a family member is hardest. Witnessing to a stranger on the street is SO much easier than telling a family member that Jesus loves them. I think that Christians sometimes do street evangelism because they’re too scared to share real life with people.

I was taught once that if you have a hard time telling others about Jesus that you should look at yourself in the mirror. Say, Michael, I love you, and Jesus does too.

The gospel transitions from the abstract to the concrete. Whom do I have to love? “my neighbor”
Ok … what does that mean …. A political enemy and a perfect sister. Yep. Got it.
… How often do I have to love? Always.

I always read this story as though Martha finally got what she had coming. Final vindication for all the awards and diplomas my sister had earned.

I read the story wrong.

Jesus isn’t putting Martha down – he’s lifting Mary up. He’s teaching them to love one another and making them equals. I believe he’s teaching Martha to learn from Mary and Mary to learn from Martha. He’s teaching them to not jockey for position as leader; but to walk side by side – hand in hand as friends.

We see these sisters later on in the Jesus narrative and they are described as inseparable friends. They learned their lesson and began to love one another.
In college my sister stopped being so perfect and I grew up a whole bunch. Jesus has taught us to learn from each other and to walk side by side. I’m not in my sister’s shadow and she’s not in mine.

Some people see this story as an admonition that it’s better to sing praise hymns than to wash dishes. I don’t believe this is the case. Jesus doesn't speak out against the Martha people. Jesus speaks out against trying to change others to fit our mold.

Jesus commends Mary because she has lovingly accepted her sister for who she is. We all show love in different ways – Martha showed love by preparing the house and Mary showed loved by sitting and listening to Jesus – but Mary showed love to her sister by humbly accepting Martha for who she was. Martha had to take that step and accept her sister for who she was.

When we love others we accept who they are. We love our roommates even though they snore at night. We love our friends even though they do so many weird things. We love our families even though they are a little crazy. We love our sister even though she’s perfect.

Jesus doesn't want us to make people more like US - he wants us to make people more like HIM.

This is the essence of the Gospel message. Love God, Love others. Love your brother, love a commie pinko, hug a hippy, share a meal with a stranger, live with less and give the rest away, worship God daily. This is the core of the message.

Do you know that you are the Gospel?

You are the good news of Jesus Christ living in a sad world hungry for something more. Our lives open the Bible to thousands who will never crack the cover. To a hungry man, bread is good news. To a world that has never experienced unconditional love, your kindness is good news. You are the Gospel. You are the proof that Jesus rose from the dead 2000 years ago. Your life of loving service proves His divinity.

Go into all the world and love – even when it’s hard.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

[Get creative!]

"...creative people, for the most part, exhibit active moods and positive affect. They’re not particularly happy — contentment is a kind of complacency creative people rarely have. But they’re engaged, motivated, and open to the world." - Newsweek, The Creativity Crisis - Bronson and Merryman

I'm a creative person. Hundreds of ideas swirl inside my mind during any second.

I feel that this makes me superior to you.

Rather, I feel that creative people are superior to non-creative people. I imagine that some of you are also creative.



I was sometimes punished for being creative.

Math classes were always boring. Once, I decided to create my own method of solving one type of problems. While my answers were correct, the work was different than everyone else. The teacher failed me for cheating. My mother took the test in to the teacher to show that I had arrived at the answers in a different way - and couldn't possibly have cheated. The teacher yelled at my mother for teaching me at home. I now realize that I had incredible potential in math and science, but that the education system failed me.

Every time I walk into a room I immediately see 10 ways in which the experience of the room could be improved. Churches drive me crazy because they lack creativity and I just sit and think of hundreds of improvements.

I live with other creative people. Our walls should be made of white-board so that we could write down all of our creative ideas. We use scraps of used paper. Sometimes our ideas are even too bizarre for each other. Sometimes I wonder if we are brilliantly creative or insane. One of my flat-mates designed a super-high ant hill this week.

I scrap most of my blog ideas because they are too "out-there." I hate the fact that I have to constantly reign in my creativity.

I'm constantly frustrated that I can't articulate my ideas. Not even that I have to censor myself, but that my artistic capabilities simply don't match up with my creative potential. I don't write well enough to capture the stories in my mind. I can't draw the pictures I see.

I'm a happy person by nature - but I'll never be content. I've never been anywhere I didn't want to leave eventually. I've never had a job that fulfilled me as a person or that satisfied my need to create.

Sometimes I'm incredibly happy and terribly depressed at the same time. I lack contentment because I have creativity in spades.

So maybe I'll help my flat-mate build his ant hill. Perhaps I'll have the dirt-moving skills to build it really high and really great. Maybe it will make me happy and maybe I'll be content. Maybe it will be our masterpiece.

perhaps the human spirit cannot be broken

Finding my voice

The margins are the most important part of any returned paper. After dozens of hard-fought days of putting off a paper, and a couple of wee-morning hours of actual writing; it is critical to examine the margins. Professor Thomas is infamous for her margin scribbles. They mirror her speaking cadence and rhythm perfectly.

Once she wrote a positive comment to let me know that I had found my "authentic voice." It is one of the most coveted red-pen markings her students look for; and I found it on my paper. Just once, though.

I have been preaching recently, and in writing and orating sermons I have tried to find my authentic voice in the sermons I preach. I can't help but realize that my "authentic voice" is a rich amalgamate of the voices who declared the Good News to me over my lifetime.

My sermons are timed by Pastor Rod Smith's watch. He was my childhood pastor, and to my recollection - his sermons never exceeded 15 minutes. They were rich and insightful. They connected the people and God. And they were short.

Rev. Lori Blocker taught me how to speak with vulnerability. Lori once shared a story with our congregation. She spoke of the great loneliness she felt to be sleeping alone - she described the ache and pain of celibacy beautifully - and then she described the sensation of literally feeling Jesus surround her with His arms and hold her. This story didn't sit well with the high-hair types and those with make-up to hide the bruises. The congregation hated it. The complained about it for weeks. I LOVED it. It was the most real thing that had happened in our church in ages and it opened a flood gate (it was only a little while later that a woman spoke of her families struggle with alcoholism - inspired, I believe, by Lori's vulnerable sermon) that brought renewal to our church.

Rev Bill Beatty taught me to always speak the truth. He apologizes publicly for sins committed publicly. He stops mid-sermon to correct any untruth he might have spoken. His sermons are interactive and accessible. They connect on many different levels and with all of the senses.

Pastor Craig taught me to preach the old time religion - and to let people know that the altar is always open. Pastor David and Pastor Charles gave me my cadence and rhythm. Dr Larsen and Dr Ken taught me to find where my congregation is and to work from there - but to not be afraid to challenge them.

Andy and Tom taught me to feel the beat and groove to the music while speaking. Darlene taught me to make a point and drive it home - to love the people enough to speak the truth in a non-judgmental voice.

I continue on the journey to find my "authentic voice." I feel that the journey is wonderful and illuminating.

Welcome to the Great Blog Post Challenge of 2010!

A group of friends and fellow bloggers have decided to challenge each other to think, write, and dream in new and innovative ways. The group will take turns challenging each other (with a topic, theme, photograph, song, etc... ) to write meaningful entries.

We all share a common fear of the unknown. Will people like my post? Will they be offended? Will they be bored? We are challenging each other to move beyond our normal frames of reference and to embrace new forms, media, styles, and content.

This might get interesting. When one of my post titles is [in brackets], be aware that it is an official submission for the [Challenge] and read it with a grain of salt.

Above all, we hope to grow as people and writers through this challenge. We hope, as a side benefit, that you will all enjoy our broader horizons as much as we do.

buried

Perhaps the cemetery was larger than people remembered, or perhaps no one cared. In the Austrian city of Lemberg, today the Ukrainian city of L'viv, a large Jewish temple sat back behind the famed opera house. A cemetery connected the two grand buildings.

When Hitler rolled in his men used the grave stones to pave roads, when Stalin marched through he expanded those roads. As capitalism makes its triumphant stroll, a few of those streets must be rebuilt. As the workers tore up old city streets to upgrade the sewer system they began to find graves well outside the perceived boundaries of the old Jewish cemetery.

The Nazis destroyed the old temple. All that remains is one small marker in Hebrew and English. Some little prick has painted a swastika on the marker. I tried for three hours to think of a more polite word for the person who would do such a thing. You have read the polite form.

Jonathan received more bad news from the latest rounds of medical tests. Things look more bleak now than they have ever looked before. He will need to begin treatments that his body can't physically handle in order to save his life - it's a catch-22 and I'm unbelievably angry and hurt.

My voice cracks and I can't seem to keep on pitch. Sitting alone in an apartment that suddenly seems so massively huge, I sing the songs that have helped before. Number 707 has brought great comfort in the past, today it rings hollow and empty. Today the pain sounds more true.

And I feel like such a selfish prick. I have treated my body horribly - I've eaten whatever I wanted, exercised rarely, and drank cheap liquor - and I'm healthy. I'm healthy. I get to fully realize my hopes and dreams and one of my closest friends might never have that chance.

And the graves are well outside of the perceived boundary of the cemetery. The feelings and thoughts that I'm having are not the typical emotions I should encounter. They are well outside of the boundary - for people to find a hundred years from now.

Sermon #5

This will be my last sermon before David and Shannon return. (I'll preach once in July and maybe occasionally through the fall - I have an idea for a sermon series I would like to write) so I should be able to get back to more regular blog posts soon.

In English we have many polite euphemisms for "sinful woman." I didn't use any of them. The adjectives I used are somewhat harsh and that is intentional. Too often we speak as though Christians are afraid of sinful people - I don't believe we should be. As followers of Jesus we should be more than capable of addressing sin head on, without the use of euphemism.

Now one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, so he went to the Pharisee's house and reclined at the table. When a woman who had lived a sinful life in that town learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee's house, she brought an alabaster jar of perfume, and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them.
When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, "If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is—that she is a sinner."
Jesus answered him, "Simon, I have something to tell you."
"Tell me, teacher," he said.
"Two men owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he canceled the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?"
Simon replied, "I suppose the one who had the bigger debt canceled."
"You have judged correctly," Jesus said.
Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, "Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. 47Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little."
Then Jesus said to her, "Your sins are forgiven."
The other guests began to say among themselves, "Who is this who even forgives sins?"
Jesus said to the woman, "Your faith has saved you; go in peace."

Our story picks up not too far from where we ended last week. Jesus entered the city of Nain and quickly made a name for himself by raising a young man back to life. A religious leader, a Pharisee, wants to dig deeper. He wants more facts before he makes his judgement call. Like Simon Cowell on American Idol - he just wants to hear a few more notes to decide if this person is the real deal or a sham.

You have to admit, it's all pretty fantastic. Jesus shows up out of nowhere and before he even says hello he stops a funeral parade to give a widow-woman her life back. So this Pharisee invites Jesus to his home so that he can get the rest of the story. He's not overly concerned with showing Jesus hospitality - he'll ask questions first and figure out if Jesus deserves to be treated like an honored guest.

Now last week we talked about a woman for whom everything had been taken. Today we look to a woman who gave it all up willingly. The widow woman didn't choose for her son to die. She didn't choose to lose everything. The woman today, arguably, made such a choice. She was known primarily by the sins she chose to commit. She chose to make her living on her back, and while most of the world would find sympathy for the widow - who cares about a prostitute?

Jesus shows up at the home of the Pharisee and is treated a little poorly. Jesus was a radical person, more or less homeless who entered cities and began teaching things that people had never heard before. He was probably used to being treated as less than the honored guest. Jesus was full of humility and took everything in stride. His own teaching was to sit at the place of least honor and wait to be brought to the seat of honor.

Jesus was probably sitting at a place of little honor, far from the host. If his hands had been washed at all, he was probably last after the water was already dirtied by several other more honored guests.

And then this woman enters through the open door. She is in all things, a contrast to the Pharisee hosting the dinner.

He is educated and respected. She is known to the whole community as the whore she is. He's righteous and faithful. She's slept with more people than she can remember.

The Pharisee is calm, cool, and collected. The woman is emotional and overwhelmingly forward. As a child he received an excellent education in the scriptures and old women would speak of the bright future he surely had. As a child she had been passed between male relatives or friends of her brothers.

These two would never be seen in public together.

She enters through the open door and immediately sees the One who can heal her heart and forgive her of her sins. Jesus was reclining at the table. In middle eastern cultures, you always sit with the flats of your feet facing out.

Feet are dirty and disgusting things. In some countries, showing the flats of your feet to someone is extremely rude. This was why it was shocking when Jesus had begun washing the feet of his disciples. Only the lowliest slave would wash feet - and apparently our Pharisee host thought that none of his slaves were lowely enough to bother to wash Jesus' feet, because by the time the woman entered Jesus' feet were still unwashed.

This emotional basket case of a woman rushes in and falls on the floor behind Jesus. She isn't even worthy for Jesus to see her face. She was a bad person. Where do you think she got the money for the expensive ointment in the alabaster jar? She earned her money pulling tricks and apparently she was quite good at her profession.

As she tries desperately to open the alabaster jar to anoint his feet , she realizes that his feet are already wet with her tears. Embarrassed she looks futily for a towel. Seeing none she takes down her long hair and begins to dry Jesus' feet with her hair. Of course, in their culture women always wore their hair up. Only a whore would take down her hair in the presence of men other than her husband. Knowing that she had tried her best and had failed miserably, she brought her head down and rested her face against his feet in utter failure. She kissed his feet, over and over again, until mercifully she managed to open the expensive bottle of ointment and began spreading it on his feet.

As she sat in a puddle of her own tears and saliva, with oil on her hands and throughout her mop of hair - she probably felt like the biggest failure in the whole world. Her panicked expression gave voice to her innermost thoughts – “why did I just do what I have done.”

We're completely unrealistic in how we map out our social interactions. We swear that we won't lose our temper. We plan a cautious dialogue and remind ourselves to keep a stiff upper lip. In the heat of the moment the gloves come off and we begin yelling. We say hurtful things we wish we could take back and we leave with tears in our eyes and acid in our throats.

For all of this woman's efforts to plan a casual, collected anointing of Jesus she failed miserably. She came off looking like a basket case whore - and as the room grew silent with the Pharisees' outrage she realized that that … was … exactly who she was.

Now the Pharisee had secretly hoped that Jesus was all he was cracked up to be. He had hoped that Jesus would prove to be a prophet after all. But as the disgusting, disease ridden prostitute but her lips on Jesus, the Pharisee decided that clearly Jesus was no prophet.

A prophet would know who this woman was. A prophet would know her despicable past and would respond accordingly.

But Jesus is so much more than a prophet. Not only did Jesus know the despicable past of the woman touching his feet, but he knew her beautiful future.

He knew the righteous woman of God she would become. He knew her present anguish in the face of her accusers and He knew the joy she would possess as she shared the good news with others.

[[Jesus breaks the silence by sharing a story of two men whose debt had been forgiven. The Pharisee must admit that the one whose debt had been larger would be more thankful for its relief.]] - - - I'm going to have someone read this parable out loud - or bring two people up to act it out.

Because this woman had been forgiven much, she will love much.

Jesus stands this woman up and assures her that her sins - her numerous, incalculable sins - have been forgiven.

And perhaps, after all that has transpired in this little dinner, this is the most shocking event for those gathered together. In these simple words Jesus claims his full divinity. Only God can forgive sins - and in this story we see God forgiving sins. The men gathered around the table that day witnessed God forgive sins.

I don't really know all of you. I don't know where you've been or how far you've gone. I'll never stand at a podium and decry others for their moral or sexual failures.

I won't go into details of my own sins, but I will say that I love much because I have been forgiven much.

When we look at ourselves we tend to dwell on the past. Our dark pasts seem to overshadow any hint of a future that lies on our horizon. We are not God. For God sees our hope and our future. God sees the promise of redemption in our sinful past.
Henri Nouwen shares the story (which I can’t find and might very well be butchering) of a woman who claimed to be able to speak with Jesus while she slept. A priest at her church wanted at least a shred of proof. He told her to ask Jesus, the next time she “talked with him” what he had confessed during his last confession.

Clearly this woman wouldn’t know the deepest darkest sins of the priest and she would be caught in her lie. The next day she came back with the answer she had received from Jesus. “I don’t remember.”

We truly believe that when our sins have been forgiven by Jesus Christ that He keeps no record of our wrongs. There is no secret list of dirty deeds that God keeps to remind us of our failures. We keep that list (and the devil keeps one for us as well ) and Jesus wishes that we didn’t.

Satan would love to keep you paralyzed by the reality of your past sins. Jesus wants to set you free – that you could live out your future and hope.

As Jesus said to the sinful woman anointing his feet – I know say the same to you.

Your faith has saved you. Go in Peace.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Hilarious yet oddly inspiring. Maybe I should shut up and stop complaining and enjoy life more.

Zach's oprah deal from Zach Anner on Vimeo.

The real sermon #4

Ok, I've gone back and forth a number of times about what to preach this Thursday. This is the third sermon I've written this week ... and I think it's the one I'm actually going to preach.

Luke 7:11-17 (Today's New International Version)
Jesus Raises a Widow's Son

Soon afterward, Jesus went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went along with him. As he approached the town gate, a dead person was being carried out—the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. And a large crowd from the town was with her. When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her and he said, "Don't cry."
Then he went up and touched the bier they were carrying him on, and the bearers stood still. He said, "Young man, I say to you, get up!" The dead man sat up and began to talk, and Jesus gave him back to his mother.
They were all filled with awe and praised God. "A great prophet has appeared among us," they said. "God has come to help his people." This news about Jesus spread throughout Judea and the surrounding country.

Some days we need to hear a tale of resurrection. Perhaps this is one of those days for you. If your soul is heavy, your heart is troubled, or your mind is tired – listen up. If everything’s perfect for you … well, I’ll try and work something in for you, too.

Almost everyone has lost someone close. Most of us have attended a funeral or mourned the loss of a relative.

When I was 8 years old my aunt died. By that age I had been to more than a dozen funerals and I knew the routine very well. Once I attended a funeral as a toddler. My mischievous Uncle gave me a wallet and showed me how to open it up and beg like a street beggar. I was a cute kid and came home with a nice chunk of cash.

When my aunt died, everything was different. I was old enough to really understand. I knew what had happened, I knew what death was – and I hated it.

The scripture today focuses on the widow of Nain. As the Bible describes her as a widow we know that she had already lost a husband. As Jesus enters her city, her only son is on the slab and about to be buried. Her culture treated widows terribly. A widow could inherit her husband’s property if she had children to take care of. If she had no children, her property would go back to her husband’s family. She would be left with nothing. No house, no income, no family, and no prospect for future love. No one would demean themselves to marry a widow. This woman had truly lost everything.

Sometimes in life it feels as though we have lost everything. When relationships come crashing down, while waiting on a diagnosis from a hospital, after failing a class, when we hear of an accident, or simply when a day has been too long and there hasn’t been enough sunshine.

At one point in my life;I had given up my job and my job security, I had no home of my own, my family was on the other side of the world, my friends were all on vacation enjoying the seaside, I became sick and had no one to take care of me, and then I got the phone call. One of my closest friends explained that he had cancer. It would more than likely prove to be fatal – doctors discussed his life in measurable quantities. Weeks, months, or years. I felt my world crash that day. I needed a resurrection story.

When Jesus saw this pitiable woman he approached her and said, “Don’t cry.” He walked over to her dead son and beckoned him to rise once more. The boy sat up and began speaking. Jesus gave him back to his mother.

This is a story of healing. Jesus physically healed this man by bringing him back to life. But this story is also one of spiritual, emotional, and social healing. Jesus restored life for this young boy – but he restored EVERYTHING for this woman.

When the people around Jesus saw this miracle they began to rejoice. Suddenly this stranger became their savior. He was automatically a prophet and God. This was wonderful. But sometimes we experience the opposite. When God fails to perform the miracle we demand, we turn our back. We cry and curse God for the failure.

The death of my aunt was especially painful because I had prayed for a miracle. I had prayed that she would be healed and she wasn’t. My magic genie Jesus failed to deliver and I was angry.
When we hear this story, I hope you think of the widow woman. She had lost everything – and Jesus gave it all back to her … and then some.

This body – this useless shell of a body – will pass away. When my friend Jonathan dies (and I really do pray that he will die decades from now, after years of us sitting together on a porch being cranky old men yelling at the neighborhood kids) we will rejoice in his obedience to God. We will rejoice that God restored him.
The healing in this story, and in mine, is so much more than a physical healing. “This story shows that healing is not simply about curing illness or raising the dead; it is about redeeming the entirety of human life in relationship with God.”

Because of the resurrection of Jesus, our lives are redeemed.

WE are the resurrection story.

When life is too hard and you need a resurrection story, look around at the people in this room. Look at the people who have been redeemed by the words of Jesus. Look to those who were spiritually dead until Jesus said, “Get up!”

And remember in all of your days, that when those around you are having a rough day – you are the resurrection story they need to hear.

This story is a beautiful reminder that we serve a God who heals. God still restores people, he raises the dead, and he cures the sick. And he uses us to do it. Pope John XXIII said, "Consult not your fears, but your hopes and dreams. Think not about your frustrations, but about your unfulfilled potential. Concern yourself not with what you tried and failed in, but with what is still possible for you to do." The mistakes you have made don’t matter. God doesn’t view the forgiven sins and failures of yesterday – he sees the hope and future of tomorrow. God has a plan for you to help restore the people around you.

If you allow it, God will use your resurrection story to restore others. Go forth this day, and live life in such a way that those watching will be amazed at the Jesus who has raised you back to life.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon 4

So, I didn't actually mean to post this. If you read this yesterday you read a rough draft. It's still not ready - I'll probably work on it a few hours tomorrow and Thursday - I might post an updated sermon before or after Pilgrims.


38As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. 39She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what he said. 40But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!"
41"Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, 42but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her."


We enter into a situation of sibling rivalry in our story today. We find ourselves with Jesus seeing an all too common side of human life. There were other sibling rivalries in the Bible – Cain and Able, Jacob and Esau – and they didn’t end so well. We enter the lives and we think we know the story – we think we have lived this story.
My sister and I are four years apart. When we were in school my sister was perfect. I say this not out of spite or in exaggeration, but simply as a fact. It’s ___________ outside today and my sister was perfect. My sister was a natural leader and an obvious teacher’s pet. She would grow up to be a doctor, and her academic resume reflect her future career path. She visited teaching hospitals throughout High School and sang and played her instrument in regional competitions.
I was not perfect. I was awkwardly shaped and couldn’t do many things well. I wasn’t a leader. I didn’t like school and my teachers knew it. I didn’t play an instrument well and I didn’t sing well yet. I did my own thing. I was artsy and thought outside of the box.
It was sometimes a miserable experience to grow up in the shadow of my big sister. I can’t count the times teachers explained to me how much smarter my sister was and how much better she was.
When I read today’s story I immediately tense up. He visited “Martha’s home.” Not the home of Mary and Martha … or even the home of Martha and Mary … but the home of Martha.
Mary was an afterthought. Mary could never measure up to her big sister. Perhaps she was a little lazy and maybe not as bright or put together as her sister.
Maybe Mary was all of these things – but she had her priorities straight. When she was interested or intrigued she followed her gut. When Jesus of Nazareth came through Mary realized that the dishes in the sink didn’t matter.
Jesus had just come from teaching. He had been out and about and a religious leader asks “Who is my neighbor.” He tells the story of the good samaritan. In the familiar story, 3 good people pass by one of their own and only the last, a political enemy stops to help the injured man.

The question is aked - who is my neighbor? Whom do I have to love? And Jesus resoundly answers … EVERYONE.

And in this setting, the all too familiar setting of sibling rivalry, the question is posed again - whom do I have to love? EVERYONE, even your sister. How often do I have to love? ALWAYS.

As a Christian, I need to love everyone. Even my perfect sister.

They say that sharing your faith with a family member is hardest. Witnessing to a stranger on the street is SO much easier than telling a family member that Jesus loves them. I think that Christians sometimes do street evangelism because they’re too scared to share real life with people.

I was taught once that if you have a hard time telling others about Jesus that you should look at yourself in the mirror. Say, Michael, I love you, and Jesus does too.

The gospel transitions from one setting to another. Whom do I have to love? A political enemy and a perfect sibling. How often do I have to love? Always.

I always read this story as though Martha finally got what she had coming. Final vindication for all the awards and diplomas my sister had earned.

I read the story wrong.

Jesus isn’t putting Martha down – he’s lifting Mary up. He’s teaching them to love one another and making them equals. I believe he’s teaching Martha to learn from Mary and Mary to learn from Martha. He’s teaching them to not jockey for position as leader; but to walk side by side – hand in hand as friends.

We see these sisters later on in the Jesus narrative and they are described as inseparable friends. They learned their lesson and began to love one another.

In college my sister stopped being so perfect and I grew up a whole bunch. Jesus has taught us to learn from each other and to walk side by side. I’m not in my sister’s shadow and she’s not in mine.

Some people see this story as an admonition that it’s better to sing praise hymns than to wash dishes. I don’t believe this is the case. Jesus commends Mary because she has lovingly accepted her sister for who she is. We all show love in different ways – Martha showed love by preparing the house and Mary showed loved by sitting and listening to Jesus – but Mary showed love to her sister by humbly accepting Martha’s show of love.

When we love others we accept who they are. We love our roommates even though they snore at night. We love our friends even though they do so many weird things. We love our families even though they are a little crazy. We love our sister even though she’s perfect.

This is the essence of the Gospel message. Love God, Love others. Love your brother, love a commie pinko, hug a hippy, share a meal with a stranger, live with less and give the rest away, worship God daily. This is the core of the message.

Do you know that you are the Gospel? You are the good news of Jesus Christ living in a sad world hungry for something more. Our lives open the Bible to thousands who will never crack the cover. To a hungry man, bread is good news. To a world that has never experienced unconditional love, your kindness is good news. You are the Gospel. You are the proof that Jesus rose from the dead 2000 years ago. Your life of loving service proves His divinity.

Go into all the world and love – even when it’s hard.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon # 3

Apparently no one is posting these days. Haha. Sorry for the absenteeism.

This is the sermon I preached last Thursday at Pilgrims. We had 36 people, some were sitting in the other room craning their necks to see into the worship room. When I began chopping up the scheduler (you'll get to that part) there were panicked gasps - which is exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

Luke 9:11-17 (New International Version)
11but the crowds learned about it and followed him. He welcomed them and spoke to them about the kingdom of God, and healed those who needed healing.
12Late in the afternoon the Twelve came to him and said, "Send the crowd away so they can go to the surrounding villages and countryside and find food and lodging, because we are in a remote place here."
13He replied, "You give them something to eat."
They answered, "We have only five loaves of bread and two fish—unless we go and buy food for all this crowd." 14(About five thousand men were there.)
But he said to his disciples, "Have them sit down in groups of about fifty each." 15The disciples did so, and everybody sat down.16Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke them. Then he gave them to the disciples to set before the people. 17They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over.


Today we share in the story of a familiar miracle. Huge crowds form to hang on every word of Jesus of Nazareth and Jesus is intent on feeding them.
With limited financial resources; the more pragmatic disciples fully realized that feeding a crowd this large would be impossible.

Feeding people is no easy task – and the larger the crowd the more difficult it is. While the people listen intently to the words of Jesus, their stomachs begin to grumble and something must happen. So when Jesus’ disciples are confronted with the task of feeding 5000 men along with their wives and children – they simply take the pragmatic approach and ask their teacher to send them away. “Let them go to the nearest villages and find dinner and a good place to sleep.”

But Jesus looks at the 12 men who had given up everything to follow Him – the 12 ordinary men who had left jobs, families, and friends to follow this Jesus of Nazareth – and He tells them, “You feed them.”

Get creative.

Figure it out.

This is your responsibility.

So the disciples start trying to figure out a way to solve this problem. They start figuring up just how much it will cost only to discover that it would take a whole year’s wage to feed this crowd.
And then a small child steps forward and opens up his lunchbox containing two fish and five loaves.
Sometimes pictures show two giant deep sea fish and five large batons of French bread. This was probably not the case. The meal provided was the daily lunch of a small boy – the scraps his mother had thrown together that morning to send him off with to hear this new teacher.

-Bring out two sardines and 5 rolls-

This is probably the meal brought to the attention of the disciples – this is probably the meal that they showed to Jesus. This laughable little snack was probably it.

Obviously a miracle would be needed for this small meal to feed such a large crowd – but a miracle had already happened.

God had performed the first miracle in the heart of the young boy. This young lad had decided that the needs of those around him were more important than his own. No small miracle, indeed.

Children are better at this than grownups. They’re better at not dismissing ideas. Adults are all too good at dismissing a new idea because, “we’ve never done it that way,” or “that’s just not how things work” or “my contribution is just too small.” With 5000 thousand men – some with their wives and children – do you really think that no one had thought to bring food? Others had food, but they quickly dismissed the idea of sharing:

I don’t have enough to make a difference
If I give up my food who will provide for me?
The others should have thought to bring some food.

But this little boy had a grand idea:
I could share my food with those around me!
There is this wonderful recklessness in the words and actions of this young boy.
This is the first miracle. A small boy shows reckless generosity.

Jesus takes this small offering and holds it up to heaven and thanks God for it. He has the people sit down into groups of 50 and has the disciples start passing out the food.

Ok … so 100 groups of 50 people – so I have to split this food up into 100 pieces. [Bring out cutting board and knife and start chopping.]

There is this wonderful recklessness in the actions of Jesus and the twelve. They all start passing out these meager portions with the full knowledge that God will take care of the rest. And God does.

The second miracle happens in the hearts of those sharing the meal. Men, women, and children start pulling out their own meager meals and begin to share with those around them. Inspired by the recklessness of this young boy and the faith of Jesus and the 12 they take the next step and decide to share.

And the third miracle is that God multiplies the food that has been offered up so that it is enough to feed the multitude and to have much left over.

This is just how things work in the Kingdom of God.
There is a problem.
Christians see a solution that others might think laughable.
The followers of Jesus give recklessly, the others are inspired and God takes care of the rest.

We are not a huge crowd. We are not hungry. We are well fed and not particularly poor. So how does this story apply to us?

Well, what are we short of? What do we need more of?

Time.

We don’t have enough time. We share panicked glances as we are asked to do “just one more thing.” As our course papers pile up and the threat of never-ending finals looms over our heads we find ourselves at a loss for time.

We as a community are gathered together, we hear the teachings of Jesus, but we quietly check the clock. We look at our wristwatches or cell phones to see how much time we have before our next activity. We realize that something must happen.
Today I wonder, who will be like the small boy? Who will step up with his or her calendar and say, “I don’t have much time, but it’s yours, God.” Who will give their meager portion to Jesus?

- Bring out scheduler –

Like the small boy, the first miracle we need is the courage to be reckless. Instead of selfishly holding on to every second, we must have the courage to recklessly offer our time to others. Call up a friend and drink some tea at the student center, spend an hour in the prayer corner, or spend some extra time cleaning around your house to improve things for your family or roommates.

The second miracle will happen in the lives of the others who are led by your example. If we give generously of our time and others see how much it reduces our stress, perhaps they will want to follow our lead. When we recklessly begin sharing our time with others, they will see the joy we find in this and will follow our lead.

- Begin cutting up scheduler –

And the third miracle will be when you begin to see your time multiplying. When we take a step back from our schedule, we might realize that if we organized our time better and planned more effectively that we have more time than we ever realized. As a group, we might see that we have baskets full of time left over.
We might, maybe, perhaps …. These things will only happen if we are wiling to follow the example of the young boy. These events are conditional, depending on our hearts and our actions.

This week I challenge you to step up with your small portion of time and offer it to God. You shouldn’t be surprised when God blesses your sacrifice by multiplying your time.

If you think you don't have enough time to do all things you need to do, remember this little snack and the 5,000 people it fed.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.