Angel 2nd Class Clarence Odbody (Henry Travers) saving George Bailey (Jimmy Stewart) from bankruptcy and suicide in “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Did you just hear a bell ring? (Frank Capra)

"Buying the Farm" given 9/25

For years Jeremiah has been ranting and raving, delivering dire warnings, desperate weeping, and discouraging words to the people of Jerusalem.  Now

all his worse predictions have come to pass. The Babylonian army is besieging

the city. But now the reluctant prophet is suddenly ready to offer hope.  Jeremiah is in jail, probably because the last thing King Zedekiah wants is to have this crazy

doomsday prophet running around telling the defenders of the city, “I told you so,” and demoralizing everyone.   But Jeremiah, being the contrary cuss that he is, is through with all that.  Now he is ready to buy the farm. 

Jeremiah now seems to be getting his investment advice from God (wouldn’t that be great!)  True to a vision from God, his cousin Hanamel comes to Jeremiah (still in jail) and offers to sell a legacy field in Anathoth to Jeremiah. 

“Doncha want to keep the old family farm in the family, cuz?”

His cousin probably figured it was worth a shot since everybody knows how dumb preachers are about money.

Granted, the price of the field is pretty low at this time, since the Babylonians are about to make the whole land theirs, but exactly how does Jeremiah think he is ever going to get his money back? "His" land will very soon not be his. Surprisingly enough, Jeremiah agrees, going through all the appropriate legal deeds and buying the family farm for 17 shekels of silver.  Then he continues the strict legality of the deal by charging his cousin’s realtor Baruch:

"Thus says the God of Hosts, the God of Israel: Take these deeds, both the sealed deed of purchase and the open copy, and put them in an earthenware jar, in order that they may last for a long time" (Jer 32:13-14).

If you know anything about the history of manuscripts of the Bible, this scene is amazingly reminiscent of that great discovery in the last century of the Dead Sea Scrolls, manuscripts preserved in earthenware jars for over 2000 years. Jeremiah knew that this legal action of sealing his deed in jars would indeed last a long time!

Why would Jeremiah do such a crazy thing? Preachers aren’t THAT dumb!   Who buys real estate that is about to become worthless?  On one level what Jeremiah was doing was giving his cousin enough money to escape and go to Egypt and start over.  The passage notes he carefully weighed the pure silver he was paying which would hold value in any foreign land. But even if that was part of his intention, Jeremiah was doing something much more than that. In both a real and a symbolic sense, Jeremiah was “buying the farm”.

You may have heard the phrase “buy the farm” before, in the context that someone has died.  The phrase originated during WWI. If a soldier was killed the death benefit was sufficient for the surviving family members to purchase a farm. Hence, it was said that a soldier who was killed, "bought the farm."   So from one person’s sacrifice (Jeremiah's) comes another person’s (Hanamel's) hope. 

   Clearly Jeremiah did not expect to benefit himself from the farm he bought.  Jeremiah had a larger theological purpose in mind.  His seemingly crazy act was meant to be a hopeful message, though I’m not sure everyone took it that way at first.  Jeremiah’s contemporaries probably wept at the thought for it meant their doom was sealed.  Few would escape the impending disaster of the Babylonian armies.  The options were death or exile.  Their only hope was that God would miraculously stop the disaster. 

While it is too late for that, Jeremiah is trying to reassure people that God is with them even in disaster. And God will bring a hopeful future, although it well not be in our human timing.  There are times when we reap the wonderful promises of God, and times when we (like good Cubs fans) must endure and keep hope alive, even if it is holding firm for another generation. 

Why does Jeremiah decide at this unpropitious time to buy land that will soon be taken from him by the conquering Babylonians? It is a prophetic act—pure and simple.

"For thus says the God of Israel: Houses and fields and vineyards shall again be bought in this land"

King Zedekiah's accusation of treason against the prophet is shown to be the miscarriage of justice that it is; Jeremiah is not a traitor against Judah. Quite the contrary, because he knows the wonder of God, Jeremiah knows that Judah's history is not over forever. (Though many in 587 B.C.E. were convinced that it was.)

With his purchase of the old family farm, the home of his youth, Jeremiah has announced more clearly than any other act could have announced that their God is not through with Judah nor with God’s people just yet. There is a future for God's people, though at the moment that future seems dark indeed.

Here is something that the prophet can teach those of us in the 21st century. Pollsters tell us that more and more Christians are coming believe that you and I are living in end times. I first encountered that belief while I was in college. It was a man I kind of liked—a guy named Nick, who was a couple of years older than me—he was a Lutheran seminary student in point of fact!

“O Yeah” He told me. “We got wars and rumors of war, everything in the Book of Revelation except for the moon to turning to blood. As soon as that happens, that’ll be the end.” Frankly, I was flabbergasted that any educated Christian could think such a thing. But there it was.

A couple of months ago I read on a mutual friend’s Facebook page that Nick had passed away. I don’t know if he died disappointed that the world hadn’t ended in his lifetime, or relieved.

For many years I was to meet Christians and others who thought that the world would end in year 2000. I guess they believed God didn’t like round numbers. Then of course came the great Y2K world-wide computer failure and collapse of civilization on New Year’s Eve 1999—O right. That didn’t happen either—did it?

And we all recall the great Mayan calendar scare of 2012. I was always a bit leary of that one—if the Mayans were so good at predicting the future—how come they didn’t see the conquistadors coming? And of course there’s all those big-haired televangelist prophets of doom- practically salivating at the thought of the rapture. It occurs to me that genuine, reluctant OT prophets like Jeremiah tended to end up getting thrown in jail while in our era, eager self-appointed prophets tend to end up driving Jaguars.

What with the basically un-needed immediacy, sloppy journalism, and outright bias of so much of the media, I suppose it’s understandable that so many look so for the Apocalypse. The world’s in a mess. We can’t do anything about it. I guess God’s mad at us.

Why do the hard, heart-breaking work of trying to redeem the world through our witness and prayers and effort? If we’re really in end times we can

just sit back and ignore the suffering of God’s people, enjoying our piece of the pie, wearing our fashionable clothes, letting the world and suffering humanity go to hell in a bucket.

And since it’s God’s will we can just enjoy the show. And when the end does come, we’ll be sitting up in the bosom of Abraham, watching all those sinners and unbelievers and welfare cheats and heretics and undocumented immigrants and foreigners and beggars at our gates fry in hell.

Except… that’s not the way Jesus describes it in the parable of Lazarus and the rich man. In the parable it’s the other way around. In the parable the rich guy’s real sin is not his wealth—it’s his indifference to Lazarus’ plight.

Lazarus is out there outside our gates—yours and mine. He’s an abused or neglected child. He’s a juvenile in trouble. He’s an undocumented worker. He’s struggling with Alzheimer’s. He’s an ex-offender trying to go straight.

He dies of starvation or illness or violence or our indifference everyday—every minute—over in what we used to call the third world—and in our world—even our towns. I don’t know about you, but I read the parable and I think Jesus is calling us to notice Lazarus is out there and try to figure out how to help him.

I read the parable and I get discouraged because I know there are so many Lazarus’ out there. I read the parable and read the news and I wish I could believe we’re in end times—so I could at least see an end to all the suffering, dying Lazarus’s. And I guess all you and I can do is keep trying to change government policies, keep volunteering at pantries and hunger and homeless, and other ministries, keep lobbying, keep donating, keep praying and not lose hope—buy that farm. But sometimes it feels so discouraging!

When we see a world hell-bent on destruction, when we see the barbarians at the gate, when we think that the end has finally come to our hopes and dreams for justice and righteousness for all of God's people, then we can watch the land deal of Jeremiah, watch him sign the deed, weigh out the money, give the deed and its copy to Baruch, witness Baruch put them in a jar where they might be preserved for centuries, and we can know that the end has not yet come, because God has more for us yet to do.

 I think of one of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s favorite qoutes

“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” 

Dr. King knew he would not see his dream of equality realized in his lifetime.  He knew that the struggle of African-Americans had been going on for centuries since landing on these shores in slave ships.  There had been progress along the way, with the Civil War ending slavery, but it would take 99 years before the Civil Rights Act would be signed into law.  It has taken several decades of bitter struggle to enact this law with measurable progress, but there is always more work to do.

Forty years after Martin Luther King was assassinated, we elected an African-American President of the United States.  That was inconceivable in 1964, when Dr. King gave his “I have a dream” speech, or 1974 or 84, or 94, or even in 2004. Most of the people who struggled and sacrificed for the greater but imperfect equality we have today never lived to see the dream.

The real point of Jeremiah buying the farm is that we can have faith in God’s providence, even when disaster is upon us, for that will not be the final word in God’s story. Even when we feel overwhelmed with the call before us. God isn’t through with us yet! It is a reminder that all the treasurers of faith that we have are an inheritance of sacrifice from saints of previous generations.

 Who we are today has been passed from Jeremiah, to Jesus of Nazereth, to Martin Luther, to Martin Luther King, Jr, to you and me today.  We are the current generation entrusted with the great treasure once buried in a field outside Jerusalem.  We are the living community of the saints, seeking to love God and have compassion for our neighbors.   It is our responsibility to keep hope as a living reality, not merely a past legacy. 

 There are days when I get bogged down with my own problems and grief, and I wonder if my struggle is worth it.  On such days I find courage in remembering that my struggle is part of the wider human struggle, and the ongoing work of Christ to redeem humanity. I find courage in knowing that God isn’t done with humanity—or with me. I find courage in believing with Dr. King. , “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” 

The challenge I put before myself and you today is this: what is the concrete work you need to do this day to extend Christ’s work and pass it forward.  How will your life help “buy the farm?” 

LIFT EVERY VOICE AND SING by Ray Charles

"Heavnonomics" given Sept. 18

Have you ever heard the story of the Sunday School teacher in Central Texas a generation or so ago? Her name was "Miss Lillian". Apparently in her local church, Miss Lillian taught a class made up exclusively of boys just on the verge of adolescence. That's a tough age to teach, especially when the class is all boys.

Miss Lillian must have been the sort of formidable Christian woman whose spirit and faith was up to just about any task. She would keep order, she would teach her topic for the week, and every Sunday she would close her class with the admonition, "Now boys, watch out for that demon rum." (Obviously she was a Methodist.)

One day, as it happened, the Sunday School lesson was the story of Jesus turning water into wine at the wedding feast at Cana of Galilee. Of course, one of the more smart-alecky boys gathered up his courage and actually asked the formidable Miss Lillian to justify her weekly warnings about demon rum in the light of the story of Jesus actually creating wine. Miss Lillian was nonplussed.

"I don't know how to explain it." She sniffed. "But I do knowI'd have a lot more respect for Him if He hadn't of done it."

This morning's Gospel Lesson is a lot like that. We read this Parable of the Unfaithful Steward and we just don't know quite what to make of it. We struggle to interpret it, to justify it, to explain it. But come right down to it, we'd have a lot more respect for Jesus if He hadn't of told it.

Consider. A crafty, scheming business manager works for someone described only as "a rich man". The steward has been involved in all sorts of unethical dealings with his employer's capital. Maybe he's been skimming profits. Maybe he's been investing on the side with the boss's money. Jesus doesn't say. What we do know, and what is worst of all, in the eyes of Jewish Law-- is that he has been lending out his employer's money at usurious interest rates.

One day, the rich employer gets an anonymous report of the steward's doings. (Probably from one of the dishonest manager's economic victims.) The boss confronts this unethical employee and fires him on the spot. Oddly enough, he then turns around and demands an audit, by the end of that business day.

Panicked into action, the crafty steward devises a method to mollify his employer and at the same time, ease into a possible future position. Taking the books out on his rounds, the manager meets with all the debtors and reduces their debt, in return for immediate pay-out. He does this presumably, by writing off his profits from loan sharking. Thus, he ensures good will, and even possible future employment with one of his boss's business associates. And best of all, by the end of the day he is able to present his out-going employer with a clean set of books.

Bible scholars believe that Jesus may actually have based this parable on a true-life scandal that his listeners were familiar with. Quite possibly, there was a shifty steward. Quite possibly Jesus' listeners knew his name, and knew the employer's name as well. If so, those in the audience were probably already one step ahead of Jesus in their minds.

They knew what conclusion this tale was winding toward-- a condemnation of the steward, and of the naive, absentee employer as well. You can almost sense them mentally licking their chops as Jesus drew to a close. "Later the estate owner actually commended the steward for his shrewdness... " And no doubt everyone held their breath, waiting for Jesus to kick in the punch line, the condemnation, the judgement. "He commended him for acting so shrewdly..... NOT!"

But Jesus didn't say NOT. He simply ended the parable. He left it at the commendation of the shifty steward. Jesus left us hanging, feeling a bit uneasy with such a lack of resolution. Later on, when Luke was recording the words and deeds of Jesus in his Gospel, he too, may have felt a tad uneasy with that ending. So, scholars believe, Luke tacked on some other, really unrelated teachings of Jesus' to the end of this story. Luke would have wanted to give the parable a straightforward, more satisfying ending. That of course, would allow all the Miss Lillians to have a bit more respect for Jesus and His teachings in thefuture.

If you read the Gospels, you can see that Jesus was never a great one for tacking on morals and explanations and handy interpretations to the end of His stories. Jesus much preferred to tell the parable, and abruptly end it. Jesus liked to leave his listeners hanging-- forcing them to come up with an ending to the story on their own-- leaving us to figure out what He was driving at. That's what Our Lord does in the Parable of the Prodigal Son, or the Great Feast, or the Lost Coin. Bible scholars call these "Parables of Reversal".

In all of these stories, Jesus reverses our expectations of how things are supposed to come out. He throws a curve at us. He goes against common sense or the way things are done. Our Lord's purpose is to make us think. Jesus wants us to stop and consider why, and what it is that we are expecting.

Why would a shepherd go off and leave ninety-nine sheep at risk in order to rescue one? Why would a Samaritan stop to help one of his ancient, despised enemies, lying wounded by the side of the road? You and I have to wrestle with these texts. We need to go over them in our minds and hearts in order to wring from them the meaning that lies within.

Why would a father forgive and embrace and reinstitute a son who has previously scorned him and all that he stood for? What will the resentful brother do? Go join the party? Or take off on his own? Why would the owner of the estate commend the dishonest steward, who gets out of trouble by compounding his lies and scheming?

A wretched, underhanded person abuses the trust placed in him, and embarrasses the one who trusted him. And yet in the end, this no-account ends up forgiven and reinstated. It's the same plot. So why do we love the Parable of the Prodigal Son, and have so much trouble with the Parable of the Dishonest Steward? To our Twenty first Century eyes, the two stories seem very different-- and the differences lie in the values that we assume they each embody.

We read the story of the dishonest steward, and we assume it is about something very sensitive and close to our hearts-- money, business life and dealings, and ethics. We read the story of the Prodigal Son, and we assume that it is about something else all together--family values.

Who wants to work for a boss who rewards embezzlers for their cleverness? None of us. Yet which of us would want to have a father who refuses to forgive a wayward son? None of us.

The truth is, these parables are about something more important than money. They are about something more important than business ethics, something even more important than family values. These parables are about relationships--establishing and maintaining right relationships between people.

In the Palestine of Jesus' time, the value of honor and respect in the community was as valuable and measurable as any coinage. The steward's dishonesty had endangered his employer's standing in the community. He had impugned his boss's reputation and ruined his good name. The estate owner had lost status-- both from the devious doings of his employee, and from the fact that he hadn't known what was going on until he was informed by outsiders.

So the rich estate-owner's ultimate concern was not really the profits the steward might or might not have been skimming. The employer certainly doesn't care about any profits lost from the cessation of the steward's loan-sharking operation-- they were illegitimate anyway. His vision went far beyond himself and his pocketbook.

Rather, he was far more interested in re-establishing his integrity in the eyes of the community. And in his own eyes. Thus, he first fires the steward for his dishonesty. Then, he turns around and trusts the steward with his books once more for the final audit. The owner knows very well that the crooked steward will do absolutely anything he has to in order to re-cook the books by end of business that day.

Why do such a fiscally foolish thing? The rich man isn't looking to balance his books. He's looking to repair the damage that the steward did-- in his name-- in the lives of other people. He's looking to recover his lost respect and refurbish his tattered reputation in the community. What was broken must be mended.

Thus, despite the steward's admittedly selfish motive in his own behind and greasing his way to a new job, it is the estate-owner who really gains in restored reputation and renewed good-will. The employer once more enjoys the respect of the community--his status, his righteousness has been restored.

The debtors no longer owe an unfair debt to the rich man. The out- of-control steward has been reigned in. Justice has been served. In the light of all this, the employer's praise of the steward for his shrewdness makes sense. Through quick thinking, the dishonest manager has managed to re-establish both himself and his former employer in the good graces of the community. And that wasso important that the employer was willing to swallow the financial losses involved in reinstating a right relationship between himself and his community.

Like the host in the parable of the Great Supper, a proper relationship with those poorer than himself is re-established at his own expense. Like the father in the parable of the Prodigal Son, broken relationships are mended and reconciliation is achieved-- at a price. And like both of them, the employer of the Dishonest Steward is glad to pay it. Why? Because it represents an investment in Christ's coming Reign.

The parable that Jesus is confronting us with this morning is not primarily a lesson about business ethics, or family values, or about this economic understanding versus that economic theory. The parable is ultimately about how you and I live in this world with one another, and with all of the other children of God. The parable is a clue, a glimpse, a hint of the nature of Christ's coming Realm of Shalom, of Justice and Peace and Plenty and Equity for all peoples.

It's not economics, it's Heaven-omics. And in it, wealth does not trickle down. In Heaven-omics, wealth is not spread by investment undertaken for the sake of gain. Prosperity is not redistributed by government fiat or by tax cuts, or investment packages or by lowering the prime rate.

In Heaven's economics, all that you and I might acquire through our dealings in this world, is not to seen as reward or security. Rather, wealth is to be seen solely in terms of possibility. And the possibility is to touch the lives of others and thus place ourselves in right relationship with our sisters and brothers in need-- and with our Maker.

When you and I subscribe to Jesus' understanding of the world --rather than that of Adam Smith, or John Maynard Keynes, or even Karl Marx-- we recognize that firstly, all that we have and all that we are comes to us from our Maker. And secondly, we recognize that we indeed, can't take it with us. So, we ask ourselves, how can we use what God has given us to pave the way for Christ's coming Realm. How can we use the gifts God has given us in ways that will empower and allow all people to live together in what Paul describes as a quiet peaceable life in all godliness and dignity?

Just as He confronted His original first Century listeners with this parable, Jesus confronts you and me today. How will we live? What is ultimately important to us? What is our relationship to the material things of this world? And to the poor? And to one another? And to our Creator? What do we live for? Each of us must finish the parable, answer the question, resolve the puzzle in our own heart.

Let us pray.

Make us faithful in small things, Lord Christ, that we may learn to be faithful in great things. May we commit ourselves to the economics of Heaven and not of earth. Amen

"Which of You?" given 9/11/16

William Willimon is now a retired Bishop in the South East Jurisdiction. But before that, he was Dean of the Chapel at Duke University for quite a number of years. He tells the story of the time he took a group of students on a retreat on "Exploring the Christian Faith." The retreat was designed for young people who may know something about Jesus and the church, but are not quite ready to commit.

When asked what would happen on the retreat? The future Bishop explained that he intended to use any means at his disposal - films, arguments, worship, music,

Bible study - to arm wrestle them into following Jesus. But he reassured them,

“..don't get anxious. I am a United Methodist and the chances of my succeeding are fairly slim. However, that depends on how insecure you are in your disbelief."

Apparently the retreat was a moving experience for the students. On the first night, he showed the students a video of an actor reciting the Gospel of Luke. At the end of two hours, after the video had ended, a dozen students sat there in stunned silence. Then one said,

"it is a great story, a really great story." Another said,

"I just can't figure out why all the Christians I know are so boring."

It was that same young man who, at the end of the retreat, came forward for baptism. After another month of instruction, on the weekend of graduation, Willimon baptized him. The rest of the group were invited to witness his baptism. The day arrived and one of the members of the group phoned and said,

"Dr. Willimon, just to put your mind at ease, I want you to know that I have already gotten a keg of beer for the post-baptismal party."

"A keg of beer?" he asked. "It never occurred to me to get beer for a baptism."

"And you call us irresponsible?" asked the student. "See? You didn't even think about the beer." Willimon comments that was probably the first baptismal keg party in the history of Methodism.

Today's Scripture begins by saying that Jesus' critics sneered,

"This man, this Jesus, receives sinners and eats with them, that is, he parties with them."

It reminds me of a moment, elsewhere in the Gospels, where his critics come to Jesus and say, "The disciples of John the Baptist fast often and say long prayers. But your disciples are always eating, drinking, and partying."

In other words, we can tell the disciples of John the Baptist are religious, because they look so miserable! But as for your disciples, why do they seem so joyful? Why are they always partying?

In response to all of this, Jesus told two little stories about lost sheep and a lost coin. We all particularly love that sheep story—but ask yourself---how realistic is it really? Would any us go so radically out of out of our way for one who is lost?

"And which teacher among you, if you have a student who is having difficulty in class, will not cancel all of your appointments and projects for the coming semester and go search out the student, and spend every evening, late into the night, working with that student, until, on the day of the final exam, the student makes an A? And when that student makes an A, will you not run to all of your colleagues and say, "Come party with me! The one who was a dum-dum in physics has now made the best grade in the class!"

Now which one of us would do that? We all know the answer. What! I’ve got students who want to learn! I’d be shortchanging them!

Which of you women, when you have lost a quarter, will move all of your furniture out of the house, rip up the carpet, move all the heavy appliances out in the yard, and, when you have found your lost coin, will run out and shout to the neighbors, “You’re all invited to a party such as New Haven has never seen! I found my quarter!”

Now which one of us would do that? We all know the answer. What! Mess up my nice clean house, schlep all that heavy furniture, tear up my expensive carpets just to find a quarter? I may be on a fixed income, but I think I can afford to lose a lousy little quarter!

What! Leave a bunch of poor stupid sheep alone and unattended in the field, vulnerable to wolves and rustlers, while you go traipsing off to find one little lost lamb?

That's bad shepherding. That's bad business. Better to write off that lost little scamp. Too bad, but that's life. Gotta watch out for the bottom line. Well, you can always put it down as a business loss on your Schedule C. Guess you can't save 'em all.

Of course, even when it’s not practical, even when it’s bad business, human beings are capable of putting aside the bottom line, and reaching out to save a lost sheep--sometimes. A child falls down a well, and a town mobilizes, businesses shut down, volunteers leave their jobs to try and rescue the little one. Right now, in Portugal, a bunch of miners is trapped by a cave-in. And the rescuers are now digging another tunnel that will take weeks to complete, just to save their colleagues.

We’ll go out and put our own lives on the line to physically rescue a lost sheep—especially if we see them as innocent, or attractive, or vulnerable and blameless—especially if we can form an emotional connection or identification with them.

But God doesn't work that way. Our Maker doesn't think that way. God is connected to all of us! Jesus, the Good Shepherd identifies with and cares for every single one of God’s flock. Whether we’re innocent, or attractive, or vulnerable and blameless or not has nothing to do with God’s care for us all. Each lamb is as precious as a lost silver coin, worth a tenth of her assets, is to a poor peasant woman.

If our child’s dog runs away, we’ll chase her all over town—put up signs, post a reward, ask everyone we know to keep an eye out for her. Would we do the same for one of Christ’s lost sheep? How willing are we to rescue the little lamb who is morally, or spiritually, or emotionally lost?

How willing are we to forgive the wayward teenager yet another time, and help them find counseling instead of our wrath—or our indifference? How willing are we to take that addicted relative into detox—even if it isn’t the first time we’ve done it? How willing are we to reach out to that neighbor we’ve been feuding with—even if we know it probably won’t be the last time we have to do so?

How willing are we to be the first one to seek reconciliation with that estranged family member? How willing are we to tolerate that obnoxious jerk who thinks she knows it all? (Especially when we know perfectly well that the person who knows it all is ourselves!) How willing are we to forgive the mistakes of others, to make and accept amends, to give someone a second, or third, or even fourth or fifth chance?

The world is full of lost sheep-- lost people. They're everywhere. They look at you with hollow eyes on the street. They slink into alleyways so you won't notice them. They hunch over as if they are carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. They dwell in nursing homes and just down the street. They hang around in the Corner Tap, and at the water cooler at your office. They’re in your classroom, or your workplace, The church of Jesus Christ will never go out of business for lack of prospects.

And we are the ninety-nine who have been found. We come together here in this safe sheep fold called the United Methodist Church every Sunday. You and I have followed Jesus in here. We listen to the music, hear the word preached, partake of cup and bread, maybe learn something. We donate to help the needy, we visit with friends, we fellowship with one another.

All this is intended to renew us, to refresh us, to revitalize us. All this is intended to inspire us and empower us to split up and follow Jesus out there into that broken, bleeding world to seek the lost, the broken, the bleating, the alone.

Mike Yaconelli tells a modern parable.

A cow is nibbling on a tuft of grass in the middle of a field, moving from one tuft to the next. Before you know it, she ends up at some grass next to the fence. Noticing a nice clump of green on the other side of the fence, the cow stumbles through an old tear in the fences and finds herself outside on the road. “Cows don’t intend to get lost,” the farmer explained, “they just nibble their way to lostness.”

The farmer didn’t know it, but he was talking about more than cows. None of us intends to have our souls wander onto the dull and listless highway of the American way. First comes the tuft of education, then the tuft of marriage, then children, a new home, and one day we wake up to discover that we have nibbled our way to lostness.

Jesus seems to care inordinately about those of us who have nibbled our way to lostness—the ones who aren't here. This weird interest of Jesus in the absent lamb, might seem puzzling to us. .After all, why should Jesus bother caring about them when He's got us? But the message of Scripture is clear. The author of I Timothy said it. "The saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance. Christ Jesus came into the world to rescue sinners."

He came for sinners--the lost-- lost sheep, lost coins, lost brothers, lost hookers, lost fishermen, lost tax-collectors, lost jerks and weaklings and addicts and bar-flies. He came for the unemployed and the physically and mentally challenged, the migrant workers and the immigrants—no matter if they’re documented or not. Jesus came for the former friend who we’re no longer speaking to, and for our irritating neighbors and all those hypocritical fellow church members.

All those who we in the ninety-nine have given up on, or dismissed as unworthy, or forgotten about, or simply written off are the very ones that Jesus has headed out to look for. He’s going to be looking back over his shoulder to see if we're following him.

"Which of you....?" He seems to be asking. "Which of you...?"

Remember what happens every time somebody who was lost gets found? Rejoicing in Heaven! Celebration for all of us ninety-nine because we are so bound up with one another-- church leader to stranger-- hungry to full-- joyous to mean-spirited-- faithless to faithful, child of God to child of God,

What happens when the lost sheep gets found is contagious. And the ninety-nine sheep have an excuse to throw a party. Which is exactly what we come together to do each and every week., Remember what happens? It’s every body’s all time favorite hymn. “Amazing Grace!”

"Useful Indeed" given 9/4/16

What an incredible ruckus one runaway slave stirred up! The slave of course, was the young man Onesimus, who belonged to Philemon. We don't know where Philemon acquired Onesimus, or when. We don't know when the Apostle Paul met master and slave. We don't know Onesimus or Philemon's nationalities, or previous histories. What little we do know, we must infer from Paul's letter to Philemon-- a business letter that somehow found its way into the Bible.

The letter was written while Paul was in prison-- either in Rome around 60 CE, or a bit earlier in Ephesus around 55 CE.. The letter is addressed, not only to Philemon, but also to Apphia, Archippus and the other members of the house church that met in Philemon's home in Colossae. The vocabulary, the writing style, and above all the personality that shines through the words leaves no room for doubt that this letter was indeed written by Paul.

The Apostle was obviously a good friend to Philemon. Doubtless he had stayed in Philemon's house at least once while he was organizing the Colossaen congregation. During that visit, a young slave in Philemon's household must have met and been impressed with Paul. Impressed enough so that at a later date when Onesimus ran away from Philemon's household, he eventually found his way to Paul.

Why did Onesimus run away? We are not told. Did he intend from the start to meet with Paul? We are not told. But it is clear that Onesimus--whose name in Greek is a pun on the title "Useful one"-- somehow or other eventually ended up with Paul. There, the runaway slave named "Useful', who had proved so useless to his master began at last to live up to his name.

Onesimus became a Christian. He served and studied with Paul-- becoming, the Apostle tells us, like a beloved son. He apparently even followed the old man into prison out of a desire to be useful to his spiritual father. What extraordinary loyalty! "Useful indeed", as Paul notes in his letter.

Now however, Paul is faced with a dilemma. The slave named "Useful" has wormed his way into the Apostle's heart. But in doing so, Onesimus has placed Paul in a ticklish situation. As a fellow Christian, Onesimus is now a brother in Christ, no longer a boy but a man, no longer spiritually a slave, but free in his faith.

But in the eyes of the law, Onesimus is still a slave. And indeed as an escaped slave, Onesimus is liable to extreme punishment--torture or even death. On the other hand, for having harbored and sheltered Onesimus, Paul is legally at fault. Under Roman law, Paul has technically defrauded his friend Philemon!

But fortunately, there's an easy out. As an Apostle, as the one who converted Philemon and established the congregation Philemon is part of, Paul certainly has the spiritual authority to send Onesimus back to Philemon, order him to free his slave, drop all charges, and promptly return the boy to Paul. Even a cursory reading of the letter shows us that's exactly what Paul really wants.

Paul however, chooses not to do that. Perhaps he fears to do so because he fears that Philemon is weak in his new-found faith and might refuse. Or perhaps the Apostle feels too close to Philemon, as a friend, to throw his spiritual weight around. Or perhaps, Paul recognizes that it would be good for Philemon as a Christian, to liberate young useless "Useful" out of his own free will.

Whatever the reason, this last approach is the one Paul finally takes. The Apostle recognizes, I think, that virtue forced upon us is not really virtue at all. True goodness must come freely from our hearts, not from fear of hell or mindless obedience to authority. So Paul invites Philemon to be generous.

"Here I am, lingering in jail. I'm sending this beloved child back to you-- although it tears my heart out to do it. I would have liked nothing better than to keep this dear one close to me, to take care of me and look after me, in ways that I know, you-- my equally dear and beloved friend-- would want for me. But, I cannot keep this boy who has become like a son to me any longer without your permission. So I send him back to you-- a formerly useless slave now a useful brother. Let your actions toward him be dictated out of love for me, rather than out of your duty to me (which I remind you by the way, is considerable!)"

Paul is letting Philemon have it with both barrels! He reminds Philemon of his duty to Paul, without actually invoking that duty. He appeals to Philemon's pity for his current imprisonment, while at the same time appealing to his Christian conscience. You don't need a magnifying glass to read between these lines!

What still tends to bother us Twentieth Century readers is the fact that despite all that, Paul actually sent the boy back! Indeed, in the first half of the Nineteenth Century, that fact was used as ammunition by anti-abolitionists. We just don't get it. Young "Useful" the useless slave has become a new person in Christ Jesus and ought to be free! Just as surely, Paul, who had already braved prisons and martyrdom for his faith ought to be willing to stand up to the law one more time for the sake of his beloved convert!

This, after all, was the same Paul who wrote in Galatians 3:28 that there "is no longer such a thing as Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female. For you are now all one in Christ Jesus." How could the author of such stirring words send back a slave? This was the same author who wrote in I Corinthians 7:21-22

Were you a slave when you were called? Do not let that trouble you.

But if a chance for liberty should come, take it! For the one who is slave and received the call to be a Christian is the Lord's free man or woman. And equally the free person is now a slave in the service of Christ.

Oh, we can understand Paul's insistence that spiritual freedom is more important that physical freedom. We just can’t understand that Paul literally expected Jesus to come back at any minute and thus believed that the evil of slavery would pass from the world at any moment And we can appreciate the pressure Paul was putting on Philemon to free Onesimus. But even in the light of all that, still we wonder, why didn't Paul just keep the boy?

But let’s take one more look at the letter. Paul hasn't sent Onesimus home to resume his former life as a slave. Onesimus has been returned to Philemon for the service of the Gospel. Paul has sent Onesimus back to Philemon as a "beloved brother". A new relationship now exists between them-- not just a spiritual relationship, but a new relationship in social custom, in values, in affection as well.

Paul proclaims that Onesimus is now more than a slave-- he is a brother-- both as a Christian, and as a man. He calls upon the slave-holder to receive his former property without hesitation or punishment. In order to allow their new relationship to begin with a clean slate, the Apostle offers to pay Philemon “reparations” for any losses he might have incurred. Paul insists that “Useful”, the formerly useless slave receive a blank check promise of forgiveness.

That's asking a lot of Philemon. Could his former owner unconditionally forgive and receive Onesimus as a man, as a brother in Christ, just as if this former slave were Paul himself? "You can have him back--not as a slave but as a brother!" Imagine how the slave-holders of the American South would have reacted to being told that their slaves were now their sisters and brothers! No wonder they kept the Southern churches segregated -- even after the Civil War!

Now the scales of reparation were balanced between slave and master. Amends had been made-- forgiveness granted. By faith, by common humanity, by spirit, Onesimus and Philemon were now brothers. What kind of person enslaves their brother? To consciously do such a thing requires a fundamentally evil person. And none of us thinks of ourselves in that way.

That's why the bigot, the oppressor, the exploiter must always deny the humanity of the slave, the victim, the enemy. From ancient Rome, to the American South, to Nazi Germany, to South Africa, to Northern Ireland and so many other places today-- the hater, the bigot, the Archie Bunker, the big mouth down the street has to assert that the slave, the black, the Hispanic, the Jew, the Arab, the Catholic, the Protestant, the LGBT, the welfare recipient, is some kind of subhuman sinner, somehow less than we are.

So Paul returned Onesimus to Philemon "not a slave, but a brother". Onesimus' fate is in Philemon's hands. What will Philemon do to his new brother? In the best tradition of Jesus, and his parables and teachings, Paul has turned upside down Philemon's view of the world. Paul has forced upon Philemon a revelation, and a call to new life. How can Philemon call himself a Christian and continue to own his brother?

Read between the lines and it becomes clear. The real slave is Philemon Philemon is enslaved to his position as a master. He is enslaved to the social prejudices of his time. He is enslaved to his own class status and racism. Paul is sending a slave home to liberate his master.

We preachers and other moralists go on all the time about how everybody ought to love one another, and how we're all sisters and brothers under the skin. But what doesn't get said nearly often enough is how terribly destructive things like hatred and racism, sexism and homophobia are to the one doing the hating. They twist and distort us. They cheapen and degrade us. They enslave us to our own darker natures, and to the very worst in humanity.

To claim to be inherently better than someone else, to try and categorize others-- their group, their race, their class-- as less than our own will inevitably make us less of a person. Just as Philemon was a slave to his status as master, so does a hater become less and less a person and more and more of a slave-- to their own hatred.

What happened when Onesimus gave that letter to Philemon? Or did he? Did he run again? Until he faced his slavery and his fear and faced up to Philemon, he could not be free. Onesimus’s journey back to Philemon, our life's journey back to Christ-- back to wholeness and sanity and holiness and salvation is a journey to discover and dismantle each and every hard and painful link in the invisible and unique chain of sin and slavery that binds each and every one of us.

And at the heart of the journey lies the question-- whose slave are we? A slave to the prevailing worldly attitudes and practices of this sick society that surrounds us? A slave to our own selfish desires? A slave to our own confused emotions? A slave to addiction, appetite, attitude? A slave to our job, to status, to money? A slave to gender and work and ego and fear? A slave to things and events and relationships that we can only dimly recognize-- much less even name? A slave to our sins, or a slave to Christ?

By the way, there is a postscript to this morning's story. Someone named Onesimus is mentioned in Colossians 9 as one of the bearers of that letter to the community-- and is referred to in it as “one of yourselves”. Then, around the year 115 CE, Ignatius of Antioch speaks in glowing terms of a Bishop of Ephesus, named Onesimus.

If the “Useful” the useless slave was a teenager when he ran away from Philemon's household, it is quite possible that Useful the slave, Onesimus the messenger from Paul, and Bishop Onesimus were one and the same. There is of course, no way to be sure of course, but since I like a happy ending, I choose to believe they were.

As "Useful" the former slave was returned in order to liberate his former master, so can our acceptance of those who are different liberate us and make us more of a Christian, more of the person God intends for us to become. Who knows? When we open our lives to those whom Jesus called the least of his sisters and his brothers, they may well end up doing far more for us than anything we do for them. Sometimes they are the ones who are useful indeed. Sometimes they will end up doing far more for us than anything we do for them. Sometimes they are the ones who are useful indeed.

"A Place at the Table" given 8/28/16

 Once in a former community, a gentleman rather matter-of-factly informed me that he was living "close to the cross". I was unfamiliar with that expression, but it wasn’t hard to figure out what he meant. This man was speaking about his personal morality. He was bragging to the preacher about how holy he was--how chaste, how righteous, how abstentious, how hardworking, and honest, and pious. I resisted the temptation to ask him how he was doing in the humility department-- but I'm sure that he had that under control.

Like this gentleman, all of us would like to be able to feel good about our selves—especially about our status as Christians. We'd all like to feel we're living good lives, that we're basically doing OK in the religion department. We’d all like to feel assured that we’re faithful disciples, headed for those “pearly gates”.

But what so many of us so often fail to see though, is that this business of Christian discipleship is a lot more a lot more than simply following a collection of "Thou shalt nots"—or “Thou shalts”---a lot more than tacking a copy of the Ten Commandments on our living room wall.

You know, for all that the Gospels throw bricks at them, the truth is, the Pharisees were exactly the kind of people we seek out and encourage to be in our churches. They were big on stewardship. They espoused high moral principles. They were faithful in worship and study of the scriptures. They lived “close to the Torah”.

How troubling that Jesus was so critical of people so much like you and me. And it’s troubling as well when he tells us that despite how “close to the cross” we like to think we’re living—we, none of us are fit to judge one another—much less judge our selves.

Fundamentalists, Progressives, Evangelicals ---it doesn’t matter what our denomination is, or what our theology is, or what our Biblical understanding is. “Judge not, lest ye be judged” is the most ignored passage in the entire New Testament. Read the Gospels and it's clear that as far as our Lord was concerned, none of the things we like to think make us good Christians are going to be sufficient to get us an invitation to God's Heavenly Banquet.

"Invite the poor and the outcasts and you will be blessed. When you give a party, don’t just invite your business contacts. Don't just invite those folks to whom you "owe" a social obligation. Don't just invite those who you know will one day repay you with an invitation. Don't just invite family and neighbors and friends and co-workers. Instead, invite those people who very likely won't be able to invite you back in return.

Invite the poor and broken ones. Invite the orphans and widows, the ill and the infirm, the physically and mentally and emotionally challenged, the dirty and the homeless and the hungry. Invite the sinners and the losers and the grief-stricken.

"Say what Jesus! Invite them to my son's baptism? Invite them to my daughter's wedding! You gotta be kidding Jesus! It's gotta be what? Around sixty or seventy dollars a plate at most banquet halls-- and that's without an open bar! Are you serious, Jesus?"

The question that jumps to my mind is indeed, how seriously, how literally are we supposed to take Jesus' words here? Ethical behavior, faithful support of our church, belief in the scriptures and devotion in worship are all commendable and necessary in and of themselves. But none of them are at the heart of Christian living—at the very center of our faith.

Many other world religions that are good and fine do indeed have an ethical imperative at their heart. Judaism of course, springs to mind. And it could be argued that Ba'hai, and even Islam are also in that category. But our faith is not. The heart of our faith-- the gist of what we believe in is something altogether different and unique.

No matter what anybody ever tells you, our faith is not at bottom, about a set of rules. It is not ultimately about the promise of an after- life. It is not about a book-- no matter how divinely inspired we believe that it is or isn't. It is not about a sacrament-- or two--or seven. It is not about if we pray in Tongues, or in Latin, or in English or in Spanish. It is not about Creationism versus Evolution. Nor is it about a particular issue. Nor is it about pro-choice or pro-life. It is not about a particular political party—nor is our faith really about any of all those things that different people try to tell you that it is really all about.

At the center of our faith, at the heart of faithful discipleship there is but a man. Theologians call him “the man for others.” A man who lived and cared and who ministered and loved and communed and ultimately gave both his life and his death for others-- for all of God's children— for the little ones He called “..the least of my sisters and my brothers.”

And if you and I are here for any reason at all today— we are here because to some extent or another, that man’s life and teachings and Spirit have, in one way or another, touched and inspired our lives and spirits. And if you and I dare call ourselves His followers, it follows that all of our actions and relationships in every arena of our lives

should spring from the simple desire to follow Him in love, and live in relationship with Him, and stand for what he stood for.

Over fifty-one years ago, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s gave his famious“I Have A Dream” speech. His son, Martin Luther King III writes:

“[Martin Luther King] said that any religion that is not concerned about the poor and disadvantaged, 'the slums that damn them, the economic conditions that strangle them and the social conditions that cripple them[,] is a spiritually moribund religion awaiting burial.”

It was not just what this Jesus taught. It was what He did. And it was what He did that ultimately showed us who He was. It was Jesus Christ's total giving of self for the sake of all people, that proved-- as that centurion said standing beside the cross—that truly this man was the Son of God

And what did this Son of God do? He showed us how to love. He called us to a morality that leaves behind simply following the rules. He called us to a way of life built around acts of love and justice on behalf of others.

“Follow me” He said. And that man-- Jesus the Christ taught us that God's coming Reign is going to be like a party, a banquet, a wedding feast. And our Eternal Host has invited everyone to the Joyful Feast of the people of God. As Luke says in his Gospel,

Men and women, youth and elders will come from East and from West;

and from North and from South; to sit at Table in the New Jerusalem of Christ.

Everyone is offered a place at that Table. And it’s a sure bet that if you and I do

manage to get there, we’ll find ourselves sitting opposite some folks we never in our lives

expected to meet there. But we’ll all get along famously. All the old hurt and anger, grudges, misunderstandings, and resentments will be gone. Ultimate reconciliation will at long last have finally come among all humanity.

At God’s Banquet Table, all the barriers that keep us apart—language, culture, color, rich/poor, social class, white collar, blue collar, unemployed, sexual orientation, male/female, young/old, Republican/Democrat, socialist/capitalist, labor/management, friend/foe--the dividing walls of hostility and suspicion will at last come crashing down. That crash will make the fall of the Berlin Wall look like some kid’s tinker toys carelessly knocked over by the family cat.

Evangelicals will chat amicably with Liberationists. Nuns will swap recipes for homemade bread with Mennonites. Picasso and Grandma Moses will discuss technique.

Bach will jam on the harpsichord with Amy Grant singing vocals. Aaron Copeland will

“high five” Willie Nelson. Teddy Kennedy and William F. Buckley will discover there’s a lot they can agree upon. But I’m afraid that a lot of good folks will wander around confused, wondering where all the televangelists are.

Everyone is invited to a place at that table. Although some of us may find ourselves seated farther down the table than we expected- -maybe a whole lot lower. For in God's scheme of things it will be those who do not necessarily expect to ever be seated there, who will end up at the head of the Table.

And what a table it will be! What a vision! It will be the most remarkable party ever thrown! And all the “right people” will be there—the ones who have responded to the Divine invitation. And next to Jesus, sitting in the places of honor, will not be the dignitaries, or the celebrities, nor the distinguished leaders of commerce, position, and power.

Rather, it will be the poor, the hurting, the outcasts—people who have distinguished themselves by their need---and of course sitting right next to them will be those who have faithfully ministered to them in His name.

Our Lord Jesus calls us by word and example, to welcome the lost and the grieving into the banquet if our lives. “Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers in need” He said

The late Mike Royko told a story in one of his columns of a man named Richard Strum. Richard had been born and bred on the North Side of Chicago, but moved away in 1980. He wanted to move to a small town where people were friendly. He ended up in living in Oregon.

But then one Fourth of July, Richard’s father died. So he and his brother had to go back to Chicago to tie up some loose ends. They were driving past Addison Street and thought, hey we’re not too far from one of dad’s favorite places—and one of theirs as well. They parked their car, and just stared at Wrigley Field. Richard’s brother said, “If there’s a game today, we’re going.” So they went up to the ticket booth, but found that the Cubs were out of town.

They decided to walk around the outside of the park. As they did, they saw an iron gate. Richard tried it, and it was open. They walked up the steps to the right field side, and the field came into their view. It was an emotional moment for both of them.

They saw a groundskeeper down on the field. They were Cubs fans, so they were by nature cockeyed, never say die, eternal optimists. And so figuring they had nothing to lose, they went up to him, told him why they were there, and asked if they could walk on the field. To their surprise, the groundskeeper—whose name was Mike—opened the gate and said, ”Sorry about your dad. Make yourself at home.”

They couldn’t believe it. Suddenly they felt like kids again. About fifteen minutes later, Mike the groundskeeper came up to them. They thought he was going to tell them it was time to leave. Instead, he handed them some baseballs.” These aren’t new, but here’s a couple of game balls I thought you might like to have.”

And then Mike’s boss came by, found out why they were there, and asked them if they’d like to sit in the dugout for a while. Richard and his brother stayed for over an hour, walking the field, sitting in the dugout, playing catch in the outfield.

When they left, they tried to give Mike a couple of $ 20 bills, but he just said, “no way”. Mike and his boss wouldn’t even let the brothers buy them lunch. They said it was

nice to have friendly people come to the park, but they were sorry it was under these circumstances.

Mike the groundskeeper and his boss understood something deeply profound about honest, straightforward, hospitality. They didn’t have to let those grieving brothers into the park. They weren’t corporate sponsors, season ticket holders, or players, or professional baseball executives. They didn’t even live in Chicago anymore. They were strangers--just a couple of guys whose dad had died.

But those groundskeepers welcomed them. And they didn’t just let them come in. They were sensitive to who Mike and his brother were, and what they needed. They showed compassion and hospitality with no expectation of reward.

Jesus calls us by His example to strive to welcome and love and find ways to uplift the grieving, and the lost, and the lonely, and the sightless, and the bag ladies, and the mental patients, and the migrant workers, and the undocumented, and the addicted, and the poor, and the black and brown and tan and pink and all the shades in between-- with our acts of loving compassion.

He calls us to let them in and show them to the dugout and give them some game balls—all the broken ones--including you-- including me.

Don’t think you’ll get into heaven by your ultra-scrupulous adherence to the rules. Don’t brag about how close you live “to the cross”. Just try to live a bit closer to the ones Christ died for.

"Invite those who cannot repay you". Welcome them. Comfort them. Minister to them. Stand up for their rights. Help them find a job. Teach them to read. Teach them English. Lobby our government on behalf of them. Work to reform society in order to bring justice to them. Organize food pantries. Set up shelters. Work with and support ministries that strive to help them. Organize them. Stand in solidarity with them. Above all, love them.

Love them even when they seem pretty darned unlovable. Not because you expect a reward in heaven. Not because the preacher tells you that you ought to. Not because the Bible tells you so. Not because you feel guilty or pity or sorry. Not even because they might be an angel in disguise.

No, love them for the same reason that Jesus loved them. Love them because they need your love. Love them because God loves them. Love them because they are your brothers and your sisters.

Let us pray.

O God, as we prepare to come here before you this morning, help us to recall that believers like us and unlike us, of all colors and conditions, of all tongues and cultures, have been here before us, and know kneel beside us. Your love, O Holy One, has made us one.

Have mercy upon us, O God, and grant that we might catch the vision of your all-inclusive love for creation. Make known to us that love in the eternal, unchanging Jesus Christ-- the same yesterday, today and tomorrow, our Savior and Teacher, our Redeemer and Example. Amen.