Iona Benediction Prayer

     This is a prayer from the Iona community.  It is a responsive benediction that is best led (in my opinion) not from the pulpit, lectern, font, or table but in the very midst of the people with confidence, conviction, and clarity.*

The cross, we will take it.

The bread, we will break it.

The pain, we will bear it.

The joy, we will share it.

The Gospel, we will live it.

The love, we will give it.

The light, we will cherish it.

The darkness, God shall perish it!

     This is a prayer that I first experienced at a worship service at Central Presbyterian Church in downtown Atlanta, Georgia.  I have used this as the responsive benediction for most of the Sundays that I have been preaching at Silver Creek Presbyterian Church in Rome, Georgia.  I love this prayer for many reasons.  First and foremost, like any good liturgy, the language is rhythmic, poetic and yet very easy to grasp.  The responsive nature of the benediction gives a sense of shared responsibility among the congregation.  It is almost as if the one presiding and the congregation are making a promise to themselves or, perhaps more accurately, are keeping a promise already made to them by God.  As this prayer is uttered as we prepare to follow the Word into the world, this prayer empowers us by reminding us that it is our job to cherish the light and it is God's job to perish the darkness!  

*worship spaces differ greatly.  For some communities, the table and font are the central focal point with the congregation gathered around them.  If so, this prayer would best be done from that location. If not, care should be taken that the physical location of this liturgy is intimate!

Liturgy for a Dirty Room

     I dedicate the following liturgy to a person who shall remain unnamed.  May this litany be a source of strength and hope in the dark days ahead.

Liturgy for a Dirty Room

The Lord be with you.

And also with you.

Let us pray…

Creating God,

by your hand and your spoken Word

you bring light to the darkness,

     silence to the cacophony,

     and order to the chaos.

Through the life, death, and resurrection of your son, Jesus Christ

     you have laughed in the face of death

     and made possible all things.

Merciful God,

we confess that too often our bedrooms do not reflect

the decent and orderly worship to which you call us Presbyterians.

     Where there should only be carpet,

          there are dirty socks.

     Where there should only be a bed,

          there are nine pillows that serve no earthly purpose.

     Where there should only be a kitchen counter,

          there is that one magazine that you have never read

               and, let’s face it, you never will read.

Lord, in your mercy,

Hear our prayer.

(here a sung version of Kyrie may be sung by the congregation and then the liturgist continues…)

Clean and organized God,

through the resurrection of your son, Jesus Christ,

     all things are possible.

Release this room for the power of Satan

and renew our appreciation for the orderly nature of your Kingdom.

Wipe away all piles of dirty laundry

     and lead us toward the day

     when clothes will return from their exile on the floor

     and live forever more in the promised land of the closet

          until the day that you have preordained them to be worn

               by us, your humble and neat servants.

God of hope,

through the power of your Holy Spirit,

empower these your servants hands

     to restore hope to socks long forgotten,

     to renew space where before was only clutter,

     and to return dust to the hell from whence it came.

God of cleanliness,

     Strengthen our swiffers,

     Vitalize our vacuums,

     Direct our detergent,

     and bless our bleach,

until the day when death, dying, and dirt will be no more.

               

All these things we pray in your holy and spotless name!  Amen.  

A Healthy Tension

     The following sermon was preached at Silver Creek Presbyterian Church on Sunday, December 23rd.  The service as a whole was a journey through our tension between lament and praise.  I was inspired to craft the service in this manner because of the (healthy) tension which exists between two of the lectionary passages for that day:  the lament of Psalm 80 and the praise of Mary's Magnificat.  It should be noted that a common misconception of lament and joy is that they are two separate and "neat" stages (i.e. to move from lament to joy to never return or vice versa).  However, it is healthy, both as an individual and as a community, to have fluidity between the two.  I like to think of lament and praise as a conversation, with each expanding our vocabulary of the other.  This sermon is the first step in a journey I am embarking upon to further explore this healthy tension which finds its roots throughout the entire biblical narrative.  

"The Visitation" by Qi He.

     Read Psalm 80 here.  

I highly recommend the responsorial setting of this psalm as found in Psalms for All Seasons.  

     Psalm 80 is perhaps best described as a communal lament.  And although it shows up every year in the list of Advent readings, nothing in it, at least at first glance, screams “Advent!”  Not surprisingly (as I am no expert of the Psalms), I did not know that this text showed up in the lectionary for Advent until I sat down with a colleague of mine a few months ago to organize the service of lessons and carols at Columbia Theological Seminary.  Since our vocations prevent us from having services on campus for the days of Christmas and Easter, this is one of the most well-attended services of the year.  The better part of 150 members of the community gathered a few weeks ago on the last week of classes to celebrate the coming of our Lord and Savior.

            We decided to do this setting of Psalm 80 as a confession of sorts and used the Zephaniah text that you and I read a few weeks ago as the Assurance of Pardon.  For me, however, (and I suspect that I am not alone in feeling this way) this musical setting of Psalm 80 was the most powerful part of the entire service.  Perhaps it was the fact that it was not sung by me but in fact sung by two vocalists of much more talent!  One female and one male traded off the verses that I just chanted and the entire congregation sang that intimate and heartfelt refrain that we just sang together.  It was a powerful moment indeed.

            I believe what makes Psalm 80 such a powerful cry is that it is so very raw.  It does not beat around the bush.  It does not gloss over the sharp edges.  It does not whistle “always look on the bright side of life.”  No, it is a very blunt prayer indeed and, perhaps, those are the most faithful if not always easiest.  In fact, many of us don’t do so well with such blunt prayers.  As I was doing research for this sermon I stumbled across a story by Shawnthea Monroe.  The Ohio pastor tells a story of how during a clinical chaplaincy internship she spent time with a woman who had recently been diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.  She writes, “as we held hands, I cautiously picked my way through a prayer, asking for peace, for strength, for healing of body and soul – nothing controversial or unattainable.  When I had safely concluded my prayer, the woman squeezed my hands and added, ‘Almighty God, I want you to take this cancer away from me.  I know you have the power, and I want you to do it.  I want to be healed and I want to go home.  Amen.’  When she finished, she looked into my worried face and said, ‘Don’t be shy with God.  If I don’t ask for what I want, how can I hope to get it?’”  Don’t be shy with God…the wisdom of that woman is the wisdom of Psalm 80 who cries out to God.  It is the wisdom of the staggerers, wanderers, sitters, and loathers of Psalm 107.  It is the wisdom of Hannah who cries out to God for her womb to be restored.  These prayers of lament and petition are perhaps difficult to read but in them is a liberating word that gives us the vocabulary to speak of our communal and individual faith journey.

            Another favorite story of mine is from one of my professors at Columbia, Christine Yoder.  She told us of a time when she read a difficult passage in worship; you know, one of those passages that the preacher reads as quickly as possible in hopes that the congregation will miss it?  Christine read the following passage from Isaiah 54 in which God is speaking to the Israelites after the exile:  “For a brief moment, I abandoned you, but with great compassion I will gather you.  In overflowing wrath for a moment, I hid my face from you, but with everlasting love I will have compassion on you…”  As she spoke these words, a woman in the congregation became visibly upset and left the sanctuary.  After the service, Christine found the woman and said, “I saw that you were upset when we read that passage, would you like to talk about it?”  “Oh, those weren’t tears of sadness, they were tears of relief,” the woman said.  Christine was certainly taken aback for the words from the text very clearly state that God had abandoned (which is not a verb that we usually like to attribute to God).  The woman continued to tell Christine of the incredible hardship that had been in her life in the past year.  She described how the most painful part of the whole experience was hearing her friends saying “there, there, it’s not really so bad…God hasn’t abandoned you…when there was only one set of footprints it was when God was carrying you…” and so on and so forth.  The woman explained how her friends, though kind and speaking with the best of intentions, unknowingly denied her the lament she was experiencing.  The woman explained to Christine how the text from Isaiah, in its speech of God abandoning and hiding his face, gave her the vocabulary to speak of her grief.  And that, ironically, was not traumatic but therapeutic. 

            Friends, the language of Psalm 80, blunt and raw though it is, is healing language.  It is healing language for it gives us the vocabulary to speak of our pain.  It is healing language for, whether we know it or not, a powerful trust is needed even to utter its words.  For within the difficult language is found a steadfast trust that the God to whom we cry for justice where there is none is none other than the very God who alone is our only hope of salvation.  Yes, Psalm 80 is a communal lament.  But even more so is it a cry for God to act!  It is a cry for God to break down the fourth wall and to come and do something about it.  Restore us, O God, let your face shine upon us that we may be saved!  God, your move!

Read Luke 1:39-55 here.  It is my opinion that this passage is best read by a female liturgist.

     So there we have it!  God has heard our cry for restoration and responds, curiously enough, with childbirth.  And the emotional depth of this passage echoes the wonder of this perhaps unconventional divine response.  Now, as a male preacher, for me to go on about the feelings associated with pregnancy is awkward at best and perhaps even arrogant at worst.  Therefore, last week I asked several of the female members of the Sunday school class to describe the feeling of having a child kick for the first time within the womb.  Many described the first kick as a moment of sheer elation, of indescribable joy and wonder.  It is a moment of happiness and excitement even when you are not carrying the son of God within your womb!  Others described the kicking (or leaping as today’s passage would describe it) as being wonderful at first but uncomfortable at times, especially when sleep is the desired goal!  Either way, the recognition of life brings forth wonder and praise.

            As such, the child in Elizabeth’s womb leaps within her at the sound of Mary’s voice.  You and I know this child to be John the Baptist, who though still growing in Elizabeth’s womb was somehow able to call us to repentance last week (still not quite sure how that works!).

            At any rate, both John the Baptist and Mary move in this passage from recognition to response.  John the Baptist hears of Jesus’ coming and, quite literally, cannot wait be born so that he might respond to it.  It is perhaps fitting, then, that Mary responds with a voice that John the Baptist does not yet have.  She sings what is now known as the Magnificat (the Latin phrase for its opening words “my soul magnifies the Lord”).  She sings this glorious alleluia because the Lord has looked down on the lowliness of his servant.  As a scared, pregnant, teenage girl on the margins of society, perhaps the cry for help of Psalm 80 was not foreign to Mary’s lips.  For she knew in that moment, that something miraculous was about to happen.  A new (and unpredictable) thing will happen when one cries out to God for help.  Indeed something so new and so unpredictable that the life given to Mary in her womb is not simply her own but rather a gift of life for the entire world!  And as such, a song is in her heart and perhaps it is not a song too foreign to our own heart.

            For this congregation has had its “Psalm 80 moments.”  You and I have had our home congregations split in two:  restore us, O God!  Far too many of God’s children sleep on the streets and have no food to eat:  restore us, O God!  You and I have seen the darkness of human tragedy in recent weeks:  let your face shine upon us, Lord!  You who are Silver Creek Presbyterian Church are being reoriented towards a new and unpredictable day:  restore us, O God, that we might be saved!

            But today we are reminded that, like Mary, we have had our “Magnificat moments” as well!  You have seen the Presbytery join you in your hour of need to grieve and praise with you:  your soul magnifies the Lord!  You have provided a very grateful young seminary student a loving community to continue his growth as a pastor:  my spirit rejoices in God my savior!  You have seen new life breathed into a congregation that has endured so much:  for God has looked with favor upon the lowliness of his servant!  You have gathered together as the Body of Christ to provide meals for local families in need:  for God has filled the hungry with good things! 

            So Sisters and Brothers in Christ, you and I are caught in a healthy tension between lament and praise.  And as we journey together in these final days of Advent, we will be propelled towards a new day where God is doing a new thing, a new thing that causes us to sing for God is about to stir things up and we will never be the same!

     We join with Mary and make her song our own because we have journeyed through Psalm 80, we have cried out to a God who hears our every cry.  And although it might not be done in a way that we might have wanted or predicted, God has responded and is responding and will continue to respond forever more.  God will send to us Emmanuel, God with us, Jesus our Savior and friend who will journey with us through our every joy and our every sorrow.  And, friends, I announce to you this day that this Christ-child will be no less that our God who is with us all, amongst us all, and, most importantly, for us all!  Restore us, O God!  Amen!

Prophetic Notes: Vision 2 - I Hung My Head

     For some reason, perhaps some mixture of the rain that is falling outside on this drizzly December afternoon in Atlanta and the haunting recollection of last Friday's horrific massacre in Newtown, Connecticut, I am reminded this day of a particularly prophetic (and poetic) song by Sting. As a warning, this will most likely be the first of several blog posts on this artist for he has long captured my imagination and monopolized my music library. 

Sting

     The song which comes to mind this cold and dreary afternoon is "I Hung My Head" from his album Mercury Falling (an album which I have known like the back of my hand since childhood thanks to my father).

Mercury Falling is perhaps my favorite Sting album. Released in 1996.

     Sting is perhaps the best storyteller I know. And the story he tells in this particular piece of art has been carved into my soul for many years and I wish to share it with you this day. Before I reflect upon the dark beauty of this song, it is best to listen to it so as to let its magnificence speak for itself. You can listen to it here or below.

Early one morning with time to kill

I borrowed Jeb's rifle and sat on the hill

I saw a lone rider crossing the plain

I drew a bead on him to practice my aim

My brother's rifle went off in my hand

A shot rang out across the land

The horse he kept running, the rider was dead

I hung my head, I hung my head

I set off running to wake from the dream

My brother's rifle went into the stream

I kept on running into the salt lands

And that's where they found me, my head in my hands

The sheriff he asked me "Why had I run"

Then it came to me just what I had done

And all for no reason, just one piece of lead

I hung my head, I hung my head

Here in the courthouse, the whole town is there

I see the judge high up in his chair

"Explain to the courtroom what went through your mind

And we'll ask the jury what verdict they find"

I said "I felt the power of death over life

I orphaned his children I widowed his wife

I beg their forgiveness I wish I was dead"

I hung my head, I hung my head

Early one morning with time to kill

I see the gallows up on the hill

And out in the distance a trick of the brain

I see a lone rider crossing the plain

He's come to fetch me to see what they done

We'll ride together til Kingdom come

I pray for God's mercy for soon I'll be dead

I hung my head, I hung my head

     I struggle, even now after listening to this song my entire life, to put into words what I receive from this beautiful piece of art.  In all honesty, I find that its meaning to me is nuanced by what page I find myself in the book of my life (stay tuned for a future blog post on this song).  That being said, what fascinates (and haunts) me most is the tension that Sting holds between irony on one hand and grace in the other.

    The beautiful and dark irony of this song is that the one who "had time to kill" did a deed that caused him to hang his head in shame.  As the narrative progresses he quite literally hung his head on a morning with time to kill.  This play on words leaves the listener haunted at the "end" of the story (though I don't think Sting would use that word so easily).  

     I believe that this song is chiefly about the precious and delicate nature of life.  It is because of this reality that the end of this song is so beautiful.  We all yearn for redemption and grace.  We all hope that the day will come when our wrongs will be righted and our sins will be removed.  That being said, what fascinates me even more about this song is that Sting leaves us with a fleeting (though nonetheless tangible) image of redemption and grace without ignoring the reality of death; at the "end" of the song, the rider is still dead and the main character is about to be hanged.  

     However, Sting (who, by the way, is a self-proclaimed agnostic) nonetheless prophecies that this world in which we live does not have the final word.  Yes, death is real.  Yes, evil is present in our lives.  Yes, we have reason to hang our heads in shame in our brokenness.  Yes, we feel the power of death over life when we watch the funerals of the six and seven year old children murdered last week in Newtown, Connecticut.  

    But this song gives me the vocabulary to speak of grace and of beauty and of life.  And although Sting and I might differ somewhat on our religious convictions, I have a feeling that he and I both see a higher power whose love and life will not run and hide at the sound of a gun.  For the Kingdom will come and until then, you and I will ride together in God's mercy!  

                             Grace and peace,

                             Stephen

Text for Sunday, December 23rd - The Magnificat

     The following text will be preached at Silver Creek Presbyterian Church this upcoming Sunday, December 23rd.

Luke 1:39-55

     In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leapt in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, ‘Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leapt for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfilment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.’

 And Mary said,
‘My soul magnifies the Lord, 
   and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, 
for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant.
   Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; 
for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
   and holy is his name. 
His mercy is for those who fear him
   from generation to generation. 
He has shown strength with his arm;
   he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. 
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
   and lifted up the lowly; 
he has filled the hungry with good things,
   and sent the rich away empty. 
He has helped his servant Israel,
   in remembrance of his mercy, 
according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
   to Abraham and to his descendants for ever.’

The Baptist's Cry - Luke 3:7-18

The revised common lectionary is a wonderful tool.  Its three year rotation provides weekly biblical texts to guide you and me through the rhythm of the church year.  In addition to serving as our roadmap on our faith journey, it connects the various Christian communities and denominations by creating a space for collective, simultaneous dialogue.  More practically (and perhaps more selfishly!), I tend to preach the lectionary texts because there is a plethora of liturgical resources based off of the lectionary readings that help me organize weekly worship services.  But perhaps what makes the lectionary most helpful is precisely the reason that, this week at least, I really didn’t care for it too much:  it forces me, and other preachers, to preach on a passage like this. 

This Sunday, like every Sunday in the lectionary, there are four passages.  To give us a feel for the tone of today’s passages, let us look at the first verse of each of the four.

Zephaniah – “Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel!  Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!”  Isaiah – “Surely God is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid, for the Lord God is my strength and my might; he has become my salvation.”  Philippians – “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice!”  And then, in Luke’s gospel, our wild and untamed friend John the Baptist says, “you brood of vipers!  Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?”

Well…this is awkward. 

Kathy Beach-Verhey, put it well as she said these words about this passage:  “No one wants to be chastised by John the Baptist this close to Christmas.  No preacher wants to read this text when preparing for his third Advent sermon.  No parishioner wants to be challenged by John’s words as she sits in the pew enveloped in thoughts of final Christmas preparations and purchases.”  However, she goes on to say that, because of the lectionary, “there is no getting to Bethlehem and the sweet baby in the manger without first hearing the rough prophet in the wilderness call us to repentance.” 

            Alright, lectionary, have it your way.  Here we go!

John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, ‘You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, “We have Abraham as our ancestor”; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.’

And the crowds asked him, ‘What then should we do?’ In reply he said to them, ‘Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.’ Even tax-collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, ‘Teacher, what should we do?’ He said to them, ‘Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.’ Soldiers also asked him, ‘And we, what should we do?’ He said to them, ‘Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.’

As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, John answered all of them by saying, ‘I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing-fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing-floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.’

So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.

The Good News of John the Baptist in this passage begins with the words “You brood of vipers” and ends with the words “unquenchable fire.”  It is clear that there is something that John the Baptist is taking very seriously indeed.  You see, standing in the wilderness by the chaotic rivers, John the Baptist is preparing us for something, something that calls for change.  Apparently, the folks present at that moment did not think that they needed to respond to this up-and-coming new thing!  They, after all, had Abraham, that great father of the faith, as their ancestor.  They had nothing to fear for they thought that they could rely solely upon the good name of their great-great-great-great grandfather Abraham. 

            But not so! says John the Baptist.  No one can hide under the good graces of their predecessors!  No, we are all in this together for what is to come is to turn the world upside down.  The first will be last and the last first.  We must prepare for this is not what we have been used to.  Those who choose to ignore this good news are nothing less than brood of vipers who do not heed this world-shattering news!

            John the Baptist’s tone would be abrasive enough if received by itself.  However, the severity of his rhetoric stands in particular contrast to the voices of this season singing “Silent Night” and “Jingle Bells” and “Deck the Halls.”  How dare he ruin the merriment of this season?  How dare he interrupt our caroling and our shopping and our decorating?  His severe tone grates upon our ears as fingernails on a chalkboard.

            But as I was watching the President address a nation mourning the senseless and violent deaths of six adults, twenty innocent children, and one very broken child of God in a Connecticut elementary school, the severity of John the Baptist’s tone seemed more and more appropriate.  For John reminds us that there is something wrong, very wrong indeed. 

            Something is very wrong when one of God’s children has two coats and another has none.  Something is very wrong when one of God’s children has to fight for a morsel of food when another simply has to drive up to a McDonalds drive-thru.  Something is very wrong when one of God’s children is impoverished at the hands of an unjust economic system.  Something is very wrong when one of God’s children is threatened by another.  Something is very wrong when twenty-seven of God’s children are killed by what can only be described as evil of the worst kind.

As the crowds in today’s passage, we are a people filled with expectation and with questions in our hearts.  In the midst of preparation, in the midst of waiting for this long-expected Jesus, we join with John the Baptist by crying out in the wilderness.  For in this wilderness, we are witnesses to the unspeakable but we are also witnesses to the spoken Word of God.  The Word of God to which John the Baptist preached and the Word of God which is spoken by the prophet Zephaniah.

In our text today from this prophet, Zephaniah gives voice to the harsh realities of the people.  This song speaks of enemies, disaster, and fear and, perhaps most curiously, God being in the midst of all of it.  Let us listen again to Zephaniah, this prophetic predecessor of John the Baptist. 

Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel!

Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!

The Lord has taken away the judgments against you, he has turned away your enemies.

The king of Israel, the Lord, is in your midst; You shall fear disaster no more.

On that day it shall be said to Jerusalem:

Do not fear, O Zion; do not let your hands grow weak.

The Lord, your God, is in your midst, a warrior who gives victory;

he will rejoice over you with gladness, he will renew you in his love;

he will exult over you with loud singing as on a day of festival.

     Twice Zephaniah exclaims “God is in your midst.” How can he proclaim those words after Friday’s massacre? How can we stand in this very room and proclaim God’s presence amidst the disasters and horrors of this world? Why would we ever listen to this John the Baptist fellow who is telling us that God is about to do a “new thing?” 

     I will tell you why we proclaim that God is in our midst even in this hour. We proclaim that God is in our midst because we worship a God who is no stranger to suffering. We worship a crucified God who was punished without reason. We worship a God who knows what it is like to bury a child. We worship a God whose own son was crucified, dead, and was buried in a cold, lonely tomb.
     But friends, if you hear nothing else in this sermon, hear and believe this: We worship a resurrected God. We worship a God who, though crucified, dead, and was buried, is risen forevermore! We worship a God who Zephaniah proclaims will remove disaster from us, who will deal with all our oppressors, who will save the lame and gather the outcast, who will change our shame into praise, who will bring us home and gather us, and who will restore us.
     That is why you and I should listen to the cry of John the Baptist in the wilderness. Because you and I are waiting for the God who will give and renew, save and gather, change and restore.
     Having faith that this truth will be done, perhaps then we can receive the prophetic cry of John the Baptist not as a threat to be avoided but rather as a promise to be welcomed.
     For if we did not have the hope of the resurrection, then we would have reason to fear the unquenchable fire of which John speaks. If we did not have the hope of the resurrection, then we should flee in terror as John describes God’s separating the wheat from the chaff and throwing the chaff into the flame.
     But since you and I live as children of the resurrected God, we receive this promise with the singing, exultation, and praise that Zephaniah offers. We welcome the coming of the Christ-child for his birth represents nothing less than the salvation that we have been waiting for. For as he will burn the chaff with the unquenchable fire so too will he defeat death with unstoppable life.
     Friends, one who is more powerful than us is coming, one from whom all life comes and to whom all life returns. At this time, as we look for answers in this season of Advent, we must not point to ourselves for then we would only sink further into despair and sorrow. Rather, like John the Baptist, you and I must point to Christ, who has broken and is breaking and shall forever break the fourth wall to be in his children’s presence if all of their joy and all of their sorrow. As we continue to light the Advent candles, we will renew our commitment to cherish the light while maintaining our trust in Christ, who alone will perish the darkness.
     Come, Lord Jesus!
     In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The First Sermon I Ever Preached

     This is a copy of the first sermon that I ever preached.  The occasion for this sermon was my preaching class in March of 2011.  It is interesting to look back and see how I've changed...and how I haven't.

Mark 9:14-29

When they came to the disciples, they saw a great crowd around them, and some scribes arguing with them. When the whole crowd saw him, they were immediately overcome with awe, and they ran forward to greet him. He asked them, ‘What are you arguing about with them?’Someone from the crowd answered him, ‘Teacher, I brought you my son; he has a spirit that makes him unable to speak; and whenever it seizes him, it dashes him down; and he foams and grinds his teeth and becomes rigid; and I asked your disciples to cast it out, but they could not do so.’ He answered them, ‘You faithless generation, how much longer must I be among you? How much longer must I put up with you? Bring him to me.’ And they brought the boy to him. When the spirit saw him, immediately it threw the boy into convulsions, and he fell on the ground and rolled about, foaming at the mouth. Jesus asked the father, ‘How long has this been happening to him?’ And he said, ‘From childhood. It has often cast him into the fire and into the water, to destroy him; but if you are able to do anything, have pity on us and help us.’ Jesus said to him, ‘If you are able!—All things can be done for the one who believes.’ Immediately the father of the child cried out, ‘I believe; help my unbelief!’ When Jesus saw that a crowd came running together, he rebuked the unclean spirit, saying to it, ‘You spirit that keep this boy from speaking and hearing, I command you, come out of him, and never enter him again!’ After crying out and convulsing him terribly, it came out, and the boy was like a corpse, so that most of them said, ‘He is dead.’ But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him up, and he was able to stand. When he had entered the house, his disciples asked him privately, ‘Why could we not cast it out?’ He said to them, ‘This kind can come out only through prayer.’ 

The crowds are gathering.  People are arguing.  Voices are being raised.  Disciples have failed.  Scribes are criticizing.  Jesus is frustrated.  A demon is seizing a helpless child.  A father is begging for his boy.  There is convulsing, throwing to the ground, dashing to the ground, rolling about, foaming at the mouth, grinding of teeth.  We are all watching.   We are all witnesses to things that are falling apart.  And amidst the chaos comes a desperate and raw confession.  I believe, help my unbelief!

            We believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth.  We say it in church many a Sunday as a community.  We say it to ourselves as we struggle with texts in class.  We state it in our creeds, our thoughts, our very prayers.  However, it is hard to believe whatever it is that we believe in when the waves come upon our shores, when we are cast into the water and into the fire, when earthquakes shatter our way of existence, when those we love, or perhaps even ourselves, are seized by the grip of forces we do not understand.  We cannot believe that a God who created us from nothing but a desire to be in fellowship with us and love us is present in the midst of unforgiving chaos.  Oh, we believe, alright.  But then again….

            Belief or unbelief.  Which are we?

            Perhaps we are in the crowd that is watching this situation, arguing with each other over the shortcomings of the disciples.  Haven’t we been led to believe, after all, that they have the authority to cast out demons?  They have been following this Jesus fellow around, haven’t they?  Have they learned nothing?  How can we be asked to believe in what we have not seen?  Belief or unbelief.

            Perhaps we are amongst the disciples.  We believe in Jesus!  We have committed ourselves to his teachings.  After all, it was us who dropped our nets and followed him at his command.  It was us that left our former ways of life to begin something new and exciting.  We believe ourselves to be charged with a mission.  Why then, could we not do what he has taught us?  We can’t believe our failures.  Belief or unbelief.

            Perhaps we are the parent of the child, who has heard this talk about a healer and his disciples who can fix the brokenness that has been the reality of their parenthood for years and years.  After all the loving care, after all the nights laying awake by a loved one’s side, after hearing, seeing, feeling the pain that has gripped them, we cannot believe that there is redemption, healing, salvation.  We believe this at this time and don’t believe this at that time.  Belief is a finicky friend, is it not?

            Or perhaps we are the child, robbed of our voices, robbed of our right mind, robbed of any and all control over our situations, rigid with the futility of forces that dash us down to the ground.

            The crowd can’t believe the disciples failed.  The disciples themselves can’t believe they failed.  Jesus can’t believe the unbelief.  The father believes and, yet, his unbelief seizes him almost simultaneously.  Belief or unbelief.  Which are you?  Which am I?  It’s frustrating isn’t it?

            As I’m sure all of us have felt at one point or another when encountering such a rich and meaty text, I had to step back.  I was so hung up on the father’s seemingly paradoxical statement:  “I believe; help my unbelief!”  Well, make up your mind!  Which is it?  It must be one or the other!  One of my favorite musical groups is the band Nickel Creek.  In their song, “Doubting Thomas” is a lyric that has always struck me.  “Can I be used to help others find truth, when I’m scared I’ll find proof that it’s a lie?”  I see both belief and unbelief in those words.  I think we see belief and unbelief in ourselves and, what’s more, the line between the two is seldom clear. 

            Now we don’t know exactly why the disciples failed.  Perhaps they had just finished a rough CPM meeting.  Perhaps they were frazzled from writing a sermon.  Perhaps they thought they were the ones casting out demons.  Perhaps they just weren’t feeling it!  We don’t know.  What we do know is that Jesus emphasizes prayer as the vehicle through which this demon was cast out.  But where exactly is that prayer?  It certainly does not look as though Jesus prayed in this specific passage.  We also have no record of the disciples praying.  So what’s going on?

             Henri Nouwen writes in his book “With Open Hands” his thoughts on prayer.  He says, “To pray means to stop expecting from God the same small-mindedness which you discover in yourself. To pray is to walk in the full light of God and to say simply, without holding back, "I am human and you are God."   I am human, and you are God!  It is a simple little phrase but the reality is that simplicity is rarely simplistic.  As I was working on this sermon, I found myself saying this prayer out loud everywhere.  The parking lot, the car, the mailroom, the refectory, everywhere!  I am human, and you are God.  Over and over again.  That simple little prayer brought forth more questions than it did answers.  To me, it embodied the desperate cry of myself before God.  It proclaimed my reality in the here and now.  Naked before God, I cried out, I am human, and you are God.  I am human, and you are God.  Through this earthy and intimate mantra I found myself standing next to the father, crying out “I believe, help my unbelief.”

            I found myself next to the father saying to Jesus, “How much longer must you be among us?  How much longer must you put up with us?  Jesus, how much longer must my son be among this?  How much longer, Jesus, must he put up with this.  Now is not the time for you to be frustrated.  Now is not the time for you to be human.  Now is the time for you to be God.”  Now I don’t know why the disciples failed to cast out the demon.  I don’t know why Jesus asked the father all the questions.  I don’t know what was going through the boy’s head.  I just don’t know.  But what I do know and what I do is this…

            The crowds are gathering.  People are arguing.  Voices are being raised.  Disciples have failed.  Scribes are criticizing.  Jesus is frustrated.  A demon is seizing a helpless child.  A father is begging for his boy.  There is convulsing, throwing to the ground, dashing to the ground, rolling about, foaming at the mouth, grinding of teeth.  We are all watching.  Amidst the chaos comes a cry.  I believe; help my unbelief!  Belief and unbelief; which aren’t you?

  And then a hand.  

           A hand that lifts.  

           A hand that lifts a helpless boy to his feet; a boy who is able to stand.  

           A hand that takes from us the single-mindedness 

                        that we have placed on ourselves and
                        hands to us possibilities and a mission.

           A hand that lifts us and those we love not in the moment when we believe or not believe 

                        but rather when we are most torn between the two.  

                                       When we are caught between hope and fear, 

                                                                  between our humanness and God’s “godness,”

                                                                  between belief and unbelief.  

          A hand that lifts us as it says, “I am God, and you are human.”  

          That hand is not our own.  But that hand allows our own hands to no longer be rigid.  

          Hands that are now free to love, to serve, to hold, to pray, 

                                               to testify to what it is that lifts us from the ground.

God Is Faithful - Advent Devotional on 1 Cor. 1:9

God is faithful, by whom you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. 

1 Corinthians 1: 9 (ESV)

      God is faithful! 

     These three words, in their beautiful simplicity, perfectly embody the reason we celebrate the season of Advent. We rejoice in this truth by affirming that God’s faithfulness is expressed in the fact that we have never worshiped a God who is happy with leaving us alone. Indeed, we worship a God who comes to us where we are. Through the body and being of God’s son, Jesus Christ, God is with us. God is for us. God is amongst us.

     But Advent should not be about simply affirming this truth. Rather, these words from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians remind us that we must do something. We are called into the fellowship of the Risen Christ, who is still very much alive and at work in the world. We, the people who are the Body of Christ, are reminded that we are called to serve others because of God’s faithfulness to all people.   

     What, then, is your part in this fellowship? May this season be a constant reminder to us that we are each called into the fellowship of Christ! So, hold a hand. Clothe the naked. Help those who have fallen. Give voice to those who have been silenced. And, above all, do these acts by remembering this truth:  God is faithful!

     Holy God, thank you for the gift of Your Son, Jesus Christ, who reminds us that You are for us, with us, and amongst us. Help us that we might be for others, with others, and amongst others. Amen.

                         Grace and peace,

                         Stephen

Prophetic Notes: Vision 1 - Peace Be Upon Us

     I have been a musician my entire life.  Of late, I have been fascinated by music, both "religious" and "secular" (although I'm beginning to feel that we often put too much of a barrier between the two), that is essentially prophetic.  By "prophetic" I mean to suggest that the artist in question invites the listener to join him or her on a journey.  This journey may or may not be to a place that exists; for really, the "reality" of the place is not all that important.  What is important in prophecy is that it at the same time disorients our current worldview while reorienting us to another (thank you Brueggemann for this terminology!).

     Therefore, I have decided to begin a new series in my blog entitled "Prophetic Notes."  It is my desire through this journey to share with you the prophetic utterances that are all around us, especially in music of all kinds.  Furthermore, rather than organizing this series into "parts," I will post "Visions."  It is my hope that such terminology will better grasp the open-ended and unpredictable nature of such artistic imaginations.  As we begin this journey together, I welcome my readers to submit their own suggestions for "Prophetic Notes" that we might all be reoriented to the truth that God would have us do.  

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Sheryl Crow

     I have always been the most casual of Sheryl Crow listeners.  My first memories of listening to her are in the car traveling with my family.  We would listen to her early songs "All I Wanna Do," "You're My Favorite Mistake," and "I Wanna Soak Up the Sun."  While these are lovely songs, they have never inspired me to describe their prophetic natures (although someone else's ears and heart might certainly disagree!).  However, as I was driving up to Dalton a few weeks ago for Thanksgiving holidays, I stumbled across her album, "Detours," while passing the warm fall colors of Northwest Georgia.  

     Have you ever been so obsessed with a song that you put it on repeat and listen to it over and over and over and over again? Have you ever had a piece of music touch something deep inside of you that makes you want to simmer in it for as long as possible, as though you and the music were two ingredients in a crock-pot that compliment each other better the longer you enjoy each other's company? Hopefully you know exactly what this feels like and know that it feels best when it jumps up out of nowhere.

     I was caught off guard in this manner by Sheryl Crow's song "Peace Be Upon Us" (see link below).  I love everything about this song: the tempo, the texture, and the text. From the opening notes, the listener is invited into a dream by a soft but insistent tempo that is matched by a warm and welcoming texture. The simple melody is easy to listen to and is simple though not simplistic; it allows the listener to focus on the text which she offers to describe her vision.

     What made this piece of art stand out to me as prophetic is first and foremost its responsive nature.  I am a liturgist at heart and, as such, love how she calls out to everyone ("all you sinners and saints, all you creatures of faith, don't need to be afraid").  I could very easily imagine using those words in the context of worship to invite congregants into the warm embrace of God's love.

     As she brings us to the chorus, she "breaks the fourth wall" by inviting you and me to join her in proclaiming, "peace be upon us, be upon us all!"  What is prophetic about this piece of music is that it calls you and me to join together in a dream when peace will truly be upon us all.  It is prophetic because this is not the current reality.  I am reminded of my previous post "The Defiance of Prayer" (http://our1wildandpreciouslife.blogspot.com/2012/10/the-defiance-of-prayer.html).  Sheryl Crow's prophetic utterances of peace amid a world ridden with hatred, violence, and intolerance are nothing short of bold and perhaps even dangerous; dangerous to those people (perhaps even you and me) who either by their action or lack thereof promote a world that stands in contrast to God's desire for all of creation to gather at the Table to live in love.

                                                Peace be upon us, be upon us all!

                                                Stephen

 

The music can be found here; please ignore the stupid video :). http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WYfHFOLTX4A

Walking down the street of dreams, Eating from the fruits of lifeTripping out on the smallest things, Trying to reach the light, trying to reach the light

Pick the key up off the floor, Put the key into the lockTurn the lock, open up the doorLook at all you've got, look at all you've got

All the sinners and saintsAll you creatures of faithDon't need to be afraidIf you know what I meanLet me hear you say

Peace be upon us, Peace be upon us, Be upon us allPeace be upon us, Peace be upon us, Be upon us all

If we speak in tongues of loveBut we kill in the name of GodHow can we profess to own his nameAnd still be so lost and still be so lost

The world will turn even when we're goneThe earth will host many souls to comeWho will write the history, tales ofWisemen, villains and innocent ones

All you shepherds and sheepWhen you wake from your sleepIt will be a new dayIf you know what I meanLet me hear you say

Peace be upon us, Peace be upon us, Be upon us allPeace be upon us, Peace be upon us, Be upon us all

As-salaamu alykumWa-alaykum assalaamAssalaam alykumWa-alaykum assalaam