Sunday, March 18, 2007

Fourth Sunday in Lent

Luke 15
25“Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. 26He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. 27He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.’ 28Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. 29But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. 30But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ 31Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. 32But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’”

Birth order is a disputed area of psychology. The fact that my older brother is “serious, conscientious, directive, goal-oriented, aggressive, rule-conscious, exacting, conservative, organized, responsible, jealous, high achieving, competitive, and sometimes anxious” (Wikipedia) is purely a coincidence, having read only a little about birth order. I did cast a quick glance at the characteristics of the younger child, most often described as an “endearing, and delightful friend.” I was blushing, so I stopped reading.

Pop psychology is fun, of course, and not to be taken completely seriously. There are too many variables to make such sweeping generalizations about personality, not the least of which is the modern configuration of families. When my first is your second and my next in your first you can be assured that some future genealogist just got a migraine.

Nonetheless, like a good horoscope that fully supports your hope for the day, birth order goes a long way to explain what’s happening in Jesus’ story of the prodigal son. When I imagine myself in the story, I’m always the younger son (minus the dissolute living, of course) and you can likely guess who gets to play the part of the older brother. I imagine receiving all that grace and noticing from the corner of my eye a heated argument about dislocation and indignity. It’s not much of a Lenten exercise, but it feels good.

Through the centuries there has been much discussion about what it all means. Why did Jesus tell this story, and who did he imagine fit the cast of characters? Some suggest that the younger son represents new believers, and the older son is the Jewish leadership who chose law over grace. Some argue that we are all older brothers, and it takes the radical forgiveness of the father (Father) to shake us from our self-righteousness and anger. Still others say that we spend our lives alternating through all the characters: wastrels, repentant sinners, forgiving parents, indignant “faith-keepers.”

***

One of my favourite baptismal illustrations is to set out twenty-five years of faithful service to the church, five years of ministry preparation and seventeen years of accountable ministry and contrast this with the babe-in-arms that has been baptized for all of five minutes. Is it fair that we are equal in God’s eyes? I find all that grace compelling to be sure, but I also feel a little unrewarded. In my mind I’ve got the churchy equivalent of a platinum card and this pudgy upstart has the same credit rating. Forgive me, I has having an older brother moment.

***

I think Jesus told this story because he knew we were renovating. Let me explain.

It’s hard not to imagine that we have been stuck here in church all these years, working hard, trying to keep things going. We’ve been struggling, reconfiguring, amalgamating, dreaming, planning, building, organizing and all the while a neighbourhood full of prodigals wait. They wait for the little voice that prompts them to call and check the service time. They wait for the precocious child who says “what’s that place – can we go?” Or they wait for the mid-life reassessment that suggests that there is something more out there than the Sunday Star and a little shopping later.

They wait and we wait. We create nametags and welcome stations, greeters and guestbooks. We refine the service for accessibility and openness. We unlearn most of our jargon and file the uneasy edges off our theology. We model shared leadership. We engage national programs and brew coffee, and we wait. We wait for the mass of visitors and they rarely come. We begin to formulate theories, maybe point a finger or two and continue waiting. We spend more money than some will earn in a lifetime and still they don’t come. Who am I? Older brother or younger brother?

I go to presbytery and I speak with my colleagues and I begin to suspect that we are a couple of dozen older brothers serving 1900 older brothers surrounded by half a million prodigals waiting to come home. It is easy to feel rejected and misunderstood when visitors won’t visit and churches won’t grow. The true test is remaining hopeful or perhaps the true test is something else altogether.

Maybe the true test will come on that day when people do wake up and get the urge to pray, remember the church on the corner and make their way to our door. Beyond the state-of-the-art welcome, how will we receive them? Beyond our best intentions, how will we perceive them? Will we be gracious fathers or older brothers? Will we imagine we are one and act like the other?

‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave, and have never disobeyed God’s command; yet I have never received even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’

***

I think the word “member” is one of the most qualified words we use here or in any church. We have “good” members, “charter” members, “full” members, “faithful” members, and “long-standing” members. Below them we find members, people who don’t qualify for any of the above designations. “She’s a member” is the kind of phrase we might use for someone we haven’t seen in a couple of months. From here we have adherents, non-members who like to hang around, followed by visitors, staff, higher mammals, domesticated animals and the occasional squirrel.

God doesn’t see any of this. All God seems is a bunch of children. God sees children who find themselves inside the shiny new church and children who are outside the shiny new church. It doesn't belong to either. It’s God’s church, and have been designated stewards. There is no status that brings us here or keeps us here or indicates that we belong here excepting that we are children of God. But we are not alone.

Welcoming – that troublesome word that would suggest that it’s ours to welcome people to – is in the heart and not the head. Welcoming is an orientation rather than a skill, because it speaks to where our heart is, and where we find ourselves in relation to all of our brothers and sisters. Welcoming is something you can begin to learn, but mostly it needs to be practiced. Welcoming means running while they are still far off, surrendering our best coat and killing the fatted calf. Welcoming means a loving embrace, and thanking God that they are all right. Welcoming means loving all children, those loyal and those prodigal, and having compassion for both. May it be so, with God’s help. Amen

Friday, March 16, 2007

Wondercafe Workshop 2

I have been having ongoing server problems for a few days. I was able, however, to upload the text of the presentation. Lame, but I hope this helps.

wondercafe2.txt


Sunday, March 11, 2007

Third Sunday in Lent

Luke 13
1About this same time Jesus was told that Pilate had given orders for some people from Galilee to be killed while they were offering sacrifices. 2Jesus replied:
Do you think that these people were worse sinners than everyone else in Galilee just because of what happened to them? 3Not at all! But you can be sure that if you don't turn back to God, every one of you will also be killed. 4What about those eighteen people who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them? Do you think they were worse than everyone else in Jerusalem? 5Not at all! But you can be sure that if you don't turn back to God, every one of you will also die.
6Jesus then told them this story:
A man had a fig tree growing in his vineyard. One day he went out to pick some figs, but he didn't find any. 7So he said to the gardener, "For three years I have come looking for figs on this tree, and I haven't found any yet. Chop it down! Why should it take up space?"
8The gardener answered, "Master, leave it for another year. I'll dig around it and put some manure on it to make it grow. 9Maybe it will have figs on it next year. If it doesn't, you can have it cut down."


Every now and then I get a panicked call from my mother, usually early evening:

Mother: “Are you okay? Your father and I are worried about you.”
Michael: “Huh?”
Mother: “We’re worried, we were watching the news.”
Michael: “What news?”
Mother: “The news, the thing that’s happening in Toronto…”
Michael: “Mom?”
Mother: “Yes?”
Michael: “Have been watching CFTO news again?”
Mother: “Of course I have, you know your father and I always watch the news in the evening.”
Michael: “Well mother, I’m looking out my window and I don’t see anything happening.”
Mother: “Yes, but it’s all over the news!”
Michael: “Is it happening my street, mother?”
Mother: “No, of course not, but you father and I are worried for you.”
Michael: “Thank you, mother.”

I have stopped trying to convince my mother that people from Mount Albert have no legitimate right to watch Toronto news and even less right to worry endlessly that something happening in a city of two-and-a-half million might effect her middle-aged babies. Having children means never having to stop worrying. When I’m worried about my kids, I send them an email. I guess some things never change.

The other thing that never changes is sensationalized news coverage: The beginning of Luke 13 could easily be mistaken for CFTO news:

When we’re back: Did King Herod mix the blood of those he murdered in with temple sacrifices? We have a special report. And later: Unanswered questions in the Siloam Tower disaster. Were the 18 victims bigger sinners than everyone else in town? We’ll show you the results of our viewer poll, when we return.

The journalist in this case is Jesus, and the question is quickly answered: “Were they worse sinners than everyone else in Jerusalem? Of course not,: he says, “but I should also mention: if you don’t repent, you will die.” It’s a curious thing. This story is unique to Luke and the only place in the Gospels where Jesus uses the phrase “repent or die.” He urges the people to repent in the face of his healing activity and he begins his preaching in Matthew with “repent, for the Kingdom of God is near.” But nowhere else does he say “repent or die.”

Now, if we were to apply some historical criticism we might say ‘this is an addition to the text by an over-zealous scribe, and it’s unlikely that Jesus ever said such a thing.’ And that may be true, but it also feels like neglecting our duty as interpreters to simply edit the verse from the version we read. Better that we confront the verse that doesn’t seem to fit, and allow it to teach us, or at least to try.

The message “repent or die” seems terribly clear. It reads more like a bumper sticker than a verse in scripture, but we know that the Bible has concise moments. Think of it as a first-century “sound-bite,” the kind of message suited to a 90-second news item on the 6 o’clock news. Yet despite its brevity, it’s a bit confusing when Jesus is unwilling on one hand to make a connection between degree of sinfulness and scale of calamity, and then quickly adds “but repent or die.” So which is it? Is there no connection between sinfulness and eventual fate, or are they intimately connected?

The thing that is missing from this newsy sounding report and the summary “repent or die” is the visual content. Since this is the only time that Jesus is reported to use the words “repent or die” I want you to imagine with me that he is delivering this message with a bit of a glint in his eye. Imagine he is somewhere between a glint and a smirk as shares this truism “repent or die.”

The imaginary glint is telling us that Jesus is having some fun here. Sure he can say repent or die, but we’re all going to die anyway. Whether we repent or not, we are all going to die (I hope this isn’t news for you). The question that Jesus is really asking is: before you die, will you produce the fruit of repentance? Enter the tree:

6Jesus then told them this story: A man had a fig tree growing in his vineyard. One day he went out to pick some figs, but he didn't find any. 7So he said to the gardener, "For three years I have come looking for figs on this tree, and I haven't found any yet. Chop it down! Why should it take up space?"
8The gardener answered, "Master, leave it for another year. I'll dig around it and put some manure on it to make it grow. 9Maybe it will have figs on it next year. If it doesn't, you can have it cut down."

I love the kind of allegory that makes you ponder all the possible combinations and permutations in a given situation. Is God the man with the Vineyard, and Jesus the gardener pleads for mercy? Is Jesus the man, and God the gardener extends forgiveness? Perhaps the man is the world, and the gardener is the church. I have no answer. What I do have, is a search for fruit.

Everything dies. The fig tree dies. The plants in my office die. I will die. You will die. That is never the question. The question is: what will the fig tree do with its one-year respite? Will it produce fruit? Or will it continue to hold off, dying next year or perhaps receiving more grace? Since we have a clear picture of the “way of all flesh,” we are left only with the question “what will you do with the time God gives you.” Yes, Jesus likely did say “repent or die.” But since he and his companions were well acquainted with death, and Jesus in particular was preparing for his death, the more pressing question was “what will I do in my remaining time? What will I do or say to further the Kingdom? What grace would I extend, if I were given the role of gardener for just a little while.”

And for Jesus, another set of preparations: “What can I tell them that will sustain them in the long years I am gone? What message of hope can I share? Do they know that they are forgiven, and can in turn forgive others? Do they understand that they have a limited time to produce fruit, and that the fruit they produce will be a gift for all of creation?”

“Will they see in my death the seeds of new life? Will they understand that unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies it cannot produce a new crop? Do they know that I will taste death and through it my Father will come to know the length, depth and breath of human experience, making reconciliation possible? Do they know that my death will be a source of life, understanding that just hearing the story of redemption will turn hearts of stone to hearts ready to love and serve others?”

May we come to know these things deep in our hearts. May our questions point to answers that always include grace and the desire to share that with grace with everyone we meet. May God bless us as we continue our Lenten journey. Amen.

Sunday, March 04, 2007

Second Sunday in Lent

Genesis 15
12As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram, and a deep and terrifying darkness descended upon him. 13Then the Lord said to Abram, “Know this for certain, that your offspring shall be aliens in a land that is not theirs, and shall be slaves there, and they shall be oppressed for four hundred years; 14but I will bring judgment on the nation that they serve, and afterward they shall come out with great possessions. 15As for yourself, you shall go to your ancestors in peace; you shall be buried in a good old age. 16And they shall come back here in the fourth generation; for the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet complete.”


I have good new and bad news. The good news is that Google is a powerful tool to aid in sermon writing. The search engine is a helpful way to take a simple phrase like “good news and bad news” and find examples of its use all over the Internet. The bad news is that the phrase “good news and bad news” appears in 643,000 places on the Internet.

Scanning a few of these, I am amazed both by the widespread use of this particular cliché and the variety of topic addressed. Good news and bad news for Democrats, for Iraq, for aboriginal midwives, for bloggers, for pot smokers, for Linux users, and even George Bush. The popularity of this familiar formulation never seems to wane, rooted, I suppose, in the way we think and the way we view the world.

And this, of course, leads to the question ‘which do you want to hear first.’ Call it the first personality test: hear the bad news, get it out of the way, and finally enjoy the good news. Hear the good news, enjoy it, and then move on the bad news.

Luckily scanning 643,000 webpages did yield a little fruit, namely the following joke, which may not be a joke at all:

There is the story of a pastor who got up one Sunday and announced to his congregation: "I have good news and bad news. The good news is, we have enough money to pay for our new building program. The bad news is, it's still out there in your pockets."

Meanwhile, I’m left with an early example of the “good news, bad news” formulation found in the Bible. Not the earliest, because that belongs to Noah and the first weather report in scripture. In this version, God begins to review promises to Abraham and is interrupted: ‘You make promises, God, but Sarah and I remain childless. In fact, our heir is someone named Eliezer of Damascus. It has fallen to a slave born in my house to be my heir.’

Undeterred, God continues to make promises: ‘This man will not be your heir, it will be a child born to you and Sarah.’ The Lord then takes him outside and shows him the stars. ‘Look toward heaven and count them, Abraham: so shall your descendants be.’ This is the good news, now for the bad news.

Or not quite. The people who brought you the three-year cycle of readings we call the lectionary make one of the most foolish editing jobs to date. There is frequent adjusting in the lectionary, with verses omitted for the sake of length, clarity or both. Clearly you want to be home before lunchtime, so the makes of the lectionary cut four verses from the centre of this lesson.

You heard the conversation and promises, and then the final verse before the cut, verse 12: “As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram, and a deep and terrifying darkness descended upon him.” As dramatic writing goes, this is top drawer. But rather than deliver the “bad news” for Abraham, the lesson skips down to the next promise, the land that his descendants are to occupy. Here is the bad news you have yet to hear:

12As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram, and a deep and terrifying darkness descended upon him. 13Then the Lord said to Abram, “Know this for certain, that your offspring shall be aliens in a land that is not theirs, and shall be slaves there, and they shall be oppressed for four hundred years; 14but I will bring judgment on the nation that they serve, and afterward they shall come out with great possessions. 15As for yourself, you shall go to your ancestors in peace; you shall be buried in a good old age.

Clearly it’s not all bad news. Mixed in the revelation that his descendants will be enslaved for four hundred years is the caveat that eventually the unnamed nation will also suffer. And the descendants will prosper in the end. And Abraham will die in peace. It’s all a bit much. We are awash in news here, mostly good, but the “elephant in the room” has been named and cannot be glossed over. Both the lectionary makers, the author of Genesis (and you could even argue God) seem to want to pass over (pun intended) this detail of four hundred years of suffering. The “terrifying darkness” that is foretold here is impossible to ignore, and despite all the good news presented here, the bad news is impossible to ignore.

***

At risk of excessive repetition, I wonder of the same pattern can be applied to our Gospel lesson:
Bad news: Herod wants to kill you.
Good news: there is still time to finish my work.
More good news: as long as I avoid Jerusalem, I’m safe.
Bad news: Jerusalem is the city that kills prophets, and this is where our story will end.
Good news: God will gather us in, like a hen gathers her brood under her wings.

I think it can. And I think the pattern may be at the heart of our Lenten journey. What is life, but an ongoing pattern of good news and bad news? As Judith Viorst tells us, life is a series or losses, of ‘little deaths’ which set the theme for much of human experience. Without sounding too much like Woody Allen, I think we would do well in Lent to ponder the “bad news” of our life on earth and the extent to which we seek to ignore it. Jesus pauses on his journey to the cross to acknowledge the direction is set and all he needs to do is stay out of town for a little while longer and he will accomplish much he has set out to do in his earthly ministry. But the warning remains, and the reality of the prophetic ministry he is engaged in remains: it will end badly.

Years ago, we were taught that preaching was a kind of “good news, bad news” enterprize. In fact, we were taught the reverse. Imagine travelling around a circle, with the downward passage called “law” and the upward passage called “Gospel.” The portion may vary, with more law during Lent, for example, and more Gospel at Easter, but the pattern was to remain. This “bad news, good news” approach, with sin followed by forgiveness, death followed by new life has been taught for countless generations. It defines us. And despite all the new study I do on this topic of preaching, the pattern remains.

Preaching in Lent can also be sometimes described as “find the Good News.” That’s Good News with a capital G and a capital N. It's there, but it comes to us in measured doses. This too is intentional. We are in a unique place. We are in a place where believers are called to live into the tension of suffering and death. We are in a place where we are encouraged to ponder the “bad news” of human life and in particular our role. But we do it in a unique place. “How often,” Jesus asks, “have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings?” The answer in Jerusalem, and the answer here is the same: we are always gathered under the protective cover of God’s wings. In Lent, in times of trial, and whenever bad news overshadows good news, God is with us. Thanks be to God.