World Communion

2 Tim. 1:1-14

Luke 22:4-23

               Once again there is so much in this passage that we can glean.  What do you learn about communion from this passage? 

               Jesus starts off by saying that he is eager to have this Passover meal with his apostles.  He wants to share his ending with those he loves.  He wants to eat and commune and be with those people who have been with him, with his family, his community.

               He gives of the meal even to his betrayer.  He does not withhold his meal, his food, his love, his communion, even from those who would destroy him.  Jesus is announcing that this is his body and blood.  This has layers and layers of meaning, but one of the things it says to me is that it is God’s sacrifice, God’s giving of God-self, provides for us everything that we need.  When we eat, when we drink, it is because God has provided that to us out of the sweat and tears of God’s own being.

In light of that, why does Jesus then give this meal, this food, this sustenance, this sacrifice even to the one who would betray him?  This is such a strong statement about God’s love and forgiveness of us.  Even those of us who have made mistakes, or done bad things, ALL of us are offered the life that God gives because ALL of us are loved, all of us are forgiven.  It doesn’t mean there are not consequences for our actions, but it was not Jesus who rejected Judas, but Judas who eventually was so devastated himself by his own actions that he hung himself, according to the gospel of Luke.  God was still offering love, still offering bread, still offering life even to the one who would hurt him.  He still offered forgiveness, and what’s more - a new chance, in every moment, with every bite of bread and drink from the cup he offered Judas, and he offers us a new choice, a new option for choosing life.  Judas, in the end, did not choose life, but still it was offered.

               I think about this in light of World Communion Sunday in which we take communion with Christians of all denominations all over the world today.  It doesn’t matter today if you are Presbyterian or Catholic or Greek Orthodox or Baptist or Pentecostal or whatever.  This, too, is incredibly significant because we all come to communion with different understandings of exactly what communion is.  Catholics believe in transubstantiation, which means that the bread and wine literally become the body and blood of Christ.  Lutherans believe in consubstantiation which means that while the bread and wine stay bread and wine, the literal body and blood of Christ become “attached” to that bread and wine and are taken in with the bread and wine.  For Presbyterians we believe in something sometimes called “receptionism” which basically means that we do not believe that there is a literal blood or body in communion: it is symbolic and God is spiritually present with us in the meal that we take. 

               But what is amazing about this day is that on World Communion Sunday, we put aside these differences, we put aside a belief in the importance in our dogma or understanding and we choose instead to focus on what we have in common.  We share a faith, we share a deep belief that our relationships with God matter, are important, are significant.  We share a belief that we are all God’s children, united through this meal, for one thing, and united by the fact that God loves each of us deeply, fully, completely.

               Jesus’ ministry included so many meals, so much feeding.  There was the story of the feeding of the 5000.  And in Matthew as well as Mark there is also the feeding of the 4000 which is a very similar story but simply with different numbers of fish, loaves, people and left-overs.  But other stories in the Bible also talk about food and eating.  The disciples, we are told, picked grain and ate on the Sabbath.  Jesus was eating with the Pharisees when the woman came and washed his feet with her tears (Luke 7:36- 50).  Jesus was attacked for eating with sinners and tax collectors. (Mark 2:0-6)  Jesus tells us we are the salt of the earth.  He compares the kingdom of God to yeast.  He chooses to eat and drink, changing the water into wine.  He tells the parable of the great banquet.  He describes himself as the bread of life, and says those who take of him will never hunger.  He deals with his own hunger as a temptation which he defeats.  After the resurrection, we are told, the disciples recognized the risen Christ when he broke the bread, THROUGH the breaking of the bread.  Jesus was recognized through his sharing food with his disciples.  Food is an important theme throughout Jesus’ ministry and in this, too, he never discriminates, never differentiates.  He feeds everyone who comes to him, he eats with any who will eat with him.  And it is through that feeding, that sharing of food, that sharing of a meal in which Christ is known.

               It is another thing as well.  There is a wonderful song called Big Joe by David Bailey.  The words are:

It was just another Sunday at the big church down on main.

He was just another homeless man, Big Joe was his name.

She was just a kitchen helper, Miss Betty mild and meek,

who prepared the sacred elements, every single week. 

Well the prayers had all been said, the hymns had all been sung. 

The pastor set the table, invited everyone.

Big Joe heard the music, he took a step inside. 

He saw a bunch of well-dressed folks who looked like they were trying to hide. 

He saw a man in fancy robes hold up a loaf of bread,

tear it into pieces.  And Big Joe thought he said,

“All ye who are hungry…”  Joe thought, “That’s me!” 

So, he walked on down the aisle, hoping it was free.

Well the pastor looked uneasy, not sure what to do.

But the usher held the plate out and said “broken just for you.”

Big Joe felt pretty lucky, then they handed him some wine.

The cups were pretty small but it tasted pretty fine

Then he said to the usher, “That bread was good.

Could I have a little more? Do you think I could?”  

Now the usher looked uneasy, looked a bit confused. 

Then he said “I'm sorry sir.  That's not how this bread is used.”

Joe said “I'd like to talk to the master of this meal. 

I'd really like to know just exactly how he feels.

'Cause up there on the table I can see it plain as day:

You got a half a loaf left over  - you’re gonna throw it away.

Cause I got a bunch of friends – they’re sleeping in the street –

right outside your door and they could use a bite to eat.” 

Well the ushers got to talking, then they began to shout.

Then before you know it, a fight had broken out. 

Meanwhile miss Betty slipped away, to the kitchen she did go,

filled a basket up with bread.  She brought it back to Joe.  

She said “Take this to your friends and you come on back next week”. 

Joe said “As you've done to them - you've done to me!”

That's how it all got started at the big church down on Main,

where people come from miles away to break bread in His name! Hallelujah!

As this song points out, communion was a meal, was a feast, was a celebration, was a feeding.  But it is also an opportunity for us to expand our vision of who is to be included, who is to be invited, who it is we are called to feed and with whom we are called to eat.

               It is in all of these things – Jesus’ ministry of feeding, Jesus feeding of even Judas at the last meal, the opportunities we have to feed each other, and this day in which, every year, we celebrate our collective faith through World Communion Sunday – in all of these ways and in all of these things the overabundant theme is once again a grace that overcomes every barrier, a grace that breaks down walls, a grace that forgives and offers new life to any who would like to partake.  World Communion Sunday is a day in which we are all invited to eat together a meal and to remember that God is in this meal with us.  God is in community with us.  God is in the basic stuff of life with us.  It is through this meal that we remember what God has done through history and what God continues and will continue to do through our lives. 

               Communion is remembering.  We remember Jesus’ death and resurrection.  But it is also a time to remember what God has done throughout history.  When Jesus ate the Passover meal, he was remembering the Israelites freed from slavery.  We also remember the return from exile.  We also remember that Jesus was recognized by his disciples after the resurrection through the breaking of the bread – through eating with them in communion and community.  Communion is the New covenant of forgiveness and grace and life.  Through it, we thank God, we bless God, we anticipate God’s fulfilling of the kingdom on earth.  We trust in and receive Christ’s love, we manifest the reality of the covenant of grace in reconciling and being reconciled.  We proclaim the power of Christ’s reign for renewal, justice and peace in the world.  The church is also bound with Christ and with one another, united with all Christians, nourished by Christ’s presence, and we ask to be kept faithful.  We renew our baptism vows by taking communion.  We celebrate the joyful feast of the people of God and anticipate the great banquet where all people will be united and made whole.  We are given a gift in this meal.  And that gift is a grace, a grace that we accept by eating together.  It is a grace we are also invited to pass forward by inviting all, as Jesus invited all, to join us in this meal. 

Come to the table and let us truly celebrate together.        

Things Worth Believing In

         There is a wonderful scene in the movie Secondhand Lions, in which Robert Duvall's character is sharing with his nephew a part of his "What Every Man Needs to Know" speech.

         "Sometimes, the things that may or may not be true are the things that a man needs to believe in the most - that people are basically good; that honor, courage and virtue mean everything.  That power and money, money and power mean nothing.  That good always triumphs over evil.  Now I want you to remember this: that love, that true love never dies.  Remember that, boy.  Remember that.  It doesn't matter if it's true or not.  You see, a man should believe in those things because those are the things worth believing in."
       
         I love this and I believe it to be true.  But there are two things that I would add.  The first is that there are many things that must be believed in order to be seen, to be lived, to be experienced.  I've said this before but I continue to see ways in which it is true.  If you believe there is something bigger than yourself working for good and grace and love, you will see it in action.  If you don't believe it, you will either fail to see the it altogether, or you will assign it a different meaning.  You will see something else.  When I was at the worst point in my life, I was driving to visit a loved one who was dying and the song "Lean On Me" came on the radio.  For me, it has always been what I call a "God-song" in that I hear God telling me all will be okay, that there is something bigger than me to trust in no matter what is happening in my life.  After visiting the one who was dying, I started to drive home, I switched the radio station and the song came on the radio a second time.  "Okay, God," I said, "but some people would assume this is just a coincidence.  I need a third time to be assured it's from you."  As I walked into my house at home, the phone was ringing and it was one of my parishioners.  He said, "I know we are scheduled to show a specific movie tomorrow evening at church, but I'm really feeling that we need to show a different one.  I really feel we need to show 'Lean On Me' instead...."  That evening as I drove to church for a meeting, the song "Lean on me" came on the radio yet again.  Because of my beliefs, because of the relationship I have with God, I believe that this was God in action, moving, talking, speaking to me.  But for those who do not believe, it was just a weird coincidence.  It would have had no real meaning whatsoever.  I understand that.  I don't fault those who interpret it differently.  In order to see God, God must be believed in.  It doesn't work the other way.  For me, God is worth believing in.  The God I believe in is Love, grace, forgiveness, reconciliation, compassion and healing.  I believe that to be bigger than everything else, to be stronger than anything else, to be more vulnerable and more beautiful than all else put together.  That is the God I believe in.  As I result, I see that God everywhere I look.  I choose to believe in that God.  And though others might be able to "prove" that this God does not exist, I choose to believe, because a God of love and compassion and grace is worth believing in.  As a result of my choice to believe in that God, I see that God everywhere I go and everywhere I look.  I experience that God in everyone I meet and in everything that I do.
         The second thing that I would add to what Robert Duvall's character said is that we are a huge part of creating the world in which we live, and that act of creation begins with what we believe to be true.  When we believe that good always triumphs over evil, we are much more likely to fight for the good, even when it is hard, even when it seems an unlikely win, even when the effort is great.  When we believe that there is a God of Love who cares about each one of us beyond our imagining, then we have the strength to live a life that is without fear, because we believe that nothing can separate us from that Love, from that care, from that grace.
        I know that my belief in these things has made me a better human being.  I know that my belief in these things has made me more loving, kind, compassionate, and grace-ful towards others.  I choose to believe in Love, in grace, in God because when I see them and experience them, I also live them out in my relationships with others.  My beliefs make me better and they make my world better as I live out my faith.  And for me, that makes them things worth believing in.

A Sense of Entitlement

Jer. 32:1-3a, 6-15

Luke 16:19-31

               Today’s parable has hard words for those of us who are the “haves” in our world.  There isn’t a lot of grace for the rich man.  And it isn’t that he was a horrible person.  The rich man in Jesus’ parable is not purposely trying to hurt Lazarus.  The parable does not paint him to be cold-hearted or angry or mean.  He just doesn’t see Lazarus.  He doesn’t see his need, his humanity, his worth - Lazarus doesn’t enter the rich man’s consciousness.  The same is true later in the parable…after they’ve died, the rich man still does not see Lazarus except as someone to be used to help him.  He doesn’t even talk to Lazarus, but instead, he speaks to Abraham.  The rich man asks Abraham to send Lazarus down, still seeing himself as someone who has the privilege and right to talk to Abraham but who would probably never consider talking directly to an underling such as Lazarus.  Lazarus remains invisible to him, someone he might be able to use to help himself and his family, but not someone seen.  His need was not seen, his personhood was not seen.

               Who is it that we don’t see who needs our help?  Who is it whose suffering we increase or contribute to, or fail to ease, without ever knowing it?  Around whom are we the privileged, counting on and expecting rights that others don’t have?  Where does our sense of entitlement over others tend to creep in?  Who is it that is invisible to us?   Of course, because they are invisible to us, it is hard for us to become aware of those we fail to see.  But I invite you to really think for a minute about who fails to enter your consciousness, or who you fail to understand, that has needs, real needs.

               Whoever it is, we have to remember that that person is Jesus.  We have to remember what we are told in Matthew, that whenever we do it to the least of these, we are doing it to Jesus.  He is the one hungry, thirsty, sick and imprisoned.  He is the one we don’t see, don’t feed – again either literally or in other ways, don’t care for when we do things, even unintentionally, that lead to another’s suffering.  Jesus is the invisible one, without the rights or privileges that we take for granted. 

As the commentary, Feasting on the Word puts is, “Perhaps the boundaries and walls we have drawn are not so much between us and others as between us and God. With a mixture of invitation and warning, in the book of Revelation, the angel says to the church in Laodicea, "Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me" (Rev. 3:20).  When someone knocks on our door (figuratively or literally), who is needy or hurting, we need to remember that that person is Jesus.  The person we find it easy to dismiss, or to not see, or to condemn, or to judge – that is Christ.  “That is God's Christ who stands at our wall, knocking. When we answer, we may not find someone who looks like us, but we may very well find someone who looks like our God, if we are paying attention.”

Based on today’s parable, then, what hope is there for most of the privileged?  The Rich man is told, when he begs for help saving his brothers, those still living, who are still not seeing those in need, not seeing how they contribute to their suffering, not seeing how they might help, that “they will not be convinced, even if someone were to rise from the dead.”  Luke was writing this about Jesus to an audience who knew that someone had risen from the dead.  Jesus had risen from the dead.  So, in your experience, are people who believe in the resurrection, convinced, then, that they must care for the poor and suffering?

We do a lot in this church for those who are poor.  We do tend to see certain people – those who come to Winter’s NIghts we see, we feed, we talk to, we care for.  Those children who we tutor or who are in our music camp in Pittsburg, those in the CCIH programs, we see them.  Those who go to the meals through Loaves and Fishes we see, feed, care for and talk to.  So for us, this story encourages us to think a little wider.  Who is it that we don’t see who needs our attention and care?

The unfortunate truth is that Luke’s Jesus does not have a lot of good news for those who are privileged and who do not care for those who are not.  Jesus says, “It is harder for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.”  Jesus says “woe to those who are rich because they have already received their comfort”.  And today Jesus says through this parable, that if we do not cross the gaping chasm between the rich and the poor in this life, we surely will not be able to do it in the next. At least for those who have more than their share on this earth, we are told, there won’t be a way to cross the chasm in the life to come.  The basic bottom line message?  For the Rich man in our story, he still thinks he has the right to ask for help and receive it, to have Lazarus ordered around.  He still cannot see him as an equal child of God.  He can’t do it.  The greater message then is that “Stepping out of one's privilege is perhaps one of the most difficult journeys of transformation.”   But again, while Luke focuses mostly on the privilege given to those who are economically sound and do not help others, I think we do a pretty good job of trying to serve those who have less here in this place.  But we still have privilege and there are still blind spots in that.

As I reflected on this passage this week, I found myself thinking about all of the ways in which we are privileged.  All of the MANY ways in which I am privileged.  Economically, certainly.  That is the primary way that Luke addresses our inequalities as well.  And I want to share with you that I understand how easy it is to move from a place of just using what we need, to thinking that all the luxuries we have are actually needs.  I know this because most of my adult life I have had to live very simply because we simply did not make enough money to live any other way.  For the majority of my adult life, housing costs were more than half of what I brought home each month and the rest of my pay went for food, medical necessities, and the children’s needs.  For most of my adult life, a vacation looked like camping because that was what we could afford.  But now I am married to David and my income for our small family is twice what it has been.  We took a vacation to Scotland this summer, the first expensive vacation that I’ve ever been on, the first vacation I’ve been.  And while much of the time I felt guilt about going, at the same time, I could see how very easy it would be to start seeing these vacations as “necessities”, as “normal parts of life”, as “part of the kids’ education”.  For the first time in my life, we’ve been able to fix things in the house without begging for help: paying someone to come in and replace the shattered living room glass door, for example; and the washer that went out this week, and even the bathtub with it’s hole in the bottom.  And again, how easy it is to start seeing these as necessities and forgetting that these resources we have are for the people of God, all the people of God, so that all might eat, and have a place to sleep, and have health care.  They are not “mine” to use on my own luxuries.

But, putting aside economics, there are other ways, too, in which we are privileged.  One of the more subtle ways we exercise our privilege is by wearing name tags when we are volunteers or helpers.  We separate ourselves from those needing the help, we make a wall through a simple name tag, between “them” and “us”.  I want to share with you a few stories that I hope will not make you uneasy or uncomfortable.  I am sharing these because they are stories which point out to me my own privilege, my own sense of entitlement.  These are lessons I learned doing prison visitations in Ohio.  And I share them in the hopes that they will encourage you to think more about areas of your own privilege which you may not see, may not name, and may not usually reflect on.

First of all, there was a real difference between myself and most of the other people visiting the prison.  There were racial differences – I was one of the few white women visiting one of the few white men in the prison.  There were language differences – I speak an academic or educated American English, while many of those visiting had not finished high school and their language reflected that.  There were clothing differences. While we were required to dress in a very specific way to visit the inmates –  we could not wear sleeveless shirts or shirts that were “low cut”, we could not “reveal” any body parts between neck and just below the knee, and a full set of undergarments were to be worn at all times (don’t exactly know how they checked this, but I had heard of women turned away for not wearing a slip under a dress or skirt, for example).  None the less, there was a difference in dress between myself and most of the other visitors.  I dress rather conservatively.  Many of the other women found ways to get around the “no provocative clothing” rules. Their pants were too tight.  When they bent over, body parts showed which they were quick to hide from the inspecting guards.  Every time I went, someone was turned away and not allowed to see the inmate they’d come to see because of the way they had dressed that day. 

That being said, the power in the prison, the privilege if you will, was with the guards.  And if they liked someone, or, unfortunately as I saw happen regularly, if some cute young thing offered something back to the guards in exchange for being let in, then dress restrictions were over-looked.  I wouldn’t flirt or offer anything to the guards though.  But they enjoyed wielding that power, over everyone. And so on one of my visits to the prison, I was refused entrance for wearing this shirt, which I was told was too low cut.  I was furious.  I was outraged.  But as I left, I realized that a lot of my anger was simply my own sense of entitlement.  Why should I be treated any differently than any of the other visitors?  Because I’m educated?  Because I’m a pastor?  The guards had as much power over me as anyone else, and that reality was hard for me to face. 

There are many other examples I could give you.  I used to believe that prisons provide for the inmates.  As a matter of fact, this week I saw a Facebook post about how much better prisons are than nursing homes.  All I could think was that the idiot who posted that had never actually been to a prison.  There is no medical care in the prisons I visited – except in extreme situations, and even then, the medical care was very minimal.  One of the inmates I spoke to was legally blind, so blind that he could not find the bathroom without his glasses.  However, when his glasses broke, they would not provide a new pair.  That particular inmate had to have an outside family member order a new pair for him with an old prescription and then jump through a series of hoops to get the prison to actually give him the glasses – a process that took well over a month.  Prison is supposed to pay for the food and lodging of the inmates, but at one prison I visited, inmates weren’t given breakfasts on the weekends, for example.  None of their basic toiletries are paid for, jackets for the winter time, underwear, socks, hair cuts, tootpaste, toilet paper, etc., while necessary, were not paid for. 

Talking with families who have incarcerated loved ones taught me that most families must spend about $500 a month for their inmates to simply survive there.  This is not on luxuries, there aren’t luxuries that can be bought inside the prison: the money goes for basic survival.  Things like razors, toothpaste, soap, toilet paper, coats for winter, shoes for winter.  The inmates who didn’t have people to pay for these things?  Well, they stole stuff from other inmates.  They threatened violence if not given what they ask for (and they follow through with it).  I realize that in contrast the rest of us are extremely privileged. 

Another woman who visited told me that she was propositioned by one of the guards and when she did not give the guard what he asked for, the loved one (her husband!) whom she was visiting was beaten to a pulp and almost died.

So where is the good news in all of this?  Where is the good news for those of us who are privileged?  The words of comfort in these stories are spoken to the poor, to those who suffer now, to those without rights and privileges.  They are reassured that their lack of privilege will change, that they will have the rights they may not have now.  That they will have a place at the table.  But where is the good news in this for us, who are privileged NOW?

First, I believe we can learn to see those who are displaced.  We can learn to give to and share with those who have less.  We can learn to see our privilege and we can learn to not abuse it.  It isn’t easy, but what is impossible for humans is possible for God.  In that is good news.  The good news is also that God is a God of grace and mercy.  The rich man in the story appealed to Abraham, and Abraham said “no”.  But we appeal to God.  And as we do, as we ask for God’s love, care and mercy, God will answer us, give us help to grow, understand, see, and love more fully, to not use or abuse our privileges.  God is the God of abundance, grace, love and there is enough for everyone in God’s realm.  We are called to see the invisible, to care for the poor, to offer mercy and compassion.  But we are also given the strength, grace and love to be able to do that, to respond to this call, with God’s help.   Let us pray for the eyes to see and the grace to love even the loveless.  Amen.

Value, Worth, Esteem

        I deeply believe that God loves each one of us with a love that is huge, profound, and beyond our comprehension.  I also believe, with strong conviction, that because of that, we don't have to care what other people think of us.  We are valued deeply by God.  And that knowledge should be sufficient for each of us to feel that we are enough, as we are, who we are, despite the judgments and condemnations of the world.  I'm reminded of the book, You are Special, by Max Lucado.  It tells the story of the Wemmicks, wooden people who give each other dots and stars depending on whether they judge the other to be a good or a bad Wemmick.  The star of the story, Punchinello, finds his way, however, to the Maker of all the wooden people who tells him that the only judgment that matters is that of his maker and that this maker loves Punchinello. He also tells Punchinello that Punchinello is special. As Punchinello leaves the Maker, he thinks, "I think he really means it!" and one of the dots that had been put on him by other Wemmicks falls to the floor.  I love this story because I think it speaks truth.  Those who can really see, feel and believe that they are loved by something beyond themselves are just simply not as reliant on the feedback, judgments and opinions of those around them.  It is important and vital, then, that we accept this grace that is given so that we can be who we are called to be, without fear, and without wearing on our persons the judgments of others.
         I believe this, but the truth is that I rarely feel that this includes me.  I know this is a common problem.  Many of us are all too aware of our own limitations, our own flaws, our errors, our mistakes, to actually take in to our beings that we are loved.  We are too busy trying to live up to some standard set by others or that we believe to be God's to accept that maybe we are special and beautiful and loved just as we are.  I don't think God wants us to "be good" because we have to be good in order to be loved.  I think we respond to the grace of being loved by wanting to be the best we can be.  But again, while I can proclaim this truth until I'm blue in the face, I rarely live this out, I rarely take this in to my own person, I rarely feel "enough" or even loved or lovable as I am.
       Or, I would say, that has been the case for most of my life.  But it seems to be changing.  And I've had to spend some time thinking about why this might be the case, why my feelings are turning now, why I feel different about my own person and about my own worth than I have in the past.
        It may simply be that I have become better at surrounding myself with people who are not as judgmental.  I know the people who in the past have been judging and condemning of my person, I recognize the type of person who in the past would shun me or reject me, and while I used to want their approval more than anything, I no longer seek it or value it in the same way.  I no longer keep putting myself into situations where I am surrounded by those who make it clear that I am "not enough" and "not chosen" to be in their special posses.  I think the saying, "I would never join any club that would actually have me" no longer applies.
       But I think it is deeper than that.  I have prayed to see each person with God's eyes, and as a part of that prayer (because for me prayer is about letting ourselves be changed by God, not about trying to change God), I have opened myself and worked hard to look at each person with eyes that see their value.  I look at each person for who they are, striving to see deeper than their social skills or challenges, their popularity, their ability to command a room full of people, their intelligence, their gifts.  I am coming to truly learn to love each person I meet for all of who they are, to strive to understand with compassion why certain people are the way they are, why they act as they do, and why they behave in certain ways.  I no longer rank other people into "this person's judgment and affection are worth having" and "this person's is not" simply because I am no longer ranking people, period.  I have come to a deeper valuing of everyone that I meet.  I see that people who are lacking in some areas, perhaps, have other gifts and are just as valuable and just as important, and just as much children of God as people who are universally loved and whose affection is generally sought.  As I move into a deeper understanding of the value of each other human being that I meet, I find that my affection for each individual, no matter their gifts and their challenges, is also expanding to include myself.  The more compassion and less judgment I have of others, the more I find for myself as well.
       Funny how that works.
       The other side of this, then, is a deeper awareness that when people are being judgmental of me, I can see with greater fullness that this is actually a reflection of their inner judgments on themselves.  They may come across as self-confident or even arrogant, but true confidence, and a true and healthy sense of self has no need to judge others, to put others down, to "rise above" others by lowering them or putting them down.
       And that is hugely freeing.
       As I said at the beginning, I believe with all my being that we are each valued simply because we were created into being.  We are beautiful and loved enough to have been given life.  That is a value we can trust.  Each breath we take is a gift, a gift given because we are an important and wonderful part of this creation.  When we can rest in that knowledge of being loved beyond our imaginings, being loved with every breath, then we no longer need to judge others, let alone ourselves.  Like the Wemmicks, we can let the dots and stars of the world roll off and instead we can be free to simply be who we are and to delight in this life we've been given.  Thanks be to God.

Hypocrisy

Matthew 23:27-39

Luke 14:1-6

I want to begin this morning by having you look for a minute at the beginning of chapter 23 in Matthew.  As you can see the entire chapter of 23 is about the hypocrisy of the Pharisees.  But the chapter  opens by recognizing the authority of the scribes and Pharisees, acknowledging that they sit on "Moses' seat" (v. 2). They are teachers and interpreters of the law in the line of Moses, the original lawgiver and the most important figures in Judaism; they are due deference and respect in religious matters. After all, Jesus came not to "abolish but to fulfill" the law (Matt. 5:17).  As a whole, Matthew labors to show Jesus' reverence for and continuity with Judaism. The problem is not Jewish religious traditions or teachings; it’s not the pharisees religious traditions or teachings.  Jesus commends them to everyone: "Do whatever they teach you and follow it" (v. 3).

The problem here is that the Pharisees misuse their authority, misuse scripture and misuse the law. They behave in ways that are counter to the truth teach. They speak of glorifying God, but they seem most interested in self-aggrandizement. They speak of orienting their entire lives toward God, but they draw everyone's eyes toward themselves. They speak of their responsibility for the people of God, yet "are unwilling to lift a finger" to lighten the people's burdens (v. 4). They proclaim that they are people of God, yet they fail to do the basics of caring for one another.  But what is primary, they are MORE concerned about the laws than they are about the people.  And as Jesus points out, “Sabbath was made for the people, not people for the Sabbath.”  In other words, the laws were made to serve us, to make us better, to make us whole, to help us to be closer to God.  We were not made simply to follow the laws.  That means, in all things, that situations must be brought into account.  In today’s passage from Luke we see this with much more clarity.  Yes, it was against the law to heal on the Sabbath or do anything on the Sabbath that required work.  But Jesus broke this law for the sake of healing.  He did this repeatedly.  His disciples broke the law by picking grain on the sabbath: again, they did work so that they might eat.  I cannot stress this strongly enough because this is very central to Jesus’ teachings: we are to help and love one another.  The laws enforce that.  But as with every construct, every rule, every rigidity, the things that are made to serve us can also be misused to hurt people, to harm them, to injure them.  When that is the case, Jesus was clear, the needs of the people, of God’s people, of all people, MUST and do come first. 

Where the hypocrisy part falls into this is that people are generally willing to bend the laws when it serves them, and then they strengthen and insist on the laws in ways that harm other people.  As Jesus said, “If one of you has a child or an ox that falls into a well on the Sabbath day, will you not immediately pull it out?”  Of course they would.  They would break the Sabbath law to save one of their own.  But when it comes to healing or caring for others, they want Jesus to wait for the appropriate day, not recognizing that each day lost is a lifetime for a person in pain, in isolation and in struggle. 

In these actions, the scribes and Pharisees were not unusual or unique.  The Biblical commentary, Feasting on the Word  said it this way: “It is so easy to confuse our interests with God's purposes, our power with God's sovereignty, our standing with God's glory. Whether we are referring to our individual or collective lives, human beings have a strong tendency to create false and sinful hierarchies that displace God's authority; we have a proclivity to ignore or rebel against God's kingdom in order to protect our minor fiefdoms. This is a particularly distasteful, yet common, inclination among religious people and their leaders. Constant reference to God and God's purposes can easily lend our own aims, desires, and identities a semblance of holiness that is sanctimonious and hypocritical.  Pious words and orthodox convictions alone do not make a person faithful…. The true measure of faithfulness is found not in the words one speaks or the doctrines one accepts but in the orientation of one's heart.  Is one's whole heart and life oriented toward God, or is it aimed at something less than God (Matt. 6:19-34)?” – Feasting on the Word. 

I love that.  This is not about our ability to follow rules.  This is about where our hearts are oriented.  Do we walk with love?  Do we see with love?  Do we interact with others with love?  If so, our hearts are oriented towards God.  When we fail to do so, we fail to be oriented towards God.  It’s that simple.  When we are drawing our circles tighter, when we are pulling in and taking care only of our own, when we are reacting out of fear, our hearts are not with God and we will be seen as the hypocrites that we all, at times, can be. 

As I said, we are not immune from this. We all have heard about Westboro Baptist Church.  It gets itself in the news a great deal lately.  This specific church looks “pious”.  They look “religious”.  They are using the bible and quoting rules, and saying things like “God Says”…. But what is coming out of their mouths?  Hatred.  They’ve missed the central message of the Bible and of faith.  And because of that, everyone else sees them as the hypocrites that they are: preaching a God of Love with mouths full of hate.  This is the number one reason people don’t come to church.  Too much hypocrisy.  And we can see it in some of these congregations and we know the public is right to condemn it. 

But the challenge I want to offer today is a recognition that ALL of us have our hypocrisies.  All of us do.  Can you think of something you do that is hypocritical? 

Some minor examples: I have a friend who is constantly complaining about other people’s driving: always, she is yelling about how terrible the drivers around her are.  Yet, I once had the opportunity to sit as a passenger while she drove, and I have no idea how she has made it alive for as long as she has!  Her driving is absolutely atrocious!  She looked at me while she was talking to me, more than she did the road, and then honked and got upset when cars “mysteriously” appeared in front of her!  When she wasn’t talking to me, she was talking on her cell-phone; one, by the way, that did not have an ear piece.  At one point she was holding the phone with one hand, eating with the other, looking at me with her eyes, following inches away from the car in front of us, though we were driving 75 miles an hour (so much for the 3 second rule), swerving all over the place, and cursing and swearing at all the other drivers on the road!  

In my family, we have a number of people who are pack rats.  What is interesting is that each of us sees it in each other, and none of us sees it in ourselves. 

Another friend of mine loves to correct others for failing to be polite.  She is quick to point out, in front of others, I might add, when I or others have been “rude” by failing to use polite-nesses such as “please.”  She seems oblivious to the fact that she is being just as rude by pointing this out to all of us in this public, humiliating way.

 And of course, I have my own hypocrisies.  Some of which I see, but no doubt there are others I don’t see.  I spout love, preach love, stand on love as the law of the land.  I preach about the importance of really seeing people and trying to give them the benefit of the doubt.  But there are times, of course, when I fail to do that and am crabby with others, snippy with others.  Especially when my kids are involved, it is harder for me to really listen to anyone I think has been unfair or has mistreated them (like their teachers on occasion).  This isn’t fair to these teachers.  They have tons of students they are trying to get to know, and stuff happens.  I could have expressed the same things in less cranky ways, but I don’t always. 

I found myself remembering a time, years ago now, when I felt very betrayed by a friend.  I don’t want or need to go into the specifics of that because they aren’t important.  What is important is that I became very self-righteous about it.  I knew I had been wronged and so standing on religious language, I went on the attack.  I let go of all of my years of training that tell me to use “I” statements and instead I “corrected” the other, using learnings that remain meaningful to me, but which, when used as a weapon, frankly do and did more harm than good.  This hypocrisy in myself caused me to become critical of others while failing to look at my own part in the issues.  We do this.  Leaders, especially religious ones, are in a dangerous position because, in standing on scripture, we can become very self-righteous about what we believe to be “truth”, the “truth of God” even.  But taking that stand when it is aimed as a weapon against others can cause damage and harm to others.  There is a reason why the people Jesus attacks most strongly throughout the gospels are the religious leaders: the scribes and pharisees.  From that position of power, it is extremely easy to misuse God’s words in ways that harm others.  It just is.  And when religious leaders fail to be self-reflective, it is an extremely dangerous thing.  We’ve seen this again and again: religious leaders caught in the same activities they are criticizing others for, religious leaders proclaiming that it is okay to destroy or damage other people, religious leaders picking and choosing scriptures and ignoring whole other areas (such as the gospels!!) in order to prove their points. 

All of us have paradoxes within us.  All of us have contradictions, and ways in which we criticize others without seeing the flaws in ourselves.  We all do.  It’s part of being human.  It becomes hypocrisy when the basic beliefs we have, the foundational tenets of our lives do not match our behavior.  When we declare that we believe in the God of Jesus, a God of love and grace, a God who calls us to feed the hungry, cloth the naked, visit the sick and imprisoned; but then we act only on our own best interests and fail to even try to love our neighbors as ourselves.  And while it is easy to point our fingers at others who do this, especially public figures (and the amount of hypocrisy currently is so much, it’s frankly hard not to point those fingers), looking at our own hypocrisies is much harder.

One of the greatest ways we can avoid being hypocrites, or at least minimize our hypocrisy, is by taking the time to look at ourselves, honestly, openly.  When we cannot do that, fortunately, we have each other to help us out.  For we are in a community that is supposed to care about our spiritual growth.  And as I’ve said before, caring about one another’s spiritual growth means being part of helping one another grow better, grow more honest about our flaws and our gifts, grow in our relationship with God.  The other way we can avoid hypocrisy is to really take private and personal time with God, being honest and open.  We can use that time to listen to God.  We can use that time to work on our “hidden” judgements and flaws.  We can use that time to just BE real - because God knows the real us anyway - better than we know ourselves.

            The thing is that before God we are all equal.  This is hard for us to get because we see inequalities around us every day.  Some are smarter, some are more successful, some are braver, some are happier, some are more popular.  But again, before God we are all equals.  We are all God’s children, all loved, all wanted.  Our gifts, therefore, the things that in this world make us unequal are things we are called on to use to help God’s people, to help the community, to give to the community.  Our gifts aren’t for our own glory.  They are for God’s glory and to help others.  When we start feeling that they somehow make us better, we only get into trouble with them.

The thing that heals hypocrisy is grace.  We are called to remember that everything we have has been given to us not because we deserve it, not because we’ve earned it, but because God loves each of us so much that we are created surrounded by abundance.  As we see throughout the gospels, this extends to loving us even when we mess up as Jesus loved and forgave the disciples again and again for their blindness, their stupidity, their inability to see and understand and follow in the way they were asked to do.  Our worth, our value, comes from a God who knows us completely and loves us completely.  We don’t need to impress others, we don’t need to be dishonest about who we are, what we believe and how we act. 

My challenge, then, for all of us, is to do the work of self-reflection and look at the hypocrisies in our lives.  It is hard work to truly be the Christians we strive to be, especially when it comes to loving people we don’t like.  That is the call, but it also takes a great deal of work to face ourselves.  It takes a great deal of honesty to be willing to look at our own stuff, name it, confront it and work to change it.  But when we do, when we are able to look, we grow, not just in our own beings, but in our closeness to God.  When we can really take the time to own our shit, we open the door to change and to letting God in at ever deeper levels.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.

Moments of Kindness

       I think right now it can be so hard to see people as kind, as good.  We hear about these outrageous cruelties, many of them perpetuated by our government, but supported by the people in this country: keeping children in cages, tearing them apart from their families, letting them die of neglect, dehydration, sexual abuse; sending people back to countries where they will die from persecution or from lack of medical care; the racism, the attacks on people of different orientations, identities, faiths... the list goes on and on.  I see this in smaller ways by the way people are now acting in their cars.  Red lights out here are merely suggestions and people are no longer feeling they have to obey basic rules of the road.  They take what they want, when they want it, and to hell with anyone else.  It is disturbing.  It is distressing.  When they do this in the name of God, in the name of a God who is, instead, all about love and caring and kindness, it takes on a demonic quality.  It is evil.
         And I find in the face of all of it, that it can be very hard to hold on to any respect for humanity.  I do not understand how we can be so unkind to our own (and they are ALL our own: brothers and sisters whom we are called to treat as such).  I do not understand the greed, the fear of others, the decision to not see other people as people.  It is devastating, it is beyond comprehension.  There are more days than not that I feel a sense of despair for our world.
         In the midst of all of this, I am trying to follow Mr. Roger's encouragement to "look towards the helpers."  But more, I am mixing this with Micah's command about loving kindness.  And while I am doing my best to act with kindness, even in the face of cruelty, I am also looking, constantly, for the ways in which others are being kind.
       Yesterday I was walking across Clayton Rd (a very busy street), and I was seeing more of this crazy driving thing.  I had a green light to walk across, but the cars turning right onto Clayton from Ygnacio did not care that a pedestrian was trying to cross with the green light.  They continued to zoom around the corner in front of me.  But eventually a truck came to the light and stopped to let me through.  I walked very quickly across so he could turn.  We both waved at one another: both of us.  I was thanking him for letting me through.  He was probably both acknowledging that and thanking me for walking quickly so he could turn.  Obviously that wave was a really small thing.  A truly small effort on both of our parts.  But it stayed with me, gave me a vision of hope.  Those tiny acts of kindness... they can mean the world.
       The more I look, the more I see.  And I am hoping that the kindnesses I see will inspire me to also be kinder in turn.  I plan to post new kindnesses, with regularity, on Facebook just to remind people of the good.  I am hoping the kindnesses of others will inspire us all to also be kinder.

On Being Left Out

Jer. 2:4-13

Luke 14:1, 7-14

There was a wonderful scene in an old Big Bang episode ( episode 20, season 8, “The fortification implementation") that went like this:

Sheldon: Do you think there comes a point in life when it stops feeling bad to be left out of things?

Amy: Probably not. It’s an evolutionary advantage to be included in group activities.

Sheldon: You know what? I used to be a fan of evolution, but I’ve since evolved, and now I think it’s dumb.

Amy: Being left out is a terrible feeling. No one understands that better than I do.

Sheldon: Hey, look at that. Even in your example, you’re all by yourself.

Amy: When there was a lice epidemic at my school, everybody got it except me. I tried to fool everyone by sprinkling sugar in my hair, but I just got attacked by bees.

Sheldon: I can just picture them all right now at Feynman’s house, probably discussing Schrodinger and at the same time, not discussing Schrodinger. See? They’re missing out on hilarious jokes like that.

Amy: And at the same time, not.

Sheldon: It reminds me of when my stupid brother and sister would build forts in the living room and wouldn’t let me in. I hated that so much.

Amy: You know, there’s nothing I can do about getting you invited to the symposium, but if you wanted, we could build a fort.

Sheldon: Isn’t that a little juvenile?

Amy: More juvenile than this?

Sheldon: I’ll get the blankets. You Google how to have childlike fun.

       I love what Amy says in this scene, because I don’t think it does matter how old we get.  Being left out feels bad.  And while we consider it childish to feel that way, I don’t actually think it is.  I think it’s very human.  I think that all of us can probably recall a time when we felt left out. Probably many of us can recall a recent time when we felt that way.  Maybe it was friends getting together when we were not invited.  Maybe it was a party we were not invited to.  Maybe there was a group that met once, or even regularly that we were never invited to join.  Maybe there was a time when you were invited but somehow felt like a third wheel.  Maybe there was someone you really valued who had a close inner circle that you just couldn’t seem to break into.  Whatever the situation, I think there are times for all of us that we have felt or do feel left out.  And it never feels good.  No matter how old we get, no matter how much wisdom we gain through our lives, no matter what we tell ourselves: “They’ve been friends much longer,” “Why would I want to be friends with someone who doesn’t want to be friends with me?”  “You can’t please all the people all the time,”… it still hurts when we feel unloved, uncared for, unimportant, and unvalued.

But as bad as it feels, for all of us, to be left out, I think we also like the times when we can be with our own small groups, which means we are also, probably all of us, at times, guilty of leaving others out.  It doesn’t matter that we know how it feels to be on the receiving end of this.  We still do it in a variety of settings.  We justify this in all kinds of ways.  “Well, isn’t it right and important to have time with friends?”  “Don’t we all need safe places and people that we deeply connect with that we spend time with?”  “I’m not going to be my best in the world if I don’t have the love and support of my inner community.” 

All of these reasons sound good.  They all make sense.  We, as humans, do need support from one another, we do need relationships that heal us and nurture us.  We need to have friends or family that we are especially close to.  And yet, we come to today’s scripture reading, “When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or sisters, your relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid.  But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed.  Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

What Jesus is actually confronting here is a practice of posturing for position.  The first part of the passage I read you today is connected to the second part: he challenging both the vying for important seats at a hosts table and the inviting of only certain guests because both were a way of claiming one’s status, claiming one’s position.  We know there are people who still do this.  There are still people striving hard to climb the social ladder who work to connect with and associate only with those of a “higher” class or social standing than themselves.  They don’t want to be seen with their old associates for fear of being categorized with them.  The “nouveau riche” work hard, often, to be accepted by “old money” into that clan of upper class, but it is other people as well.  Still, I don’t believe this tends to be a middle class issue as much.  Still, while we don’t focus on social standing in the same way, and I don’t think anyone here is guilty of inviting those they see as “above themselves” for the purpose of raising their social position, none the less, we still are challenged by this passage to avoid isolating or secluding ourselves within our own groups, economically, socially, and in terms of our own friend groups.  We are called to expand our group of influence and association beyond those with whom we are the most comfortable, who keep us easy and who can just be supports and serve us as we serve them.  We are called to associate more with those with whom the relationship will be more one-sided: we will be doing more of the giving and caring, we will be offering what cannot be returned.  We are called to not only care for them at a distance, but to invite them in: to dine with them, to have them at our parties and our gatherings.  And none of us are comfortable with this.  We just aren’t.  We want those around us, especially those we invite into our homes, to have something in common with us, to be people we like.  And we want to be happy and comfortable in our social settings.

When my children were little I joined a local mothers group which divided us into playgroups with women who had babies the same age.  I loved my little playgroup.  When Middle was born, I tried to join another one that had new babies the same age as his.  One I attended kicked me out after the first time because, “well, all the rest of us are first time mothers.  That’s different!”  Obviously, this still smarts a little.  I tend to remember, as most of us no-doubt do,  the times of being left out more than the times of leaving out, and yet I know I am equally guilty of the latter.

While in Cleveland I was part of a wonderful Lectionary group.  We were 12 pastors, all tending to be very like-minded, who gathered on a weekly basis to discuss the scripture readings for the following week, to plan our sermons.  We also ate together, prayed together, supported one another through whatever was going on in each of our lives.  I was and am deeply grateful for that group.  They saw me through very hard times and were really a “house church” in the truest sense of the word in terms of the support, the community building, the fellowship and friendship.  But joining this group was by invitation only.  I understood why it was set up that way: again, we were a safe place in large part because we were like-minded in our reading of scripture and our understanding of God’s call for our lives.  At the same time, I struggled with this aspect of the group.  I mean we were pastors, after all – called to follow scriptures like this one that encourage much greater openness and inclusion.  If others had come, well, yes, the group would have changed.  But perhaps it would have become something equally good, though different.  Perhaps we would have had more learning and more growth by being with people of a different mind-set, a different leaning.  Perhaps it would have become a place where we practiced loving those who are different from ourselves.  Again, it would have meant change.  And change is uncomfortable.  But that is what Jesus calls us to do: to expand, to include, and to stop putting up walls that decide who is in and who is out, even at the basic level of who we invite to dinner and who we don’t. 

It’s not just that we want to be comfortable and attractive in our homes and with our friends, we do this in subtle and not so subtle ways even in our churches.  In one of the congregations I served, one of our less “acceptable” members wanted to be a greeter.  She had problems with cleanliness, not bathing often enough she smelled a bit, her hair looked unkept.  She also had problems socially – always standing a little too close, sharing too much, laughing too loud, saying inappropriate things.  But she was very friendly, very outgoing, she really cared about others, and she really wanted to be a greeter.  Several people in my church were afraid that would make us unattractive.  They worried that it would send the wrong message to have someone like that in such a position; that if we allowed this young woman to be a greeter, that the “right people” might not come or want to join the church. While I understood that thinking, I believe this passage attacks that pretty directly.  The “right people” to have in one’s church are people exactly like her: those others don’t want to include, those who don’t “fit in”, those we are called most deeply and fully to welcome, accept, and love.

We exclude in subtle ways too.  We talk over people who talk too much.  We don’t look at people we don’t like or want around us.  We shout down those who say things that make us uneasy.  We are all guilty in one way or another.

In the kingdom of God, the outcasts are equal, or superiors because after all, “the first shall be last,” to those who are more comfortable, who have more money, who succeed more easily, who are socially adept.  Those people who are “not like us” and who make us uneasy sit at the table with us and they eat with us.  Our enemies are the very people we are expected to spend our time with, and the ones we look down on are those we will be feeding.  But we are called to begin this now, in this place, this day.

I look at my Youngest.  She has not yet learned to exclude in this way.  She has a solid friend group at school, but she also has a person in that friend group who is always inviting new people to come and eat lunch with them, to join them.  This particular group of friends seems to delight in welcoming, in including, those who might otherwise be lost at school.  The kids invited seem mostly to be youth who were not part of this school district or school system before: new kids who are searching for their place.  But occasionally they invite someone in who is just awkward and struggles to find acceptance elsewhere.  This wonderful group of friends welcomes these new kids with open arms, with excitement.  They have not learned to exclude.  And in their actions I learn how to be better myself.

I came across a poem I would like to share with you:

(Tattoos of the Heart: p 17)

With That Moon Language

Admit something:

Everyone you see, you say to them,

 “Love me”. 

Of course you do not do this out loud:

Otherwise,

Someone would call the cops. 

Still though, think about this,

This great pull in us to connect. 

Why not become the one

Who lives with a full moon in each eye

That is always saying

With that sweet moon

Language

What every other eye in this world

Is dying to

Hear. 

- Hafez

               My challenge for all of us this week is to look more closely at the ways in which we leave others out.  And to take the challenge to invite others to join.  When you next have a gathering, invite one or two people you don’t normally invite.  When you go out to lunch next time, think of including someone you wouldn’t normally include.  When you have a party, try to invite someone you know would like to be invited that you really aren’t as comfortable with.  Think about those who might be feeling left out.  See if there is anyone who is needing a friend and choose to seek them out.  Take the chance of reaching out to someone different.  Draw your circles of inclusion in all things a little wider.  And see what gifts come back to you.  Amen.