"What do you want from me, Jesus?" given January 28

"What do you have to do with me, Jesus? What do you expect? What do you want from us Jesus? We know who you are-- you are the Holy One of God. What do you have to do with us-- with me, Jesus? -- What are your intentions for me? What have you got to do with me, Jesus?"

That's what Mark tells us that the demons inside the man in the synagogue in Capernaum said when they interrupted Jesus' sermon. “What have you got to do with me, Jesus?” That question has been asked a lot in this world over the past twenty centuries.

`"What do you want? Whay have you got to do with me, Jesus?"

Mark's Gospel account tells us that the man was possessed by an unclean spirit. Even by Jesus' time the Hebrew word translated as "unclean" here had come to mean a lot more than simply not kosher. And it certainly meant more that the man was physically dirty. By unclean, Mark is telling us that this poor sufferer was acting in ways that were clearly wrong-- detrimental --unnatural --unhealthy --unwholesome --immoral --inappropriate --pick your adverb.

This poor man was not conforming to the minimum expected and accepted behavior of a human being in that society. We're given no clue as to the form of his unclean behavior. But it's clear, his behavior was outside the norm-- so far outside the norm that Mark could only attribute this man's actions to a power outside his control-- to demonic possession.

We're also given no clue as to what the man was doing in the synagogue in the first place. We could speculate. Maybe some friends had encouraged him to attend, thinking that just being there might somehow or other do him some good. Maybe he'd been brought there for an exorcism. Or maybe he'd succeeded in keeping his deviant behavior under wraps for the most part. Maybe it was something only he and a very few others were aware of-- like domestic violence or patronizing prostitutes, or some sort of addiction, or child abuse.

In any case, whatever it was, anyone there in the synagogue that day, would undoubtedly have agreed with Mark that this man was possessed by evil. Was there a little guy in a red suit with horns and a tail who sat on this unfortunate man's shoulder and stuck a pitchfork into him to tempt him to stray?

Did this man’s head spin around like the little girl in The Exorcist? Was this man an alcoholic, a compulsive gambler or some sort of substance abuser? Was he suffering from a psychological disorder --clinical depression or schizophrenia or multiple personalities or bipolarity?

For Mark, and for just about everyone else in the time of Jesus, immoral or deviant behavior, mental illness, even many forms of physical illness could be directly attributed to an intelligent malevolent force operating outside humanity.

Remember the late Flip Wilson's trademark joke: “The Devil made me do it”? The problem is, if we blame “the devil” for all that is bad in our world and in our souls, we’re letting ourselves-- sinful humanity-- off the hook for all the wrong-ness and broken-ness and selfishness that resides deep within each and every single one of us. We are claming that Evil is outside our control

On the other hand, if we say that all of the evil in this world comes from inside us—does that account for such demonic manifestations of corporate evil as the Holocaust, genocide, "ethnic cleansing" , the rape of the Environment, the fire bombing of Dresden, the Crusades and other religious wars down through the centuries? Can the broken-ness of an individual human soul even begin to explain the deep evil of a Hitler, a Stalin, a Slobodan Milosovich, a Saddam Hussein, a John Wayne Gacey, a Charles Whitman, a Jeffery Daumer?

Some years ago, I had the privilege of meeting Jerry Boyle-- the prominent Milwaukee attorney who defended Jeffery Daumer. Boyle did not have a criminal law practice. He defended Daumer against the death penalty on principle and because he felt Daumer needed to kept alive-- and studied-- so that future Daumers could be prevented.

Then someone else wondered if Daumer have suffered from issues beyond his control—perhaps he'd been an abused child-- or had attachment disorder-- or some other psychological problem.

“O make no mistake.” Boyle said. “Jeffery wasn’t the way he was because he had an unhappy childhood or his parents were divorced or anything like that.

I knew his parents. It wasn’t them-- It was Jeffery himself. He was evil.”

“What have you got to do with me, Jesus?” Suffice to say that however we care to describe it, or explain it, or understand it, Evil exists as a pervasive force in our world. We can talk about Satan, talk about possession, talk about original sin, talk about Psychopathology, talk about corporate sinfulness, talk about a permissive and corrupt society, talk about "People of the Lie".

However we choose to talk about it—the reality is that evil is still all too alive and well in our world. And some people simply are evil. If we can't agree on anything else, we need to agree on that.

And there's one other thing that we ought to be able to agree upon. Notice that while Mark talks clearly about the way the congregation received Jesus' sermon that Sabbath, Mark doesn't bother to tell us what Jesus preached on!

The Gospel tells us that the listeners were astonished by the teachings of Jesus. Mark tells us that Jesus' teachings were unlike those of the priests and the rabbis. He even tells us that the crowd was dumbfounded by Jesus' exorcism of this poor man. But the content of the Lord's message is totally ignored.

Clearly, as far as Mark is concerned, it's only what Jesus taught, it's the impact that He had. Mark tells us that twice. It's the effect of the message and the effect of Jesus' personality that is really important. It's the way Jesus taught--with authority. He was an authority to his listeners.

"What have you got to do with me, Jesus? Who made you the boss of me, Jesus? Who made you an authority, Jesus? " The Latin root for our English word "authority" can also be translated as "growth- maker" or "enlarger". So an authority, can be someone who influences you, someone who makes you look and listen and feel and grow.

Jesus was like that. Jesus, and his teachings, didn’t leave his listeners untouched. He made you wrestle with what human life was about, what the world was about, what God was about. He had authority, and people were willing to listen to him because he made them grow.

And it was with that exact same authority that Jesus confronted the evil possessing that unclean man. Whatever kind of negative influence it was, Jesus had authority-- power over it, to silence and conquer and banish it. He had authority to cleanse and heal that man. He had authority to get this poor creature growing out of his broken-ness and into wholeness once more. Evil was not something out of Jesus' control—and with Jesus and his authority beside us, if need not be for us as well.

Morton Kelsey a prominent pastoral psychologist and author writes,

When the full divine drama of Christian faith is understood,

accepted, and fully lived, we find not only the most adequate

religious expression available to humankind, but also a profound

psychological understanding and method.... the full message of

Christianity has always offered the hope not merely of salvation

in a world to come but of healing and wholeness in this world.

Maybe that's why the man-- or the evil within him cried out. He was, after all, the only one in the synagogue who recognized Jesus. He must have understood that believing in Jesus means changing your life. And apparently he didn't want to do that .

Maybe that troubled man understood that he was not the only one living uncleanly and in corruption. Maybe he understood that corruption-- evil-- sin-- deceit-- is the structure around which all too much of human life in the world revolves. And so the man shouted-- like so many like him would shout later,

"If we let this change take place-- if we permit this Jesus to have His way-- if we start to realize His vision-- our whole world is going to collapse around us." He--or the evil within him--didn't want to change, you see.

“What have you got to do with me, Jesus?”

That shriek has become the eternal cry of evil down through the ages. It's the cry of greed. Never mind what I sell, who I cheat, how I deal with others. Never mind what damage I do to the environment. Mind your own business, Jesus. Just let me get back to making my profits. I have a right to my own life.

It's the cry of lust--Never mind who I deceive, what I do, who I use to satisfy myself. Keep your nose out of my life, Jesus. Keep your nose out of my bedroom. I have a right to my own life.

It's the cry of hatred. Never mind if I burn a cross, bust a block, own a slum building. Never mind if I shut out a whole community, a whole class, a whole race of my sisters and brothers. I have a right to my own opinion, Jesus. I have a right to my own life.

It's the cry of all of the sins of humankind --sloth and avarice and anger and lust and envy and despair. It's been the cry of the slave trader and the drug dealer, the war makers and the brothel keeper. It's the cry of the profiteer, the exploiter, the user, the oppressor in every age, in every land, and every tongue. It's the cry, the language of naked, unrestrained individualism, raw self-interest.

"I have a right to live my own life the way I want to" really means is "What have you got to do with me, Jesus?" And to that cry Jesus replied,

"Shut up! Be silent and come out of that man." Jesus had true authority, you see. He was able to confront the evil he saw before him. (Even evil in someone sitting in God's house.) Jesus was able, through his growth-making, life-enlarging authority, to silence that evil and exorcise it from its victim. Evil was in fact NOT out of Jesus' control.

"Be silent and come out!" This is Jesus' eternal answer to the unclean- ness, to the evil in us--and in our world. Whatever evil is--Jesus has authority over it. Wherever evil comes from--inside our secret hearts or from outside us, Jesus has authority over it. Whenever or however evil gains a foothold in our lives, Jesus gives us power to recognize and confront it. Jesus calls us to join Him in working to banish it. He has authority over it.

Whenever uncleanness takes hold within us and recognizes Jesus, it will resist change. It will cry out-- sometimes only in the silence of our hearts--

"My life is my own! I will do with it what I want. I will rage and hold grudges and hate. I will indulge myself in self-centered sexual attitudes and practices. I will beat my spouse and my children. I will jolly drink myself to death. I will smoke my lungs into pitted carbon. I will drive my gas-guzzling SUV.

I will practice my own private morality. I will get even. I will lie and cheat for convenience's sake. I will run roughshod over the lives of others. I will defame and bully and do whatever I please for profit's sake-- for my own sweet sake.

Because, I don't really want to change. I don't want to grow. I don't want to forgive. I'd rather hold a grudge. I don't want to become a giver. I'd rather take. I don't want to share. I'd rather have it all. I don't want to co- operate. I'd rather destroy. I don’t want peace. I want victory. I don’t want justice. I want revenge.

I demand control. I demand to have it all my way. Because it's my life, my family, my business, my country, my body, my church and I get to do what I want.

And what are you going to do about that, Jesus? What do you have to do with me, Jesus? Who put you in charge, Jesus? What do you have to do with me and with my own private way of living, Jesus? What’s your authority, Jesus?”

But deep in our hearts, we know that Jesus does have authority. And that’s why Jesus' answer is always the same.

"Be silent. And come out."

Let us pray,

Savior we pray, silence and banish and conquer the evil within us and around us. Cleanse our uncleanness and make us into new people --whole people --holy people --faithful people --in you. Amen.

MAHALIA JACKSON PRECIOUS LORD TAKE MY HAND

MAHALIA JACKSON PRECIOUS LORD TAKE MY HAND

"What, No Whale?" given Jan. 21

 What! No whale? How can I possibly intend to preach a sermon on Jonah and not talk about the whale? Ever since Sunday School we've all heard about Jonah and the whale--they're as inseparable as peanut butter and jelly (or possibly bananas). How can any self-respecting preacher possibly preach about Jonah and leave out the whale?

Very easily, actually. Most modern English translations don't even use the word "whale". The most common translations are "great fish", or “sea monster”. Secondly, and more importantly, if you really read the parable of Jonah carefully, it becomes clear that the you-know-what is not really the focus of the story.

The only function of the great fish is to bring Jonah back from a diversion--back from his rebellion at the beginning--back where he belongs--under inescapable orders from his God.

Yet something about the image of that whale attracts us, annoys us, intrigues us--believers and skeptics alike. Remember Bishop Sheen, the first televangelist, back in the 1950s? During a Q & A period one night, some wisenheimer asked,

"Bishop Sheen, suppose you tell us how Jonah managed to survive four days in the belly of a whale." Bishop Sheen said,

"Frankly, I don't know; but when I get to heaven, I'll ask Jonah." The heckler replied, "Suppose Jonah didn't go to heaven?" Bishop Sheen said,

"Then you can ask him!"

So. Let me say—right now—for the record. This is a parable. But that does not mean that it is without value or untrue. Like all good parables the story of Jonah is true. Truth is far deeper and more powerful than simply “just the facts, ma’am”. This story is true to our very nature as human beings, true to God and to God’s very nature, and true about our existence on the deepest levels of life. And like the very best parables, it has more than one message for us on more than one level.

The basic story has been told many times-- at least up to the point of Jonah's encounter with the you-know-what. Jonah, a typical, stiff-necked, narrow, super-patriot Hebrew prophet is called by the God of Israel to go to the city of Ninevah where he is to proclaim the wrath of God upon the in habitants of that sinful place.

Now, Ninevah was the capital of Assyria, and Assyria was without a doubt the most militarized, totalitarian, brutal country in the Ancient Near East. One commentator calls the Assyrians the Nazis of the Ancient Near East. They were the scourge of the area--feared and hated for their military superiority and for the inhumanity of their soldiers.

Here's Jonah--a prophet from out in the sticks told by God to go there and cry doom and destruction upon Ninevah. It's about like Pat Robertson getting a call from God to go preach against communism in downtown Peking—or President Trump addressing the NAACP on the topic of stamps. An interesting assignment--but hardly one with much in the way of retirement benefits.

So what does Jonah do? He does what most any sensible person would do-- he hightails it out of town in the opposite direction. Jonah catches a ship heading for Tarshish. But God is not so easy to run away from. A storm comes up. The ship is almost wrecked. The superstitious sailors decide that Jonah is the cause of their ill luck and throw him overboard. Thus, they coin the use of the name "Jonah" as a sailor’s nickname for a "jinx".

There in the sea, poor old Jonah is swallowed by the you-know-what. In the belly of the beast, Jonah surrenders his will to God and prays for forgiveness. His prayer is heard. Three days later he is vomited up onto the shore. Which proves the wisdom of the child who, when asked by his Sunday School teacher "What do we learn from Jonah and the whale?" replied that "People make whales sick to their stomachs."

It's at this point that this morning's Old Testament Lesson begins. Here, wet and bedraggled and covered with sea monster barf, Jonah receives a second call from that insistent God of his. Considering everything in the light of recent events, Jonah decides this time to accede to God's suggestion.

So off he goes to Ninevah. As instructed, he proceeds to proclaim the wrath of God upon the his hereditary enemies—the sinful inhabitants of Ninevah. And then, fully expecting to be ignored in his preaching, Jonah immediately heads for the high ground just outside of town in order to get a good view of Yahweh the God of Israel's holy wrath polishing off the Assyrians.

But that doesn't happen. No fire from the sky. Not even a tiny bit of brimstone. Wouldn’t you know it, those sneaky Assyrians actuallly heed the word of God and repent. They begin, one and all, from the King down to the lowliest beggar, to convert. They don sackcloth and smear their faces with ashes and repent their evil ways. Seeing this, God is overjoyed and repents.

Both the KJV and the RSV use the word "repent" here. God repented. Funny to think of God repenting, isn't it? But in it's original meaning, the word "repent" means to turn around--to change directions. And that is exactly what God does--repent. God turns in another direction and refrains from destroying the city.

And Jonah? Jonah is so mad he can't see straight. Remember, he's not a Christian. Jonah hates the Assyrians. He's positively been looking forward to a front row seat at a bloodbath of his enemies as partial compensation for all the risk and trouble and pain he's been through on this preaching assignment. Jonah even presumes to bawl God out.

“There ya’ go again! I knew it! I knew you’d cop out. you bleeding heart liberal of a God. You went and forgave them--you repented.”

Jonah decides the only thing to do is sit there and pout. Then overnight, God grows a tall bean plant to shield Jonah's head from the hot desert sun. Jonah sits down under it. So now Jonah is somewhat assuaged. But the next day, God sends a worm to eat the plant. And so by the end of that day, Jonah is again furious at God. At the end of the story, it is God who speaks to Jonah.

"Jonah, you can mourn the loss of a plant. A plant that cost you not a single thing--you neither planted nor cared for it. And yet you cannot understand that I would be unwilling to destroy this bustling, teaming city full of adults and children and animals? Is it right for you to be so angry?" asks God. And there the story ends.

So what's the point? What's the story really about? I hope you see that it's not about an oversized minnow. But neither is it about the plant--nor the worm. The point of the story, the thing that it's really about is anger-- two different kinds of anger—Divine and human.

"And God said, 'do you do well to be so angry?'"

The story begins with the anger of God. There's a lot of Divine anger in the Old Testament--and in the New as well. We in the mainline churches tend to skip over those passages about Divine anger in the Bible. The idea of God's wrath makes us a bit uneasy, to be frank. And well it should--but truth be told--it's hard to read very far in the Bible without running up against the anger of God.

It's easy to think of the concept of God's anger as the outgrowth of a primitive and narrow view of God-- an outmoded belief that we in our enlightened, progressive understandings can leave to the our more conservative brothers and sisters. But wait a moment--without God's anger, what are we left with?

A God who doesn't get angry is a God who doesn't care. Without the wrath of God, we're stuck with a passive-aggressive Deity who doesn't give a darn when people are exploited, when children are abused and neglected and molested, when women are raped, the innocent are persecuted, the poor are ignored, and prisoners are deprived of their human rights.

Without God's anger, we’re left with a wishy-washy God who ignores, or at best weeps over the slaughter of war, a God who can only mourn the rebirth of slavery and genocide in our so-called enlightened era. We are left with a blind and deaf God who

cannot or will not respond to the prayers of God's people for peace, for justice, for survival.

No. Far better to believe in God, and in God's anger--an anger that is righteous and deserved and proper--directed toward humanity's sin, but assuaged by Divine forgiveness and infinite Mercy. Far better to believe in a God, who, even in the midst of Holy wrath, can still recognize genuine human repentance, and then in turn also repent--turn aside in loving response. Far better to believe in a God who as well as becoming angry, can also forgive. That, by the way, is why the parable of Jonah is often read in synagogues as a text for Yom Kippur-- the Jewish Day of Atonement

"And God said to Jonah, 'Do you do well to be so angry?'”

But what about the anger of Jonah? What about the anger of humanity?

"Jonah said, 'I do well to be so angry, angry enough to die.'"

This is an angry world we live in. This is a world where human resentment and rage surround us. This is a world where violence can bubble up to the surface and erupt at any time, anyplace—a mass shooting, a mugging on the street, a battered spouse, a pregnant wife murdered, a terrorist bombing, a drive-by shooting, a gang fight, a child abused. And it happens on the international scene, as well as in our cities, our neighborhoods, our homes, our families, and yes, even in our churches.

Oh, we put on a civil enough facade. We greet one another with the wish of a good day. We enquire about one another's families. We affirm the value of cooperation and community spirit, of working together for the common good. But underneath, for too many of us, the resentments, the grudges, the envies, the frustrations churn and boil and burn our guts. Eventually they erupt within us in hypertension, heart attacks, or from us in

domestic violence, substance abuse, divorce, even rape and murder and war and terror.

Why are we so angry? Why was Jonah so angry--angry enough to die? Jonah was angry because God had a change of heart. Jonah was angry because things didn't work themselves out in the way he had decided they were supposed to work out. That's why a lot of us are angry in our lives too.

God repented and forgave Ninevah, spared the city and even had the sheer effrontery to do so without consulting Jonah about it! God's anger had not performed according to Jonah's expectations, but had instead been transformed by the mystery of grace into forgiveness. And worse yet, Jonah had been manipulated into playing a major role in saving this city full of his enemies!

"And God said to Jonah, 'do you do well to be so angry?'"

God was angry because God cared about those ignorant souls spending their lives in sin and corruption, hating and oppressing and being oppressed--throwing away God's gracious gift of hope and truth and new life. Jonah, on the other hand, was angry because he didn't care. He only wanted revenge. He only wanted to see his grudge fulfilled. He wanted to see Ninevah destroyed.

God got angry for the sake of God's children. Jonah got angry for his own sweet sake. God's anger was a passing thing, necessary to bring about repentance--both human and Divine. God's anger was an anger eager to be transformed into forgiving love. Jonah's fury was so deep, so implacable, so unchangeable that, given no way to vent it, getting not satisfaction from in, Jonah ultimately wished to die.

The rabbis taught that when a human being is angry, he or she cannot be in a state of conciliation. Whereas, even when God is angry, God is still, always ready for reconciliation. Simply put, God controls the Divine anger, but human anger controls humanity. As it says in Psalm 30

“You anger lasts but for a moment—but your favor for a lifetime”.

Think about it. How is your anger, and mine like that of Jonah? Look at your own anger--if you can--examine all the daily irritations and frustrations that can fuel it.

Ask yourself, if you dare, why do you get angry? Because of all the injustice and wrong you and I see around us every single day in this tear-stained world? Or because you’ve discovered that life and the universe don’t revolve you and your agenda for it?

Ask yourself, if you dare, who do you get angry for? Yourself? Because you have known pain and injustice and are now living a life fraught with difficulties? Or are you angry for the sake of suffering humanity in the grip of violence and hate and sin?

Ask yourself ,if you dare, how ready is your anger to forgive? Can your anger be transformed into forgiveness? Or is it so much a part of you that you cannot let go of it unaided?

Think about it--ask yourself if your anger is serving as a block--a wall between you and other people--and therefore God? Is it shutting out the light? Is it turning away the gift of life? Does your rage and grudge-holding keep God's love away from you at arm's length? “Forgive us our trespasses, our sins, our wrong-doings, our anger—as we forgive…”

In order to accept love, you and I must be able to love in return. And in order to accept the love of God, we simply have to be willing to get rid of our anger and simply learn to forgive.

How do we pull that off? We must learn to forgive ourselves as we have been forgiven—that we may forgive. We must learn to love ourselves and love others— even those who have wronged us. We must learn to FAST— forgive, accept, surrender, thank.

You and I have to first be willing to let go of our anger—even when it is justified—and simply be willing to FORGIVE. Even if we only half-way mean it. That first step is crucial.

Having begun the process, we next learn to ACCEPT the other person and the Divine forgiveness waiting for us. To understand all is to forgive all—or at least to begin to accept is the process.

Once forgiven and accepted, we will be able to SURRENDER our anger and our

selves to God, who will transform and return the rage/energy behind our anger as positive energy and integrity—within our hearts, within our lives, and within this blood-soaked, tear-stained, sin-drenched planet we live upon.

And then, at last, you and I will--through the grace of God, be able to give THANKS— at last whole and at peace.

This is the parable of Jonah--a fish story--a probing story. Yet it is not a story about whales or fish or sea monsters at all. It's not a story about bean plants eaten by worms. When you come down to it, it's a story about anger, and even more basically, it’s a story about forgiveness—and love.

The love of God-- a love that in Jesus Christ, will never let us go. it is a love that will not allow itself forever to be rejected. It is a love that will pursue us even to the bottom of the sea, even into the belly of the beast, even to the very end of time if need be. It is a love that will relentlessly woo us away from our petty hates and angers and frustrations, and feuds and fights. It is a love that seeks to win us away from all that, in order to win us for our God.

"And God said to Jonah, 'do you do well to be so angry?'"

Let us pray, We thank you O God, for your Divine Anger--which lasts bit for a moment, and for your love--which is infinite and touches us all. We thank you O God, for your forgiveness--which touches us all. And we ask you to teach us to forgive, as we have already been forgiven. Amen.

"The Computer In My Head" given Jan. 14

 I have a computer inside my head. No, I'm not speaking of my mind-- it's only a part of my mind. It's a kind of half-baked, semi-self programming personal computer. I say it's only semi-self programming because this computer has all sorts of ideas and preconceptions and assumptions that I didn’t consciously choose to program into it. I say it's half-baked because those ideas and preconceptions and assumptions aren't always very wise, or even especially useful to me. Some can even be harmful.

In point of fact, I'm not even aware of all of the ideas and assumptions and preconceptions that are in that computer. If I could trot them out anexamine them one by one, I'd probably find I don't even really agree with a good many of those assumptions. I'd probably find that I don't really want some of them in my mind. But they are there.

As I said, I didn't put them there. They got put into that computer inside my head by my parents and family and friends and the media and society at large. Some of those ideas--many of them in fact-- were put into my brain before I can remember. Some of them got into my head because of past experiences.

I've tried to figure out why I have this troublesome, half-baked computer inside my brain. The best reason that I can come up with is that it's supposed to help me make quick decisions in crucial situations when I have insufficient facts. I call these decisions and judgments "hunches", or "instincts", or "gut feelings".

You've got a computer that's remarkably similar to mine inside your head as well. That computer takes a little bit of partial input, searches our conscious memory for similar experiences and situations, and then sorts through our unconscious memories for any stories, fables, sayings, superstitions, folk wisdom, jokes or stereotypes that may be lying around. And presto! It spits out a totally subjective, instant judgment

"This is good." "That's bad, bad!" A moment later, the computer then spits out a command. "Do this. Don't do that! And do it now!" And without thinking about it, we do.

Here's an example. When I was a boy, I must have eaten some fish that had a bone in it. The bone must have gotten stuck in my mouth and gave me trouble. I don't remember that happening, but I know that it must have. My parents both loved fish. And I can recall when I was very small eating fish and enjoying it. But whenever as an adult I've had the opportunity td eat fresh fish, that half-baked computer has sent me a message.

"Gah! Fish. I don't like fish. Fish has bones. You don't like fish. Eat that fish and you'll choke on a fish bone and die!" As a result, I don't eat fresh fish. I don't consider that a great loss from the over-all quality of my life, so I've never really bothered to try and re-program the computer on that topic.

My kids are the same way about brussel sprouts. Not because they've ever gotten a bone in one. But their mom doesn't case for them and has never served them. I doubt that Jenny and Gwyneth and Gregory have actually ever tasted a brussel sprout. Until they were adults. I'm not totally sure that Donna ever has. But they all have in their computers a message that says "Brussel sprouts are yucky." And no doubt Jenny's working on my grand-kids at this very moment.

This half-baked computer inside my head isn't really too much of a problem when it confines itself to matters of cuisine. And, it can be downright useful in some situations. A carpenter might use it to tell him a particular piece of wood might have an internal flaw--no mars or marks-- it just doesn't feel right. Tribal nomads use it to tell them that a certain spring may not have drinkable water--not because it isn't clear-- they just have a certain feeling about it. Sailors use it to tell them about the weather--Red Sky at morning, Sailor take warning. Red Sky at night, Sailor's delight.

A few years ago we got a phone call out of the blue, telling us that we'd won a Bermuda vacation--free and clear. So could they please have our credit card number to cover some minimal processing costs? No, we couldn’t call them back. They wanted an answer and they had to have it now! Guess what my computer said?

"WARNING, DAN DAVIS! WARNING!"

There’s a mix of observed data, actual experience, acquired preconceptions, common sense and predictions at work there. Why take a chance? Why bother? I can't tell you why, it just doesn't feel right. And at times that can work to our benefit. But that half-baked computer inside our heads can lead us astray when we give it unquestioned power over us in the realm oh human relationships.

"I don't trust him. His eyes are set too close together."

"She wears too much make-up. I don't think I'll ask her out."

"She's a nurse. You know what they're like!”

“They make good cars—but they have a weird culture.”

“America is the great Satan”

"It's the preacher. Watch out what you say!"

"He's just a working stiff, what does he know?"

"All those old people drive too slowly!"

“Well, I sure don’t want one as my pastor.”

“They all lisp and have limp wrists.”

"All those teen-agars drive too fast!"

"People like that just don't want to work!"

"Didja hear the one about the lawyer who died and went to heaven?"

"Their food smells funny and they breed like rabbits!"

"Why don’t they learn our language?"

"Watch your wallet when you deal with them!"

"Roll up your windows in this neighborhood!"

“They’re all ignorant hillbillies---Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

It's called prejudice-- literally to pre-judge-- to make a decision about someone or something before all the facts are in. And you and I do it all the time- -often without being aware that we're doing it. We're in too much of a hurry to stop and get the facts, to get to know people before we judge. So we pre- judge on the basis of that half-baked computer inside of our heads. And we react—without further thought. Programmers call it GIGO—Garbage in, garbage out.

We do that when we are too busy, or too inexperienced about our own selves and the world, and too lazy to consider evidence that conflicts with what the computer tells us. We do it because we're human. We do it because we were taught to do it that way. We do it because we're sinners.

Ever since we were small children, all those o-so-neat classifications of other peoples and cultures have been slipped into our heads. Swedes make depressing movies and commit suicide a lot. Scots wear kilts and pinch pennies. Bohemians drive old cars and put their money into Savings and Loans. The Welsh sing and work in coal mines. Germans like to drink beer and wear leather shorts. The Irish like to drink and get into fights.

There's a mix of truth and fable, experience and exaggeration in all those generalizations. We pick them up so early we often can’t recall where they came from. Do you recall the song from Rogers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific?

You've got to be taught to hate and fear.

You've got to be taught from year to year.

It's got to be drummed in your dear little ear.

You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught to be afraid,

Of people whose eyes are oddly made,

And people whose skins are a different shade

You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught before it’s too late,

before you are six or seven or eight,

To hate all the people your relatives hate,

You've got to be carefully taught.

You and I carry all that around inside the computers inside our heads. It's handy and its easy to simply judge people on the basis of what we've been carefully taught. It’s quick. It's neat. We only have to accept people of our own culture, our own tongue, our own color, our own tradition, our way of worship.

On the other hand, if we do that, we'll never be challenged. We'll never have the joy of encountering and making a near friend who comes from a different race or religion. We'll never have the fun of learning about and exploring the differences between people or differing backgrounds. We'll never receive the gifts that other cultures, other races, other peoples, other faiths have to give us. And we'll not be following Christ's will.

"This is my commandment. Love one another as I have loved you."

The Jewish Rabbi who taught the Samaritan woman at the well offered her the Water of Life--despite her gender, her race, her faith, her past. The Messiah who healed the servant of a Roman officer came to save all the nations. The Jesus who ate with sinners and Pharisees was a Redeemer for all people. The Teacher whose followers included zealots and tax collectors and fishermen and respectable women and ex-hookers came for all men and women.

The message he brought from God was initially heard by only a few rural Aramaic speaking Jewish peasants. But it spread from them to urban, Greek-speaking Jews, to Greeks and Ethiopians and Romans. And eventually, it changed the world. And the heart of that message was that

the Christ who died on the cross died for the sake of all humanity.

If you and I are going to call ourselves by His name, we have to understand--God is the God of all peoples, all nations, and all cultures.

"Now I understand that God shows no partiality" preached Peter when he finally figured that one out. If we call ourselves Christians how are we to deal with that judgmental, simple-minded, racist programming inside our heads?

What are we to do with all those carefully taught opinions and ideas and assumptions and preconceptions? What about all those all-too-easy discriminations and prejudices that we all leap to make?

It seems to me that if me are to take the teachings of this man Jesus seriously, you and I need to learn to fine tune our consciences. We need to open up our minds and our lives. When we begin to make a judgment about someone, we need to stop and ask ourselves.

Are we prejudging on the basis of that half-baked, o-so-carefully taught computer? Or are we accepting this person on the basis of who they have shown themselves to be? Have we accepted them for who they actually are-- or who we think they had to be? Have we remembered who it is that Jesus told us are the least of His brothers and sisters?

You and I can let prejudice and racism rule our hearts and lives--simply by unthinkingly going on, heeding that computer. Or we can begin to take control. We can begin to consciously re-program that computer in our skulls with truth.

We can do it! You and I can begin to look beyond our stereotypes of class and color and culture. We can begin to make choices based on intelligence and principles and faith. We can just do it.

After all, we know the truth--the Gospel truth. that Christ came to save all. That red and yellow, black and white.... and brown and all other colors-- all are precious in His Sight. It is, after all, up to us. Who will we allow to rule our lives and our attitudes and our hearts? Who is Lord for us? Some loud-mouth down the street? Some half-baked computer in our heads? or Jesus the Christ?

Amazon: The lungs of our planet by BBC

The Work - Official Trailer

The Most Honest Three Minutes In Television History

Bread and Roses

when we pray

Oprah Winfrey Receives Cecil B. de Mille Award at the 2018 Golden Globes

"A Mission From God?" given Jan. 7, 2018

 Epiphany is one of those “churchy” words that you and I have seen printed in newsletters and bulletins for years. But do you know the actual meaning of the word?

Would you like to? Thanks for asking.

We might know that Epiphany, as a Feast of the church’s year always officially comes on January 6^th (i.e. yesterday). We probably know that it has something or other to do with those kings or astrologers, or wise guys or whatever they were, bringing gifts to the Christ Child. Maybe we know that the feast of the Epiphany ends the Twelve Days of Christmas. Some of us might even acknowledge the fact by leaving up our trees and lights until Epiphany. But for most of us, the issue ends right there.

But if the Epiphany is no more than just a belated birthday party for Jesus, what is the point of the feast? What’s the point of the story of the Kings or magi or whoever they were? More importantly, what’s the significance of all this for your and my lives near the end of this second decade of the 21^st Century?

Maybe you've noticed that in recent years the word “Epiphany” has gained some newfound currency in day-to-day secular vocabulary. People have begun to use the word to mean “a really cool insight or idea that came on me all at once.”

But “Pinky, let’s take over the world tonight” is not an Epiphany. And, “Hey Elwood, let’s get the old band back together and do a benefit concert in Calumet City in order to pay the real estate taxes on the orphanage before the county repossesses it, ” might well be a mission from God—but a mission from God is not an Epiphany either. The journey of the three or however many there were Magi to the manger was most definately a mission from God—inspired by the Epiphany of sighting the Star of Bethlehem. But an Epiphany is not in and of itself a mission from God. A mission from God often is inspired by an epiphany—but they ain't quite the same thing.

The word “Epiphany” actually comes from a Greek word that literally means “appearance”. When it’s read as a verb epiphany means “to show forth” or “to manifest”. Webster tells us that an Epiphany is “an appearance or manifestation of a god or supernatural being.” So basically, an Epiphany means God shows up—in person—accept no substitutes. In Christian usage, The Epiphany refers to the revelation of God in Jesus Christ to the Gentiles in the person of the Magi at Bethlehem.

Good Bible scholars that you are, you’re all no doubt aware that only in the Gospel of Matthew is the story of the Magi, or wise men, or Kings told. The Gospels sometimes differ in context, or details, and timeline and arrangement of verses. That’s because each of the Gospel Evangelists wrote out of his own community, his own history, with his own particular audience in mind, and each author had his own theological axes to grind.

And Matthew was particularly concerned to convey to us that Jesus of Nazareth is the long-awaited Jewish Messiah who fulfills all of the Hebrew Bible prophecies. For him, the community of believers in Jesus Christ are the new chosen people. We are the people of the New Covenant, according to Matthew’s Gospel. The promises of God have now been transferred to us. So it should come as no surprise that Matthew uses his Nativity story to show those gentile Magi as the forerunners and symbols of the New Israel—the church.

But you know, I think many of Matthew’s readers tend to sort of skip past that point. For most of us, what tends to stand out in Matthew’s Nativity story isn’t the wonder of God’s gift of Salvation extended to all humankind, so much as it is the wonderful visual image of three or possibly more Eastern astrologers riding, by the light of the Christmas star, up to that cold, dirty stable, on their richly bedecked camels. It’s the camels that get to us. The camels stick in our minds.

But the truth is that the camels aren’t really important. It’s not important whether camels were actually domesticated two thousand years ago or not. It isn’t crucially important whether they Magi actually brought gold, frankincense and myrrh. It isn’t really important if their names were really Caspar, Melchoir, and Balthasar. It doesn’t matter if they came from Persia, or Syria, or Egypt, or Iran, or Iraq, or somewhere else. It’s not important if there were really three of them, or maybe four, or six, or even one—one after all, would have been sufficient.

It would however, have mattered if one or more of them had been wise women. You know what would have happened if there had been wise WOMEN instead of wise MEN, don’t you? The three wise WOMEN would have stopped more than once and

asked for directions, arrived on time, helped deliver the Baby, cleaned up that filthy stable, made a casserole, and brought some practical gifts, like diapers and receiving blankets.

The important thing about the Nativity is not the many colorful details that have come down to us about that beautiful story of faith. Nor is the important thing the literal truth of every single one of those details—or even all of them.

What is really important, indeed what is crucially important for you and me, and for all the world, is the truth at the heart of the story. And that truth is the simple fact that Jesus came. He came, not just as Messiah for the Jews, but as Messiah—Anointed One, Redeemer and Savior for all peoples and all nations—Jews and Greeks and Persians and Iranians and Iraqis and Americans and Russians and Chechnya’s and Blacks and Hispanics and and everyone else. He came for us all—kings and paupers, gays and straights and rich and poor and men and women and young and old.

In the middle chapters of the book of the Prophet Isaiah we read a series of poems and prophecies sometimes referred to as “Second Isaiah” Unlike the earlier chapters, these were written, not before, but during Israel’s exile in Babylon after the year 587 BCE. They were promises to the exiles that their God had not forgotten them. They were promises of the eventual restoration of the Jewish people and their land to new heights of glory. They pointed to a Messiah yet to come who would save the people. Those prophecies came to be the heart of the exiles faith in that foreign land.

Those same prophecies were read and beloved by Matthew and the other early Christians, who used them in conjunction with their own stories of faith to point to Jesus. They wanted to point to Jesus as that promised one, the Messiah come at last—come for Israel and come for the world as well. The Apostle Paul makes the same point in this morning’s Epistle.

“…through the Gospel the Gentiles are joint heirs with the Jews, part of the same body, sharers together in the promise made in Christ Jesus.”

Thus it is that on January 6^th, Christians of all races and tongues and nations and

denominations will celebrate this ancient feast of the manifestation of God in Jesus Christ to the gentiles. And what could be more appropriate? It is after all, a feast for all of them—a feast for you—a feast for me.

A cynic might look at the astounding growth of the early church and proclaim that it was nothing more than a historical accident that our faith grew, in a perfect storm, from a tiny reform movement in Judaism into a world religion. Certainly, we can trace many of the human motives, and actions, and events, and seeming coincidences, that nurtured that occurrence.

We can look, for example, at the Paul’s unwavering insistence that he be recognized as Apostle to the gentiles, and his one-track mission the Christianize the Roman world as nothing but the fruits of an overblown ego. We could point out that the conquest of Jerusalem and the destruction of the Temple by the Romans in 70 AD literally forced the early Christians out of Judea and onto the world stage. We could speculate that this quite possibly wiped out some of Paul’s rivals, who wanted to keep Christianity a part of the Jewish tradition.

We could point out how much Christianity borrowed from the Roman mystery cults-- even the date of December 25^th. We could mention the inability of classical paganism as a faith to give any real comfort or meaning to its adherents. We could point out how the First Century world was hungry for spiritual sustenance—starving for a faith with high ethical standards that also grappled honestly with the Ultimate questions of life.

Having acknowledged all of those things, we would still not have come to grips with the fundamental truth. And that truth was and is that this man Jesus, while speaking out of his own deeply rooted Jewish heritage and context, addressed all of humanity with words of comfort, words of grace, words of salvation and hope for all the world.

And as a result—Matthew and John and Luke and Paul and Silas and Barnabas and Philip and so many others found their hearts touched and their souls set on fire by God’s Spirit. And they carried that fire—that Good News—that message to all lands and peoples. And as a result—that same Gospel message has come down to us today.

It was and it is still a message that transcends our language, transcends our time, transcends our cultures, transcends our political systems, transcends our class or economic conditions, transcends the race or faiths of our ancestors. It is still the same simple message that God in Christ Jesus came for all people. And that is what’s really important about Matthew’s Nativity narrative. That is the real and abiding truth that lies at the heart of the story of Epiphany.

As Paul said, “In Him we have access to God with freedom, in the confidence born of trust in Him.” Think about the gift! Peoples in ancient times believed that the gods were too far away or too wrapped up in their own pursuits to be interested in the day to day affairs of human beings—much less care about their everyday trials and tragedies.

You had to climb a mountain, or build a temple high up into the sky. You had to get their attention with a dance or a chant or a fertility ritual. Ordinary people couldn’t approach the divine. We were too evil, too nasty and lowly to talk to the gods. So individuals and the community would symbolically cleanse itself by loading sins upon a goat or other animal and sacrifice it or drive it into the desert. Only set-apart priests and priestesses could convey our prayers to in the holy sanctuary. Even among the Jews. only the high priest could address God by name, and then only once a year—in the confines of the holy of holies.

Part of the message of the Epiphany is that you and I have free access to our Creator—through Jesus our Intercessor. When we are alone, when we are grieving, when we are filled with joy, when we feel lost, when we are thankful—any time—anywhere—no matter our need—no matter the state of our soul or our situation in life. We need not be here in the Sanctuary. We need no minister or other intermediary present. We need not say any particular prayer, perform any particular rite, or liturgical act. We can speak, cry, sing, shout, weep, grieve or dance for joy.

Our hands can be folded, or open to receive. We can kneel or sit or stand or pray lying flat on our face. We can meditate in silence or shout our praises to the sky. Our heads can be covered or uncovered. We need not wear any particular liturgical garments. And by the way, our grand-kids can pray in the classroom—no matter what the lawyers say. So long as there are tests, there will be prayers in school.

We need no special head gear or liturgical garment. We can pray here in church wearing our best, in the workplace or office or fields wearing our everyday garb, out in the garage in our grubbies, or even in the shower.

All we have to do is open our hearts, open our lives to the One who made us, and cares for us who lends us strength and courage sufficient to meet any need. All we have

to do is come before our Maker in honest regret for our sins and shortcomings and that

same God will offer forgiveness and healing and wholeness to us.

And you and I can have sure and unswerving confidence through Jesus that this God will hear and heed us. We have all of this because somehow, in a manner we cannot fully describe or understand, God chose to be made present to the world in Christ Jesus.

I could probably give a years worth of sermons on how this “making present” occurs and all that it means to us. But even if I did, it would still all remain a holy mystery.

The only real way you and I can approach this amazing fact is through faith. Faith under-girded with “confidence born of trust in him.” Faith under-girded and born of hope.

There’s a story that came out of World War II. Two unfortunate people were imprisoned in the same camp. It might have been a concentration camp, an internment camp, a POW camp, even a death camp. Where it was isn’t important. They were imprisoned. It was a dark, overcast night. It was so dark they couldn’t even see the fences or the guard towers—although they were certainly there.

One prisoner, looking out into what appeared to be endless darkness muttered to himself in despair, “I see only the darkness. I see only the mud, I see nothing.”

The other, looking into the very same darkness, said to herself, “Look over there. See all the lights. Look at the stars.”

We’ve all had our dark nights. The question is, what do we see? Darkness and mud and nothingness? Or, in the midst of trial and despair, can you and I vaguely make out the dim glow of the stars of hope? Or, on an overcast night of the soul is it enough just to know that the stars are still out there? Friends, we only need to believe that one star is out there.

It was a star that brought the Magi to the manger—the star of hope. It brought them to the cradle of the Christ—the hope of the world—God made manifest to the gentiles. Hope took them there.

Only hope can bring you and me to the manger as well. Only trust born of confidence in him can get us through our own dark nights. Only faith can lead us to Him.

Only the star of hope can lead us to new life.

In a few minutes you and I will come to Christ’s Altar. There we will have the opportunity to affirm our commitment to Him, to ask forgiveness, to offer Him our lives and our service, to remember Him and His sacrifice in the breaking of the Bread and the taking of the Cup. May each and every one of us do so in a spirit of confidence born of trust in Jesus Christ and a spirit of hope gratitude for his Epiphany among us. May each of us begin to see the faint glow of His star, rather than the dark and mud and nothingness.

Amen.