Scriptural Sermons

Pharaoh, King of Egypt, enslaved the People of Israel. It was not out, as you might assume, out of cruelty. It was, rather, out of judiciousness. The People of Israel were not Egyptians. They were foreigners. They were the rough equivalent of what we today would call the undocumented. So now as then they were deemed to be threats. Add to this that the People of Israel grew increasingly numerous, as numerous even as the Egyptians themselves. This intensified the threat. In those numbers they could simply take over. Or Egypt’s enemies could induce them to fight for them, as a kind of built in fifth column. Pharaoh, King of Egypt, had to act. And so he enslaved the People of Israel. It was the judicious thing to do. But his judiciousness was not rewarded. In slavery, unpredictably, their numbers only increased. Pharaoh’s patience with the People of Israel grew thin. Judiciousness then crossed over to cruelty. He ordered the Hebrew midwives to murder the infant boys as they delivered them. That would thin their ranks. But the Hebrew midwives refused to do so, and with their refusal, civil disobedience was born. They chose to heed God not man. But Pharaoh King of Egypt was not so easily undone. He ordered his army to search out the infant boys and throw them into the Nile. Thereafter, cruelty no doubt took on a life of its own. Pharaoh King of Egypt rightly ranks with the likes of Caligula, Nero, Hitler, Stalin, and Mao. One wonders why it is that so many who rise to power become murderous and maniacal tyrants. The human cost - the suffering and misery and despair and tragedy -- are unimaginable and incalculable. Against this backdrop, a woman from the house of Levi gave birth to a healthy and beautiful infant boy. It would normally be the occasion for celebration and joy, but it was for her the occasion for anguish. When a child is born, a mother’s first instinct is protectiveness. But how could she possibly protect him? She thought desperately at first that she could hide him, and she did so for several months, but that could not go on forever. He could any day be discovered. The lesser of two evils was to abandon him to his fate. So she plastered a reed basket with bitumen and pitch, and she cast her hope upon the water. Low and behold, the daughter of Pharaoh happened upon the basket. She peered into it, beheld the crying infant, and she had compassion. The daughter of Pharaoh has never received the appreciation and respect she deserves. She is, inexplicably, overlooked. What she did was exemplary. Normally when people enslave others, they find justification for it. The enslaved are not deemed the equal of their enslavers. They are deemed subhuman. Slavery, therefore, is a necessity. More than this, it is morally right. That’s what the South advanced in this country, after all. But the daughter of Pharaoh did not fall prey to justification. She had compassion. And she acted upon that compassion. Here is an important reminder. It is not enough to have compassion. To have compassion, or any other altruistic emotion for that matter, does not make you a good person. You must act upon it. If you have compassion and you do not act upon it, that makes you decidedly less than a good person. As Martin Luther King, Jr. famously declared, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” And here is something truly astounding. Her act was to adopt him. That was, to say at the least, a courageous thing to do. It certainly would not have put her in good stead with her father. I can just imagine it. “Father, I have a surprise for you. You have a new grandson.” Such an announcement could only have dumbfounded him, but his confusion would have given way to horror as she went on, “I have adopted an infant boy from among your slaves.” If nothing else, we can now set the record straight. We can give Pharaoh’s daughter the appreciation and respect that she deserves. But we can do more than that. As I said, she is exemplary, and so we can follow her example. We can show compassion to those who have cast their hope upon the water. Yes, a mother forced by dire circumstance to give her child up for adoption, hoping that her child will be loved and cherished. But too, one with an atypical identity, hoping to be accepted for who he or she really is. One of a different race, creed, or income level seeking to relocate, hoping not that she will be welcomed, for that would be too high a hope; but hoping she will be at least be tolerated. One who has transgressed, hoping he will be forgiven. One who has something difficult to impart, hoping she will be understood. We can show compassion for those who have cast their hope upon the water. For someone greater, much greater than Pharaoh’s daughter did the same. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on us!” “My daughter has just died. Come and lay your hand on her, that she may live.” “Even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” “Jesus, come before my son dies.” “Lord, if you choose, you can make me clean.” “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David, for my daughter is tormented by a demon.” “Lord, have mercy on my son, for he is an epileptic and suffers terribly.” “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom” They cast their hope on him. And he showed compassion for them all. And when we cast our hope on him, he will show compassion for us -- unlimited even by a cross. Amen.

I attended a funeral recently. It was for my high school math teacher. He was one great guy. Everyone loved him. He taught math at my high school for forty years, and he also coached wrestling. By the time he retired, he had become something of a legend in his own time. The funeral was upbeat, not like so many funerals that are so very sad. He lived a full and long life, and we gathered to celebrate that. But for one man – a classmate of mine who wrestled for him. He was absolutely devastated. I approached him in the parking lot after the funeral and asked if he was okay. He broke down. “That man was everything to me,” he said. “I was O.K. so long as he was in the world.” Then he shared his story. His mother died when he was very young. His father was a physically and emotionally abusive alcoholic. By the time he was in high school, he was far down a bad road. He hadn’t the support to do well at school, so he didn’t. He was very angry, so he was a behavior problem. The only friends he could make were kids like himself, so he hung out with a tough crowd. And he had begun to dabble in drugs. He was pretty much a lost cause at the age of sixteen. Enter my math teacher. He approached him one day out of the blue and told him he could tell by his gait that he was born to wrestle. This could only have been a ruse to intervene. Even I, who knows nothing about wrestling, am suspicious that you can identify one born to wrestle by his gait. At any rate, the ruse worked. He intervened. And he made him into a great wrestler. On top of that, he made him into a great young man. His advice, understanding, and support were unwavering. He helped him to deal with his past in such a way that it didn’t destroy him. He filled his present with new found responsibility, purpose, structure, and discipline. And he paved his way to a future. After graduation he went to college on a wrestling scholarship and eventually became a doctor. “I feel so lost,” he concluded his story. “What am I going to do now?” While he was sharing his story, I could not help but think how hard life can be. We here are generally prosperous and privileged, so we can afford to put up a front. But behind that front life can be hard. Because it’s out there -- loss, abuse, addiction, and a host of other afflictions. It’s enough to make you lose your way. And as I said, we here are generally prosperous and privileged. What if the loss, abuse, and addiction are compounded by poverty or racism? Then it’s all but a foregone conclusion. Your way is lost. Yes, life can be hard. Life takes casualties. Lots of them. It can make us feel helpless and overwhelmed. We want to make things better, but what could we possibly do? The answer is no farther away than my late math teacher. What could we possibly do to make things better? We could reach out, like he did. And what is in view here is not merely a good example, although we must never underestimate the power of a good example and must always strive to be one. But there’s more in view than that. It has to do with the Bible. The Bible may seem like a forbidding book. For one thing it’s thousands of pages long. It makes War and Peace look like a short story. For another thing, it’s unimaginably ancient. The Bible’s story begins 2,000 years before the Common Era. I just read that a sizable portion of millennials don’t know what the Holocaust was. To them that’s ancient history - a mere 75 years back. The Bible is more than 4,000 years back. That’s unimaginably ancient. For yet another thing, it traffics in extremely complicated and sophisticated theology, plumbing in its unfolding the depths of such mysteries as our nature, the predicament that our nature has landed us in, and the means of our redemption. And it does so all the while purging itself of false starts or conclusions. So it may seem forbidding. But at the same time, ironically, the Bible lends itself to succinct summaries. Here’s one: God lives. Here’s another: Good triumphs over evil. And another: Love triumphs over fear. And another: Practice universal justice. And another: Love one another. And here’s one that’s right on point: Reach out. The Bible can be summarized in just two words. Reach out. Think about it. That’s what God did. God reached out. God reached out to Abraham and told him that from him would one day issue a nation, and not just any nation, but a nation that would somehow bless all the nations by bestowing upon them redemption. God reached out to Moses and bequeathed him an ethical law so that God’s people could bear his righteousness. God reached out to David and told him that from his descendants would emerge one who would embody that redemption. And that one in the fullness of time emerged. God reach out to his son. He told him that if he would make a great sacrifice, the greatest sacrifice, it would be the means for all people to reach out to one another. In a real way. A way that advanced God’s own being and cause. And his son made that sacrifice. And in his brief ministry that preceded that sacrifice, he reached out to everyone. And I mean everyone. Lepers. Prostitutes. Beggars. Even a bitter little man perched up in a sycamore tree. So reaching out is not just a good example. It is nothing less the mechanism that God that employs to bestow redemption. Yes, life can be hard. Paul knew this. “We would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.” But Paul goes on. “So we must make it our goal to please him, whether we are at home in the body or away from it.” And this means reaching out. “I feel so lost now. What am I going to do?” asked my grieving classmate. I told him that his coach had already showed him what to do. I told him to reach out. Amen.

Jesus was always one to bring the party. All he had to do was show up, and lots of others showed up too -- eager for engagement, eager for excitement, eager for something new. It was little wonder. Here at last was someone who had something to say. Something different. Something provocative. Something truthful. Jesus had a way of uttering truths that had never been uttered before, but at the same time, were strangely recognizable. And it was happening once again. Once again, Jesus had brought the party. He showed up at the house of Mary and Martha, and suddenly the place was filled with men who immediately took their place at his feet. This gesture was an indicator that they were ready and willing disciples. They wanted him to teach them. And so he began to teach. That was Martha’s cue. She sprang into action. After Jesus’ teaching, it would be fellowship hour, and as we all know, fellowship hour is predicated upon food. And in ancient times, you couldn’t rely on your reserves from Costco. Feeding a room full of men was labor intensive. Animals had to be slaughtered and dressed. Bread had to be baked. Water had to hauled. Martha went directly to work, expecting Mary to fall in place behind her. But what did Mary do? She went and sat at Jesus’ feet with the men -- shirking her role, defying expectations, and leaving Martha to shoulder the burden alone. I can imagine Martha’s frustration. I can imagine her passive aggressive attempts to get Mary back in the kitchen. Staring daggers at her from the threshold. Uttering loud sighs as indicators of her strain. Dropping pottery on the floor to startle Mary to awareness. But Mary took no notice. None whatsoever. Martha should have counted to ten. How much strife could be averted if we could all just remember to count to ten, or perhaps twenty. Martha for her part shot like a rocket from outrage to outburst. “I’m doing all the work in here Jesus, while Mary has yet to raise a finger. It’s hardly fair. And have you even noticed? Do you even care?” And there was doubtless more to it than the fact that Martha had to provide all the hospitality on her own. There too was the fact of what Mary was doing. She not day dreaming or singing idly out the window. She was sitting at Jesus’ feet. She was in there with the men. Martha was doubtless chagrined and embarrassed that Mary did not know her place. It certainly did not reflect well on the family. But Jesus did not vindicate Martha. Jesus chastised her, “Martha, Martha,” (and when someone says your name twice, wait for some kind of a correction to follow) “Why are you so distracted and stressed and scattered? Let it go. Mary’s right where she should be.” We’re left to wonder how Martha felt at that point. I bet she wasn’t happy. She simply didn’t get it or she would not have reacted that way in the first place. Now normally this text is interpreted as a caution against busyness. Martha with all her busyness is a prototype that we should avoid. Not that productivity is a bad thing. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop after all. But there’s a certain kind of busyness that’s not good. It’s when we become enmeshed with worldly or personal concerns and address them with obsessive application – application that mixes with pride, competition, insecurity. It becomes a kind of self-perpetuating force. And it causes us to lose all perspective. It causes us to become disoriented. We forget that we’re supposed to be at Jesus’ feet – his disciples, listening to him. And this is a fair enough interpretation, but I think there’s something else here. An elephant in the living room. Mary was right where she should be. She was at Jesus’ feet, his disciple, listening to him. But Mary was, obviously, a woman. Women did not seat themselves at the feet of rabbis. Women were not disciples. All they needed to know was taught to them by their mothers. Women did not sit side by side with men learning. It was unheard of. It was forbidden. And yet Jesus told Martha that Mary was right where she should be. Her place was with the men. Really Jesus? A woman’s place is with the men? Really Jesus? In first century Judaism? Jesus was a revolutionary and a radical, and don’t ever forget it. All down through history and even to this day there has an unspoken and inviolable code. It could be expressed as a variant of a line from the wedding ceremony. What society has divided, let no one unite. And Jesus was saying the polar opposite. A women’s place is with the men. Think about what this means by extension. Women, your place is with the men. Men, your place is with the women. Whites, your place is with blacks. Blacks your place is with whites. The wealthy, your place is with the poor, and the poor, your place is with the wealthy. The powerful, your place is with the powerless. The powerless, your place is with the powerful. The old, your place is with the young. The young, your place is with the old. Jesus was smashing down all dividing walls. His disciples are to be completely and utterly integrated. This is simply too radical, simply too revolutionary. But that’s who Jesus was. This is why he brought the party. It’s because he spoke God’s truth. Disciples are to be completely and utterly integrated, and this in service to humankind that is to be completely and utterly integrated. That all should be one. But this is so radical and revolutionary that it is very seldom approximated. It’s too hard. But is it really? Is it really that hard to forge the way? Is it really that hard to reach out? Is it really that hard to cross the aisle? To be vulnerable? To be risky? To be open? To be accepting? To be understanding? One thing’s for sure. It’s a lot easier than hanging on a cross in faith it could be so. Amen.

Avi, May, Gao, and I recently returned from our roadtrip to Tennessee. Normally, food militant that I am, I don’t allow them to drink soda pop, but in my largesse I deemed our vacation a special occasion during which the rules could be bent. Accordingly, at our first restaurant stop, I ordered them all a soda pop. I waited to hear their expressions of delight, and even more so their expression of gratitude for my freewheeling beneficence, but I waited in vain. “Why does Avi have so much more ice than me? It’s not fair,” May began. I glanced at their glasses. That waitress must not have kids, I thought to myself, because Avi had tons of ice and May just a few melting pieces floating pathetically at the top of the glass. “Avi, share some of that ice with your sister,” I requested. “But that’s not fair,” protested. “On our last vacation when we were allowed to have soda, May had more ice than me, and you didn’t make her share it.” “But that’s still not fair to me this time,” May quasi- reasoned. Gao, a quick study, caught on to the dynamic in no time. “Why is my straw orange?” she complained. “Theirs are purple and pink. Why did I have to get the orange one?” “Well there you have it,” I pronounced. “May has little ice; Gao has an ugly straw color….Life has been, in different ways, equally unfair to both of you, so that’s fair.” At that point, they weren’t quite sure what I was talking about. I wasn’t even sure at that juncture what I was talking about, but it halted the momentum of the conversation. Before Avi had the chance to realize that she had gained the high ground over her sisters, a little girl walked by with her mother. As she passed by I heard her say, “Why do they get soda when I had to have apple juice. No fair.” The other mother and I exchanged knowing glances. Misery really does love company. Perhaps I am serving some kind of penance of just desserts, because I remember having like conversations with my parents when I was about their age. More likely though, it is probably safe to generalize that children have a keen sense of fairness, albeit one driven by self-interest. But I would submit that really they are little different from us adults. We too have a keen sense of fairness, ours too driven by self-interest. We just give expression to it in an adult manner, a manner more discrete and subtle. It is a measure of our character, I suppose, the extent to which our sense of fairness is not driven by self-interest. The poet Thomas Grey recognized something like this when he wrote, “Each to his suffering, all are men, condemned alike to grown -- the tender for another’s pain, the unfeeling for his own.” Yes, child or adult, self-interested or not, we all share a sense of fairness. The philosophers, naturally, have argued over where it comes from. As far as I can make out, they argue that it is either a posteriori, or subsequent to experience – something we learn from our environment; or a priori, prior to experience – something which preexists our environment. And of those who argue that it is a priori, they argue further over whether it derives from our nature or derives from that which transcends our nature. Being a Christian, I believe it’s the latter. But again, regardless where it comes from, we all share it. This accounts for the fact that Jesus’ parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard is one of his least popular parables. Quite frankly, it offends our sense of fairness. The owner of a vineyard went to the marketplace at first light to hire laborers for the day. He agreed to pay those he found there one denarius, a fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work. At nine he returned to the marketplace and encountered more laborers waiting to be hired, so he hired them too, promising to pay them what was right. He returned again to the marketplace at noon, three and even at five, an hour before the workday ended. Each time he hired the laborers he encountered there. When the workday was over, he ordered his manager to pay the laborers in the reverse order in which they arrived. To those who had worked just an hour, he gave one denarius. They must have been overjoyed to have earned a day’s wage in an hour, but no less overjoyed than the laborers who had worked all day, for they having worked ten times longer were now entitled to nearly ten times that wage. But as it turned out each laborer, regardless of when he arrived, received just one denarius. So the laborers who had worked all day complained. “It’s not fair.” But the owner of the vineyard merely responded in effect that he was within his right. It was his money, and he could do what he wanted with it. The owner of the vineyard perhaps was within his right, but he wasn’t fair. I wonder what would have happened it I had taken that line with my sons, “It’s my money and I can do whatever I want with it.” I too would have been within my right, but I wouldn’t have been fair. Is Jesus teaching us that it’s this way with God? No wonder it’s an unpopular parable. But in fact, it is an unpopular parable because it is a misinterpreted parable. Everyone seems to miss one point, but it’s the key point. Jesus is teaching not about the marketplace but about the kingdom of heaven. “The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers.” Jesus is teaching about the age that he would soon inaugurate by his Holy Spirit, roughly but certainly not perfectly manifested by his church. And what Jesus is teaching is that our sense of fairness in the marketplace, which he so very brilliantly evokes so that we may be en guarde against it, does not apply in the church. It doesn’t matter how late in God’s salvation history you join the church. When you join, you receive the same benefit. You receive the Holy Spirit – a spirit of unity and equality in him, a spirit that rejoices the more that are included, a spirit that is as generous and loving as he was. What is in fact unfair is when those who joined the church earlier in God’s salvation history lay claim to special benefits, even the right to exclude or subordinate latecomers. Yet despite Jesus’ teaching, this has happened from the beginning. The very first members of the church, the Jewish Christians, claimed special benefits and attempted to exclude then subordinate the gentile Christians. And it has happened ever since. Anywhere, within the church, you see one type or class of person laying claim to special benefits and excluding or subordinating another type or class of person, usually a type or class of person different from their own, then by one pretext or another, and insidiously, it’s usually an appeal to scripture, then this unfairness is likely funding it. And it’s ironic, because those who perpetrate this unfairness overlook that they are too latecomers to God’s salvation history, whatever type or class of person they are. We are all latecomers to God’s salvation history. Look at the date. Jesus is teaching that the church simply does not work the way of the marketplace, that we must be aware of this and adjust our perspective so the church will be more fair, thus more happy and harmonious. And if you think about it, there is another place this applies. It applies to our nation. Again, we are all, at least most of us, latecomers to America, latecomers to citizenship and participation in the American dream. Yet often we who have nothing more than two or three generations on others, again because they are a different class or type of people, lay claim to special benefits and attempt to exclude or subordinate them. American belongs equally to all who want to be citizens and to participate in the American dream, to everyone American can possibly accommodate. And when we become aware of this and adjust our perspective, we and the nation will be more fair, thus more happy and harmonious. Amen.

As much as I like to run and bike and swim, I must confess that I’ve never taken much of an interest in spectator sports. Since so many people have told me over the years that I’m crazy not to like them, I’ve given some thought as to why I don’t. I’ve formulated a theory that since I have a bad sense of direction and often mistake my left for my right that my spatial perception is impaired, and I can’t process properly what’s happening on the field or court. But in the last analysis, who can account for likes and dislikes? All I know is that spectator sports of whatever kind make me bored and restless, petulant even. So I don’t watch them, and no one expects me to any more. Some years back though I felt certain I’d have a change of heart. It turned out that a son of mine was pretty good at football and was predicted to make a sizeable contribution to his high school team. I wouldn’t so much be watching a spectator sport, I thought. Rather, I’d be watching my son, my own flesh and blood, my pride and joy. Surely this would override my impaired spatial perception. But by the first game, I discovered I was wrong. I guess there are limits to maternal devotion. Before the first quarter was over I was bored and restless, petulant even. But of course I could scarcely beg off of his games. What would my son think? Never mind my son, what would the other mothers think? There’s no peer pressure like the peer pressure of other mothers. So I determined to make a heroic sacrifice and attend his games. I learned quickly never to sit near the dads. They tracked every play and second guessed every call. They’d have zero tolerance for my like. I therefore sat with the other mothers, chatting occasionally to pass the time. One night, there was a lull in the chatting, and I happened to glance out on the field. Just then all the stars aligned. The opposing team was about to score a touch down and win the game. It was all but a done deal. They were on the 10 yard line, and there were two minutes left. They threw a pass to a player in the end zone, and suddenly from out of nowhere someone soared high into the air and intercepted the pass. It was my son. Before anyone knew what was happening, he was on the move, dodging and ducking, zigging and zagging. Soon he outmaneuvered the pack, and was running, like I’d never seen him run, down the field. Three players were in hot pursuit -- gaining and gaining, but just as they were at his heels he somehow widened the distance between them and then left them behind. By this time, I was on my feet. I was screaming at the top of my lungs. My eyes were bulging out of my head. I was jumping up and down. And I was not the only one. When he scored the touchdown there was rampant joy and hysteria. You’d think Christ had just numbered us among the sheep. When I went down to congratulate him he was talking with his coach. “I didn’t think you had it in you,” his coach said. “I didn’t,” my son replied. “The group spirit somehow carried me down the field.” I guess there was that one day I took an interest in spectator sports. All this was, as I said, some years back. My son lives on his own now in New York City. I think life is a bit tougher than he thought it would be. He lives paycheck to paycheck working very hard at a job he doesn’t like much, though he knows he’s lucky to have a job at all. Being at the epicenter of the economic meltdown, he has many reminders of the high unemployment rates. We spoke recently and happened to reminisce about that football game. “It was such a big deal to me at the time,” he said, “but in the long run it was nothing.” “It wasn’t nothing” I said. “It was an accomplishment.” “Maybe,” he said, “But it didn’t change anything for me.” It’s hard growing up, I thought, as I listened to him. At least when you’ve been grown up a long time like most of us, you accustom yourself to life’s limitations and disappointments. Though as I reflected upon his words later, I realized that, disillusionment aside, he had a point. Even if it had somehow changed something for him, it would have just deferred the question. Because if you think about it, how can anything that is IN the world and OF the world really change the world? In the last analysis, it’s always going to be the same old story, and the same old story will end the same old way. It’s like old Ecclesiastes from our Old Testament lesson realized. “A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever….What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; There is nothing new under the sun.” There is nothing new under the sun. That’s how my son felt, and how we may be tempted to feel from time to time or all the time. But it’s not true. It’s not right, and it’s not true. There is something new under the sun. It began the first Pentecost, and the apostles prove it. Take the apostle Peter. There’s nothing in the record about it, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he was once in the spotlight. He was the leader. He was the one with the charisma. He was the one who took charge. But then life caught up with him, and before he knew it all that was left was a caricature of his former self; all that was left was his half cocked attempt to assert himself before those who now took little notice of him. All four gospels capture the same embarrassing portrait. Some of them even go so far as to make apologies for him. Look what spectacle he made of himself at the Transfiguration. Jesus went with some of his disciples to a mountain top. Suddenly he was transfigured and there appeared at his right hand Moses and at his left Elijah. Some great epiphany was at hand! What did Peter say? He said, “Boy it’s sure good that I’m here.” It was sure good that he was there? There stood the Son of God and standing in his midst the Father of Prophecy and the Father of the Law, and it was sure good Peter was there? And why? So he could build each of them a little tent. And he made a like spectacle of himself at the foot washing as well. It was the night before Jesus’ execution. The disciples were gathered together with Jesus in the upper room. Premonition hung in the air. The disciples awaited from Jesus some sign, some cue, some signal. Jesus arose and removed his outer robe. He poured water in a basin and began to wash their feet. He sought to symbolize in his actions what he before he departed wanted his disciples to learn -- that servants are not greater than their masters, nor messengers greater than the one who sent them. But when Jesus got to Peter’s feet, Peter refused to let Jesus wash them. Jesus assured him that he would come in time to understand what he was doing. Peter continued to balk. When Jesus insisted, Peter said he would permit it only as part of a full body wash. At this point I’m surprised that the evangelist John did not record the rolling of Jesus’ eyes. And these spectacles were nothing compared to the spectacle he made of himself after Jesus’ arrest. Just prior to his arrest, he proclaimed to Jesus, and I quote, “Even though I must die with you, I will never deny you.” And we all know what happened after Jesus’ arrest. He denied him not once, not twice, but three times. Jesus may have given Peter a special place of honor among the disciples, but it was not for any merit on Peter’s part. That wasn’t the way Jesus operated. It was because he looked at Peter and all people with compassion and forbearance. He saw that a special place of honor among the disciples was what Peter earned but needed. But then came Pentecost. The disciples were gathered again in the upper room when suddenly it was just as we heard described. There was the rush of a violent wind. Divided tongues as of fire rested upon each of them. We just heard it described, but we didn’t hear described what happened next. Peter had never been much of an orator, and that was probably for the best. What he said in private dialogues was bad enough; forget public speeches. But suddenly he was a great orator, and his words backed a punch. In his very first sermon, which is the very first sermon recorded in the Christian Church, he stood before the same crowds who had executed Jesus for a messianic imposter and declared to them that David himself had foreseen that the messiah would be the one that death could not hold. “Let the entire house if Israel know with certainty,” he concluded, “that God has made him both Messiah and Lord, this Jesus whom you crucified.” And that was just the beginning. Peter too was never known for his bravery. Just the opposite, he was known for his cowardice. But when questioned by the religious authorities about a miraculous healing he had performed, he stood before them his chest out, his head held high, and as brave as any man, and declared, “…let it be known to all of you, and to all the people of Israel, that this man is standing before you in good health by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified…The stone that the builders rejected has become the corner stone. There is salvation in no one else.” And when they demanded that he henceforth keep silent about Jesus Christ, he went on. “Whether it is right to listen to you rather than God, you must judge, but I cannot keep from speaking about what I have seen and heard.” The religious authorities were so confounded they let him go on his way. There was indeed change for Peter and change for his world. Into the degenerate Roman world there came through the apostles something new! It was not change from within which is no change at all, but change from above, change from the Spirit of Pentecost. It was in and of God’s world. It was the Spirit of the Pentecost. Friends in Christ, first the bad news. We don’t have it in us. We might think for a time that we do. We might hope for a time that we do. We might have our triumphs. But we don’t have it in us. We can make nothing new under the sun. But now the good news: But the Spirit of Penetcost has entered history. And by it and through it we do have it in us. We can make something new under the sun. We can do nothing less than bring heaven to earth. This is the good news for Pentecost. Amen.

As a pastor, I get asked quite a bit about the meaning of the cross. It’s a hard question. My father, who was a pastor before me and who is buried in these sacred grounds, devoted his whole life to the question. He tried to write a book about it, but he could never finish it. It was a hard question for him too, and he was a brilliant man. In fact, it has been a hard question for the Christian Church. The Christian Church down through the centuries has come up with four separate theories about the meaning of the cross, but all of them have holes in them. Even C.S. Lewis, when pressed on the question said that we Christians aren’t exactly sure how the cross works, but we’re just sure that it does. I think about the meaning of the cross a lot - when I wake up in the middle of the night; when I am out for a walk; when I feel the weight of my own sin. This much I think I can say for sure. Jesus bore his cross as a willing sacrifice. The New Testament makes that crystal clear. Jesus bore his cross as a willing sacrifice. He knew how badly he would suffer. The Romans made sure everyone knew that. He did it anyway. And there’s the thing. It would make no sense at all that he did if Jesus did not have faith in the ultimate goodness of being. So in a strange and mysterious and paradoxical way, you could even say that on the cross Jesus testified to the ultimate goodness of being. And he was vindicated. God resurrected him. The result was that God’s cause was advanced in history in a way it never was before and never will be again. Today is Memorial Day Sunday. We are called to remember and honor all of the soldiers who died on the field of battle. I am a student of World War II. I have been studying it pretty much my whole life. I will take it any way I can get it - histories, documentaries, biographies. There have been some fine dramatizations of it. My favorite is the miniseries Band of Brothers. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it. I warn you though it’s very vivid. So vivid that I can’t watch parts of it. I have to cover my eyes. The toughest scenes to watch were of the fighting at Normandy, fighting done by men who were still boys, really - 18, 19 years old. They bore the brunt of a world war. And what I can’t even watch they had to live. If you think about it, those soldiers had something in common with Jesus. They made a willing sacrifice. And the suffered too, boy did they ever suffer. But it didn’t stop them. Though again, it would make no sense at all if they didn’t have faith in the ultimate goodness of being, and the reality and worth of freedom and equality and just peace. And the result, again, was that God’s cause was advanced in history. This makes those soldiers nothing less than Christ figures. Now they may not have believed as we believe. But it really doesn’t matter. God works through his own people to be sure, but he works too through people who are not his own. Think of Ruth the Moabite. Think of Cyrus of Persian. Think of the Roman Centurion. Think of the Samaritan or the Syro-Phoenician woman. Willing sacrifices made in faith in the ultimate goodness of being. It would appear to be the very mechanism of redemption. And friends, this all has application for us, if we want to be even remotely worthy of them. We are now called to make willing sacrifices in faith in the ultimate goodness of being in advancement of God’s cause in history. This means we don’t get to live lives of ease or complacency or aimlessness. This means we don’t get to hoard our time and resources. This means we don't get to take shortcuts through life, short cuts that, ironically, get us nowhere. All of that needs to be sacrificed. Instead we, need to enact our belief in the primacy of justice, the primacy of peace, the primacy of truth ,and above all the primacy of love. No matter what it costs us. Moses was dying. So he gathered the people around him. What were his dying words? What did he tell them? He told them that each and every day they had a choice. They could choose the way of blessing, or they could choose the way of curse. That's our choice too each and every day. We can choose the way of curse. We can deny the ultimate goodness of being and find no higher meaning than selfishness and hatred and cynicism and suspicion and fear, and in so doing make everything we touch all that much worse, or we can affirm the ultimate goodness of being and find higher meaning in everything, in every breath we take, and in so doing make everything we touch all that much better. Each and every day it’s our choice. Let us pray to God that our choice honors him, his son, and the fallen soldiers we gather here to remember. Amen.

I just read to you seventeen verses from the gospel of Matthew. Seventeen verses and literally countless miracles. Jesus cleansed a leper. Then he healed a Centurion’s servant. Then he healed Peter’s mother-in-law. Then he cast out demons of many who were possessed. Then he cured all who were sick. Seventeen verses and literally countless miracles. So what’s up with Jesus’ miracles? I’d wager most of us have never come to terms, precisely, with what we think about them. So what if I put you on the spot? What if I asked you point blank, “Do you believe that Jesus’ miracles really happened just as they’re written?” You’d probably answer yes. But you’d probably answer yes because you figure it’s the “right answer,” and you don’t want to come off as faithless, or skeptical, or cynical, or doubtful, or impious. What if instead I allowed you to answer by secret ballot? You might well answer differently. You might well answer, “No.” Because we live in a scientific and secular age after all; a scientific and secular age, that, if it can’t quite disprove miracles, certainly puts no stock in them. It may surprise you that one of the most influential theologians of the twentieth century put no stock in them either. His name is Rudolf Bultmann. To the question, “Do you believe that Jesus’ miracles really happened just as they are written?” - He answered an emphatic “No.” His most famous account of what really happened had to do with Jesus’ multiplication of five loaves of bread and two fishes into enough food sufficient to feed a multitude of 5,000. What really happened, Bultmann theorized, was that Jesus inspired everyone to share the food they already had. But there’s a problem with this. The problem is the gospels - all four of them. They don’t record that Jesus’ inspired everyone to share the food they already had. They record that Jesus performed a miracle. If it really happened the way Bultmann theorized, why didn’t they just record it that way? Why didn’t they just record that Jesus was an inspiring man? In fact, the gospels don’t record that Jesus was particularly inspiring. His own disciples tripped over themselves his entire ministry. He was continually correcting and rebuking them. And talk about correcting and rebuking, think of the religious authorities. All he ever did was correct and rebuke them. He was so “inspiring” to them that they killed him. So to return to the question at hand, why would all four gospels engage in subterfuge? Why would they engage in subterfuge, not just with regard to the loaves and fishes, but with the countless miracles throughout them? That seems rather far fetched. No, you can’t really get around the fact that all four gospels record that Jesus performed miracles. And they go beyond this. They explain how it could be so. It begins with the fact that Jesus was the Son of God. This is to say he was possessed of God’s own essence. This is to say he was possessed of the essence that called creation into being. This is to say that he could command creation’s function. Now that’s a bold claim, but the entire Bible makes bold claims. Don’t get me started on the apostle Paul. But it’s a bold claim that makes perfect sense if you think about it. If the supernatural realm can not intervene in the natural realm, then what in the world are we Christians playing at? If the supernatural realm can not intervene in the natural realm, then there’s no resurrection. Then Jesus has changed absolutely nothing, and that’s demonstrable. The whole point is that the supernatural realm has intervened in the natural realm -- that God has entered into time and history, into your life and into mine. So the gospels explain how it could be so, and they also explain why it was so. Jesus performed miracles to show what God stands for. In the case of the miracles I just read, he performed them to show that God stands for healing, wholeness, restoration, restitution -- for abundant life, abundant life that we experience proximately in the here and now and abundant life that we will experience ultimately in the hereafter. Makes sense to me. Sounds intellectually defensible. So maybe the gospel writers actually know what they are talking about. Maybe there’s a reason that the Bible is the most influential book in human history, and it formed and sustained Western Culture before Western Culture became so worldly wise that it turned on it. That brings us to coronavirus, because all roads lead to coronavirus these days. All of this has application to our own times. It has to do with what I just said; it has to do with the fact that God stands for healing, wholeness, restoration, restitution, for abundant life, abundant life that we experience proximately in the here and now and abundant life that we experience ultimately in the hereafter. Because from this we can extrapolate a rule: What we ultimately anticipate, we presently approximate. Let me repeat that: What we ultimately anticipate, we presently approximate. And as we look around us, who do we see during these times of coronavirus, that is presently approximating? Precisely the doctors, nurses, health care workers, and all those on the front lines of this disease. They are more than brave, selfless, dutiful, and skillful. They are advancing the divine cause. They are performing miracles. But this disease is more than physical. It has a spiritual component as well, because it is attended by fear, loss, anxiety, and despair. That’s where the rest of us come in. That’s where we can advance the divine cause. That's where we can perform miracles. We can tender support, encouragement, comfort, hope, service, and love. It’s nothing more than what the writer of the epistle to the Hebrews wrote. We can, all together, see the things promised and welcome them from afar. Amen.

“Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?” Paul’s right about one thing. God has made foolish the wisdom of the world. Put another way, there’s no such thing as the wisdom of the world. The wisdom of the world is then an oxymoron. How about the wisdom of the world that youth and beauty are to be prized and pursued at all costs? Really? Then why is it that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, “had no form or majesty that we should look at him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him?” Or how about the wisdom of the world that wealth proclaims status and worth? Really? Then why is it that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, was born in a stable and was buried in a borrowed tomb? Or how about the wisdom of the world to look out for number one? Really? Then why is it that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, “gave himself up for us as….a sacrifice to God.” The lesson here, obviously, is that we should not accept the wisdom of the world as the gospel truth. Just the opposite, we should be suspicious of it. We should question it, assess it, judge it, and, by and large, reject it. Nowhere is this more true than with regard to the wisdom of the world that responsibility is a bad thing. “Responsibility? The less of it the better!” This is what the wisdom of the world would have us believe -- that responsibility is for chumps and drudges, and the cleverest among us have escaped it. They are sipping margaritas from dawn till dusk on a tropical beach without a care in the world. God has definitely made foolish this wisdom of the world...at least according to the Word of God. There are certain things that the Bible consistently condemns. One is hypocrisy. Another is hardness of heart. And another is complacency -- complacency -- being excessively at ease. If you think about it, complacency is the opposite of responsibility. Consider this morning’s Old Testament lesson. The prophet Amos was addressing himself to a society just like ours -- a prosperous society that was afflicted by social injustice. In Amos’ day, as in ours, there were the haves, and there were the have nots. The have nots were defenseless, resourceless, and vulnerable, so they fell prey to social injustice. For example, in Amos’s day there was an institution called debtor prison. If the have nots found themselves in debt, which was often, their debtors could march them to debtor prison. The jailer would pay off their debt, and the have nots would then work off their debt to the jailer in debtor prison. Naturally such an institution was in no way regulated, so abuse was prevalent and egregious. For the smallest of debts, the present day equivalent of a few dollars, the have nots would remain in prison for years, in conditions you don’t want to hear about; but you could say that debtor prison made Alcatraz look like the Four Seasons. Often whole families were incarcerated. If this isn’t social injustice, then I don’t know what is. And what was the response of the haves? They had no response. They passed the debtor prison day by day on the way to shops or social events. So they knew it was there. Still, they had no response. This is because they were complacent. In Amos’ words, “they lounged on beds of ivory, sang idle songs on their harps, anointed themselves with the finest oils, and drank wine from bowls.” They took no responsibility for debtor prison or anything else for that matter. Amos blasted them for it as only Amos could. No, the Bible doesn’t think much of complacency. It thinks much of responsibility. It’s heroes evince as much. God called to Abraham and told him to leave his country and his kindred and his father’s house and venture to a new land. What if Abraham had said no; said that he was at ease in his country and kindred and father’s house? But instead, Abraham took responsibility. He ventured to a new land. God called to Moses and told him to leave off his life in Midian and return to Egypt to rescue his fellow Israelites from slavery. What if Moses said no, that he was at ease in his life in Midian? But instead, Moses took responsibility. He returned to Egypt and rescued his fellow Israelites from slavery. God called to David and told him to leave behind his flocks and to forge the nation of Israel. What if David said no, that he was at ease following his flocks? But instead, David took responsibility. He forged the nation of Israel, forged its capitol Jerusalem to boot. Where would we be if the Bible’s heroes evinced complacency instead of responsibility? I am not sure, but it would not be a good place. I don’t even want to think about it. We could even remove these considerations from the Bible entirely. Where would be if surgeons did not take the responsibility to acquire and execute highly sophisticated skills in order to save lives? Where would we be if the military and police did not take the responsibility to keep us safe? Where would we be if explorers of all kinds did not take the responsibility to broaden our horizons? Again, I am not sure, but it would not be a good place. I don’t even want to think about it. What good there is in our society has been through people who have taken responsibility. And beyond that, responsibility is good too for the individuals who take it. This is because it is through responsibility that individuals find the meaning they do in life. This is as true as a mathematical equation. Say you take the responsibility to care for an elderly parent. The meaning you find in life will correlate to that. Say you take the responsibility to rescue or advocate for animals. The meaning you find in life will correlate to that. Say you take the responsibility to agitate for social improvement and progress. The meaning you find in life will correlate to that. Responsibility and meaning. The two go hand and hand. And another thing is true. The more responsibility you take, the more meaning you will find. That too is simple math. But returning to the Bible, one more thing is true. If you take divine responsibility, you will find divine meaning. That brings us to Jesus Christ, the Son of God. He assumed the most divine responsibility and found the most divine meaning, for he assumed divine responsibility for human sin and found divine meaning in human redemption. With him as our guide let us forswear the wisdom of the world, and embrace responsibility. Amen.