In these rancorous times in which we live, there seems to be a prevailing assumption that "he or she who talks the loudest must surely be Correct." Subscribe to cable TV these days and you can enjoy three dozen channels of talking heads shouting it out about impeachment, Ukraine, Golden Globes, Pro Bowl pics, and hair care secrets. It is striking to me that I can no longer even pump gas into my orange Jeep without enduring a screen in front of me, belting out audio selling this or news-breaking that. So much for 5 minutes dispensing Mid-grade as a quiet chance to collect my thoughts. Although my daddy raised me always to stay informed about this world, I'm starting to wonder if in fact willful avoidance (of so much noise) may in fact be a necessity for discipleship. One can only take so many talking heads. And this ... from a preacher.
Pumping gas while enduring more Opinions makes me appreciate Paul's cultural critique in 1 Corinthians 1:18–31, our lectionary reading for this Sunday. "So what about these wise ones, these scholars, these brilliant debaters of this world’s great affairs? God has made them all look foolish and shown their wisdom to be useless nonsense." According to the apostle, this good news about Jesus is not just one more strand of super-Serious-Opinion in an already tight knot of rancor. Everyone scrambles to be Right in this world, and many assume that the Divine will always take up Their Case ... but meanwhile God is usually up to something different; something so righteous (i.e. according to God's own terms) that it appears ridiculous to its Cultured Despisers. Talking Heads seem to always tighten our spirits; only a resurrecting God can loosen them.
The cross of Jesus is proof to Paul that the living God gets a kick out of flying in under the radar of what everyone assumes to be True and Right and Obvious. The cross turns out to be an open secret in a Loud Landscape; it is a whispering God dealing with a cantankerous world by showing up in God's own way: quietly, sacrificially, passionately, from the inside out ... and as a Fool.
Guess what? For an hour or so this Sunday, we get to turn off MSNBC and Fox and all the Other Ones ... and celebrate the absolute "foolishness" of the gospel. How about we practice being fools for Christ in such a Serious Season? You won't even have to pump.
January 31, 2020
January 24, 2020
United but not Confused
Christian unity is at once both a fact and a calling, an indicative and an imperative, both already-eternally-true and always-humanly-fragile.
It is the blessed indicative of the good news about Jesus that, because the Father and the Son are one (united but never conflated), and because the Son has called us by name, therefore we are now one (united but never conflated) with God and one with each other. Unity is a gift given that precedes our choices. Praise be to God.
But in this Christian confession, most indicatives also come with an imperative. "It is so ... so live like it!" the New Testament often asserts. That's what the Apostle Paul seems to be insisting in our 1 Corinthians passage for this Sunday, chapter 1 verses 10-18. "I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you be in agreement and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same purpose."
Let us rejoice that the Christian movement is never a cult, wherein one is required to surrender the individual mind and forfeit one's individual will for the sake of some falsely-holy homogeneity. No, we are called the Christian unity, not cultic uniformity. Unity is a choice, because it is a first a gift; such unity never dissolves our differences, it merely softens them so that we no longer have to have our way on everything in order to see the way to God. It is a choice to stand together, to work together, for seek together the word and way of Jesus. Indeed, we are more united as one when each of us, in our own ways and in our own times, commits and recommits to loving our God and loving our neighbor.
Each week begins with the gift of unity; each week ends by our asking, How did we do?
It is the blessed indicative of the good news about Jesus that, because the Father and the Son are one (united but never conflated), and because the Son has called us by name, therefore we are now one (united but never conflated) with God and one with each other. Unity is a gift given that precedes our choices. Praise be to God.
But in this Christian confession, most indicatives also come with an imperative. "It is so ... so live like it!" the New Testament often asserts. That's what the Apostle Paul seems to be insisting in our 1 Corinthians passage for this Sunday, chapter 1 verses 10-18. "I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you be in agreement and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same purpose."
Let us rejoice that the Christian movement is never a cult, wherein one is required to surrender the individual mind and forfeit one's individual will for the sake of some falsely-holy homogeneity. No, we are called the Christian unity, not cultic uniformity. Unity is a choice, because it is a first a gift; such unity never dissolves our differences, it merely softens them so that we no longer have to have our way on everything in order to see the way to God. It is a choice to stand together, to work together, for seek together the word and way of Jesus. Indeed, we are more united as one when each of us, in our own ways and in our own times, commits and recommits to loving our God and loving our neighbor.
Each week begins with the gift of unity; each week ends by our asking, How did we do?
October 31, 2019
Readiness
Speaking of Stewardship Season, here's a nice nugget of wisdom from our Presbyterian tradition:
"Those who follow the discipline of Christian stewardship will find themselves called to lives of simplicity, generosity, honesty, hospitality, compassion, receptivity, and concern for the earth and God’s creatures."
What a list. This week I'm struck by the word RECEPTIVITY; not the first term one might associate with an emphasis on stewardship giving, inside or outside our congregation. But I think it fits. If one starts with the spiritually cascading truths that all is God's and all is on loan from God and all is offered back to God as worship and gratitude — and that Jesus is our leader is no doubt the exemplar steward — then good stewardship invites us to learn again and again a supple posture of receptivity.
Openness. Nimbleness. Readiness. After all, one never knows what is next in this way of walking.
What opportunities for good giving will present themselves? Where will I sense the divine Holy Spirit nudge? When a moment of extra giving comes along, how can I trust that giving away more of the gifts of God will be good for my soul, thereby flipping the script on the tendency to grasp and cling? Maybe you have a talent: Are you open to new and surprising ways that our Providential God might put it to use for blessing others? And given that we serve a Resurrecting God, full of Easter Surprises and Pentecost Interruptions, how can we each pay attention for the prompting of that same Spirit in the nooks and crannies of ordinary days? and in the week to week of this congregation we love?
Sunday's gospel teaching is again from Luke, again it is Jesus teaching us in simple parable, and again is about a posture toward God and God's world around us that could rightly be called stewardship. Luke 12:35-48. Read ahead, and “be dressed for action. Have your lamps lit!" Jesus-receptivity and Jesus-readiness apparently call for a smart source of light. After all, a follower of Jesus never quite knows what the morrow will bring.
That is the blessing of this stewardship business, not a curse.
"Those who follow the discipline of Christian stewardship will find themselves called to lives of simplicity, generosity, honesty, hospitality, compassion, receptivity, and concern for the earth and God’s creatures."
What a list. This week I'm struck by the word RECEPTIVITY; not the first term one might associate with an emphasis on stewardship giving, inside or outside our congregation. But I think it fits. If one starts with the spiritually cascading truths that all is God's and all is on loan from God and all is offered back to God as worship and gratitude — and that Jesus is our leader is no doubt the exemplar steward — then good stewardship invites us to learn again and again a supple posture of receptivity.
Openness. Nimbleness. Readiness. After all, one never knows what is next in this way of walking.
What opportunities for good giving will present themselves? Where will I sense the divine Holy Spirit nudge? When a moment of extra giving comes along, how can I trust that giving away more of the gifts of God will be good for my soul, thereby flipping the script on the tendency to grasp and cling? Maybe you have a talent: Are you open to new and surprising ways that our Providential God might put it to use for blessing others? And given that we serve a Resurrecting God, full of Easter Surprises and Pentecost Interruptions, how can we each pay attention for the prompting of that same Spirit in the nooks and crannies of ordinary days? and in the week to week of this congregation we love?
Sunday's gospel teaching is again from Luke, again it is Jesus teaching us in simple parable, and again is about a posture toward God and God's world around us that could rightly be called stewardship. Luke 12:35-48. Read ahead, and “be dressed for action. Have your lamps lit!" Jesus-receptivity and Jesus-readiness apparently call for a smart source of light. After all, a follower of Jesus never quite knows what the morrow will bring.
That is the blessing of this stewardship business, not a curse.
June 27, 2019
Friendships as Ministry
We all have friends.
Granted, the breadth and depth of friendship may vary from person to person, but surely all of us traffic in at least a few friendships. As such, other than our families of origin, friendships are probably the most ubiquitous of all relationships. Not everyone is called to marry. Not everyone raises children or grandchildren. Most of us do not loom large in public life and therefore the benefactor of hundreds of social acquaintances. But by virtue of the great commandment to love our neighbors as well as we would love ourselves, all of us are called to the ministry of friendship.
Our simple summer sermon series for June and July explores some themes in the Christian ministry of friendship. We started with a refresher on the love chapter of 1 Corinthians 13, in some ways rescuing those familiar lines from the clutches of wedding ceremonies and repositioning Paul's teaching as direction for every Christian in every relationship -- not just for couples "in love." Next we'll mine the collected wisdom of the book of Proverbs for reminders on the nature of friendship. Then we'll sit at table with Jesus and his first disciples as he announces to them, and us, that he no longer calls us servants, but rather "friends." The implications of this new and provocative nomenclature are many, so we'll take a look at what that means both for us as his friends and for others who know us as a friend.
Behind the scenes, your session is in prayerful discussion about specific areas and directions of ministry for the next five years in the life of our beloved Northminster church. We hope to discern a handful of mission endeavors that will guide our common life and offer ministry to others in Jesus' name. Those are sacred and important discussions, and I know we will be sharing with you soon what we are discerning and where we hope to go in the way of direction, vocation. The ministry we do together is important.
But meanwhile, regarding ministry, it seems to me that everyone of us also has a ministry waiting for us every time we connect with our friends. One does not always have to cross the seas or cross the town or cross cultures in order to share in Jesus' ministry of mercy, reconciliation, and love. Sometimes his kingdom is as a close at hand as a text message, a lunch date, a golf outing, or a note. I hope this short summer series will be an encouragement to you as you steward the friendships God has providentially placed in your life.
Granted, the breadth and depth of friendship may vary from person to person, but surely all of us traffic in at least a few friendships. As such, other than our families of origin, friendships are probably the most ubiquitous of all relationships. Not everyone is called to marry. Not everyone raises children or grandchildren. Most of us do not loom large in public life and therefore the benefactor of hundreds of social acquaintances. But by virtue of the great commandment to love our neighbors as well as we would love ourselves, all of us are called to the ministry of friendship.
Our simple summer sermon series for June and July explores some themes in the Christian ministry of friendship. We started with a refresher on the love chapter of 1 Corinthians 13, in some ways rescuing those familiar lines from the clutches of wedding ceremonies and repositioning Paul's teaching as direction for every Christian in every relationship -- not just for couples "in love." Next we'll mine the collected wisdom of the book of Proverbs for reminders on the nature of friendship. Then we'll sit at table with Jesus and his first disciples as he announces to them, and us, that he no longer calls us servants, but rather "friends." The implications of this new and provocative nomenclature are many, so we'll take a look at what that means both for us as his friends and for others who know us as a friend.
Behind the scenes, your session is in prayerful discussion about specific areas and directions of ministry for the next five years in the life of our beloved Northminster church. We hope to discern a handful of mission endeavors that will guide our common life and offer ministry to others in Jesus' name. Those are sacred and important discussions, and I know we will be sharing with you soon what we are discerning and where we hope to go in the way of direction, vocation. The ministry we do together is important.
But meanwhile, regarding ministry, it seems to me that everyone of us also has a ministry waiting for us every time we connect with our friends. One does not always have to cross the seas or cross the town or cross cultures in order to share in Jesus' ministry of mercy, reconciliation, and love. Sometimes his kingdom is as a close at hand as a text message, a lunch date, a golf outing, or a note. I hope this short summer series will be an encouragement to you as you steward the friendships God has providentially placed in your life.
March 29, 2019
Found but Lost
The fifteenth chapter of Luke and the "parable of the Prodigal Son" have been for many years fertile soil for preachers and therefore familiar ground for congregations. Indeed, the images are rich and memorable: the younger son insisting on cashing out his inheritance early; the whorish squandering of his monies in foolish Las Vegas living; a wised-up, sobered prodigal, down on his news asking for forgiveness from a father who has every right to judge. He is we, our preachers have often said: We are each the Prodigal. We are all saved by grace alone.
True enough. But a fresh reading of the whole of Luke 15 reveals that the oft-preached Prodigal Son story is actually a gateway narrative for the climactic story Jesus really wants to tell. It is the sad song of an older sibling, with its own provocative images: an embittered, resentful older son who stubbornly refuses to join in on the Prodigal's welcome home party. While the DJ cues up the homecoming dance, the older son is passive-aggressively out in the parking lot — declaring his disapproval of the father's lavish grace.
Who are we in the full story of Luke 15? Are we the once-lost? Are we the have-always-been-here found? Are we the younger or the older brother? Are we guilty ... or are we angry? What side of God's grace do we most need to hear in this stage of life? ... the unfettered welcome home of the foolish prodigal? ... or the pat-on-the back "you have always been with me" ... but "we need to celebrate" reminder to a resentful older sibling?
Join me Sunday morning in Luke 15 as we celebrate the good news that both brothers — the lost and the found — are welcomed back by the Father's sumptuous, unmerited favor.
True enough. But a fresh reading of the whole of Luke 15 reveals that the oft-preached Prodigal Son story is actually a gateway narrative for the climactic story Jesus really wants to tell. It is the sad song of an older sibling, with its own provocative images: an embittered, resentful older son who stubbornly refuses to join in on the Prodigal's welcome home party. While the DJ cues up the homecoming dance, the older son is passive-aggressively out in the parking lot — declaring his disapproval of the father's lavish grace.
Who are we in the full story of Luke 15? Are we the once-lost? Are we the have-always-been-here found? Are we the younger or the older brother? Are we guilty ... or are we angry? What side of God's grace do we most need to hear in this stage of life? ... the unfettered welcome home of the foolish prodigal? ... or the pat-on-the back "you have always been with me" ... but "we need to celebrate" reminder to a resentful older sibling?
Join me Sunday morning in Luke 15 as we celebrate the good news that both brothers — the lost and the found — are welcomed back by the Father's sumptuous, unmerited favor.
March 21, 2019
Redirection
737 Max crashes. New Zealand shootings. Mozambique cyclones.
Where do your heart and mind go when the news of more far off human pain hits your ears?
Like many of you, I was raised in a family that valued staying current on world affairs. Walter Cronkite was a nightly fixture in our house. My father had the Times Picayune in front of him for an hour a night. Presbyterian faith + the value of education + access to newspapers and networks equaled regular conversation about current events, near and far. Surely one part of loving this world that "God so loved" is staying educated about its happenings. True enough.
But that was before the World Wide Web and the 24/7 news cycle. These days, with the onslaught of ticker tape news feeds and pundit-talking-heads and round-the-clock media, one wonders if discipleship calls for more restraint in the consumption of news. With so much data available to us now, I worry about a kind of spiritual-sadness inebriation that leaves us insensible to so much macro and maybe also numb to the micro in and around our own lives. Perhaps Lent is a season to take a step back from the Big News ... in order to take a step forward into our Small Souls? I am not adovcating retreat, merely rest, and reflection. Each of us must work out that balance for ourselves.
In Sunday's lectionary reading, Luke 13:1-9, Jesus' disciples are ruminating on the news of more human tragedy. When the conversation shifts to human causality — Who's fault is this? — and the matter is brought to their Teacher, Jesus offers a curious response. Redirection. To be sure, sometimes politicians and diplomats use redirection as a means of misdirection. But in Jesus' case, our Teacher uses a moment of public gossip to remind his followers about the frailty of life and the resulting call to spiritual readiness. Jesus: We can obsess about macro matters we cannot control ... or we can be spiritual stewards of those micro matters about which we can do something. After all, what good is worry for the whole world if it wrecks our ability to love locally?
Where do your heart and mind go when the news of more far off human pain hits your ears?
Like many of you, I was raised in a family that valued staying current on world affairs. Walter Cronkite was a nightly fixture in our house. My father had the Times Picayune in front of him for an hour a night. Presbyterian faith + the value of education + access to newspapers and networks equaled regular conversation about current events, near and far. Surely one part of loving this world that "God so loved" is staying educated about its happenings. True enough.
But that was before the World Wide Web and the 24/7 news cycle. These days, with the onslaught of ticker tape news feeds and pundit-talking-heads and round-the-clock media, one wonders if discipleship calls for more restraint in the consumption of news. With so much data available to us now, I worry about a kind of spiritual-sadness inebriation that leaves us insensible to so much macro and maybe also numb to the micro in and around our own lives. Perhaps Lent is a season to take a step back from the Big News ... in order to take a step forward into our Small Souls? I am not adovcating retreat, merely rest, and reflection. Each of us must work out that balance for ourselves.
In Sunday's lectionary reading, Luke 13:1-9, Jesus' disciples are ruminating on the news of more human tragedy. When the conversation shifts to human causality — Who's fault is this? — and the matter is brought to their Teacher, Jesus offers a curious response. Redirection. To be sure, sometimes politicians and diplomats use redirection as a means of misdirection. But in Jesus' case, our Teacher uses a moment of public gossip to remind his followers about the frailty of life and the resulting call to spiritual readiness. Jesus: We can obsess about macro matters we cannot control ... or we can be spiritual stewards of those micro matters about which we can do something. After all, what good is worry for the whole world if it wrecks our ability to love locally?
March 15, 2019
Highs and Lows
Life in this world brings with it some highs and some lows, especially when one leans into the good news and seeks to love God and neighbor. Ups and downs: That much is clear. Apparently it was not so different for Jesus in his public ministry. This Sunday we sit together before a another memory from the Gospel of Luke. Last week we sat with Jesus in his 40-day tempting and testing wilderness. This week, we hike with a few of Jesus' first disciples as together they climb toward a mountaintop and experience a high of all highs — a magical moment of heavenly overlap the church clumsily labels "transfiguration." Who wouldn't want to stay right there, basking in the glow of God? But mountaintop highs can't go on forever, at least not in this life. With Luke's help, Sunday we'll see what happens on the other side of the mountaintop, when Jesus takes the high of heaven down to the lowest of earth. Read and prayer this encounter ahead of time — Luke 9:28-43 — and help your preacher find the good news when we all gather again this Sunday.
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