The Holy Family 2017

"No Blame" given March 26

 The man had been sightless from birth, John tells us. All his life-- his identity, his role had been defined for him--invalid, handicapped, beggar on the corner. All his life he had been perceived as helpless--and worse, despised. Despised not necessarily because he could not participate in so much of human life, not only because he was dependent on the charity of others, but mainly because he was a sinner. Even Jesus' disciples saw it that way.

"Who sinned?" they asked. "..this man or his parents, since he was born blind?"

There's no possibility in their minds of this sightless beggar simply being an innocent victim. That was not a category in their thinking. Blindness, illness, almost any sort of infirmity was seen to occur as a direct consequence of sin--much as many people see AIDS in our era. “Instant Karma’s gonna get ya”. Or as Maude used to say on TV “God'll getcha for that!”

No doubt there were many people that day pressing Jesus for healing, for advice, for teachings, for wondrous works. But something drew Jesus' eyes to the man born blind--who could not even see Jesus.

"There is no blame here--only opportunity. The works of God will be displayed in him."

“No Blame.” That’s a profoundly radical statement. In Jesus’ world, everybody knew that bad things simply did not happen to good people. Bad things only happened to bad people. If something tragic or awful happened to somebody—even someone with a spotless reputation-- everybody knew that it was Divine punishment for some secret sin.

But Jesus knew that there is much random, tragic, unmerited suffering in the world. We cannot explain it away by blaming God. We cannot explain it away by blaming the victim. That attitude deadens our compassion. It

mutes the nagging of our social conscience-- and it lets us off the hook of trying to help when we blame the victim.

Blaming the victim is an easy out for us—until we end up a victim. But in the end it doesn’t wash. The reality is that bad things do indeed happen to good people—all over the world--all the time. And though we may not always be comfortable admitting it--we know that’s true.

“Why me?” We pray.And the broken-ness of the world—the consequences of the sins of others—nature--heredity—pure chance—answer back.

“Why not?”

Jesus also understood a spiritual reality that few people in his time, or in ours, totally grasp, or are willing to accept. Suffering-- unmerited suffering-- has spiritual power. We touch. only the tip of the iceberg when we say, 'Every cloud has a silver lining”. “What doesn’t kill ya’ makes ya’ stronger” is a bit closer. But it goes even deeper than that. Unmerited suffering (when we refuse to lose faith) is redemptive. And faithful, redemptive suffering has the power to touch and cleanse hearts, as well as change lives. It will ennoble the one suffering. And it can redeem others—onlookers, family, even eventually persecutors.

It can also transform and redeem society—as the freely undertaken suffering of Gandhi and his followers or the freedom riders, or Dr. King and their followers eventually freed and transformed India, and then our own country.

. That’s the spiritual principle behind the reality of the cross. The unmerited suffering of Jesus on the cross redeems the world. And that Divine Redemption is the ultimate gift of God’s grace.

“No blame.” Knowing that, Jesus kneels down in the dirt, and spits in it, and makes a muddy paste of it. Then He rubs it into the sightless man's eyes. He then sends the man off to the sacred pool to wash. And as the mud washes off the sightless man's eyes, so does his blindness. Then he comes back to Jesus healed--but not yet whole. He doesn’t know who has healed him. Or how, or why. He doesn’t even know where to look for his healer until someone tells him.

Gradually though, after the healing, after the Sanhedrin sticks its nose in, the man comes to recognize and understand who Jesus is. The man grows from innocent victim, to patient, to believer, to witness, to disciple. The former sightless man, eventually came to call Jesus Son of God. With his new eyes, he finally saw Jesus as He truly was.

The Pharisees and Sadducees and priestly clique however, remained sightless, unable or unwilling to see the Divine Reality before them. Their all-too-human scale of values was valueless in the eyes of God.

A thousand years earlier, God’s prophet Samuel had to have it explained to him. It wasn’t the good looking, adult, first-born son of Jesse. it was that half-grown, pimply, smart aleck teenager he was supposed to anoint as the next King of Israel.

“God does not see as human beings see”.

We see it again and again in the Gospels. When Jesus was born and angels sang, proclaiming the Messiah's birth. Who was it that they flew to? King Herod? The Roman Governor? The generals, the government officials, the chancellor of the University, the captains of industry, the local big shots?

You and I know the answer. They went to a bunch of shepherds watching somebody else’s sheep on a cold hillside. Shepherds--outcasts, hirelings, classed with sinners—regarded as only about half a step above the prostitutes and the unclean. And who was it that brought the Babe gifts? The Magi--foreigners-- gentiles, goyim, pagan outsiders.

When Jesus picked his disciples, did He go to local movers and shakers--business people, respectable citizens, middle class and professional folk? No. He called smelly fishermen and despised tax collectors and half-baked revolutionaries and ex-hookers to follow.

When Jesus describes the final scene in all of history in Matthew 25, humankind is judged and divided into two groups. The he-goats and the sheep. The males and the females. Hebrew culture always placed women lower than men. The woman was created second, standing at her man's left hand.

But in the parable of the Last Judgment we're told that God will place the sheep— usually thought of as female— on the right hand— the favored side, the saved side, the blessed side. And the goats— usually thought of male— will be placed to the left of the Throne-- on the damned side. As in so many of His parables, Jesus reverses the expected order—upsetting comfortable preconceptions and prejudices and challenging his listeners to stop, and listen, and think, and pray, and grow.

Why do you suppose that the good news of Christ goes forth into the world in such an upside down manner? Why is it that the Gospel message was first given to shepherds and foreigners, working people, women and outsiders, the lame, the handicapped, the poor, the sick, the widows and children, the mentally ill, the lepers, the Samaritans and gentiles and so on? Why would Jesus do such a thing?

“God does not see as human beings see”. Jesus knew. It’s the outsiders and marginalized who are best able to see the injustices, the equities, the pain of this life. When you put a car on a lift and look at it from underneath, you can see where repairs are needed a lot more clearly than you can from the driver’s seat. When your view of the world is from the underside you can see clearly, how far away this world is from God, and God’s Will for it.

The view of society looking up from beneath may be the most tragic, but it’s also the most realistic. The broken and despised are often those who can best discern how desperately this sad and tear-stained planet does indeed need Jesus Christ, and His love, and His Gospel of hope.

As a result, those who must dwell on the margins have the potential to become the real agents of transformation in the world. No one needs to wash the mud from their eyes. They see things as God sees them. No misleading first impressions, no illusions, no self-delusion, no false optimism, no convenient stereotypes or vested interest in the status quo, no ideological or theological blinders.

The church has used the season of Lent to preach the healing of blindness for as long as there has been a season of Lent--or a church for that matter. In Jesus Christ you and I are offered a new and different slant on things--a new look at reality. We can begin to look beyond appearances and images. We can get a glimpse beneath the surface--at the heart of things.

The Gospel Reading is full of descriptions of different sorts of blindness. There's the blindness of the disciples who speak and moralize in trite clichés and phrase their theology in terms of blame.

There's the sightlessness of family and friends who will refuse to be caught up in a new vision— almost declining to recognize their own son out of fear of censure by the political powers that be. There's the blindness of the professional religious establishment, which refuses to see that anything good or blessed could occur outside the narrow bounds of their own system and understandings.

Finally there is the physical sightlessness of the man born blind himself. And in many ways, his blindness is no more dark or any more debilitating than is anyone else in the story. Yet in the midst of this dark night of sightlessness, the man born blind has—as we also can have our healing made complete.

Though he didn't even see Jesus in the first place, though he didn't even know where his healer was, or who this Jesus was , and although in their own blindness those around him couldn't help, in the end, it is Jesus who finds him. (As He finds us.) Then, Jesus confronts the man with the opportunity to make a personal commitment of faith to the one who gave him sight and made him whole. As he confronts us.

"Do you believe in the Chosen One?" Jesus asks.

"Who is he sir? Tell me that I may believe." And Jesus replies,

"You have seen Him. You are speaking to Him now."

The gift of godly sight, of spiritual discernment, of faith, only can come to us from our personal encounter with our Lord. He kneels before us, and in our blindness, we may not even be aware until we feel the healing hand touch our eyes and call us to wash, to return, to believe, to testify, to follow.

The Spirit who healed the man born blind was the very same Spirit of God who rushed upon David and made him a hero of his people. It is the same Spirit who walks beside us through the valley of death. It is the same Spirit--the Spirit of Christ who allows us to attack the Goliaths of our lives with a slingshot. It is the same Spirit who allows us, like that formerly sightless man, to twit the entrenched and self-satisfied. It is that very same Holy Spirit who allows us, in the face of persecution and difficulties and handicaps and personal trials and tragedies, to still believe, to hope and trust in God to persevere, and eventually to be transformed and triumph. Amen.

"Bread and Roses"

London

Paul Robeson - There is A Balm in Gilead

Jesus Met the Woman (Live)

"Jesus Met the Woman" given 3/19/17

Throughout the History of the church, we preachers have had a field day with that poor woman at the well. We've really gone overboard with assumptions and preconceptions as we imagined the scene. To a great extent of course, what we've preached about the woman at the well has been a pretty fair reflection of our own attitudes about women--and about the Gospel message in general.

Moralists have painted her as dangerous. Beware of her seductive ways, her swaying walk, her alluring eyes. Spiritual types have seen her as a seeker of truth, open and honest. Anti-establiment trypes have seen her as a victim, surrounded by an atmosphere of hypocrisy. Romantics have portrayed her as a floozy with a heart of gold, Social Gospels types have seen her as a victim of small town persecution.

Whatever your opinion, it's easy to imagine her. It's easier by far to imagine her than it is to try and understand who she really might have been. It's easy to stereotype her. It's easier by far than it is to attempt to comprehend her real witness, her message for our lives.

The truth is, this un-named woman at the well is every woman. And she's every man as well. And the message of her encounter with Jesus is a message for all of us. And her witness is a witness that any one of us might make.

Did I say she was any woman? Yes, I did. As far as I know, no one--man or woman-- in the congregation this morning has been married five times and is currently shacked up with number six. And looking around at our visitors, I don't see Angelina Jolie worshipping with us today.

Because the truth is that we can’t even accuse the Samaritan woman of making bad choices. Not all of those five failed marriages were necessarily her fault. Let's remember, women in first century Palestine didn't have the right to sue for divorce. Usually their marriages had been arranged for them. But a dissatisfied husband could divorce his wife for virtually any reason by reciting a few simple words

So how many of us here, men or women, with all our freedom of choice, can claim that we haven't made, or at least been the victim of, at least six fairly serious mistakes over the entire course of our lives? Not necessarily six failed relationships? Only six bad life situations. Six mistakes--not all of them necessarily entirely her own fault.

Any one of us here could have at one time in our lives gotten involved with the wrong person, bought the wrong car, went to the wrong school, made the wrong career choice, got the wrong person mad at us. We might well have smarted off to the wrong

supervisor, taken the wrong job, made the wrong investment, picked up the wrong habit, patronized the wrong bank, bought the wrong house. For that matter, we might just have parked in the wrong spot, or found ourselves in the way of the wrong person.

Six fair to middlin' sized misadventures--actually, that doesn't seem to me to be too terribly many over the course of a person's lifetime. The woman at the well could be any one of us. Blunderer, sinner, victim, bystander-- she is all of us at the well, encountering Jesus in all our all too human sins and shortcomings and mistakes.

The dialogue between Jesus and the woman at the well is the longest recorded conversation between our Lord and anyone in Scripture. Ironically, it was a conversation that really should never have taken place. Jesus had no right to speak to her.

It went against custom and propriety at every possible level. A devout man, and certainly not a rabbi, never spoke to an unrelated woman alone. A Jew would never would have spoken to a Samaritan. A local resident would never have spoken to a homeless person. The walls separating them were not to be broached by respectable people. And certainly not in public. That was just how things were--how things were done. There was as much hostility then as between Israelis and Palestinians today.

Maybe the woman at the well wasn't so terribly surprised that some vagrant dared accost her in public. Perhaps the moralists are right and she was indeed the sort of woman who was accustomed to strange men speaking to her in secluded places. But Scripture makes it clear that she was, in point of fact, very surprised that this Jewish man should speak to her--a Samaritan and a woman.

"Woman" Jesus says, addressing her with the very same courtesy title that John depicts him as using to speak to his own mother in the story of the wedding at Cana.

"Ma'am, I'm thirsty. Give me a drink of water if you please."

That day, in the light of high noon, with those respectful words, Jesus struck down three walls that even today have a terrific power over humanity--that divide humanity more than any others. Our Lord blithely stepped over those three stumbling blocks that still continue to hinder humanity right down to this very moment, from shining together in glory.

The discrimination against women by men. The discrimination against ethnic group by ethnic group.. The discrimination of faith by faith. Sexism, Racism, Intolerance--the three strongest weapons in the arsenal of Evil. Study History—or just look around us—it becomes clear—Sexism, Racism, Intolerance-- three of Satan's favorite toys.

A Samaritan, a citizen, a sinner--caught up in a ceaseless round of drawing water. A man--a Jew, a stranger, a prophet--offering the water of life. Jesus and a Samaritan woman. Jesus and any woman. Jesus and anyone.

It’s hard to imagine that this was just a chance encounter. Most Jews journeying from Galiee to Jersualem would have taken an extra nine hours or so just to go around Samaria rather than venture into what they saw as enemy territory. But Jesus led the disciples right into this “unclean” land. He was deliberately putting himself in a place where he would have to encounter the very people that his people hated most. And who hated them right back.

Led by the Holy Spirit, Jesus came to the same well where his ancestor Jacob had first seen and fallen in love with Rachel. Maybe Jesus was intentionally there that day, to make a witness to his followers. Maybe he was there seeking to encounter someone—to touch someone—anyone--to bridge a barrier or two between his people and those other descendants of Jacob and Rachel whom they called heretics and blasphemers..

It was high noon in the desert and Jesus was tired and thirsty. Left alone there, vulnerable, surrounded by those who would call him enemy, Jesus could have died without water. Sitting next to a well with no bucket to draw water with, he encountered an enemy of his people who holds the cup that can quench his thirst.

The Samaritan woman is vulnerable and alone as well-- shunned—no husband or son, no father or brothers to protect her. An outcast— she must have come to the well at the heat of midday rather than in the cool of the early morning or evening because the other women of the town shunned her. None of the other women of the village are there to comfort her, share her story, to gossip, or cry, or laugh with her.

Jesus needs water to live. The woman needs the fresh, living water of God’s grace and truth that Jesus can provide to quench her thirst for healing and wholeness and forgiveness. In their mutual thirst, they affirm their common humanity. In their mutual vulnerability, they affirm their human need for each other. In their shared conversation they each discover one another—and historic antagonists become something else—not quite friends perhaps, but no longer enemies.

Enmity melts into mutuality. All the distances between them—race, gender, religion, social status are melted in the hot noonday sun and a new relationship is born—children of the same God.

Jesus and the woman model a new kind of relationship—a relationship built on honesty and compassion. It is a relationship that breaks down the sinful barriers between people and unites them in shared faith and mutual healing.

The Gospel never says that Jesus ever did get that cup of water. All of a sudden his disciples came back, involved in their petty, mundane concerns. Shocked and upset, they interrupted the conversation, the dialogue, the communion their Master had gotten started with the woman at the well. Just as today, we with our pettiness and prejudices and preconceptions, still interrupt, still sometimes get in the way of Christ's efforts to touch lives, to quench His thirst for justice and equity and right.

In the aftermath of their encounter, notice that it was the woman, the lay person rather than the formal, consecrated, ordained disciples who went back into town, eagerly witnessing, sharing the good news.

"Come and see a man I met who told me everything I ever did. He knew me. He, a Jew, approached and accepted and taught me. Can this possibly be the Messiah?" As a witness goes, it isn't exactly the Apostles Creed. It certainly wasn't a testimony of

unswerving faith. "Can this be the Christ?"

Even so, her witness was enough. It's really the sort of testimony any one of us might give. It is invitational—

"Come and see"--rather than judgmental. It is within the range permitted by her experience of Jesus. "He told me everything I ever did." It is honest in its tentativeness and openness. "This can't be the Messiah, can it?" Above all, it is a witness that anyone can hear--regardless of sex, race, or creed. And it suffices.

It's a refreshing witness. There's no arrogant attitude of “I’m-saved-and-you-ain’t-ha-ha-ha”. She isn't selling somebody else's conclusions. She gives no pre-packaged answers to unasked questions. She avoids thinly veiled ultimatums, and threats of hell, and any assumptions of absolute certainty on matters of theology. She trusts the Spirit to do the converting—not herself.

By her simple, straightforward, honesty the woman at the well, manages to convey a willingness to simply let her hearers meet Jesus, allow themselves to be touched by His unconditional love and acceptance, and arrive at their own conclusions. And they do.

"It's no longer because of what you told us that we believe--now we've heard him for ourselves, and we know that he is really the Savior of the world."

John, the Gospel author has immortalized this nameless woman in his narrative. She could be any woman. She could be you, or me. Sex, race, and creed have been transcended in her story. That's the power of her witness-- a witness that you or I are

just as capable of giving in our work-place, our community, our classroom, our marketplaces, our homes.

Once we open ourselves to the Spirit, we’ll encounter opportunities for sharing in our lives— meeting a new neighbor, talking to our adult children, sharing a cup of coffee with a PADS or Pantry client, putting out a stack of our church’s business cards where customers and colleagues can see them, talking to other parents at the playground or day care center, inviting someone going through a rough time to come to church with you.

No pressure, no hard door-to-door hard sell, no threats of hell. If, like the Samaritan woman, when you and I are willing to witness honestly with our lives and simply, respectfully, invite others to meet and be touched by Jesus, we’ll find that the opportunities will present themselves. Quite likely we will approach such an outreach with unease. But once we try it, we will find ourselves filled with joy that we did so,

Today, the Samaritan woman is honored in many cultures. In Southern Mexico,

La Samaritana is honored on the Fourth Friday in Lent, when water flavored with fruit and spices is given to commemorate her gift of water to Jesus. In the Orthodox church she is known as St. Photini, or Sveltlana in Russian—a name that means “Equal to the Apostles” and she is honored as an apostle and martyr on the Feast of the Samaritan Woman. Shucks, Peter, Paul and Mary even wrote a song about her!

Jesus honored her by speaking to her with the same courteous respect He accorded to his own mother. John, the author of the Gospel honors her by giving her witness at the well a name --the same term with which he began his Gospel. In the original Greek text, John writes that the woman at the well spoke "the Word".

            This Gospel story witnesses for us a gift of God for all of God’s children. In shared vulnerability and interdependence, in the need for honest relationship, in the breaking down of barriers Jesus shows us a new way to learn about one another, a new way to learn the truth about one another and learn that we need one another. Jesus shows us that ministry can take place wherever there is shared reaching out to meet human need. True worship need not take place in a beloved worship space, or on a sacred mountaintop, or even at an ancestral shrine. True worship takes place in relationship with the person of the Christ, who is the mountaintop of reconciliation and peace and the wellspring of the water of new life.    

John Williams: A Prayer for Peace

SISTER SLEDGE - WE ARE FAMILY (1979) OFFICIAL VIDEO

Joni Sledge has died, one of the leaders of Sister Sledge, known for the disco era classic “We Are Family,” a joyful celebration played at family reunions, Pittsburgh baseball games, diocesan synods, on cruise ships, in smalltown Gay bars and senior shuffleboard tournaments whenever a crowdpleasing song is needed. They were four teenage sisters in Philadelphia when they got started; they built up an audience, opened for other touring acts and eventually became headliners themselves with several hits to their credit, none bigger than their joyful ode to sisterhood. (Larry Busacca/Getty Images for the Songswriters Hall of Fame)

Who?

Gustav Holst: Turn back, O man

"Youse must be born again" given March 12,2017

 Nicodemus came to see Jesus at night. Remember, Nicodemus lived in a world with no electricity—no street lights, no flashlights, no lights in your home except oil lamps. After dark, you really didn’t go out and do anything you didn’t have to in Nicodemus’ world. There were trees to run into, rocks to stumble over. Who knew what might be lurking out there? Robbers, devils, guerilla bands, wild animals. Literally anything might be out there, lying in wait for you. But Nicodemus braved all that in order to approach Jesus at night—midnight.

Maybe Nicodemus didn’t want to be seen by anybody else, any of his Pharisee buddies. Or, perhaps, Nicodemus was a man whose life was such that he was already dwelling in dark night. He seems, in his conversation with Jesus, to be almost in a daze. He has difficulty understanding what Jesus is talking about. Nicodemus, even though he is introduced to us as a teacher and religious leader, is “in the dark” about real spiritual truth.

“Teacher, I’ve seen you do some pretty amazing things, like turning that lime punch into Mogen David last Saturday during the wedding. (Even though you did bend the church rules about alcohol in the Fellowship Hall.) So tell me. How do I get into this Holy Realm of God that you speak of?”

Nicodemus hasn’t come to Jesus in the dark of night to simply chew the theological fat. Maybe he’s come to Jesus hungering for a deeper interior life, a closer relationship with God. Maybe he’s come to realize that there’s something missing in his own deepest heart. Something he sees is abundantly present in this self-ordained faith-healer from the sticks of Galilee.

But more likely, something is wrong.. Something isn’t working in his life. Perhaps some grief, or doubts, or anger, or negative attitudes, or emotions or unresolved problems or compulsions or inappropriate practices have gained so much power within Nicodemus that his life has become unmanageable.

Jesus refers to Nicodemus as “a teacher of Israel.” So we know he’s deeply rooted in his tradition. He is versed in the Torah, the Law, the Prophets. He is disciplined and faithful in his spiritual practices. He fasts and tithes. He knows well the teachings and interpretations of famous rabbis passed down through the ages. He knows and prays the great prayers of his faith. That’s what he’s no doubt expecting from Jesus—a set prayer or certain way of praying, a new way of meditating, an insight or teaching he’s not familiar with, a spiritual practice or discipline that will catapult his spirit from the dark night of the soul he finds himself caught in.

“What do I have to do to get whatever it is that you seem to have, Jesus?”

And Jesus replied that there were three things to do. First of all—you must be born from above in order to enter God’s Realm. Secondly—you’ve got to get the Spirit. And thirdly— always remember that the wind blows where it will.

That’s Jesus for you. Ask him a simple straightforward question. And what do you get in reply? Metaphors—birth, spirit, wind. You want to get into the Realm of heaven Nicodemus? Simple. Just be born from above.

But Nicodemus hasn’t snuck out of his house in the middle of the night just to be stumped by metaphors. He‘s nothing if not persistent. “How in the heck do you do that, Jesus? Can you teach an old dog new tricks? What do you have to do—crawl back into your mother’s womb and be born again?”

And Jesus told Nicodemus that in effect, he could squeeze back into his mother’s womb about as easily as he or anyone else could squeeze themselves into the Realm of God.

Wasn’t Nicodemus listening? Well to be fair, the word that Jesus uses here can indeed be understood as “again” or “another”, but it can also mean “from above” or “from top to bottom”. The same word is used in the Good Friday story when we read that the Veil of the Temple was torn—from top to bottom. Nicodemus, you’ve got to be born from above—from top to bottom.

As so often happens in John’s gospel—and in life—people hear what they want to hear. So many of our more conservative sisters and brothers talk about this passage, love it, make it the very hallmark of their faith. But they refer to Nicodemus’ initial interpretation, rather than to Jesus’ deeper meaning as the passage unfolds. They tell you that you’ve got to be born again. Some even call it “second birth”.

What’s the difference? If Jesus meant “you must be born from above”, He wasn’t necessarily only talking about a once-in-a-lifetime conversion event. “Born from above” emphasizes that our entrance into God’s Commonwealth is an act of grace that comes to us from God’s Spirit. Spiritual transformation or conversion doesn’t begin and end on one certain day. Profound renewal of our lives and spirits can and will occur many times and in many ways throughout our life journeys.

All the saints and great souls of the church throughout history have tried to make that clear to the rest of us. Conversion (or “getting saved” , “being born again”) may indeed be a mountaintop event that takes place on a day and place we can actually name. Or it may have been a matter of gradual growth—even over years. Either way, true conversion must invariably be followed by transformation—the life-long, humbling process of daily evolution of our narrow perceptions, our selfish attitudes, our inappropriate behaviors,and addictions, and sinful actions. Birth after all, is invariably followed by the process of growing up.

Yes we need to be born again—and again—and again—for all of our lives.

Every major life crisis, event, minor transformation, every opportunity presented for us, even every tragedy is part of that process. If Nicodemus were to ask Jesus which meaning he intended—born again, born from top to bottom, or born from above? Jesus would most likely reply, “Yes”.

To make it clear that he was talking about something other than a physical birth, Jesus reminded Nicodemus that flesh can only give birth to flesh. Only Spirit can engender spirit.

What God wants to do with us is a gut renovation—rip out everything down to to the bare walls and support beams and rewire and replace and rehab and redecorate us from the top down—attic to basement—top to bottom. Tuckpoint the outside and put in a new roof.

“Okay Jesus, but how?”

You do it the same way that you got born, Nicodemus. What did you have to do when you got born?

“Well, I guess I was just floating along and all of a sudden I got pushed—“

“Right! Getting into my Realm is like that. Only more so—top to bottom.

“Like how, Jesus?”

“Like wind. Ever notice? The wind blows where it will. You don’t know where it comes from or where it’s going next. You can’t control it or predict it. Getting into my Realm is like that. It begins when you let the wind of the Spirit push you.”

The word John’s Gospel uses here is Pneuma. It’s Greek for “breath” or “wind”—as in pneumonia or a pneumatic drill. Have you ever opened a window and had the wind suddenly swoop into the house, strewing papers from their comfortable piles on the desk and scattering them all over the room?

Wind is tricky, unpredictable, it can upset all our so-carefully planned ways of doing things. But it also brings us fresh air—the very stuff we need most for life itself. As a symbol, wind conveys for us a sense of the free-moving purpose and power of God. God’s wind—The Holy Spirit doesn’t stir things up for the sake of stirring them up, but it blows open closed windows and doors and hearts and minds.

Newness suddenly seems possible at any moment. No matter how stuck in our ways, no matter how spiritually dead we are—as people, or as a community of faith-- when the wind blows and the Spirit stirs, new life is possible— for Nicodemus— and for you-- and for me—and for this church.

But Nicodemus still didn’t get it. He was still in the dark—spiritually as well as physically. Imagine he asks Jesus..

“Are you talking about pnuema in the everyday sense? Or are you speaking of wind in the technical, theological sense of “spirit”? And Jesus would probably reply “Yes.”

“Okay Jesus, but how does the wind blow? How do get born again?” and Jesus will probably reply..

There was no “how” when you were born Nicodemus. How? God so loved the world that. God gave.... That’s not an accomplishment, that’s a gift. A “charis” --as in “charismatic”— to use yet another Greek word.

“Did you mean charis in the everyday sense of “gift” or charis in the more theological sense of “grace”? And Jesus will patiently reply,

“Yes.” It’s all Grace-- Wind, Spirit; Birth, Gift. But Nicodemus still didn’t get it. “Listen, Nicodemus. You must be born from above”. (By the way—Jesus is talking about the faith community as well as individual seekers. The “you” here is plural—as in “You all.” Or “Y’all must be born from above.” And lest we think Jesus was from Tennessee instead of Chicago, it could also be translated

“Youse”)

One night, Nicodemus, a teacher of Israel took a risk, he let go of his prestige and pride, and allowed the wind of God to bear him to Jesus. Jesus invited him to let go still further—let go of his desire to control his own life and his spirit, let go of his need to know, his need to be in charge, his need to be looked up to, his need to “fix” his soul, his need to do something— and simply let go and trust, let go and yield to the birthing spirit of God.

That sounds so easy. But as any mother can tell you, birth is literally the hardest thing in the world. New Birth is as painful to our pride and spirit as labor pains are to a woman's body.

That’s it Jesus? No special ”sinner’s” prayers, no prerequisite spiritual practices, no prescribed creed, no dogma I have to believe, no particular charismatic gifts I have to pray for, no political agenda I have to subscribe to? And Jesus will no doubt reply,

“Nope” Jesus wants us to understand. It’s all gift. Just acknowledge that I can't make it on my own, open my heart, open my mind, open my life and welcome the Spirit in. And my mission, my vocation, my prayer life, my ethical stance, my social involvement, my politics, my generosity, my growth as a believer and as a human being-- everything else will work itself out one way or the other, sooner or later.

That’s what’s so confusing about Jesus' language about his coming

Realm. We post-modern people with our professionally skeptical attitude and scientific world view want specificity. We want to see the directions. RTM—read the manual as the computer geeks advise the rest of us. So, where is the manual? Is there an “800” number? Can we read a book--Spirituality for Dummies? Can I find a cheat site on the net for techniques to break into God’s Realm by the back door? Does it come with an illustrated set of instructions? In English?

“What exactly do I have to do, Jesus?” And Jesus would reply that there’s no have-to-do’s in God’s Realm. Once the Holy Spirit has taken root in our

spirits, you and I will want to do things for our sisters and brothers in Christ’s

name. You and I will want to tell the world the Good News. We'll take to it like ducks to water.

But for now, Jesus would tell us to simply relax, open our hearts and

our minds, and take a couple of deep breaths. Try to stay out of the Spirit’s way, and come on in and get born. “Let go, and let God.”

Many people come to Jesus in the daytime—when things are going well.

That's the only time they can imagine worshipping-– in the full, bright light of day--filled with joy and satisfaction. And there are some churches that seem to specialize in worship in bright lights, happy days, grinning clergy, and everybody singing nothing but bright, upbeat melodies.

But there are always those who come to Jesus by night, stumbling, guilt-

ridden, groping their way in the darkness, only to come face to face with his love and embrace. In the dark, they thought they were lost. But it was in the dark that they were found. It‘s not always so bad to be like Nicodemus and come to Jesus “by night.”

Many of us feel that the future is clouded and murky—dark even. No doubt some feel that way about our country’s future, our country's future, even about our own personal futures. But God has always been able to use humanity’s “dark nights of the soul” to birth something new.

Maybe as we—as a nation, as a congregation, as people-- stumble around in the dark and grope for hope, we might just bump into Jesus.

Maybe in our vulnerability, in our feeling that we have no options or control of what will happen tomorrow we can give up our fears, give up our anger, give up our despair and above all, give up trying to manage everything ourselves.

Maybe if we feel desperate enough, we can open ourselves up as individuals, and as a community of faith, and as a people, to the renewing winds of the Spirit.

Maybe, just maybe, if we were to honestly hand the future over to God, and start opening ourselves to the Spirit, and just keep doing ministry, and just keep loving the dickens out of one another, and stay out the Spirit’s way, our church could be reborn—we could be reborn—our country could be reborn.

I don’t know if the sun is shining for you right now. I hope it is. I hope that you are happy, that things are going well for you, that you are in good health, that your family and friends are fine. But I’ll tell you this: if this Second Sunday of Lent, in the year 2017 C.E. happens to find you not well, not well off, not happy, in the dark, at twilight, or toward midnight – then rejoice.

Rejoice that you don’t have to be in charge anymore. Rejoice that you and I have a Savior who keeps evening hours, and makes house calls. Rejoice that our God works 24/7. Night is a great time to come to Jesus. Let him talk with you, sit with you, teach you, reveal his Will and his Way to you. Night is a good time to give up and let the Spirit in. When we find ourselves in the dark—whether or not the Sun is shining outside, is a great time to call on Jesus. Amen.

"Old Man Adam"

 It happens every single, solitary time. For over thirty years I’ve been leading Bible studies in various churches. I would estimate that at least 80% of the people in those groups have been women. And every single time that we look at Genesis, the same thing has happened. We get to the Creation story in Genesis 2 and 3. The group encounters the verse where Yahweh God confronts Adam in the garden for eating the fruit of the tree of forbidden knowledge.

“Why did you eat from the tree?” God asks.

“The woman you gave me—she gave me a piece of fruit and told me to eat and so I did.”

And every single time at that point in the story, I look around, and all the women in the class are sitting there with knowing looks on their faces and nodding. And sooner or later one of them says to the group at large,

“Passin’ the buck. Just like a man.” And then they all shake their heads and look directly at me and nod and look and go “Uhh Huh”.

Like I’m supposed to respond in defense of everything my gender has done throughout the ages. Personally, I don’t buck pass.. But I’ve got this cousin--just my age who always got me in trouble when we were kids. He was always the instigator of any mischief we got into—and then he’d claim I did it. Now he was a buck-passer. He’s the reason I’m so crazy—not me—him and okay, also my mom and my dad and my grandma—it’s all their fault—just ask my shrink.

And by the way, my great, great grand-pappy didn’t kill any Indians. I’m actually part Native American on my father’s side. My ancestors didn’t own any slaves. We fought for the Union in the Civil War—I think. Anyway, I was born in Lincoln’s hometown. I don’t believe in all that sins-of -the-fathers-are-visited-on-the-children stuff.

Well not really. It’s the first Sunday of Lent—the liturgical and religious season of honesty. So I’ll be honest. My cousin really never did get me in trouble. He was quite capable of getting into plenty of trouble on his own. And I’ll own up to my own craziness—thanks very much, Dr. Freud.

But I really do believe some sins are in fact visited from generation to generation. People physically abused growing up are far more likely to abuse their own children than the rest of the population. Likewise, children of substance abusing parents are far more likely—statistically speaking-- to grow up and become addicted. Worse yet, all the Televangelists seem to be bringing their sons into the racket.

It’s the First Sunday of Lent, and the first lesson of this first Sunday is about our primary progenitor—old man Adam—the root of humanity’s family tree. Paul says that through him sin came into the world, and through sin, death. So Adam passed the buck not just to Eve—but down to us. Isn’t that a bum rap? Hey! we didn’t eat that piece of apple or whatever it was. It wasn’t us.

Now we’re passing the buck! Are we any better than him? Back in 1899 or so, everybody thought that the Twentieth Century was going to be the dawn of a progressive era—it was going to be the enlightened century—an era of peace—the “Christian Century”. Indoor plumbing and universal literacy was going to cure all our historic social ills.

What happened? How did we get here from there? How did we get to be this way?

However we read it-- story, myth, allegory, poetry, History or Biology textbook, we’re all familiar with the way Genesis explains it. From the dust of the earth God made the first humans. Then God placed them in a good, rich garden with only one restriction—stay away from that tree over there. But of course, being human, they couldn’t resist doing the one thing they weren’t supposed to do. They saw that the tree looked good and the fruit looked yummy, and a walking, talking snake told them eating it would make them as wise as God. And so they took and ate. And that primal act of disobedience, says Genesis 2, is the real root of our human condition.

In the story of old Father Adam and Mother Eve we can see some kind of link between our most basic hungers and our rebellious nature. We hunger for food, for sex, for power, for knowledge on our terms rather than God’s terms. We see. We take. We eat.

It’s all in the family.

Man or woman, old or young--we have a fatal, inherited, universal disease—passed down through ALL the generations. We want to have things our way. Take a look in a mirror and you can see our common ancestor. Black, white, brown, tan—there’s a noticeable family resemblance. Great, g-g-g-g-g grampa Adam and his sin lives in all of us.

Historical figure or symbol for all humankind, Adam said yes to the fruit of the forbidden tree. And we human beings have been saying yes ever since. It has nothing to do with weakness—if has to do with our naked desire to be strong—stronger than God It has nothing to do with sex. It has nothing to do with physical nakedness—it doesn’t matter if Eve had or hadn’t put on the fig leaf. It has to do with naked disobedience. .

Adam didn’t disobey because he was tempted by the sensual wiles of womankind. Nor did the two of them disobey because they were too weak to resist. Adam and Eve disobeyed—rebelled out of a desire to be strong—independent—self-reliant. They wanted to know for themselves, stand on their own two feet, be Creator rather than creature. Yes. I will have knowledge. Yes, I will sustain myself rather than be sustained. Yes….

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew,

When I bit off more than I could chew

But through it all when there was doubt

I ate it up and spit it out

I faced it all and I stood tall

And did it my way.

Yes Francis Albert, we human beings have indeed done it our way. And where pray tell, has it gotten us? Our lust for power, our yearning to affirm and control the life forces and harness them to our advantage has brought the planet to the very brink of destruction.

Look what a dump we’ve made of that lovely garden Yahweh God gave us. Look at how men treat women, how one tribe treats another, how one nation treats another, how one economic class treats another, and how one race treats another.

Adam said yes, thinking he’d become a demi-god. But he didn’t get power, or life, or wisdom, or satisfaction—he got death. Death is the toxic waste of our lust to be gods unto ourselves.

“Death reigned from Adam to Moses” says Paul. Don’t care to read the Book of Romans? Pick up a newspaper. How did we get here? It all started with Adam, Paul tells us.

Can one person really affect the destiny of all? We speak of the McCarthy era, or the Martin Luther King years, or the Camelot of JFK. In Germany they speak of Der Hitlerzeit (The time of Hitler.) There are times when one person does stand for us all—sometimes even encapsulating the whole human race. We look at one person and we see ourselves brought into focus.

That’s what Paul means when he says that “sin came into the world through one man”.

It’d be nice if we could pass the buck back to old man Adam—as if he were the only bad apple in the barrel, or Hitler the one racist German, or Joe McCarthy the one vindictive American. But the truth is, look at Springfield, look at Washington DC, look wherever you want to look in this tear-stained world. The truth is we’re all Adam. It’s not a proper name. The word itself literally means “man”

We take a look at Father Adam, and although his jaw is set like a Cro-Magnon and his brow is distinctively Neanderthal, he’s still our ancestor. We’d recognize that rebelliousness anywhere. That’s our old man. We’re all Adam.

And here comes that old nag Paul again, just to make sure we get the point.. “Everybody sinned.” Everybody-- not just that one time when Adam ate the apple-- but all of us, men and women, Adam and Eve, all the time, every time.

All he wanted was food, knowledge, security. Was that so bad? Adam said yes to all the best things in life. Why did it lead to death? Scripture doesn’t give all the details—it just states the undeniable, unpalatable truth. We are often at our worst when we’re trying to do our best. We do the most damage to ourselves and to others, when we’re saying yes to what we think is good for us.

• I want you because I love you. What’s the harm in expressing our love?
• Hey! We need to build us a wall!
• We’ll have to detain you in the interest of homeland security. Is being safe wrong?
• Our army is on alert in the interest of national security. Is security a sin?
• I only drink to make myself feel better. Is it wrong to want to avoid pain?
• You know you really turn me on. Weren’t we told to be fruitful and multiply?

• It’s not really ambition—it’s a matter of living up to my potential. Doesn’t God want me to use my gifts?

• It’s a matter of economic development—not environmental exploitation. Didn’t God give us dominion? Don’t I have a right to make a good living for my family?

• Who cares if they can’t afford the mortgage. The bank needs tp turn over commissions. After all what’s good for Wall Street is good for the USA, Right?

It’s the greatest irony—and the greatest tragedy of human existence. We’re at our worst when we think we’re saying “yes” to the best. We’re so afraid that we’ll inadvertently say “no” to something that could give our lives substance and meaning that we’re willing to say yes to just about anything else.

Our voracious self-absorption only underlines our superficiality. We’re no longer capable of saying no. We’ve lost our means of resisting. We’re not even aware that there’s anything worth resisting.

In olden days a glimpse of stocking

Was looked on as something shocking,

But now, Heaven knows,

Anything Goes.

That’s a whole lot truer today than when Cole Porter wrote it.

But fortunately for us, fortunately for the planet, there was one—one who was obedient. Even as Adam was disobedient, saying “yes” to what was wrong (although it seemed right), there was Jesus who said “no” to wrong and “yes” to what was truly right—“yes” to God.

“As in Adam all die, so in Christ will all be made alive.” says Paul in II Corinthians.

Can one person affect the destiny of all people?

The Gospels tell us how, at the beginning of his Ministry, fasting and praying around his vocation, Jesus encountered Satan—in the rocky Judean wilderness. Id, or supernatural being, or Jungian archetype-- the Tempter offered power—power for what looked like good.

Turn these stones into bread. (Don’t you believe in helping the hungry Jesus?) Throw yourself down from the tower of the Temple. (Don’t you believe in the power of faith? Don’t you believe in yourself, Jesus?)

Pull off a coup. Call down some angel armies and institute a revolution—a theocratic regime with yourself at the top. (Don’t you believe that politics can be a power for good, Jesus?)

And to all of these worthy sounding offers, Jesus said “no”. NO! NO! No to all our little towers of Babel--because they are all just idols to ourselves. No to the so-called march of human progress—because in the end it only leads to death. No to doing it our way—because four or five billion people each trying to do it their own way has led to one and a half billion starving to death and another billion and a half surviving in abject poverty or slaughtered in war.

What old papa Adam (read all human beings) could not accomplish, Jesus Christ did. And in doing so Jesus—the new, improved, perfected Adam unleashed the power to free each of us from our ancestors and their sin, and consequently from ourselves, and from our own sin. In one single cosmic act of utter, pure, faithful obedience, Jesus placed God’s will and word over his own hunger and desires, (even his human desire to do good).

The NO of this humble carpenter can reverse the course of human history. In his cosmic NO, Jesus broke the chains of sin and death for all humanity. No passing the buck anymore. NO NEED! The buck stopped there—out in the wilderness—and ultimately on the cross..

“If the wrongdoing of one man brought death upon so many, its effect is vastly exceeded by the gift that came to so many by the grace of one man, Jesus Christ”

says Paul in this morning’s Reading.

So Jesus’ NO was actually a resounding YES to God, a YES to humanity, a YES to truth, a YES to life. By his refusal to march to the drummer of this world Jesus gave

all of humanity the opportunity to go from rebellious children to friends of God.

The ultimate hope of life and of humanity—according to Genesis, to Paul, to Matthew—is not that we can somehow or other become better human beings than our parents. It is not that somehow or other Adam’s sin was a temporary unpleasantness that we’re now smart enough to overcome now through social progress; and it is not our vain

hope that somehow or other the next generation is going to be smart enough to clean up our mess, and usher us into a new and better tomorrow.

No, the ultimate hope of humanity and of the world and of life itself is that our God has grafted onto our family tree an ancestor who can succeed where Adam failed. Someone who can finally help us grow up out of our old, juvenile, unfinished, all-too human sinful nature. Someone who will give every one of us the means to say NO to this mess that we and our ancestors have made. Someone who will enable all of us to say YES to a new and improved vision of who we are, YES to a new humanity, rebuilt from the ground up, back to Creation and forward—a new Adam who can allow us to overcome the old us—by becoming our brother.

The Ultimate hope of humanity—the hope of the world—the hope of the cosmos—that New Adam has come. We know his name. It’s Jesus. How shall we respond?

Just as I am - Willie Nelson