Jerry & Rex – 2017/10/15

Psalm 103:8-14
Mark 10:42-45
1 Kings 12:1-17, 25-29

Sermon:

Alexander the Great; Genghis Khan; Emperor Constantine.  These three famous world leaders share something.  Well, actually, they share a lot of things.  They were all great military leaders, they were all emperors of the three largest kingdoms in history, and they were all very powerful politically and militarily.  But beyond that, even though they lived in different times and places, they share something odd.  That is this:  they all died.  Well, their dying isn’t the odd part.  What’s odd is that, when they died, each of these men chose to split his kingdom among his sons.

This made sense to them, and maybe to us, too.  See, it tends to be the case that, when only one son inherits a kingdom, the other sons fight amongst themselves.  That’s not always true, but it does happen.  So some fathers (and I use male language here because, let’s face it:  it’s always been fathers and sons; maybe if it were mothers and daughters, things would be different) think they’re keeping the peace by splitting things up.  But you know what happens to these empires, 100% of the time?  They crumble without the strong, central leader they had.

David was a strong, central king for Israel.  Even while he was alive, his sons fought for the right to inherit his throne.  Solomon, the son of David’s third wife, Bathsheba (whom we heard about last week) is the one chosen to inherit.  And it is, frankly, an inspired choice.  Last week, I mentioned that David was “perhaps” the greatest king in Israel’s history.  Well, if he wasn’t #1, Solomon is a good choice for that spot.  Israel’s military was never stronger, its riches never greater, and its king was never wiser than when Solomon sat on the throne.  He is the one who built the Temple in Jerusalem, a monument to God’s eternal presence.  He is the one who helped keep peace with the much more powerful Egyptians.  But he was truly known for his wisdom.

The Bible teaches us about how Solomon solved a dispute between two women, both claiming that a boy was theirs.  Each one claimed to be the true mother of the child.  Solomon, seeing that there was no way to solve the debate, ordered the baby cut in half.  The first woman thought this was fine; it was better than letting that other woman have the baby.  But second woman screamed at Solomon to let the other woman have the child, because that would be better than seeing him killed.  Solomon gave the second woman the baby, reasoning that no true mother would ever let her child be sawn in half; a true mother would rather see her child raised by her enemy than watch that child die.  It was a clever trick on Solomon’s part.

Anyway, Solomon the wise king got old and died, as everyone does, and there came a time to determine what was to happen to the kingdom.  Now, there are two characters here with very similar names, so I’m going to change them for the purposes of retelling the story.  Solomon’s son Rehoboam, I’m going to call “Rex.”  The other important character is Solomon’s most trusted general, named Jeroboam, whom I’m going to call “Jerry.”  Now, Rex, Solomon’s son, was the obvious successor, so he took over.  But Jerry, the trusted general, had a little different perspective on things.

See Jerry grew up in the North.  Jerusalem, the capital, is pretty far in the south.  You know how people in South Dakota, particularly West River folks, complain when they perceive that too many things are in Sioux Falls?  Picture that, only in a day when you couldn’t just drive somewhere.  Long, long walking trips (like weeks) were needed to get to Jerusalem.  Not to mention, it seemed like no matter how successful Israel was during Solomon’s reign, the farmers and laborers seemed to do most of the additional work, but the people in Jerusalem seemed to be the ones getting most of the benefits.  So Jerry decides that he’s going to reason with Rex, the new king.

Jerry approaches him with an offer.  He says, “We’re pretty fed up with the hard work.  Ease up on us; don’t be so harsh like your father, and we’ll serve you forever.”  Rex, wanting to be wise like his father, says to Jerry, “Come back in three days.”  During those three days, Rex consults his advisors.  He first talks to the older advisors, the ones who had worked with his father.  They say to him that it’s in his interest to be a servant to his people for a little while; serve them a little now, and they’ll serve you forever.

Thing is, Rex doesn’t like this advice.  He feels like his dad never got pushed around this way.  So he asks some of his younger advisors – the ones who grew up with him.  They end up, unsurprisingly, being the “yes” men, and they agree with Rex.  They say, “Tell those fools up in the north that you’re even harsher than your father; if they thought they had it bad before, watch wait ‘til they see what you do!”

He takes the advice of the young men.  Instead of being careful, measured, and wise like his father, he just does what makes him feel good.  He tries to put Jerry in his place.  Jerry goes back home to the northern part of Israel, where they decide something:  obviously, Jerusalem doesn’t care about them, so they don’t care about Jerusalem.  They decide to go on their own.  They say, “We have no share in David.”  In other words, “We’re obviously not considered a part of David’s house, so let’s go it alone.”

They set up with Jerry as king.  It makes sense; he’s an experienced ruler, he’s been their political champion, and he’s sort of the rallying person for their movement.  And when he becomes king, he realizes something:  there’s still just the one Temple to make sacrifices to God in, and it’s still in Jerusalem.  In other words, to properly worship, his people in the north are still going to have to go down to their rivals’ territory.  And when they do, Jerry fears that they might find themselves aligning with David’s ancestor again, and forgetting all about him.

Therefore, Jerry sets up a couple of idols, one in a city called Dan and another in a city called Bethel.    At each site, he made golden calves (most of you will, I’m sure, recognize that symbol), and told the people to worship them instead of God.  Since the people were sick of being mistreated and their new worship sites were closer to home, many of them went along with it.  And this new, official Northern Kingdom ruled by Jerry became known as Israel.  The older Southern Kingdom became known as Judah; and with that, God’s people were divided, a wound that would not be healed for hundreds of years.

This is a little story in the Bible, in one of the Bible’s most difficult-to-read (aka “boring”) books, particularly if you don’t already know what’s going on.  Many people, even those who have gone to church for many years, don’t know much (or even anything) about Israel being two separate kingdoms; yet, that is actually the status quo for nearly half of the written works preserved in the Old Testament.

To me, this is a passage about a lot of things.  For one, it’s a passage about what it means to be a good ruler.  We can see both of the rulers here caring more about themselves and their own status than they do about their people, and that’s a problem.  But related to that, but even more generally, this is a story about pride.

Pride is defined as “a deep feeling of pleasure or satisfaction at one’s accomplishments, possessions, or friends.”  Basically, we are proud when we do something good.  But the problem is, pride is often unhealthy; it’s not usually about having a good or proportionate amount of good feeling at what we’ve done; it’s about going overboard.  Pride is, so often, the thing that gets in the way of doing what’s right.  Pride is what causes rifts in families and rifts in communities.  Pride disrupts the kingship of both of these men, and it is so pernicious that it’s just as likely to hurt the one who’s expressing the pride as it is to hurt the one to whom they’re expressing it.

In this case, we see pride get in the way of God’s purposes.  You see, God wanted there to be a Davidic King in Jerusalem for all time.  In fact, God promised to deliver that.  But the people who were supposed to be serving God actively rebelled.  Solomon rebelled when he worked the northerners too hard; the northerners rebelled when they left Rex’s service; Rex rebelled when he cared more about his status relative to his father than he did about the good of his people; Jerry rebelled when he’s rather turn his back on God than risk losing power.  All these men were too prideful to just put aside their own feelings for one second and consider the greater good.

This often plagues churches; in our worst moments, we get self-righteous about our beliefs, and we don’t care whom we hurt in the process.  We don’t even care if we stop acting like Christians.  We don’t care if we stop emulating Christ.  What becomes most important for us is proving that we’re right, that everyone else is wrong, and that becomes more important to us than our commitment to Christ.  It’s often our first reaction to respond to criticism with defensiveness, because our pride doesn’t allow us to see the legitimacy of someone else’s complaint against us.

And it’s not just church life that’s like this.  How many of us react like Rex did, that when you’re criticized, you end up being worse, and actually making the other person’s complaints about you come true?  How many of us have, like Jerry, cared so much about “protecting” what we perceive as being “ours” that we don’t stop to think of the consequences?  These are nearly universal experiences, I think.

We heard a brief passage from the Gospel of Mark today, before we got into all this Old Testament tomfoolery with the hard-to-remember names.  In it, Jesus said, “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”  You see, Jesus’ example for us is not one of pride, but of selfless giving.  If anyone in human history had a right to be prideful, it was Jesus.  Yet, he was the opposite.

Jesus could’ve lorded it over everyone, given his divine power, his eloquence with words, and his many followers.  Yet, Jesus didn’t do that.  Jesus spent his life as a servant.  He served God by being among people.  Even when he didn’t want to die, praying to God to be released from the responsibility of the cross, he was obedient and went to pain and death.  He served people; he washed the feet of the disciples, he listened to children who were treated like dirt, he spoke with women whom others considered non-human property.  Jesus made it his life’s work to live humbly, even as God on earth.

Brothers and sisters, we spend most of our lives as Jerrys and as Rexes.  We spend more of our time worried about what’s best for us than we do worried about what God is asking us to do.  It’s hard to put aside our pride and attend to God’s commands.  But what we see here is people putting themselves first.

Always, God’s people will divide against one another; it’s human nature.  We’re never going to be perfect.  Yet, this story shows us what happens when no one gives in, when everyone cares only about themselves.  When we do that, we actively struggle against what God is trying to do.  God intends for good kingdoms to last forever, and we let our selfish pride tear down God’s good things.  Our lives, you see, are best when we embrace what God is doing.  So let us check our pride at the door.  Let us be less concerned about being right, and more concerned about doing right.  Let’s worry less about whether or not we’re on top, and more about whether we’re in right relationship with the true top, our Lord and Savior Jesus.  Let us grow more like him every day.  Amen.

The Temple of the Lord – 2017/10/22

Psalm 105:1-6
Jeremiah 1:4-10
Jeremiah 7:1-11

Sermon:

I’m going to start with a blanket statement that I hope makes sense.  It’s easy to be critical of biblical characters for not following the voice of God in their own lives; yet we so easily fail to listen to the voice of God in our own lives.  If we give it a half-second’s thought, we would realize that, most of the time, we don’t just hear a message and then immediately put in into practice.  We have to hear it over, and over, and over again.  It’s why people come to church more than once in their lives.  It’s part of the reason, I think, that preachers tend to have only a few favorite topics that everything else ties back to:  we need to hear certain messages more than once.

I would include, by the way, that I need to sometimes preach certain messages more than once before they finally sink in, even for me as the person speaking.  Yet, at the same time, we have a belief that people in the Bible should’ve somehow “known better.”  We get the sense that, if God were talking right to us, we’d be better at listening.  But here’s the thing:  how many times has God tried to get our attention, and we’ve failed to listen?  And how many more times have we heard, understood, and simply failed to act?

This is what makes the initial chapter of Jeremiah so interesting, I think.  It begins with God talking to Jeremiah about how God has known Jeremiah from before he was even born.  It’s an inspiring message for all of us, actually:  God knew us from before we were even formed in the womb.  Yet, when God tells Jeremiah these facts, Jeremiah objects.  “I don’t know what to say, God, for I’m only a boy!” Jeremiah says to the Creator of the universe.

“No excuses,” replies God.  “I’m putting my words in your mouth, and those words will have power to do remarkable things; power enough to change the world.”

So, let’s talk about Jeremiah a bit.  Jeremiah was a prophet.  When we think of the word “prophet” today, we most often think of someone predicting the future.  Really, though, that’s not the job of a prophet in the Bible.  His or her job is not about the future; it’s about the present.  Sometimes, that means reading the signs of what’s going on in the present that will determine the future; we actually see that in one of today’s readings.  But even more often, it’s about what’s happening rightnow.  It’s like being a religious news service, providing commentary on what God sees going on in the world.

Because we have this association of prophecy with telling the future, we most often think of prophets having a special connection with God that gives them these insights.  That’s actually a really good way of looking at it; though, again, it’s not that God is giving them knowledge about the future.  Rather, God is allowing the prophet to see with God’s eyes, rather than with the prophet’s own eyes.

Well, Jeremiah lived in an interesting historical period.  The Kingdom of Israel was, as we discussed last week, divided.  Israel was in the north with its capital in Samaria, and Judah (with its capital in Jerusalem) was in the south.  Jeremiah lived in Judah, which was prosperous.  Israel, on the other hand, was not so lucky.

Over a hundred years earlier (think about this:  as distant as we are to the Civil War, basically) the Assyrian Empire came through and attacked Israel.  The Assyrians won.  Then, they headed south to Judah.  The Judeans, though, in spite of their smaller army, defeated the mighty Assyrians, then the most powerful nation in the region.  The Judeans took this to mean that, 200 years earlier, they had made the right decision by sticking with the king from the line of David and keeping their worship at the Temple in Jerusalem, unlike the Israelites who wandered away.  They figured, as long as they had a Davidic king and the Temple, what could possibly go wrong?

Well, Jeremiah was appointed the prophet to begin challenging that assumption.  Jeremiah’s calling was, as we learned in chapter one, “to pluck up and pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant.”  In other words, Jeremiah’s prophecies were going to have a profound impact on the world, and people would be wise to listen to him.

People know that a war is likely coming, because this time, it’s the Babylonians, and they intend to succeed where the Assyrians failed.  There are a bunch of people out there who are saying, “Don’t worry so much about it; we have the Temple of the Lord!  What could happen?”  Jeremiah mocks this position by caricaturing them as saying, “The Temple of the Lord! The Temple of the Lord!”  Jeremiah knows, though, that know building can save you.

There’s a great quote out there that God’s message is meant to “comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.”  In other words, if you’re having a hard time, a true Gospel message will pick you up; if you’re having too easy a time of life, the true message of God is going to shake up your world!  In the case of the Judeans in Jeremiah’s time, they were far too comfortable.  They got so comfortable, in fact, that they stopped worrying about following God’s laws – like, at all.

We actually see Christians today who often have similar attitudes.  There was just a group last month that claimed the world was going to end in September.  It’s a great out, that belief that God is going to fix it all in a neat little bow, isn’t it?  I mean, it means that our actions don’t have to be focused on the world at all.  We only have to worry about our relationship to God.  Don’t get me wrong – our relationship to God is what’s most important.  But God asks for a part of that relationship to include our treatment of our fellow humans.  We’re not allowed to just say, “Well, it’s all gonna end soon anyway, so who cares?”  That’s not a Christian response; the Christian response is to say, “I don’t know when it’s all going to end, but until it does, I’m going to do all I can to love the Lord with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love my neighbor as myself.”

Jeremiah sense this same streak in people:  “Our actions don’t matter, because, hey, God’s going to protect us.”  Yeah… well, here’s the deal.  Jeremiah accuses the Judeans of “oppress(ing) the alien, the orphan, and the widow,” and “shed(ding) innocent blood . . . [and] go(ing) after other gods.”  Those are big charges.  In other words, they have not protected the most vulnerable, they have hurt people without a second thought, and they have ignored God in favor of other gods.  They have forsaken their essential goodness.  And then, according to Jeremiah, they have the audacity to retreat to “The Temple of the Lord! The Temple of the Lord!” for safe-haven.

Jeremiah cries foul.  It’s what his ministry is about, at this juncture.  This is his time to afflict the comfortable.  He is there to show them that being a believer in God is about more than empty words and actions; it’s about making time in your life to listen to what God is telling you to do.  As it turns out, the people of Judah aren’t going to amend their ways.  The Babylonians come in and ransack Jerusalem.  They cart away the wealthiest people from Jerusalem and forcibly relocate them.  They remove the king from power, so there was no more promised king from the line of David.  And, as a final show of power, the Temple that Solomon had built nearly three hundred years earlier, the Temple built so God would dwell there, the symbol of peace and God’s blessing and righteous worship – in short, the “Temple of the Lord” they were so comforted by –was destroyed completely, leaving only a pile of rubble.  There was now no Temple to save them.

It would be so easy to read this passage and say, “Those stupid Judeans.  They should’ve just listened.”  But, as I’ve been saying throughout this Old Testament sermon series, the Old Testament is not the story of “them;” it’s not someone else’s story.  It’s our story.  When we hear this story, we have to think, not of where someone else went wrong, but of where we continue to go wrong.  If we are the Judeans, what are the messages God is sending us?  What are we failing to hear?  What are we hearing, but not responding to?

Jeremiah’s unique ministry is one in which people are asked to see what their lives have become, and to amend their ways.  Unsurprisingly, they are not able (or perhaps willing) to do so.  If we’re being honest, that has a lot more to do with our lives than we’d like to admit.  How many, “I’ll get around to that later”s do we have in our faith lives?  How many times have we made God an afterthought?  How often have we committed in our hearts and our minds to doing something as we sit in the pew, only to waver once we feel the comfort of our couch?

Jeremiah delivers a message that’s uncomfortable.  It’s the message, “We are sinners.  We’ve screwed this whole thing up.”  He gives steps to escape that cycle of sin, but the people of his own time respond just the way we do when we hear about our own sin:  it’s just plain easier to keep pedaling along the same way we were going.  Changing direction is what’s hard.

In his preaching, Jeremiah asks people to act justly, and says that God will save them from the coming war.  I don’t know exactly how effective that strategy can be; I figure, when a war comes, it comes.  And maybe completely changing their actions could’ve changed the outcome; maybe faithfulness and obedience to God would’ve somehow altogether prevented the Babylonian army from entering Jerusalem.  Maybe, with the right show of faith, God would’ve come down and  stopped the approaching army.  But instead, I like to think that Jeremiah is offering the Judeans a different type of salvation:  the type wherein you learn to live God’s way, whatever the world around you is doing.  You can experience a little slice of God’s salvation right here on earth, simply by refusing to be part of the systems that prop up evil, even if it’s easier to just go along with the thing that’s popular.  If they had managed to live as God told them to, maybe they wouldn’t have had their city, their country, their Temple destroyed; but even if they did, they would know that they were going to be okay, because God would guide them through it.  They would know that, whatever comes, they were living in a way that would make God take notice.

Jeremiah talks about protecting the most vulnerable; he says that the orphan, the widow, and the immigrant have been forgotten, when God has explicitly asked for those specific groups to be protected.  In our own culture, we take economic advantage of groups that can’t fight for or protect themselves.  Jeremiah asks people to avoid the taking of vengeance and the sin of putting idols before God.  Frequently, in our culture, we confuse “justice” with “revenge,” and we believe that “getting even” is our right, forgetting Jesus’ words about forgiveness.  We also regularly put our own comfort, our own pleasure, our own economic pursuits, first in our lives, rather than putting God’s will first.  There’s nothing wrong with comfort, pleasure, or economic security – but those things are, so often, our very own version of the refrain “the Temple of the Lord! the Temple of the Lord!” They are things that promise safety and security, but ultimately can’t deliver.

So let us truly hear the words of Jeremiah for us today.  Let us honor God, not just with our lips, but with how we conduct ourselves every day, and thereby experience a little bit of salvation right here on earth, and learning to trust in God, who knew us before we were even born.  We have been called, like Jeremiah, to share words that pluck up and pull down, that destroy and overthrow, that build and plant.  Let us use those words, let us use this calling on our lives, to afflict the comfortable, even when it’s us; to comfort the afflicted, even when it’s our enemy; and ever and always to speak the truth of God.  Amen.

Chosen & Flawed – 2017/10/08

Psalm 149
2 Samuel 11:1-6, 14-17, 26-27
2 Samuel 12:1-19

Sermon:

This year marks the 500th anniversary of the founding of Protestantism – that is, the churches of which the Presbyterian Church is a part.  We will celebrate and talk more about that in the final Sunday of October (known as Reformation Sunday), but for now, I’ve been thinking about it.  One of the central figures of the Reformation, Martin Luther, contributed one of the most helpful pieces of Christian theology in a short statement.

In Latin, Luther said that all Christians are simul justus et peccator.  In English, that means, “simultaneously saint and sinner.”  That is to say, every single Christian is, in his or her own way, a saint.  We have been inspired by God, we attempt to do the work of God, and in our best moments, we let Christ shine in our lives.  That makes us saints.  At the same time, we are still human beings; we are just as fallible as anyone else, and we continue to sin.  We seek to be justified in God’s eyes by doing right, yet we find that we always fall short and continue to be imperfect.

Which leads me to this:  let me tell you one thing about a pastor.  You know you’re going to mess up, because you know you’re a person.  You know that you’re simultaneously saint and sinner, and yet people are always going to expect you to be the “saint,” and would rather you leave out the “sinner” part out of your life.  Every time you mess up, it feels like you should quit – after all, who can do it?  Who can live up to that standard?  The thing is, I know that being an elder in the church can feel the same way – burdened with the leadership of the church, feeling like you can’t ever make a mistake.  But church isn’t alone in this feeling.  Being married can feel this way.  Being a coach, a volunteer, a mentor, a politician, a boss, even a parent – any position where your choices affect someone else – when you mess up, it stings extra hard.

And so today, we arrive at the story of King David.  David, as you’ll recall, was a very special boy.  He was handsome, a good athlete (killing bears and saving sheep and whatnot), and played the harp beautifully.  The youngest of 8 boys, he was somehow always forgotten in his family – but never by God.  The prophet Samuel anointed him to become the next king after Saul, an inept ruler.  David killed the giant Goliath and earned the praise of the other Israelites, while at the same time causing Saul to hate David and try to kill him.  David’s best friend, Jonathan – the son of Saul – saved David’s life.  But eventually, Saul died and David did, in fact, become king.

He was a pretty stellar king, too.  He succeeded in battle, united all twelve tribes of Israel (Saul never managed that in his time as king), and he was beloved of the people.  David had it all.  Well, he thought he did.  Until one day, when he saw a beautiful woman bathing on a roof.  Her name was Bathsheba, and David had to have her.

Now, there have been interpretations through the years that she seduced him; that’s not in the text at all, so it doesn’t make sense to me; in fact, as we hear later from Nathan, it’s actually not a very good interpretation of this story at all.  Instead, David treats Bathsheba more like an object than a person.  He wants her, and he’s the king… so he takes her.  He even knows that she’s married to one of his soldiers, a man named Uriah.  As it turns out, their encounter together results in her becoming pregnant.  She tells David, because this is going to be particularly because her husband was off fighting in David’s name.

So David develops a plan; he tells Uriah’s commander to send the troops out into battle, with the order that when they get to a certain point, they’ll pull back.  Only, David tells the commander, Joab, not to tell Uriah about this.  They charge into battle; some of the men die; Uriah is one of them – no surprise there.  The whole thing was set up so that Uriah would die.  It was murder by proxy; David wanted Uriah dead, and he made sure that it happened.

This is a universally awful act.  First of all, one of the things Saul was criticized for as a king was that he often let his soldiers fight for him; he didn’t ride out into battle himself.  David was different.  Only now, having been king for a while, he was starting to rest on his laurels and just let things happen, just like Saul did.  So his actions are shameful as a king.

David was already married to two wives, and didn’t need another.  He had children, which kings are always under such pressure to produce.  And yet, he ends up impregnating a woman whom we’re not even sure had a choice in the matter, so his actions are shameful as a man.

And to top it all off, David commits murder to get away with his crime, now being able to take Bathsheba as his wife, letting her bear his child without anyone raising an eyebrow, and not having a problem with it.  So his actions are shameful as a human being.

All in all, it’s truly despicable.  And this is the man whom God has chosen as king!  Not only is he a king, he goes down as the best king (or one of the top-4, anyway) in the nearly 500 year history of Israel and Judah as a kingdom!  Not only is he special, even among kings, but he is the one king given a covenant by God.  A covenant is a promise; a covenant from God means that God makes a promise that can never be broken.  God’s promise to David is that there will always be someone from his line on the throne in Jerusalem.  So David is given an eternal legacy, just four chapters before this moment, and yet David still finds a way to screw up so much that it calls into question whether or not he was ever a righteous king in the first place.

David is the “chosen one,” God’s special servant – yet, he messes up.  And like all of us, he needs someone else’s help to see just how messed up he is.  Now, he is the king, so you have to come at him with a little bit of tact, and that’s just what Nathan, the prophet, does.  He tells a story about a wealthy man with everything who takes a beloved sheep from a poor man who has nothing else.  David’s first reaction is like what most of ours would be – get mad, want revenge.

But then Nathan says to him, in no uncertain terms, “You are that man; you have everything, and yet you felt the need to take the wife – and the life – of Uriah.”  Nathan takes the bold step of calling out the king for his actions.  That may not seem like a huge deal.  After all, we live in a country in which you can call or write to your representatives in the government and criticize them all you want, and they have no recourse against you; you’re allowed, even encouraged to do that.  In ancient days, though, such a thing could be sentencing yourself to death.

So David is stunned – not because he’s called out, but because he realizes that Nathan is right.  Some leaders – Saul, the king before David, for example – would dismiss someone who said something so bold to them.  But David, for his part, possesses more wisdom than that.

David realizes that Nathan is right.  He knows that he has done something wrong.  But what David learns here is not that you have to be perfect.  In fact, David immediately realizes that he must confess his sins to God.  These are great sins, grave sins.  The kinds of sins you’d think could never be gotten over.  I think, if we knew him in real life, most of us would be unable or unwilling to forgive David his sins.  How could we be asked to forgive something that big?

But that’s what’s convenient about our ultimate fate being in God’s hands.  Many, perhaps most, and potentially even all of us have done (or will yet do) something that would easy to think of as utterly unforgivable, even if we didn’t do something so extreme as David’s actions.  Yet, God is able to forgive.  And what good news that is for us!

We are never beyond God’s reach; neverNever, ever.  The story we know so well, the story at the heart of our faith, the story of the resurrection of Jesus, is a story about the place we are most separate from the world, most unreachable.  And yet, God can bring Jesus back.  Even in David’s state of depravity, God never gives up, God absolutely always looks for us, and calls us closer.  There is no boundary too big for God to cross – even death, even sin.  God can do it.

This is a story in which David, the saintly king, is revealed as a lowly sinner.  And as his sins are laid bare for everyone to see, he needs to hear a story to understand.  Brothers and sisters, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  we read the stories of the Old Testament because they are our stories.  They teach us about ourselves.  They are our Nathan the prophet.  These are the stories that we use to teach us about ourselves and our actions; they are the parables we need to hear.  Just as Jesus taught in parables, we need stories.  Yes, we have the stories of Jesus, and yes, these stories are different than those, but the point remains:  we hear this story because God needs us to hear it – and the stories like it.  Like David, we are sinners; like David, we need to hear it; like David, we are forgiven by God who, across even the border of sin, loves us:  unreasonably, irrationally, and infinitely.  Amen.

Best Friends – 2017/09/24

Psalm 26:1-7
1 Timothy 6:13-15
1 Samuel 18:1-16

Sermon:

When I was young, I used to play with my next door neighbor all the time. I don’t know quite how to explain just how often we were together.  I remember getting in trouble with his dad one time for calling their house… at 7:00 in the morning… on a Saturday.  Well, I knew he was up, so why should I have had to wait?  This friend and I were so in-sync that there was a time when I picked up the phone to call him, only he had already called me, and I lifted the phone before it even rang.  That’s how close we were – practically reading each other’s minds.  Now, there’s nothing weird at all about kids being best friends, being connected at the hip.  And it’s especially not weird for next-door neighbors to become friends.

The thing is, on the surface of it, we had basically nothing in common.  I mean, we both lived in really thoughtful, caring, churchgoing, two-parent families.  But he was the third of four children, I was an only.  He was three-and-a-half years older than me.  He was (and is) handsome and tall, and I’ve always been kind of short and dumpy.  He’s always been a gifted athlete – one of those kids who just takes to any sport he tries in seconds, and I had to try really, really hard to get to be “acceptable” at any sport.  He was so active that, when we were kids, he couldn’t sit through his favorite movie – all 88 minutes of The Little Mermaid.  We had to go outside and play basketball for an hour or so just so we could watch the second half of the movie.  Whereas, I’m more the kind of person who likes to make a nice, little, me-shaped divot in the couch.  Even today, this guy takes his vacations from his two full-time jobs (personal trainer and occupational therapist) to go mountain climbing – he does this like three times a year.  Even simple things were different between us when we were kids – he went to private school, and I went to public.

Of course, we both liked church, and since he had a religious education in school, we had a particular set of biblical characters we liked to compare ourselves to.  Those characters were David and Jonathan.  After all, my name is David, and his is, of course, Jonathan.  I remember laughing about that with him once as we sat in my basement talking about school.  Looking back, there was a lot of them in us:  best friends, even if it’s not likely.  Yet, devoted to one another in a way that time and distance can never diminish.

As we’ve grown up, I realized how important it was that when we were just pre-teens, we could see ourselves in characters in the Bible.  Part of the reason that I have spent the last few months preaching from the Old Testament is just this:  our faith, our engagement with the Bible, are strongest, not when it’s an old book with even older stories, but when we see it as something living, something that teaches us timeless truths, something that we can connect to.  The Bible is our window into God’s purposes for us; it’s our way of understanding who God is.  Without it, we are left with just our experiences.  Don’t get me wrong, our experiences of God are deeply meaningful, and cannot be neglected.  But my experiences and yours are different, whereas the story of the Scriptures is something we can all share.

The stories we hear in the Old Testament are not the same as the New Testament, which teaches us about Jesus.  But the stories of the Old Testament are just as important, as they are the stories that Jesus himself grew up hearing in worship.  The New Testament is the story of Jesus – a human being like us… but who is also God, and therefore profoundly unlike us.  The Old Testament, on the other hand, is the story of people exactly like us.  Living in a world with a lot less technology, sure, but otherwise, victims of the same types of tragedy, subject to the same sorts of flaws of character, in the same kinds of relationships as ours.  Therefore, we continue to read these stories – these things that can seem so disconnected from us.

These stories are not ‘history” meaning, “his story,” meaning “someone else’s story.”  They are “outstory.”  These are stories of people like us, and stories that we can learn from – learn both about God, and about one another.

Two weeks ago, I read to you and preached from the story of David and Goliath.  This week, I want to pick up right where we left off.  We finished at the end of chapter 17, the point at which David has become a hero.  This starts to irk Saul.  You may or may not remember, but Saul was the first king of Israel.  He was… well, just an okay king.  No one’s favorite, but definitely not the worst king Israel would ever have.  And like a lot of people, Saul was a really insecure guy.

Basically as soon as David starts getting treated like someone special, Saul starts getting jealous.  After all, he’s the king!  Why is anyone else getting attention?  Saul was so insecure because he knew how much he had to lose.  Of course, he had so much to lose because he had so much to begin with, but that’s how it often plays out.  David starts to get popular; Saul starts getting resentful.  This story, though, has a wrinkle, a twist.  And the name of that twist is Jonathan.

David and Jonathan are best friends; not just best friends, but something akin to blood brothers.  Jonathan is said to have “made covenant” with David; that is, he pledged to be David’s best friend.  And he did this in an era in which people’s word was their bond, and it would be unthinkable to go back on a word like that.  But in this passage, we see the roots of conflict.

In fact, Saul goes so far as to try a two-pronged approach to dealing with David.  On the one hand, he promises his eldest daughter to David.  This ensures that they will be allies.  We probably all know from history classes that marriages have been used by the powerful to ensure peace for a long time.  But Saul has another secret strategy, too.  He keeps David as a commander in the army, and sends him to the front lines.  That way, the Philistines can finish the job Goliath tried to start, and David will likely die in battle.  Unfortunately for Saul, this backfires big time.

David wins more and more battles, which only makes him more popular and makes Saul more insecure.  In the meantime, Saul marries off Merab, his eldest daughter, to someone else (David does end up marrying Michal, Saul’s second daughter).  Eventually, David realizes how dangerous it is for him to remain near Saul, so David flees.  Saul then begins a manhunt for David, trying to murder him.  And all the while, David has an ally right in Saul’s family – Saul’s only son, Jonathan.  Jonathan is often the one keeping David alive.  He’s the reason David knows to leave town in the first place; he tells David of Saul’s intentions and strategies.  He keeps his best friend alive, even though it directly flies in the face of what his father wants to do.

So many people assume that David kills Goliath, becomes king, and everything works out for him.  But in many ways, the hero of his story is Jonathan, the best friend who disobeys his family to help his friend.  So, as I’ve had to ask in just about every Old Testament story we’ve read this year, what is this passage supposed to be teaching us?  I mean, it’s an interesting story, but… so what?

Well, I think it’s mostly story about where God puts us in the world.  We’re put into all sorts of weird places and circumstances.  We can’t possibly know what those situations are going to yield.  We can try to make hard and fast rules, like we read in the Ten Commandments – “Honor your father and mother.”  But, in this story, Jonathan is the hero here for going against his family and disobeying that commandment.  Of course, that’s because his father is in a murderous rage and trying to kill an innocent kid.  If there’s a time to disobey your parents, that’s it.  But that’s the thing:  so often in life, the situations we’re placed in are not so easy to create rules for, because we can’t possibly plan for every eventuality.  For so many of us, the critical moments in our lives occur in places we’d never have imagined ourselves being, so how do you make rules for that?  Instead, we hear stories like this one, to inspire us to act correctly in the face of difficult situations.

Whenever we make a difficult decision, like Jonathan does where others will view us as being against our family, we’re likely to face judgment from others.  But sometimes, God is asking us to do just that.  In fact, our first allegiance is not to our family, not to our friends, not to our country, but to God and God alone.  The passage tells us explicitly that “the Lord was with” David.  Jonathan can see that he can’t help his dad – his dad has transgressed what he’s supposed to do as king and ruler, so he helps his friend, whom he can see is fulfilling the work of God.

Undoubtedly, we’ll be faced with difficult decisions in this life about whom we’re supposed to help and where we’re supposed to be in this life.  This is a passage that teaches us that, no matter how difficult those decisions, what’s important is following what God is doing in our lives.  Those things are hard on us, but we have to have courage, as Jonathan did.  When we make a decision, we do it prayerfully, and do our best to please God.  When we do what’s right, we see it borne out in the results.  We have to approach the hard parts of life with humility, prayer, and putting God first.  In this way we honor God – by putting God at the center, not just of our prayers, nor just our Sundays, but in our everyday relationships with everyone.  May we have the courage of Jonathan to make the hard choices and follow after God.  Amen.

Of Giants and Stones – 2017/09/10

1 Samuel 17:1-58

Sermon:

Chaminade.  Buster Douglas.  Texas Western.  Appalachian State.  David Tyree.  Rulon Gardner.  Maybe some of those names sounded familiar to you; maybe none of them did.  I realize not everyone will know these names, but for those who follow sports closely, most of those will have brought to mind a single moment, game, or event.

Chaminade, for example, is a tiny college of about 2000 people in Honolulu.  In December of 1982, they hosted a game against the University of Virginia, who were the undefeated and top-ranked team in college basketball.  The Virginia squad was led by Ralph Sampson, the National Player of the Year all three of his years as a varsity basketball player, and considered by many the greatest basketball player in college history.

Of course, you know the story – unlikely though it was, the tiny little college beat the superpower in one of the great upsets in the history of American sports.  Buster Douglas defeated the previously-unbeaten Mike Tyson in Japan to claim the heavyweight championship of the world, Texas Western was a small school that played Adolph Rupp’s famous Kentucky, and defeated them for the national championship when no one gave them a chance.  Appalachian State is a tiny school, at the time not even in major college football, who traveled to the University of Michigan and shocked them in one of the biggest college football upsets of all-time.  David Tyree made the phenomenal, one-handed, helmet-trap catch that kept the New York Giants’ season alive in the Super Bowl against the undefeated New England Patriots and eventually led to a Giants’ victory.  Rulon Gardner was a heavyweight wrestler who won Olympic gold in 1996 by defeating Aleksandr Karelin of Russia, who hadn’t lost a match in over 15 years of international competition.

Inevitably, stories like these are always compared to “David and Goliath.”  This one Bible story is so well-known that it crosses into the popular consciousness.  Many people who’ve never set foot in a church in their lives know the basic outline – little boy kills a giant.  You almost have to know it in order to understand such a common phrase.  So let’s talk about the story a little bit.

As most of you know by now, I’ve been preaching through the Old Testament this summer, beginning in creation.  Last week, we got all the way up to Ruth, which took place in the time of the Judges, who were special people called by God to lead Israel.  Well, eventually, the Israelites got sick of not having an official king.  I think when most of us read this, we can very smugly argue how silly it is of them; after all, they were following religious leaders who were very close to God.  Isn’t following God better than following a king?  Well, yes, it is.  Of course following God is better than following after human leaders.  However, it’s also understandable that when a foreign king wants to work out a treaty, or a trade deal, or you need to raise an army, having a king would be helpful.  So eventually the last of the Judges, Samuel, prays about it, and God agrees to help Samuel find a king.

He finds a young man named Saul.  Saul was tall, handsome, smart, and skilled at battle.  He seemed like a good choice, and Samuel anointed him king.  Israel was now in the “modern” world, just like everyone else.  Of course, as anyone who’s been around for a long time knows, being “modern” means having all the new problems that you never had to deal with before.  I mean, for example, new cars have a lot of fancy computer parts; so much so that some of them can park themselves, or slam the brakes for you when you’re in danger.  On the other hand, with each innovation comes something new that can (and will) break, and now it’s harder to fix than ever before.  Likewise, having a king meant new problems.  I don’t want to get into all of Saul’s issues right now – I’ll pick up with more of that in a couple weeks – but we need to know the situation.

Anyway, David, as some of you know, was the youngest of eight brothers.  His three oldest brothers were all old enough for war, but he was still at home working, tending the sheep.  He is, after all, a very famous shepherd – a job which will later prepare him to be the “shepherd” of all the Israelite people.  These older brothers serving in the army were bound to want a care package from home, so his father Jesse had an idea:  David should go take them some food.  And, while he’s at it, why not take some to King Saul, too?  So David did that.  He dropped the food off with the guy in charge of watching over everyone’s stuff, and he went to talk to his brothers.

But as he got there, he saw a giant of a man come out.  This was Goliath of Gath, one of the Philistines, with whom the Israelites fought.  I had a teacher in high school who first opened my eyes to the word “Philistine,” which can be pronounced as “PHIL-iss-teen” or a “PHIL-iss-tyne.”  That second pronunciation sounds an awful lot like “Palestine,” doesn’t it?  Well, that’s because the Israelites and the Palestinians have been fighting over the land of Israel for a long time.

Anyway, Goliath comes out, and David hears for the first time that Goliath is taunting the army.  With good reason, too; Goliath is listed as being six cubits and a span tall.  Those are ancient measurements, but they’re really easy to understand.  A cubit is the length from a man’s elbow to the tip of his middle finger; people estimate that to be about 18 inches.  A span is from the tip of a man’s thumb to the tip of his pinky, when he spreads his fingers apart; people estimate that to be about nine inches.  In other words, they estimate Goliath to have been 9’9”.  That means he was very nearly the height of a basketball hoop!  Well, it’s understandable why people were intimidated, isn’t it?  He has a whole bunch of armor on, all of it described as being very heavy.  He’s carrying weaponry basically as big as a man.  He is truly a giant.  And if you have a guy like that on your side, I guess it’s no surprise what the Philistine army does next.

They let Goliath taunt their opponents.  But not only that, they put the entire war on him.  The Israelites and Philistines were fighting over land that they each felt rightfully belonged to them, which is the same as now in the Holy Land, if you pay attention to that sort of news.  Anyway, the Philistines decide that the best and quickest way to get this over with is to have Goliath challenge anyone who will take him on in single combat.  This was actually a fairly common way of attempting to resolve warfare in the ancient world, as the thought is that it would cause a lot less bloodshed.  That sounds really good in theory; problem was, most of the time, the losing side didn’t take it so well, and the battle would happen anyway.

So David listens to these taunts from this giant, and he wonders why no one is accepting the challenge.  This is a really important part of the story, because I think it goes to show us something we can all learn from children.  Remember, David is just a boy.  He has four older brothers who are also too young for battle, and 15- or 16-year-olds would’ve probably been considered battle-ready.  Therefore, David must be early-elementary age.

He sees the giant, and his reaction isn’t fear, it isn’t distress, it isn’t worry about his older brothers.  His reaction is that God can obviously help win that fight.  Goliath is taunting the Israelites, which by extension means he’s making fun of God.  David won’t stand for that.  He asks what will happen to whoever beats Goliath, and he’s told that such a person would marry into the royal family, and be made rich, and the last thing probably means that they won’t have to pay taxes anymore, either.  So David is like, “What’s the catch?  We serve God, so we’ll obviously win – so why isn’t anyone going out there and doing something?”

Like I said, there’s something for us adults to learn from David.  He doesn’t see the size of the obstacle.  I mean, he sees it, but he doesn’t let it phase him.  He’s too young to know how hard things can really be.

Of course, David points out later that he has killed lions and bears.  Sure, but they’re not as smart as a human.  And besides, no one from Israel would want to put their whole army at risk of losing, just because they took on this giant.  So the armies just sit and look at each other while Goliath goes on taunting.  David doesn’t see those things, though; he has the faith of a child, the certainty that God will provide.  It’s a good thing to keep in mind.

So often, we let ourselves be limited by what we can imagine.  And let’s face it – our imaginations as adults are colored by experiences that limit our vision.  Children have nearly unlimited imagination, so they can see things clearly that we lose over time, including an understanding of what a big obstacle is.

David is reprimanded by his older brothers, who haven’t seen their food yet and think he’s there just to gawk at the war.  They think he’s being childish – and he is.  But in this case, it’s that childishness that’s going to save.  He decides that, if no one else will stand up for God, he has to do it.  So he decides to do volunteer to fight Goliath.  Saul, sensing that this will at least make something happen, lets him.  Again, if we want to talk about why Saul’s not a good king later, we can.  But sending an elementary-school-age kid to fight a giant is not a decision a good king makes, even though it happens to work out in this instance.

And again, Saul fails the test of seeing like a child, even when he agrees to let David go into battle.  He outfits him with heavy armor.  He does it because… well, Goliath’s in heavy armor, so David had better be, too, right?  But that’s silly; if someone’s going to hit you with a sledgehammer, you don’t notice the wooden handle and say, “Ooh, I’d better get a wooden handle, too.”  You need the tools that will help you do your best work.  I mean, obviously, David is never going to beat Goliath by fighting the way Goliath would choose to fight.

So David does what he knows, and uses the gifts God has given him.  God has given him an abundance of faith, so that’s his first weapon.  And let’s face it – faith is what’s carried the Israelites for so long – so it’s probably time to remember that, even if it’s hard to keep in mind.  But second, he’s gotten rid of lions and bears with his slingshot.  So he strips off the trappings that the world thinks he needs, and he uses what he knows.  He doesn’t need heavy armor that won’t fit and probably won’t protect him, anyway.

David outfits himself with no armor at all, because that’s what gives him the best chance of winning.  God gave him this ability with a slingshot; God gave him faith to slay giants.  So David uses those things.  We so often trust in ourselves and the things of this world, rather than trusting in God.  We trust in our money, in our families, in our standing in society; we trust in the people around us, we trust in what we’ve been taught.  We trust in so many things, but we don’t always look first to God.

The story of David is a story about how even the weakest, the smallest, the unlikeliest can succeed when they do God’s will, rather than believing in what the world sees.  David has confidence.  Some of that is self-confidence.  But note; there’s a difference between believing that he can do it, and believing that God can do it through him.  And it’s the latter that David believes.  For us adults, especially, we tend to see obstacles as being too big, and we tend to fall back on what’s worked in the past instead of finding our spiritual imagination.  For the kids out there today, as you get older, you’re going to have a tendency to forget what it’s like to be a kid and feel pressure to grow up.  But let’s be honest:  sometimes, grown-ups need to remember to think like you.  So always remember to have faith in God, no matter how old you are.  Let your imagination open up to believe that God can do remarkable things.  And let your faith be your guide.  Amen.

Where You Go, I Will Go – 2017/09/03

Psalm 85:8-13
Mark 3:33-35
Ruth 1:1-17

Sermon:

I’ve always felt like I grew up the best way there was to grow up.  I know not everyone likes being an only child, but I loved it.  But maybe the reason I loved it so much was that I was never alone.  I had five really good friends in my neighborhood, who were all about the same age as me.  We all liked playing sports, and we liked the same TV shows, and we liked the same kinds of games.  So life was good with friends.

My parents were around as much as they could be, but you know… parents work.  So in the summer especially, I didn’t see them all the time.  But I never had to go to day care or to a babysitter or anything, because we lived with my dad’s parents.  There are about a million stories I could tell you about growing up with my grandparents in the home, but it really taught me a lot.  I enjoyed it so much that I really have to believe that having grandparents in the home is just the best thing that can happen to a kid.

Now, my grandparents both lived under the Soviet regime in what was then the USSR, and they were both illegal Christians.  Their faith wasn’t permitted, but they practiced, anyway.  You don’t wish hardship on anyone, but at the same time their situation is enviable, because they clung to their faith like a lifeline, and they came to appreciate God’s presence in their lives so much more than many of us who are comfortable all the time, living with a faith that is not only legal, but the overwhelming majority faith of the country we live in.

Anyway, because they had so much appreciation for their faith, they also knew the stories of Scripture very well.  I remember one time, shortly after getting my third-grade Bible, talking to my grandma about wanting to read a whole book of the Bible.  The first one she told me to read was Jonah.  It’s short, fun, and relatively well-known.  I would recommend the same, by the way; if you want to just sit down and feel that sense of accomplishment of having read a whole book of the Bible, Jonah’s your place to start.  But if you want a second one after that, my recommendation would be a little more unorthodox – it would be the book from which we read today – Ruth.

Now, as you all know, we’ve been working our way through the Old Testament.  We just finished with Moses and the giving of the Ten Commandments last week, and we’re skipping to Ruth now.  So, what happens in the middle?  Well, Moses dies, just on the border of the Promised Land God had asked him to lead the people to.  His assistant, Joshua, takes over.  But after that, there’s a bit of a crisis of how the people are to be led.  Moses just kind of became the leader; no one elected him or anything.  Joshua was his natural successor.  But, after Joshua died, how exactly were things supposed to work now?

Well, a system arose called the Judges (as explained in the book of Judges) wherein the people would find someone who was shown by God to be a special leader, and they would sort of “elect” that person as leader, not through a formal vote, but more the way that if you think of your group of closest friends, there’s probably a “leader” of the group, even if you never voted on it.

Well, the story of Ruth takes place in the time of the Judges.  The nation of Israel is living in the Promised Land, and they are doing well.  They’re not quite a power in the region yet – we’ll get to that next week.  But they’re making it work.

Now, the story of Ruth starts, oddly, with her father-in-law Elimelech and her mother-in-law Naomi.  They settled in the land of Moab, east of Israel.  There, they had two sons, Mahlon and Chilion, who each married Moabite women; one marrying a woman named Orpah and the other named Ruth.  All three men die, though, and the women are left destitute.

Now, at the time, women were basically non-citizens.  They had no rights independent of their husbands or fathers.  If a woman’s husband died, she was supposed to marry his brother.  In fact, the brother was legally required to marry her.  Now, this may sound cruel or strange, but it’s actually an act of mercy; it means that no woman will go uncared for.  However, Elimelech was old and had no brothers.  And Orpah and Ruth were both Moabite women.  They had shunned their own people, and had no legal standing at home.  Naomi had no sons, and even if she were to have another, it would take years for them to grow into men, and what are Ruth and Orpah supposed to do in the meantime?  So Naomi tells them to go home to Moab, and try to make a life there.  They don’t want to, but Orpah gives in and gives it another try at home.  Ruth, however, steadfastly refuses.  She tells Naomi one of the best lines in all the Scriptures, in my opinion:  “Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.”  Ruth so loves her mother-in-law that she will follow.  Her mother-in-law has converted her to faith in God, and she won’t turn her back on that faith.

Now, that’s as much as we read, but there’s a lot more to the story.  Naomi, the mother-in-law gives in and lets Ruth stay with her.  They work their way to Bethlehem, and arrive right during harvest.  Of course, as you would expect, there was a lot of work to do during the harvest.  Naomi knows that her husband had a wealthy cousin named Boaz, so they head thataway to find work.  Ruth offers to work in the field, which will earn them some money.  She also points out that, hey – maybe she’ll find a single guy out there somewhere whom she can marry.

In fact, the fella who takes notice of her is none other than Boaz, her father-in-law’s cousin!  After noticing this hard-working woman, he asks about her background.  He finds out that she’s been taking care of her mother-in-law and scraping by with her, insisting on remaining with her, even though it made Ruth’s own life more difficult.

So Boaz does as he can as her employer, and protects her; he makes sure she is taken care of.  He ensures that she stays in the field with the other women, so the other men can’t harass her.  Eventually, she approaches him privately and indicates that she’s interested in him.  Now, because of the laws of the day, the sort of “twist” in the story is that it turns out Boaz doesn’t have the right to marry Ruth.  Boaz has to sit down with the actual man who is obligated to marry Ruth, and he has to sit down with the elders.  He has to request special permission to marry Ruth, meaning the man who’s supposed to marry Ruth to give up his right to do so.

He ends up sort of tricking the man to do so.  He says that Naomi, who has a parcel of land that had belonged to Elimelech.  He says that it’s this other guy’s to take, if he wants it, and the other guy says, “Yeah, sure.”  But then he says, “Of course, you’ll have to marry Ruth if you want.”

And this is where we get to a complication.  As it turns out, if a man marries the wife of a deceased person, any children she bears will not be considered his; they will be considered her husband’s children.  This guy seems to believe that there’s no point in marrying Ruth, potentially having children with her, and then being forced to care for land that won’t ever really be “his,” because the land would belong to any sons he’d bear with Ruth.  So he gives up his rights to the land, and to Ruth.  Thus, Boaz is able to keep the land and marry the woman he’d fallen in love with.

So, what is this all about?  Well, it’s about people doing their duty, for one thing.  More importantly, it’s about love and the families we create.  We have the family we’re born into, of course.  But just as important is the fact that God gives us love in our lives, and we have to embrace those relationships well.  Huge amounts of meaning in our lives come from the people around us, and God so often puts those people there.

That’s the other really important thing here:  our institutions are valuable, but only when God blesses them.  Inherently, there are things in our world that we rely on, but the things in themselves cannot function.  For example, we all know people who have gotten into bad relationships, and even some who have chosen to marry.  Inevitably, those marriages fall apart.  But it’s not that the institution of marriage is broken; it’s that, sometimes, people make bad choices.  Sometimes people change, sometimes people can’t make it work, sometimes personalities are just too different.  “Marriage,” in and of itself, is not magical; it will not make a bad relationship work.

“Marriage” can’t fix or save anything, because while it is a serious institution that God gives us to increase our happiness, our actions, attitudes, and choices matter.  God won’t just magically let one thing fix everything for all-time.  The Presbyterian perspective on Baptism is similar:  it’s really important, and it’s a welcoming into the community, but it doesn’t guarantee salvation, nor does it guarantee faith, nor anything else.  Our institutions, our relationships, our ties to others – they are meant to bring us joy and make our lives better.  But in and of themselves, they have no power.  It’s our relationship with God, which makes these things flourish.  Our culture can’t write the checks; it can only cash the checks that God writes.

In this story, we see a lot of cultural trappings about who belongs in what role, and what people are supposed to do.  Sometimes, those things work out, and sometimes they don’t.  It’s not a comment on whether those things are good or bad.  Instead, this whole story is a comment on following where God leads you.  Ruth was led to Naomi, and she clung to her fiercely.  She wanted to be part of Naomi’s life and follow Naomi’s God, because she realized the truth of God.  Even though some parts of her life we more difficult, others were easier.  And, all things said and done, she made the right choice – sometimes by following the customs of her culture, sometimes by sidestepping them.

Our culture, by itself, is no more perfect than any individual person.  Following where God leads, on the other hand, is good.  And just to see where these things lead, almost as justification for this whole story, Ruth gives birth to a son (who is fathered by Boaz, but is technically considered her first husband’s son, as I mentioned earlier).  She names him Obed.  Obed later has a son, whom he names Jesse.  Jesse has sons of his own, and the youngest he names David, who becomes the king of all Israel, and an ancestor of Jesus.

Ruth is a foreigner who doesn’t fit in; she’s a woman in a man’s world; she’s a convert to faith in God rather than someone born into it; she’s outspoken when she should be quiet.  Ruth is not a typical hero.  Yet, it’s her name in the genealogy of Jesus found in Matthew’s Gospel.  She’s preserved there, the outsider who was mother to the men who led to Jesus.

God uses us, in all our brokenness, in all the ways we don’t fit.  God sees us, not as the world does, but with the sacred worth inherent to us by being God’s children.  It’s remarkable that this story would ever be told at all, since Jews in ancient days were often very skeptical of intermarriage with people of other tribes; yet Ruth is the great-grandmother of the greatest king Israel ever knew.

We may never “fit” exactly the way the world wants us to; but God has a special place for everyone.  When we feel a bit like Ruth, like someone out of their depth, God still calls us to something.  May you have the fortune of figuring out where God is leading you today!  Amen.

Giving of the Law – 2017/08/27

Psalm 17:1-7
Matthew 5:17
Exodus 20:1-17

Sermon:

As most of you know by now, I’ve been preaching through the Old Testament during this season of the Christian year called “Ordinary Time,” the time between Pentecost and the start of Advent.  When I sat down to plan which texts I was going to preach, I began by writing down a list of passages, then cross-checking those with some other lists of things in books and online, and then checking what I’ve already preached on.  I smooshed some together to see if I could cram two passages into one day, I made cuts, I added things back – all in all, it was a difficult process.  Not backbreaking labor, I’ll admit.  It was a challenge – though a fun one.

Anyway, many passages came and went, but there were a few that were on the tip of my pen when I started the initial list that survived every draft and revision.  As you might have been able to guess, this passage, from Exodus 20, was one of those passages.  It seems awfully hard to preach the Old Testament without preaching on the Ten Commandments, doesn’t it?  It’s a central passage, it’s something we all know about, and it’s representative of something more.

Now, the very first assignment in my preaching class in seminary was the Ten Commandments, so I’m no stranger to covering it.  In an ideal world, with unlimited Sundays and nothing else I wanted to accomplish, I might’ve actually split it up into discreet chunks, so we could spend a little more time in each commandment, or in groups of just a couple, because there is a challenge in trying to summarize all ten into one cohesive message.  That’s particularly difficult on a day like today, when I’m trying to communicate not only the words of Scripture, but also the context of the story of God’s people in which the Ten Commandments happen.  It’s really important to understanding God’s relationship with humanity that we know that part.

Thankfully, many of us here have seen The Ten Commandments.  I don’t mean a statue of them, or the physical words; I mean the movie, with Charlton Heston.  It’s a beautiful dramatization of God’s gift of these commandments.  But what I think is often hardest for us to accept is just the very fact that these commandments are supposed to be seen as a gift.

For so many of us as kids, rules are something meant to kill fun, or to stifle our ability to enjoy ourselves.  Rules are in place to make things worse, it seems, rather than better.  That’s often true as adults, too.  Lines are frustrating, so wouldn’t it be easier just to skip them?  Speed limits can be an irritant when we’re in a rush, so why not exceed them?  Of course, some rules are unjust and merit our disobedience.  Most of the time, though, rules are a minor annoyance that we’re willing to live with, sure.  Still most of us also don’t go around looking to add rules to life.

But think about it; that’s what the Ten Commandments passage is about.  As you’ll remember from the last couple weeks, we’ve been following Moses.  Moses was a boy who was very nearly killed by Pharaoh, only to be rescued by Pharaoh’s own daughter, raised in Pharaoh’s own house, who committed murder, who fled Egypt, who came back, who freed his people, and who led them out of their slavery in Egypt.  Before we even get to the Ten Commandments, Moses’ journey has been more exciting than most of our lives.  And even at this point already, we have about as much information about Moses’ life as we do about any other person in the Bible, including Jesus.  When you consider we’re only halfway through the first of four long books of the Bible devoted to the story of Moses, it really puts things in perspective.

Anyway, Moses has been leading the people, who are wandering toward the promised land.  It will, in the end, take them 40 years to get there.  Now, this has been made fun of in many comic strips and sermons.  Even walking, even with a lot to carry, this shouldn’t be more than a year’s journey.  So, presumably, every once in a while, the Hebrew people just set up long-term camp.

I like to imagine that this story takes place in one of those times of settlement.  The Hebrews are stopped on their journey, and Moses is called up the mountain by God for instruction.  Now, let’s think from the perspective of the people.  They had, previously, lived under Egypt and its laws.  Now, they were free – which sounds great.  But with that newfound freedom came, quite literally, lawlessness.  There weren’t any laws or rules to govern their behavior.  Without laws, and on a looooong road trip, tempers would flare up – it’s inevitable.  In spite of the inevitability of those tempers flaring up, the only law they had was common sense – and, as we all know, once people start fighting, common sense stops being common.

So God has called Moses up the mountain to give a gift.  Now, keep in mind that no one has done anything for God yet.  There isn’t a worship service to thank God, there hasn’t been a hymn written, there hasn’t been anything formal to this point.  God has freed the people from slavery, ended the Egyptian chase, saved their children and livestock, even when the Egyptians’ were killed.  God has given, and given, and given.  And after all that giving… God gives again.  Only this time, God doesn’t give a miracle or a political movement – instead, God gives rules.  God’s gift, in this instance, is order.  Rules bring order out of chaos. Parents create rules for kids, not to punish, but to give structure, to help, to save.  And God is always interested in saving us.

So, like a loving parent, God chooses to give these rules:  I alone am God, and you should honor me; don’t make up new gods to replace me in your hearts; use my name well; rest to protect yourselves and honor me; honor your father and mother; don’t murder; don’t break faith with your spouse; don’t steal; don’t tell lies; don’t desire what belongs to someone else.  There are many other laws that God gives, but these ten are a system.  They’re a lot easier to remember than the total 613 of them, and they cover the basics.

These ten are rules for behavior.  The Greatest Commandment, to love God and neighbor, is what’s most important; at the same time, though, it’s hardly a system of law for a people in a lawless state; it’s just not enough information for them.  And as Moses descends from the mountain 12 chapters later, he finds that lawless state.

Moses has gotten these rules, and comes down to find that the people have been breaking these laws Moses was just given.  The people have melted their gold jewelry to make a Golden Calf, an idol they could worship in place of the true and living God who saved them.  Now, on the one hand, they were breaking a law against idols, but on the other, they hadn’t heard that law yet.  And while I think history proves them wrong, to some extent, you can empathize with them.  It certainly seemed like God had abandoned them.  God called Moses up the mountain days ago, and nothing had been heard since.

Similarly for us today, we find our faith challenged when God is silent.  But even when God is silent, we make a mistake if we seek our meaning in other things.  The Hebrews make a mistake here; they aren’t finding God, so they decide to worship something else.  Only, God isn’t a set of car keys; you don’t just go grab the spare when you can’t find God.  God has gotten us through rough times before, and will again!  In fact, so often, like the Hebrews, we give up on God right when God is trying desperately to reach out to us.

Think about the story again.  Literally the moment God is giving the people a gift, they are turning their backs on God.  How often have we been guilty of the same?  We ask where God is, instead of being secure in the knowledge that God is with us, even if we can’t see it.  As followers of Jesus, we must remember that God is here with us, even when God far away.  Sometimes, the times we feel abandoned are the times God is closest to us, even though we may not realize it at the time.

Part of the reason that happens is that we don’t usually know what we need.  We usually think we need one thing, only to find that what we really needed was something else entirely.  In this story, the Hebrew people are sure that what they need is someone to worship whom they can see, so that a god can be part of their lives every day.  In fact, they need the God whom no one can see, because the true God alone is the one giving them the rules to live by; rules that do make God a part of their lives every day.

For me, this story resonates because we do need rules to govern us, even if we know that Christ forgives sins.  That conundrum of how to deal with forgiveness has been debated by Christians for millenia.  But I would say this:  knowing that we are forgiven also means knowing when we commit sin; only with the Law do we know that.  At the same time, the Law gives us something to shoot for.  While these Ten Commandments are just ten of the 613 Laws in the first five books of the Old Testament, in many ways, they stand for all the rest by being the foundation of so many others.

We need to know when we do wrong.  We need to shoot for something to keep.  Even if we keep all ten of these, there are ways we let God down, with our thoughts, with our actions, with our treatment of others.  The point is not to be perfect; the point is that God wants us to have a target, and we should be shooting for that, correcting each other when we mess up, and thanking God for not giving up on us, even when we can’t be as faithful.

So this day, let us remember that God is here for us; sometimes by giving us rules that are hard (or even impossible) to follow; that even when we don’t like those rules, they are here to help us.  Let us remember that God is ever there for us; sometimes it seems God is silent, yet when things settle down, God is always right there to help us again.  Brothers and sisters, God is here for us.  We are God’s, and God loves us.  Amen.

Lessons from the Wilderness – 2017/08/20

See the bottom of this post for Daniel Patrick’s sermon from last week (8/13).

Psalm 105:1-11
John 6:51
Exodus 16:1-18

Sermon:

Languages are really hard to understand.  This is especially true when we are little kids.  We don’t always hear things correctly, so sometimes we develop really odd thoughts in our minds about what words mean.  I have a friend who misheard the word “Amen,” in church as “All men,” like as if at the end of the prayer, people were supposed to say that this should be true for “all men.”  I’ve sat in church with her since, in college; here she was, a woman in her early-20s, who said “all men” at the end of prayers.  Oh sure, she knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help it.

I, for one, liked to come up with imaginary reasons that certain words existed.  I have like a million of these, but I’ll give you my favorites.  For example, I assumed the word “basement” was a combination of “base” and “cement.”  You know, it’s the “cement base” at the bottom of your house.  It’s clever, but it’s wrong.  The “ment” has nothing to do with cement – which makes sense, if you think about it, because basements have been around a lot longer than cement has.

I also used to think that the word “sandals” was a shortened version of the words “sand holes.”  You know – there are all those pictures of Jesus walking around in sandals; there’s sand around, there are holes in them.  You wear them at the beach and your toes get sandy – from all the holes in the shoes.  It just made sense; they’re like shoes, only they have “sand holes.”

Today in church, we will talk about manna – the substance that the Israelites ate in the wilderness when there was nothing else around to eat.  There are many possible derivations for the word “manna.”  One suggestion is that it comes from the question, “man hu?” which is Hebrew for, “What is it?”  Another is that it’s related to the Arabic phrase, “man hu,” which means, “this is plant lice.”  Or maybe it’s related to the Egyptian “mennu,” which means “food.”

Whatever the origin of the word – one of these, a combination, or something else entirely – manna is very instructive in our understanding of how God interacts with us.

As you may remember, we’re slowly working our way through the Old Testament.  We’ve already covered Creation, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph… and now we’re on to Moses, whom we’ve talked about a couple of times already.  The first Sunday we discussed him, we talked about his remarkable early life:  being saved from the purge of Hebrew children and raised in the house of Pharaoh; his disgrace and fleeing the country; his calling from God to return to Egypt and free his people.  Then, we talked about the actual act of the Exodus – the removal of the people from Egypt.  This week, we find ourselves on their wanderings.

Of course, one of the things that happens on a journey is hunger.  I’ve made a lot of long drives in my life, and it’s hard not to get hungry when you travel.  I read something a couple of years ago that said that the average American gains 8 pounds PER WEEK while on vacation – that’s over a pound a day.  But of course, car ride snacks, eating out too much, grilling if you’re outside… all of those things cause us to take in a few more calories than we normally would if we were at home.

The Hebrews found themselves in a very different situation in Moses’ time, though.  They weren’t leaving home and going on a fun trip; they were headed out to start a new life, and this wasn’t going to be easy.   Particularly difficult, of course, was food.  They were limited to what they could carry, and there was only so much food to go around.  You can’t exactly expect your livestock to stay well-fed as you traipse across the desert.  So they needed food.  That’s when the grumbling began.

Perhaps you’ve heard that ol’ chestnut that the Israelites spend most of the Old Testament complaining.  It’s not true; but it is true that a lot of the Moses story is spent with complaints.

In fact, we already saw some of that in my last sermon two weeks ago.  We read about the Israelites seeing the Egyptian army pursuing them, and then their getting mad that Moses had dragged them away from their homes, when they could just as easily have died in Egypt, in the comfort of their homes.  Here’s the second instance, when the people start complaining that they don’t have enough to eat.

Let’s keep in mind that, while that first complaint about being killed by Pharaoh at home seems a little snotty or mean, this second one is a very legitimate complaint.  Thousands of people, not enough food; that’s a big deal.  So Moses prays about it, and God answers his prayers.  The Israelites get two meals a day.  First, and you may not have caught this, quails come to the camp in the evening.  Presumably, they are dead and ready to be cooked.  Then, in the morning, manna is found on the ground.

Our passage describes manna as being like coriander – small, round, and white.  It covers the ground, and there’s plenty for everyone.  It’s said to taste, if you read on in chapter 16, “like wafers made with honey.”  Sounds pretty good, honestly:  gamey bird for supper and a sweet, sugary breakfast and/or lunch each day.

The Israelites are instructed to collect how much they need for a day, every day of the week… except on the Sabbath.  They are to gather two times as much on Friday morning, so they will have enough for Saturday and so they don’t have to do the work of gathering, so they can rest.  Moses specifically tells them – don’t take more than you need, because you can’t save it for tomorrow, as it will rot.  And, with the exception of the Sabbath day, when God seems to protect the manna from going bad, that’s exactly what happens.  Some people, (perhaps understandably) greedy and hungry on that first day, try to take more than they need, just in case God does come through for them tomorrow.

And what happens?  Their manna rots, gets infested by worms, all that fun stuff.  So the people who gathered extra, have nothing extra.  Shooting for more than they needed didn’t actually buy them anything in the long run.  And that’s where I’d like to take our message this morning, because I think it’s really relevant in our culture today.  There are three big themes I think we need to pull out from this text that relate to each and every one of us, not just in helping us echo the story of our ancestors in the faith, but in how we live our lives.

The first thing I think this text teaches us is that we need to know what “enough” is.  We live in a culture that is constantly telling us that we need the latest thing – the newest car, the fanciest computer, the best phone, the most beautiful house.  Our culture tells us we need more because that’s what is best for the economy, and the economy governs us more than any of us would probably like to admit.

The reality, though, is that we often have more than we need, and even more than we want.  I know that Carissa and I did a little de-cluttering this year.  Carissa has a friend who posted on Facebook to have people rid themselves of items during May.  One item on the first, two on the second, three on the third, all the way up to 31 items on the 31st.  That ends up being 496 items by the end of the month.  If that sounds like a lot, just know that we did it easily.  So easily, in fact, that we started over again in June.  Of course, things got busy and we gave up around the 20-somethingth of the month. That still ends up being around 750 things we got rid of… and we don’t miss any of them.  In fact, I’d never name half the stuff we got rid of, and I’d be lucky to name a quarter of it.  Of course, the truth is, we’ve acquired more things since then, too.  We’re trying to be better, but it’s hard when you keep feeling this pressure to acquire.

God asks us, though, to fight against that.  We’re supposed to realize that God is enough.  As Americans in 2017, we’re hardly going hungry.  There are people in other parts of the world with the problems the Israelites have at the beginning of the story – not enough.  However, more often than not, we’re the Israelites in the next part – too much.  We need to recognize that.

The second lesson in this text is honoring the Sabbath.  Now, that’s going to look different for all of us.  I don’t find myself being a strict person who believes that there’s only one right way to honor the Sabbath.  I don’t think a specific set of rules is what’s going to make us honor God by resting.  But I do think it’s something we need to do.

South Dakotans are hard workers.  I told you all after our youth mission trip to Denver that, when we were sorting donated items, we were asked to get through one large box; we got through three-and-a-half.  The folks there were very impressed.  But the dark side to that work is that we make an idol of it.  We believe that we’re better people if we work more, if we work harder, if every second of our lives is devoted to being “productive.”  We believe laziness to be the cardinal sin.  Yet, there is a balance between laziness and busy-ness.  We have to find a way to rest.  That’s how we honor God by taking God’s commandments seriously, it’s how we honor the people around us by ensuring that we’re taking care of our needs, and it’s how we honor ourselves as created beings, remembering that our worth cannot be measured in dollars or productivity, but that we are valuable by virtue of existing.  We have worth because we are made in the image of God.

Third and finally, this text reminds us that God will provide.  We have a great deal of need.  Sometimes, we can’t even see exactly what it is we need.  The Israelites spend this passage (and later ones) complaining, usually because they don’t understand.  They told Moses they would rather have died at home; instead, God gave them freedom.  They complained to Moses that they would die of starvation; instead, God gave them manna from the wilderness.  Later, they will complain that God has abandoned them; God will bring them Ten Commandments to order their society.  They will complain about the food they do have; yet God keeps them strong and healthy.

How often do we doubt God?  How often do we assume that we know what’s best, instead of following what God has in store for us?  How often do we complain about today, not realizing that God has already prepared us for tomorrow?

Like the Israelites in this story, we are thick-headed, stubborn, and try to survive on our own.  But at the end of the day, just like the Israelites, we need to remember that God is here for us.  We need to remember that God is already enough, and we don’t need more, no matter how much our society tells us we do; we need rest to honor God, no matter how much we think we need to work; we need to remember that God is looking out for us, no matter how much we think we’ve got it all figured out.  So let us remember the stories of our ancestors, not just as tales about where we’ve come from, but as living, breathing stories that help teach us to serve God better.  Amen.

The Rule of Love – 2017/08/06

Psalm 86:11-17
Exodus 12:1-13
Exodus 14:10-29

Sermon:

St. Augustine, who lived 1600 years ago and who yet may still be the greatest thinker our faith has ever had, said that the rule of understanding any passage of Scripture is love.  If a passage does not show love, you are not understanding it correctly.  You must change your understanding, because God is love, and therefore Scriptures that would cause a different understanding must be reinterpreted.

I begin that way today because this is the day we confront some of the most uncomfortable texts in the whole canon of Scripture.  As we’ve been reading through the Old Testament and have arrived at Moses, we now come to perhaps the central event of his time as one of God’s servants, but unfortunately that central event is not a pleasant one.

First, let’s reorient ourselves in the narrative of Scripture.  We’ve read from Creation to Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, and now Moses.  Last week, we heard about how Moses had a very special infancy and childhood, and then threw away the spoils of this world when he found out his people were being oppressed and he murdered a slave driver.  He ran away and became a humble farmer, and thought that was his reality until God called him out to go free his people from Pharaoh.

Now, as I’ve mentioned many times already during this series, I have to skip a lot of things in order to get a decent sense of the story of the Old Testament.  But some of the readings I’ve skipped have been important, so we need to talk about them, anyway.  Today is one of those times, because our Scripture readings for today only make sense in light of the things around them, so we’ll begin with some background.

First of all, Moses was not an easy customer to work with.  As we talked about last week, he fought this call from God.  He didn’t want to go, which might’ve had something to do with his being a wanted murderer.  Anyway, he uses the excuse that he’s not a very good public speaker, and God answers back, “Yeah, but your brother Aaron is, so let him do the talking.”

So, finally out of excuses, Moses and Aaron head to Pharaoh to ask for their people – God’s people – to be set free, with those immortal words, “Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, ‘Let my people go.’”  Pharaoh does not agree – after all, who gives up free labor willingly?  So, again (as we saw last week), Pharaoh doubles-down, and makes the Hebrews do even harder labor, to teach them about their insolence.  Unfortunately for Pharaoh, this is the start of a series of bad decisions he makes, each of which is more ruinous than the last.  And this one seems to work out for him, at least at first, because the Hebrew people turn, at least for a while, against Moses.

But God sends Moses back to Pharaoh, again and again.  And each time, Pharaoh refuses Moses’ request.  And this is where we get to something I didn’t want to read because it’s too long, but that we must talk about, and that’s the ten plagues.

After each time Pharaoh refuses Moses, something bad happens to the Egyptian people.  First, the Nile river was turned to blood for a week, killing plants, animals, crops, and harming people.  Second, frogs covered the land – the fields, the rivers, even the insides of houses.  Third, gnats came, covering and biting human and livestock alike.  Then came the flies.  Then the livestock of the Egyptians all grew ill.  Then boils – red, pus-filled sores – showed up on the skin of all the Egyptians.  Next, after Moses gave warning, thunder and hail rained down, killing human, animal, plant and tree of anyone who was unwilling to believe that it was coming.  The eighth plague was locusts, who swarmed the fields and ate what little food remained.  Ninth came the plague of darkness.  For three days, people couldn’t see their own hands, it was so dark.

After each of these, Pharaoh was given a chance to relent and let the Israelites go free, but each time, he hardened his heart and did not allow them to go worship God.  Sometimes, he would say he was going to let them go, but he would always change his mind.  So then came the tenth and final plague.  That is what we read part of from Exodus 12.  God asked all the Israelites to kill a lamb, roast and eat it, and mark their doors with its blood.  This would be a signal to the angel of the Lord to “pass over” these houses, and this is where the holiday that commemorates that event gets its name – Passover.

But why would the angel pass over those houses?  Because houses not marked with the blood of the lamb saw their firstborn killed.  The firstborn of every family, including livestock – who really didn’t do anything wrong, but bore just as much pain as the Egyptians themselves.  Exodus tells us, “there was not a house without someone dead.”  Finally, after this massacre, Pharaoh set the people free.

Only… he didn’t, not really.  Because yet again, he had second thoughts on letting go of free labor.  So our second passage, in Exodus 14, came to be.  Pharaoh comes for Moses, leading an army after the Israelites.  They complain to Moses, wishing even that he had never led them out of Egypt; after all, wouldn’t it have been better to live on their knees than die on their feet?  But that’s when God provides the miracle needed:  the sea is split in two, and the Israelites are able to walk through the middle, with water towering to either side of them.

Of course, the Egyptians follow them on the same dry ground.  But once there, God clogs their chariot wheels and they can’t follow.  As the Egyptians agree to flee from the Israelites, realizing that God is against them, Moses hears God’s message to stretch his hand out again and return the sea.  The Egyptians try to flee, but it’s too late; the sea closes around them, and the soldiers, their horses, chariots, and equipment are suddenly buried under water.

So, I have to say that these are such uncomfortable passages to read, for me, anyway.  Their about God’s special love of the Hebrew people, over and against the non-Jews around them… but of course, we’re not Jewish, so maybe it’s easier, in some way, to identify with the Egyptians.  And what’s happened to them in this passage?  Well, we’ve seen: their crops destroyed; their animals diseased and killed; they themselves sick, injured, or killed; and, of course, their army drowned.  And while Pharaoh was certainly guilty of being ungenerous to the Hebrews, most of the people affected by these people had nothing to do with those choices.

So we’re stuck in this passage, in a similar way that we were when we heard the story of Jacob.  In that story a couple of weeks ago, we heard about the sneak we were supposed to root for.  This time, Moses is a much more sympathetic protagonist.  Nonetheless, it really seems like, while the Egyptians were not great, they also weren’t outright evil.  Even if some of them were, some who weren’t were caught up in the pain, too.  And for me, that makes these stories uncomfortable texts to read; these stories become difficult to accept as God’s word.  Nonetheless, we have to find a way to deal with them.

And there are ways to talk about these passages.  In a draft of this sermon, I talked about a lot of them, but I really don’t know how useful that is.  Ultimately, we have a difficult story.  But if we’re going to take something from it, I think we take the same thing we so often take from stories like this.  We are loved by God, and that loves is fierce.  That means protecting us, even against impossible odds.  We will be defended, even when we don’t know how.  It shows us that we will be in bondage, and that we will yearn for freedom; when we receive that freedom, we may regret it.  But no matter which way we come at it, God is looking to break us out of the bondage we face, whether literal chains or simply the chains of sin that bind every one of us.  Our freedom is meant to be individual, as well as corporate.

I think, too, that this is just one of those stories we have to wrestle with a little.  To return to the Jacob story from a couple of weeks ago, there we saw a man who wrestled with God’s messenger all night.  When we read that story, I said that part of our lives on God’s journey was to continue to wrestle with God, and that means dealing with difficult things.  This is, for me, at least, one of those texts.  I don’t have an easy answer, but I do run back to St. Augustine’s “rule of love.”

That rule of love always causes me to ask where the love is here.  And what I see when I ask that question is an answer that, at least part way, gives me a way to deal with this story.  I see God as protector.  And I am also forced to think of Jesus Christ, as we do in church.

You probably know that Jews, even today, commemorate the Passover with a meal.  That is, in fact, the meal that Jesus was sharing with his disciples the night of the Last Supper, and that we continue to commemorate in Holy Communion, which we will receive later in this very service.  The Passover meal helps Jews to remember the blood of the lambs that helped save them from an awful fate.  Our meal of which we partake helps us to remember the blood of the Lamb, who gave his life for all.

Today, we remember a sacrifice that did not happen just to save the firstborn, not just for one night.  Yes, that was a miraculous moment of God’s that reminds us of how we are all saved, over and over again.  But for us as Christians, what’s more important is the knowledge that Jesus gave his life for all of us, not just the firstborn; and he did it not just for one night, but for eternity. Jesus covers our sins, just as the doors of the Israelites were covered.  So let us celebrate the Eucharistic meal today, remembering that, no matter how hard a text of Scripture is, we can have faith in the good work of Jesus Christ, in whose love we can be ever-sure.  Amen.