"Loving the Hard Way" given Oct. 26th (Reformation Sunday)

          In a way, we can be grateful to Jesus’ opponents,  They were constantly trying to find an excuse to discredit Him.  Time and time again they’d approach Him with their trick questions.  The only thing the lawyers and Saducees and Pharisees and High Priests and Herodians ever really accomplished was to end up playing straight man, allowing Jesus to elaborate on His teachings.   

Every single time,  He’d toss their trick question back in their laps, using their question as a vehicle to preach and teach and reveal himself to his listeners--and to us.

          In this morning's Gospel, it was the Pharisees who thought they had come up with a real zinger. They were the religious faction that went beyond insisting on strict, beyond even literal interpretation of the Laws of Moses. The "Law" for the Pharisees had come to mean more than simply the Torah, the first five books of the Hebrew Bible.  For them, the Law also included all of the subsequent interpretations and commentaries and amendments that had been written in the centuries since Moses' time.

          By Jesus’ time, the Pharisees had a system of some 613 commandments.  365 of them were prohibitions--"thou shalt nots", and 248 were imperatives--"thou shalts." The intent was that you didn't break either the letter or the spirit of the letter of the Commandments-- even by accident. They called that  “Building a fence around the Law“.  We can still see an example this attitude in the keeping of “kosher”. The Law says “thou shall not boil a baby goat in it’s mother’s milk.” Therefore keeping Kosher requires that dairy and meat be served at separate meals—and a strictly kosher kitchen requires separate cooking utensils, separate eating utensils, plates, cups, pots, pans, even separate cabinets and drawers for the storing of them.

          There were so many laws for the average working person to remember--and keep. And Jesus knew that those who were approaching Him with their trick question about keeping the Law had likely forgotten what the whole point of the exercise was in the first place!

          I wonder if some them didn’t find the whole set of 613 commandments and prohibitions and imperatives a bit daunting themselves!  Otherwise why would they have thought of using them in such a way--as a trap--a way of catching up Jesus by playing one law off against the other?

          The conflict between laws-- between the letter of the law and its spirit--between values-- between moral imperatives-- between human law and God’s Will-- can become a trap, even in our time. There are moral and political issues in our society-- in any society-- where it is absolutely impossible to take a prayerful, thoughtful, sincere stance, without alienating somebody else who has also conscientiously read and prayed and thought about the very same issues and come to a totally opposite conclusion.

          War and peace. Abortion.  AIDS. Divorce. Homosexuality. Nuclear power. The role of women in the family and in the church, the rights of all people—regardless of color or age or gender identification Gun control. Inclusive language. Economic Justice, Fundamentalism vs. Liberalism. Charismatics vs. Mainliners. All of these call for deep concern and prayer and struggle on the part of each one of us. 

          We must acknowledge that, and recognize the sincerity of those who differ with us. And then, finally, prayerfully, humbly, firmly, like Luther, take our stand. Of course, we will also do our best to dialogue with those who differ with us, so that they can finally come to understand, as James Carville so aptly put it, that we are right and they are wrong.

Unfortunately though, agreeing to disagree in mutual respect isn’t always possible. Even today, you could find someone-- on both sides of any of those issues-- who would undoubtedly have tried their best to trip up Jesus on any one of these questions-- or many more.

          There's an old story about a senior pastor who was approached by a younger associate. The junior minister had been approached by someone in the congregation with a tricky question about faith and practice. It doesn't matter what the question was-- maybe it was an inter-faith marriage, or somebody wanting to start a new program in the building, or a non-member wanting to participate in the sacrament, or women wanting to be ushers-- you can fill in the blank. In any case, the younger cleric wanted the senior pastor to approve the decision that had already been made. Apprehensively, the senior Pastor asked:

          "What did you tell them?"

          "Well, first I asked myself, 'what would Jesus have done?..'"

          "OH NO!", interrupted the other, "You didn't do THAT did you?"

          So it was that the Pharisees came to Jesus and asked him,

          "We have so many laws Jesus, so many prohibitions and imperatives. Which one in your opinion is the most important? Which commandment has the highest priority?"

          They figured it didn't matter what Jesus said. They thought they'd be able to contradict him, irregardless. But Jesus didn't fall into their trap. And yet at the same time, He didn't dodge the question. Without a moment's hesitation, Jesus cited first one commandment and immediately linked it to another.

          "You shall love your God” And, "You shall love your neighbor". And Jesus added that these two commandments are actually not separate at all, but intertwined. In Mark's Gospel, Jesus says they are in fact one and the same.

          Love God.  Love your neighbor. Neither commandment was original with Jesus.  Indeed He reached deep into His tradition of faith for each of them.  Love God with all your heart and  mind and spirit-- the Shema..  Love your neighbor as yourself-- the Golden Rule. Even the linking of these two commandments side by side was not original with Jesus.

          What was original with Jesus was His weaving these two concerns together into one single, new, interdependent commandment of the highest possible priority. Jesus understood-- these are not two commandments-- they are one. You can't have one without the other.

          Without the love of neighbor, the act of trying to love God becomes empty, barren and fruitless. Without the love of God, the love of neighbor becomes little more than an act of enlightened self-interest---disinterested philanthropy at best. But together--the love of God and the love of neighbor become much more-- the heart of our faith--the last and best hope of humanity in this broken world.

          In our day the word "love" has gained tremendous popularity. We sell products with love.  We love our country, love our church, love our hometown, love our way of life, love our pets, love pizza, love them Cubbies, love da Bears, or da Bulls or the White Sox. We love being a girl, or a boy.  We fall in love, and out again. And we love it. We develop a case of puppy love, April love, May-December love, even love in the afternoon. And don't forget who loves ya' baby.

          "Love" has become too easy for us. The word "Love" gets used for a whole spectrum of emotions ranging from mild enjoyment to raging passion to lifelong commitment. And we apply it indiscriminately to physical objects, ideas, animals, places, even other emotions as well as other people. We over-use it so much that we've started abbreviating it by drawing a heart. And what's worse, we've even forgotten how to spell it! L-U-V!

          But real love, the kind of unselfish love that Jesus is calling us to here—means loving the hard way. The rabbis understood the highest of God's attributes to be that of Divine compassion--God's loving willingness to stand alongside us and to suffer alongside us in our trials. Jesus calls us as well, to learn to love through compassion, through putting ourselves into the other person's shoes.

          His new, improved combined commandment calls us to ask ourselves in all of our human relationships--"How would I feel if somebody treated me that way?" “Why in the world would we do that?”  “Why in the world would I want to feel like that?”

Because guess what? That's how God feels--all the time. Agape--Christian love-- compassion--the love that both the Old and the New Testament calls us to is no more or less than our limited human attempt to reflect God's grace--that same gift of unmerited favor that creates and upholds and redeems and empowers us all.

          Loving the hard way is tough and caring and committed to the long-range best interest of the other.  It is the love that weeps alongside us when we mourn, and rejoices with us when we are happy. And in so doing, it multiplies our joy and divides our sorrow.  This love confronts us when we are wrong and heartens us when we are right. It afflicts the comfortable and comforts the afflicted.  And that is precisely the sort of love that we see lived out in Jesus-- in his ministry,  in his teachings,  and on the cross.

          "For God so loved the world that....." You know the rest. When you and I come to understand that right down to the marrow in our bones, we can see Jesus' call is really a call to love God and neighbor as we have already been loved. It is infinitely more than a call to experience warm fuzzies over people we already find cute and loveable anyway.

          Once we understand that, then we come to be concerned about and experience compassion for, and care for, and accept, and do all we can to meet the needs of all of God children in this world.  You and I are called to love the hard way.

          And frankly, it doesn't matter one little bit whether or not we find them particularly loveable. St. Augustine said it best when he prayed "By loving the unlovable, You made me lovable."

          It doesn’t matter if they are battling AIDS or Ebola, or the common cold. It doesn't matter what color our neighbors are, or if they are rich or poor, or speak our language, or if they pray or meditate or worship their Higher Power in a way that we can discern. It doesn’t matter what gender they identify with or are attracted to.  It doesn't matter if we always approve of the things they do, or the way they act or vote It doesn't even matter if they act ungrateful, or are blind to our love, or even seem to be using us.         

          My neighbor is not required  to have on clean clothes, or be clean, or live in a house like mine, or live a life-style that I approve of. If I call myself a "Christian", I am simply expected to act in my neighbor's best interest. Sometimes even at what will seem to be the expense of my own! And to do so willingly, joyfully. That's called loving the hard way.

          A.J. Muste, a prominent Quaker and Pacifist of a few generations past once stood up in a meeting and asked what good was his love, if he couldn’t love Hitler?  Tough question!

Probably most of us today would settle for figuring out how to look upon Barak Obama—or John Boehner.  Are they both my neighbor? I’m free to disagree with either or both of them. I’m free to question their common sense, or ethical sensibilities, or motives, or even their personal theologies.  But as a Christian, what I am not free to do is hate, or demonize, or slander either one of them. 

Frederick Buechner writes in: The Magnificent Defeat.

          The love for equals is a human thing--of friend for friend, brother for brother. It is to love what is loving and lovely. The world smiles.

          The love for the less fortunate is a beautiful thing--the love for those who suffer, for those who are poor, the sick, the failures, the unlovely. This is compassion, and it touches the heart of the world.

          The love for the more fortunate is a rare thing--to love those who succeed where we fail, to rejoice without envy with those who rejoice, the love of the poor for the rich, of the black man for the white man. The world is always bewildered by its saints.

          And then there is the love for the enemy--love for the one who does not love you but mocks, threatens, and inflicts pain. The tortured's love

for the torturer. This is God's love. It conquers the world.

          That's tough. I know it is. It's tough to tell an alcoholic family member to go away and get sober because you know that at that moment, that's the thing they most need to hear from you. It's tough to bite your lip and keep silent—much less lose an argument in order to keep a friend. It’s tough to give an opponent credit for their sincerity—especially when we know darned well they’re wrong and we’re right. And it’s even tougher to admit when we’re the one who is wrong!

          It's tough to put an elderly relative into the nursing home when that's the best care that can be found--and not simply because it's more convenient for you. It's tough to leave, and stay away from a mate who abuses you-- that's called loving yourself.

          It's tough to oppose the prevailing political opinion at work in regard to a moral issue. It's tough to speak out against ageism, or racism, or sexism, or classism in a joke-- it's a lot easier just to go ahead and laugh. It's tough to vote your conscience when you know your candidate doesn't have a ghost of a chance.

It’s tough, as Luther did, to say “Here I stand. God help me. I can do no other” for the sake of God’s truth. And to put the proclamation of that truth before church, state, tradition, the status quo, before one’s own safety, for the sake of a world that desperately needs to hear and accept that truth over human error, for the sake of the love of God’s people.

It's tough to give up smoking or drinking, or gambling, for your family's sake. It's tough to keep on working, keep on praying, keep on striving, keep on struggling and witnessing and reaching out when you seem to get nothing in return. That's all loving the hard way.

          It's tough to forgive. It’s tough to ask for forgiveness.  It's tough to be willing to open yourself without reservation to the needs of a brother or a sister and be prepared to put your own needs on the back burner because that brother or sister really can't cope with them. It's even tougher when others have always reached out to you, to finally outgrow that cycle of dependency and start reaching out yourself.

          And perhaps toughest of all is to keep praying during those times when you seem to get no answer-- or when the answer always seems to be "NO".

          All of that is tough. All of that is loving your neighbor. All of that is loving God. All of that is what Jesus calls us to do. And Matthew recounts that after Jesus had answered the Pharisees that day, they did not ask Him any more questions.

Something to think about

“The rule of the universe is that others can do for us what we cannot do for ourselves, and one can paddle every canoe except one’s own.”

—	C.S. Lewis

"God from Behind" given 10/19/2014

          You know what? I'd like to see God. I understand that it's a childish, impossible wish. I understand that, just like the Hymn says, God is immortal, and invisible. I understand that, just like they taught me in Sunday School and in Seminary, God is imperceptible, and indiscernible. I still want to see God's face.

          I'm not one of those people who's looking for proof. God's doesn't have to make the stars spell out "I EXIST", or make the Sun stand  still, or part the Red Sea, or drown Pharaoh’s army-- at least not as far as I'm concerned. The existence  of God is not the central faith question for me at this point in my life. For me, the question is not "whether or not".  For me-- and I expect for many of you as well,  the question is "who".

          Who is God? What is God like? Or to put it another way-- does God have a kind face? A caring face? Or is it a disinterested face?

          "Sorry Florida, this year the Hurricanes are goanna be kinda rugged. It's kinda technical with all those high pressure areas and low pressure areas-- but it's really out of my hands now. I put the whole weather thing on automatic pilot right after that unfortunate incident with Noah. Sorry Illinois, you're goanna get dumped on in the snow department this January.  But hey, just think how people who headed for Florida for the winter are going to feel."

          Is that God's face?  The face of the uncaring impersonal bureaucrat who gives you the eye exam when you go to renew your Driver's License? Or has God's face ever been contorted in compassion and horror during the evening news? Has a tear ever run down the cheeks of the Holy One for the dying child in the ruins of Afghanistan, or Iraq, or Liberia, or Chicago? I hope so. I believe so. That's why I'd like to see God, face-to-face.

          But Exodus says no mortal can see God’s face and live. Okay, I'd be satisfied to hear God's voice. William Willimon says he thinks God's voice will sound like Charleton Heston's, except with a Southern accent-- but Willimon's from North Carolina. Personally, I wouldn't be surprised to hear John Huston's voice-- or James Earl Jones' --or maybe even Orson Wells’. But, hey, wouldn’t it be cool if God used Oprah's voice? Can you think of some people who’d be REALLLY surprised by that on Judgment Day!

          Moses knew the voice of God. The Book of Exodus tells us that Yahweh God used to talk to Moses "…as one speaks to a friend."  Moses and God had gotten onto a first name basis that day they met at the burning bush. Once the Habiru had gotten away from the Egyptians, God called Moses up onto the slopes of Mt. Sinai for a staff meeting. Remember what happened down in the valley? The people got restless. They got impatient.

          "Is God here for us or not?" they asked. A nameless, faceless God wasn't good enough for them. All that God had just done for them was forgotten for the sake of a little not-so-innocent cavorting around a golden calf.  How conveenyant.

          Jehovah God was rather understandably perturbed.

          "Get out of here, before I burn you all to a crisp." The Holy One commanded. "Go cross the desert without me and see how far you get."

          The people wailed in consternation. They begged Moses to intervene.

          "He likes you, Moses,, talk to him.”

          “ I'll see what I can do." Moses interceded for Israel. He pointed out whose idea this whole Exodus road trip had been in the first place.

          “Hey, this nation is your people. You invented them. You called them. You promised to be with them. Now they're your responsibility. You can't just abandon them. That wouldn't be right."

          Can you believe the sheer chutzpah of Moses? I can just imagine God being insulted and responding "Who do you think you are, trying to remind me of who I am and what I promised? What nerve! Why, I oughta..."

          But God doesn't respond with anger. God backs down. God relents. God repents.

          "Okay, okay. I didn't really mean it about incinerating them all. You're right. I'll do what you ask. I'll go with you. You know me Moses, I'm just an old softy when it comes to this crowd."

          And if that weren't enough for Moses, he decides to push his luck.

          "Show me your glory, O God!" he asks. Moses has been promised God's sustaining presence, God's guiding word. But that's not enough. Now he wants to see Yahweh God face-to-face, in all  the Holy One's unveiled glory.

          "No, I'll make all my goodness pass before you. I'll tell you my name. I'll be gracious. I'll be merciful. But you can't see my face. Nobody can see my face and live."

Then God has an afterthought.

          "Tell you what though, Moses. You go hide in the cleft of that rock, and I'll let you look at me from behind.  I'll show you my back --but not my face."

          You've heard the expression "The eyes are the window to the soul." I think it's our face that is the true window. Think about it. Is God's face, like your face and my face-- a mirror into the innermost self? All of our wrinkles, and laugh lines, and creases from worry, and dimples, and our receding hairline, and even our occasional scars are to some extent a reflection of who we really are. Looking at one another’s other's face is one major way we humans use in getting to know each other.

          Let me look you in the face. Not just a cursory social glance only a few seconds long. Not a fake-out gazing at your forehead while I pretend to look into your eyes. No, let us take some time--even five or ten minutes-- to wordlessly study one another's faces, to deeply gaze into one another's eyes, to read that map of one another's soul. I guarantee our relationship will never be the same.

          That kind of encounter is hard work. It's uncomfortable. Some of us-- me included-- can have a really hard time doing it. We may say we want it, but the truth is, we can't handle that kind of deep intimacy with more than a very few people. And we shouldn't try.

          But that’s precisely what Moses asked of God.  Show me your glory, show me your face. Let me look you straight into your eyes, so that I know you, really know you. Moses wanted to understand God, pin God down. He knew God's name. He knew God's nature.  He knew God's mercy and God's ways. Moses knew God as no other human being knew God.  But even he could not look upon God's bare face, not even he could behold God's glory and live.

          Moses wanted to be impressed, reassured, that this was God-- big, absolute, all-powerful, all-knowing, Maker of the multi-verses, God. Show me your glory. But God said,  "No. I'll show you my goodness."

          They aren't the same thing. You and I come before God, here in this place we call God's house, hungering for glory. God, please give us some absolutely, overwhelming convincing glory this morning between 9:30 and 10:30 AM . Thrill us, O God.  Touch us.  Make the hair on our necks stand up. Make our faces flush, and our hearts beat faster, and our palms sweat. Knock us down onto the floor,  make us speak in tongues, dance, laugh,cry, do anything you like-- just move us! 

          Above all though, reassure us. Make us glad we came this morning, God.  Because every now and then a tiny little voice way in the back in our minds asks some troubling questions. Is all this ultimately fruitless? Have we bet our lives on the true God?  Is there anyone out there?  How can we know? Show us your glory! 

          No? Then how about making a deal with us, God? Give us peace of mind and we'll worship you. Promise us eternal fire insurance and we'll be your people. Grant us prosperity and we'll even give you the credit.

          Once there was a humble little Jewish tailor who lived and worked on the lower East side of Manhattan. His name was “Schneider” which as it happens is Yiddish for “Tailor: On the door of his tiny tailor shop it simply read “Schneider”, which he figures was enough to both identify him and his trade.     Business wasn’t so good, so one day Schneider approached God with a deal. He’d make God his partner if God would give Schneider some success. The next day he changed the sign on the door of the shop to read “Schneider and God”. And business got better! He got so busy he even began selling dry goods. Then he started specializing in hand made suits and dresses instead of just doing mending. And business got even better.

            Business got so good that Schneider decided to expand, to move to an empty shop on the West side. The night before the move, in gratitude he prayed to God, promising that if God gave him success in this new venture, he’d give God top billing.

            “How do you like the sound of that? ‘God and Schneider’?” he prayed.

            “I dunno,” God replied. “That West side is full of stuck-up Gentiles who don’t know what the name ‘Schneider’ means. We might not get their business. We should get a bit fancier. How about instead we call it ‘Lord and Taylor’”?

          Clearly, Our Maker doesn’t need  or seek credit for our earthly endeavors. The Almighty doesn’t promise us prosperity or redemption or anything else in return for our worship.  Neither success nor salvation is a bargain we can strike. But nevertheless,  our God does offer us a deal  --except it's on God's terms.

          "Don't hanker after glory, I'll give you something better than glory.  I'll pass my goodness before you.  I'll give you mercy and grace.  Even after you've danced around the golden calf, I'll take you back. I'll stick with you. My presence will go with you on your pilgrimage through the wilderness.”

          Notice. My presence. Not all of me. Moses and the Hebrews understood that the Shekinah, or Presence of God on Earth was not the incomprehensible totality of the Divine Being. The Shekinah was as much of the Divine as human beings, as the Earth could bear in one place. It would be symbolized by the Ark of the Covenant. But they understood perfectly well that the fullness of God didn't literally live in that little box.

          Almighty God wasn't going to permanently move in with Moses and the Habiru. God was going to tabernacle-- to tent with them.  The Divine Presence went ahead of them into the wilderness as cloud and fiery pillar.  The Creator of the Universe was not and is not some housebroken little plaster idol on a shelf, or a golden statue that only exists to give us a good excuse for a wild party.

          You can make a golden calf your god-- or a BMW, or a beautiful home-- or power, or money, or prestige, or sex, or your job, or your family-- or any of the many things that humanity makes into its gods. You can dance around them if you like. You’ll certainly be able to look at them-- even behold their glory, without dying.   But ultimately if you build your life around them, they all end in death.

           We sing, “What a friend we have in Jesus.” "Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine." "And he walks with me and he talks with me“.

     Not quite. There is, and there must be a Divine mystery-- a certain distance between creature and Creator. Otherwise, God wouldn't be God. And for us to attempt to negate, or even to negotiate that mystery, to bridge that distance, is death. For ultimately you and I cannot contain, we cannot limit, we cannot fix or figure out or pin down the fullness of our God and live.

          We cower, desperately hanging onto our false gods-- clutchable, human-made, cold, dead-- trying to mold the One who made us into a Santa Claus in the sky. We cower, desperately holding onto our trivial grudges, our trifling hates, our paltry prejudices, our emotional upheaval, our spiritual broken-ness, our sin -- trying to remake the Divine in our own petty human image. No. The living, moving, God of Israel, the Creator of the Universe is too large, too vital, too life-giving, too much for us. We can't look at that God face to face and live.

          What we can see, is the goodness of that God-- the acts of  grace toward a stiff-necked, wayward, calf-chasing, sinful, but still beloved people.

          What you and I can participate in, is the goodness of God-- through simple acts of human kindness and  mindful compassion toward the broken ones, through acts of witness to the lost, through acts of mercy and liberation to the exploited and oppressed, through acts of charity and generosity towards the needy, through lives of personal integrity, and through day to day acts of plain old common decency to neighbor, and to one another-- all done in the name of Jesus, the human face our God has shown us.

          What we can do is try to open our hearts just a bit wider  to our Maker through worship and service and regular spiritual practice. What  you and I can do, is follow the Holy Spirit of this God who tabernacles with us and leads us on our life’s journey through the wilderness and desert places of this world.  And when we do all this-- or at least commit to try-- then what you and I then can know-- what we will know-- is the vital, under girding, loving Presence of the Living God in our lives.

          The question remaining for the Hebrews, the question for you and for me, is a simple one.  Will we go with this God? Will we believe and trust in the Divine plan and goodness?  Will you venture forth into the wilderness of your life, walking, following this God from behind?

Mahatma

"Got your Robe?" given October 12, 2014

          Have you ever noticed how often food and drink are mentioned in the

New Testament? Who you ate with—along with what you ate-- were important issues for people in Jesus’ time. One of the things the Pharisees didn’t like about Jesus was that he was going to parties all the time, and was willing to eat and drink with anyone.  That wasn’t accidental-- it was intentional. Jesus was saying something about inclusion and grace with his egalitarian table fellowship .

          Banquets and feasts and meals were a favorite image  in his preaching. In our Gospel Reading for this morning, Jesus compares the Kingdom-- God's Coming Reign in our hearts and in our world-- to a wedding banquet.

          A party-- a wedding banquet. I love that image. The first wedding I ever attended—my mom’s first cousin’s. After that I thought every wedding ended with a reception-- where you stood around balancing a plate of wedding cake and a plastic cup of fruit punch while talking to relatives you hadn’t seen for a while-- often with good reason. The high point was when I got to catch the garter. I suspect that’s what a lot of us envision when we hear that symbol.

But Jesus isn’t talking about a nice, dignified, sedate, Saturday afternoon WCTU soiree in a  church basement.  And for then record, neither is Jesus talking about a wild party prancing around the Golden Calf Jesus is referring to a full tilt boogey, ethnic, “Tony and Tina’s Wedding”  banquet in a hired hall with a live band and an open bar.  He’s talking about a really good party, where you can eat all kinds of delicious food-- served buffet style so you don‘t have to wait to be served. But nobody drinks too much or gets an upset tummy from too spicey food.

That’s the kind of party where old slights are forgotten and old feuds forgiven. It’s the kind of party where boys meet girls, and you and I meet interesting new people, and old friends catch up on what they’ve been doing for the past few years.

And after a while, the men loosen their ties and the women kick off their shoes, and sooner or later everybody gets out on the floor and dances-- from the little kids to grandpa-- to everything from Benny Goodman, to the Beatles, to polkas-- with the hokey pokey and the chicken dance tossed in between. 

           Who doesn't love a party like that? Apparently, lots of people don't. For according to the parable, when the invitation was sent forth to come to the king's great party for his son, those who were invited began to make excuses.
          And the image we end up with at the parable’s end is that of a wedding feast attended by the homeless, the rejected, winos and prostitutes, people off the streets.  And so there was a great party after all.  A party thrown not just for society's elite, but for any and all who would accept the invitation and show up.

          I read about a family reunion held some years ago at a public park.  Everyone was excited about re-connecting with distant relatives. But as the family settled in for the picnic, they noticed one young man who seemed out of place.  He was painfully thin.  No one recognized him.

          Slowly, it dawned on the family that this shabby young man was probably

homeless and definitely hungry, and that he had wandered into their family

reunion in the hopes of getting a free meal.  They decided to make him a member of their family that day. They fed the young stranger platefuls of food, and included him in all their games and activities.  And everyone had a great time.

          The Kingdom of Heaven is like that, says Jesus.  All who would come are

welcome.  No one is left out.  The Kingdom is like a family reunion-- like a terrific party-- like a wedding feast. It's inclusive, embracing, grace-filled and open.

          God's love is open and available to all, if we will only come to the party. All the outsiders become insiders.  The scruffy ones, the losers, the poor, the strangers are all of a sudden honored guests. The king obviously doesn't care if they can't tell the difference between black-eyed peas and Beluga caviar.  He just wants them with him at his party.

          But, the parable tells us, there was one poor man at the wedding feast who was not properly dressed for the occasion.  That should not be surprising.  Where would homeless people find proper clothing for a wedding feast?  Why was the king so upset with this one man?

          It’d be easy for us to get bogged down in wondering how the Number One mover and shaker of the Universe could so arbitrarily and unjustly expect a

bunch of beggars and street people to get dressed up for a wedding when

they had after all, been pulled in off the street. But scholars tell us that in the ancient near east,  kings would show their generosity--especially at feasts-- by making an honored guest the gift of an expensive robe to wear during their visit. So the grouch in the parable wasn’t appropriately attired by preference-- not due to lack of funds.

          The real intent of this fascinating denouement to this wonderful metaphor  is that you and I as listeners, understand that this man had refused the king’s gift of a beautiful hand made robe and chosen to stay in his own everyday clothes.  He and only he, had not bothered with cleaning up and changing.  'If the king wants me there, he can take me like I am.'

          And so the king confronts this shabby fellow.

          "Hey dude, how'd you get in here without a robe?"

          And, says Jesus, the man was speechless.

          Nobody gets stopped at the door, nobody gets kicked out of Jesus’ party-- except the stodgy old wet blanket who won't put on a robe and join the celebrating.  And even then, I suppose, if he ever got beyond those stuffed-shirt ways, he'd still be welcome at the party. But he doesn't.

          Why did the man sit there like a bump on a log?  The reason he was

speechless is because he didn’t have an answer.

          There is no good reason to reject Divine Grace, unconditional, unmerited favor given to us purely out of love—no strings. Although, I suppose, there are plenty of bad reasons.

          Let's pretend for a moment that the man was not speechless. Let's

pretend that he did respond. Suppose he told the king, "Hey, I'm not going

to put on some fancy-schmancy robe and hang around with a bunch of no-

account dead beats like them."  Or suppose he said,  "I want to be accepted

for who I am, and for what I've done. Not because I climbed into some silly

monkey suit."

          What do you suppose the king would have replied?  My guess it would

have been something along the lines of  "O be quiet and have some champagne.

You'll like these people well enough after you get a few drinks in you." Or possibly, "What's the fun of a party that doesn't look like a party? Have some of these little black fish eggs. They ain’t black-eyed peas. Relax! This whole bash is on me!"

          If the scruffy man had said something-- anything-- if he had raged, or cried out or wept, or even cursed, then the king could have reached out to him. The king could have said something to reassure him, maybe told him a parable or even pulled him off in the corner to explain a few things.  But the guy didn't do or say anything. He just sat there in dull, mute, desperation—refusing the robe, refusing grace. And as a result, he ended up thrown out on his ear.

          Have you got on your robe?  Your spirit, your heart, your integrity, your truest and best self, your faith, your identity, your spirit, your soul—that’s your

wedding garment.  That's what you and I will wear to the banquet that is going on now, and in the Kingdom that is yet to come. 

You and I were given one when you were created. It washed spotless nat our Baptism. And we were supposed to take care of it-- or at the very least, not lose it, so that we’d will have something to wear, the proper attire at the Heavenly Wedding Banquet That's one of the things Jesus meant when he said,

          'What good does it do you to gain the whole world and lose your soul?'

          So what about us? We want to enjoy the feast, but we don’t want to put on that new garment God has for us--the robe of a new purpose for our lives, the garment of love and acceptance for all people, the robe of forgiveness and reconciliation, the robe of personal responsibility for our acts and our emotions and our relationships-- in a word,  the garment of a new life in God. 

          We’re still wearing the wrong apparel, and so we never discover all the gifts and possibilities and wholeness and joy that God has in store for us.  We don’t want to let go-- let go and accept and celebrate life and one another-- and God. Instead, we clutch desperately at what we claim is decorum. But  it’s really pride--and our false piety that’s really self-worship-- and our pathetic set of expedient virtues that really are vices-- sitting out there in the dark-- wearing those $29.95 Sears brand polyester leisure suits that we bought in 1974, with grass-stains on the seat and grime in our collars-- while Jesus' party goes on right in front of us

          The invitation to God's party-- a pure gift of grace-- unmerited

favor-- is also a judgment.  When the invitation was rejected by those first invited, their own refusal became their own judgment.  All the king ever wanted was a party. If some stupes didn't want to respond-- it's no sweat off the king's nose. If they choose to violently reject the gift-- then they must face the natural and logical consequences of their own evil actions.

          "Many are called, but few are chosen" Jesus reminds us. Maybe a better translation might be, many are called, but few choose to respond. Divine Judgment falls upon us like a ton of bricks when you and I hear, and understand, and must choose to accept or reject Jesus’ invitation.  Theologians call that "Realized Eschatology"   It’s Judgment Day. It’s the end of the world for us-- our old world of sin and self. It’s our own personal apocalypse at the present moment. 

          Heaven or Hell-- our judgment-- our choice.  If Heaven is a wedding banquet-- and if Hell exists, it’s the place for that oh-s-sweet, self-serving silent majority who reject the invitation and cherish their phony dignity, who’d rather play it safe rather than risk the party. Hell isn’t about flames and red devils with pitchforks in the after-life.  Hell begins in the here and now-- when you and I refuse to accept our acceptance by the One who made us.  

          If Heaven is a great, glorious, noisy, joyous party-- than Hell must be that cold emptiness that  the taciturn and the humorless and the soulless self-involved 

made for themselves. And presumably, since they’ve chosen it, the residents of Hell must like it that way. 

In their novels, Inferno and Escape from Hell Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle rewrite and update Dante’s Inferno.  They describe a Hell filled with punishments that the inhabitants have essentially earned and chosen for themselves—and can walk away from--- though they refuse to recognize that. Niven and Pournelle refer to their hell as a “locked, violent ward for the theologically insane“

          And there’s a lot of ‘em out there. The reality is that all-too many people find excuses not to move beyond their narrow worlds of work and money, security and propriety, status and competition.  They basically live their lives in this world as party-poopers.

They’re incapable of extending a helping hand without giving you a lecture first. They’re unable to express their real feelings because they might lose control. They’re unable to forgive or be forgiven because they’re always waiting for the other guy to “make the first move”. They can’t reach out to others in genuine compassion because they might “get taken for a sucker.“

If you do them a favor they resent it because now they feel they’re in your debt. They live their lives with hands closed into fists to protect themselves. And then they shove their fists into their pockets so no body can get at all their accumulated treasure that they won’t be able to take with them anyway. You know friends, that the only kind of vehicle you’ll never see at a funeral is an armored car.

           You know these people-- we’ve all met them. They live in fear-- fear of loss-- fear of failure-- fear of success-- fear of involvement-- fear of relationships-- fear of others—fear of risk—fear of life itself. And as a result of that paralyzing fear, their hearts are closed to the cries of the needy, to the embrace of others, to the love of their Creator.

          Send in a donation? No, because that’ll just get my name on a mailing list.

Invite a neighbor to church? Why that would be too embarrassing-- they might think I’m a religious fanatic. Become a foster parent?  No, think how sad I’ll feel when the state takes the kid back. Love someone? I don’t want to feel the pain or grief when they die. Donate blood? Become a bone marrow donor? No I hear that hurts.  Answer the call of Christ? No that’s too much work.

          I, I, I, me, me, me.  And so worthy causes suffer, churches suffer, homeless children ends up in shelters that are basically jails for kids,  loneliness haunts us, a neighbor continues alone and alienated, sick people die when they might have been saved. And Christ remains nailed up on the cross-- crucified by our petty fear and cheap selfishness.

          People like that don't trust the motives of the king in throwing the party.  They don't trust anybody's motives.  They simply can't bring themselves to believe in the banquet-- it's too good to be true. How can they?  They didn't earn it with their self-proclaimed righteousness and o-so-public good works.  It can't be free.  And as a result, they can't be free.

There is a line from Auntie Mame that we tend to quote a lot around our house.  "Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death."  Friends, The Kingdom of God is a banquet, a feast, and a party all rolled into one.           But many are starving.  Why?  Because we will not accept God's invitation

to come to the feast.  All is ready.  Are you? Put on your robe.  Grab your dancing shoes.  Come to the party.  It just wouldn't be the same without you.

Jimmy Carter

"The Cornerstone" given 10/5/14

As Jesus was teaching that day, He began to tell His listeners this rather odd story of the wicked tenants. It wasn't the sort of parable that Jesus usually told.  Some Bible scholars think that Jesus may have been commenting on an actual event--

 reminding His listeners of a real life scandal of greed and theft and murder.          The Gospel writers took Jesus’ parable or commentary on the original incident and edited, and elaborated, and expanded, and embroidered the story-- transforming it into a fairly elaborate metaphor.  The householder becomes God. The servants are God’s prophets. The vineyard is this world. The son is Jesus. Guess who the wicked tenants are?

          . Later on in his Gospel narrative, Matthew records Jesus' lament.

"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, killing the prophets,

and stoning those who are sent to you."

          Jesus, God's Son, receives the same treatment as the prophets who preceded Him. To the degree that the prophets are heard, their messages are rejected.  Ultimately, the prophets themselves are rejected.  But Jesus' story is different from that of the prophets. The metaphor or parable gets summed up by Jesus in an exciting and challenging way that is much more typical of Him than the editorializing of Matthew. Quoting the Psalms:

          "The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone." 

God’s  rejected messenger has become the cornerstone of a new foundation, a new Israel.  Something radically new and different is being built  by the Hand of God. Jesus, working through the efforts of ordinary men and women. is building new hearts, a new Israel, a new humanity, a new way of living in faithfulness with God’s Will.

 What is it that throughout the thousands of years of salvation history, has made people time and time again, respond to God's message in such a negative way?  And, lest you and I get to feeling so superior, what makes us think that we would react any differently?

          Haven't we all, to one extent or another, tried to build our own lives on the shaky  foundations of self and stuff-- rather than on the unshakeable cornerstone of Christ? Haven't we all, to one extent or another, at one point or another, lived our lives in rebellion to our Maker’s Will?

          Is our land, our culture, our time-- any less violent, any less exploitive, any less sinful in all Israel’s centuries leading up to the time of Matthew's church? Has any time been? Time and again, down through the ages, all over the planet, humanity has stubbornly responded to its' Creator with the rebellion of war and hatred and oppression.

          As a nation, don’t we we continue year after year to put our money and our energy and our trust into ships and planes and missiles and guns and spies and gee-whiz technology? And don’t so few of our resources go to feed the world’s hungry,  to end injustice and genocide and to promote equity for the alienated and angry of this world?

Why? Why do we spend so much time and energy on homeland security and national defense and so little time and money and effort on the real key to world peace-- the real cure for international terrorism-- justice and equity?

Why do homeless families sleep on our streets? Why do the hungry flood our pantries?

Why do our leaders keep on trying to balance our budget by short-changing the poor and the elderly and the needy? Or by licensing more casinos? Or by running a state lottery with longer odds than organized crime offers in the numbers rackets?

          Our hearts have been turned to stone by short-sided self interest.    

Our Financial system has been gutted by greedy banksters who closed their eyes to prudence in order to turn a fast buck. And not a one of them went to jail.     A substantial number of members of Congress keep trying to  dismantle our perfectly solvent Social Security system—which by the way operates with only a 3% overhead--cut benefits, raise co-pays—and turn it’s trillions of dollars over to their Wall Street buddies to play with—at ten or twenty percent commissions and overhead.

          Many continue to close their eyes—even deny that our environment continues to deteriorate.

          Bureaucrats and administrators speak of aid to those in greatest need—children, aged, blind, disabled people—programs for children with special needs as “ratholes”.  The rich tell the unemployed to “get a job” in an economy we already allowed crooked corporate executives to gut. Gangs of adults and youth and children accost and rob and beat and rape and murder in our streets. Candidates for public office vie to see who can sling the most mud at one another.

          Are we any better as a people than the wicked tenants in Jesus’ parable? Is  21^st Century Pax Americana any less violent than 1^st Century Pax Romana?  Why does the Divine call to justice and equity threaten and disturb us so?

          "The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone."  The story of wicked tenants says a great deal to us about our all too fallible, broken human nature--about hardness of heart and ingratitude to the One who made us.  We prefer to not see our age, our land, ourselves in this story. But we're there. 

          So much of the Bible and the teachings of Jesus long to turn our hearts of stone into real, live, flesh and blood.  God, the Source of Eternal Compassion, longs for us to become compassionate—to see and feel the pain of others. 

We call those who care about others “bleeding hearts”. But what this sad and sorry world needs is fewer hearts of stone and more hearts of flesh that dare to bleed in empathy for others

          Remember back in the ice age when, Ross Perot was running for President, he reminisced about his mother in an interview.

          We lived about six blocks from the railroad tracks, and the tramps would jump off the trains and come up to our house, looking for food. They were really dirty and tough-looking, but my mother would feed them.  People showed up every day, and she n ever turned anybody away. One day a man came by and said, 'Lady, do a lot of people come through here looking for food' And she said, 'Yes.'  And he said, 'Don't you know why?'  And she said, 'No.'  And he said, 'You're a mark.'  He showed her where the tramps had made a mark on the curb in front of our house.  That was a sign to other tramps that they would be fed there.  After the man left, I said, 'Mother, do you want me to wipe that off?'  And she said, 'No, leave it there.  Those people are just like you and me.  The difference is, they're down on their luck.'"

          We say well, I don’t want to be a mark. I don’t want my money wasted on someone unworthy.  Shame on us for that attitude! Our  God calls us to be compassionate-- not to judge-- much less play inquisitor. Our God calls us to give to those we encounter in need with open-hands. Period.

          No questions, no hesitations.  Be a mark—be a human being—be a sucker if that’s what it takes. We’re not called to be suspicious cops or tightfisted caseworkers—we’re called to be givers.

          If somebody suckers us out of an honestly given act of charity-- shame on them-- not on us!   And even if we get taken again and again, so what? Think about it—do you think heaven is full of soft-hearted, open-handed, naïve suckers, or hard-hearted, tight-fisted, cynical untrusting Scrooges? 

          Of course we are called to be wise stewards of the resources we’ve been given. Of course God doesn’t want us to allow our selves to be exploited. But when we assume as a matter of course that any of God’s children are not worthy, when are always suspicious of others’ motives or acts, what does that say about our own hearts, minds, and  motives?

          Are we afraid that someone is going to cheat or lie because we know at the back of our minds that we just might, if we were in their place?  Are we reluctant to put ourselves in the shoes of those down on their luck, of the outcasts, of those in need, because we know we’re not all that far from being in their shoes?

Or is it because we sense-- quite rightly-- that compassion is dangerous?  Compassion, means putting ourselves in the shoes of the other—and that takes caring, that takes trusting. It means looking at the world through God's viewpoint. And that will inevitably bring about a total conversion of our hearts and lives.  Compassion is not weak.  Ministering to others takes strength.

Taking God's Word seriously will change our old, comfortable, settled ways of living forever.  It will affect our relationships, our family life, our working life. True Christian compassion will affect our community involvement, our friendships, our economic priorities, our politics.

We'll never look at things in quite the same way again.  Some occupations will become distasteful-- even impossible for us. Some old attitudes and language will become repugnant to us. We’ll wonder why in the world we ever indulged in some of those nasty old bad habits and inappropriate behaviors.

Never again will bigness, or might, or status or force automatically imply what is right to us. We'll begin to look at the world through different eyes-- through the eyes of God.  "Those who have eyes, let them see," Jesus  said.

          "The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone."          The Gospel is not a pipe dream.  Caring about others is not wasted effort. Caring for the world is not foolish. Our God longs for us to care--to become compassionate. Why? Because those are the only attitudes that can save us from ourselves! Compassion ultimately, is what keeps us human. Even the pagans knew that! The ancient Roman author Seneca said:

"No man can live happily who regards himself alone,

who turns everything to his own advantage. 

You must live for others, if you wish to live for yourself."

          The rabbis taught that Compassion was the highest and holiest of all human attributes—because it was the most God-like. 1 John 3 tells us that “God is love”  And that’s true. But it’s just as true that God is compassion. Compassion is love in action.  When you and I are moved by compassion—we are closest to God—at our most godly. Deep down, the heart of God is ultimate, pure compassion.

Elsewhere in the Gospels, Jesus asked, what good it would do us to gain the whole world, if we lost our souls in the bargain?  What good will it do us when we finally are able to feel utterly secure in all our success and prosperity, if we have in the meantime, hardened our hearts into stone-- if we can no longer bear to look at ourselves in the mirror each morning?

          What good if we’ve lied to ourselves, and justified ourselves, and defended acts we knew were wrong, if we’ve hardened not only our hearts but our minds and our spirits as well? What good is anything  you and I can buy or acquire-- even life itself-- if the price that we must pay is our integrity—our self-respect, our humanity itself?

          Friends, the Good News is that you and I don’t have to live out our lives as wicked tenants in God's vineyard!  We don’t have to reject the Word of our God.  We can, right now, right here, allow ourselves to hear that Word, and respond in faithfulness.  We can see our hearts of stone literally be transformed into hearts of flesh and blood—loving, compassionate hearts.

This morning—or any time we are at the Table, you and I are united with our sisters and brothers world-wide, feasting at our Savior's Table, rededicating ourselves to His service. So I invite you. Come to Christ's Table this morning with open and contrite and willing hearts. And everything else will be given to us.

Here, we can build upon an unshakeable cornerstone for our faith, an unbreakable, unscratchable, un-crackable foundation for our living and being in the world.  Here, we can find new hearts to love with, new minds to trust with, new eyes to see with, new hands to help with, new arms to embrace, new lives to serve with and offer to our Lord.

          If we do that, you and I will rise from the Altar refreshed and renewed in our desire to serve God and our neighbor with love and compassion. If we do that, God will grow this church!  As the prophet Micah put it so many thousands of years ago, "God has shown you what is good O mortals --to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your Maker.                Amen.