WATCH: Kingdom Choir performs "Stand By Me" at Royal Wedding

"Everyday Gifts' given Pentecost Sunday, May 20

Several years ago I read an article about a man who had taken his teen-aged daughter to a crowded movie theatre. They had arrived early, and were sitting in their seats, engaging in a bit of father-daughter bonding, when a young man in his twenties stopped and stood in the aisle next to them. Apparently the lights in the theater had not yet been dimmed. So, it was fairly obvious to them that the young man was developmentally delayed.

After looking around, the young man noticed a group seated one row in front of where he was standing. An attractive young woman was seated there with a group of young people. Spotting the group, the young man called out.

"Hey, do you mind if I sit next to you?" No one said a word. The young girl hesitated, looked at her friends, and noticed that every eye in the theater was on them. Trapped by the awkwardness of the moment, she whispered,

"No, I don't mind." Not having heard her, the young man said,

"WHAT?" Obviously embarrassed, she whispered again,

"Uh, no,... I don't mind."

The young man jumped over the seats, plopped down next to her, and began talking and asking her questions in a loud voice.

"Are you married? You're very pretty, do you have a boyfriend?"

The man exchanged glances with his daughter, and knew that the same thought was going through both their minds. Probably it was the same thought that was going through the minds of just about everyone in that theater at that moment.

"Thank goodness, he didn't sit next to us."

They felt sorry for the embarrassed young girl. They felt sorry for this mentally challenged young man. But neither of them made a move to do anything about the situation. Apparently no one else there did so either.

Later, the man wrote, "I left the movie deeply disturbed. Why hadn't I helped that poor... young man? Why hadn't I invited him to sit next to me? Why didn't I strike up a conversation with him after the movie? In other words, why didn't I show that young man more love and compassion? To be more direct, why didn't I act more like a Christian? Why didn't I do what I know Jesus most certainly would have done? I couldn't. I just sat there, powerless to do anything."

"The Spirit you received was not one to enslave you to fear again; you received the Spirit of adoption...." writes Paul in the Book of Romans. Those of us who have met and accepted this Jesus as Our Lord have been touched by that Spirit of adoption. You and I have, through the gracious work of that Spirit, become God's children. Consequently, we have available to us, a source of magnificent power for the living of our lives as disciples of Jesus Christ.

"But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes to you and you will be my witnesses", says Jesus in Acts 1. You and I are called, and enabled to witness to the world-- by our words and our deeds-- to the reality and the grace of our God. We are witnesses and adopted children of the Living God.

And yet, how many of us would have had the spiritual power to publicly show some simple compassion and care to that mentally challenged young man in that movie theater that day? I hope that I would. I pray that I would. I’d like to think that I would. But, in all honesty, I can't say for sure that I would have done anything other than what everyone else in the theater did-- just sit there and feel sorry for everyone involved-- myself included.

How many times have you or I heard ministers, lay speakers, bishops, TV preachers, Sunday School teachers talk about the power of God? How many times have I preached it? How many times have we heard how the power of God can be experienced in answered prayers, in miraculous healings, in spiritual gifts? How many times?

And yet, how many times have you or I felt powerless to reach out? How many times in our lives have we been caught unaware and felt paralyzed, unable to offer a little Christian love, afraid to offer a little common human caring to a stranger in confusion, or need, or loneliness?

Maybe, just maybe, we're misunderstanding the power of the Holy Spirit. We've gotten the idea that the Spirit's power is solely reserved for big, showy, flashy miracles-- like converting thousands of people in a day, like speaking and praying in tongues and being understood, like performing miraculous healings, like preaching with an eloquence that fills our empty churches with people. We tend to think that the Spirit's power is reserved for the spectacular, instead of being revealed in the mundane.

Somehow or other, we've gotten the misconception that our God is more interested in the big things, instead of choosing to be present in the small, everyday things. We’ve come to think that God's power is limited to the few-- the especially holy or particularly blessed-- instead of being available for all believers. We have the mistaken idea that God's power is manifested in strength, instead of being revealed in weakness.

Too often, one of the reasons you and I don't really take the Holy Spirit, the power of God seriously, is because frankly, we don't think that we're candidates for it. We just can’t really believe that we have been adopted as real live sons and daughters of the Living God. At least, not in the fullest possible sense.

Sure, the power of God, or the Holy Spirit, or the charismatic gifts are available to us for little things-- like speaking in tongues, or preaching and healing. But can we believe that same power, that those spiritual gifts are also available to us for the big things? Like for instance:

The power to care for and reach out to someone in need—

even a stranger in a crowded theater,

The power to say no to television and movies that offend our values,

The power to choose inconvenience over self-indulgence,

The power to ask those I've wronged for forgiveness,

The power to forgive those who wrong me-- even if they never ask,

The power to read and study more, especially the Scriptures,

The power to humble myself, and honestly pray,

The power to stick it out in a situation that I may not like--

if I feel that I am supposed to be there,

The power to work on my relationships with others,

The power to work on myself,

The power to cut other people some slack,

The power to recognize all the slack that others cut for me,

The power to avoid starting an argument,

The power to make up after an argument,

The power to walk away from an argument,

The power to control my temper,

The power to control my tongue,

The power to accept and affirm and celebrate others often,

The power to accept myself—warts and shortcomings and all,

The power to admit my shortcomings and my failures,

The power to transcend my failures and sin,

The power to get over all my past failures, and get on with my life,

The power to accept and really believe that my sins are forgiven,

The power to accept responsibility for my actions,

The power to listen, rather than to judge,

The power to say “no” to the demands of job when they conflict

with the needs of my family,

The power to say “no” to those material things that require so much time that they keep me from spending time on what is truly important in my life,

The power to say “no” to idleness and meaningless activity,

The power to say “yes”-- to my family-- to my integrity-- to my ministry-- to my God,

The power to say "I love you" to my spouse and children,

The power to say "I love you" to other people-- and mean it,

The power to love, even when we don't like,

The power to live with not being liked,

The power to discern what is right and what is wrong,

The power to find courage to do what I am afraid to do,

when I know it is right,

The people to ignore “what people will say”— after all, they’re going to talk about you anyway,

The power to ask and know what Jesus would do,

The power to follow my Savior, wherever He leads me.

Well. I'll admit. It's not as glamorous or as spectacular a list as speaking in tongues, interpreting tongues, prophesying, healing, teaching, governing, and evangelizing-- which is one version of Paul’s several different lists of the so-called "spiritual gifts". I'll also admit that the power of God, or at least the gifts that I've listed make the power of God sound kind of everyday and wishy-washy. At least, compared to the "charisms" that Paul lists.

And I'll admit that living your life practicing the living out of these more simple, everyday gifts, won't get your mug on TV, preaching as a big-name evangelist or faith healer. And I'll admit, that this more mundane list isn't really found in the Bible. But on the other hand, Paul did say elsewhere that "the Realm of God is not a matter of talk, but of power."

Hmmmm. Do you suppose that Paul is suggesting that if you and I worked harder at practicing the power of God in our everyday lives and relationships that we might find ourselves to be more comfortable and less self-conscious and able to reach out in simple compassion to a needy stranger on the street-- or in the movie theater? Do you suppose that the Apostle is telling us that if we really begin trying to pray for and work on perfecting those mundane, small gifts of the Holy Spirit in our lives, we might be enabled to fill our empty churches by the simple power of your and my everyday witness in the world?

Do you suppose that Paul is telling us that if we were each to just make more of an effort to practice these unspectacular gifts of the Spirit of Adoption in our everyday-ness of our lives, that speaking in tongues, and miraculous healings, and prophecies would pale into insignificance in comparison to the "marvelous sight of the sons and daughters of God coming into their own"?

The gifts are there for us. The Spirit is there for us. We've already received the Spirit in fact. You and I need never fear or be embarrassed to reach out in compassion, or fear to witness, or share again. Paul says so.

"The Spirit you received was not one to enslave you to fear again... The very Spirit of God joins with our spirit to testify that we are God's children." Amen.

"What's It Got To Do With Us?" given May 13

Retired Bishop William Willimon tells of driving by a church on Mother‘s Day. That particular church building had a little billboard out front where the pastor was accustomed to putting up moralistic slogans. The board read: "Virtues are learned at mother's knee. Vices at some other joint."

That’s a cute saying-- and true. And it’s even more true our mothers deserve a lot more thanks from us than just a saying on a bulletin board, a Hallmark card and a meal out one Sunday afternoon a year. (By the way, if you’re interested, the next week the bulletin board read: "Killing time makes you a murderer of opportunity." That’s true as well.)

But, Willimon wonders, what if some unchurched person driving by were to read those little aphorisms and came to the conclusion that they were all there really is to the Christian faith?

There is something in the modern church that makes us seem almost intent on reducing the Christian faith to the lowest common denominator. There’s a risk in that of course. And the risk is that we might take the great vision of Jesus and boil it down to something mundane and subjective.

We love to sing sweet soft songs like, “I Come to the Garden Alone” or “There’s Something About That Name“ And those sentiments can be real and powerful. Maybe to some they may seem a bit overly sentimental and hokey-- with a perhaps overly cozy vision of gentle Jesus meek and mild, tucked safely away, and innocuously, in our individual hearts. Nevertheless that aspect of faith is true and meaningful for many.

But aren’t they only half the story of Christianity? As well as a personal Savior, we cannot forget that our Good Savior Jesus is also Risen and Ascended-- the Cosmic Christ-- Redeemer of the world and all humanity. As well as a God who is immanent and immediate in our lives, we cannot forget that our God is also a God who transcends the bounds of human knowledge and experience and imagination.

Our God is Creator of the world, the stars and planets, Ruler of the multi-verses. In order for us to be true to that same God, true to the core of Christianity, there must also be something cosmic and universal in our testimony of faith.

In our Scripture today we read Luke’s two accounts of Jesus' Ascension into heaven. Forty days after Easter, after the Risen Christ had appeared to His disciples and comforted them, He rose, again. This time not from the dead, but from the earth, into heaven.

In the 47^th Psalm we read that “God has gone up with a shout.” In Jesus Christ our God has gone up-- yes. But not to desert suffering humanity. Not leaving us to our own worst devices. Not to flee this earth. Our God in Christ has gone up to begin in heaven what is yet to be accomplished on earth. Our Lord Jesus has gone up, not to forsake us, but to continue to redeem us. The Doctrine of the Ascension asserts that He has gone up to take charge, to rule, to put all things under His feet.

What can make of such a bold statement? What are we to make of such a very strange story as our Gospel reading for this morning? All that Luke-- that the church is trying to say here is that there is something big going on-- something wondrous, something too grand to be limited to our earthbound categories-- something cosmic is afoot.

The same Jesus of Nazareth - carpenter's son, teacher, crucified and suffering One - that same Jesus has now gone up to sit at the right hand of the Almighty Creator. This same Jesus - who was rejected by the establishment, crucified by Caesar, dead and buried - to this suffering One, God said, "Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies your footstool" (Ps 110:1). This same Cosmic Christ now rules alongside and in the Creator: "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me," He says (Mt 28:18).

It’s really too bad we have such trouble understanding that fact-- much less believing it. The cosmology of the Ascension bemuses the modern mind. Our puny, self-centered "modern minds" no longer ask questions for which cosmic, universal answers are needed. We don't worry too much anymore about the big picture. Rather, we content ourselves with the cultivation of our own little gardens, hunker down, trying to take care of our own little corner of the world.

If we happen to be doing okay at the moment, we don't worry too much about the rest of creation. We exist in a flattened, ranch style, one dimensional universe. In our world, nothing goes up but rockets and the cost of living and unemployment statistics. Jesus stays in place.

Here, feet squarely planted in solidarity with us - next door, arm in arm with our values, our needs, our limits, our world view. We have tried to make God into the political liberator, or the liberal noble example of highest humanity, or the amenable, polyester-suited panelist on the TV Christian talk show, or even the televangelist-- but not the Ascended One. It's all been flattened out now, whittled to our scale, a pancake worldview as uneventful as a Central Illinois landscape. So far as we know our God no longer goes up-- or anywhere else.

We are people with small, everyday, subjective concerns, and so it’s little wonder that many of us are willing to ignore celebrating the Ascension. It doesn't fit anymore; it's not mentioned that often in the New Testament; it falls on a Thursday. Who needs it? What’s it got to do with me, in my world? .

God in Christ Jesus has gone up with a shout. But as our Savior promised in the Upper Room, we have not been left orphans on this world. The Holy Spirit, the surpassing greatness of God's power is communicated directly to the hearts of believers like us! The One who is seated above every authority and dominion in every age is bodily present in the lowly group of people known as the Church! This is experience we call faith: the recognition that the God which no one can grasp actually resides in the inner recesses of the human soul. One preacher put it this way:

“From the fiery explosions at the edges of the universe to the breath of life blowing upon the damp clay of the earth, we reach for the mystery of God only to discover that we are held. From the day that the Lord ascended into the gray mists atop a mountain to the crimson fire and driving wind of Pentecost, we disciples strain to see a vision of the God only to be blinded by the brightness of God. “

What does that have to do with me and my life? Everything! Because it means that this Jesus we follow was more than a prophet, more than a great teacher of ethics, more than a visionary religious leader. It means that as well as defeating death in His Resurrection, Jesus our Savior has in His Ascension, broken all the barriers that would limit or bind human life on this planet.

It means that Jesus can be that friend we sing about in the song--to all of us. It means that the Cosmic Christ can weep beside me in my times of deepest grief. He can celebrate with me in my times of greatest joy.

And it means He can and He will-- stand alongside you-- and you-- and you-- in your times of need and joy-- even at the same moment as He is standing beside me. It means that no matter what slings and arrows of outrageous fortune may strike us—we do not stand up to them alone. We have a Comforter, a Counselor, a Savior who will walk with us-- and allow us to stand tall.

This illogical, seemingly self-contradictory Doctrine of the Ascension is not necessarily the easiest spiritual fare for a sunny, calm, ordered Sunday in May. Its message is not that of escapist nostalgia or refined academic dispute, but of defiant, clinch-fisted Apocalypticism. It's a faith for the last days, the darkest days, the days caught between the heel of the oppressor and the chant of the lynch mob.

The One who came and stood beside us, who suffered because of us and for us, who felt the heel of Caesar, the fickleness of the crowd, and the cowardice of disciples, this One has gone up. He is God, not just for the church, not just within my heart, but for the whole world-- for all of creation. Nothing shall be beyond His lordship.

The Ascension is not a Divine escape from this world-- we do not worship a distant Clockmaker/God dwelling in a seventh heaven far removed from us and from our earthly concerns. Our God has gone up with a shout and reigns. So it is time for us to stop gazing up into heaven and start looking on earth for evidence of His rule. The truth is, no matter who is in the White House or what the newspapers say, Christ is Pantocrator-- the Cosmic Christ, Redeemer and now Ruler of all of Creation. He holds the whole cosmos in His expansive embrace.

Our God has gone up with a shout, and we have something to say to life in the valley. To the mother weeping for her starving child, to the person with terminal illness, to the unemployed, the suffering, the victim of terror or violence we can proclaim with joy and hope, God has gone up. Let us say to them what He has said to us, "I am ascending to my Father/Mother in heaven and your Father/Mother in heven, to my God and your God" (Jn 20:17). .

The angels of the Ascension query us, "Why do you stand gazing into heaven?" Jesus promised power and Holy Spirit for us to stay engaged here in the earth. Jesus stands beside us now-- all of us-- that everywhere and everyone may reach out and respond to him, receive a portion of His Spirit, --the teaching and practice of His lifetime as our Rabbi. Just as Elisha received the double share of Elijah's spirit, so Jesus promised that we should do "greater things" than He, because He goes to the Creator.

The Ascension is the great answer for the great questions of existence-- war, injustice, oppression, and faith. Because Our God has gone up, we're compelled toward cosmic, worldwide, multinational, universal concerns. Why? Because even these must be subject to His rule.

The problem is that we have over-sentimentalized that radical hope. We have been too fearful to hear that promise and accept it‘s challenge. We boldly sing “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” but we are too timid to also proclaim with our lives and our involvement “Hope of the World, Thou Christ of Great Compassion”

As a result, over the centuries, Christian churches have too often became observation platforms for watching the heavens. And we have gotten better and better at imaging the life after death in heavenly realms, and booking passage there unto than at anticipating and participating in and celebrating the coming of God’s Earthly Rule-- the New Jerusalem. That is the Holy Realm that you and I have a mission from Rabbi Jesus to help build-- that His prayer might be realized to make all humankind One-- one community, one synagogue, one gathering, one Temple.

The disciples responded to Jesus,

"Is it now that you will restore our sovereignty as a people? Will you give us back our dignity as a nation, take away the oppression of the Empire?"

Jesus did not say to them 'You have mistaken my mission entirely, you should be thinking about the next world, Somewhere Over the Rainbow .' or ‘Pie in the Sky When You Die’. Instead, Jesus responded to their most ardent hopes, telling them-- and us--

"We can't know for certain of such things as when or where, but we know HOW -- you will get power only if you stay engaged, if your religion is bound to the earthly city, where you are to achieve it, and then you'll be able to witness to

me and to my agenda for humankind everywhere, sharing my news in Judea and

Samaria, in Nicaragua and Afghanistan, and Lindenhurst and Gurnee, in Iran and Iraq, and to the end of the ages.

The same spiritual power of God that had been at work in Jesus had now passed to the assembled community of men and women who followed him from Galilee to Jerusalem, had witnessed to His Resurrection, and now formed a visible community of faith awaiting His return. The church remains that visible, still awaiting community of believers to this day.

What does that have to do with us and with our concerns? It means we don’t have to keep living our lives in despair and empty hope. It means that you and I can have courage to stand up against what is wrong-- knowing that there is an absolute right in the cosmos-- and that it will triumph.

It means that we can live in integrity-- knowing there are absolute values in the cosmos. It means that we can pray for and struggle for and live for peace---knowing that peace and right are stronger than wrong and justice will in the end triumph-- no matter how long it takes.

It means that we can go on working and witnessing against injustice wherever we encounter it-- knowing that there is-- there will be Divine Justice. And that it will somehow, someday, on some plane of existence, right all the intolerable wrongs and make sense of all the senseless tragedies we see around us and shake our heads about in sadness and puzzlement.

The story of the Ascension has a missionary thrust which you and I cannot ignore. When empowered as promised by Christ-- they-- we-- were and are called to become His witnesses to the world. Our God in Christ Jesus has gone up with a shout. And that means empowered by His Spirit, encouraged by the radical promise of His Resurrection and Ascension, you and I can live lives of meaning and purpose and joy as we carry on His Mission here, in His world.

"The Wheels Are Coming Off" given May 6

We were warned.

In the second chapter of the Book of Acts, after a resurrected Jesus leaves the scene for good, the first disciples are hanging out, waiting for God-knows-what. What, exactly, does one wait for after you’ve just seen your dead friend come back to life and eat a piece of fish ?

Then, she arrives. The Holy Spirit enters, bringing holy calamity. People speak in every kind of language — people from every corner of the Near East, who have no business knowing one another, can suddenly talk like family. Everyone outside the group thinks they’re drunk. But Peter, the group’s leader, has another idea:

Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose...

16No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:

17 “In the last days it will be, God declares,

that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,

and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,

and your young men shall see visions,

and your old men shall dream dreams.

21 Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord

shall be saved”

(Acts 2:15-21, NRSV)

Like I said: we were warned that there would be holy mayhem. At the provocation of this mysterious Holy Spirit, there will be prophesies, visions and dreams. And by these flights of imagination and forays into the subconscious, we will discover a world in which everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.

The Wheels on the Bus Are ... Coming Off

The Book of Acts is often referred to as the story of the Gentile mission. Most of its 28 chapters tell the story of how “The Way” of Jesus (Acts 24:14) expanded from its origins in and around Jerusalem to gain followers all around the Mediterranean. This was no easy feat. To adapt from Jewish into non-Jewish cultures required excruciating growing pains. Did new followers have to be circumcised — as adults?

Did they have to follow Jewish dietary customs? None of these questions brought unanimity. I love remembering that good church folks have been fighting with each other since the beginning — it makes today’s church fights seem less threatening. People of faith have always disagreed about the path of integrity. We always will-- until Jesus comes back to render all our debating moot.

All of this provides important background for what happens in Acts chapter 10. The wheels have already come off the church bus — the darn thing is still hurtling down the highway ... but it’s about to split in half.

Here’s a highlight reel:

Scene 1: We meet Cornelius, a Roman army officer. He’s not Jewish, but he respects God deeply, gives to charity, and has a robust prayer life. And he’s having dreams.

Scene 2: Peter, the leader of the apostles, is seeing things, too. There’s a white sheet that descends from heaven containing every known animal, clean and unclean. Peter is told to “get up, kill and eat” (and you thought Jung”s dreams were weird!).

Peter rebels — what?! I don’t do that! We can’t do that! How will we maintain our religious identity if we don’t separate ourselves by our unique practices?

Scene 3: Messengers from Cornelius arrive seeking Peter. Peter is not sure where he’s going, only sure that God is directing him. He’s not driving this bus after all.

Scene 4: Peter arrives at Cornelius’ house. The two men talk openly, sharing their dreams.

Scene 5: Peter preaches one of the most powerful sermons in history: “I now know that God knows no partiality.” It was a shocking declaration then. Truthfully, it may be just as shocking today for those who have been on the business end of Christianity’s judgment stick — and for those who have wielded it.

Scene 6: The Holy Spirit rests on Cornelius and his family, showing everyone that these Gentiles are full members of the family of faith. Cornelius invites Peter to stay the night at his house: hospitality seals their friendship and their kinship.

Scene 7: At the beginning of Acts 11, Peter tells the Jerusalem disciples his experience with Cornelius. After a (long?) moment of silent shock, a word of praise emerges: “God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life.”

God Shows No Partiality. Can We?

You’re excused if you don’t feel the heat in this passage, if you don’t feel tectonic plates moving under your feet. Our cultural context is far removed. A debate over the religious repercussions of eating pork may feel like small beans. (God knows the church has all too often ignored Jesus’ prayer that we might “all be one”)

But if you don’t stumble over the line “God knows no partiality,” you’re not paying attention to the jagged edge where the church and the world meet. The very phrase is audacious. NO partiality?

Aren’t young people are fleeing churches today in part because churches express too much partiality? The church could respond: doesn’t God judge sin? Don’t sinners have to repent to come into the church? Don’t statements in Scripture that expressly forbid certain behaviors mean anything?

Does the church have a right to keep gay men and lesbian women out, given what the Bible says? What about young people of faith who acknowledge, through their advocacy of birth control as medical necessity, that they are having non-procreative pre-marital sex? In or out? Can the church keep out those who are disruptive of worship — mentally ill men and women, little children? In or out?

How welcome are returning soldiers in liberal anti-war congregations? How welcome are corporate leaders?

None of us knows exactly what Peter meant when he blurted out, “God shows no partiality!” He didn’t include a 10-point list of the folks who should be included in faith communities. He didn’t make a biblical case for his bald assertion — he never says “those dietary laws in our Scriptures are moot.” He skips over the biblical argument. His only defense seems to be “the Spirit made me do it.”

What Peter did changed the course of Christianity forever. He opened it to the whole world — to you and me, who would never have been welcome if this vision of God’s impartiality had not worked its way through Peter’s — and Cornelius’ — active imaginations.

When Peter declared, “God shows no partiality,” he opened the possibility that anyone — everyone — is welcome in the family of faith. He also put us on warning: the rules were changed for you, so that you could come in — who are you, then, to prevent God from blessing the whole human family? Who are you to stand in the way of God’s love?

The Spirit is still here. Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved. Everyone. We can’t say that we weren’t warned.

Dolly Parton - Coat Of Many Colors

Bread and Roses

Pavarotti & Clapton Holy Mother For War Child 1996

When you've been in the pastoral ministry as long as I, there is a tendency to become jaded, cynical. I wish it weren't so, but it is. It's like you've heard it all before.

Take evangelism, for instance. How many evangelism emphases have we had in our

Annual Conference since I've been a pastor? Seems like every time we get a new bishop, some new prorgram comes along to proclaim the beginning of a great wave of religious revival that will sweep our Annual Conference--some new program or technique to bring people in. I remember "The Daring Journey”," when we were supposed to get about a humungous number converts in the late 1970s. Then in the eighties we all teaching “Disciple Bible Studies”, followed almost immeditely by “Alpha” Then it was "Vision 2000." and now I believe we're in the middle of Vision 2020. I confess that a sort of fatigue sets in. One becomes weary, wary of these promised quick fixes for the problem of our decline.

Today's lesson from The Book of Acts is an evangelistic story, a story about Good News, the Good News of Christ coming to someone. But it is not evangelism without some cost, some pain.

Who did the Good News (i.e., Gospel) come to and what was learned about that news?

Well, the story begins with Philip, who is told to arise and go, of all places, to the middle of the desert at, of all times, noon. He isn't told why. But let me just call to your attention that this expedition is not Philip's idea. He is called, told to go there—so he goes.

There, in the desert, Philip meets a strange traveler, an Ethiopian, a member of the court of the Queen of the Ethiopians, a man presumably of a different race, of exotic culture and nationality, of different gender /sexual orientation—he is a eunuch—and if you don’t know what that word means—don’t embarrass us both by asking here in the Sanctuary—go ask your friendly farmer after the sermon.

In any case, the Ethiopian has somehow got hold of a scroll of the prophet Isaiah. Isaiah was Jesus' favorite prophet, though the Ethiopian doesn't know that. He has had trouble making sense of what he is reading, something about a lamb led to his death.

Because Philip is a Jew, the Ethiopian asks, "Who is the writer speaking about, himself or

someone else?"

As a child in Sabbath school, had Philip learned this verse from Leviticus by heart? "When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God"

Philip, whose encounter with Jesus has led him to read Isaiah as prophesy of Jesus, tells the Ethiopian, "It's about Jesus and how he died.” Philip tells the Ethiopian what he knows about Jesus; and what the Risen Lord has done and means, in Philip’s life—no more, no less.

He must have taught well, for the Ethiopian asks Philip to baptize him. Philip politely resists. He says he would if he could, but there's no water in the desert. We wonder if Philip was just as glad not to have water for baptism. After all, what are the newly born church's rules on baptism of Ethiopians, of eunuchs, of these borderline, honorary Jews—known as “Godfearers?

The problem was, there were no rules yet. And Philip was apparently not the kind of guy who gloried in creating precedents. Suddenly, almost miraculously, they notice there is water. Philip perhaps sighs just a bit as he baptizes this man from the margins. As if to confirm this surprising turn of events, the Holy Spirit immediately descends, empowering the Ethiopian to live as a new disciple of Jesus.

Which brings us back to how we got out here in the desert in the first place. This

surprising, stunning act of evangelism was not Philip's or his church's idea. Philip got dragged

kicking and screaming out here to, of all places, the desert to minister to, of all people, this

Ethiopian.

Now what do we learn about evangelism, the spread of the Good News of Christ, from

this story? I'll tell you what I learn. Evangelism, reaching out to the world is God's idea before it is ours. At every turn in the road, when the Holy Spirit turned toward the Gentiles, then to this race and that, the church had to be pushed, prodded there. Maybe it's only natural to think of Jesus as our buddy, or pet, rather than our Lord. So we hunker down with Jesus, just us and our people, and well the story of Jesus might have ended in Jerusalem, with his first followers and their best friends.

But no, this God is not only Creator and Christ, but also Holy Spirit. So the Holy Spirit

comes along and pushes you and me out into some desert and the next thing you know we're having to call this Ethiopian "brother." Throughout her history, every time the church of Jesus came into interaction with seekers and believers of another culture or race, yes, there has been conflict and even discomfort. But ever time that has happened, the faith has spread, and grown, and evolved—every time.

Evangelism engenders growth. And evangelism doesn’t begin with our inclusiveness, but in the heart of God. It’s God's grand resolve to have a people, a nation gathered not as the world gathers people - by race, gender, class - but by the call of God. It's hospitality in the name of Christ. Hospitality toward the stranger, to one who is outside the bounds of our definitions of "insiders" and "outsiders," is a virtue that crosses culture and history. In ancient times hospitality meant greeting and feeding and sheltering and protecting the stranger—because in part, someday you might be the stranger—dependant on the care of someone you do not even know.

In both ancient and modern Jewish and Christian understandings, a follower of God shows love for God and others by extending hospitality—welcome and acceptance at the very least—to outsiders, visitors, newcomers--even if they are complete strangers in every sense. But for us the reason is that they, like us, are children of God. And as an extra goodie, when we open our hearts and homes and churches we cultivate God’s blessings on our own lives and households.

Sometimes people in the church say, "I would be more evangelistic, more willing to share the story of Christ with others, but I'm too shy."

I know that it's not easy to share your faith. But I wonder if the main reason why we are

reluctant to be more evangelistic, more inviting toward the world, is not so much that we'e afraid that we'll embarass ourselves, that we fear it will work.

That is, we're afraid on some the "wrong" people might step forward, might hear the Good News as their might hear the Good News as their news, might say, "Yes, I want to follow Jesus." Then where would we be, our churches disrupted by all these people we don't even know? People of different color, or tongue, or culture or class? People withn noisy little babies and disruptive children? My goodness! Is there no limit to God's, or our, hospitality?

Bible scholar Dominic Crossan believes that one of the reasons why Jesus ran into trouble with the religious authorities of his day was that Jesus practiced open-table fellowship with all, even with "sinners."

A key aspect of Jesus' ministry, according to Crossan, was that Jesus kept inviting all to eat and drink with him at his table. It was, in other words, his hospitality that landed him in difficulty.

I'll tell you a secret. We very well might be more a church of the Holy Spirit than merely another human organization formed for purely human purposes. Luther claimed that he led the Protestant Reformation by sitting in the tavern, drinking good beer and minding his own business. The Holy Spirit did the rest.

We keep forgetting that the church is the product of the Holy Spirit, not of our breathless, earnest pastoral efforts. Sometimes the best thing we in the church can do is invite friends and neighbors and family menbers to visit in order to transform our churches into hospitable, welcoming, loving communities by and than get our the way, letting the Holy Spirit do what the Spirit does.

The risk is that when we bring in the newcomers, those who are different—different in gender, different in generation or family structure, different in life style, color, background-- people on the fringe of what we feel comfortable with-- they very well might challenge us, and grow us. The Holy Spirit, that old, surprising power of God, specializes, loves to leap all-too human boundaries, pushing down walls between people, kicking open another our locked doors. There's a party, and guess who's invited?

Evangelism, the church's attempt to be and to share the Good News, is a program, not of our denomination, but of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit keeps church interesting, keeps

bringing us new sisters and brothers, keeps converting us into a more expansive, embracing

gospel than the one we would have had if we had not been given the Spirit.

In a couple of Sundays, we'll be at Pentecost. The risen Christ had told his disciples,

"You wait in Jerusalem until I give you the Holy Spirit." They received the Spirit at Pentecost.

And things have never been quiet in church since.

By What Name

It was after Pentecost. Peter and John were walking in the courtyard of the temple when a lame beggar asked them for alms. Peter took the beggar by the hand and said,

"I have no silver or gold ,but what I have I give you; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, stand up and walk" (Acts4:6). To the astonishment of the onlookers, the man was instantly healed, and praised God joyously. A crowd gathered, wondering how such a miracle was possible, and Peter saw an opportunity to present the Gospel. This upset the elders and Sadducees, and they had Peter and John arrested.

Why? Not because the lame man had been healed. There were all sorts of itinerant preachers and magicians and wonder-workers in first-century Palestine. The elders arrested Peter and John anticipating their answer to the question posed in verse 7: "By what power or by what name did you do this?"

The Sadducees were worried. "The name" was not just a combination of letters to form a word. The name "Jesus" was a common enough one in that day. But claiming the power of the name of Jesus Christ was a direct challenge to their security. Jesus Christ was the one they crucified, the one whom some people claimed was Messiah, the one they were afraid had indeed risen from the dead.

Now Peter was identifying signs and wonders with the itinerant rabbi who had also done signs and wonders, and claiming that by the name of Jesus Christ comes salvation, forgiveness of sins, healing, and the resurrection of the dead: this was drawing on power far greater than theirs, and that frightened them.

We would say we are not frightened that way today. We do not worry about maintaining

equilibrium with the Roman Empire, or collecting temple taxes, or people respecting our

interpretation of the Law and the prophets. We have seen television preachers make grandiose claims and draw huge followings, only to disappear from the public eye in disgrace. Claiming something to be the truth about Jesus Christ does not threaten our security as it did for those who placed Peter and John on trial.

But a very curious reversal seems to have taken place in the intervening centuries. Most people present this morning, I am sure, would identify themselves as Christians, that is, people who bear the name of Jesus Christ and call themselves followers of the Messiah. Some would even want to claim that the prevailing culture is - or was at one time - Christian. And yet the way we live and proclaim our faith is calculated not to offend any elders or Sadducees we encounter. In a multicultural, pluralistic society, "nice people" bend over backward to avoid claiming the power of Jesus' name. Almost anything is preferable to the offense of hearing others talk about him, and what he means to them, or being asked what he means to us.

How many have abandoned the name of Jesus Christ, and given it over to religious

eccentrics and blasphemers? Only weird people in train stations or at Promise Keeper rallies talkabout their faith openly. We don't like the methods used by strong-arm evangelists or cult

members or even more extroverted brothers and sisters in the faith. We're proud that we would never act like that, and the result is that we do not have much to say about Jesus, in public witness or private conversation.

The name of Jesus has become the last taboo. I read about a local congregation that had its centennial not long ago. The members made a huge banner to go on the side of the building: "Celebrating 100 Years of Community Service."

Community service? Is that anything distinct from what the Kiwanis or Lions Club or or your precinct captain's Office does? Or consider the television series about ostensibly religious characters in recent years: Nothing Sacred, Touched by An Angel, Seventh Heaven, Amazing Grace. The name of Jesus is conspicuous by its absence.

In new hymnals published by mainline denominations, there is a notable decrease in the number of hymns naming the person of Jesus. We sing, "they'll know we are Christians

by our love, by our love," as though by loving people enough, Jesus Christ will be absorbed by osmosis. It is almost like living in Old Testament times, when it was forbidden to say the name of Yahweh. But back then it was forbidden out of reverence, not out of embarrassment or shame. When Jesus' name is not proclaimed, his power to heal and forgive are not experienced by his people.

It may be that we shy away from the name of Jesus because we're troubled by verse

12 and its seemingly exclusive claims. We shrink away from evangelism that seems to

proclaim no salvation outside Jesus Christ:

"What about people who never had the opportunity to hear the Gospel? Remote tribes and all that?"

And that's a real theological concern—what about all the obvious holy men and women of other faith traditions? Will the Dali Lama go to heaven? Did Ghandi make the cut? What about the Jews? Or faithful, peace loving Muslims? Not to mention devout Mormons? I once heard a debate between two evangelical Christians about whether or not Pope John Paul II would go to heaven. Older Roman Catholic acquaintances tell me they were taught in their religious schools that there was no salvation for anyone not ordained or in a religious order.

Personally, I trust God will sort out such questions with mercy and tolerance. I figure that a good Catholic will get into heaven faster than a bad Methodist. As Pope Francis commented when asked about faithful LGBT folk getting into heaven, “If they are a good person, who am I to judge?”

But I suspect than on the whole, we are less concerned about well-meaning people in faraway places as we are anxious to excuse ourselves from bearing witness to Christ right where we are. This gets to the root of the matter: we lack the boldness to use the name of Jesus because we afraid of that power in our own lives. The prospect of a life-changing encounter with the living Lord is awesome and terrifying, and some of us aren't ready for that.

Intimacy with Jesus can turn your life upside down, as Simon Peter's life amply

demonstrates. It changes your values as well as your conversation. In the presence of the

resurrected Savior, you realize that you are with one who knows the dark side of your life as well as your public face; one who knows things you've hidden successfully from the elders and Sadducees; one who knows you better than you know yourself. This Jesus, who knows your failures and weaknesses and anxieties about the future, is the one who can take away the burden you are carrying. Jesus is the one who can give you a new life. Jesus is the one who saves and heals.

And when you invoke the holy name of Jesus, the powers that would silence you hold no power over you. When you confess the one whose name is Jesus as your Lord, life is transformed. Like Peter, you can be changed from a hot-tempered, two-faced coward (or whatever sin besets you) into someone radiant, joyful, brave; someone who participates in God's ongoing work of redemption through the power of Jesus' name.

Some wit once said, "Happiness is like potato salad. Share it, and you have a picnic." Faith in Jesus, and daring to utter his name, may be said to work in an analogous way. Sharing who Jesus is and what he has done begets other sharing, and opens people to the ongoing power of Christ's Spirit in the world. We see it in the book of Acts and we may see it in the world around us. There is happiness in witnessing what God has done and continues to do in other lives.

In Scandalous Risks, one of Susan Howatch's novels about the Church of England in the 20^th century, one of the characters caught up in an obsessive relationship makes the wry observation: "By this time I had discovered that if one is violently in love the desire to talk constantly about the object of one's passion is very strong."

If this is true (and I believe it is), what does it suggestabout the depth of our love for Jesus Christ? What a privilege it is to bear the name of Christ, and become a vehicle for that saving, healing power. Thanks be to God for those who have the name of Jesus on their lips and in their hearts.

VICTORY!

One of the part-time jobs I held while I was working my way through McCormick Seminary was at a recently inaugerated TV station, WSNS Channel 44 in Chicago. My official job title was “Night Security/Receptionist”. I sat at a desk in the front lobby. My duties were to greet guests arriving to appear on the live evening shows. Then at 10:30 p.m.--after the news. I would lock the front door. I had no other duties until midnight, when the station signed off. From 10:30 to midnight, I would sit in the main control room while the techies ran and watched old movies or syndicated shows. (A special favorite of the control room guys was The Porter Waggoner Show, a country music show which featured a rising 18 year old girl singer who invariably wore gingam dresses, known as “Miss Dolly”)

A few months into my time there, the station started running pre-recorded wrestling matches from Indianapolis. Amazingly enough, at that time there were NO live wrestling matches in the Windy City! Then a few months later, the Indianapolis promoter

brought live wrestling back to Chicago at the old International Amphitheatre. Starring such premier athletes as peroxide-blonde good guy named “Dick the Bruiser” and his look-alike cousin “The Crusher”, versus a bad guy tag team known as “The Black-Jacks” with their weaselly manager, Bobby “The Brain” Heenan.

What were those matches like? If you've ever seen “Monday Night Raw”-- it was even tackeyer than that. If you've never watched professional wrestling—the basic scenario—with variations goes something like this.

People of all ages sit or stand crowded, clustered around an illuminated canvas square. At last, the house lights were turned down and a recording blares out of the loudspeakers – somber, dark, forbidding music which heralded the arrival of the first team of wrestlers –Mr. Badguy and The Villain. The anxious crowd comes to life, screaming at the entering wrestlers, taunting them, jeering, sailing paper cups and empty popcorn boxes at them.

Nobody has to tell you that here is evil incarnate, nearly 500 pounds of it. Dressed for the part, Mr. Badguy had long, dark, greasy hair and an unkempt beard. He wore a thick, purple velour robe with black trim. His cohort, The Villain, was adorned in a maroon robe and black mask. Personified evil stands beside anonymous evil menacing the crowd, strutting about the ring, claiming the whole arena as their possession, working the people up to a frenzy of anger and fear as the music reached a crescendo of gloom.

The loudspeaker now shifts to a more noble tune, a stirring, uplifting strain that signaled the entrance of two more behemoths. The spotlight follows Mr. Goodguy and The Hero as they make their way down the aisle. The crowd roars approval, welcoming these angels of light. They cheer Mr. Goodguy and The Hero, urging them toward the ring, shouting to Mr. Badguy and The Villain that the end is near in language forbidden to use at home.

Both teams face one another across the canvas mat. The music goes silent; the serious business of the night has begun. Mr. Badguy and The Villain stand sullenly on the left side, arms folded on chests, disgustingly smug, oblivious to the continuing sporadic insults from the crowd. Mr. Goodguy and The Hero stand in fraternal embrace, their earnest and studied composure broken only by their occasional friendly acknowledgment of the crowd’s declaration of confidence in their ability to crush the evil ones.

The referee explains the rules to The Hero and Mr. Goodguy who listen respectfully and to Mr. Badguy and The Villain who couldn’t care less. The bell rings and the match begins, accompanied by the screams of the crowd.

Obviously, Mr. Badguy and The Villain have no intention of obeying the rules . Mr. Badguy and Mr. Goodguy were the first to fight. In spite of the referee’s warnings, Mr. Badguy kicked, punched, even bit Mr. Goodguy several times. These infractions, many of which went unnoticed by the myopic referee, were quite obvious to the crowd who stood screaming and pointing in a desperate attempt to help the referee see the injustice that was being perpetrated in the ring.

For 10 or 15 minutes Mr. Badguy pummels poor Mr. Goodguy, dragging him by the hair to the opposite end of the ring where Mr. Goodguy has little hope of tagging his teammate. Here Mr. Badguy was free to put Mr. Goodguy through a series of unspeakably diabolic tortures, urged on by the sadistic encouragement of The Villain who kept roaring, “Let me at him.”

The Hero, true to his role, gentlemanly stands on the far end of the ring, straining at the ropes, reaching out pathetically to his suffering friend, but unwilling to break the rules by entering the ring before he was legally tagged. Unfortunately for his partner, The Hero’s virtue only prolongs Mr. Goodguy’s agony. In spite of the rules or the referee’s warnings, The Villain makes a quick foray into the ring, kicks Mr. Goodguy in the ribs, and jumps back through the ropes before the referee could reprimand.

This is the last straw, as far as the crowd was concerned, They had vocally objected to the punches, bites, and twistings that Mr. Badguy has inflicted upon Mr. Goodguy, but now they all scream with one, great, frenzied voice at this two-on-one nastiness. Women weep, young men run down the aisle screaming, chastising both the masked perpetrator of the deed and the referee for allowing it to happen. Men have to be restrained by their wives lest they enter the ring and take up poor Mr. Goodguy’s cause. Little children shouted invectives and threats, vowing to do this or that to Satan’s lieutenants.

Through some superhuman act of the will, Mr. Goodguy managed to crawl back across the mat, across what seemed like a thousand desolate miles, to push forth his weak hand to touch the saving arm of his liberator, The Hero. The people, who watched this movement in hushed and prayerful anticipation, scream their thanksgiving and praise.

Now there would be justice, now the judgment. The Hero strides confidently into the ring after helping his wounded friend up to the ropes.

The Hero proves to be the master of the ring. With one swift movement of arms and feet, he flips The Villain on the mat before he knew what hit him. Then, with Mr. Badguy now backing away, pleading for mercy and reason, The Hero miraculously lifts this Goliath up, up over his shoulders, high in the air, and throws him across the ring toward the writhing Villain. There, The Hero lockes the two of them together, sitting upon their legs, twisting their feet until both screamed for mercy.

At last the referee comes to life and, with the crowd chanting along with him, gave the count, tolling over the auditorium –“one, two, three”

The battle is over! People weep, shout, stamp their feet, embrace one another, rejoice, and The Hero and Mr. Goodguy stood center ring, arms outstretched, feet solidly planted in victory, leaving the once-so-threatening Mr. Badguy and The Villain to move away quietly and penitently toward the dressing room.

Who are these people who pay for, and plead for, and give thanks for this ritual enact night after night, in arena after arena, city after city? They are the inhabitants of our towns and vilages who you walk or drive by in our streets and in shops and malls and rarely see. They are male and female; black and tan and brown; young and elderly; employed or unemployed; janitors and business people; people who work in factories and offices; loading docks and retail stores and military bases. Their families have been here for generations, or they are are recent immigrints. They are pretty much the same sort of people you'd see ( I suspect that you'd see at a mixed martial arts match, or a boxing match .)

But if we know WHO the crowd is, there remains the question, WHY do they come? WHY do they watch those matches on TV? You might as well ask why people goes to drag races or read comic books, or watch superhero or cowboy movies. Is it eagerness to see a disaster—bloodthirsty-ness? Maybe for some. Is it sheer spectacle. Maybe for some others. But most of all, I think that they—we are looking for something

else'

For these people—for you and me, if we care to tune in, for one brief moment on a Monday or Friday night, we get a glimpse of glory. We get to be an eyewitness to the triumph of straightforward good over sneaky, backstabbing evil; we got to see those who played by the rules win for a change.

A long time later, I witnessed a similar morality play on an Easter Sunday morning and I understood.

The candles were lit in darkness, the first rays of Sunday morning sunshine filtered through the window, the preacher shouted, “Christ is risen,” and the people chanted songs about death being swallowed up in victory. We witnessed someone like us hurt, slain, rejected, shouted at, condemned, crucified, a Nazarene who lived on the wrong side of the tracks, and knew what it meant to be on the receiving end of injustice. We watched him rise.

“He disarmed the principalities and powers and made a public example of them, triumphing over them in him” (Col 2:15).

He rose up, met evil, stared it in the eye, planted his cross in the middle of the battleground, and did not stop until Satan was unmasked, humiliated, and defeated, disarmed, not on a Monday night but on a Sunday morning, not once, but for always, not just for us, but for everybody.

“You have put gladness in my heart more than when their grain and wind abound”

So many times we are moved to ask, “Where is God?” or “Does God care?” On this Sunday, in the bright glow of the aftermath of Easter, we have a joyous answer to these questions. God has acted decisively and dramatically in the resurrection of Jesus. In a world of many setbacks and defeats, at last God has worked dramatic victory. Thus iEaster is of great cosmic significance. Most obviously, Easter is about the resurrection of the dead. But Easter is also about a great victory in God’s great war against sin and death..

The story is told of a sultan who awoke in the middle of the night and summoned his wizard. “Wizard,” he said, “my sleep is troubled. Tell me: What is holding up the earth?” “Majesty,” replied the Wizard, “the earth rests on the back of a giant elephant.”

The Sultan was satisfied and went back to his sleep. He then awoke in a cold sweat and summoned the Wizard. “Wizard,” he said, “what’s holding up the elephant?”

The Wizard looked at him and said, “The elephant stands on the back of a giant turtle. And you can stop right there Majesty. It’s turtles all the way down.”

Christians are those who have an opinion about what is it that upholds the world, “All the way down.” We believe that, in the resurrection of Jesus, we got a glimpse of what is going on in the world and what upholds the whole cosmos. Or should I say, we have a strong conviction about who upholds the world?

When the sea roars and the mountains shake, we know something about the one who upholds the world, all the way down, and that knowledge gives us the courage to go on.

In raising Jesus, God has vindicated Christ. Death, once so powerful, has been defeated. Christians are those who know something that the world does not yet know: namely, the ultimate triumph of the loving purposes of God. In our big and little tragedies, in all of history’s setbacks and sadness, we live in confident expectation that the God who triumphed in the resurrection shall finally triumph everywhere and for all time. “You have put gladness in my heart more than when their grain and wind abound”