I believe I left off with Maryology. I love Maryology. I truly believe we are supposed to be (metaphorical) Marys for the world -- we are supposed to be the God bearers (theotokas) in the world. I heard once that we may be the only Bible that some people read. I believe that is our mission, to carry God, to carry the Word to the world. Anyway . . . I digress.
I believe it is essential that Mary was fully human. Jesus had to be born with all the trappings of original sin. Now, don't go saying that I said Jesus was born with original sin. That's not what I said. That's an entirely different topic. If God became human, I believe that shows an ontological shift for God. We were incapable of moving ourselves closer to God, so God moved closer to us.
While the divinity of Jesus is important, I believe we get that. I can understand that Jesus was God. We seem to have trouble understanding that Jesus was human -- like us. He laughed, cried, told jokes, went to the bathroom, had headaches, toothaches (poor dental coverage in the 1st Century). He got angry; he may have suffered bouts of insomnia. He was hungry, and thirsty. He was like us. He experienced what we experience.
But Jesus was also God. He loved like only God can -- fully, in your face, confrontationally, unconditionally. In truth, I don't think we know what do with divine love. I have a wonderful friend (a former brother in ministry) who preached the gospel -- he preached the love of God. When I had my spirit and my heart broken, he was there to pick me up, to show me God's love for me. And yet, he could not believe the love that he preached. He could not believe that God loved him, that God forgave him, even him, and he self-destructed. And the truth of the matter is that God's love is overwhelming. I don't pretend to understand how God could love me, how God could forgive me. I know what I've done. I asked in the last post about whether or not we could worship a God who could forgive us.
This is the question. How can God forgive us? I believe God can forgive us because God lived as one of us, because God felt our brokeness. God felt our hurts, our alienation, our lonliness, our shame. God took our brokeness upon God's self, and responded with love. When confronted with divine love, we (humanity) responded with the cross. Often, we fear what we don't understand, and we don't understand God's love. Moreover, what we fear, we often try to destroy, and so we tried. We tried all the way to the cross. I don't know have any theological weight to explain this, but somehow I believe that Jesus experienced every sin on the cross -- he felt every sin from mine to the Sho-ah. He took on every sin, all sin, Sin itself.
And it was enough to kill him. It's important to say that Jesus wasn't pretending to be dead. It's not like he was faking it, or just passed out. Jesus really, really died on the cross. Sin killed him. On the last men's Walk to Emmaus I worked, one of the pastoral team said something that really struck me as particularly apt. When we forgive someone, we take on the consequences of their action. The example (I think it was) Jason (or maybe Bill) was gave the thrown baseball. If you throw a baseball through my window and break it, you owe some money. If I forgive you of that burden, then I take on that burden -- I pay for the window. Don't push this example too far -- you'll end up back with St. Anselm and Cur Deus Homo.
But hear this, Paul wasn't kidding when he said that the wages of Sin is death (Romans 6:23). Sin will kill us. Sin does kill us. In my head I always think of Sin as Mestophales -- so cunning, promising good things, but those same things we think we want, usually are not what we need and are often the very worst for us. As an example, consider this: I love junk food. I could live on hamburgers and pizza, but hamburgers and pizza will raise my bad cholestoral level, raise my blood pressure, and they will kill me. Morever, Sin alienates us from one another. We were created for relationship (with God and with each other). If I eat nothing but hamburgers and pizza, I'll be as big as my house, unable to leave my house, and I will have fractured my relationship with others. Moreover, science has shown that junk food like hamburgers and pizza release neurotransmitters of joy (happy feeling stuff) in our brains, like drugs, or dark chocolate. In essence, we can become almost addicted to this food. It can become our obsession, our God, and then we've fractured our relationship with God.
The wages of Sin is death. This isn't metaphorical. Sin kills. It killed Jesus. Jesus took on the consequences of Sin. He died. But that's not the end of the story.
Now for some undeveloped theories. Billy Abraham (google him) makes it a point to say that in atonement, God makes an ontological shift toward us. Schubert Ogden (google him) wrote that the Christ event (that is the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus) re-presents salvation to us. In the end, I would lump Ogden in the narrative theology of atonement group (I'm skipping some steps here; it's worth reading Ogden on your own). I find this inadequate. Yes, on one hand, the narrative of the Christ event does re-present the possibility of salvation to each of us individually. We all make the choice. But if God ontologically moved toward us, it's God who's done the work, not us.
Billy also goes on to say that atonement has to be bi-lateral. God moved toward us, and we move toward God. I like to think of the empty tomb accounts. The women come to the tomb. The women come toward God. In my mind (as yet, this is still an undeveloped theory), the women were the first to move toward God, even if they didn't know that was what they were doing.
I think somehow, all of us come to the empty tomb. Sin killed Jesus, but as I said above, that is not the end. Sin does not have the last word. Death is not the end of that story. We come to the empty tomb, like Peter and the beloved disciple, hoping to see for ourselves that the story isn't over. Some of us come, like the women, believing the story is over, ready to bury the one who took on our Sin, but he will not be buried. He lives. Some of us can't even bring ourselves to the empty tomb -- it's too much to believe. And Jesus walks through walls and tells us, like Thomas to touch the wounds. Each of us comes to a point where we have to choose to believe that the tomb is empty and Jesus is risen indeed, or we choose not to believe.
In exploring this with my theological sparring partner, Br Scot, I asked, but what if the women hadn't come to the tomb? What if we didn't move toward God? I don't know the answer to the 'what ifs' of this particular story, but I believe God would have found another way. Br Scot's answer to this was, do you have to know what God is doing for God to work in your life? But it still come down to this; we have a faithful step that we must take, an epistemic step to take. We have to choose to believe or accept that what has been told to us, or revealed to us is true. In that step, we are shifted ontologically (notice the use of the passive voice). We do not change ourselves, but we are changed. For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son that whoever would believe in him would not perish, but have eternal life (paraphrase of John 3:16).
So can I worship a God who could forgive me? Yes. If I can be forgiven, if my sin is forgiven, then the worst of humanity's sin is also forgiven. Sin is sin is sin in God's eyes. Jesus forgave all sin -- even those we can't forgive yet. If I can accept my own forgiveness, then I can accept (even if I don't understand) that God's forgiveness is for all.
Well, bring on the hole-pokers. I want to be ready for questions, so seriously, ask me now, when I have to look for answers. I would rather hear them now, not in my mock-board of ordained ministry interview.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Sermon Scraps: the not-so-leftovers
I haven't blogged in a couple of weeks, but I have a really good excuse. 1) I was sickity-sick-sick last Sunday (11/7), so much so that everyone kept their distance from me and my fever. 2) I didn't preach this Sunday.
So, what's been on my mind lately? Well a whole lot of stuff--holiday preparations, theology, worship planning, theology, church conference preparations, theology, family, theology . . . Are you noticing a trend? At our last ordination meeting / RIM retreat / whatever you call it, the leaders mentioned that when we meet in January, we will go through a mock board of ordained ministry interview. So I'm thinking, I've got to get my theological chops in back in shape. So, let's get started. How about we begin with atonement (everybody's favorite BOoM subject).
When I was being interviewed for commissioning, the question was something like, 'how would you explain atonement to a young adult -- say a young man says to you, Pastor if God really knew what I had done, how could I ever be forgiven?'
The question reminds me of a quote, but I can't remember from where it comes right now. The quote is, "I'm not sure I can worship a God who would forgive me." If I ever remember where it's from, I'll post it. Nevertheless, let's dig deeper. Can we worship a God who would forgive Hitler? What about a God who forgives a child predator? or Chuck Taylor (if you're unfamiliar with him, Google him w/ chuck taylor + warlord, and then check out the work of Exile International)?
The Apostle Paul told us that there is no one righteous, no, not even one (Romans 3.10). Even those we believe to be the most saintly, they fall short. All of us fall short (again, paraphrasing Paul in his letter to the Romans).
So what does it mean that we have fallen short? What does it mean that we've sinned. Let me back up to say, I know I'm a sinner. I committ deadly sins -- If I learned anything during my sermon series on the 7 deadly sins, it is that I can see myself in all of them. St. Anselm said that our sin causes it to appear as though we have offended the righteousness of God (Cur Deus Homo). Anselm also spoke of an immutable God, and I find flaws in that theology. But the question remains, how does our sin affect God? Does it affect God? If not, then what's the problem? Does Sin only affect us? Instead of asking questions, how about some answers?
Yes, our Sin affects us. It also affects our relationship with God. It moves us farther from God. Being that I cut my theological teeth in process theology, I would even go so far as to say that our sin affects God. I believe it causes God grief. God feels the pain of seperation. Beyond that, I'm not comfortable deciding how our sin affects God. Perhaps more learned scholars could comment.
I believe God feels our need for healing. If you're interested in reading more about our need for healing, I would recommend reading some of Andrew Sung Park's work on the concept of Han.
In order to break the cycle of Han, to release us from the power (read: lordship) of Sin, God chose to become us -- to enter into creation, to take on all the trappings of our sinful condition. This is where many Roman Catholic theologians and I disagree. I believe it is essential to atonement that Mary be fully human -- born with original sin. Mary is just like us. Mary is the one from whom Jesus gets his humaness. Does anyone know any good Maryology scholars. I would like to be able to quote some here.
And now . . . well, I hope I've whetted your appetite for a good theological discussion. Alas, the topic is bigger than one post. Here's my deal. I'll try to continue sometime this week, but I want comments. The whole reason I started this blog to talk theology and to have an outlet for the stuff that I can't seem to fit in my sermons. So I want comments. I want suggestions. I want folks to find the holes in my theology.
So, what's been on my mind lately? Well a whole lot of stuff--holiday preparations, theology, worship planning, theology, church conference preparations, theology, family, theology . . . Are you noticing a trend? At our last ordination meeting / RIM retreat / whatever you call it, the leaders mentioned that when we meet in January, we will go through a mock board of ordained ministry interview. So I'm thinking, I've got to get my theological chops in back in shape. So, let's get started. How about we begin with atonement (everybody's favorite BOoM subject).
When I was being interviewed for commissioning, the question was something like, 'how would you explain atonement to a young adult -- say a young man says to you, Pastor if God really knew what I had done, how could I ever be forgiven?'
The question reminds me of a quote, but I can't remember from where it comes right now. The quote is, "I'm not sure I can worship a God who would forgive me." If I ever remember where it's from, I'll post it. Nevertheless, let's dig deeper. Can we worship a God who would forgive Hitler? What about a God who forgives a child predator? or Chuck Taylor (if you're unfamiliar with him, Google him w/ chuck taylor + warlord, and then check out the work of Exile International)?
The Apostle Paul told us that there is no one righteous, no, not even one (Romans 3.10). Even those we believe to be the most saintly, they fall short. All of us fall short (again, paraphrasing Paul in his letter to the Romans).
So what does it mean that we have fallen short? What does it mean that we've sinned. Let me back up to say, I know I'm a sinner. I committ deadly sins -- If I learned anything during my sermon series on the 7 deadly sins, it is that I can see myself in all of them. St. Anselm said that our sin causes it to appear as though we have offended the righteousness of God (Cur Deus Homo). Anselm also spoke of an immutable God, and I find flaws in that theology. But the question remains, how does our sin affect God? Does it affect God? If not, then what's the problem? Does Sin only affect us? Instead of asking questions, how about some answers?
Yes, our Sin affects us. It also affects our relationship with God. It moves us farther from God. Being that I cut my theological teeth in process theology, I would even go so far as to say that our sin affects God. I believe it causes God grief. God feels the pain of seperation. Beyond that, I'm not comfortable deciding how our sin affects God. Perhaps more learned scholars could comment.
I believe God feels our need for healing. If you're interested in reading more about our need for healing, I would recommend reading some of Andrew Sung Park's work on the concept of Han.
In order to break the cycle of Han, to release us from the power (read: lordship) of Sin, God chose to become us -- to enter into creation, to take on all the trappings of our sinful condition. This is where many Roman Catholic theologians and I disagree. I believe it is essential to atonement that Mary be fully human -- born with original sin. Mary is just like us. Mary is the one from whom Jesus gets his humaness. Does anyone know any good Maryology scholars. I would like to be able to quote some here.
And now . . . well, I hope I've whetted your appetite for a good theological discussion. Alas, the topic is bigger than one post. Here's my deal. I'll try to continue sometime this week, but I want comments. The whole reason I started this blog to talk theology and to have an outlet for the stuff that I can't seem to fit in my sermons. So I want comments. I want suggestions. I want folks to find the holes in my theology.
Monday, November 1, 2010
To Make Up for Last Week: A Sermon
With my travel schedule last week, I never got to post anything. I didn't really have anything new to post about a sermon anyway. Last week, Bend UMC heard the final sermon in the "I am" series and Lometa UMC had laity Sunday (I don't blog about other's sermons, most of the time).
Anyway, I figured that instead of blogging my sermon scraps (what didn't make it into the sermon), I would post one of my sermons -- sort of. I gave this sermon for my RIM (Residency in Ministry) group last month, so it's a sermon to pastors. Still I think there is something for all christians. Where I said "sort of" above, I should explain. This is the sermon as well as I can remember it. I usually preach from notes, not a full manuscript. I have only recently, for discipline and training purposes, gone back to writing out my entire sermon. I wrote this manuscript based on my notes and what I could remember about what I said. Without further ado . .
Galatians 6:14 – 18 (NRSV)
May I never boast of anything except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. For neither circumcision nor uncircumcision is anything; but a new creation is everything! As for those who will follow this rule—peace be upon them, and mercy, and upon the Israel of God. From now on, let no one make trouble for me; for I carry the marks of Jesus branded on my body. May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit, brothers and sisters. Amen.
Matthew 11: 25 – 30 (NRSV)
At that time Jesus said, ‘I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him. ‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’
The Marks of Ministry
When I was preparing to leave Perkins for in my internship, one of my professors said to our group, from now on, wherever you go, you will have a steeple coming out of your foreheads. You don’t know what that means until you know what that means, am I right? In our epistle lesson today, St. Paul writes, From now on, let no one make trouble for me; for I carry the marks of Jesus branded on my body. This is his hand written benediction to this letter. As he wrote this, he was referring to the actual marks that had been branded on his body, the scars he had received from his years of imprisonment for having the audacity to preach the gospel. He refers to the scars he received because he bore the name of Jesus Christ.
Marks -- Car, banners, tree limbs
But this got me to thinking about the marks of ministry, the marks of being a Christian. My car marks me as a pastor. A few weeks ago I was driving to an Emmaus meeting when a bird of scavenge hit my passenger side mirror and took it off. I swear; it hit me. I did everything I could to avoid it, but it had its aim. I have a perkins sticker on my back windshield, and an OSL sticker. I even bought one of those clergy stickers with the cross and flame, but I haven’t put it on yet. I tend to multitask while I drive and I don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea about pastors.
I’ve been keeping a mental list of the things they didn’t teach us in seminary that come up with some regularity. How to get a cow back in the fence. I could have used a course on banner hanging 101. That left a mark. The other day, I found that one of my other duties as assigned included piling up branches. While I was piling up the branches, my foot found the fire ant bed. Did I mention I was wearing flip flops? Yeah, that left a mark.
Marks of Sound
But we receive other marks from ministry, don’t we? Our people make their marks on us. I was having a discussion with one of my musicians the other day about changing the 2nd hymn on Sunday. I said, I’m preaching on I am the light of the world, and the words to I want to walk as a child of the light works well. And he said, yes, but we don’t know that hymn pastor. And I said, I’ll sing loudly; and he said, I know. And then he said, listen to this pastor. Doesn’t this sound like light? And he was right. Later on, he came to asked, it’s the words that are important to you isn’t it pastor? And I said, yes. I’m a poet. I studied poetry in college. It’s not for you. And he said, no, it’s the music. I’ve been mulling over this conversation for a while now, and it’s affecting my theology. It’s marked me.
There are sounds in ministry that mark us. When my congregation sings How Great Thou Art, and we get to that last verse, and I hear so many voices singing about bowing at the throne of our Lord. I’m overwhelmed every time.
Other sounds in ministry mark us, brand us with the marks of Jesus. I met Jerry a week after I moved to Lometa. Over the next few weeks, each time I was in Lampasas I would stop by his nursing home for a visit. I didn’t know that 6 weeks later I would walk into Jerry’s room for the last time. I had been told about that sound. That sound, you’ll know it when you hear it, and when you hear it, you’ll never forget it. That sound that people make as they’re dying. And then there was the silence that followed. Jerry branded me with the marks of Jesus.
St. Francis’s Marks
The reason this lesson was chosen for the feast of St. Francis, is because St. Francis himself was branded with the marks of Jesus. One day, while he was deep in prayer he received a vision of the feast of the cross. Upon having this vision, he received the stigmata – the wounds of Christ. He lived with them for the rest of his life. But long before he received the stigmata, he had been branded with the marks of Jesus. Later in his life, when he was no longer able to work, he dictated his memoirs. He told a story about his life before he belonged to Jesus. He would leave his house and if the wind was coming from the right direction, the stench coming from the homes of the lepers would overpower him. He would hold his nose and run to get away from that smell. Later, after his conversion, he told about the joy he had in ministering to those same lepers from whom he used to run. He told of his joy in caring for them, and tending to their needs, even cleaning their wounds. Long before he received the stigmata, he bore the marks of Jesus branded on his body.
In our gospel lesson, Jesus said, Come to me to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.
In the rabbinic tradition to take the yoke of your rabbi meant to take on his teachings, to follow your rabbi, wherever he went. Rob Bell reminds us about that old saying for the rabbinical students. May you follow your rabbi so closely that the dust from your rabbi’s feet covers you. The whole thing about taking on the yoke of a rabbi means that we will do what our rabbi does, go where our rabbi goes, that we will follow so closely that the dust from his feet will fall on us. And if we have studied his teachings, if we have followed closely enough, if we have listened to him closely enough, if we have truly taken on his yoke, eventually, we will begin to look like our rabbi.
If we go where our rabbi is already at work, we’re going to receive the marks that our rabbi has received. If we do what our rabbi does, we will be marked like our rabbi is marked. That easy yoke of Jesus sends us out to hospital rooms, and nursing home, to bad neighborhoods. That yoke of Jesus sends us out to receive the marks of Jesus branded onto our bodies. And may it be that the dust from our rabbi’s feet covers and we look like him. Amen.
Anyway, I figured that instead of blogging my sermon scraps (what didn't make it into the sermon), I would post one of my sermons -- sort of. I gave this sermon for my RIM (Residency in Ministry) group last month, so it's a sermon to pastors. Still I think there is something for all christians. Where I said "sort of" above, I should explain. This is the sermon as well as I can remember it. I usually preach from notes, not a full manuscript. I have only recently, for discipline and training purposes, gone back to writing out my entire sermon. I wrote this manuscript based on my notes and what I could remember about what I said. Without further ado . .
Galatians 6:14 – 18 (NRSV)
May I never boast of anything except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. For neither circumcision nor uncircumcision is anything; but a new creation is everything! As for those who will follow this rule—peace be upon them, and mercy, and upon the Israel of God. From now on, let no one make trouble for me; for I carry the marks of Jesus branded on my body. May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit, brothers and sisters. Amen.
Matthew 11: 25 – 30 (NRSV)
At that time Jesus said, ‘I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him. ‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’
The Marks of Ministry
When I was preparing to leave Perkins for in my internship, one of my professors said to our group, from now on, wherever you go, you will have a steeple coming out of your foreheads. You don’t know what that means until you know what that means, am I right? In our epistle lesson today, St. Paul writes, From now on, let no one make trouble for me; for I carry the marks of Jesus branded on my body. This is his hand written benediction to this letter. As he wrote this, he was referring to the actual marks that had been branded on his body, the scars he had received from his years of imprisonment for having the audacity to preach the gospel. He refers to the scars he received because he bore the name of Jesus Christ.
Marks -- Car, banners, tree limbs
But this got me to thinking about the marks of ministry, the marks of being a Christian. My car marks me as a pastor. A few weeks ago I was driving to an Emmaus meeting when a bird of scavenge hit my passenger side mirror and took it off. I swear; it hit me. I did everything I could to avoid it, but it had its aim. I have a perkins sticker on my back windshield, and an OSL sticker. I even bought one of those clergy stickers with the cross and flame, but I haven’t put it on yet. I tend to multitask while I drive and I don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea about pastors.
I’ve been keeping a mental list of the things they didn’t teach us in seminary that come up with some regularity. How to get a cow back in the fence. I could have used a course on banner hanging 101. That left a mark. The other day, I found that one of my other duties as assigned included piling up branches. While I was piling up the branches, my foot found the fire ant bed. Did I mention I was wearing flip flops? Yeah, that left a mark.
Marks of Sound
But we receive other marks from ministry, don’t we? Our people make their marks on us. I was having a discussion with one of my musicians the other day about changing the 2nd hymn on Sunday. I said, I’m preaching on I am the light of the world, and the words to I want to walk as a child of the light works well. And he said, yes, but we don’t know that hymn pastor. And I said, I’ll sing loudly; and he said, I know. And then he said, listen to this pastor. Doesn’t this sound like light? And he was right. Later on, he came to asked, it’s the words that are important to you isn’t it pastor? And I said, yes. I’m a poet. I studied poetry in college. It’s not for you. And he said, no, it’s the music. I’ve been mulling over this conversation for a while now, and it’s affecting my theology. It’s marked me.
There are sounds in ministry that mark us. When my congregation sings How Great Thou Art, and we get to that last verse, and I hear so many voices singing about bowing at the throne of our Lord. I’m overwhelmed every time.
Other sounds in ministry mark us, brand us with the marks of Jesus. I met Jerry a week after I moved to Lometa. Over the next few weeks, each time I was in Lampasas I would stop by his nursing home for a visit. I didn’t know that 6 weeks later I would walk into Jerry’s room for the last time. I had been told about that sound. That sound, you’ll know it when you hear it, and when you hear it, you’ll never forget it. That sound that people make as they’re dying. And then there was the silence that followed. Jerry branded me with the marks of Jesus.
St. Francis’s Marks
The reason this lesson was chosen for the feast of St. Francis, is because St. Francis himself was branded with the marks of Jesus. One day, while he was deep in prayer he received a vision of the feast of the cross. Upon having this vision, he received the stigmata – the wounds of Christ. He lived with them for the rest of his life. But long before he received the stigmata, he had been branded with the marks of Jesus. Later in his life, when he was no longer able to work, he dictated his memoirs. He told a story about his life before he belonged to Jesus. He would leave his house and if the wind was coming from the right direction, the stench coming from the homes of the lepers would overpower him. He would hold his nose and run to get away from that smell. Later, after his conversion, he told about the joy he had in ministering to those same lepers from whom he used to run. He told of his joy in caring for them, and tending to their needs, even cleaning their wounds. Long before he received the stigmata, he bore the marks of Jesus branded on his body.
In our gospel lesson, Jesus said, Come to me to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.
In the rabbinic tradition to take the yoke of your rabbi meant to take on his teachings, to follow your rabbi, wherever he went. Rob Bell reminds us about that old saying for the rabbinical students. May you follow your rabbi so closely that the dust from your rabbi’s feet covers you. The whole thing about taking on the yoke of a rabbi means that we will do what our rabbi does, go where our rabbi goes, that we will follow so closely that the dust from his feet will fall on us. And if we have studied his teachings, if we have followed closely enough, if we have listened to him closely enough, if we have truly taken on his yoke, eventually, we will begin to look like our rabbi.
If we go where our rabbi is already at work, we’re going to receive the marks that our rabbi has received. If we do what our rabbi does, we will be marked like our rabbi is marked. That easy yoke of Jesus sends us out to hospital rooms, and nursing home, to bad neighborhoods. That yoke of Jesus sends us out to receive the marks of Jesus branded onto our bodies. And may it be that the dust from our rabbi’s feet covers and we look like him. Amen.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Sermon Scraps: The end of the “I am” series
I decided I’ve missed so many blogs, there is no way for me to remember what it was I wanted to blog about for the last 3 weeks. So what have I been thinking about with this series? I revealed this week (next week for you Bend folks) the grammar of the “I am” statements.
Why is the grammar important? The answer: because grammar is always important. I admit it; I’m a member of a group on facebook called, ‘I judge you when you use poor grammar.” Grammar is important, not just because of my judgement, but for the safety of grandmothers everywhere. Example:
Notice the difference in this sentence:
Let’s eat grandma.
Let’s eat, grandma.
That’s a very important comma. Nonetheless, you should all realize this little grammar lesson is brought to you by someone who couldn’t spell her way out of a paper bag. Seriously, I misspelled resurrection last week on the church sign. I tried to warn my Lotemians about my poor spelling ability, but they wouldn’t listen.
Anyway, back to the grammar of the I am statements. Jesus repeatedly uses the syntax ego eimi. Skipping a few steps, I’ll say this, the grammar of Koine Greek is such that we can translate this ego eimi as I am I am . . . For instance, I am I am, the bread of life. In these 7 I am statements, and in other places as well, Jesus is using the Divine Name for his own – meaning I am the one who is called I am, or I am I am, who is the bread of life.
Again, why is this important? These 7 statements are not just good sermon fodder. They tell us something about who Jesus is. Jesus is the perfect image of the Triune God (think, when you see me you have seen the Father), or said another way, God is most fully revealed in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. As such, these 7 I am statements tell us about who God is.
God is the Bread of Life: the basic staple of our lives. Or I should say, God wants to be our food. God is all we need, but we forget that. It is no accident that there is so much bread in Luke’s gospel. At the beginning of the gospel, the baby Jesus is placed (or seated, according to the verb) in a place for food. Throughout the gospel story, Jesus eats and eats and eats. We’re supposed to get that connection.
God is the True Vine: the source of our lives. When I think of this, I remember the 2nd creation account of the making of humanity. God formed the adam and breathed into his nostril the breath of life and the adam became a nephesh hiyah, or a living being. Our very breath is from God. Every time we breathe in we breathe in a gift from God. When we exhale, we give it back to God, only to be replenished again.
God is the Way, the Truth, and the Life: the path we should follow. I’ve blogged about my feelings about the ways this verse has been misused. One of the teachings I have taken from my time with Ruben Habito is this: we search for the path, for the truth, for the way, and in so searching, we miss that the path was there all along. We search for God, only to find that God has never moved.
God is the Door: the way. When we’ve searched and searched, and found that God has never left us, the only thing left to do is to come in. Do I need to say more?
God is the Light of the World: that which destroys darkness. In the Hebrew tradition, the glory of God or the cavod was bright, but it was more than just light. In that cavod was power and presence and something we can’t understand. God told Moses he could not see the glory of God and live, but he could see where God had been. In VELVET ELVIS, Rob Bell only briefly touches on this, but I’d like to take it a step further. We may not be able to see God directly, but we can see where God has been – we see the light of God remaining where God has been. Think about it. In the sanctuary in my church in Bedford, someone prayed over every seat before the service began. In a way that I can’t fully explain, when you left worship, you knew you had been in the presence of God. It left a mark or brightness on you.
God is the Good Shepherd: the one who always cares for us. Has it ever happened to you that when you felt most alone, someone called? It has for me. God gave us each other, and still God watches over us, caring for us, leading us beside still waters and through valleys of shadows.
God is the Resurrection and the Life: our hope when there is none. My favorite part of the Emmaus story in Luke’s gospel is the grammar (going full circle). Cleopas and his friend tell the as-yet-unrevealed Jesus that they had hoped Jesus was the messiah, the one. They speak in the past perfect, an event happened, but now it’s over. There grammar betrays that they now have no hope, only a memory of hope. That’s about as bad as it can get. And yet, they are walking beside the resurrected Jesus. I still have an unresolved theological issue at work here. Jesus really, really died. He wasn’t sleeping, or just badly wounded, in a coma, or pretending. He was dead. There was no hope. And then the tomb was empty. We are heirs to that promise, and as such, we always have hope. We always have light in the darkness.
These are just some final thoughts on this sermon series. Next week, I think I’ll post the sermon I gave for my RIM (Residency in Ministry) sermon. I hope you have enjoyed receiving this series as much as I have enjoyed preparing for it.
Why is the grammar important? The answer: because grammar is always important. I admit it; I’m a member of a group on facebook called, ‘I judge you when you use poor grammar.” Grammar is important, not just because of my judgement, but for the safety of grandmothers everywhere. Example:
Notice the difference in this sentence:
Let’s eat grandma.
Let’s eat, grandma.
That’s a very important comma. Nonetheless, you should all realize this little grammar lesson is brought to you by someone who couldn’t spell her way out of a paper bag. Seriously, I misspelled resurrection last week on the church sign. I tried to warn my Lotemians about my poor spelling ability, but they wouldn’t listen.
Anyway, back to the grammar of the I am statements. Jesus repeatedly uses the syntax ego eimi. Skipping a few steps, I’ll say this, the grammar of Koine Greek is such that we can translate this ego eimi as I am I am . . . For instance, I am I am, the bread of life. In these 7 I am statements, and in other places as well, Jesus is using the Divine Name for his own – meaning I am the one who is called I am, or I am I am, who is the bread of life.
Again, why is this important? These 7 statements are not just good sermon fodder. They tell us something about who Jesus is. Jesus is the perfect image of the Triune God (think, when you see me you have seen the Father), or said another way, God is most fully revealed in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. As such, these 7 I am statements tell us about who God is.
God is the Bread of Life: the basic staple of our lives. Or I should say, God wants to be our food. God is all we need, but we forget that. It is no accident that there is so much bread in Luke’s gospel. At the beginning of the gospel, the baby Jesus is placed (or seated, according to the verb) in a place for food. Throughout the gospel story, Jesus eats and eats and eats. We’re supposed to get that connection.
God is the True Vine: the source of our lives. When I think of this, I remember the 2nd creation account of the making of humanity. God formed the adam and breathed into his nostril the breath of life and the adam became a nephesh hiyah, or a living being. Our very breath is from God. Every time we breathe in we breathe in a gift from God. When we exhale, we give it back to God, only to be replenished again.
God is the Way, the Truth, and the Life: the path we should follow. I’ve blogged about my feelings about the ways this verse has been misused. One of the teachings I have taken from my time with Ruben Habito is this: we search for the path, for the truth, for the way, and in so searching, we miss that the path was there all along. We search for God, only to find that God has never moved.
God is the Door: the way. When we’ve searched and searched, and found that God has never left us, the only thing left to do is to come in. Do I need to say more?
God is the Light of the World: that which destroys darkness. In the Hebrew tradition, the glory of God or the cavod was bright, but it was more than just light. In that cavod was power and presence and something we can’t understand. God told Moses he could not see the glory of God and live, but he could see where God had been. In VELVET ELVIS, Rob Bell only briefly touches on this, but I’d like to take it a step further. We may not be able to see God directly, but we can see where God has been – we see the light of God remaining where God has been. Think about it. In the sanctuary in my church in Bedford, someone prayed over every seat before the service began. In a way that I can’t fully explain, when you left worship, you knew you had been in the presence of God. It left a mark or brightness on you.
God is the Good Shepherd: the one who always cares for us. Has it ever happened to you that when you felt most alone, someone called? It has for me. God gave us each other, and still God watches over us, caring for us, leading us beside still waters and through valleys of shadows.
God is the Resurrection and the Life: our hope when there is none. My favorite part of the Emmaus story in Luke’s gospel is the grammar (going full circle). Cleopas and his friend tell the as-yet-unrevealed Jesus that they had hoped Jesus was the messiah, the one. They speak in the past perfect, an event happened, but now it’s over. There grammar betrays that they now have no hope, only a memory of hope. That’s about as bad as it can get. And yet, they are walking beside the resurrected Jesus. I still have an unresolved theological issue at work here. Jesus really, really died. He wasn’t sleeping, or just badly wounded, in a coma, or pretending. He was dead. There was no hope. And then the tomb was empty. We are heirs to that promise, and as such, we always have hope. We always have light in the darkness.
These are just some final thoughts on this sermon series. Next week, I think I’ll post the sermon I gave for my RIM (Residency in Ministry) sermon. I hope you have enjoyed receiving this series as much as I have enjoyed preparing for it.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Sermon Scraps: I am the Gate, John 10: 1 – 10
What can I say about Jesus as the Gate? I think I’ll start with closed doors. I wonder if, for too long, when people came to the church, the body of Christ, they have found a closed door. It seems to me that once we got through the door, we decided to close it behind us. Once we got in, somehow we began to think that we had a say as to the others who would be invited in. And perhaps you are thinking, surely not Pastor. This cannot be.
Well, I think it is. We tell people all the time we don’t want them. When my favorite pink-haired lady (mentioning no names) started coming to church, how many comments did she receive about her hair? Or worse, how many times did she hear, “we’re so glad you’re coming to us?” In this comment, what I hear is, ‘we’re so glad you’re going to stop being yourself and maybe you’ll start being like us.” I can think of nothing worse than for my favorite pink-haired lady to give up who she is, who God created her to be to make feel more comfortable. Two Sundays ago, when we had a new visitor who didn’t look like us, some people came up to her, and conspicuously, there were some who ignored her. Was it the bald head? Was it the cane? Was it the color of her skin?
I’ve been trying to get baby changing stations in the bathrooms. My campaign is in full swing in one church and will begin in the other soon. And I have heard, ‘yes, but Pastor, we don’t have any babies here.’ I would like to point out that I had babies in both of my services yesterday, and, as usual, the grandchildren stole the show. But that’s not the point. That we don’t provide a place to change a baby’s diaper could be translated by some to say that we don’t have a place for young families with babies. Is that really the message we want to give others – there’s no room in the Body of Christ for your family?
I have to ask, do we really believe the kingdom is complete with us? Are we the sum total of who and what makes up the kingdom of God?
It seems to me that the gate remains open behind us on purpose, not just to let others in, but for us to go out as well. John 10: 9 reads, “I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture” (NRSV). Jesus is the gate, the way by which we come in and go out and find pasture. I don’t think we come in and hang out. I believe we are meant to go out and show others and tell others about this wonderful gate we’ve found. I’ve shared this before, but the best definition of evangelism I’ve ever heard was this, ‘one beggar showing another beggar where to find bread.” It’s not like there’s not enough bread for us to share, and I am beginning to believe that if we try to keep all the bread for ourselves, it becomes like manna – it goes bad if you hoard it.
Well, I think it is. We tell people all the time we don’t want them. When my favorite pink-haired lady (mentioning no names) started coming to church, how many comments did she receive about her hair? Or worse, how many times did she hear, “we’re so glad you’re coming to us?” In this comment, what I hear is, ‘we’re so glad you’re going to stop being yourself and maybe you’ll start being like us.” I can think of nothing worse than for my favorite pink-haired lady to give up who she is, who God created her to be to make feel more comfortable. Two Sundays ago, when we had a new visitor who didn’t look like us, some people came up to her, and conspicuously, there were some who ignored her. Was it the bald head? Was it the cane? Was it the color of her skin?
I’ve been trying to get baby changing stations in the bathrooms. My campaign is in full swing in one church and will begin in the other soon. And I have heard, ‘yes, but Pastor, we don’t have any babies here.’ I would like to point out that I had babies in both of my services yesterday, and, as usual, the grandchildren stole the show. But that’s not the point. That we don’t provide a place to change a baby’s diaper could be translated by some to say that we don’t have a place for young families with babies. Is that really the message we want to give others – there’s no room in the Body of Christ for your family?
I have to ask, do we really believe the kingdom is complete with us? Are we the sum total of who and what makes up the kingdom of God?
It seems to me that the gate remains open behind us on purpose, not just to let others in, but for us to go out as well. John 10: 9 reads, “I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture” (NRSV). Jesus is the gate, the way by which we come in and go out and find pasture. I don’t think we come in and hang out. I believe we are meant to go out and show others and tell others about this wonderful gate we’ve found. I’ve shared this before, but the best definition of evangelism I’ve ever heard was this, ‘one beggar showing another beggar where to find bread.” It’s not like there’s not enough bread for us to share, and I am beginning to believe that if we try to keep all the bread for ourselves, it becomes like manna – it goes bad if you hoard it.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Sermon Scraps: I am the Way the Truth and the Life, John 14: 1- 14
Are you ready to get philosophical? I hope so. I mentioned yesterday in my sermon that this text makes me uncomfortable. Let me begin by saying that we should admit that more often than we do. The Gospel is scandalous and, in places, it should make us uncomfortable. Anyway, I made reference to interpretations of this verse (John 14: 6) being exclusionary and it has. Jesus said, I am the way the truth and the life. No one goes to the Father except through me (or some version of that). It seems to exclude others from going to the Father. Only we get to go to the Father.
I’m not sure this is true for most of Christianity. Christians get it wrong more often than we get it right. True, I believe that the best way to live, the way that leads to eternal life in God is the way of Jesus. I believe that we should all follow Jesus, because it’s the closest to the Truth I have found. If I didn’t, you should all ask me, why I am following Jesus (trying my best, anyway)? Why would I give my life for something I didn’t believe in? But how do I, or we, reconcile this belief in a pluralistic society?
If I were to ask Br Scot (Bontraeger), I believe this would lead to a conversation about Truth, and whether or not Truth is zero-sum. Just because I am right does not mean that another is not also right. And I have to say, that surely our God is big enough that Truth does not have to be zero-sum. To say that I am right (in believing that following Jesus is the best way), does that necessarily mean that another way is not also right? Grammatically speaking, that is an illogical question – there can only be one best, but is God bounded by our grammar?
Shubert Ogden said that we can agree there is Truth (that’s a pretty big first step, philosophically speaking). We can agree that I believe I am following the Truth (or have the Truth, but not in a possessive way), and we can agree that another believes she is following the Truth (or has the Truth). Ogden would say that one of us is right. If that paragraph confused you, you should try reading On Theology. Dr. Ogden is a precise writer, and one must read him slowly, with a straight-edge, a pencil, and a dictionary nearby.
I don’t want to put words in his mouth, I believe that Br Scot (who is my constant theological arguing partner) would say that one or both of us is right (from the paragraph above), that Truth is not zero-sum. Just because I have stumbled on the truth, does not mean that another, taking an entirely different path, did not also do the same thing. Moreover, who is to say that the Truth onto which I have stumbled is the totality of Truth? Surely God is bigger than any one religion.
In seminary I studied (very briefly) with several Sikhs as part of my World Religions class. These Sikhs believed that the collected writings of the Five Gurus, including Guru Nanek, was the wisdom of God come down from heaven. They called this collection the Guru Granth Sahib. It was not God but the Wisdom of God. They believe that the Jesus was a prophet, like one of the five Gurus, who taught the Wisdom of God. I will tell you, in the brief time I studied with them, there was a lot of overlap in that wisdom; there was a lot of truth in their teachings.
But our faith traditions are not equal; they are not the same. And they are not even pointed toward the same horizon. These Sikhs believe that if they lived the right way, following the teachings of God, they would eventually escape the death-and-rebirth cycle. The Christian horizon is pointed toward full communion with God (which some call heaven). These are not the same, nor are they equal. But still isn’t possible there is Truth in Sikhism? Further, to put the question back within the frame of John’s Gospel, let me ask this. If the logos (the wisdom of God) was from the beginning, was with God and was God, and came to dwell among us in Jesus, and Jesus is the Way, wasn’t that Way from beginning? That particular dwelling of the wisdom is no longer dwelling with us (in the same way). So was it the historical Jesus, the one who walked on the earth, that is the Way, or is the Wisdom of God that was from the beginning, the Wisdom that is, and the Wisdom that is to come, is that Wisdom the Way?
I think I jumped around a bit here, so I hope you can follow my flow. I also made a lot of assumptions – like the assumption that there is Truth. That is an entirely different discussion – Is there one Truth, what is it, how do we know when we have found it? Maybe someday, I’ll post that blog.
I’m not sure this is true for most of Christianity. Christians get it wrong more often than we get it right. True, I believe that the best way to live, the way that leads to eternal life in God is the way of Jesus. I believe that we should all follow Jesus, because it’s the closest to the Truth I have found. If I didn’t, you should all ask me, why I am following Jesus (trying my best, anyway)? Why would I give my life for something I didn’t believe in? But how do I, or we, reconcile this belief in a pluralistic society?
If I were to ask Br Scot (Bontraeger), I believe this would lead to a conversation about Truth, and whether or not Truth is zero-sum. Just because I am right does not mean that another is not also right. And I have to say, that surely our God is big enough that Truth does not have to be zero-sum. To say that I am right (in believing that following Jesus is the best way), does that necessarily mean that another way is not also right? Grammatically speaking, that is an illogical question – there can only be one best, but is God bounded by our grammar?
Shubert Ogden said that we can agree there is Truth (that’s a pretty big first step, philosophically speaking). We can agree that I believe I am following the Truth (or have the Truth, but not in a possessive way), and we can agree that another believes she is following the Truth (or has the Truth). Ogden would say that one of us is right. If that paragraph confused you, you should try reading On Theology. Dr. Ogden is a precise writer, and one must read him slowly, with a straight-edge, a pencil, and a dictionary nearby.
I don’t want to put words in his mouth, I believe that Br Scot (who is my constant theological arguing partner) would say that one or both of us is right (from the paragraph above), that Truth is not zero-sum. Just because I have stumbled on the truth, does not mean that another, taking an entirely different path, did not also do the same thing. Moreover, who is to say that the Truth onto which I have stumbled is the totality of Truth? Surely God is bigger than any one religion.
In seminary I studied (very briefly) with several Sikhs as part of my World Religions class. These Sikhs believed that the collected writings of the Five Gurus, including Guru Nanek, was the wisdom of God come down from heaven. They called this collection the Guru Granth Sahib. It was not God but the Wisdom of God. They believe that the Jesus was a prophet, like one of the five Gurus, who taught the Wisdom of God. I will tell you, in the brief time I studied with them, there was a lot of overlap in that wisdom; there was a lot of truth in their teachings.
But our faith traditions are not equal; they are not the same. And they are not even pointed toward the same horizon. These Sikhs believe that if they lived the right way, following the teachings of God, they would eventually escape the death-and-rebirth cycle. The Christian horizon is pointed toward full communion with God (which some call heaven). These are not the same, nor are they equal. But still isn’t possible there is Truth in Sikhism? Further, to put the question back within the frame of John’s Gospel, let me ask this. If the logos (the wisdom of God) was from the beginning, was with God and was God, and came to dwell among us in Jesus, and Jesus is the Way, wasn’t that Way from beginning? That particular dwelling of the wisdom is no longer dwelling with us (in the same way). So was it the historical Jesus, the one who walked on the earth, that is the Way, or is the Wisdom of God that was from the beginning, the Wisdom that is, and the Wisdom that is to come, is that Wisdom the Way?
I think I jumped around a bit here, so I hope you can follow my flow. I also made a lot of assumptions – like the assumption that there is Truth. That is an entirely different discussion – Is there one Truth, what is it, how do we know when we have found it? Maybe someday, I’ll post that blog.
Sermon Scraps: I am the True Vine. John 15: 1 - 11
I realize I didn’t blog last week for my sermon on “I am the True Vine,” so here it is. I talked quite a bit about grape growing. The truth is I don’t know much about grapes. I know I like them. I enjoy the occasional visit to a vineyard, even the occasional wine tasting. But if you put me to work in a vineyard, I would be lost. Here’s what I do know, there’s a lot of work involved.
In my sermon, I focused on the role of the branches in growing grapes. I said that the branches grow from the vine around each other; they wrap around each other, twisting and turning, supporting and being supported. Here’s what I didn’t say, the branches aren’t responsible for creating fruit. They bear the fruit, but they do not create it; the vine does. The branches are there to hold the fruit, even to help nourish it, you might say, but it is the vine’s responsibility or scope to create it. It takes the whole plant and the vinegrower working together to get good fruit.
What does this mean for us, who are the branches? What is our job in fruit production?
1) We are supposed to stay connected to vine, not grow out on our own. Those branches that grow out of the bundle, they fall to the ground, get dirty, and are susceptible to all kinds of fungi and diseases. And I think, if we leave the metaphor for a minute, it takes work to stay in the bundle. Sometimes other branches poke us, maybe even it feels like they’re choking us, and we have to decide over and over again to honor our vows, that these people are our church. We have to decide over and over again that we will remain faithful to these people of our church with our prayers, presence, gifts, service and witness. It is a choice.
2) We are supposed to help support other branches, in the way they need to be supported. So often we feel like we know the right way to help people, and so our help comes with strings. I’ll pay this bill, if you’ll just do what I tell you. I’ll pray for you, if you will completely change your life for me. I’ll help you but you have to start coming to church, my church. I think this may be human nature. We really do want to help, and we think we have the answers, the right answer. If you’ll just do it my way, things will be better. The truth is that I am not you and you are not me, and my answer may or may not work for you. My job is not to fix you, but to support you, the way you need to be supported. This does not mean that we need to let other branches demand so much support that we are broken. In the famous serenity prayer we ask for courage to change what we can, serenity to accept what we can’t change and wisdom to know the difference. Again, we are not responsible for the creating the fruit, but bearing it.
3) We have to remain open to receive sunlight and water. There are times when we would rather not let any light shine on us, when the dark seems more comfortable. But the truth is that the dark will kill us. We need light. In this metaphor, I think the darkness is shame, sin, depression, etc. The thing about sin and shame is that they lie to us. They tell us that the light doesn’t want us. If we are branches with a wound, and we let that wound hide in the dark, it will fester. Other germs and fungi will get in there. We need sunlight and water, and the vinegrower knows how to ensure we get just the right amount of each. We have to be willing to let the vinegrower see that wound, bring it out in the sunlight. That’s the only way it gets healed.
Anyway, these are just a few scraps that didn’t make it into my sermon. They weren’t any less important, but I always have choices to make about what I include and what it left out. Enjoy my thoughts with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.
In my sermon, I focused on the role of the branches in growing grapes. I said that the branches grow from the vine around each other; they wrap around each other, twisting and turning, supporting and being supported. Here’s what I didn’t say, the branches aren’t responsible for creating fruit. They bear the fruit, but they do not create it; the vine does. The branches are there to hold the fruit, even to help nourish it, you might say, but it is the vine’s responsibility or scope to create it. It takes the whole plant and the vinegrower working together to get good fruit.
What does this mean for us, who are the branches? What is our job in fruit production?
1) We are supposed to stay connected to vine, not grow out on our own. Those branches that grow out of the bundle, they fall to the ground, get dirty, and are susceptible to all kinds of fungi and diseases. And I think, if we leave the metaphor for a minute, it takes work to stay in the bundle. Sometimes other branches poke us, maybe even it feels like they’re choking us, and we have to decide over and over again to honor our vows, that these people are our church. We have to decide over and over again that we will remain faithful to these people of our church with our prayers, presence, gifts, service and witness. It is a choice.
2) We are supposed to help support other branches, in the way they need to be supported. So often we feel like we know the right way to help people, and so our help comes with strings. I’ll pay this bill, if you’ll just do what I tell you. I’ll pray for you, if you will completely change your life for me. I’ll help you but you have to start coming to church, my church. I think this may be human nature. We really do want to help, and we think we have the answers, the right answer. If you’ll just do it my way, things will be better. The truth is that I am not you and you are not me, and my answer may or may not work for you. My job is not to fix you, but to support you, the way you need to be supported. This does not mean that we need to let other branches demand so much support that we are broken. In the famous serenity prayer we ask for courage to change what we can, serenity to accept what we can’t change and wisdom to know the difference. Again, we are not responsible for the creating the fruit, but bearing it.
3) We have to remain open to receive sunlight and water. There are times when we would rather not let any light shine on us, when the dark seems more comfortable. But the truth is that the dark will kill us. We need light. In this metaphor, I think the darkness is shame, sin, depression, etc. The thing about sin and shame is that they lie to us. They tell us that the light doesn’t want us. If we are branches with a wound, and we let that wound hide in the dark, it will fester. Other germs and fungi will get in there. We need sunlight and water, and the vinegrower knows how to ensure we get just the right amount of each. We have to be willing to let the vinegrower see that wound, bring it out in the sunlight. That’s the only way it gets healed.
Anyway, these are just a few scraps that didn’t make it into my sermon. They weren’t any less important, but I always have choices to make about what I include and what it left out. Enjoy my thoughts with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
