Stay Awake! Mark 13: 32 - 37

            Stay awake!  That was our watchword Thursday night.  For only the 2^nd time in our lives, Kevin and I became caught up in Black Friday sales.  Stay awake!  The store opened at midnight, and Kevin planned to be there to buy a flat screen TV. You see when we moved out of seminary housing this summer, we gave away our old TV.  We thought—we’ll be so busy with pastoring congregations, we won’t have time for TV.  We won’t miss it.  But now that we’re settled, we find we do have some time to watch a show or a movie.  We do miss the nightly news.  So when the TV sale was advertised, Kevin decided he’d stay awake for Black Friday. 

            He prepared for the purchase—collecting information about the TV.  Would it hook up to my computer?  Could we use it with our old PlayStation? What options were available with and without cable?  He prepared for the transport—noting dimensions and weight.  Would it fit in the car?  Would he need help carrying it?  He prepared for the experience—resting in the late afternoon then inviting the girls and me into a rousing board game Thursday night.  He was able to stay awake.  When he arrived at the store, it was crowded.  Lots of other people had stayed awake, too.  Stayed awake for the beginning of the Christmas season.

            The Christmas season?  Is it already that time of year?  Yes and no.  It’s already the commercial Christmas season—with wish lists and sales. It’s already the social Christmas season—planning and attending parties and teas and get-togethers. It’s already the community Christmas season—lighting the Christmas tree on the square and enjoying all the decorations on the Christmas home tour.  But on our Christian calendar, in the seasons of the church, it is not yet Christmas.  It is Advent.  It is a time to prepare our hearts, our minds, ourselves for the coming of Christ.

            It is a time of the already and the not yet.  We remember and celebrate the coming of the Messiah as a vulnerable human baby. We remember and celebrate Jesus’ birth 2000 years ago. We remember and celebrate God becoming one of us. This is the already.

            In today’s scripture, Jesus says, “Stay awake!”  But he’s not talking about a Black Friday sale.  He is referring to keeping watch for God’s presence here among us. For Advent is also a time that we anticipate with hopeful expectation Christ’s return— when God’s justice will be fully realized here on earth. God’s justice—that those who are weak and vulnerable be lifted up by those who are strong and powerful.  This is the not yet.

            Not yet are all the hungry fed. Not yet are all the sick healed. Not yet are all the grieving comforted. Not yet are all the lonely visited.  Not yet do all persons experience abundant and eternal life. 

            If we want to see Jesus, then we must wake up and respond to the needs of those who are weak and vulnerable.  In so doing, we move from the already into the not yet.

            Stay awake! In this time of the year—the commercial, the social, the community

Christmas season—it is so easy to be busy—busy planning, baking, shopping, partying.  It is easy to be so busy with Christmas season activities that we fail to prepare ourselves for the coming of the Christ.  Engaged with the activity around us, we fall asleep to the spiritual season. Jesus says, “Stay awake! Be alert!  Keep watch!”

            I invite you to keep watch for Christ this Advent season—to seek his presence.

            In my last year of seminary, I met weekly with three other women students.  We supported one another—emotionally, spiritually, physically, and intellectually. 

And we held each other accountable to the spiritual disciplines we chose to practice.  One of the questions we answered to the group was “When was I closest to Christ this week?” or “When was I most aware of Christ’s presence?”  Knowing that I would be asked this question every Wednesday morning at 8 a.m. motivated me to keep watch, to be alert for experiences of Christ in my day-to-day life.

            I confess that since the 4 of us graduated and moved away from seminary, I have been lulled into a kind of sleep.  I have not regularly considered “When I was most aware of Christ’s presence this week?”  I pledge to you that during Advent I will resume pondering this question. 

            “When was I closest to Christ this week?” On Monday and Tuesday I read to our pre-school classes.  One little boy ran up to me, threw his arms around my waist, and with a big smile on his face announced, “I have been waiting for you.”  In his simple, joyful reception, I experienced Christ’s presence. 

            During Advent, I invite you to join me—asking yourself at the end of each week—When was I closest to Christ?  Perhaps in anticipating answering this question, you will find yourself fully immersed in Advent—preparing for Christ’s coming.

            The good news is that God is here among us—already.  In this Advent season may we wake up and see that.  May we wake up and live life fully—stepping out into the not yet!  May we wake up and serve the One who was, the One who is, the One who always will be—Jesus the Christ.  

             

Seeing Jesus in the Least of These--Matthew 25: 31 - 46

          Most of you know that I grew up in another denomination.  Part of that upbringing was memorizing scripture. Today’s text is one of those passages I memorized oh so many years ago.  Recently I met another Southern Baptist-turned Presbyterian.  We reflected that while we collected quite a few scriptures for our memory, we often did not understand them.  For we were not encouraged to question, or wonder about, or reflect on what they meant.  My first response to this text was fear.   I could not help but wonder, at the last judgment,  would I be a sheep or a goat?  Would I be placed on the king’s right hand—the place of favor, or on his left—disfavor.  Would I be invited to  “inherit the kingdom prepared for me from the foundation of the world” or would I be commanded to depart from the king—banished to eternal punishment?  It is a frightening text for a youth take in without reflection, without discussion, without understanding.  Have any of you ever read this text and wondered the same thing?  “Where am I in this text?  Am I a sheep or a goat?” 

            If you have, I invite you to approach today’s scripture from a different perspective. 

Rather than looking for ourselves here, let’s look for Christ.  After all today is Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday of the liturgical year, the end of the church seasons calendar.  It is fitting that today’s scripture emphasizes Christ’s ultimate sovereignty. Here Jesus refers to the Son of Man coming in all his glory; he describes a judgment scene, and the king is the one pronouncing judgment. Christ is that king.  And in that, there is hope. For the one who judges us is also the one who gave his life for us.  The one who judges is the one who redeems.  Where is Christ in this text?  Christ is the one with ultimate power.

            But where else is Christ in this text?  He is in the powerless.  Christ is in the forgotten, in the one who has need—the least of these.  And there is hope in that, too.  For it reassures those who suffer that we do not suffer alone.  Christ suffers with us. 

            Last weekend I heard a first-hand account of the hope that stems from Christ’s suffering with us.  One of the teaching elders examined on the floor of the presbytery meeting was Dr. Cynthia Rich Holder.  She shared her experience of living and working with the people of Madagascar—an island off the east coast of Africa.  Madagascar is a place of suffering.  In the last few years, the Malagasy people have endured poverty, disease, military coups, famine and international sanctions.  Despite what many of us would consider interminable hardships, the church in Madagascar flourishes.  It flourishes because for the Malagasy Christians salvation and healing are one in the same.  It flourishes because the Malagasy people know Christ’s presence in their suffering, and his presence heals them.  Christ the savior, is Christ the healer. It is from this text—as well as other texts—that they, like other powerless people are empowered.  For in this scripture, they and we hear that Christ is with the least of these members of his family.

            Like the 2 parables we’ve examined the last 2 Sundays, this text turns the disciples’ and our focus away from the end times and to the present.  This text says, “Don’t look for Christ at some time in the future—as if he is far away.  Look for Christ here, with you now.”  And where does this scripture tell us we will meet Christ?  Where will we meet the king of kings?  Will we meet him in places of honor or in people of power?  No, we will meet Christ in the powerless, in the forgotten.  We meet the Lord of Lords in the least of these.  This text must have been important to Mother Teresa, for in her autobiography, she said that every one of the untouchables—the sick and dying people that she helped in India—were Jesus in disguise.

            To understand this text better, we move beyond looking for Jesus, and we consider our response to him.  Being a follower of Christ is not just about recognizing Christ’s grace freely poured out for us.  Being a follower of Christ—his disciple—is about how we respond to that grace—whether and how we let it change our lives.  In this text, Jesus suffers with the least of these. He says, “I was hungry . . . I was a stranger . . . I was sick . . .  In this scripture Jesus suffers with the least of these, but who responds to the suffering ones?  The sheep—those placed on the king’s right hand. I was hungry, and you fed me. . . I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink . . . I was a stranger, and you took me in . . . I was naked, and you clothed me. . . I was sick, and you cared for me . . . I was a prisoner, and you visited me . . .  Who responds to the suffering ones?  Christ’s disciples—you and me. 

            We respond with acts of mercy—plainly stated, simple acts of mercy—feeding hungry people.  That may mean sharing canned goods, peanut butter, and produce through PACA food bank.  And it may mean offering those who hunger for God’s word

and thirst after Christian fellowship a place at Christ’s table.  We respond with acts of mercy—plainly stated, simple acts of mercy—welcoming the stranger.  It may mean greeting those who walk through our doors on Sunday morning.  And it also may mean seeking out and inviting people who would not think about coming through these doors except for your personal invitation.  Your personal invitation offered on the job, at the bunko party, in the YMCA class, on the golf course, or at school.  We respond with acts of mercy——plainly stated, simple acts of mercy—caring for the sick.  It could be driving people to doctor’s appointments.  And it could be listening to someone who is heartsick over broken relationship, visiting someone who is depressed, or taking a plate of home-cooked food to a homebound person.  Christ is indeed with those in need.  And it’s Christ’s disciples who respond to the needs.  We do it because that is what it means to follow Christ.  That is how we love God with all our heart and soul and mind and strength.  That is how we love others as we love ourselves. 

            In the text, the sheep are surprised to learn that in tending to the needs of others, they have tended to Christ himself.  And they are surprised to inherit Christ’s kingdom.  They had no expectations.  They merely acted out of gratitude for the love God had given them in Christ.  They did not perform heroic acts of sacrifice or believe in a certain doctrine or pray a certain way.  They enter into joy with simple acts of compassion. 

            Jesus said, “What you do for the least of these . . . you do for me.”  One contemporary theologian, John Buchanan, says,  In these words are three profoundly important ideas.  The first is about God.  The one who sent Jesus is not some heavenly supreme being far away from us.  God is here—in the messiness and ambiguity of human life.  If you want to see God, look at those who are vulnerable.  Look at the least of these.  The second is about discipleship. Discipleship is not about having theologically correct ideas.  Discipleship is about practice—giving ourselves away in love—to the least of these—just as Jesus did.  The third is personal.  God wants each one of us to live the truly authentic human life for which God created us.  But to do that, we have to stop centering on ourselves and turn our attention outward to others.  God wants us to know that to love is to live the abundant life.

            What about our love?  If our love is weak, we may be spiritually ill.  Each fall I visit my doctor for an annual check up. I had to find a new doctor this year.  My doctor performs a physical exam, runs tests, and then shares the results with me.  If those results are out of certain bounds, my doctor and I discuss and implement a course of action.  So, my annual checkup is a time to take stock of my overall health, a time for the doctor to diagnose possible illness, a time for me to reshape my living habits, a time to regain my health.

            Today’s text is not meant to frighten us.  Instead it is like an annual physical exam.  Using it, we can take stock of our spiritual health.  Are we looking for and finding Christ in the least of these?  Are we responding to the needs of those who are powerless and friendless, those who are sick, those who lack physical comforts?  If not, perhaps it’s time to discuss and implement a course of action with the great physician, Christ, the healer.  A course of action that will help us regain our spiritual and our communal health. A course of action that will draw us closer to the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords.  A course of action that will draw us closer to the God who creates, who loves, who forgives, who nourishes, and who empowers—each one of us.        

Risky Faithfulness--Matthew 25: 14 - 30

           Many of you know my recent history—that in the last 3 ½ years, I resigned from a long and successful career in public education to go to seminary, that we put the only house our daughters knew on the market and sold or gave away many of our belongings to move into a 2-bedroom seminary apartment, that I applied for a pastoral residency knowing that I would not be placed in our even near my native state of Texas, that we came here, my accepting this call when Kevin did not yet have a call.  Knowing all that, you would probably find it difficult to believe that I do not consider myself a risk-taker. 

            For you see, playing it safe was valued in my family of origin.  Taking risks was not.  Having begun to learn the clarinet in junior high, I did not try out for oboe or bassoon when I reached high school.  There were too few spots for those instruments, and I had already begun to secure a place in the 1^st clarinet section.  In my senior year, I ran for secretary—not president—of the National Honor Society.  Three others were running for president, and no one else for secretary.  Although history was my college major and my passion, I signed up for student teaching in my minor—math because school districts posted more math openings than history jobs.  Play-it-safe . . . avoid risks . . . that was my motto.

            Imagine, if you will, my sense of injustice when I first read this parable.  For the prudent servant, the one who does not gamble, the one who makes sure not one cent of the master’s money is lost, is labeled wicked and lazy.  Imagine my horror when the master banishes him into the outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth. 

            Where is the grace in that?  Well, maybe if we rotate this parable, turn it around, and

look at it from a different angle we’ll see some grace.  Let’s consider the perspective of the man who entrusts his property to his servants. The master chooses servants from his household who should know him well, servants he has taught and for whom he has been a model.  These are the ones he chooses to entrust his estate with.  He gives responsibility to each of them, according to their abilities—not overburdening any one of them.  He hands out talents.  A talent was the equivalent to what a person could earn in 15 years.  That’s a lot of money!  To one servant, he gives 5 talents, to another, he gives 2, and to the 3^rd servant, he gives 1 talent.  Each servant receives a supremely generous opportunity.   

            The first  2 servants do indeed understand their master.  They know what is important

to him, and how he would manage his estate.  So, they trade their talents—their huge sums of money—by taking huge risks.  How else, even in 1^st century A. D. Palestine would you expect to double your investment—except through great risk? These servants know their master, they know he takes risks.  After all, isn’t he taking a risk with them?  So, they follow his model.  Do you hear the joy in their voices when he returns and settles accounts with them? “Master, you gave me responsibility for part of your estate and look, I doubled the amount you gave me!”

            And the master’s response reflects back their joy. ‘Well done! You are good and faithful servants. Because you’ve been faithful over a little, I’ll put you in charge of much. Come, celebrate with me. Enter into the joy of your master.”

            Then, there’s the 3^rd servant.  Even though he’s been living in this household, watching his master, listening to him explain how he operates his estate, this servant does not know his master.  He does not understand what makes him tick.  Instead of using his money to improve the estate, he buries it. He puts it in the ground and walks away from it.  No longer in his possession, he does not have to think about his master’s money or about his master’s estate.  He does not have to think about his master at all in his absence.  He can just continue his regular-day-to-day routine. Go on as if this generous gift was never entrusted to him.  Go on as if he was never offered the opportunity to join in his master’s work, to increase his master’s wealth, to become more like his master, to enter into his master’s joy.  He buries the gift and walks away from it.  He does not let it interfere with his life.  He does not let the gift change him.

            That is why, when the master returns to settle accounts, he calls this servant wicked and lazy.  That is why the master is angry with him, and takes away his talent.  That is why he casts this servant out of the household, off the estate—into the outer darkness.  Because this servant never really knew his master.  Because he did not accept the gift.  He would not let it change his life. 

            In the parable, 3 servants are entrusted with huge sums of money—talents.  But the parable is not about money, nor is it about talents—as in the skills that we possess.  It’s about the gift of God’s grace.  In the parable, a wealthy man entrusts his business with his servants.  But the parable is not about business.  It’s about the church.  In the parable, one servant buries the money entrusted to him—playing it safe,

so that he loses not one cent of his master’s money.  But the parable is not about playing it safe.  It’s about taking risks—the kind of risks Jesus Christ took. 

            This parable is about accepting the oh-so-generous-gift of God’s grace and letting it change our lives.  It is about sharing our experience of God’s love so that others will enjoy it with us.  It is about being faithful disciples.

            Being faithful disciples.  What does that mean?  What does that look like?  Jesus calls us into reconciliation.  So being faithful disciples may mean, admitting our own part in the breakdown of a relationship.  It may mean—saying “I’m sorry.  How can we move forward?”  It may mean communicating—openly and honestly. 

            For his disciples, Jesus called together a diverse group—day laborers, a tax collector, political zealot, and religious fanatic.  Into his table fellowship, he invited those not considered “polite society”—tax collectors, prostitutes, and sinners.  So being faithful disciples may mean opening our building, opening our fellowship, opening our lives to people we have not previously invited.

            Jesus commissioned his apostles to make disciples—by baptizing and by teaching.  So faithful discipleship may mean committing ourselves to study—so that we can engage

these new people we welcome into our building and into our fellowship in relevant Biblically-grounded conversation.  Committing ourselves to study would actually be re-claiming a past tradition of this church.  I have heard members reminiscing—with great fondness—about learning the faith with Miss Bereniece in Sunday school, about being a bluebird—a member of a Sunday afternoon confirmation group, about choosing scenes for the stained glass windows with Miss Pearl, and about delving deep into Bible study led by Bill Funk.

            We are faithful disciples in the risky living and sharing of the gospel—both in our personal, private lives and in our corporate church life. Founded 144 years ago, this church is no stranger to the risky living and sharing of the gospel.  Through 5 building campaigns (1870, 1905, 1928, 1961, and 2000) members of this church provided space to worship, grow, study, fellowship and serve.  This congregation is no stranger to the risky living and sharing of the gospel.  For over 20 years, you have provide affordable ½ day pre-school. This congregation is no stranger to the risky living and sharing of the gospel.

Your Presbyterian Women’s group has a long and rich history of supporting mission—providing clothes for those in need here in our community and providing funds for mission work outside of Paola—through PCUSA programs.

            This congregation is no stranger to the risky living and sharing of the gospel. Four years ago, you stepped out in faith—claiming your Presbyterian heritage, worshiping with one another, and navigating your way through a spiritual, emotional, physical, and financial storm.  You trusted God to be with you, and God was. 

This congregation is no stranger to the risky living and sharing of the gospel.  Less than a year ago, you set out to pay off your mortgage.  You trusted God to provide, and God did.  This congregation is no stranger to the risky living and sharing of the gospel.  3 months ago, you called a recent seminary graduate, a woman, to be your full-time pastor.  We are trusting God to guide us into the future God has planned for us.  And God will.

            Jesus is the master in this parable.  He gives each of us a supremely generous gift of grace.  Through his model—what we see in his life and ministry—he shows us the kinds of risks he took, the kinds of risks he calls us to take.  And he promises, through our faithfulness, we will enter into his joy.

Thanks be to God!