A message about goosebumps, neuroscience and the power of being known by God (from 4.9.23)

John 4:5-42

 Last week, I looked in my files in my computer curious about what I had preached on this gospel text three years ago when it came up.  I knew that three years ago around this time, we had gone into the lockdown and, sure enough, this was the last Sunday we met in person in the sanctuary.  As I skimmed what I had written, I was transported back to that time and felt a tingle in my spine: "We had hoped," I reflected, "that the kids would only be out of school a few weeks. We had hoped that we would be back to church by Easter." None of us had any idea what was before us on that Sunday three years ago.  And as I thought about that for a moment I had goosebumps.

There are studies that show that when you feel goosebumps or a tingle the chills that they come when you feel this heightened sense that you are joined with others in community or that you share a common experience. Evolutionarily, there are some essentials we have as mammals. Right alongside of the need to eat and keep our oxygen at the correct level, we have to keep our body temperature in the right range in order to survive. Not to hot or cold.  There are some mammals that are highly social, like some dogs or wolves or primates and humans that, when they get too cold: they huddle. The very first physical response social mammals have when it gets very cold is that our hair stands up so that our skin bunches up so it’s less porous to the cold. This, then, signals to others to draw near and even embrace, which releases oxytocin, a neurochemical that rushes through the body and makes us more open to others. Neuroscientists say that the sensation of goosebumps unite or connect us with others as we try to make sense of these big unknown things before us. 

When our ancient mammal relatives came up in front of vast mysteries, and even dangerous ones: their hair stood up and they found this warmth and strength in drawing closer to each other.  What were vast unknowns or mysteries for these ancient relatives? a roaring waterfall, a powerful thunderstorm, a massive canyon, wild gusts of wind. 

Our bible doesn’t talk specifically about chills or goosebumps. It also wasn’t written in the verbose times we live in now where we record every minute detail.  There is so much left to imagination and interpretation. But the bible does have some stories of people who, in the face of vast mysteries open up to each other and this fits with the neuroscience like a glove.  There are a lot of stories about mysteries and epiphanies and how they change us, but today’s is about a Samaritan woman that Jesus encountered at a well.

In this bible story of The Other Good Samaritan Jesus and the woman have a taboo conversation it’s taboo for a lot of reasons.  Not only is there the male/female thing happening, Jesus and the Samaritan woman are also on two sides of a deep divide.  In their day, the Israelites and Samaritans were enemies, but not distant, “out there” kind of enemies.  More like “in my back yard, looks a lot like me but is different in all the wrong ways kind of enemy.”  Their religion agreed on some key points but diverged around a couple of details that were significant enough to make them hate each other. The set up of this encounter between Jesus and this woman is immediately tense in the minds of ancient people. These two have no reason to interact or get to know one another, but Jesus asks something of her anyway.  That’s the first mysterious thing. 

The scripture does not say this, but I have to wonder if she had chills when Jesus asked her for a drink of water.  We don’t know this, but again, neuroscience tells us that when people feel that profound human connection that causes a tingle in the spine or goosebumps, it releases oxytocin and it makes us more open to others.

With that question that reached across the breach, they were immediately stepping out onto a limb. The conversation continues. 

History has not been kind to the Samaritan woman around the issue of her five husbands. We have no idea what her story is, but there are a number of choice words and phrases that have been tagged to her over the centuries.  Folks say she was “no angel” had a “checkered past” was a prostitute and was “living in sin.” There’s no biblical basis for any of this.  Just cultural…

Honestly?  We could easily guess she had been widowed. Or maybe she had been divorced because she couldn’t conceive a child and her husbands divorced her because of it. We don’t know why she had been married so many times. But husband after husband divorced her or died until she was finally left with the brother of her late husband who basically took her as a pity-wife because the law said he had to.  
In their conversation, this woman shares her truth with Jesus and admits that she has no husband. That's bold. She could have just ignored him. It was a moment of taking off the mask and sheer honesty.  She meets him halfway. Mysteriously, Jesus fills in the gaps of her story and then meets her at the other half tells her his truth. He is the great I Am. In that mysterious moment, it was like goosebumps radiated up and down their arms and they drew close to one another.  You can see this image of the two of them on the front of your bulletin meeting each other in the middle with true honesty. She shows us how to be completely and fully honest and known before God.  

Face to face with the messiah, you really know who you are: the good, the bad, the embarrassing, the hopeful, all of it. It is the mystery of being fully known, seen and understood. There is no hiding here, no hiding the parts of ourselves or the parts of our lives that we would just as soon forget.  

In the gospel of John, to be a disciple of Jesus is to be in relationship with God. It doesn’t necessarily mean “to follow” the way it does in our other gospels. And that’s okay, Sometimes, I think this idea of “following” makes it seem like we can’t question anything or interrogate anything.  It is an image of sitting, like this cover shows eye to eye, heart to heart with Jesus. 

What does it look like to be in relationship with God? Last week, I met with an old friend who was in town for breakfast.  He has a current mantra He’s working on, he told me. “Don’t criticize, complain, or condemn.”  Apparently, it’s loosely related to the philosophies of addition and recovery that he’s involved with.

This is good solid advice, but I happen to know that this person periodically changes their mantras, breathes them, repeats them throughout the day, writes them on the corner of pieces of paper laying around, and I’d say prays them, until they weave themselves into his being.  

What would be the mantra that you need to pray continually? What is your honest truth that only God knows and the prayer that lifts out of it. What is it that you must cultivate more of in your heart? More grace or mercy towards people who “aren’t getting it right?”Less cynicsm? More tenacity? Less knee jerk judgement and more openness? More generosity towards people who have less than you? More compassion for our bodies that are thankfully less than perfect? Less-self doubt?  More appreciation of the beauty you run across in your daily life?

The spiritual growth that we crave and long for must be cultivated beyond a visit to church on Sunday morning.

If believing in the gospel of John means to be in relationship with God: to let ourselves be fully and honestly known. We must be honest about where we’re cracked and crumbling and to quietly, slowly let God work on us. Sometimes it is these daily quotidian habits that slowly deepen our connection to God over time. 

Lent is a time where we open our hearts so that God can prune away the old habits and patterns that should be cut back.  Then, we fertilize and cultivate the areas that need to grow.  God does this all with the aim of greening our souls. In the profound gift of being truthful and being known by God, may we draw closer to and be shaped by the one, who is, who was and who will be.

An Ash Wednesday message about truth, courage and us.

Remember “you are dust and to dust you shall return” Genesis 3:19 

I started off Ash Wednesday much like the past few years: on the corner outside the church building braving the elements and offering ashes to folks on their way to drop their kids off at Waters school across the street in the morning.  This year I was joined by C.  C and I stood at the corner in the rain, a little like wet cats, offering ashes to folks who passed by.  We didn’t have as many takers as past years, but we had a few:  There was the woman with the white haired pixie cut who pulled over: 

“Wait, are you giving out ashes?” I drew the cross on her forehead and she ran back to her car.

As I went through the day, I saw a few people marked with ashes.  It always kind of takes me by surprise to run into someone with the ashes on their face.  You would think it wouldn’t given my line of work, but it does. There was the woman driving her car who waited for me to cross at the stop sign, the school crossing guard, the other parent at the school waiting with me in the rain for our kids to be dismissed.

Usually we start off our days dirt free and well groomed—or at least we do our best.  I for one, trust that someone will at least give me the heads up if something is off when I’m walking out of the house.  There was the time that, as I was rushing to get out the door, one of my younger family members informed me that I had my shirt on inside out.  (I quickly fixed that one—lest someone be let in on the secret that I don’t always have it 100% together.)

Somedays, it’s worse than having the shirt on inside out. Somedays, we’re not sleeping well, or someone we love is sick, or we’re worried about a decision we’ve made, or about the state of the world. Somedays we’re uncomfortable in our own skin for all kinds of reasons.

Most days, we keep up the facade. We go about our business, work hard, go to school, go to the store, blend into the crowd and attempt to appear that we’re either holding it together, optimistic, upbeat, or whatever vibe de jour is most acceptable that day. 

But today—today, we come for the ashes. 

In just a short while, we’ll invite you to come forward and you’ll be marked by dust.  It’s this visible acknowledgement that sometimes things in our lives—which we try to keep running smoothly—crack, crumble, or even break.  When the dust settles, we’re left with a little pile of dirt, or rubble or sand that slips right through our fingers when we scoop into our hands.  

Usually, we try to sweep this dusty reality under the rug a little like it doesn’t matter.  We pretend that we’re not really anxious or lonely or overworked or harried or upset.

But not today.  

Today, we acknowledge that the air is full of ashes, hearts around the world are full of ashes. Today we remember we are human, mortal and, as scripture says, “that we are dust.”

It’s a little strange: this practice of remembering like this. Why do we do this?

We are certainly surrounded by enough worry and pain, disappointment, stress and despair already: What if I don’t get into the right high school or college? What if my marriage doesn’t make it? What if getting old is worse than I thought? Why am I still alone? How could I have messed this up? Failed again? What if… 

What good does it do to go over it again here on Ash Wednesday? Why focus on the dust? Why not just keep our chins up and march forward bright and shiny and perfect so we can rise up and shine and succeed? (We really do put a lot of effort into having it all together…)

Sara Miles is a pastor who writes that “It’s rare in our culture to admit, in public, that you’re not in control—that you, basically, are not God. And, given the din of advertising and political polemic and hype and doublespeak surrounding us, it’s rare to escape the fantasy that money or science, fame or violence or shiny objects will somehow save us from death.”

Ash Wednesday is the most honest day of the year.  “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.”  Its the day where we admit that we don’t entirely have it all together. That we are not actually in control and the gods of our own lives.

Last year, we had two high schoolers who gave out ashes during the service. I was standing at the side watching until Tom came up as one of the very last people in the line with baby M.  M was very, very tiny—just three weeks old.  

One of the youth made the cross on Tom’s forehead. As Tom turned to walk back to his bench, I locked eyes with him: 

“Did you want her to receive ashes?” I whispered, touching M’s back.

“Yeah—“ he said.  

I’ve never given ashes to such a tiny baby and it seemed almost wrong to remind such a tiny, precious creature of her humanness and mortality, but Tom’s courage was unflinching and contagious and gave me courage. 

I lifted up the front of her tiny hat and made the cross on her soft forehead: Remember, sweet child, that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

I’m sure there will be more moments of honesty in little M’s life—moments of heartbreak and challenge—but that was a start. 

The truth is that as human beings, we all crack and crumble sometimes. We break. We are all fallible and imperfect.  Tonight we admit that together.  

It is “profoundly countercultural” as Pastor Miles wrote, to publicly admit this. When we admit this together, and when we visibly see this on each other, we realize that we are human together and we give each other courage and hope.

You, high schoolers, so many of you who are leading the service tonight, give me courage and hope with your bravery towards the way you look challenges in the face, bravely manage your own dusty pain, and call us not to turn away from the ashen places in this world. 

You church grandparents, give us hope and courage with your ever present reminders of God’s faithful presence in our lives, even when you waiver.

God, who is that undeniable essence of love, cherished Comforter, and animating life force is stronger than we are and will ever be. For even in the ash of this world, we are kept safe in the promise of God’s eternal love.

Working out theology Jesus-style

Matthew 5:21-37

Shortly after my mom died, I took a couple of her dresses that I had loved and had them tailored to fit me.  I was three inches taller than her, have broader shoulders than she did, and the dresses didn’t fit quite right.  I went to the seamstress who had tailored my wedding dress. This woman had a masters degree in textiles and was an exquisite seamstress.  When I picked up the dresses from her a month later, I zipped them up and they fit perfectly.  I remember looking at myself in the mirror in her studio and feeling a little stunned. I hadn’t expected such a perfect fit.

If you’ve ever had a piece of clothing well tailored, or if a piece of clothing just fits you really well, it’s a remarkable feeling to put your arm into that sleeve or zip it up and feel that perfect fit. The garment on a hanger just hangs there. You might not even be able to tell from glancing at it what piece of clothing it is.  But when you slide your arms into the blazer, when you fill it, with yourself, you bring it to life.  

In the gospels, Jesus explains that he has come to “fulfill” the law. When we think of fulfillment, just like an arm reaching into a sleeve, we think of something that is brought to life, filled out, even embodied (or incarnated).  If you fulfill a certain responsibility, you follow through. You make it happen, you bring it to life, You live up to it. You give it form, just like fitting into a perfectly tailored pair of pants that are lifeless on the hanger but “filled out” when a person wears them. 

We hear a lot about “fulfillment” in the gospels. The authors of the gospels, particularly Matthew, talk about how scripture is fulfilled through things that were happening in their world at the time. Jesus talks about fulfillment regarding Jewish law.  

One way of looking at this (and there are several) is that the social-religious law, when it’s just written out, is a little like the garment on the hanger: potentially beautiful, exquisite work, gorgeous beading, embroidery or texture, but just hanging there. How we fill this religious law, or how Jesus did, is by living it; and actually living it brings the heart or the spirit of the law to life.

What is the point of religious law? If it helps, I once heard MLK’s “I have a dream” speech compared to Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount.  Jesus had a dream, (God has a dream) of a thriving, flourishing, righteous, healthy community. That dream always seems to be a little illusive or even at risk but the vision is magnetic.  Religious law is a sort of compass or pathway or sheepdog herder to help us all walk in the right direction toward that dream.  

I will be the first to say that I don’t love a lot of individual religious laws we find in our scriptures. Some of the laws are hyper-contextual to the context they were written about more than 2000 years ago. There are laws about food or purification that we truly don’t have a contemporary context for understanding.  But the point, the dream and the vision of the laws is the endgame of a healthy world. No single law stands alone. They’re not meant to be taken individually. They are part of a larger vision of how we create a healthy, just, flourishing community.

Inevitably, this is a little complicated.  Life is complicated.  For example, we’re instructed to pray without ceasing. But if we pray, “Oh God, bless these dumb people I can’t stand make them more like me,” yes, we are indeed praying for our neighbor and making good on that commandment. We are also following the instruction to pray. But, we’re missing the heart of the matter.  

In today’s snippet of scripture, Jesus is still sitting on the top of the mountain with his disciples. He’s laying out the vision. He has just taught them the beatitudes, that people who are meek and lonely and mourning are blessed (which probably seems a little backwards to them.) Jesus has just told them that they are the salt and light of the world and that their very being brings flavor, joy, peace and color to life. And now, he’s teaching them how to work out their theology.  He chooses four issues to comment on: Murder and judgement, adultery, divorce and the integrity of our word. 

A couple of the issues like divorce and adultery are real hot button issues of the day. There was a lot of debate and controversy and very strong opinions.  (This would be like Jesus choosing to discuss a contemporary hot-button issue like abortion with really thought out opinions and arguments). 

I don’t know that divorce is such a hot-button issue for us these days, but I do know it’s painful and, while Jesus’ comments about divorce seem straightforward, there is a whole lot of context it. (Please seek me out if you’d like to connect more about this.) About divorce, I’ll simply say that Jesus is always asking hard questions around how people can be liberated by the things that enchain them.  

These four particular issues that Jesus brings up share a common thread of how we keep trust and compassion alive in a community. Trust and compassion are essential to healthy society. Jesus starts off: “you have heard it said you should not murder.”  If I stand up here as your pastor and say, “don’t murder,” you’re all going to be 100% on board.  But, Jesus is asking us to think more widely about how we relate to other people. 

He goes on to say, but I say to you, if you’re angry with a brother or sister, that’s a problem.  If you’re coming to the temple and offering sacrifices and going through all the right movements, but holding a quiet grudge that you’re not dealing with, that’s a problem.  

Murder is one thing, but grudge-holding? Anger with someone we disagree with? Resentment, spitefulness, gossip? I’m guessing we can all find our way into that one.

Jesus is showing us how to engage with religious law and how to do theology and think about God.This involves Reflecting. and keeping that anchor of a just and flourishing community at the center. Jesus says: You have heard one thing said, but I say to you, Crack the idea open. Think deeper about it. 

You have heard it said to you that you shall not murder. But God says to you, you must think about how you’re killing life by holding a grudge, gossiping about people that make you angry, and damaging healthy community.

You have heard it said that you must forgive your enemies, 

But God says to you,  you must honor your enemies’ humanity, Ask better questions, speak truth with love and grace, and remain open hearted before them.

You have heard it said that the problems of our world, the earthquakes, the racism, the poverty, the violence, are too great for us to make an impact on, but God says to you how are you transforming the wounded places within your reach? How are you participating as salt and light or with our simple two coins to bring healing?  

You have heard it said that gender and sexuality must fit into ancient classifications, but God says to you in the face of a changing world of changing categories, how are you loving your neighbor, letting defining labels slip away, and blessing the essence of who they are simply created as.

You have heard it said, that the church is dying, but God says to us, how are we engaging in the mystery of what it means to be a community of faith? How are we letting God reinvent us in spaces outside the four walls of the traditional church and re-make us.

You have heard it said…

but I say to you…

We have to think about these teachings, 

learn from them, 

slip our arms into their sleeves, 

talk them through with folks, 

put them into practice together, 

make them happen, 

bring them to life,

fulfill them, 

fail them, 

reflect 

and try again.  

Jesus didn’t come to replace an ancient religious law, but to embody it, to give it form and substance and meaning. He came to flesh it out and bring it to life. This is our call too. It is a path that we walk together. 

What does this process look like in your own life? What does it look like for you to slip into that jacket or zip up that dress? How is God challenging you to forgive, or listen more carefully, or be more generous or compassionate, or to advocate to serve people. How do you participate in what God is up to around us? 

How will you fulfill this vision? 

"Find out who you are and do it on purpose"

Matthew 5:13-20

During the Christmas season, we sing the favorite song, “Oh Come all Ye Faithful.”  It’s a beautiful, Christmas hymn. On the third verse, which starts “sing choir of angles,” many choirs, including ours here, sing what is called a descant. While the majority of the choir and the church sing along to the regular melody, the sopranos sing a different melody that floats on top of the traditional song. The result is this extra color and beauty that enhances the song. Some of us listening or singing might not even notice the specifics of what’s going on. We simply know that, when we sing of this choir of angles, it sounds extra beautiful. If you haven’t heard this descant, think of a regular band that adds a harmony or an unusual instrument like a fiddle to add a certain depth, color or flavor, or sabor to the music.

The next few weeks, we’re going to be hearing from what is known as Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount.  In the part that comes up today, Jesus talks about two things that enhance life by adding color and depth like that descant does to the hymn: Salt and light. 

At first blush, salt and light seem pretty easy to wrap our heads around. Light brightens dark spaces and salt brings out the flavor in food. Too much light hurts our eyes. Too much salt destroys the meal.

Take salt for starters. The disciples would have known about salt. While we might take salt for granted, even up until 100 or so years ago, salt was still a precious commodity.   In a time when there was no refrigeration, salt was a preservative. It was used for seasoning and medicinal purposes.  Roman soldiers in the time of Jesus were often paid in salt which is where we get our English word “salary.” (Salt was precious the way our salary is!) 

Then take light: Light is also something we take for granted now, but there was no electricity in the time of Jesus.  As soon as the sun set, that was it.  Any little bit of light took effort and likely some expense. It’s not like Jesus just pulled a book of matches out of his pocket to light a candle. It was hard work to manufacture and sustain light so it was precious. Even a little candle could be seen in the wide expanse of darkness.  

The disciples would have known that salt and light were precious and important. But what did this mean for their lives?

At this point in the Gospel of Matthew, it hadn’t been so long ago that Jesus had crossed paths with the brothers, Peter and Andrew and then James and John, son of Zebeedee on the beach and said “follow me.” Those fishermen had miraculously dropped their nets and followed.  They are all still getting to know each other. They had just barely starting to visit all the towns and synagogues where Jesus heals people. Word is spreading and he is quickly rising to celebratory status.  The people are flocking to him. 

On the day where Jesus offers this teaching, the crowds had been really big. Jesus took one look at the number of people and decided to huff it up the mountain. We don’t know why, maybe he needed a little breathing space, but the disciples huffed it up there after him.  He was magnetic. What was it about him that pulled all these people to him and gave everyone so much hope?!

As the disciples followed him up the mountain, they were probably pretty stoked about what an excellent career move they had made to have dropped those nets and followed celebratory-Jesus. Surely now, up on the mountain, he would reveal to them what his secret sauce was that made him so special! Or perhaps, a little of his shine would rub off on them.
They all sit down up there at the top of the mountain trying to catch their breath and Jesus starts sharing: But instead of launching into a list of books he had read on charismatic leadership or underscoring all the great mentors he had worked with who taught him how to give people hope, Jesus flips the script and tells them: “You are the salt of the earth.”  “You are the light of the world.” There is no special sauce. There is no magical quality.  

It seems like Jesus is saying that all of us have these qualities of salt and light in us whether we like it or not.  It’s not that we have to create the right spiritual conditions for salt and light,or wait for God add them in our lives. Yes, sometimes salt is used too sparingly to make a difference.  And sometimes light is hidden by a basket or covered up. But, Jesus explains, you already have this goodness of salt and light in you. It’s a fact.  The question is will we lavishly apply it to the world around us? 

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I want you to think back on the last couple of weeks about how God has allowed you to be salt and light.  Think of the different people you’ve encountered here at church, at school, at your gym.  Think about words of encouragement you’ve shared with others and the moments you’ve listened and sought to understand.  Think of burned bridges you have worked to repair and hard conversations you have made yourself have.  Where have you recently been salt and light?

If you work outside of your home, think about your workplace. Who has needed an encouraging word, a gift of grace, or an extra acknowledgement of their humanity in this super-charged, fast paced world? Think of your family—when have supported your child or maybe challenged them?   When have you been light to an extended family member? Think of places where you have volunteered, or the prayers you’ve offered, or moments of activism. Where have you been salt or light in this world? 

Being a disciples is less about believing a list of things, It’s more about acting on God’s Word the way that Jesus teaches it. 

Where is God acting in the world and how are you joining in? How are you a pinch of salt that doesn’t over power a dish, but enlivens it. How are you a single candle that adds warmth to a dark room? How are you bringing the joy of a gorgeous descant to the ordinary song around you? We are this salt and light.  The question isn’t will we learn to be salt and light, for we already are. 

St. Dolly of Parton who said “find out who you are and do it on purpose.” We might hear and know in our heads that we’re salt and light, but do we act on it? Do we offer the simple, daily moments of our lives in service to the gospel, as salt and light, or not?  

When we know we’re salt and light but don’t act, that knowledge without action has an impact on on-going social evils like discrimination or racism. It also affects our interpersonal relationships. We know what is right and what we should do, but don’t act. We idly watch injustice instead of believing that our action matters.  We gossip about a problem instead of working to fix it.  This is what happens when we find out who we are and don’t “do it on purpose.” 

I'm certain you all show up as salt and light in the world, too. How does your light make a difference in a world of busyness and hopelessness and worry?  How does it bolster weary hearts? How does it mend brokenness? How does your or your family’s presence make a difference in your neighborhood or here in this congregation on the corner of Wilson and Campbell make a difference? How does our work and witness enhance God’s love and show people that, in a world with a whole lot of despair, injustice, evil, this is not how it has to be.

You might feel only as small as a pinch of salt or a spark of light, but that is exactly how God’s kingdom is built: one moment at a time. 
When Jesus says “you” in scripture, it's plural. It means “you all.”  We don’t show up to do God’s work alone. Even when we are in our own offices or at school or in our own homes in the evening by lamplight, we are a collective. We gather here as a church this morning and week after week to name this calling, to be light and salt, to one another. We name it because we forget it an we get caught up in daily things and think it doesn’t matter.  Today, we are reminded that it matters. May God bless us and send us out to shine.

A sermon about choices, binoculars, magnets and following Jesus (1.22.23)

 
Matthew 4:12-23

We give a lot of weight to the power of our choice. Obviously choices matter—where we live, what work or career we pursue, who our friends are, how we treat people, of course these choices matter. But I notice that when we obsess over our choices, we start to imagine that if we just make the right decisions, if we just do the right things, we will be able to per-fect life or, in a sense, even save ourselves from the worst.  For some of us, this can even look like, if we just give enough money, if we just volunteer for this organization, if we just pray clearly enough, God will smile on us, love us, grant our every wish, save us.  

In 1843 Senator Henry Clay used the phrase “self-made man” to describe people whose success lay within them and didn’t come from outside sources. It has become sort of an archetype.  (We’re challenging this in society, but the psychology of it still runs deep). In the 1950s, some historians say that the definition of success was a successful businessman who had made it. 

We do have an awful lot of control over our lives—or we think we do until someone gets an unexpected diagnosis or laid off or something in life goes off the rails. 

In today’s bible story, Jesus runs into four guys on the beach--fishermen—and they are presented with a choice. It’s one with pretty life altering possibilities. Jesus says to them, “follow me. And I will make you fishers of people.”  “Immediately.” The story says, “They left everything and followed him.” 

How immediate does immediately mean? Did they take five minutes or even an hour to think it through? Whatever it was, it seems like they all made the right choice.  After all, they come up all over the gospels as disciples and as key players in the story so they must have done the right thing. 

As we look at how it all this played out, we wonder, yikes, could we do that?  Drop our nets, drop it all and leave everything?  I read this story in a bible study with some members from here at church about a few weeks ago and one of the questions in the resource I was using was “do you think you could have dropped everything and followed Jesus?”  Needless to say, no one jumped in with a resounding YES!  

All four of the brothers jumped on the Jesus’ bandwagon and followed that day at the beach.  And many of us give them a lot of credit for being so bold and courageous.  So extraordinary. “I couldn’t do that…” we think. “They gave up so much.”  Especially James and John. 

While Peter and Andrew were probably more economically stretched—they threw their nets into the water from the beach hoping to catch something--James and John had a boat that they took out to work on the sea. And fancy nets. And a dad, Zebedee, who worked with them and who was probably set to give them the family business some day.  That was a lot to walk away from. But they just did it, there’s no analysis of their decision. There’s no circling back a few chapters later in the story to see if any of them had followers-remorse. In fact, one has to wonder if there was actually much choice in the story or not.  Maybe instead, it was more that something happened in that moment.  

Some people call this a miracle story. In this story, it’s not that the fishermen did the right thing and made this heroic and sacrificial decision to follow, it’s that God walked up to a group of dudes and pulled off a miracle.

Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor writes about this. She says that “this isn’t a story about us but it’s a story about God, and about God’s ability not only to call us but also to create us as people who are able to follow.”

But how does that happen? How does God make us into people who are able to follow? Jesus says to the brothers, “I will make you…into fishers of men.”

German theologian and activist, Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who worked in the underground resistance movement during World War II said that one of the most striking things about this call Jesus sets out is that it is  “void of all content.” It is so simple. Jesus doesn’t present his followers with a stump speech or a checklist or say, here is the game plan, here are the rules. Are you in? sign here if you agree.  He just says “follow me.”

Could it be that, while the things we choose to believe and the way we choose to behave are important, they’re not actually at the heart of discipleship?  In fact, the heart is following. It’s listening to the teachings, thinking about them, learning, talking it through with folks, putting into practice together, messing it up, reflecting, trying again. There’s movement in that journey. Sacred movement.  

When I look at the stories in the gospels or at the stories of the faithful people around me or even my own practice in following Jesus, I see that this call isn’t one and done—dropping the nets on the sand and taking off. It’s a practice that we fine tune again and again. Jesus will challenge these brothers withal sorts of hard question about generosity, love and justice.  

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Have you ever used a pair of binoculars and noticed that you’re seeing double? There are two identical robins sitting next to each other in the tree.  This can happen with a telescope too.  Sometimes, the lenses and mirrors get out of alignment. (This could also be the product of having some very cheap kids binoculars in your house.)  If your binoculars or telescope are fancy enough, you can fix this problem. Sometimes there is a little dial on the binoculars that will adjust the lenses and slowly bring the two robins into one. Aligning the two images into one single image is called collimation.  

Maybe, in that moment when Jesus called the disciples on the beach, there was a moment of collimation where God’s call and their lives were in alignment.  It’s more than just their lives harmonizing with God’s essence, it was a one-ness.  The kingdom came. And that was utterly miraculous.  

I think that can happen in our lives, but I think that more often, the images drift out of unity, we merge and then deviate we have a moment of clarity and then things are fuzzy. We place so much weight on our choice and while sure, it’s there, God’s call to participate in the struggle for love, justice, mercy, grace is itself magnetic and it pulls us into focus. It synchronizes us.  I think one of the cool things is that while choice is an individual thing we wrestle with, the call of God is a community thing that pulls us together. Believe me, there are other magnetic forces around us that pull us far from this vision of grace, but God is continually fine tuning us and working on us and bringing us back into focus. 

Sometimes following looks like the pairs of brothers (Andrew and Peter, James and John) who set out to journey with Jesus.  Sometimes it looks like James and John’s sisters who stayed home to take care of Zebedee. And then learned how to fish themselves. And then organized all of the folks who were sitting on the dock with a single fishing pole barely making ends meet into a fishing cooperative. Sometimes following is working out the problem with the fisherman on the next boat who kept tangling their nets with yours (or were you the one tangling with them??). Sometimes following is listening to old Zebedee and his elderly siblings who gather in the dusky evenings to tell stories by the firelight while the children played in grass.

How is God fine tuning you and pulling you towards that vision? For following God is nothing short of miraculous. 

A recipe for hope (a message from 1.15.23)

 Matthew 3:13-17

Isaiah 42:1-9 

What is hope? Is it an emotion? Or a feeling?  “A thing with feathers,” like Emily Dickenson said. Is it positive vibes? Or a feeling of possibility or optimism?  

I know that hope has something to do with the future. I am an optimistic person by character, but we’ve got large-scale problems that worry me: deeper authoritarianism and fanaticism, global warming, corruption...  There are small scale problems too: illnesses, family stress, depression, you name it.  Just when I want that light of Christmas to shine (brilliantly please) hope can be illusive.  

Isaiah has some words for us this morning about hope. He writes of someone, of a servant who will “open the eyes that are blind, bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, …and liberate “those who sit in darkness.” This is a very hopeful vision.  While he was probably thinking of ancestors like Jacob or Moses, first century Christians began to understand these beautiful verses as referring to Jesus.

Isaiah’s vision is beautiful. And believe me, I want to liberate all people from all the dungeons that imprison us (from addiction, from debt, from stress, from mental turmoil, all of it). But this grand vision is so bold, and our problems so serious, hoping for something like this can feel like wishful thinking.

Chan Hellman and Casey Gwinn write about how we use the word “hope” in our everyday language:  “I hope you’re well,” “I hope you have a good day.” The thing is, when say those things, we don’t really have a control over whether or not someone is well or if they’ll have a good day.  Instead of a hope, it’s more of a wish. 

I don’t think the prophet Isaiah was idly wishing. “Oh, I wish people could be free from the dungeons that imprison them.” Nor do I think that Jesus, son of God had some kind of warm and fuzzy wish that the captives would be freed.  No, I think they actually hoping this.  

A handful of different researchers—all of them social workers from what I can tell—break hope down into a 3 part formula. 

1. You have a vision.  

We know about a vision as people of faith.  Isaiah is bursting at the seams with a vision of justice and righteousness.  Jesus Messiah, who was seeped in this Jewish tradition of Isaiah’s showed us a vision where people were healed, where folks were generous, where communities would care for the vulnerable, and where folks wouldn’t worship money or power but would worship God. It’s a vision where love would reign.  Sometimes Jesus called this “the kingdom of God.” We know what vision looks like in our faith.

2. The second part of hope is a path.  

How do we get from where we are to that vision? What’s the path?

In something like a recovery program or a training, there’s a clear path from A to B. Isaiah gives us a clear path. He reminds us that the people are called to stand firm in their traditions, which call them to talk care of folks. Isaiah says the very way people live will strengthen God’s justice. Beautiful.

Likewise, Jesus has a path for us.  He calls back to an old religious anchor and says we must love the Lord our God with all our heart and soul and mind and love our neighbor as ourselves.  The path is love.  The path is service, grace, forgiveness.  Some of us have made a particular commitment to this path of righteousness (of right living) in our baptisms. 

3. The third part in the formula for hope is willpower. 

Do you have the mental energy, the passion, the drive to get there?

So about willpower: One of the first times I attempted to drive a manual transmission car in the real world and not a cornfield, I was driving on a highway in traffic with my brother.  I attempted to upshift, killed the car in the middle of the traffic, announced I was done, and swapped seats with my brother. I had my own automatic transmission car and learning to drive a stick wasn’t essential knowledge for me. A few years later when I was living in Tegucigalpa (basically the hilliest city in central America), I realized that the church had a truck sitting out back that no one knew how to drive.  They told me I could drive it.  Problem was, it was a stick. But I really wanted to be able to drive that car. I had a really clear goal and I was deeply motivated. And I learned it! 

I had the willpower to learn. 

The more we desire the outcome, the more likely, we’ll walk the path to achieve it and we won’t give up. 

We can get tripped up in this 3-part formula for hope. Sometimes, we can’t see the vision—that’s hard.  We don’t even know where we want to be.  Things are so tense or so tough or stressful that we can’t even imagine it. 

Other times, we can’t see the path—we know where we want to be, but we can’t figure out how to get there. Or we don’t have the opportunity open before us to get there. That’s a recipe for despair. (Global warming comes to mind here.  We know where we want to be, but we’re not sure of the path to get us there.)  

 

The third part, willpower, can also trip us up. With this one, the tricky question is do we actually want the vision enough to fight for it?  

Martin Luther King, who would have been 94 years old today dug into that vision of Justice, peace and love that the prophets and Jesus gave us. Sometimes he distilled into more manageable bites like a vision of being able to sit anywhere you wanted on the bus with a path of boycott to get you there, but the grand vision always tied back into to God’s love and justice. 

Now thinking of willpower, a lot of people around MLK had the will power to fight for this dream, especially those experiencing discrimination. Many other people gave the vision a solid thumbs up, but from a distance. They didn’t have the willpower to join into the fight particularly when things were smooth in their own lives and fighting for civil rights meant sacrificing something for the sake of justice.  

If you don’t passionately want the vision, you won’t fight for it. And this is tough.  When there’s nothing intrinsic that motivates us but God’s extrinsic higher standard of goodness (just for the sake of goodness), the vision can become a little less magnetic. Our willpower falters. 

Has this ever happened to you?  

It has to me.

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There is one final piece of hope that must be mentioned. 

 

Hope, it turns out, is a product of struggle. It is something that we develop in the uncomfortable and challenging times. It’s something that we learn. Isaiah’s hope was born out of the people who had been deported to Babylon.  

(Remember, quick history lesson: 600 years before Christ, the Babylonian empire ransacked Jerusalem, destroyed the temple, burned the city down and deported all the people to what we call “exile” in Babylon.  It was devastating and Isaiah’s hope was born in that struggle.  Or think of Jesus of Nazareth who lived in oppressively difficult times. A few weeks ago, we heard a sermon about the bloodthirsty King Herod who mascaraed all the baby boys.  Jesus’ hope was born in that struggle.)

Hope deepens when our vision/goals, our pathways to get to the vision, or our willpower and sense of agency are challenged. In those moments, we really have to clarify the what and the why of where we’re headed.

However, in those tough moments, hope doesn’t deepen in isolation. Some of us learn it from our families, but we also learn it from each other. Think of a time that has been really challenging for you—an illness, a family problem, a work mess. Who have been the people who have come up around you and reminded you of the vision or goal that you could no longer see? Who were the ones who shined a light on your path and then took your arm to help you along?  Or when were you the one who encouraged someone? Who said, “c’mon let’s do this.  I’m with you. A different world is possible.”

We restore hope in each other. Hope is a social gift.  It’s not something that happens in isolation.  It happens in relationship with each other. Sometimes, it happens in the church.

The baptism of Jesus drew on a hope that came before it. You can hear it in the way the Matthew story harmonizes with Isaiah.  MLK drew on a hope that came before him.  Our hope is one that has been passed down from our ancestors and that is strengthened and clarified in each other. 

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Now I can’t say where you might be feeling hopeless today. I can’t name what is going on in your life. I can’t say what is stressing you out about this broken world we live in.  

But I can say that we hold together in the collective a vision of grace where we pause to listen in moments of pain, where we confess and forgive and honor one another’s God given dignity and belovedness where we imagine a world where everyone has life abundant. 

I can also say that we hold together a vision of justice where we will no longer be divided by hate or ignorance or money. Where, as King said in his 1967 Christmas sermon at Ebenezer Baptist “every man will respect the dignity and worth of human personality,” that “the empty stomachs of Mississippi will be filled,” that “men will beat their swords into plowshares” and that “justice will roll down like water.”

We hold that vision together and whether we are helping one another to take the next steps, or encouraging each other not to buy into the narratives of despair and pessimism, God’s Light Dawns.

We know the dream and the path of love. We’ve inherited it from those who’ve gone before it. We steward it and struggle for it for ourselves and for those who will come after. Now we must walk it.

 I leaned on work from Hellmen and Gwinn and Brene Brown both of whom reference C.R. Snyder as the original author of the 3-part formula for hope.