The People Gathered to Hear the Word Nehemiah 8: 1 - 3, 5 - 6, 8 - 10

            This is a story about a people—with a group identity. This is a story about the law—the word that meant so much to this people.  And this is a story about worship. As with most Biblical stories, it transcends time, and it is our story.

            The people gather together to hear the law—the word.  They have done this before. The 1^st time they were a ragtag bunch of newly-liberated Hebrew slaves.  They had fled Pharaoh, crossed the Red Sea and stood at the foot of Mt. Sinai.  There, the God of their ancestor Abraham, called them God’s treasured possession and renewed his promise to bless them to be a blessing to the whole world.  They heard God’s word and received God’s law as a sign of God’s covenant with them.

            The people gather together to hear the word.  They have done this before. About 250 years after their Mt. Sinai experience, they gathered to hear the word at the dedication of the temple in Jerusalem. They recalled how from wandering, newly-freed slaves, they eventually became a people united under one great king, David.  Anointed by God, held accountable by the prophet Nathan, David’s dynasty seemed to promise continued covenant-keeping with God.

            The people gather together to hear the word.  They have done this before.  About 300 years after the temple dedication, the temple had fallen into disrepair.  Temple priests encourage burnt offerings instead of changed hearts.  Kings filled their coffers with the taxes instead of providing for widows and orphans.  In the midst of a temple remodel program, the scrolls containing the law—were rediscovered.  And the people gathered  together to hear the word.  Shocked by how far they had strayed from the covenant, they renewed their vows to God.

            About 50 years later, overrun by raiders from the east, the kingdom fell.  The king & his cabinet—the leaders, the priests & scribes—the literates, the artisans & craftsmen—the skilled were led away to Babylon.  The unskilled, the poor, the peasant were left behind to tend what was left of the land. 70 years pass, and the exiles return under Nehemiah and Ezra’s leadership.  The once-scattered peoples gather together to hear the law—the word. 

            The word reminds them of their identity—the covenantal people of God—blessed to be a blessing to all families of the earth.  The word reminds them of their calling—to love God with all their heart and soul and mind and strength and to love their neighbor as themselves. 

            This is a story about worship.  The people gather together to hear the word.  All the people—men and women, adults and children—stand before the Water Gate, “a place where everyone could be present, even those who are ritually unclean.”[1] All the people come together—as a group—to hear the word.  They come together, not to hear about God—but expecting to hear the Word of God, anticipating God’s presence among them.  The people gather together to hear the word.  God’s word is central to this experience, so they respond with postures of worship—lifting hands in praise and bowing in awe.  God’s word is central to this experience, so they respond with shouts of “Amen and Amen!”  The people gather together to hear the word.  And they are changed.  When the word is read, the people weep.  “Perhaps they are overcome with regret at the loss of the Torah [the word—the law] during the exile.  Perhaps they have been reminded of how far short their actions have fallen from God’s expectations of them.  Or perhaps they are tears of joy, for the recovery of the Torah and for this sense of God’s abiding presence and providential care.”[2]

            This is a story about a people—with a group identity; it is a story about the word; it is a story about worship; and it is our story.  We are a people—with a group identity.  We are Christians, followers of Christ.  Our group identity has been evolving since 16 people chartered this Presbyterian congregation in 1867. Standing together at building dedications—the sanctuary & the education wings—and at rededications—burning the mortgage—we’ve heard God’s word to use this resource to develop and nurture faith and to care for those in need.  We’ve experienced exile and return.  Standing together, we have heard God’s word and revived our Presbyterian identity. 

            This is our story—for we are the people of God—blessed to be a blessing to the people in our community. This is our story—for it is in worship that our identity is formed.

            We gather together to hear the word.  We use the language of our faith to form and re-form our group identity.  And we translate that language, explaining words and phrases to include all—believers and seekers. We come together to hear the word.  “While [our] private spiritual . . . practices are important, there is no substitute for God’s people gathering together for worship”[3] for it is together that we are the body of Christ.

            We come together to hear the word.  The word is central to our worship.  Look at the headings on your bulletin: Gathering around the Word, Proclaiming the Word, Responding to the Word, Bearing the Word into the World.  Our worship revolves around the Word—Jesus the Christ, the Word made flesh.  We come to know him through this word (the Bible).

            We come together to hear the word.  Because we welcome all in our worship—young and old; believers and seekers; members, friends, and visitors—because we welcome all, our worship is changing.  To engage our children, we sing songs with repetition and offer opportunities for movement.  To include seekers and visitors, we use inclusive language, different Biblical translations, and contemporary music.

            We gather together to hear the word—again and again.  We have many opportunities to celebrate our shared identity—to dip our hands in the baptismal font and remember that while we are welcomed individually into God’s family it is together that we are formed into God’s people.

            We come together to hear the word—again and again.  We have many opportunities to experience God’s presence—to come to the table—to be fed, to be drawn closer to Christ, to remember his sacrifice, and to give thanks for his grace that transforms our lives. 

            We gather together to hear the word—the Word by which we are formed, the Word by which we are transformed. “When we gather together as God’s people, when we are conscious of coming into the presence of the living and holy God, when we center our worship on God’s Word, when we offer all of ourselves to God, we cannot help but be changed over time.”[4]  We come together to hear the word, “to give glory to God and to have God make a difference in us so that we can be sent out to make a difference in God’s world.”[5]

            We have come together to hear the word.  Let us reflect in silence.  Amen.

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[1] W. Carter Lester, “Nehemiah 8: 1 – 3, 5 – 6, 8 – 10—Pastoral Perspective.”  Feasting on the Word, Year C. vol. 1. Edited by David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.  p. 266.

[2] W. Carter Lester, “Nehemiah 8: 1 – 3, 5 – 6, 8 – 10—Pastoral Perspective.”  Feasting on the Word, Year C. vol. 1. Edited by David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.  p. 270.

[3] W. Carter Lester, “Nehemiah 8: 1 – 3, 5 – 6, 8 – 10—Pastoral Perspective.”  Feasting on the Word, Year C. vol. 1. Edited by David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.  p. 268.

[4] W. Carter Lester, “Nehemiah 8: 1 – 3, 5 – 6, 8 – 10—Pastoral Perspective.”  Feasting on the Word, Year C. vol. 1. Edited by David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.  p. 268.

[5] W. Carter Lester, “Nehemiah 8: 1 – 3, 5 – 6, 8 – 10—Pastoral Perspective.”  Feasting on the Word, Year C. vol. 1. Edited by David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.  p. 268.

"Signs of God’s Abundance" John 2: 1 – 11

           Weddings—I love weddings.  In my younger days weddings of friends were big, fancy parties where we renewed high school and college acquaintances. Family weddings, then and now, are opportunities to re-live memories, to get a glimpse into the history of family relationships, and to make new memories.  Weddings are celebrations that I eagerly await and remember fondly later.  Are weddings like that for you?  Just last Sunday we all clapped when we heard of DN and AS’s engagement.  I suspect some of us were thinking ahead . . . to an upcoming wedding . . . a celebration to look forward to. 

            Last June, my family traveled to Texas for the wedding of my older nephew.  Arriving in the small south Texas town early Friday afternoon, we were invited to the reception site to meet the bride’s Jeannie’s family.  Her mom, sisters, best friend, and dad were there—completing the decorating.  Her grandmother was putting the finishing touches on the wedding cake.  She’s baked and decorated the wedding cakes of all her grandchildren. And Virginia, the grandmother’s best friend was there, too.  She was making a list of how things would be set out the next day and noting where “extras” were being stored.  Since she is not family, she planned to come to the reception hall right after the wedding—and be an unofficial hostess as guests made their way from the church while the after-wedding pictures were being taken.  Virginia would keep an eye out during the reception so that Jeannie’s family could truly enjoy Steve and Jeannie’s special day.

            Weddings—I love weddings.  I have such high expectations—of a beaming bride and groom, of a lovely ceremony, of a happy celebration—I have such high expectations of weddings, but often something goes wrong.  Has that ever happened at a wedding you attended or planned?  Did something go wrong?  Like widespread flooding on the day of your beautiful outdoor wedding or the groom, delayed in a traffic accident, arriving hours later, hobbling in sporting a still-damp cast?  Something goes wrong at the wedding in Cana—the drinks run dry.  And like Virginia at Steve and Jeannie’s reception, Jesus’ mother, close friend of the family, steps in to avert disaster.  She turns to Jesus and places the situation in his hands.  She sets the stage for the miracle this text relates—the miracle of turning water into wine. 

            The evangelist, John, offers this miracle at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry for theological reasons.  In the miracle, Jesus changes water into wine.  In his ministry, Jesus will re-introduce hospitality and vigor to what had become a closed-off religion.  It is a theology of inclusion rather than exclusion.  The miracle sets the stage for Jesus’ ministry of celebrating “people—people getting married, people being healed of disease and deformity, people enjoying meals together.”[1]  It is a theology of joy rather than drudgery. 

            At the wedding, the drinks run dry.  In the miracle Jesus changes water into wine—150 gallons of water into 150 gallons of wine!  It is a theology of abundance rather than scarcity. 

The steward praises it as the best wine.  It is a theology of quality—God offers the best rather than just making do.  In the miracle, Jesus changes water into wine—using the stone jars on hand and easily accessible water.  It is a theology that from the resources at hand, God will provide. 

            The gospel-writer, John, calls this miracle a sign, drawing our attention away from the water-turned-into-wine and re-focusing us on the one who brought the abundance—the one whose ministry would be a celebration of God’s ever-flowing grace.  The miracle is a sign, focusing on Jesus, pointing out who Jesus is—the one from whose fullness we have all received grace upon grace.”[2] 

            While Jesus performed this miraculous sign, it is a miracle that depended on the servers. Instructed by Mary to do whatever Jesus tells them, they obey. 

The drink has run dry. They don’t second-guess Jesus about the ceremonial hand-washing jars when it’s the wine casks that are empty. The servers don’t question Jesus about using water when it’s wine we’ve been drinking.  Jesus says fill the hand-washing jars with water.  And the servers fill the jars to the brim.  Jesus says fill the drink pitchers from the hand-washing jar.  And the servers dip the pitchers in the stone jars.  Jesus says take this to the steward.   And the servers carry water?  for wine??  to the table . . . And the steward, who was probably thinking, I just love weddings, but something always seems to go wrong, and I think they’re running out of wine here—the steward takes a sip, and it’s the best wine he’s tasted in years!It was a miracle—a miracle of abundance—and a miracle of faithfulness, a miracle of obedience. 

            We often experience abundance at weddings—the abundance of good wishes and support offered by family and friends, the abundance of memory-making and memory-reliving, the abundance of hope and expectation for the couple’s future, the abundance of food and drink, of noise and laughter.

            As at the wedding in Cana, I believe we have experienced a miracle of abundance here at First Presbyterian Church, Paola, KS.  The occasion of our annual congregational meeting is an appropriate time to look back on the previous year.  We celebrate a miracle of abundance—of quantity and quality. In 2012, we had more opportunities to serve, study, worship, and play together.   In 2012 we grew deeper in faith—some of us in small group Bible study, some of us in private daily devotionals, some of us in re-newed mission work, some of us at camp.

            On this occasion, we celebrate a miracle of generosity.  Heeding God’s call to share in abundance, through our gifts to a matching grant—“Kids for Camp”—we sent 3 of our children to Heartland Summer Camp and 3 of our “tweens” to the fall Tween retreat—the first of our children to attend overnight camps in several years.  On this occasion, we celebrate miracles of abundance and obedience.  It was determined our exterior needed a major, unplanned restoration—tuck-pointing.

God provided through the generosity of 3 designated gifts and an unexpected inheritance. 

            We began 2012 with a budget deficit and a determination to be faithful to God’s call to mission and ministry in this community—regardless.  And God provided. Guiding us in using our resources wisely, giving us faith to continue the work God calls us to do here, and working through various individuals in the congregation who responded to God’s generosity in their lives with extra gifts, God provided.  We celebrate a miracle of abundance.  We began the year with a budget deficit, and God provided so that we ended the year with an actual surplus.

            The steward thought the host had brought out a cache of quality wine that he had hidden until mid-way through the reception.  But the servers recognized the miracle with which they had conspired.  And the disciples accepted the miracle to which they were privy. Like the disciples, may our eyes be opened to see the miracles God will work in 2013.  Like the servers, may we respond to Jesus’ commands—and be agents of miracle-making.  May we place ourselves in the context of a wedding feast, celebrating what God has already done and expecting that God will do even more.  May we be freed from the perception of “running out” and may we live in the reality of God’s abundance.  Amen. 

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[1] Robert M. Brearley, “John 2: 1 – 11—Pastoral Perspective.”  Feasting on the Word, Year C. vol. 1. Edited by David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.  p. 262.

[2] John 1: 16 Common English Bible

"Dearly Loved" Luke 3: 15 – 16; 21 – 22

          “The story you are about to hear is true.  Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.”[1] 

            When he was 21, Matt, made some poor choices.  He found himself arrested, charged, convicted, and jailed.  Although his mother, Sally, was angry with Matt—his irresponsibility, his lack of forethought, his denial of the ethics she had taught and valued—although Sally was angry with Matt, she stood by him.  She asked our church to pray for him.  She asked our pastor and others of us in leadership to write character letters to the judge.  She visited Matt regularly.  She shared his address with those whose letters and cards would uplift him.   Sally told Matt, in words and through her actions—you’re not alone.  We’re in this together.  We’re in this together.  That’s a vow I’ve come to expect in the context of family.

            We’re in this together.  I’ve always wondered why Jesus—God’s son, the Savior of the world—participated in John’s baptism of repentance.  It didn’t make sense to me that the One whose way John prepared, the One who would baptize with the Holy Spirit, the One who was God incarnate joined in a baptism of repentance.  Repentance means turning back towards God, re-aligning one’s life with God.  Jesus was already headed in the right direction.  His life was already aligned with God.  I didn’t lose sleep over it, but it didn’t make sense to me—until my reading this week.  Perhaps “Jesus presented himself for baptism as an act of solidarity.”[2]  In other words, Jesus was baptized to signify, “We’re in this together.”

             Isn’t that what the doctrine of incarnation is all about?  As Jesus the Christ, God fully took on humanity—all that it means to live and breathe, to work and play, to feel and do, to die—God fully took on humanity, so that we would finally understand.  God loves us so much that God says, “we’re in this together—you and I.  I’m here, no matter what.”

            “When everyone was being baptized, Jesus also was baptized. While he was praying, heaven was opened.”[3]  On the eve of the beginning of his ministry, Jesus is baptized, and according to Luke, he responds with prayer.  Prayer is communication with God.  Because our Bible is a book of words, our window, our frame of reference into Jesus’ prayers is verbal.  We read the words attributed to Jesus in prayer, and we may fall into an expectation that our prayers must contain words.  I think not. Prayer does not have to be verbal.  We can share our feelings, our hopes, our dreams, our fears, our desires with God through images, music, emotions, and movement.  Jesus responded to his baptism with prayer—maybe a verbal prayer, perhaps a prayer of posture, possibly a prayer of pure emotion.  Jesus responded to his baptism with prayer.

           

            While he was praying, heaven was opened 22 and the Holy Spirit came down on him in bodily form like a dove. And there was a voice from heaven:[4] "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased." [5]   God responded to Jesus’ prayer.  Prayer is communication with God, and communication is generally dialogue, not monologue.  So prayer involves our listening as well as our sharing.  Our listening may come in solitude, silence, and stillness or it may come in the boisterousness of physical activity.  Our reception may be fine-tuned indoors or it may be that it is outdoors where our God-antenna works best.  We may not audibly hear God speak to us, but we may find conversations with trusted friends offering us God’s response.  We may not audibly hear God’s voice, but we may feel God’s presence.  We may not hear God, but we may see God’s response in creation or in relationships or in art.  

            We’re in this together—Jesus and us—so I’m going to ask you to close your eyes for a moment and enter this very short biblical story.  Picture yourself in the water of baptism—you may be standing in a river like Jesus was or in a baptistery or you may be held in someone’s arms in a sanctuary next to a font or you may be somewhere else. Picture yourself in the water of baptism.  Breathe deeply, and open yourself to communication with God—open yourself to prayer.  Now, receive God’s response to you—“Welcome to my family. You are my dearly loved son.  You are my beloved daughter.  I am well-pleased with you.”  Breathe deeply again and open your eyes.

            We’re in this together—the ministry, the mission that this church is called to do.  We have leaders—deacons to help us focus on the needs of our community. We have leaders—elders to provide for opportunities of worship and study to nurture our faith, building us up as Christ’s disciples.  We have leaders—elders to guide us in being faithful stewards of what God has given us. We have leaders—elders and deacons—but we are all in this together.  Each of us is an important and necessary member of this family of faith gathered here.  When any one of us is absent, we are missed.  The banter around the family dining table is off-key when a voice is missing.  The household doesn’t run smoothly when any one member ditches their chores. We are all needed—gathered here at the baptismal font to be affirmed, gathered here at the Lord’s Table to be nourished, and sent out to share good news, to care for others and to bring them back to the font and the table to be affirmed and fed.

            Dearly loved, baptized in water, touched by the Holy Spirit, wrapped in prayer, we’re in this together—you and I and Jesus. We’re on this journey of life together. We’re in this family of faith together.  We’re in this together.

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[1] Opening lines from “Dragnet” radio and television series—1949 - 1970

[2] Robert M. Brearley.  “Luke 3: 15 – 17, 21 – 22: Pastoral Perspective.” Feasting on the Word. Year C. vol. 1. Ed by David L Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009. p. 236.

[3] Luke 3: 21 (Common English Bible)

[4] Luke 3: 21b – 22a (Common English Bible)

[5] Luke 3: 22b (New Revised Standard Version)

Stargazing Matthew 2: 1 - 12

      Stargazing—2 of my favorite movies have stargazing scenes in them.  In the “Lion King”— Timon the Meercat, Pumba the warthog, and Simba the lion and are lying on the ground, looking up at the stars in the night sky.  Pumba says, “Have you ever wondered what they are?” and Timon says “I don’t wonder.  I know. They’re fireflies that somehow got stuck in all that black stuff.”  Pumba disagrees—“I always thought they were great balls of gas burning millions of miles away,” he says.  And Simba, the Lion King-to-be says, “Someone once told me they were great kings of the past, watching over us.”

            In “Last of the Mohicans”—the star-crossed lovers, Cora and Nathaniel lying on the ground, look up at the stars in the night sky.  Nathaniel offers these stars as monuments to the brave, hard-working pioneers who settled the fierce, wild frontier.

            Stargazing—do you have any memories of star gazing?  . . . My first and best memories of stargazing are with Kevin—whose description of his summer internship at McDonald Observatory (along with his long, wild-looking hair) first attracted me to him.  In the first years of our marriage, traveling from Austin to Snyder on Thanksgiving eve nights, Kevin would talk about the stars and point out constellations such as Orion’s belt.  Driving in dark, towards desolate west Texas, away from the light pollution of Houston and Austin, I had my first glimpses of the Milky Way galaxy.

            Stargazing—Looking at the stars, pondering their distance from us, wondering whether or not they are actually still burning when their light finally reaches earth—stargazing places us in the context of a vast universe and reminds us of the omniscience, the providence, and the power of the One who created it all.

            This story begins with stargazers—not amateurs like the characters in the movies I mentioned, not even pseudo professionals like Kevin with his astronomy degree.  This story begins with professional stargazers—scholars who studied both the stars and the ancient writings that related natural phenomena with prophecy and portent.  These professional stargazers notice a new, a different star in the night sky. Researching ancient writings, they conclude it heralds the birth of a new Jewish king.  Some of them stay where they are, content with their data, their research, and their conclusion—content with their knowledge.  But some of these scholar/stargazers are moved by the portent of this new star.  They are physically moved—to travel, to journey to the land of the Jews and lay their eyes on this new king. 

            So, they set out for Jerusalem, the centuries old capital of the Jews.  Covering the 500 mile distance . . . a few miles a day . . . the magi travel days, weeks, months in  their caravan of seekers and servants and gifts.  Arriving in Jerusalem, instead of finding the new king, they are met by an old king, an anxious king.  Reading from different translations we hear that upon the arrival of the magi, King Herod was troubled, perturbed, frightened, terrified.  And the anxiety this king is feeling at the arrival of the magi spreads throughout Jerusalem.  Anxiety does that sometimes, doesn’t it?   One person’s anxiety insidiously spreads and infects the whole community—holding hope hostage, chipping away at even rock-solid faith.  Herod’s anxiety spreads even to the magi—these hopeful seekers who have journeyed so far and so long. 

            Consulting his own Jewish scholars—not ones who gaze at the stars but ones who pore over the scripture, King Herod sends the magi on their way—away from the Jewish capital, away to the backwater town of Bethlehem.   For Bethlehem had been named when Micah foretold the birth of a king who would shepherd—who would tenderly care for—his people.  

             Back on the road again, away from the too early stop at Jerusalem, away from the anxious Herod, the magi once again see the star that inspired their journey, the star that heralds the birth of this almighty and all-caring king. The magi see the star again for the 1^st time since leaving Babylon, and they are overwhelmed with joy[1], filled with delight[2]; they cannot contain themselves[3]. Somehow, the star guides them to a humble house in which resides a young mother and father and a toddler/baby.  Somehow, the magi understand that within this humble dwelling, to this peasant family, in the form of this powerless child—they are in the presence of the king the star foretold.  Somehow, the magi understand that even more—they are in the presence of God. God is revealed in this child.  Epipahny.  So they worship him. They worship the child—offering him gifts fit for a king but not gifts fit for a god.

            Their story ends in much the same way it begins—with a journey—a journey back home—a long, journey with the caravan of seekers and servants, tents and food and a story to tell.  In the presence of the Christ child, they are changed, and they return home . . . by a different way.  Changed, they return home with a story to tell, a message to deliver, good news to share.

            We are like these magi.  God is revealed to us—in the small details of this beautiful earth God made, in the vast scope of the universe God created, in the words which relate God’s continued activity in human history.  God is revealed to us, and we are not content to sit with this knowledge, this revelation.  Instead we are moved—physically moved to journey—to journey together.  God is revealed to us, and we journey together to lay our eyes on and our hands on God’s manifestation—God’s epiphany—to come to know Christ, the Word made flesh.  God is revealed to us, and we are moved to journey together—looking for signs of God’s presence, studying God’s word, worshiping with one another, and sharing good news. 

            We are like these magi.  Too soon, we may think we have reached our destination—settling in to a rhythm of weekly worship and study, paying off a debt, calling a full-time pastor.  And each time, we think we have arrived, as we begin to settle in, we are met with some anxiety—infecting us with doubt, weighing us down with fear, holding hope hostage. In the darkness, we see the star again, and we realize we need to move on, to continue the journey.  The star hasn’t stopped guiding us.  So we move—we physically move—our weekly Bible study opportunities increase, we invite our children to fully experience worship with us, we build intergenerational relationships.

            We are like these magi.  We meet the Christ—child and king, teacher and healer, community activist and table host.  We meet the Christ, and our journey continues.  We respond to God’s gift of the Christ—his love and grace—and to Christ’s gift of the Holy Spirit—her power and fellowship—we respond to God’s gifts with gifts of our own.  We share the good news that God is here among us.  We continue our traditional mission, we plan for new mission—like collaborating with Heartland Camps for a day camp here. 

            We are like these magi.  Moved by a new star, we find ourselves on a journey—together. Like these magi—may we hopefully continue this journey, seeking epiphanies.  May we hopefully seek the revelations of God’s presence with us, the revelations of Christ’s work among us, the revelations of the Holy Spirit’s power sustaining us.  Amen. 

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[1] Matthew 2: 10  New Revised Standard Version

[2] Matthew 2: 10  The New Jerusalem Bible

[3] Matthew 2: 10  The Message, a paraphrase by Eugene Peterson