[So this sermon will kick off our Advent season at L'viv UMC. Our Advent season will be 7 weeks longs - so we had to get a little creative in planning. So, the first week will be watch. The first half of the sermon will be an interactive children's sermon and will involve all of the "staff" at the church. As we present each character of the story we will mention a verse from the Bible the foretells that character. The second half will be after the children leave for Sunday School. We're really making a push to try and get a few parents involved in the Sunday morning worship service. The kids will light the first Advent candle. Watch.]
Today is a special day because we are starting something new. What’s different about our altar table today? Do you notice anything different?
We have changed to purple to celebrate “advent.” Advent means “the coming” or the arrival. We also have these new candles. What’s written on the candles?
Would you help me light this candle.
[Advent Lighting section]
We light the candle today to remind us that we are watching for Jesus. We celebrate the fact that God told us ahead of time that Jesus would be coming.
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. I know you learned the story in Sunday School and at home. But I want you to know that even in the beginning – even from the first time that humans sinned – God had a plan.
So today I want us to look at a few of the other hints that God gave us about Jesus coming.
I’ve asked a few of our friends to introduce a few of the characters in the story.
Erika introduces Mary
David introduces Joseph
Lyubomir introduces shepherds
Michael introduces magi
Who is missing from this scene? Who do we still need?
That’s right – Jesus.
Shannon and Jesse introduce baby Jesus.
Thank you guys for helping us get ready for the coming of the king.
[Kids leave]
But we should look at the rest of this prophecy. Yes, we have read this correctly. This is about the coming Messiah. But, this scripture goes further – it is much deeper. This prophecy has only partially been completed. We are still waiting and working for the completion of this prophecy. Our hearts and lives must work toward peace.
Our gospel lesson for today speaks about the end times. Although thousands have tried to make predictions about when Jesus will return – the scriptures are quite clear that we don’t have a clue. The Jewish scholars had combed the Bible for hints at what the Messiah’s coming would look like. They thought that they understood. They assumed that a great military leader would come. This great military leader would guide them in battle.
But, as we know now, they didn’t get the great military leader they expected. They got a baby in a manger. Jesus of Nazareth, the Messiah they had waited for, was a simple carpenter and the son of God and he lived his whole life with the end pursuit of a painful death for the forgiveness of our sins. After hundreds and thousands of years of hearing and reading the prophecies of the coming Messiah – the Rabbis were quite certain they knew exactly what his coming would look like.
They were wrong. They had misunderstood.
In this season of advent we prepare for the coming Messiah. We watch the horizon for signs that Christmas is around the corner. As trees begin to pop up in store windows and decorations go on sale at Arsen, we watch for signs that God is still present in our lives. We prepare our hearts for the truth that God who was willing to come to earth in the form of a little baby is just as willing to come into our hearts. We watch the skies – knowing that we don’t know when the rest of the prophecy will be fulfilled. We watch our hearts and make sure that we are prepared for the coming of the King.
As a church we gather together each week and we celebrate the coming Messiah. We light one more candle each week to remind us that we are getting closer to Christmas. But it’s more than that. These candles help remind us that we are getting closer to the day when Christ will return for his people. We don’t know the day or the hour. But we live with these themes – we live every day to make our hearts and minds more ready for the day that Christ will come.
The Pharisees and Rabbis had studied the law and they missed the point. The prophecies about the coming Messiah were not given as a timeline or a blueprint. They were given to prepare the hearts of the Jewish people.
As we light each of these candles – as we get closer to Christmas – may these words be themes for our lives. May we seek to live in Hope, peace, joy, and Love. May we live together. May we repent of our sins.
May we watch the skies for the coming King, and may we watch our hearts that we are more ready every day.
Watch.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
I think the thing that scares me most is that "Christian" and "American" have become synonyms.
If you look at the economic policies of Jesus and the lives of most Americans you will quickly find the disconnect.
In small group we are studying the passage of the rich young ruler. The story is familiar and easily brushed aside. "Jesus doesn't really mean that we have to go and sell all of our possessions and give to the poor." We rationalize these verses away. We ignore this teaching because it is too much. It is overwhelming.
I believe that perhaps we should take theses verses more literally than we do. Or, at least we should stop pretending that we take the Bible at face value if we want to ignore these passages.
You can't claim to take the Bible literally and then dump these verses into the gutter.
Your retirement account is the forbidden fruit.
When we decide that these verses can't really be true - we make the decision that the plan God has for us (and our finances) is insufficient and that we can do better.
Your lake house is sin.
If you look at the economic policies of Jesus and the lives of most Americans you will quickly find the disconnect.
In small group we are studying the passage of the rich young ruler. The story is familiar and easily brushed aside. "Jesus doesn't really mean that we have to go and sell all of our possessions and give to the poor." We rationalize these verses away. We ignore this teaching because it is too much. It is overwhelming.
I believe that perhaps we should take theses verses more literally than we do. Or, at least we should stop pretending that we take the Bible at face value if we want to ignore these passages.
You can't claim to take the Bible literally and then dump these verses into the gutter.
Your retirement account is the forbidden fruit.
When we decide that these verses can't really be true - we make the decision that the plan God has for us (and our finances) is insufficient and that we can do better.
Your lake house is sin.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
I'm stopped on busy sidewalks at least once a week by a stranger. In hushed, always garbled, words he, always he, asks a question. This same cruel one-act performed in theatre after theatre in Russia. For the longest time I had no idea what the question was. My proper response was that I did not speak Russian, and I used that response long after it ceased to be true. Apparently I have a certain look about me. It seems that my look says, "I am a smoker and I have extra cigarettes/a light to lend."
Without fail I'm stopped by this question. I generally don't even listen to strangers - I just respond that I don't smoke. Perhaps the man asking for help with his income taxes is a little confused over my insistence that I simply do not smoke.
I've always felt that I look wildly out of place in this country. Certainly not in the same way as when I lived in Korea. Here in Ukraine very few men orbit their families to intercept any attack I might have planned - as was semi-common in Korea. But, people notice my presence.
At restaurants they apologetically slip me an English menu. At sporting events I clearly don't know either team. In elevator (I only use one elevator in this country) I must say "8th, please" and while I don't hear the mistake - there's apparently a doozy - everyone wheels around to stare at me. And on buses, they always finger me for a foreigner on the buses.
On buses I give exact change; still the driver wants to engage in conversation and ensure that I only want one ticket. In stores, after I fumble my way through a shopping list and stutter twice trying to remember how to say cherry before settling for peach which I can say quite fluently; the teller always expects exact change. She is often willing to fight me over this. "Oh, do you have 70 kopecks? Or one bill?"
Now - I'm the kind of person who picks his battles. If I were the teller, I certainly wouldn't fight a non-native speaker over a few coins. I don't fight for most things, really. Having to do everything in a foreign language really takes the bark out of me. When buses decide that my stop isn't good enough, I just ride to the next stop and get off there. When I don't get the meal I ordered, I just thank God that it's not squid anymore - as was always the case in Korea - and eat my meal.
Perhaps my clothes make me look less like a foreigner and more like a homeless man. Perhaps my jeans and sneaker combination doesn't say "American Pie" any more than it says "Dumpster Diver." My coat and scarf apparently announce that I am an odd breed of Ukrainian: I am the type that smokes and has enough money to carry several extra packs with him at all times.
"Brother, can you spare a cig?"
Without fail I'm stopped by this question. I generally don't even listen to strangers - I just respond that I don't smoke. Perhaps the man asking for help with his income taxes is a little confused over my insistence that I simply do not smoke.
I've always felt that I look wildly out of place in this country. Certainly not in the same way as when I lived in Korea. Here in Ukraine very few men orbit their families to intercept any attack I might have planned - as was semi-common in Korea. But, people notice my presence.
At restaurants they apologetically slip me an English menu. At sporting events I clearly don't know either team. In elevator (I only use one elevator in this country) I must say "8th, please" and while I don't hear the mistake - there's apparently a doozy - everyone wheels around to stare at me. And on buses, they always finger me for a foreigner on the buses.
On buses I give exact change; still the driver wants to engage in conversation and ensure that I only want one ticket. In stores, after I fumble my way through a shopping list and stutter twice trying to remember how to say cherry before settling for peach which I can say quite fluently; the teller always expects exact change. She is often willing to fight me over this. "Oh, do you have 70 kopecks? Or one bill?"
Now - I'm the kind of person who picks his battles. If I were the teller, I certainly wouldn't fight a non-native speaker over a few coins. I don't fight for most things, really. Having to do everything in a foreign language really takes the bark out of me. When buses decide that my stop isn't good enough, I just ride to the next stop and get off there. When I don't get the meal I ordered, I just thank God that it's not squid anymore - as was always the case in Korea - and eat my meal.
Perhaps my clothes make me look less like a foreigner and more like a homeless man. Perhaps my jeans and sneaker combination doesn't say "American Pie" any more than it says "Dumpster Diver." My coat and scarf apparently announce that I am an odd breed of Ukrainian: I am the type that smokes and has enough money to carry several extra packs with him at all times.
"Brother, can you spare a cig?"
Friday, November 05, 2010
Conversation
I still feel quite strongly that Mara should write a play. She's my theatre critic friend from Riga, Latvia. She's immensely talented, and I can't help but feel that one of her plays will take the world by storm.
We had quite a long conversation once in which I encouraged her to write a play. She said that she felt it was very difficult. "Writing a play is like starting a conversation with a stranger. Except there are 150 strangers and only one conversation."
See! With lines like these in ordinary speech (in her second language!) don't you just long for opening night?
I feel that Mara hit the nail on the head when it comes to all forms of writing. Whether writing a book, a play, a sermon, or a blogpost; the point is to start a conversation with strangers."
I'm genuinely terrified of this prospect. Once I had to stand outside and pass out flyers for an English club I was starting. I was by myself, and I might as well have been dressed in only my underwear. I studdered and stammered. I blushed with every word. I passed out almost one hundred flyers. I started zero conversations and zero people came to the English club.
I envy people who can sit down next to a stranger and start a conversation. My roomate seems to have a date with a different girl every night. He has always met her "on the bus." Now, generally speaking, when I ride the bus I just hold on for dear life and try not to miss my stop or die. I don't really know how he has the time or the cognitive ability to meet new people on any bus here.
I feel that writers must be the most self-absorbed people in the world. I mean, even now I'm typing up my thoughts on writing and I expect people to read it. How selfish is that? I expect people to gloss over the typing and punctuation errors and to find meaning in the words I write. I get disappointed when I realize that someone hasn't been reading my blog who I think should be! How silly is that?
Maybe writing is easier because you don't have to deal with the immediate feedback of the stranger's facial expressions. Maybe that makes it harder.
So, I hope that if we met on a bench or in a crowded city-bus that you wouldn't judge me for my words or think me selfish and vain for feeling that my interuption would be more interesting than your own thoughts.
We had quite a long conversation once in which I encouraged her to write a play. She said that she felt it was very difficult. "Writing a play is like starting a conversation with a stranger. Except there are 150 strangers and only one conversation."
See! With lines like these in ordinary speech (in her second language!) don't you just long for opening night?
I feel that Mara hit the nail on the head when it comes to all forms of writing. Whether writing a book, a play, a sermon, or a blogpost; the point is to start a conversation with strangers."
I'm genuinely terrified of this prospect. Once I had to stand outside and pass out flyers for an English club I was starting. I was by myself, and I might as well have been dressed in only my underwear. I studdered and stammered. I blushed with every word. I passed out almost one hundred flyers. I started zero conversations and zero people came to the English club.
I envy people who can sit down next to a stranger and start a conversation. My roomate seems to have a date with a different girl every night. He has always met her "on the bus." Now, generally speaking, when I ride the bus I just hold on for dear life and try not to miss my stop or die. I don't really know how he has the time or the cognitive ability to meet new people on any bus here.
I feel that writers must be the most self-absorbed people in the world. I mean, even now I'm typing up my thoughts on writing and I expect people to read it. How selfish is that? I expect people to gloss over the typing and punctuation errors and to find meaning in the words I write. I get disappointed when I realize that someone hasn't been reading my blog who I think should be! How silly is that?
Maybe writing is easier because you don't have to deal with the immediate feedback of the stranger's facial expressions. Maybe that makes it harder.
So, I hope that if we met on a bench or in a crowded city-bus that you wouldn't judge me for my words or think me selfish and vain for feeling that my interuption would be more interesting than your own thoughts.
Thursday, November 04, 2010
Share.
This is the third and final sermon in a three part sermon series [They have seen a great light...] I look forward to preaching this sermon.
Sermon Acts 8:25-40
When I first began to read the Bible my usual method was to throw open the Bible to a random page and to begin reading. My first understanding of God was through the life of Esther. The first thing I learned as a nine year old Bible reader is that God calls us to do scary things to protect His people.
Today's Bible story was also one of the first few stories I read from the Bible. This is an appropriate story because it seems that the Ethiopian eunuch had also opened the Bible at random; this is a bad beginner story for a nine year old because I didn't know what a eunuch was. In fact, I read this story dozens of times before finding out what a eunuch was.
Ethiopia was ruled by a very beautiful queen. Candace was known throughout the world for her beauty, grace, and political savvy. Those who wanted Candace in power wanted to make sure that no one got frisky with the queen. The men who were appointed to her cabinet were castrated to ensure that no hanky panky could happen.
In Europe this still occured 150 years ago. Young boys with beautiful singing voices became castratos through surgery so that they could keep their beautiful child-like voices forever.
When people met the Ethiopian official it was immediately obvious that something was wrong.
Now, this government official was different than the politicians we know. I mean, he probably stole a lot of money from the people - because he was very wealthy. No, he was different because he was searching for something more. He was't happy with the tribal gods and the religion of his people. Through his economic work he had encountered Jews and liked the things they believed. He was wealthy and invested time and money in understanding their religion.
He was known as a "God fearer.". He wasn't a Jew, but he knew, and understood the Jewish religion and had a great respect for their God. So he made the long journey to Jerusalem to learn more about this God.
Well, it turns out that this was a huge mistake. After months of traveling he arrives at the Temple and is swiftly turned away.
Eunuchs aren't allowed in the temple! They're freaks!
He is humiliated and rejected, but still questioning. He buys very pricey scrolls and commits to studying the scriptures.
And on his way home he crosses paths with Phillip. This Jewish follower of Jesus is willing to sit up in the chariot with the Eunuch. The man shares his frustrations and cares with Phillip and throws open the scripture scrolls. He points to his new life verse - the verse that sums up why he isn't allowed in the temple - the place where Isaiah describes him.
But Phillip sees it differently and immediately begins sharing with him whom this verse is REALLY about.
Most of us will never have a burning bush moment. We will not be carried to heaven in a chariot of fire. We will probably not see Jesus in all of His glory, lighting up the night. No. Our lives will most likely be much more like that of the Ethiopian official. Rejected, alone, not good enough for the cool crowd - we will find God on a dusty road with only a puddle for our baptism. But don't be confused: this story is still on topic. This is a story of incredible light. The darkness of simply not being good enough is lifted when Jesus Christ enters his life. He had been refused even admittance to the temple, but Jesus wanted HIM to be the temple. God wanted to live in the broken, desecrated body of a second class citizen.
This shell of a man - when filled up with the light of the risen Christ - was able to convert an entire nation! This is a story of a great light indeed!
This is a story of "ALL." The Jewish faith had many rules and regulations about who could worship and where people could worship and who was fit to know God and how that person could know God. With the death and resurrection of Jesus, we find ourselves in a situation of ALL. All may worship God, anywhere they wish. All may know God.
Because, if anyone would be excluded from anything it would be this man. He was black, and a eunuch - a foreigner in every sense of the word. The Hebrew scriptures were quite clear that he could not worship God in the temple. He wasn't welcome.
With Jesus Christ, that changed. Absolutely.
Sometimes we forget the lesson of all. I want you to look around for a second at the other Pilgrims in this room. I want you to look at yourself and then look at those around you. I want you to notice how much we all look alike. We all share a skin color, a country, and a language.
35% of people in Ukraine smoke cigarettes. When you look at people our age, the number is much higher. Ukraine is ranked third in the world for the most cigarettes sold per person. But look around this room. Do any of us smoke cigarettes? If you do, you're doing a good job hiding it from Shannon! In a country where half of the young people smoke cigarettes - half of the people in this room should be smokers or former smokers.
We are only comfortable with other people who look, act, and speak like us. And this is wrong. This is a terrible thing. We have fallen into the trap that the Jewish pharisees had built. We have forgotten the lesson of All.
Every day we see and interact with people from other countries and cultures. We have medical students from Africa - many of whom are Christians and would LOVE to join a community of other Christ followers who speak some English. We have Korean students, 60% of whom are devout Christians and most of them need to understand that Catholics and Protestants can work together.
We see people every day who have tattoos and piercings, strange hair or odd make-up. We encounter goths, and emos, and gays, and punks, and we walk beside hundreds of young people who don't know that God loves them. Every day you sit in classes with people who feel that no one loves them.
We must celebrate the lesson of all. All are welcome here. We must never be afraid to welcome the stranger, the lost, the hurting into this space. We must have the courage to share the good news of Jesus Christ with people who look nothing like us.
If you're scared, take David or Shannon or me along with you. We won't talk for you - but we will stand beside you and we will be brave with you.
With Moses we spoke of the great light of the Burning Bush. With Jesus we spoke of the transfiguration. But in this story, we don't see a flame or a flashlight. It seems to not fit the theme. But I tell you this day, dear friends, if we are willing to move beyond our circle of friends. If we are willing to share the good news of Jesus Christ with those who are different than us. If we are willing to follow God's leading and share God's good news with this hurting world ; I guarantee to you that the world will see a great light.
They will see a light so great - and it will come from me and you. It will come from God living and working in our hearts and it will go out to all the nations. So that all may see.
They will see a great light.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Sermon Acts 8:25-40
When I first began to read the Bible my usual method was to throw open the Bible to a random page and to begin reading. My first understanding of God was through the life of Esther. The first thing I learned as a nine year old Bible reader is that God calls us to do scary things to protect His people.
Today's Bible story was also one of the first few stories I read from the Bible. This is an appropriate story because it seems that the Ethiopian eunuch had also opened the Bible at random; this is a bad beginner story for a nine year old because I didn't know what a eunuch was. In fact, I read this story dozens of times before finding out what a eunuch was.
Ethiopia was ruled by a very beautiful queen. Candace was known throughout the world for her beauty, grace, and political savvy. Those who wanted Candace in power wanted to make sure that no one got frisky with the queen. The men who were appointed to her cabinet were castrated to ensure that no hanky panky could happen.
In Europe this still occured 150 years ago. Young boys with beautiful singing voices became castratos through surgery so that they could keep their beautiful child-like voices forever.
When people met the Ethiopian official it was immediately obvious that something was wrong.
Now, this government official was different than the politicians we know. I mean, he probably stole a lot of money from the people - because he was very wealthy. No, he was different because he was searching for something more. He was't happy with the tribal gods and the religion of his people. Through his economic work he had encountered Jews and liked the things they believed. He was wealthy and invested time and money in understanding their religion.
He was known as a "God fearer.". He wasn't a Jew, but he knew, and understood the Jewish religion and had a great respect for their God. So he made the long journey to Jerusalem to learn more about this God.
Well, it turns out that this was a huge mistake. After months of traveling he arrives at the Temple and is swiftly turned away.
Eunuchs aren't allowed in the temple! They're freaks!
He is humiliated and rejected, but still questioning. He buys very pricey scrolls and commits to studying the scriptures.
And on his way home he crosses paths with Phillip. This Jewish follower of Jesus is willing to sit up in the chariot with the Eunuch. The man shares his frustrations and cares with Phillip and throws open the scripture scrolls. He points to his new life verse - the verse that sums up why he isn't allowed in the temple - the place where Isaiah describes him.
But Phillip sees it differently and immediately begins sharing with him whom this verse is REALLY about.
Most of us will never have a burning bush moment. We will not be carried to heaven in a chariot of fire. We will probably not see Jesus in all of His glory, lighting up the night. No. Our lives will most likely be much more like that of the Ethiopian official. Rejected, alone, not good enough for the cool crowd - we will find God on a dusty road with only a puddle for our baptism. But don't be confused: this story is still on topic. This is a story of incredible light. The darkness of simply not being good enough is lifted when Jesus Christ enters his life. He had been refused even admittance to the temple, but Jesus wanted HIM to be the temple. God wanted to live in the broken, desecrated body of a second class citizen.
This shell of a man - when filled up with the light of the risen Christ - was able to convert an entire nation! This is a story of a great light indeed!
This is a story of "ALL." The Jewish faith had many rules and regulations about who could worship and where people could worship and who was fit to know God and how that person could know God. With the death and resurrection of Jesus, we find ourselves in a situation of ALL. All may worship God, anywhere they wish. All may know God.
Because, if anyone would be excluded from anything it would be this man. He was black, and a eunuch - a foreigner in every sense of the word. The Hebrew scriptures were quite clear that he could not worship God in the temple. He wasn't welcome.
With Jesus Christ, that changed. Absolutely.
Sometimes we forget the lesson of all. I want you to look around for a second at the other Pilgrims in this room. I want you to look at yourself and then look at those around you. I want you to notice how much we all look alike. We all share a skin color, a country, and a language.
35% of people in Ukraine smoke cigarettes. When you look at people our age, the number is much higher. Ukraine is ranked third in the world for the most cigarettes sold per person. But look around this room. Do any of us smoke cigarettes? If you do, you're doing a good job hiding it from Shannon! In a country where half of the young people smoke cigarettes - half of the people in this room should be smokers or former smokers.
We are only comfortable with other people who look, act, and speak like us. And this is wrong. This is a terrible thing. We have fallen into the trap that the Jewish pharisees had built. We have forgotten the lesson of All.
Every day we see and interact with people from other countries and cultures. We have medical students from Africa - many of whom are Christians and would LOVE to join a community of other Christ followers who speak some English. We have Korean students, 60% of whom are devout Christians and most of them need to understand that Catholics and Protestants can work together.
We see people every day who have tattoos and piercings, strange hair or odd make-up. We encounter goths, and emos, and gays, and punks, and we walk beside hundreds of young people who don't know that God loves them. Every day you sit in classes with people who feel that no one loves them.
We must celebrate the lesson of all. All are welcome here. We must never be afraid to welcome the stranger, the lost, the hurting into this space. We must have the courage to share the good news of Jesus Christ with people who look nothing like us.
If you're scared, take David or Shannon or me along with you. We won't talk for you - but we will stand beside you and we will be brave with you.
With Moses we spoke of the great light of the Burning Bush. With Jesus we spoke of the transfiguration. But in this story, we don't see a flame or a flashlight. It seems to not fit the theme. But I tell you this day, dear friends, if we are willing to move beyond our circle of friends. If we are willing to share the good news of Jesus Christ with those who are different than us. If we are willing to follow God's leading and share God's good news with this hurting world ; I guarantee to you that the world will see a great light.
They will see a light so great - and it will come from me and you. It will come from God living and working in our hearts and it will go out to all the nations. So that all may see.
They will see a great light.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Some thoughts on improving our political process:
1. The standard answer to election pollsters should be, "Sorry, not interested." This way polls would be considered even more inaccurate and people would pay less attention to them.
2. Election night exit polling should be outlawed. Maybe if they actually counted the votes before calling a winner people would feel more like their vote was actually counted.
3. Every embassy on foreign soil should be a polling station. You could easily count all of the votes and e-mail the figures to each state by election night.
4. For every dollar spent on a campaign, politicians should be encouraged to give a dollar to charity (and simply frowned upon for not doing so). For instance, maybe the world would be a better place if Meg Whitman had spent 70 million on her campaign and given 70 million to a charity. She could have purchased 7 million bed-nets to help end malaria. To put that into perspective, almost every person in Rwanda could be sleeping under a Malaria stifling bed-net right now and avoiding the leading cause of death in their country if just half of her personal contribution to the campaign had gone to that charity.
5. Reform campaign finance laws to only allow a small window for fundraising. Give politicians (and special interest groups) one month out of every year to make their fundraising pitches - and give the public plenty of time after that fundraising month to absorb the news of who is funding whom.
1. The standard answer to election pollsters should be, "Sorry, not interested." This way polls would be considered even more inaccurate and people would pay less attention to them.
2. Election night exit polling should be outlawed. Maybe if they actually counted the votes before calling a winner people would feel more like their vote was actually counted.
3. Every embassy on foreign soil should be a polling station. You could easily count all of the votes and e-mail the figures to each state by election night.
4. For every dollar spent on a campaign, politicians should be encouraged to give a dollar to charity (and simply frowned upon for not doing so). For instance, maybe the world would be a better place if Meg Whitman had spent 70 million on her campaign and given 70 million to a charity. She could have purchased 7 million bed-nets to help end malaria. To put that into perspective, almost every person in Rwanda could be sleeping under a Malaria stifling bed-net right now and avoiding the leading cause of death in their country if just half of her personal contribution to the campaign had gone to that charity.
5. Reform campaign finance laws to only allow a small window for fundraising. Give politicians (and special interest groups) one month out of every year to make their fundraising pitches - and give the public plenty of time after that fundraising month to absorb the news of who is funding whom.
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
Creativity
I think that creative is the word of the day.
This period of my life seems to be filled with highly creative people.
I live with 3 Ukrainian artists. We all have permission to just create as we feel led.
A lot of our guests leave a traditional gift of a bottle of vodka. Since none of us really feel like drinking hard liquor on any regular basis I began filling bottles of vodka with fruits. Vodka preserves anything forever, and will absorb the taste slowly over a couple of weeks.
I have a bottles of pear, apple, and raspberry flavored vodka sitting on the top shelf in the kitchen. While I was on vacation another addition made it's way up to the shelf. A cigarette stub flavored vodka. Soon small pebble vodka joined the others.
One of our walls is covered in newspapers. It felt like the right thing to do. In the same way that if felt right to have an impromptu photo session one night. We host about a dozen people each week. All for free. It's for the experience, the insight, the education, (and for my hopelessly romantic roommate it's also for the possibility of love) and the atmosphere. Having a dozen different voices weigh in on matters great and small creates an aroma or congeniality that can't be compared.
And tonight, after our first English Club open mic night, I sat in the main room of the Youth to Jesus student center and I was overwhelmed by the amount of creativity that surrounds me.
I don't attract the most serious students. They can pay big money and have a teacher list grammar rules at them for an hour. I attract an odd subset of Ukrainians. 25-30 students show up each week. They are artsy and fun - lively and vivacious. They want to learn English, but I think that more than that they crave some type of community.
The students played their instruments in every corner of the great room. Their almost prodigious talent was a little bit overwhelming. Fingers flew on the keys of the piano and hands strummed guitars. A boy picked up the bow of a violin for the first time and had a good number of notes under his belt in a few minutes. The flautist and the pianist began arranging duets.
I'm starting to wonder how I can capture this energy and use it for good.
I guess I need to get a little creative.
This period of my life seems to be filled with highly creative people.
I live with 3 Ukrainian artists. We all have permission to just create as we feel led.
A lot of our guests leave a traditional gift of a bottle of vodka. Since none of us really feel like drinking hard liquor on any regular basis I began filling bottles of vodka with fruits. Vodka preserves anything forever, and will absorb the taste slowly over a couple of weeks.
I have a bottles of pear, apple, and raspberry flavored vodka sitting on the top shelf in the kitchen. While I was on vacation another addition made it's way up to the shelf. A cigarette stub flavored vodka. Soon small pebble vodka joined the others.
One of our walls is covered in newspapers. It felt like the right thing to do. In the same way that if felt right to have an impromptu photo session one night. We host about a dozen people each week. All for free. It's for the experience, the insight, the education, (and for my hopelessly romantic roommate it's also for the possibility of love) and the atmosphere. Having a dozen different voices weigh in on matters great and small creates an aroma or congeniality that can't be compared.
And tonight, after our first English Club open mic night, I sat in the main room of the Youth to Jesus student center and I was overwhelmed by the amount of creativity that surrounds me.
I don't attract the most serious students. They can pay big money and have a teacher list grammar rules at them for an hour. I attract an odd subset of Ukrainians. 25-30 students show up each week. They are artsy and fun - lively and vivacious. They want to learn English, but I think that more than that they crave some type of community.
The students played their instruments in every corner of the great room. Their almost prodigious talent was a little bit overwhelming. Fingers flew on the keys of the piano and hands strummed guitars. A boy picked up the bow of a violin for the first time and had a good number of notes under his belt in a few minutes. The flautist and the pianist began arranging duets.
I'm starting to wonder how I can capture this energy and use it for good.
I guess I need to get a little creative.
Monday, November 01, 2010
Jesse
Jesse and his "Uncle" Michael. He's a cow, I'm a fencer. What - your farm doesn't have fencers?
Change.
Last week we talked about seeing and understanding God. This week we are going to talk about the change that God shows in our lives.
My friend Lena grew up in a communist home. There was no mention of religion at home as her parents were party members. Her grandmother was a Christian, but she was a very strict and severe woman. Once Lena stole an egg before Easter and her grandmother told her that God would cut off her ear for her sin. Lena was terrified of this God - and she slept with her hand over her ear even until she was an adult. When she was a teenager her grandfather told her a story about a warrior.
A long time ago, a strong Ukrainian warrior was leading his people; his soldiers and their wives and children. He was leading a group of several thousand people through a very thick forest to a village where they would be safe. They had been traveling for many days and all of their food, water, and torches were gone. They had nothing left to light and it was getting dark. The warrior knew that they were very close to the new village where he was taking his people. But, after a very long journey the people were losing confidence in their leader. It grew dark in the forest. The forest grew wild with strange noises and the people became terrified.
They were in the dark. They were scared. And they didn't know if they wanted to keep following the warrior.
But this warrior loved his people very much. He knew that once they got to the new village they would be safe forever. So the warrior took one last heroic breath and dug his hand into his chest. He ripped out his heart and he lit it on fire. He held it up as a final torch for his people. He walked with his people the final steps into their new village. And as the people began to celebrate the arrival of their new home the brave warrior collapsed and died.
Lena decided that if she ever encountered such a warrior she would follow him anywhere. As an adult she began to read the Bible. As she read the story of Jesus she couldn't stop thinking about this story. She realized that she had found the great warrior. She understood that the God who cuts off the ears of thieving children wasn't real ... but that the God who is willing to die for his people - that God is real.
She had finally seen God for who he really was. She had seen the transfiguration.
[Read Matthew 17:1-8]
This is a story of change.
Jesus goes up on the mountain, just like any other day and takes a few of his disciples with him.
And on the mountain that day they saw Jesus Christ for who he really is. They saw the glory of God surround him. We typically think that on that mountain Jesus transformed from simple old Jesus of Nazareth into something much greater. But this is a wrong understanding. Jesus had always been this way. Jesus had always glowed with the glory of God. Jesus had always been the great warrior with his heart on fire. On the mountain that day, with Moses and Elijah, the disciples saw Jesus for who he really was.
The real transfiguration took place 30 years before in a simple stable in Bethlehem. Humanity was changed forever when a tiny baby was born in a manger. At the transfiguration the disciples finally see the truth - that the baby born in Bethlehem was God.
Sometimes people need to see a story of change. They need to see OUR story of change.
The transfiguration is a model for us. Sometimes people need to see that God really lives inside of us.
The world needs to see a transfiguration - and they need to see it from us.
People need to see a radical change. So how do we show people the change that God has accomplished in our lives?
I'm going to offer two ideas to show the transformation in your heart.
Forgive those who have hurt you.
Ask forgiveness of those who have hurt you.
When we forgive others, people see the radical transformation God has accomplished in our lives. When we apologize to others for the times we have hurt them people will see that our lives are changed.
One of my personal heroes is Corrie ten Boom. Corrie was a very ordinary dutch citizen. While she had been in love many times, she never married and in her forties she was considered an old maid. Her family was deeply religious and in the 1930s they had opened their house to many poor people who needed a warm meal. When Holland was captured by the Nazis, Jews began disappearing. Soon Corrie's family was wrapped up in the resistance movement. They were hiding Jews in their house and helping Jewish families escape to other countries.
One night the Nazi's caught on to their plan and showed up to search their house. Corrie in her forties, her sister Betsie, also single and in her forties, and their father - and old man in his 70s - were arrested for hiding Jews.
When the guards processed them, they looked at the father and one guard said, "You're an old man. If we let you go home, you'll behave yourself - won't you?" To which Mr. ten Boom said, "If you let me go today, I will open my home to anyone who needs it tomorrow." He died in prison a few days later.
Over the next few months Corrie and her sister endured unimaginable horror. They were shipped from one concentration camp to another. Ravensbruck was the worst of all. And one guard there was worse than any other guard. One time Betsie fell over while working in the fields. This despicable guard raised his whip and slashed a fifty year old woman across the face.
Betsie died shortly after.
Corrie survived to the end of the war. She decided that she should tell her story. She was a strong Christian and she wanted people to know that God was with her and her family - even in the darkness of the concentration camps. She preached a message of forgiveness. She showed radical love.
One day after she finished up a sermon on forgiveness a man approached her. He said, "The forgiveness of God is a truly wonderful thing." She looked into his eyes and instantly recognized the SS guard who had been feared most at Ravensbruck. She immediately knew that it was the man who had slashed Betsie's face. She shook his hand - and in her heart she forgave him - and said, "Yes. It truly is wonderful."
The world needs to see a transfiguration. They need to see that God lives within us.
Now, the point of this story is the forgiveness. Don't think for a minute that your forgiveness won't be as powerful just because you haven't faced major obstacles like Corrie ten Boom. When you forgive others and ask for their forgiveness it will be a powerful moment for you and for them.
It doesn't have to be a huge transgression for forgiveness to be powerful. It's still hard to forgive roomates who eat our food and friends who leave us out of their plans. Forgiving them is equally powerful.
A few weeks ago the students of L'viv protested in the streets. Now David and Shannon and I all agreed that if we had an opportunity that we would join you in protest. We support you and agree that some of the new policies are unfair to students. So, I found myself marching in the streets with Ukrainian University students.
We marched through the streets to protest unfair policy. We chanted "Glory to Ukraine" and "Glory to the heroes." And I was on board. Then a voice from the back shouted out "death to our enemies."
"Death to our enemies."
What if we marched through the streets chanting, "Forgiveness to our enemies."?
"Love to our enemies."
If you want to see a transformation - real change in this world - then take to the streets. Let your enemies know that they are forgiven. Ask for their forgiveness - but don't expect or demand it.
This might be the hardest thing you'll ever do. But, it will be worth more than you can ever imagine.
We take as our example Jesus - who showed taht he was fully God - and yet willingly died for our sins ... and forgave those who killed him. Look to Corrie ten Boom who forgave the cruelest man in a cruel system that killed her family. Look into your heart and search out the forgiveness that you need to share and ask for.
If you look deep within yourself - you'll find that God is there.
And God is ready to show the world a transfiguration.
And God is ready to use you to do it.
During our prayer time - if there is someone in this room who has hurt you, or whom you have hurt - I urge you to reach out to him or her and pray together. Forgive one another.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
My friend Lena grew up in a communist home. There was no mention of religion at home as her parents were party members. Her grandmother was a Christian, but she was a very strict and severe woman. Once Lena stole an egg before Easter and her grandmother told her that God would cut off her ear for her sin. Lena was terrified of this God - and she slept with her hand over her ear even until she was an adult. When she was a teenager her grandfather told her a story about a warrior.
A long time ago, a strong Ukrainian warrior was leading his people; his soldiers and their wives and children. He was leading a group of several thousand people through a very thick forest to a village where they would be safe. They had been traveling for many days and all of their food, water, and torches were gone. They had nothing left to light and it was getting dark. The warrior knew that they were very close to the new village where he was taking his people. But, after a very long journey the people were losing confidence in their leader. It grew dark in the forest. The forest grew wild with strange noises and the people became terrified.
They were in the dark. They were scared. And they didn't know if they wanted to keep following the warrior.
But this warrior loved his people very much. He knew that once they got to the new village they would be safe forever. So the warrior took one last heroic breath and dug his hand into his chest. He ripped out his heart and he lit it on fire. He held it up as a final torch for his people. He walked with his people the final steps into their new village. And as the people began to celebrate the arrival of their new home the brave warrior collapsed and died.
Lena decided that if she ever encountered such a warrior she would follow him anywhere. As an adult she began to read the Bible. As she read the story of Jesus she couldn't stop thinking about this story. She realized that she had found the great warrior. She understood that the God who cuts off the ears of thieving children wasn't real ... but that the God who is willing to die for his people - that God is real.
She had finally seen God for who he really was. She had seen the transfiguration.
[Read Matthew 17:1-8]
This is a story of change.
Jesus goes up on the mountain, just like any other day and takes a few of his disciples with him.
And on the mountain that day they saw Jesus Christ for who he really is. They saw the glory of God surround him. We typically think that on that mountain Jesus transformed from simple old Jesus of Nazareth into something much greater. But this is a wrong understanding. Jesus had always been this way. Jesus had always glowed with the glory of God. Jesus had always been the great warrior with his heart on fire. On the mountain that day, with Moses and Elijah, the disciples saw Jesus for who he really was.
The real transfiguration took place 30 years before in a simple stable in Bethlehem. Humanity was changed forever when a tiny baby was born in a manger. At the transfiguration the disciples finally see the truth - that the baby born in Bethlehem was God.
Sometimes people need to see a story of change. They need to see OUR story of change.
The transfiguration is a model for us. Sometimes people need to see that God really lives inside of us.
The world needs to see a transfiguration - and they need to see it from us.
People need to see a radical change. So how do we show people the change that God has accomplished in our lives?
I'm going to offer two ideas to show the transformation in your heart.
Forgive those who have hurt you.
Ask forgiveness of those who have hurt you.
When we forgive others, people see the radical transformation God has accomplished in our lives. When we apologize to others for the times we have hurt them people will see that our lives are changed.
One of my personal heroes is Corrie ten Boom. Corrie was a very ordinary dutch citizen. While she had been in love many times, she never married and in her forties she was considered an old maid. Her family was deeply religious and in the 1930s they had opened their house to many poor people who needed a warm meal. When Holland was captured by the Nazis, Jews began disappearing. Soon Corrie's family was wrapped up in the resistance movement. They were hiding Jews in their house and helping Jewish families escape to other countries.
One night the Nazi's caught on to their plan and showed up to search their house. Corrie in her forties, her sister Betsie, also single and in her forties, and their father - and old man in his 70s - were arrested for hiding Jews.
When the guards processed them, they looked at the father and one guard said, "You're an old man. If we let you go home, you'll behave yourself - won't you?" To which Mr. ten Boom said, "If you let me go today, I will open my home to anyone who needs it tomorrow." He died in prison a few days later.
Over the next few months Corrie and her sister endured unimaginable horror. They were shipped from one concentration camp to another. Ravensbruck was the worst of all. And one guard there was worse than any other guard. One time Betsie fell over while working in the fields. This despicable guard raised his whip and slashed a fifty year old woman across the face.
Betsie died shortly after.
Corrie survived to the end of the war. She decided that she should tell her story. She was a strong Christian and she wanted people to know that God was with her and her family - even in the darkness of the concentration camps. She preached a message of forgiveness. She showed radical love.
One day after she finished up a sermon on forgiveness a man approached her. He said, "The forgiveness of God is a truly wonderful thing." She looked into his eyes and instantly recognized the SS guard who had been feared most at Ravensbruck. She immediately knew that it was the man who had slashed Betsie's face. She shook his hand - and in her heart she forgave him - and said, "Yes. It truly is wonderful."
The world needs to see a transfiguration. They need to see that God lives within us.
Now, the point of this story is the forgiveness. Don't think for a minute that your forgiveness won't be as powerful just because you haven't faced major obstacles like Corrie ten Boom. When you forgive others and ask for their forgiveness it will be a powerful moment for you and for them.
It doesn't have to be a huge transgression for forgiveness to be powerful. It's still hard to forgive roomates who eat our food and friends who leave us out of their plans. Forgiving them is equally powerful.
A few weeks ago the students of L'viv protested in the streets. Now David and Shannon and I all agreed that if we had an opportunity that we would join you in protest. We support you and agree that some of the new policies are unfair to students. So, I found myself marching in the streets with Ukrainian University students.
We marched through the streets to protest unfair policy. We chanted "Glory to Ukraine" and "Glory to the heroes." And I was on board. Then a voice from the back shouted out "death to our enemies."
"Death to our enemies."
What if we marched through the streets chanting, "Forgiveness to our enemies."?
"Love to our enemies."
If you want to see a transformation - real change in this world - then take to the streets. Let your enemies know that they are forgiven. Ask for their forgiveness - but don't expect or demand it.
This might be the hardest thing you'll ever do. But, it will be worth more than you can ever imagine.
We take as our example Jesus - who showed taht he was fully God - and yet willingly died for our sins ... and forgave those who killed him. Look to Corrie ten Boom who forgave the cruelest man in a cruel system that killed her family. Look into your heart and search out the forgiveness that you need to share and ask for.
If you look deep within yourself - you'll find that God is there.
And God is ready to show the world a transfiguration.
And God is ready to use you to do it.
During our prayer time - if there is someone in this room who has hurt you, or whom you have hurt - I urge you to reach out to him or her and pray together. Forgive one another.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Photos of my life
Sadly, we're past this weather now. This is the park in front of the University. It's beautiful and very peaceful.
This is me preaching the sermon where I talked about flashlight tag. The last few minutes were lit by only this flashlight.
Same sermon, different part. I really love this picture for a number of reasons.
Friday, October 22, 2010
The hale slaps against the window pane, and my heart feels the pain as it hails the final days on autumn.
I´m never really certain how to spell things. Homonyms make my head go a little dizzy; knowing that a roomful of eager English students (some of whom are named Igor) are depending upon my loose knowledge of the English language makes my heart thud a little bit louder.
I hate self-identifying as an "English teacher." The words roll off my tongue like a Tianimen square tank. Sometimes, however, they are a bit easier on the palate than explaining my status as a volunteer, religious-worker, not a Mormon, interconfessional -you know all denominations (not Jews), and eventually winding back to ... I´m an English Teacher. It´s really a terrible thing for the teacher to be the least passionate one in the room. I love my students, I enjoy the way I´ve structured the classes, but I just don´t care for the subject.
There´s something that smacks of colonialism in using English as outreach. I mean, we´re not forcing English on anyone; just helping people who would like to know it better to improve their jobs or their lives. But, still, somewhere deep inside I have a sense that 50-year old me will be discontent with the actions of 20-year old me.
When I sat in classes I could easily define mission, missions, and missionaries. Now, I´m not so certain. I live overseas. I plant churches. I travel on crowded busses and have great stories that involve food you wouldn´t touch. But, really, which of those things makes me a missionary?
The girl with an impossibly Latvian name (Gida, Gudi, Gita, Guta ... I´m a little hazy on the details) asks me what separates the United Methodist church from other denominations. After explaining the historicity of my beloved denomination she repeats her question. I love the United Methodist church, but explaining that bit of trivia would probably not have answered her question either.
I would like to explain that we have Open hearts, Open minds, and Open doors - but I´m afraid that she might have had contact with one and would know that this simply isn´t true (that very day, I tried to visit a United Methodist church in Riga and it certainly didn´t have open doors!).
I tried to explain our social justice ministries - but I know that my local United Methodist church does none of those things. I wish I could have explained our obvious political stances and the good we had done in government; but I could think of no examples. Even on cut-and-dry issues we are not of one mind.
I didn´t give a convincing answer to that girl. At 3 O´clock that morning I woke up with the realization that I´m what´s special about the United Methodist church.
We are no greater than our people. We serve and make disciples no more effectively than our people. Like zebras, we can run no faster than the slowest member of our herd. The heart of our denomination is only as open as the hearts of the 11 million United Methodists around the world. The same for our minds and the same for the doors of the thousands of United Methodist churches.
We need a revival. We need to be reminded why we are United Methodists. We need to earn the lofty slogans we slap on our buildings.
And as the hale melts away, I am reminded that winter will be over soon enough. My English classes will create good memories and might help to make a few new disciples. Perhaps a few of those disciples will go on to become United Methodists and maybe a few of them will rise above the din and clatter and will lead revival.
Perhaps they will know how to answer the questions that come their way better than I. Perhaps people won´t even need to ask such questions.
I´m never really certain how to spell things. Homonyms make my head go a little dizzy; knowing that a roomful of eager English students (some of whom are named Igor) are depending upon my loose knowledge of the English language makes my heart thud a little bit louder.
I hate self-identifying as an "English teacher." The words roll off my tongue like a Tianimen square tank. Sometimes, however, they are a bit easier on the palate than explaining my status as a volunteer, religious-worker, not a Mormon, interconfessional -you know all denominations (not Jews), and eventually winding back to ... I´m an English Teacher. It´s really a terrible thing for the teacher to be the least passionate one in the room. I love my students, I enjoy the way I´ve structured the classes, but I just don´t care for the subject.
There´s something that smacks of colonialism in using English as outreach. I mean, we´re not forcing English on anyone; just helping people who would like to know it better to improve their jobs or their lives. But, still, somewhere deep inside I have a sense that 50-year old me will be discontent with the actions of 20-year old me.
When I sat in classes I could easily define mission, missions, and missionaries. Now, I´m not so certain. I live overseas. I plant churches. I travel on crowded busses and have great stories that involve food you wouldn´t touch. But, really, which of those things makes me a missionary?
The girl with an impossibly Latvian name (Gida, Gudi, Gita, Guta ... I´m a little hazy on the details) asks me what separates the United Methodist church from other denominations. After explaining the historicity of my beloved denomination she repeats her question. I love the United Methodist church, but explaining that bit of trivia would probably not have answered her question either.
I would like to explain that we have Open hearts, Open minds, and Open doors - but I´m afraid that she might have had contact with one and would know that this simply isn´t true (that very day, I tried to visit a United Methodist church in Riga and it certainly didn´t have open doors!).
I tried to explain our social justice ministries - but I know that my local United Methodist church does none of those things. I wish I could have explained our obvious political stances and the good we had done in government; but I could think of no examples. Even on cut-and-dry issues we are not of one mind.
I didn´t give a convincing answer to that girl. At 3 O´clock that morning I woke up with the realization that I´m what´s special about the United Methodist church.
We are no greater than our people. We serve and make disciples no more effectively than our people. Like zebras, we can run no faster than the slowest member of our herd. The heart of our denomination is only as open as the hearts of the 11 million United Methodists around the world. The same for our minds and the same for the doors of the thousands of United Methodist churches.
We need a revival. We need to be reminded why we are United Methodists. We need to earn the lofty slogans we slap on our buildings.
And as the hale melts away, I am reminded that winter will be over soon enough. My English classes will create good memories and might help to make a few new disciples. Perhaps a few of those disciples will go on to become United Methodists and maybe a few of them will rise above the din and clatter and will lead revival.
Perhaps they will know how to answer the questions that come their way better than I. Perhaps people won´t even need to ask such questions.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
See.
[This is my sermon for Thursday October 28th. At the end, the students will be given time to mull around the room and look at questions posted on the walls (and floors and ceilings?) and to wrestle with the burning bush God has placed in their hearts.]
Harriet Tubman was born into slavery. As a little girl she was allowed to cook and clean inside the house and even to play with the young daughter of the couple who owned her. But all of her family worked out in the field. When she was a teenager, she was sent to a store to buy some groceries. Another slave tried to steal something, and the shopkeeper picked up the heaviest item he could find and threw it at him. He missed, and hit Harriet in the head.
She was only a slave, so they didn't bother with medical treatment. They sent her home and let her rest for two days before forcing her back to work.
That head injury saved her life.
After the trauma, she began to have visions and to hear the voice of God. Now, some might say she was crazy - but the things God was saying to her were right. They were godly things to say. She began to follow God and tried to serve God with all of her life.
She escaped to freedom as a young adult. But God kept talking to her, and urged her to return to save others. She made more than a dozen trips and rescued more than 70 people. She risked her life on a daily basis to save her people from slavery. She began fighting publicly for better laws - and eventually saw all of her people freed from slavery. For this she became known as "Moses."
When we think of Moses we immediately think of the Godly man who parted the red sea and led the Israelites to safety. We tend to see the story of Moses as a nice children's book. We see the pretty picture of Moses floating in a cute basket, we see Moses as a young man in Pharoah's house and then out on his own in the desert where he sees a burning bush. But this is not a children's story. In order to understand that we need to view his story in some context.
In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth. He created Adam and Eve and he was with them. He spoke to them and shared life with them; and this was very normal for Adam and Eve. They knew the God who had created them - and they knew him as a friend, a father, and a confidant.
But within only a few generations God was a distant concept. God was still active in the lives of His people, But His people weren't so sure. They were slaves in a foreign land and Pharaoh was tired of having more Jewish people than egyptians in his city. So Pharaoh ordered that every male Jewish child be killed.
And it is out of this situation that we find the story of Moses. Moses is hid in a basket and is found by Pharaoh's daughter. Moses was put in the basket because a probable death is better than a certain death. After being found by Pharoah's daughter he is raised as a spoiled brat in the ruling family of Egypt. While his birth mother is involved in his life, he is raised in a culturally and religiosly Egyptian setting. Moses believed in the sun god and the moon god who fought for control and in Amun-Ra and Anubis. Moses did not know or believe in the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. If Moses was religious his allegiance was to Ibis and not to Yahwe.
Moses was not in the desert because he needed a change of scenery. Moses was in the desert because he was a fugitive. He murdered an Egyptian. He didn't leave out of a sense of shame or a guilty conscience - he left because he was scared of getting caught. He married a woman of a different religion and probably never told her about his sordid past.
We're doing a sermon on dating later this year and I'll give you a preview - Girls, If your boyfriend is of a different religion or has ever killed someone you should probably stop dating him. Guys, if you're dating your girlfriend to move past that one time you killed a guy - you should probably have a nice long talk with David.
Apparently Zipporah missed that week of Pilgrims. Moses is in the desert that day for a number of reasons.
And God appears in a burning bush. Moses doesn't see God at first. Moses sees a small brush fire - then he notices that the bush is not being consumed; then he hears the voice of God.
This is an area of the Bible that isn't very clear. No one has ever seen God. Adam and Eve spoke with God all the time. Different people have interacted with "an angel of the Lord," but in this moment - in this burning bush; God shows up. God says, "Hey, it's me. I created you. I love you. I have a plan for you."
Now, God does not appear to a wanted fugitive in the desert in the form of a burning bush to ask for a cup of sugar or a light for his cigarette. God shows up with big plans and a big vision for this murderer turned shepherd.
Go back and change the world.
Do you know what really bugs me about this story?
Moses didn't deserve a burning bush. Moses wasn't even a good person, let alone a great follower of God. I've been a practicing Christian for more than a decade and I've never seen a burning bush. Billy Graham never saw a burning bush, Mother Teresa, the Pope, and David Goran have never seen burning bushes. But this murderer from a different religion was somehow worthy of a burning bush?
Where's my burning bush? Where's my instantly obvious proof that God is real and wants to be present in my life?
I really struggle with this idea. Honestly.
I'm human - and because I'm human I want proof that the things I believe are real. I want to know that God is real and that God has a plan for my life.
And this is the desire that burns in all of us. We want to know if God is real. We want to know if God really loves us; if God really has a plan for us. This is the burning bush that God has placed in our lives. When you are standing in the wilderness - you better believe that God has a burning bush for you. Look into your heart and know that the big questions are a gift from God.
"Is God real?"
"Do I need to go to church?"
Is Jesus worth the effort?"
"Why do bad things happen to good people?"
Some people believe that these big questions are a sign of doubt and should be avoided. I believe the opposite. I believe that these questions are the burning bush that God has put in our lives. The big questions are big for a reason. Our God is big; and our God has given us these questions.
Everyone has this deep desire to know God. We want to see God at work in our lives. I want you to know that these big questions we face are proof that God is real and loves us.
This week I want us to show special attention to these big questions. I want us to approach the burning bush, to take off our shoes in awe of the God who gave us hearts and minds that question, and to focus on the questions we have about God.
What would have happened if Moses had seen the burning bush, and then ran and hid because it was scary? Perhaps Moses was the 20th or 30th person that God had appeared to in this way - but he was the only one brave enough to approach. If we want to see God, we must have the courage to approach God and to wrestle with the big questions he has placed in our hearts.
Around the room you will find some of these big questions posted. I want you to spend this prayer time - and hopefully some time during this week - thinking and praying about these questions. I want you to step right up to the burning bush and to ask God these questions. I want you to wrestle in your heart with these questions.
And next week we are going to talk about what seeing those answers will look like.
Harriet Tubman was born into slavery. As a little girl she was allowed to cook and clean inside the house and even to play with the young daughter of the couple who owned her. But all of her family worked out in the field. When she was a teenager, she was sent to a store to buy some groceries. Another slave tried to steal something, and the shopkeeper picked up the heaviest item he could find and threw it at him. He missed, and hit Harriet in the head.
She was only a slave, so they didn't bother with medical treatment. They sent her home and let her rest for two days before forcing her back to work.
That head injury saved her life.
After the trauma, she began to have visions and to hear the voice of God. Now, some might say she was crazy - but the things God was saying to her were right. They were godly things to say. She began to follow God and tried to serve God with all of her life.
She escaped to freedom as a young adult. But God kept talking to her, and urged her to return to save others. She made more than a dozen trips and rescued more than 70 people. She risked her life on a daily basis to save her people from slavery. She began fighting publicly for better laws - and eventually saw all of her people freed from slavery. For this she became known as "Moses."
When we think of Moses we immediately think of the Godly man who parted the red sea and led the Israelites to safety. We tend to see the story of Moses as a nice children's book. We see the pretty picture of Moses floating in a cute basket, we see Moses as a young man in Pharoah's house and then out on his own in the desert where he sees a burning bush. But this is not a children's story. In order to understand that we need to view his story in some context.
In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth. He created Adam and Eve and he was with them. He spoke to them and shared life with them; and this was very normal for Adam and Eve. They knew the God who had created them - and they knew him as a friend, a father, and a confidant.
But within only a few generations God was a distant concept. God was still active in the lives of His people, But His people weren't so sure. They were slaves in a foreign land and Pharaoh was tired of having more Jewish people than egyptians in his city. So Pharaoh ordered that every male Jewish child be killed.
And it is out of this situation that we find the story of Moses. Moses is hid in a basket and is found by Pharaoh's daughter. Moses was put in the basket because a probable death is better than a certain death. After being found by Pharoah's daughter he is raised as a spoiled brat in the ruling family of Egypt. While his birth mother is involved in his life, he is raised in a culturally and religiosly Egyptian setting. Moses believed in the sun god and the moon god who fought for control and in Amun-Ra and Anubis. Moses did not know or believe in the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. If Moses was religious his allegiance was to Ibis and not to Yahwe.
Moses was not in the desert because he needed a change of scenery. Moses was in the desert because he was a fugitive. He murdered an Egyptian. He didn't leave out of a sense of shame or a guilty conscience - he left because he was scared of getting caught. He married a woman of a different religion and probably never told her about his sordid past.
We're doing a sermon on dating later this year and I'll give you a preview - Girls, If your boyfriend is of a different religion or has ever killed someone you should probably stop dating him. Guys, if you're dating your girlfriend to move past that one time you killed a guy - you should probably have a nice long talk with David.
Apparently Zipporah missed that week of Pilgrims. Moses is in the desert that day for a number of reasons.
And God appears in a burning bush. Moses doesn't see God at first. Moses sees a small brush fire - then he notices that the bush is not being consumed; then he hears the voice of God.
This is an area of the Bible that isn't very clear. No one has ever seen God. Adam and Eve spoke with God all the time. Different people have interacted with "an angel of the Lord," but in this moment - in this burning bush; God shows up. God says, "Hey, it's me. I created you. I love you. I have a plan for you."
Now, God does not appear to a wanted fugitive in the desert in the form of a burning bush to ask for a cup of sugar or a light for his cigarette. God shows up with big plans and a big vision for this murderer turned shepherd.
Go back and change the world.
Do you know what really bugs me about this story?
Moses didn't deserve a burning bush. Moses wasn't even a good person, let alone a great follower of God. I've been a practicing Christian for more than a decade and I've never seen a burning bush. Billy Graham never saw a burning bush, Mother Teresa, the Pope, and David Goran have never seen burning bushes. But this murderer from a different religion was somehow worthy of a burning bush?
Where's my burning bush? Where's my instantly obvious proof that God is real and wants to be present in my life?
I really struggle with this idea. Honestly.
I'm human - and because I'm human I want proof that the things I believe are real. I want to know that God is real and that God has a plan for my life.
And this is the desire that burns in all of us. We want to know if God is real. We want to know if God really loves us; if God really has a plan for us. This is the burning bush that God has placed in our lives. When you are standing in the wilderness - you better believe that God has a burning bush for you. Look into your heart and know that the big questions are a gift from God.
"Is God real?"
"Do I need to go to church?"
Is Jesus worth the effort?"
"Why do bad things happen to good people?"
Some people believe that these big questions are a sign of doubt and should be avoided. I believe the opposite. I believe that these questions are the burning bush that God has put in our lives. The big questions are big for a reason. Our God is big; and our God has given us these questions.
Everyone has this deep desire to know God. We want to see God at work in our lives. I want you to know that these big questions we face are proof that God is real and loves us.
This week I want us to show special attention to these big questions. I want us to approach the burning bush, to take off our shoes in awe of the God who gave us hearts and minds that question, and to focus on the questions we have about God.
What would have happened if Moses had seen the burning bush, and then ran and hid because it was scary? Perhaps Moses was the 20th or 30th person that God had appeared to in this way - but he was the only one brave enough to approach. If we want to see God, we must have the courage to approach God and to wrestle with the big questions he has placed in our hearts.
Around the room you will find some of these big questions posted. I want you to spend this prayer time - and hopefully some time during this week - thinking and praying about these questions. I want you to step right up to the burning bush and to ask God these questions. I want you to wrestle in your heart with these questions.
And next week we are going to talk about what seeing those answers will look like.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Thank You
Luke 17:11-19 (New International Version)
Ten Healed of Leprosy
Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus traveled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance and called out in a loud voice, "Jesus, Master, have pity on us!"
When he saw them, he said, "Go, show yourselves to the priests." And as they went, they were cleansed.
One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan.
Jesus asked, "Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" Then he said to him, "Rise and go; your faith has made you well."
“Thank you” is a funny phrase. When we enter a new culture it’s one of the first words we try to memorize. In my home culture we say “Thank You” all the time. Back home I probably say “Thank You” 20 to 30 times a day. When I was a teenager we had an exchange student from Russia. We were a little surprised at how little he said “Thank You.” I mean, we were providing EVERYTHING for him, and yet if he managed to get out two or three “thank you-s” in a day it was a positive one. Then one day we were traveling together on a toll road. We pulled up to the window and handed the woman our money and dad said, “Thank you.” And we pulled away. Our Russian exchange student looked at me like my family was a tribe of Neanderthals that somehow survived extinction. With much pent up frustration he asked, “Why do you say ‘Thank You’ so much? Why do you say ‘Thank You’ to people who take your money?”
Now, we really didn’t have a good explanation. “Because that’s just what you’re supposed to do…?” Maybe we say “Thank You” too much in American culture? Maybe it’s lost its meaning? We thank people for taking our money. We thank people for doing their job – we’re even required to tip 10-15% if the service was “standard.” We cringe as celebrities start off acceptance speeches by thanking God and then continue with a string of expletives. We thank God for our daily bread at least 3 times a day – and always more pronouncedly when done in public! while we eat more than we should and others around the world go hungry. Comedies about nerds always include the line, “Thank you for not hitting me” at least once. Alfred Hitchcock retains the most famous and precise Oscar acceptance speech uttering just two words before re-taking his seat – “Thank you.”
So, Thank you for allowing me to preach this sermon this Thursday. Thank you for showing up. Thank you to everyone who participated in Pilgrims tonight. Thank you for not falling asleep yet. Thank you.
Perhaps this is one reason that people from my cultural background find this story a little strange. Why wouldn’t the other nine come back to say Thank you?
These people lived in forced community. Lepers were people with instantly obvious medical conditions. All that the “normal” people around them knew was that THEY didn’t want Leprosy and that it was highly contagious. Lepers were forced to announce their presence when entering a room – as if their scarred faces and missing limbs weren’t enough of an introduction.
Leprosy attacks nerve endings. People with Hansen’s disease lose feeling in their extremities. Leprosy does not cause limbs to fall off, but cuts and scrapes left untreated easily become infected. In poorer areas of the world, where treatment is less available, rats are a common cause of missing limbs. People with feeling in their hands and feet wake up when a rat begins to bite – people without feeling don’t have that luxury.
Although Leprosy has the reputation of being highly contagious, 95% of people in the world are naturally immune. To catch the disease a person would need regular contact – something like using the same sheets – to catch the disease. For those of us in modern times the conditions are even better.
A person is no longer contagious after 2 weeks of treatment and if caught early enough and treated well, Hansen’s disease is curable.
When I was in India the mission team I was on visited a leper colony. There are still over a thousand leper colonies in India. Now, being that our team was comprised of high school and college students and none of us had any medical training – I imagine we were not very helpful to the people we visited in any medical sense of the word. In all probability – our visit was much better for us than for the people we were visiting. I pray that our presence brightened their day at least a little. But, the visit changed our lives. Still to this day when I talk to other team members we bring up the leper colony.
In Jesus’ day the Lepers were required to live outside of the city. As Jesus entered the village, 10 men came toward him – the scripture is clear that they “kept their distance” and yelled toward Jesus asking him to cure them.
I wonder, how often did they cry out for a cure? Was this a common occurrence? Did they shout at every rabbi that walked by? Every magician? Every person? Was this a first time event? Most of these men were Jewish and they knew the law well. At least they knew the law as it pertained to them.
They knew what they were allowed to do and what they were not allowed to do. They knew the story of Naaman and his cleansing of leprosy. And most importantly they knew what they were supposed to do in case they were ever healed. They were to go to the priest and present themselves and wait for his stamp of approval. At that point they would be clean and they could go home. They could re-enter society. They dreamed of this day. They prayed over these verses.
As Jesus passed they called out to be cleansed. And Jesus tells these men to go to the Priest. This is the day they have been waiting for. They turn and run and along the way they are made well. For nine of these men, “being healed” would happen when the priest said that they had been healed. In a few short moments they would be “officially healed” by the priest and they could return to their families. For the Samaritan, when he saw that his scars were gone, that his limbs had re-grown, and that he had feeling in his feet he knew that he had been healed. He didn’t need a priest to tell him what he felt in his feet.
He knew that the priests in the temple had not been able – or willing – to cure him; so why should he go to them for their declaration. Jesus, this Jesus who had passed by like so many others before, was able to heal – and the Samaritan turned back and ran to Jesus. He fell on the ground in front of Jesus and thanked him from the very bottom of his heart. For truly, this was the Priest to whom he needed to show himself. His tears and his voice echoed out for the whole village to see – Thank You.
In the Leper colony I visited, the people had terrible scars, missing fingers, awful infections and the warmest hearts I have ever met. These people, who had every reason to curse the gods and turn their hearts to stone, were warm and welcoming. They smiled with crooked lips and held our hands in their stumps. They blessed us. When we would come into their huts they would quickly unscrew the light bulb, not noticing that the hot light bulb burned their hands, and replaced it with a light bulb of higher wattage so that we could see better inside their homes. They invited us to join them for worship, and it was one of the most inspiring services I have ever attended.
That day in the Leper colony I learned to give thanks to God for all things at all times. In the midst of my darkest days I need only to think of that little chapel in the leper colony and their grateful hearts and I am reminded to thank God in all circumstances.
This story continues with Jesus asking an odd question. Jesus asks this foreigner where the other 9 are. This question is bizarre because the other 9 have done EXACTLY what Jesus has asked. This tenth, he’s the one that broke the rules. Shouldn’t Jesus be yelling at him? Shouldn’t he get his leprosy back for not following directions?
Now, the story doesn’t say – but we assume that the other nine go to the Priest and are pronounced clean. We assume that they, even though they didn’t thank Jesus, return home. We believe that they hugged their wives and tucked their children into bed that night.
But this tenth … this tenth … not only was he healed, not only did he get to return to his family as a whole man; but he also had the blessing of having thanked Him who made him clean. He had listened intently to the words of Jesus and decided that the only Priest he needed to see was the One who healed the unclean.
We get dragged down with words so easily. Paul advises Timothy not to get stuck in times of “wrangling with words.” The other nine lepers were consumed by the words of the law that they missed the point. The priest and his declaration of cleanliness didn’t HEAL the lepers – but they believed with all of their hearts that they weren’t really healed until the priest said so.
We get so caught up in the words, in our traditions, in our own way of doing things that we forget the point. Like the nine healed lepers who missed the point and headed for the priests who couldn’t heal them – we feel that the words, traditions, and thoughts we are comfortable with are what save us. We forget that only Jesus Christ and Him crucified can save us from our sins. Our works and the expressions of our faith are a beautiful after-thought – they are not saving acts.
Like the nine – we all too often run to these things – that we need them to prove our salvation. When really all we need is a heart like the Samaritan leper. When he had feeling in his feet he knew he was healed. When we have feeling in our hearts – we must know that we are saved. And we must return to Jesus with thankful hearts.
For those in this room who know the goodness of Jesus Christ – I will leave you with a question to think about this week. How do we REALLY say thank you to Jesus? If we come from a culture where “Thank You” doesn’t mean a whole lot; how do we fall before Jesus and thank Him for all that he has done for us?
Ten Healed of Leprosy
Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus traveled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance and called out in a loud voice, "Jesus, Master, have pity on us!"
When he saw them, he said, "Go, show yourselves to the priests." And as they went, they were cleansed.
One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan.
Jesus asked, "Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" Then he said to him, "Rise and go; your faith has made you well."
“Thank you” is a funny phrase. When we enter a new culture it’s one of the first words we try to memorize. In my home culture we say “Thank You” all the time. Back home I probably say “Thank You” 20 to 30 times a day. When I was a teenager we had an exchange student from Russia. We were a little surprised at how little he said “Thank You.” I mean, we were providing EVERYTHING for him, and yet if he managed to get out two or three “thank you-s” in a day it was a positive one. Then one day we were traveling together on a toll road. We pulled up to the window and handed the woman our money and dad said, “Thank you.” And we pulled away. Our Russian exchange student looked at me like my family was a tribe of Neanderthals that somehow survived extinction. With much pent up frustration he asked, “Why do you say ‘Thank You’ so much? Why do you say ‘Thank You’ to people who take your money?”
Now, we really didn’t have a good explanation. “Because that’s just what you’re supposed to do…?” Maybe we say “Thank You” too much in American culture? Maybe it’s lost its meaning? We thank people for taking our money. We thank people for doing their job – we’re even required to tip 10-15% if the service was “standard.” We cringe as celebrities start off acceptance speeches by thanking God and then continue with a string of expletives. We thank God for our daily bread at least 3 times a day – and always more pronouncedly when done in public! while we eat more than we should and others around the world go hungry. Comedies about nerds always include the line, “Thank you for not hitting me” at least once. Alfred Hitchcock retains the most famous and precise Oscar acceptance speech uttering just two words before re-taking his seat – “Thank you.”
So, Thank you for allowing me to preach this sermon this Thursday. Thank you for showing up. Thank you to everyone who participated in Pilgrims tonight. Thank you for not falling asleep yet. Thank you.
Perhaps this is one reason that people from my cultural background find this story a little strange. Why wouldn’t the other nine come back to say Thank you?
These people lived in forced community. Lepers were people with instantly obvious medical conditions. All that the “normal” people around them knew was that THEY didn’t want Leprosy and that it was highly contagious. Lepers were forced to announce their presence when entering a room – as if their scarred faces and missing limbs weren’t enough of an introduction.
Leprosy attacks nerve endings. People with Hansen’s disease lose feeling in their extremities. Leprosy does not cause limbs to fall off, but cuts and scrapes left untreated easily become infected. In poorer areas of the world, where treatment is less available, rats are a common cause of missing limbs. People with feeling in their hands and feet wake up when a rat begins to bite – people without feeling don’t have that luxury.
Although Leprosy has the reputation of being highly contagious, 95% of people in the world are naturally immune. To catch the disease a person would need regular contact – something like using the same sheets – to catch the disease. For those of us in modern times the conditions are even better.
A person is no longer contagious after 2 weeks of treatment and if caught early enough and treated well, Hansen’s disease is curable.
When I was in India the mission team I was on visited a leper colony. There are still over a thousand leper colonies in India. Now, being that our team was comprised of high school and college students and none of us had any medical training – I imagine we were not very helpful to the people we visited in any medical sense of the word. In all probability – our visit was much better for us than for the people we were visiting. I pray that our presence brightened their day at least a little. But, the visit changed our lives. Still to this day when I talk to other team members we bring up the leper colony.
In Jesus’ day the Lepers were required to live outside of the city. As Jesus entered the village, 10 men came toward him – the scripture is clear that they “kept their distance” and yelled toward Jesus asking him to cure them.
I wonder, how often did they cry out for a cure? Was this a common occurrence? Did they shout at every rabbi that walked by? Every magician? Every person? Was this a first time event? Most of these men were Jewish and they knew the law well. At least they knew the law as it pertained to them.
They knew what they were allowed to do and what they were not allowed to do. They knew the story of Naaman and his cleansing of leprosy. And most importantly they knew what they were supposed to do in case they were ever healed. They were to go to the priest and present themselves and wait for his stamp of approval. At that point they would be clean and they could go home. They could re-enter society. They dreamed of this day. They prayed over these verses.
As Jesus passed they called out to be cleansed. And Jesus tells these men to go to the Priest. This is the day they have been waiting for. They turn and run and along the way they are made well. For nine of these men, “being healed” would happen when the priest said that they had been healed. In a few short moments they would be “officially healed” by the priest and they could return to their families. For the Samaritan, when he saw that his scars were gone, that his limbs had re-grown, and that he had feeling in his feet he knew that he had been healed. He didn’t need a priest to tell him what he felt in his feet.
He knew that the priests in the temple had not been able – or willing – to cure him; so why should he go to them for their declaration. Jesus, this Jesus who had passed by like so many others before, was able to heal – and the Samaritan turned back and ran to Jesus. He fell on the ground in front of Jesus and thanked him from the very bottom of his heart. For truly, this was the Priest to whom he needed to show himself. His tears and his voice echoed out for the whole village to see – Thank You.
In the Leper colony I visited, the people had terrible scars, missing fingers, awful infections and the warmest hearts I have ever met. These people, who had every reason to curse the gods and turn their hearts to stone, were warm and welcoming. They smiled with crooked lips and held our hands in their stumps. They blessed us. When we would come into their huts they would quickly unscrew the light bulb, not noticing that the hot light bulb burned their hands, and replaced it with a light bulb of higher wattage so that we could see better inside their homes. They invited us to join them for worship, and it was one of the most inspiring services I have ever attended.
That day in the Leper colony I learned to give thanks to God for all things at all times. In the midst of my darkest days I need only to think of that little chapel in the leper colony and their grateful hearts and I am reminded to thank God in all circumstances.
This story continues with Jesus asking an odd question. Jesus asks this foreigner where the other 9 are. This question is bizarre because the other 9 have done EXACTLY what Jesus has asked. This tenth, he’s the one that broke the rules. Shouldn’t Jesus be yelling at him? Shouldn’t he get his leprosy back for not following directions?
Now, the story doesn’t say – but we assume that the other nine go to the Priest and are pronounced clean. We assume that they, even though they didn’t thank Jesus, return home. We believe that they hugged their wives and tucked their children into bed that night.
But this tenth … this tenth … not only was he healed, not only did he get to return to his family as a whole man; but he also had the blessing of having thanked Him who made him clean. He had listened intently to the words of Jesus and decided that the only Priest he needed to see was the One who healed the unclean.
We get dragged down with words so easily. Paul advises Timothy not to get stuck in times of “wrangling with words.” The other nine lepers were consumed by the words of the law that they missed the point. The priest and his declaration of cleanliness didn’t HEAL the lepers – but they believed with all of their hearts that they weren’t really healed until the priest said so.
We get so caught up in the words, in our traditions, in our own way of doing things that we forget the point. Like the nine healed lepers who missed the point and headed for the priests who couldn’t heal them – we feel that the words, traditions, and thoughts we are comfortable with are what save us. We forget that only Jesus Christ and Him crucified can save us from our sins. Our works and the expressions of our faith are a beautiful after-thought – they are not saving acts.
Like the nine – we all too often run to these things – that we need them to prove our salvation. When really all we need is a heart like the Samaritan leper. When he had feeling in his feet he knew he was healed. When we have feeling in our hearts – we must know that we are saved. And we must return to Jesus with thankful hearts.
For those in this room who know the goodness of Jesus Christ – I will leave you with a question to think about this week. How do we REALLY say thank you to Jesus? If we come from a culture where “Thank You” doesn’t mean a whole lot; how do we fall before Jesus and thank Him for all that he has done for us?
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
The Old
I'm working on a sermon based around two stories found in the Old Testament. Oddly enough, this will be my first Old Testament based sermon.
I've always had a rather tenuous relationship with the Old Book.
My first encounter with picking up a Bible and reading was the book of Esther. It was short and I knew my grandmother wouldn't be happy until I had read the entire book. I read it in one sitting ... probably when I was 6. I made Grandma explain what gallows were - even though I knew. I remember asking Grandma why they killed Haman ... AND HIS FAMILY!!! I had a nightmare that night about the gallows.
When I began to read the scriptures in earnest I was bored stiff throughout most of the Old Testament. There are many begotten and begetters in the first few books. Ultimately, the rules bogged down my mind as they have done to countless people. I didn't see the salvation of the people within the framework of their safety and security as described in the laws. I missed the constant re-direction of God from the prophets. I saw stale rules and long-dead bearded men pontificating snoozily.
In the sermon I'm writing now, I will speak of God as The One who met Moses in the desert in the burning bush. As the God who took Elijah (Elisha? Fact checking comes later!) up in a chariot of fire. And I will ask a lot of questions. Namely, "Where's my burning bush?" "Where's my chariot of fire?"
I've always had a rather tenuous relationship with the Old Book.
My first encounter with picking up a Bible and reading was the book of Esther. It was short and I knew my grandmother wouldn't be happy until I had read the entire book. I read it in one sitting ... probably when I was 6. I made Grandma explain what gallows were - even though I knew. I remember asking Grandma why they killed Haman ... AND HIS FAMILY!!! I had a nightmare that night about the gallows.
When I began to read the scriptures in earnest I was bored stiff throughout most of the Old Testament. There are many begotten and begetters in the first few books. Ultimately, the rules bogged down my mind as they have done to countless people. I didn't see the salvation of the people within the framework of their safety and security as described in the laws. I missed the constant re-direction of God from the prophets. I saw stale rules and long-dead bearded men pontificating snoozily.
In the sermon I'm writing now, I will speak of God as The One who met Moses in the desert in the burning bush. As the God who took Elijah (Elisha? Fact checking comes later!) up in a chariot of fire. And I will ask a lot of questions. Namely, "Where's my burning bush?" "Where's my chariot of fire?"
Saturday, October 02, 2010
Sermon L'viv UMC October 3 2010
I'm preaching in the morning. Maryanna Venger will translate for me. This will be her first time translating a sermon and she's very nervous. Tomorrow will also hold our inaugural children's sermon. No pressure.
Luke 17:5-10
The apostles said to the Lord, "Increase our faith!"
The Lord replied, "If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, 'Be uprooted and planted in the sea,' and it would obey you.
"Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, 'Come here at once and take your place at the table'?
Would you not rather say to him, 'Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink'?
Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded?
So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, 'We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!'"
Jesus spoke in parables and related the things he said to real life situations. I worked at a Christian summer camp for a while; and the first thing we learned was that children think in concrete ways. Children understand best when they can hold something in their hand.
When we would teach children about the trinity we would use water as an example. We would pass around an ice cube and a glass of water, and we would let the kids put their hands into a mist of steam. Water, ice, and steam are three very different things; but they are all the same thing. It was easy to teach children about the trinity – that God is three in one – using this concrete example.
Jesus used a lot of parables and many examples because almost everyone learns better this way. Very few people learn well by listening to a lecture.
How do we learn to fish? Do we sit in a lecture and take notes? No! We go out fishing and someone shows us how it’s done.
So when the disciples ask Jesus to increase their faith he doesn’t stand at the podium ready to lecture. He reaches down to the weeds growing beside the road and shakes out a few of the tiny seeds. He holds them out in his hands and he shares the good news that if the disciples had only this much faith that they could perform mighty miracles. In Luke it says that a tree will uproot itself and plant itself in the sea at our command. In other tellings of this story Jesus shares that with only this tiny amount of faith, we can move mountains.
Jesus is playing on a familiar tune. He’s already held the mustard seeds out to his disciples to prove a point. The last time he pulled this move, he was telling his disciples that the Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed.
Mustard plants were everywhere in Jesus’ day. They were a weed of the most wicked kind.
Most plants are at least a little difficult to grow. You have to plant them in the right soil, and water them, and make sure they get enough sunlight. I don’t keep any plants in my house because I simply can’t keep them alive. Other plants are just the opposite. Some plants will grow anywhere, anytime, without any help. We call these plants weeds – even when they are really beautiful.
When Jesus held out the mustard seed and said that the Kingdom of God was like THIS, the people understood immediately. Even one tiny seed could grow very large. Not only would the plant be up to 2 meters tall, but it wouldn’t stop growing. It would spread like wildfire and would quickly take over the surrounding area. The roots of the mustard plant are so strong and stubborn that they can bust through brick walls.
If a mustard plant started to grow near your property and you didn’t take care of it when it was small it would surely ruin you when it became bigger.
We have a plant in America that is similar to this. The kudzu plant is really quite pretty. It has a pink or purple flower that is prettier than anything I’ve ever grown. But kudzu grows too quickly, and soon overtakes everything in its path. If you leave a car too close to kudzu for too many days the vines can grow up and into the motor and cause serious damage. The plant can work its way in between bricks and ruin foundations.
When Jesus told those around him that the Kingdom of God was like the mustard seed – they knew what he meant. It was starting small – but it would grow and it would topple governments and change the world. It’s no accident that Jesus uses the same metaphor for our faith as individuals. It starts small – and even in that small dose it’s still unbelievably powerful.
[[I tell you the truth – if you have faith the size of this match, you can tell a house to go up in smoke and it will. In the same way, the Kingdom of God – yes, even this very church meeting in this room – is like this match. Although it is small, it holds great and terrible potential. Even forest fires that consume whole nations can start with a match as small as this.]]
But it doesn’t have to. If I put this match back in the box there will be no fire. Why are these mustard seeds that I hold up still tiny seeds? Because they were never planted.
If you want a seed to grow, you must cover it with a little dirt. If a seed isn’t covered in dirt it will never be more than a little seed. It’s the same with us – with this church. We will always be a small group of believers until we decide that we’re willing to get covered in a little dirt. Until we decide to get our hands dirty, we’re nothing but little seeds waiting to be planted. I believe with all of my heart that God will move mountains – but I think we should bring shovels.
And this is the second point that Jesus makes in His answer. As followers of Jesus Christ, this is our obligation. We have been commanded to get our hands dirty. To serve others. To love when it’s difficult . To tell others the good news of Jesus Christ. We shouldn’t expect a special reward for doing that which is commanded of us. Even if we have small faith – even as small as a mustard seed or this match – our obligation is the same.
I am a person of small faith. I am sometimes filled with doubt. Sometimes when I pray I wonder if God is even listening. My faith is as small as a mustard seed. But I believe with all of my heart that even in my small faith, that God has a huge plan for my life.
Even in your small faith, God has a huge plan for your life.
Even in our small faith, God has a huge plan for this church.
Our faith, our church, and the Kingdom we strive toward are like this little match.
It’s so small – but yet it has so much potential.
Today this church meets in a small room – we are barely more than a small group. But I tell you today that if we will be faithful to the God who has called us – and that if we are ready to get our hands dirty in serving and loving others that we will not be small for long. Right now we are this little seed – will you join me in covering us with dirt and growing to become the huge plant that God wants us to be?
Please pray with me: Amen.
Luke 17:5-10
The apostles said to the Lord, "Increase our faith!"
The Lord replied, "If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, 'Be uprooted and planted in the sea,' and it would obey you.
"Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, 'Come here at once and take your place at the table'?
Would you not rather say to him, 'Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink'?
Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded?
So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, 'We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!'"
Jesus spoke in parables and related the things he said to real life situations. I worked at a Christian summer camp for a while; and the first thing we learned was that children think in concrete ways. Children understand best when they can hold something in their hand.
When we would teach children about the trinity we would use water as an example. We would pass around an ice cube and a glass of water, and we would let the kids put their hands into a mist of steam. Water, ice, and steam are three very different things; but they are all the same thing. It was easy to teach children about the trinity – that God is three in one – using this concrete example.
Jesus used a lot of parables and many examples because almost everyone learns better this way. Very few people learn well by listening to a lecture.
How do we learn to fish? Do we sit in a lecture and take notes? No! We go out fishing and someone shows us how it’s done.
So when the disciples ask Jesus to increase their faith he doesn’t stand at the podium ready to lecture. He reaches down to the weeds growing beside the road and shakes out a few of the tiny seeds. He holds them out in his hands and he shares the good news that if the disciples had only this much faith that they could perform mighty miracles. In Luke it says that a tree will uproot itself and plant itself in the sea at our command. In other tellings of this story Jesus shares that with only this tiny amount of faith, we can move mountains.
Jesus is playing on a familiar tune. He’s already held the mustard seeds out to his disciples to prove a point. The last time he pulled this move, he was telling his disciples that the Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed.
Mustard plants were everywhere in Jesus’ day. They were a weed of the most wicked kind.
Most plants are at least a little difficult to grow. You have to plant them in the right soil, and water them, and make sure they get enough sunlight. I don’t keep any plants in my house because I simply can’t keep them alive. Other plants are just the opposite. Some plants will grow anywhere, anytime, without any help. We call these plants weeds – even when they are really beautiful.
When Jesus held out the mustard seed and said that the Kingdom of God was like THIS, the people understood immediately. Even one tiny seed could grow very large. Not only would the plant be up to 2 meters tall, but it wouldn’t stop growing. It would spread like wildfire and would quickly take over the surrounding area. The roots of the mustard plant are so strong and stubborn that they can bust through brick walls.
If a mustard plant started to grow near your property and you didn’t take care of it when it was small it would surely ruin you when it became bigger.
We have a plant in America that is similar to this. The kudzu plant is really quite pretty. It has a pink or purple flower that is prettier than anything I’ve ever grown. But kudzu grows too quickly, and soon overtakes everything in its path. If you leave a car too close to kudzu for too many days the vines can grow up and into the motor and cause serious damage. The plant can work its way in between bricks and ruin foundations.
When Jesus told those around him that the Kingdom of God was like the mustard seed – they knew what he meant. It was starting small – but it would grow and it would topple governments and change the world. It’s no accident that Jesus uses the same metaphor for our faith as individuals. It starts small – and even in that small dose it’s still unbelievably powerful.
[[I tell you the truth – if you have faith the size of this match, you can tell a house to go up in smoke and it will. In the same way, the Kingdom of God – yes, even this very church meeting in this room – is like this match. Although it is small, it holds great and terrible potential. Even forest fires that consume whole nations can start with a match as small as this.]]
But it doesn’t have to. If I put this match back in the box there will be no fire. Why are these mustard seeds that I hold up still tiny seeds? Because they were never planted.
If you want a seed to grow, you must cover it with a little dirt. If a seed isn’t covered in dirt it will never be more than a little seed. It’s the same with us – with this church. We will always be a small group of believers until we decide that we’re willing to get covered in a little dirt. Until we decide to get our hands dirty, we’re nothing but little seeds waiting to be planted. I believe with all of my heart that God will move mountains – but I think we should bring shovels.
And this is the second point that Jesus makes in His answer. As followers of Jesus Christ, this is our obligation. We have been commanded to get our hands dirty. To serve others. To love when it’s difficult . To tell others the good news of Jesus Christ. We shouldn’t expect a special reward for doing that which is commanded of us. Even if we have small faith – even as small as a mustard seed or this match – our obligation is the same.
I am a person of small faith. I am sometimes filled with doubt. Sometimes when I pray I wonder if God is even listening. My faith is as small as a mustard seed. But I believe with all of my heart that even in my small faith, that God has a huge plan for my life.
Even in your small faith, God has a huge plan for your life.
Even in our small faith, God has a huge plan for this church.
Our faith, our church, and the Kingdom we strive toward are like this little match.
It’s so small – but yet it has so much potential.
Today this church meets in a small room – we are barely more than a small group. But I tell you today that if we will be faithful to the God who has called us – and that if we are ready to get our hands dirty in serving and loving others that we will not be small for long. Right now we are this little seed – will you join me in covering us with dirt and growing to become the huge plant that God wants us to be?
Please pray with me: Amen.
Friday, October 01, 2010
Faith
I'm confessing once more my small faith. This Sunday I'm preaching on having faith the size of a mustard seed.
It's painful, really; the accusations of perfection and holiness. People assume that because I'm a missionary I hold the corner on religiosity. I'm not very good at this whole "Christian" thing. I'm a poor example by any measure, but stick me up next to Mama T(eresa), Hudson Taylor, or Amy Carmichael and it's almost laughable.
It's hard to explain. I genuinely struggle to find words to convey my meaning. I'm not here because my great faith gave me the courage to get on a plane; I'm here because I'm trying to be faithful - in the big and the small. I try to remember to read my Bible every day (unless I feel that I'm doing it out of obligation, which I feel to be wrong in some way, and then I wait until I long for some word in my life, which seems better to me.)
But I really do believe that small faith has great potential. I don't think that we're supposed to be "all that good" at being Christian. I think it should always be a struggle. Twelve feet of snow. Uphill both ways. The whole nine yards. I think I'm doing something right.
I had a friend be very honest with me once. He told me that either my theology and missionary philosophy are correct and I will be celebrated in history as a great missionary - or I'll be wrong and I might just burn in Hell for it. While I don't see either outcome as even remotely possible (I'm not a relentless self-promoter, and I've got my "get out of hell free card")I appreciate his sentiment.
I'm going to keep living on my small faith. I'm going to continue taking shovels full of dirt until the mountain has been moved. And I'm going to call it a miracle without a hint of irony. I'm going to wipe the sweat off my brow and give thanks to God for having moved the mountain. That's just how I see it.
It's painful, really; the accusations of perfection and holiness. People assume that because I'm a missionary I hold the corner on religiosity. I'm not very good at this whole "Christian" thing. I'm a poor example by any measure, but stick me up next to Mama T(eresa), Hudson Taylor, or Amy Carmichael and it's almost laughable.
It's hard to explain. I genuinely struggle to find words to convey my meaning. I'm not here because my great faith gave me the courage to get on a plane; I'm here because I'm trying to be faithful - in the big and the small. I try to remember to read my Bible every day (unless I feel that I'm doing it out of obligation, which I feel to be wrong in some way, and then I wait until I long for some word in my life, which seems better to me.)
But I really do believe that small faith has great potential. I don't think that we're supposed to be "all that good" at being Christian. I think it should always be a struggle. Twelve feet of snow. Uphill both ways. The whole nine yards. I think I'm doing something right.
I had a friend be very honest with me once. He told me that either my theology and missionary philosophy are correct and I will be celebrated in history as a great missionary - or I'll be wrong and I might just burn in Hell for it. While I don't see either outcome as even remotely possible (I'm not a relentless self-promoter, and I've got my "get out of hell free card")I appreciate his sentiment.
I'm going to keep living on my small faith. I'm going to continue taking shovels full of dirt until the mountain has been moved. And I'm going to call it a miracle without a hint of irony. I'm going to wipe the sweat off my brow and give thanks to God for having moved the mountain. That's just how I see it.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
This I believe
I believe that religion should make you a better person.
I grew up in a religious home. I wasn't in the same room with a bottle of alcohol until I attended a non-religious wedding in my early teens. I assumed that rules were a big part of our religion. My mother would read our Holy Scriptures each morning while oatmeal cooked on the stovetop. Our kitchen was always very cold, and I remember sitting wrapped in a warm blanket, eating hot oatmeal, and listening to my mother's beautiful voice read words from the Psalms. I assumed that comfort was a big part of our religion.
In the first sermon I remember, our pastor told the story of the only Jewish family in a town. They put a Menorah in their window and someone punished them for this by throwing a brick through their window. The next day, every Christian home on the block had lit a Menorah in their window. I loved this story. I knew deep down in my little heart that my family would have put up a Menorah if we lived on that street.
As my little heart grew, I accepted the religion of my family as my own. For a long time I lived a religious life in order to be religious. I told a girl that she was going to hell, once. I regret those words more than any other I have ever spoken.
My understanding of religion was making me a worse person. I assumed that religion was about rules and my own comfort. As I began to read the words of Jesus more closely I realized that I had misunderstood almost everything. The Christian religion wasn't about rules and it wasn't about my comfort.
Religion has made me a better person. It has taught me to love people - even people who don't look, act, or think like me. Even people who don't make as much money as me. Even people who believe a different religion than me. I'm no longer worried about my own comfort - I would be happier if the homeless kids I work with were to find comfort than if I had it myself.
Religion continues to make me a better person. I still have a lot of room for improvement! In this world of terrorism and Quaran burnings and hate-speeches coming from the mouths of the religious elite; I am reminded every day of my strongest held belief. I am reminded that religion should make you a better person.
I grew up in a religious home. I wasn't in the same room with a bottle of alcohol until I attended a non-religious wedding in my early teens. I assumed that rules were a big part of our religion. My mother would read our Holy Scriptures each morning while oatmeal cooked on the stovetop. Our kitchen was always very cold, and I remember sitting wrapped in a warm blanket, eating hot oatmeal, and listening to my mother's beautiful voice read words from the Psalms. I assumed that comfort was a big part of our religion.
In the first sermon I remember, our pastor told the story of the only Jewish family in a town. They put a Menorah in their window and someone punished them for this by throwing a brick through their window. The next day, every Christian home on the block had lit a Menorah in their window. I loved this story. I knew deep down in my little heart that my family would have put up a Menorah if we lived on that street.
As my little heart grew, I accepted the religion of my family as my own. For a long time I lived a religious life in order to be religious. I told a girl that she was going to hell, once. I regret those words more than any other I have ever spoken.
My understanding of religion was making me a worse person. I assumed that religion was about rules and my own comfort. As I began to read the words of Jesus more closely I realized that I had misunderstood almost everything. The Christian religion wasn't about rules and it wasn't about my comfort.
Religion has made me a better person. It has taught me to love people - even people who don't look, act, or think like me. Even people who don't make as much money as me. Even people who believe a different religion than me. I'm no longer worried about my own comfort - I would be happier if the homeless kids I work with were to find comfort than if I had it myself.
Religion continues to make me a better person. I still have a lot of room for improvement! In this world of terrorism and Quaran burnings and hate-speeches coming from the mouths of the religious elite; I am reminded every day of my strongest held belief. I am reminded that religion should make you a better person.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
What a crummy cross.
In our "Youth to Jesus" student center, we keep a cross on one of the walls. It's two pieces of old wood that are tied together. I don't know where it came from, or how it came about - but I love it's presence in our space.
About two years ago we had a small explosion in our stairway. We had to replace our large door, and apparently this event signaled a welcome to the community to come and inspect our space and see what we were all about. I've been told that dozens of people streamed through our space. And one comment was consistent. "What a crummy cross." "What kind of church would have a cross like that?" "Couldn't you find a nicer cross to hang up than that one?"
Apparently dipping the thing in gold for the last 2000 years has made a number of people forget that the cross was an execution device of severe cruelty. But I love the idea of the crummy cross.
The headlines blare out more scandalous gossip. It's a familiar song and all the kids have the dance moves down pat. Right-wing Pastor of mega-church is accused of wild, sexual misconduct. I don't know anything about this pastor, and while I assume I would probably stand in opposition to some of his views; I genuinely feel bad for the guy.
Being a spiritual leader is tough. Being a spiritual leader to 30,000+ people is impossible. He might be a good CEO and he might be able to control his image and empire well - but at 30,000 congregants, you are no longer providing spiritual care. One downside powerful people face is the fact that vulnerable people surround them and expect them to show all restraint. The stress and pressure combined with the power make a downfall almost inevitable. What a crummy cross.
Olya and I had just finished our meeting. We closed in prayer and she volunteered to help me exchange some train tickets and purchase new ones at the ticket office. There's a lot of complicated language in such an event and I was thankful for the help. Olya co-leads the language ministry at our center and she's passionate and strong. When we got to the train station I didn't think and I opened my wallet and handed her some money to buy the tickets. I immediately got "the look" from three on-lookers. The "you're a dirty old man" look. Olya wears a bit too much eye make-up and she was wearing heals and I look older than I am and we were speaking English. Everyone who saw me hand her money immediately assumed that they were witnessing a familiar transaction. They assumed that I was giving money to the prostitute I had managed to find in L'viv. What a crummy cross.
Christine O'Donnell doesn't think that people should masturbate. Her logic is debatable, and she really has to reach around for scriptural support - but she genuinely believes it and is willing to put her neck on the line for it. What a crummy cross.
Mother Teresa was filled with doubt. Christopher Hitchens has gone to the Vatican to fight against her canonization. He believes that Mama T was a shameless self-promoter who managed to trick the world into believing in her false piety. I imagine that if she were alive, those accusations would throw her into another bout of depression she was so used to. What a crummy cross.
These are the faces of Christianity. Whether this is how we would like the world to see us is completely not up to us. These are people whom God has forgiven and whom God loves uncontrollably. These are people whom others identify as followers of Christ.
In the end, we must remember that the cross was not shiny and perfect - the cross was ugly and scarred and disgusting. The cross was only made beautiful through the resurrection. Our lives are ugly and scarred and disgusting. Even our Christian lives. Even our forgiven lives. They can only be made beautiful through the resurrection.
Amen.
About two years ago we had a small explosion in our stairway. We had to replace our large door, and apparently this event signaled a welcome to the community to come and inspect our space and see what we were all about. I've been told that dozens of people streamed through our space. And one comment was consistent. "What a crummy cross." "What kind of church would have a cross like that?" "Couldn't you find a nicer cross to hang up than that one?"
Apparently dipping the thing in gold for the last 2000 years has made a number of people forget that the cross was an execution device of severe cruelty. But I love the idea of the crummy cross.
The headlines blare out more scandalous gossip. It's a familiar song and all the kids have the dance moves down pat. Right-wing Pastor of mega-church is accused of wild, sexual misconduct. I don't know anything about this pastor, and while I assume I would probably stand in opposition to some of his views; I genuinely feel bad for the guy.
Being a spiritual leader is tough. Being a spiritual leader to 30,000+ people is impossible. He might be a good CEO and he might be able to control his image and empire well - but at 30,000 congregants, you are no longer providing spiritual care. One downside powerful people face is the fact that vulnerable people surround them and expect them to show all restraint. The stress and pressure combined with the power make a downfall almost inevitable. What a crummy cross.
Olya and I had just finished our meeting. We closed in prayer and she volunteered to help me exchange some train tickets and purchase new ones at the ticket office. There's a lot of complicated language in such an event and I was thankful for the help. Olya co-leads the language ministry at our center and she's passionate and strong. When we got to the train station I didn't think and I opened my wallet and handed her some money to buy the tickets. I immediately got "the look" from three on-lookers. The "you're a dirty old man" look. Olya wears a bit too much eye make-up and she was wearing heals and I look older than I am and we were speaking English. Everyone who saw me hand her money immediately assumed that they were witnessing a familiar transaction. They assumed that I was giving money to the prostitute I had managed to find in L'viv. What a crummy cross.
Christine O'Donnell doesn't think that people should masturbate. Her logic is debatable, and she really has to reach around for scriptural support - but she genuinely believes it and is willing to put her neck on the line for it. What a crummy cross.
Mother Teresa was filled with doubt. Christopher Hitchens has gone to the Vatican to fight against her canonization. He believes that Mama T was a shameless self-promoter who managed to trick the world into believing in her false piety. I imagine that if she were alive, those accusations would throw her into another bout of depression she was so used to. What a crummy cross.
These are the faces of Christianity. Whether this is how we would like the world to see us is completely not up to us. These are people whom God has forgiven and whom God loves uncontrollably. These are people whom others identify as followers of Christ.
In the end, we must remember that the cross was not shiny and perfect - the cross was ugly and scarred and disgusting. The cross was only made beautiful through the resurrection. Our lives are ugly and scarred and disgusting. Even our Christian lives. Even our forgiven lives. They can only be made beautiful through the resurrection.
Amen.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
I look forward to this ...
I am already writing a story or theological treatise to keep up with the next phase of technology.
Sermon St. Luke's UMC Kyiv.
I'm preaching this Sunday at St. Luke's UMC in Kyiv. This was a very difficult sermon to write. The lectionary scripture for the week tells the story of the rich man and Lazarus. It deals with socio-economic issues - and the church in Kyiv is comprised of people in poverty. Because I come from America I am instantly categorized as being wealthy - so this creates quite a strange dynamic. The rich man will preach to Lazarus about why being rich isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Essentially.
Also, the translator isn't super confident so the language is simple. Maryanna Yatsik and I have created a magazine to tell the story. On the cover is a rich person to grab people's attention, but inside is the story of Lazarus and the rich man in paintings, photographs, and drawings. It will help to give another layer to the story.
Lazarus
Luke 16:19-31
16:19 "There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day.
And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man's table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores.
The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side.
He called out, 'Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.' But Abraham said, 'Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony.
Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.' He said, 'Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father's house-- for I have five brothers--that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.'
Abraham replied, 'They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.' He said, 'No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.' He said to him, 'If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.'"
Jesus begins this story with a hook. “There once was a rich man.”
We love stories about rich people. The gossip columns only talk about poor folk if they were rich at one point. Magazines feature stories about rich people, pictures of their houses, and even information about their pets. Stories about rich people sell magazines and get people’s attention.
But then Jesus turns the story upside down.
This is a story about two people, but only one of them is important – and it’s not the one we would think. We never learn the name of the rich man. This is a story about Lazarus. Poor, poor, Lazarus.
Yes, there’s a really rich man in this story – but his name’s not important. The hero of our story is Lazarus. Poor, poor, Lazarus. The man who lies on the street in front of the mansion and begs for scraps of food – he’s our hero. The man with sores all over his body, the man who can’t afford medical care, the man who is so pitiable that even the dogs lick his wounds. He, Lazarus, is the hero of this story.
For Lazarus lived a good life. He loved God and he loved people. Lazarus probably even cared for the dogs that licked his wounds. Lazarus didn’t have anything in the world, but he had treasure in heaven. The people who were listening to Jesus were Pharisees – and they were lovers of money. They were people who would see Lazarus on the ground and would step over him in order to go and sit and visit with the rich man.
Our story begins with the death of two men. First poor Lazarus dies and enters his reward in heaven. Then the other guy, the rich one, also dies … and ends up in hell.
The rich man in hell asks Abraham to send help. But Abraham refuses. In life, the two men had lived very different lives. The rich one had already lived his reward. And Lazarus had only wanted the scraps off of the rich man’s table. The rich man asks that Lazarus be allowed to dip his finger and cool his tongue with it – the equivalent of giving scraps off the table.
Abraham says that it’s too far – no one can cross from heaven to hell. So the rich man asks that Lazarus be sent to warn the rich man’s family. Abraham also says no to this. The rich man’s family has the law and the prophets – they wouldn’t listen even if someone should rise from the dead.
When we read stories of rich people – we usually know the outcome. Rich people get whatever they want. Their money makes their crimes disappear, their children get jobs they could never earn, and even the roads they drive on are nicer than the roads we ride on.
But in this story the rich man is told no. No. No. No. He offers different solutions, and each time Abraham tells him no.
Now, this story isn’t an original story that Jesus told. It was a common story 2000 years ago. People were familiar with this story. But, Jesus changed the ending. In the story that people knew the rich man got what he wanted and Lazarus went to his five brothers to warn them. In Jesus’ version Abraham says “no” even to that request. They have the law and the prophets. They wouldn’t listen “even if someone should rise from the dead.”
And this is the big finish. Because, who rises from the dead? Jesus rises from the dead. And even if someone should rise from the dead – some will still ignore him.
This is a story of faithfulness. Yes, Lazarus was a poor man - but he wasn't in paradise because of the smallness of his checkbook. He was in paradise because of the largeness of his heart. He was faithful to the law and the prophets and heaven was his reward. The rich man wasn't in he'll because of his wealth. He was in hell because his wealth made him forget that he needed God.
It’s easy to forget where everything came from. Statistics tell us that most people feel they would be happy if ONLY they earned 30% more than they did. They did a survey in which they asked people how much money they would have to make in order to be truly happy. Most people said about 30% more than they were making at the time. If someone was making 1000 UAH, they probably felt they could be truly happy if they were making 1300 UAH. If someone was making a million UAH, they felt they could be happy at 1.3 million UAH. There’s something in all of us that just wants a little more than what we have.
Even a small amount of wealth can make us forget our need for God. There was a man in West Virginia who had always been rather poor. He had a wife and two children who loved him very much. Then one day he won the lottery – and he was sure that his life would finally be better. He couldn’t have been more wrong. His life did change. He suddenly had money and he ended up using it to buy expensive drugs and prostitutes. His wife left him and took the children. He was arrested and sent to prison. After he got out of prison he quickly spent millions of dollars on things he didn’t need. The only people who would talk to him were people who wanted access to his money. Soon enough he ran out of money and quickly found himself in the exact same spot he had been just a few years before – except now he had no job, no family, and no faith in God.
How quickly would we forget God if we felt that we provided our daily bread instead of God?
It’s easy for us to think that our problems would go away if we had more money. But that’s a lie. That’s a lie that too many of us believe. Our scripture today teaches that we will be doing a lot better if we are faithful. If we listen to the law and the prophets – yes, we will still be poor- we will be rich in faith and in love for one another. And really, could there be anything better than that?
Essentially.
Also, the translator isn't super confident so the language is simple. Maryanna Yatsik and I have created a magazine to tell the story. On the cover is a rich person to grab people's attention, but inside is the story of Lazarus and the rich man in paintings, photographs, and drawings. It will help to give another layer to the story.
Lazarus
Luke 16:19-31
16:19 "There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day.
And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man's table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores.
The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side.
He called out, 'Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.' But Abraham said, 'Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony.
Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.' He said, 'Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father's house-- for I have five brothers--that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.'
Abraham replied, 'They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.' He said, 'No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.' He said to him, 'If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.'"
Jesus begins this story with a hook. “There once was a rich man.”
We love stories about rich people. The gossip columns only talk about poor folk if they were rich at one point. Magazines feature stories about rich people, pictures of their houses, and even information about their pets. Stories about rich people sell magazines and get people’s attention.
But then Jesus turns the story upside down.
This is a story about two people, but only one of them is important – and it’s not the one we would think. We never learn the name of the rich man. This is a story about Lazarus. Poor, poor, Lazarus.
Yes, there’s a really rich man in this story – but his name’s not important. The hero of our story is Lazarus. Poor, poor, Lazarus. The man who lies on the street in front of the mansion and begs for scraps of food – he’s our hero. The man with sores all over his body, the man who can’t afford medical care, the man who is so pitiable that even the dogs lick his wounds. He, Lazarus, is the hero of this story.
For Lazarus lived a good life. He loved God and he loved people. Lazarus probably even cared for the dogs that licked his wounds. Lazarus didn’t have anything in the world, but he had treasure in heaven. The people who were listening to Jesus were Pharisees – and they were lovers of money. They were people who would see Lazarus on the ground and would step over him in order to go and sit and visit with the rich man.
Our story begins with the death of two men. First poor Lazarus dies and enters his reward in heaven. Then the other guy, the rich one, also dies … and ends up in hell.
The rich man in hell asks Abraham to send help. But Abraham refuses. In life, the two men had lived very different lives. The rich one had already lived his reward. And Lazarus had only wanted the scraps off of the rich man’s table. The rich man asks that Lazarus be allowed to dip his finger and cool his tongue with it – the equivalent of giving scraps off the table.
Abraham says that it’s too far – no one can cross from heaven to hell. So the rich man asks that Lazarus be sent to warn the rich man’s family. Abraham also says no to this. The rich man’s family has the law and the prophets – they wouldn’t listen even if someone should rise from the dead.
When we read stories of rich people – we usually know the outcome. Rich people get whatever they want. Their money makes their crimes disappear, their children get jobs they could never earn, and even the roads they drive on are nicer than the roads we ride on.
But in this story the rich man is told no. No. No. No. He offers different solutions, and each time Abraham tells him no.
Now, this story isn’t an original story that Jesus told. It was a common story 2000 years ago. People were familiar with this story. But, Jesus changed the ending. In the story that people knew the rich man got what he wanted and Lazarus went to his five brothers to warn them. In Jesus’ version Abraham says “no” even to that request. They have the law and the prophets. They wouldn’t listen “even if someone should rise from the dead.”
And this is the big finish. Because, who rises from the dead? Jesus rises from the dead. And even if someone should rise from the dead – some will still ignore him.
This is a story of faithfulness. Yes, Lazarus was a poor man - but he wasn't in paradise because of the smallness of his checkbook. He was in paradise because of the largeness of his heart. He was faithful to the law and the prophets and heaven was his reward. The rich man wasn't in he'll because of his wealth. He was in hell because his wealth made him forget that he needed God.
It’s easy to forget where everything came from. Statistics tell us that most people feel they would be happy if ONLY they earned 30% more than they did. They did a survey in which they asked people how much money they would have to make in order to be truly happy. Most people said about 30% more than they were making at the time. If someone was making 1000 UAH, they probably felt they could be truly happy if they were making 1300 UAH. If someone was making a million UAH, they felt they could be happy at 1.3 million UAH. There’s something in all of us that just wants a little more than what we have.
Even a small amount of wealth can make us forget our need for God. There was a man in West Virginia who had always been rather poor. He had a wife and two children who loved him very much. Then one day he won the lottery – and he was sure that his life would finally be better. He couldn’t have been more wrong. His life did change. He suddenly had money and he ended up using it to buy expensive drugs and prostitutes. His wife left him and took the children. He was arrested and sent to prison. After he got out of prison he quickly spent millions of dollars on things he didn’t need. The only people who would talk to him were people who wanted access to his money. Soon enough he ran out of money and quickly found himself in the exact same spot he had been just a few years before – except now he had no job, no family, and no faith in God.
How quickly would we forget God if we felt that we provided our daily bread instead of God?
It’s easy for us to think that our problems would go away if we had more money. But that’s a lie. That’s a lie that too many of us believe. Our scripture today teaches that we will be doing a lot better if we are faithful. If we listen to the law and the prophets – yes, we will still be poor- we will be rich in faith and in love for one another. And really, could there be anything better than that?
Monday, September 20, 2010
Barber Shop
I don't let anyone cut my hair who didn't also personally cut Stalin's hair.
There are two types of places where men can get a hair cut in Ukraine.
The first is a place like "Very Modern." It's where men go who want their hair dyed, styled, or groomed. Scruffy looking men go in and exit with fabulous Bieberesque quaffs. The owner/manager looks out of place in any place. His clothes could walk down a runway in Milan but his hair could saunter out of a trailer in Alabama. Men can either explain which style their would enjoy, or just entrust the responsibility to the vision of the maestro.
The second option is a place like "Men's Hall." Men go there to get their hair cut. Like, they go in with hair and they leave without it. Only one style escapes the Men's Hall; and that style is ready for war or skinhead parades. The barber is ancient. He uses a strait edge razor to clean up around your ears and then rubs pure alcohol onto the razor burns - all with shaky hands. I go there because I don't have to explain what I want. I mean, that's not an option at this place. You sit down, shut up, and enjoy your damn haircut.
Now, I think this is interesting because these two very different hair cut experiences are both making money in this city. Men who go to one would never go to the other. I like my barber to be 80+ and I wouldn't be caught dead getting my hair styled by mullet-man at "very modern." But for a lot of people, the idea of having a very old man shave their head sounds like a horrific experience.
We are quick to assume that what works for us is best. We even come to the conclusion that it is the only valid option. We think that if we are doing something new that it is the trend of the future and everyone should get on board. This is especially true in the church. We either assume that the other group is sacrilegious or stuffy. I think that both of these views are wrong.
In the same way that I hope neither place for a men's haircut puts the other out of business, I hope that neither style of worship or church "wins" out. I hope that they both succeed together and learn from each other.
Because in the end, either way, the result is what matters. Did a scruffy looking guy end up with better hair? Good - he had a haircut. Did a group come together to help each other connect with God? Good - we've had church.
There are two types of places where men can get a hair cut in Ukraine.
The first is a place like "Very Modern." It's where men go who want their hair dyed, styled, or groomed. Scruffy looking men go in and exit with fabulous Bieberesque quaffs. The owner/manager looks out of place in any place. His clothes could walk down a runway in Milan but his hair could saunter out of a trailer in Alabama. Men can either explain which style their would enjoy, or just entrust the responsibility to the vision of the maestro.
The second option is a place like "Men's Hall." Men go there to get their hair cut. Like, they go in with hair and they leave without it. Only one style escapes the Men's Hall; and that style is ready for war or skinhead parades. The barber is ancient. He uses a strait edge razor to clean up around your ears and then rubs pure alcohol onto the razor burns - all with shaky hands. I go there because I don't have to explain what I want. I mean, that's not an option at this place. You sit down, shut up, and enjoy your damn haircut.
Now, I think this is interesting because these two very different hair cut experiences are both making money in this city. Men who go to one would never go to the other. I like my barber to be 80+ and I wouldn't be caught dead getting my hair styled by mullet-man at "very modern." But for a lot of people, the idea of having a very old man shave their head sounds like a horrific experience.
We are quick to assume that what works for us is best. We even come to the conclusion that it is the only valid option. We think that if we are doing something new that it is the trend of the future and everyone should get on board. This is especially true in the church. We either assume that the other group is sacrilegious or stuffy. I think that both of these views are wrong.
In the same way that I hope neither place for a men's haircut puts the other out of business, I hope that neither style of worship or church "wins" out. I hope that they both succeed together and learn from each other.
Because in the end, either way, the result is what matters. Did a scruffy looking guy end up with better hair? Good - he had a haircut. Did a group come together to help each other connect with God? Good - we've had church.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Baby
Oddly enough, I feel quite small when I hold Jesse. At four months old, he is the perfect age to be held. His neck is strong and I'm not afraid of hurting him, but everything in his eyes screams the word "Precocious!" While David and Shannon and I munch on Ukrainian food worth far more than we pay, our facial expressions go from serious to gloopy as we catch eyes with Jesse sitting on our laps. From angry face to cooing sounds in the twinkle of an eye - someone's very special eyes.
I feel so small - to know that I was at one time just as small as baby Jesse. To know that once I needed EVERYTHING done for me. To know that God still catches eyes with me, and that God's face lights up in the same way that mine does - but for reasons far beyond mine.
I feel so small - to know that I was at one time just as small as baby Jesse. To know that once I needed EVERYTHING done for me. To know that God still catches eyes with me, and that God's face lights up in the same way that mine does - but for reasons far beyond mine.
Thursday, September 09, 2010
Standard Umbrella Height
I only resent my height when it rains. While most prominently noticed while living in Korea - it is a common fact that my eyes reside at Standard Umbrella Height(SUH). SUH is an international phenomenon. It seems that when rain appears, any level of decorum vanishes like the Wicked Witch of the West. On a normal day in Ukraine, only 4 or 5 people would physically push me in an attempt to jockey for better position. On a rainy day - with the full force of umbrella tentacles in my eyes - at least a dozen people feel free to push through me. Even though I am defenseless against the rain, umbrellaed people feel no moral qualm in pushing me out of their way or, at the very least, poking me in the eye with the points of their umbrella.
Friday, September 03, 2010
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
