July 5, 2009
Scripture: Mark 6:1-13
Sermon Title: “Unpack Your Bags”
Rev. George N. Miller
(This message is acted out with a slight country twang and scads of bags/luggage hanging from the body)
Oh. Hey! Good to see you. Thank you for coming to visit. I’d have come to you. But as you can see, I got too much baggage.
Lots o’ baggage: past and present. Trouble is, I’m so weighed down it doesn’t seem like I’m going to have much of a future.
Still, it’s my baggage. Don’t want to let any of it out of my sight.
I used to travel all the time when I was younger, back when my baggage was much smaller and way more lighter.
I would soar in the air, but it’s now impossible to pass through security with all this stuff.
Tried the good old American railways to travel sea to shiny sea, but the baggage took up too much room. Same thing with the bus. Except the weight of my baggage turned it from a Greyhound into a Tortoise.
Thought I could take all my baggage with me in the car, but wouldn’t you know: soon the rear window was blocked and the dashboard was covered and I couldn’t close the car door. Dang economy vehicles.
I know, I know. I know just what ya’ll thinking. Why don’t I just let go of some of my baggage?
But see, I can’t. It’s not that easy. Keeping my baggage close to me is what I do. It’s my thing.
Besides, I’ve done it for so long it would take an act of God for me not to have all these bags with me.
What’s in them you ask? Oh, stuff. Like this here: this is my bag of fond memories. Like the old toy castle I used to play with. Photo albums- see how young I looked. And books. Oh, I would read this one again and again.
You certainly can’t blame me for parting with any of this.
Now these bags: I call them my shoulda-coulda-woulda bags. Let’s see. Ah yes. I shoulda went to college. I shoulda asked Pat to the prom. I shoulda bought stock in Microsoft.
My coulda bag. I coulda been a doctor if I studied harder. I coulda been a pro-tennis player if I hadn’t hurt my knee. And I coulda been a millionaire if I had bought stock in Microsoft.
This here: my woulda bag. By now I woulda been a Dad if Sam and I had stayed together. I woulda been 20 pounds lighter if I just stuck to my diet. And I woulda been living in Beverly Hills if I’d just purchased that dang Microsoft stock.
Good times.
And these here: my grievance bags. Like how I’m still mad that Chris told everyone back in high-school that I kissed like a jellyfish. Or that my sister borrowed my jersey as a nightgown and spilled nail polish all over it.
Here’s a good one. That Sunday, 15 years ago, when the pastor forgot my name so I refused to go back to church until he called to apologize. Which he never did.
As you can see, I have my baggage. I carry it around with me everywhere I go. But who doesn’t. I mean, you do right?
You know, memories of how good things were back in the day and how its too bad we’re not like that anymore. Like when Big Macs were served in Styrofoam containers and MTV only showed music videos.
I can’t be the only one with shoulda-woulda-coulda bags, am I?
What do you wish you shoulda done? What woulda you been? What coulda you done?
And let’s be honest: we hold grudges against folk, don’t we? Silly ones, big ones, under the surface ones?
I can’t be the only one. Although I’m so weighed down by my baggage that I just can’t seem to move forward at all.
So...for the longest while it’s just been me and my baggage. Not going anywhere. Spending a lot of time in the past. Not really enjoying the present.
Fortunately, with the age of infomercials and internet I don’t need to leave the house. I can order what I need by dialing 1-800 and if I choose chat with faceless folk on the computer.
One day, while nothing else was on, I turned on the TV and there was this preacher.
Like I said, it’s been ages since I last stepped foot inside a church. But the pastor on the TV seemed cool and there were lots of smiling faces, so I decided to listen, all my bags comfortably surrounding me.
And the preacher was talking about Mark 6:1-13, of how Jesus wasn’t that well respected in his home town. Folk didn’t take him seriously, claiming he was just a carpenter, and how they found him just a bit too much. So Jesus could only do some minor healings.
But then the next thing you know, Jesus is sending the disciples out 2 by 2, like them there animals on the ark, encouraging them to do God’s work and preach the word, and if folk didn’t want to hear it, well, they were to just shake the dust from off their feet.
Well, I kinda liked that. And I was a bit amazed. I mean, if I was Jesus, and I was humiliated like that in my own hometown, I’d have such a large bag filled with all the names of people who ticked me off. And I would certainly not have the energy to travel to a new place to do anything else.
But here is Jesus, letting their slights roll off his back like water to a duck, and he was able to move on and do what he needed to do.
And I had to ask myself “How he do that?”
So the preacher on the TV kept on talking about how the disciples were to travel without the basic necessities: no bread, no money, no extra clothes, no baggage.
No baggage? Just a tunic for their body, sandals for the feet and a staff to propel them forward. This was a way to teach them how to rely upon the Lord, and to also demonstrate how the Christian life is a life of simplicity.
Well I thought that was funny, considering the preacher was wearing an expensive looking suit talking to a stadium full of folk.
But something about the message resonated with me. Historically the scripture was saying one thing, but for me, metaphorical-like, it was saying a whole ‘notha thing. What I heard was Jesus saying “Let go.”
“Let go. If you want to move forward, if you want to experience life, you got to let go.”
I looked at my baggage, I looked at my life, all the things I had accumulated, all the things I held onto, all the junk I was refusing to let go.
And I heard the Savior say “Let Go.”
But I didn’t know how. After living a life in which I have held on so tight to everything single thing, how could I possibly let go?
So I pulled my baggage closer, afraid of parting with one single thing; not my castle, not my love of all things Styrofoam, not my regret over not purchasing Microsoft stock, not my anger at my sister.
But it seemed the tighter I held on, the more and more I began to hear that voice: “Let go.”
It started off small, like a still small voice, a whisper in the night: “Let Go.”
It got louder, like a song on the wind: “Let go.”
Then it boomed, like the crash of thunder: “Let go!”
I was scared. But then I remembered: somewhere in one of my bags were a few of my favorite Bible memories.
Like God calling Abraham and Sarah to “Go”, God inviting Moses to “Set my people free” or God telling Philip to mosey on down that lonely road that leading him to the Ethiopian Eunuch.
And how they were all the better for it.
So I did something daring. Next time I heard “Let go” I reached into one of my bags, and I released what was inside. I called up my sister and told her I forgave her for staining my jersey.
It didn’t seem to make much of a difference. But next time I heard “Let go” I reached into my bags and took all things Microsoft out and released those regrets to the wind.
Next time I heard “Let Go” I decided to accept the fact that MTV now only runs reality shows.
And little by little, more by more, an amazing thing happened: my baggage became lighter.
More and more I found ways to make amends, I found ways to forgive and let go of past grievances.
Little by little, more by more I began to let go of some of my childish ways, and I found ways to not be so rooted to the past.
And as hard as it has been, it’s been good. All the bags that I’ve been carrying, their straps cutting into my skin, their weight disfiguring my back, have become smaller.
I first noticed the difference, when one day I felt enough freedom to get into my car, and there was enough space to see what was ahead of me, as well as what was behind.
Soon, I was able to step onto the bus and go at Greyhound speed.
Soon, I was able to travel sea to shining sea. My baggage was still with me, but it was noticeably smaller and no longer limiting me.
And now, now after listening to that voice that called me to “Let Go” I find that I can travel in the air, like the Spirit, heading into my future, freed from my past, no longer trapped by my baggage, having new adventures, meeting new people and making new friends.
And, as you can see, my baggage has become light enough that I’ve been able to step back into church. Where I can see all your smiling faces, I can hear your beautiful songs and I know that God is real.
Even forgave the pastor for forgetting my name. After all: he’s only human, right?
Sure, I still got my own baggage to deal with. We all do. We’re human. But because of Christ, because of the grace that he gives, I have found a way to let go, a way to move ahead, and a way to trust on the Lord.
As scary as it is, when the Lord says “Let go”, let go. And you’ll be amazed where the Spirit takes you. You’ll be strengthened by Christ on your side. And you’ll discover that God will provide what you need for whatever journey is ahead.
Amen, and amen.
A UCC Pastor's walk through the spiritual waters of Scripture, pop culture and life.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Sermon for June 28, 2009
June 28, 2009
Scripture: Mark 5: 21-43
Sermon Title: “Between Life and Death”
Rev. George N. Miller
(Tell people of audience participation. Right side is group 1; Left side is group 2)
After witnessing the fashion show in Samuel and the courthouse of Acts, we find ourselves back in the land of Mark. As you recall, this gospel was composed during uncertain times. The author does not spoon feed us our faith, but invites us to be uncomfortable in the unknown.
Mark’s Gospel announces itself as “The beginning of the Good News” and ends with people running fearfully from the tomb. In between there are children who die, women who bleed out, and men who are bound by chains: in other words, a world gone mad.
Doesn’t it feel a bit right now as if the world is going mad? What with the economy and flooded parking fields and riots in Iran’s streets. But let’s be honest: when hasn’t the world seemed a bit mad?
The Vietnam War, Monica Lewisnky, Michael Jackson’s death: it seems as if there is always something throwing things out of wack.
That’s how the seminary journey was for my classmates and I. We began school in 2001, bright eyed and full of life. Then two planes flew into the World Trade Center, placing our education in the shadow of the valley of death.
Professor Peggy Way helped us make sense of the mess. She reminded us that we are all living, biological, chemical creatures dealing with the chronicity of life. Which means illnesses happen, tragedies occur, and everyone will die. She challenged us to ask how God was present in the aftermath of 9/11 and how we were called to be the Body of Christ.
As if the events of 9/11 weren’t enough, over the span of three years, four of our classmates died. The shadow of death loomed large at seminary, but it did not have the only voice. For even in the midst of death, there was an abundance of life.
We had dinner parties, danced to Beyonce and 50 Cent, had late night conversations and studied in cafes. Couples met, friendships formed, circles of healing were created, Ultimate Frisbee broke the monotony of our studies. Mission trips took us around the country and around the world. And God was worshiped in unique ways.
At Eden Seminary we truly lived between life and death, and I would not exchange that experience for anything. To this day I believe those events created some of finest pastors in the country, because everything we learned and did was in the shadow of those realities.
When planes collide into buildings, when friends die in car accidents how does one still find the faith to be made well, to get up and walk, and to hear words of life when others want to laugh at you or cry out in defeat?
Mark has us wrestle with these thoughts as he tells of a time in which one woman’s life is bleeding out while a young girl is taking her final breathe, and how Jesus brings wholeness to both situations.
Jesus has traveled to where there is much life going on. There’s the hustle and bustle of folk who’ve gathered by the waters to experience Jesus for themselves.
The excitement is soon interrupted. A leader of the synagogue comes to Jesus. His 12 years old daughter is dying. He falls to his knees, begging Jesus to lay hands on her so she may live.
Death has made itself known.
Jesus and the man go to the girl. While on their way, a woman comes up to Jesus. For twelve years she’s been bleeding. She says if she touched his clothes she’ll be made well.
Immediately, her bleeding stops; Jesus turns to ask who touched him. Trembling, she kneels before him and admits her actions. And Jesus says (point to group 1. They say “Daughter, your faith has made you well.”)
Life has been restored. Wholeness and healing have won the day.
But wait: while Jesus is speaking, people come for the father of the sick girl and say (point to group 2. They say “Your daughter is dead.”)
The balance between life and death. It exists throughout the Bible, between the garden and the cross, between desserts and green pastures.
But pay closer attention to how Mark writes this story. As Thomas Long points out, it’s when Jesus is saying his words to the woman that the people talk about the girl. In other words, both sentences are said at the same time.
And here is where your participation really comes in. On the count of three, everyone is to say their line. 1. 2. 3. (“Daughter, your faith has made you well/Your daughter is dead.”)
Did you hear that? Jesus isn’t just living between these moments of life and death. He’s operating while both are happening at the same time.
This is a story for the ages, and a fitting story for our church today.
For in downtown Grand Rapids, UCC members from all over have gathered for the 27th National General Synod. Right by the flowing waters of the Grand River there is the hustle and bustle of folk coming to share and experience Jesus Christ.
Visitors are filling our streets with life and exciting newness. This is at a time in which both the mayor and our President are members of the UCC, and our denomination is blessing the city with the largest convention they’ve ever had, pumping $3 million into the economy.
Meetings have been electrifying, worship has been grand, and we can proudly say “I am a member if the UCC, where God is still speaking.”
There is much life.
And yet, we at Burlingame Congregational UCC are going through the pangs of death. In four weeks we close our doors for good. Like the leader’s daughter, we are taking our final breathes.
Our death is very real. And we are not the only church in the area facing this reality as other churches in Wyoming are struggling to stay alive.
Nor are we the only church in the UCC to struggle. In Massachusetts in which we are the largest protestant denomination, 39 UCC churches have closed in the past decade.
In some ways the women in today’s scripture represent what mainline congregations seem to be facing.
We have congregations that are bleeding out. Bleeding out in the form of members who are leaving because they’re unhappy with a stance the church has made.
Congregations that are bleeding out financially, as money is being spent faster then it is brought in.
Congregations that are bleeding out physically. People feeling drained from all the work they do, not allowing themselves rest and rejuvenation.
Like the girl, there are churches that are taking their final breath. They’ve fallen upon hard times too difficult to bounce back from. Congregations have been complacent, finding it easier to stay in bed then to step out into the unexpected.
Congregations that have just been too sick for too long from inside squabbling or unresolved issues.
And we ask, as members of the Christian faith, how do we survive, how do we continue to exist?
As we live in both life and death, we wonder if there is anything we can do.
But I’m not here today to preach doom and gloom, but to preach a word of hope. Because I believe there is indeed hope for the universal church, hope for the UCC and hope for the world.
That hope comes in the person and the life giving actions of Jesus Christ.
That hope comes from the belief that sometimes what looks like loss and despair is really just rest and opportunity for transformation.
That hope comes from the fact that both the UCC and Christianity have come too far to be left bleeding out or laying breathless in bed.
Because we, as a denomination, proudly come from ancestors who once decided, in Boston, that it was time to throw some tea into the water.
Because we as a denomination trace our roots to brave women and men who risked crossing a sea to worship God in freedom.
Because we as a faith trace our roots back to a Messiah who met people by the shore and spoke calm to a raging sea.
Because we are the Children of God whose Spirit moved over the waters of creation and it was good.
People can say what they want about the fact that we’ll be closing next month, people can say what they want about it seeming as if Christianity is waning. Let them go ahead and join the folk who are crying at the little girl’s house.
But I invite you to be like the synagogue leader and the bleeding woman, doing what needs to be done to experience Christ and to live out the Christian story.
As long as people continue to seek Jesus out, unafraid to ask for what’s needed, Christianity will survive.
As long as we’re willing to walk the distance with Jesus, even when failure has been announced, Christianity will survive.
As long as we are willing to act in hope, believing what we do can make a difference, Christianity will survive.
And as long as there are people willing to tell their story and wait for a word of healing, Christianity will survive.
The closing of our particular church does not signal the end of the story, because even as we prepare to say our goodbyes, there is celebration in the streets.
There are over 3,000 living representatives of Christ making themselves known to the people right by the waters of Grand Rapids
In conclusion, Mark wrote for a world steeped in madness and loss; and he could have easily written for our world today.
Through his telling of the Jesus story, Mark is saying that even when death seems too real, even while others are crying out, we still have ways to welcome Christ and the new life he brings.
It may mean falling to our knees, it may mean taking the chance to reach out, it may mean patiently waiting other events out, but it will be worth the work and worth the wait.
Between hearing “Your faith has made you well” or saying “Your daughter is dead” which do you choose?
I believe Mark would tell us not to lose our faith, because God is still working. It may seem as if we are bleeding out, it may appear as if we’re taking our last breath, but Jesus has stepped out of the boat and Jesus is in our midst.
Thanks be to God who is with us during these difficult times, to Jesus Christ who listens to our stories and to the Sprit which empowers us in ways we can only imagine.
Amen and amen.
Scripture: Mark 5: 21-43
Sermon Title: “Between Life and Death”
Rev. George N. Miller
(Tell people of audience participation. Right side is group 1; Left side is group 2)
After witnessing the fashion show in Samuel and the courthouse of Acts, we find ourselves back in the land of Mark. As you recall, this gospel was composed during uncertain times. The author does not spoon feed us our faith, but invites us to be uncomfortable in the unknown.
Mark’s Gospel announces itself as “The beginning of the Good News” and ends with people running fearfully from the tomb. In between there are children who die, women who bleed out, and men who are bound by chains: in other words, a world gone mad.
Doesn’t it feel a bit right now as if the world is going mad? What with the economy and flooded parking fields and riots in Iran’s streets. But let’s be honest: when hasn’t the world seemed a bit mad?
The Vietnam War, Monica Lewisnky, Michael Jackson’s death: it seems as if there is always something throwing things out of wack.
That’s how the seminary journey was for my classmates and I. We began school in 2001, bright eyed and full of life. Then two planes flew into the World Trade Center, placing our education in the shadow of the valley of death.
Professor Peggy Way helped us make sense of the mess. She reminded us that we are all living, biological, chemical creatures dealing with the chronicity of life. Which means illnesses happen, tragedies occur, and everyone will die. She challenged us to ask how God was present in the aftermath of 9/11 and how we were called to be the Body of Christ.
As if the events of 9/11 weren’t enough, over the span of three years, four of our classmates died. The shadow of death loomed large at seminary, but it did not have the only voice. For even in the midst of death, there was an abundance of life.
We had dinner parties, danced to Beyonce and 50 Cent, had late night conversations and studied in cafes. Couples met, friendships formed, circles of healing were created, Ultimate Frisbee broke the monotony of our studies. Mission trips took us around the country and around the world. And God was worshiped in unique ways.
At Eden Seminary we truly lived between life and death, and I would not exchange that experience for anything. To this day I believe those events created some of finest pastors in the country, because everything we learned and did was in the shadow of those realities.
When planes collide into buildings, when friends die in car accidents how does one still find the faith to be made well, to get up and walk, and to hear words of life when others want to laugh at you or cry out in defeat?
Mark has us wrestle with these thoughts as he tells of a time in which one woman’s life is bleeding out while a young girl is taking her final breathe, and how Jesus brings wholeness to both situations.
Jesus has traveled to where there is much life going on. There’s the hustle and bustle of folk who’ve gathered by the waters to experience Jesus for themselves.
The excitement is soon interrupted. A leader of the synagogue comes to Jesus. His 12 years old daughter is dying. He falls to his knees, begging Jesus to lay hands on her so she may live.
Death has made itself known.
Jesus and the man go to the girl. While on their way, a woman comes up to Jesus. For twelve years she’s been bleeding. She says if she touched his clothes she’ll be made well.
Immediately, her bleeding stops; Jesus turns to ask who touched him. Trembling, she kneels before him and admits her actions. And Jesus says (point to group 1. They say “Daughter, your faith has made you well.”)
Life has been restored. Wholeness and healing have won the day.
But wait: while Jesus is speaking, people come for the father of the sick girl and say (point to group 2. They say “Your daughter is dead.”)
The balance between life and death. It exists throughout the Bible, between the garden and the cross, between desserts and green pastures.
But pay closer attention to how Mark writes this story. As Thomas Long points out, it’s when Jesus is saying his words to the woman that the people talk about the girl. In other words, both sentences are said at the same time.
And here is where your participation really comes in. On the count of three, everyone is to say their line. 1. 2. 3. (“Daughter, your faith has made you well/Your daughter is dead.”)
Did you hear that? Jesus isn’t just living between these moments of life and death. He’s operating while both are happening at the same time.
This is a story for the ages, and a fitting story for our church today.
For in downtown Grand Rapids, UCC members from all over have gathered for the 27th National General Synod. Right by the flowing waters of the Grand River there is the hustle and bustle of folk coming to share and experience Jesus Christ.
Visitors are filling our streets with life and exciting newness. This is at a time in which both the mayor and our President are members of the UCC, and our denomination is blessing the city with the largest convention they’ve ever had, pumping $3 million into the economy.
Meetings have been electrifying, worship has been grand, and we can proudly say “I am a member if the UCC, where God is still speaking.”
There is much life.
And yet, we at Burlingame Congregational UCC are going through the pangs of death. In four weeks we close our doors for good. Like the leader’s daughter, we are taking our final breathes.
Our death is very real. And we are not the only church in the area facing this reality as other churches in Wyoming are struggling to stay alive.
Nor are we the only church in the UCC to struggle. In Massachusetts in which we are the largest protestant denomination, 39 UCC churches have closed in the past decade.
In some ways the women in today’s scripture represent what mainline congregations seem to be facing.
We have congregations that are bleeding out. Bleeding out in the form of members who are leaving because they’re unhappy with a stance the church has made.
Congregations that are bleeding out financially, as money is being spent faster then it is brought in.
Congregations that are bleeding out physically. People feeling drained from all the work they do, not allowing themselves rest and rejuvenation.
Like the girl, there are churches that are taking their final breath. They’ve fallen upon hard times too difficult to bounce back from. Congregations have been complacent, finding it easier to stay in bed then to step out into the unexpected.
Congregations that have just been too sick for too long from inside squabbling or unresolved issues.
And we ask, as members of the Christian faith, how do we survive, how do we continue to exist?
As we live in both life and death, we wonder if there is anything we can do.
But I’m not here today to preach doom and gloom, but to preach a word of hope. Because I believe there is indeed hope for the universal church, hope for the UCC and hope for the world.
That hope comes in the person and the life giving actions of Jesus Christ.
That hope comes from the belief that sometimes what looks like loss and despair is really just rest and opportunity for transformation.
That hope comes from the fact that both the UCC and Christianity have come too far to be left bleeding out or laying breathless in bed.
Because we, as a denomination, proudly come from ancestors who once decided, in Boston, that it was time to throw some tea into the water.
Because we as a denomination trace our roots to brave women and men who risked crossing a sea to worship God in freedom.
Because we as a faith trace our roots back to a Messiah who met people by the shore and spoke calm to a raging sea.
Because we are the Children of God whose Spirit moved over the waters of creation and it was good.
People can say what they want about the fact that we’ll be closing next month, people can say what they want about it seeming as if Christianity is waning. Let them go ahead and join the folk who are crying at the little girl’s house.
But I invite you to be like the synagogue leader and the bleeding woman, doing what needs to be done to experience Christ and to live out the Christian story.
As long as people continue to seek Jesus out, unafraid to ask for what’s needed, Christianity will survive.
As long as we’re willing to walk the distance with Jesus, even when failure has been announced, Christianity will survive.
As long as we are willing to act in hope, believing what we do can make a difference, Christianity will survive.
And as long as there are people willing to tell their story and wait for a word of healing, Christianity will survive.
The closing of our particular church does not signal the end of the story, because even as we prepare to say our goodbyes, there is celebration in the streets.
There are over 3,000 living representatives of Christ making themselves known to the people right by the waters of Grand Rapids
In conclusion, Mark wrote for a world steeped in madness and loss; and he could have easily written for our world today.
Through his telling of the Jesus story, Mark is saying that even when death seems too real, even while others are crying out, we still have ways to welcome Christ and the new life he brings.
It may mean falling to our knees, it may mean taking the chance to reach out, it may mean patiently waiting other events out, but it will be worth the work and worth the wait.
Between hearing “Your faith has made you well” or saying “Your daughter is dead” which do you choose?
I believe Mark would tell us not to lose our faith, because God is still working. It may seem as if we are bleeding out, it may appear as if we’re taking our last breath, but Jesus has stepped out of the boat and Jesus is in our midst.
Thanks be to God who is with us during these difficult times, to Jesus Christ who listens to our stories and to the Sprit which empowers us in ways we can only imagine.
Amen and amen.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Sermon for June 21, 2009
June 21, 2009 Acts 4:1-13
“Cool Like Coffee” Rev. George N. Miller
A young woman had lost her job. It was the latest in a series of let-downs, so she went to her father to talk about life and how things were so hard. She felt like she couldn’t make it; she just wanted to give up, tired of struggling.
Her father took her into the kitchen. He filled three pots with water, placed them on the stove, then opened the fridge and took out carrots, a carton of eggs, and a canister of coffee beans.
The young woman said “I’m not hungry.” Her father said “Just watch,” and when the water came to boil he took the carrots and placed them in a pot. In the second he put the eggs, and in the last he placed the coffee beans. He let them sit and boil, without saying a word.
Eventually he turned off the burners and fished the carrots out and put them in a bowl. He took the eggs out and placed on a plate. Then he ladled the coffee into two giant mugs.
Turning to his daughter, he said "Tell me what you see." "Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.
The father brought her closer, telling her to feel the carrots. She noted that they were soft. He then asked her to take an egg and peel off its shell, seeing that it was hard boiled.
He invited her to sip the coffee. She smelt the rich aroma, took a taste, and smiled for the first time. After another sip she asked, "Carrots, eggs and coffee? What does it mean?"
Her father explained that each of the objects had faced the same adversity. But each one had reacted completely differently.
The carrots, once strong and solid, became soft and weak after being placed in the boiling water.
The eggs, once easily broken, looked the same, but their fluid center was hardened.
The coffee beans, however, were unique. They found a way to work with and change the water.
"Which are you?" her father asked. "When things get hot, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?"
The daughter wasn’t sure what she was at that moment, but she knew she loved the taste of the coffee and how it warmed up her hand.
Let us think about this for today. What are we? As a church and as individuals? Are we the carrots that seem unbreakable but with pain and adversity lose our strength?
Are we an egg that starts with a gentle fluidness, but in the midst of trouble becomes hardened, and though looking the same on the outside, has a stiff center?
Or are we the coffee beans, changed by the circumstances, but also able to change the circumstance? Is it when the water gets hot that we can release our true fragrance and flavor?
Yes, at times we all become like the carrots and the eggs. But into order to survive, in order to grow into who God is calling us to be, we have to learn to be like the beans.
When things are at their worst, how do find ways to elevate ourselves above them, to not only better ourselves but to change the situation around us?
For role models, we can look at the disciples in today’s scripture. After Jesus’s ascention, they continue his ministry by preaching and healing. But like Jesus, they have found themselves in some very hot water.
Peter and John have healed a lame man, but instead of being thanked, they’re arrested, brought before the court and questioned.
How many of you have done something you thought was nice only to be chewed out by someone else? It was going on even way back there.
Peter, cool as can be, says “Look, if you’re really upset because we did something good, you should know it was through the power of Jesus Christ, and it is he alone who can offer salvation.”
This surprises the council. After all, they were the Supreme Court of the time, featuring the most powerful people of the land, and a fisherman has the gall to tell them off.
Either Peter possess rocks for brains or an enormous amount of courage, because a comment like that could get him killed.
The council tries to figure out what to do. They want to punish Peter and John, but realize it could make things worse, so they let them off with a warning. But as we see in chapter 5, the disciples go right back to preaching and healing, because they’re cool like that.
When arrested again, Peter says “We must obey God.” This time the court wants the death sentence, but someone states “Pay them no mind, and this weird religious cult will just go away.”
The disciples are given another warning, and to make sure they get the message they are flogged. The council assumed this would harden their hearts and weaken their spirits.
But instead, these coffee bean-like disciples of Christ celebrate and go right back to their teaching and healing.
You got to love and be amazed at what our spiritual ancestors endured for us.
Even after Jesus was murdered on the cross, even after the disciples’ repeated arrests and death threats, Christianity grew. From 12 to 500 to 5,000 people and beyond the Good News thrived, even while existing in political and social pots of boiling water.
Not only did the Good News survive, but like the coffee beans, it influenced and changed the world around it forever.
As we gather this morning to celebrate Father’s Day, it’s important for us to recall and give thanks for what our spiritual father’s endured for our sakes. This story isn’t just part of our collective heritage, but it’s also an example of what to expect in life.
Read the Book of Acts and you’ll meet people who overcome amazing obstacles, changing what’s around them. They’ve allowed the Spirit to empower their lives, witnessing to the world, no matter what the cost.
Here in Acts we come across true heroes: our Peters, our Johns, our Stephens, people we can identify with, who are not so different from us, working class folk who were touched by God.
But how can their trials compare to the trials we face in Wyoming, MI in 2009. We not only live in a different time, but a completely different culture.
When will we ever risk being flogged or have to stand before a court because of our faith? When do we ever have to answer to what we believe?
But if you think about it, as Christians we do stand before courts every day: the courts of life; of circumstance and situations.
There are those of us who are standing before the court of health. Our bodies doing things we don’t have much control over. We’re aging, we’re limping, our eyes are dimming, our heart’s erratic.
We have a disease or a condition, something’s broke, something’s bent, something squeaks when we stand up. For some its age, for other’s it’s a bad hand we’ve been dealt.
We stand before the court of health which says in all reason “You’re in hot water and look what you got. God is not real, Jesus is a lie, your faith is a joke and you are forsaken.”
And to that we say “I know my God is real, Jesus loves me so, and as long as I have hope I will never be alone.”
There are other courts we stand before, such as the court of money. Our bills are late, our checkbook over drawn, our credit cards maxed out.
We have to decide between food or heat, gas or telephone, medication for me or my children. Bill collectors at our door.
What happened to all the money we saved? Where did the pension go? How do I make my money last before I die?
We stand before the court of finances which says in all sense of reason “You’re in hot water and look what you got. God is not real, Jesus is a lie, your faith is a joke and you are forsaken.”
To which we reply “I know my God is real, Jesus loves me so, and as long as I have hope I will never be alone.”
We stand before the court of family. To which we are told our parents are dying, memories are being erased and final breathes are being taken.
Sisters don’t want to talk, brothers are fighting, exes are being total jerks and refusing to pay child support.
Your flesh and blood is making bad choices, going through tough times, and there ain’t nothing you can do. And the one person you despereatly seek forgiveness from won’t give it.
We stand before the court of family which says in all sense of reason “You’re in hot water and look what you got. God is not real, Jesus is a lie, your faith is a joke and you are forsaken.”
To which we reply “I know my God is real, Jesus loves me so, and as long as I have hope I will never be alone.”
It is not an easy time for our world right now. America is suffering, and we in Michigan seem to be in some really, really hot pots of water.
With the economy floundering and churches struggling we are correct to say the temperature’s being turned up and everything around us boiling.
And what should we do? We could be like the carrots and become soft and weak, leached of what make us wonderfully us.
We can be like the eggs and create a tough interior that no one can get to.
Or we can be like the coffee beans, finding ways to ride out the scalding current, working with the situation to transform it and be transformed by it.
One way to do so is to recall the joy of the disciples. Of how they welcomed the gifts of the Spirit, trusting its movement and allowing it to fill them with cool courage.
The disciples could do so because they saw their troubles through the lens of Jesus Christ, in which the final outcome was already promised and the end of the story was revealed
In conclusion, when the waters of life begin to boil and you find yourself beginning to sweat, may you muster up your courage and harness your strength, allowing Christ to take you to that higher level, trusting that God will prevail and anything we endure is truly but a moment in time.
Because of the resurrection we are assured that God brings hope out of despair, and no court of life can separate us from the amazing grace and love of our God.
All thanks be to God who gives us our story, to Jesus who offers us salvation and the Spirit that fills us with courage.
Amen and amen.
“Cool Like Coffee” Rev. George N. Miller
A young woman had lost her job. It was the latest in a series of let-downs, so she went to her father to talk about life and how things were so hard. She felt like she couldn’t make it; she just wanted to give up, tired of struggling.
Her father took her into the kitchen. He filled three pots with water, placed them on the stove, then opened the fridge and took out carrots, a carton of eggs, and a canister of coffee beans.
The young woman said “I’m not hungry.” Her father said “Just watch,” and when the water came to boil he took the carrots and placed them in a pot. In the second he put the eggs, and in the last he placed the coffee beans. He let them sit and boil, without saying a word.
Eventually he turned off the burners and fished the carrots out and put them in a bowl. He took the eggs out and placed on a plate. Then he ladled the coffee into two giant mugs.
Turning to his daughter, he said "Tell me what you see." "Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.
The father brought her closer, telling her to feel the carrots. She noted that they were soft. He then asked her to take an egg and peel off its shell, seeing that it was hard boiled.
He invited her to sip the coffee. She smelt the rich aroma, took a taste, and smiled for the first time. After another sip she asked, "Carrots, eggs and coffee? What does it mean?"
Her father explained that each of the objects had faced the same adversity. But each one had reacted completely differently.
The carrots, once strong and solid, became soft and weak after being placed in the boiling water.
The eggs, once easily broken, looked the same, but their fluid center was hardened.
The coffee beans, however, were unique. They found a way to work with and change the water.
"Which are you?" her father asked. "When things get hot, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?"
The daughter wasn’t sure what she was at that moment, but she knew she loved the taste of the coffee and how it warmed up her hand.
Let us think about this for today. What are we? As a church and as individuals? Are we the carrots that seem unbreakable but with pain and adversity lose our strength?
Are we an egg that starts with a gentle fluidness, but in the midst of trouble becomes hardened, and though looking the same on the outside, has a stiff center?
Or are we the coffee beans, changed by the circumstances, but also able to change the circumstance? Is it when the water gets hot that we can release our true fragrance and flavor?
Yes, at times we all become like the carrots and the eggs. But into order to survive, in order to grow into who God is calling us to be, we have to learn to be like the beans.
When things are at their worst, how do find ways to elevate ourselves above them, to not only better ourselves but to change the situation around us?
For role models, we can look at the disciples in today’s scripture. After Jesus’s ascention, they continue his ministry by preaching and healing. But like Jesus, they have found themselves in some very hot water.
Peter and John have healed a lame man, but instead of being thanked, they’re arrested, brought before the court and questioned.
How many of you have done something you thought was nice only to be chewed out by someone else? It was going on even way back there.
Peter, cool as can be, says “Look, if you’re really upset because we did something good, you should know it was through the power of Jesus Christ, and it is he alone who can offer salvation.”
This surprises the council. After all, they were the Supreme Court of the time, featuring the most powerful people of the land, and a fisherman has the gall to tell them off.
Either Peter possess rocks for brains or an enormous amount of courage, because a comment like that could get him killed.
The council tries to figure out what to do. They want to punish Peter and John, but realize it could make things worse, so they let them off with a warning. But as we see in chapter 5, the disciples go right back to preaching and healing, because they’re cool like that.
When arrested again, Peter says “We must obey God.” This time the court wants the death sentence, but someone states “Pay them no mind, and this weird religious cult will just go away.”
The disciples are given another warning, and to make sure they get the message they are flogged. The council assumed this would harden their hearts and weaken their spirits.
But instead, these coffee bean-like disciples of Christ celebrate and go right back to their teaching and healing.
You got to love and be amazed at what our spiritual ancestors endured for us.
Even after Jesus was murdered on the cross, even after the disciples’ repeated arrests and death threats, Christianity grew. From 12 to 500 to 5,000 people and beyond the Good News thrived, even while existing in political and social pots of boiling water.
Not only did the Good News survive, but like the coffee beans, it influenced and changed the world around it forever.
As we gather this morning to celebrate Father’s Day, it’s important for us to recall and give thanks for what our spiritual father’s endured for our sakes. This story isn’t just part of our collective heritage, but it’s also an example of what to expect in life.
Read the Book of Acts and you’ll meet people who overcome amazing obstacles, changing what’s around them. They’ve allowed the Spirit to empower their lives, witnessing to the world, no matter what the cost.
Here in Acts we come across true heroes: our Peters, our Johns, our Stephens, people we can identify with, who are not so different from us, working class folk who were touched by God.
But how can their trials compare to the trials we face in Wyoming, MI in 2009. We not only live in a different time, but a completely different culture.
When will we ever risk being flogged or have to stand before a court because of our faith? When do we ever have to answer to what we believe?
But if you think about it, as Christians we do stand before courts every day: the courts of life; of circumstance and situations.
There are those of us who are standing before the court of health. Our bodies doing things we don’t have much control over. We’re aging, we’re limping, our eyes are dimming, our heart’s erratic.
We have a disease or a condition, something’s broke, something’s bent, something squeaks when we stand up. For some its age, for other’s it’s a bad hand we’ve been dealt.
We stand before the court of health which says in all reason “You’re in hot water and look what you got. God is not real, Jesus is a lie, your faith is a joke and you are forsaken.”
And to that we say “I know my God is real, Jesus loves me so, and as long as I have hope I will never be alone.”
There are other courts we stand before, such as the court of money. Our bills are late, our checkbook over drawn, our credit cards maxed out.
We have to decide between food or heat, gas or telephone, medication for me or my children. Bill collectors at our door.
What happened to all the money we saved? Where did the pension go? How do I make my money last before I die?
We stand before the court of finances which says in all sense of reason “You’re in hot water and look what you got. God is not real, Jesus is a lie, your faith is a joke and you are forsaken.”
To which we reply “I know my God is real, Jesus loves me so, and as long as I have hope I will never be alone.”
We stand before the court of family. To which we are told our parents are dying, memories are being erased and final breathes are being taken.
Sisters don’t want to talk, brothers are fighting, exes are being total jerks and refusing to pay child support.
Your flesh and blood is making bad choices, going through tough times, and there ain’t nothing you can do. And the one person you despereatly seek forgiveness from won’t give it.
We stand before the court of family which says in all sense of reason “You’re in hot water and look what you got. God is not real, Jesus is a lie, your faith is a joke and you are forsaken.”
To which we reply “I know my God is real, Jesus loves me so, and as long as I have hope I will never be alone.”
It is not an easy time for our world right now. America is suffering, and we in Michigan seem to be in some really, really hot pots of water.
With the economy floundering and churches struggling we are correct to say the temperature’s being turned up and everything around us boiling.
And what should we do? We could be like the carrots and become soft and weak, leached of what make us wonderfully us.
We can be like the eggs and create a tough interior that no one can get to.
Or we can be like the coffee beans, finding ways to ride out the scalding current, working with the situation to transform it and be transformed by it.
One way to do so is to recall the joy of the disciples. Of how they welcomed the gifts of the Spirit, trusting its movement and allowing it to fill them with cool courage.
The disciples could do so because they saw their troubles through the lens of Jesus Christ, in which the final outcome was already promised and the end of the story was revealed
In conclusion, when the waters of life begin to boil and you find yourself beginning to sweat, may you muster up your courage and harness your strength, allowing Christ to take you to that higher level, trusting that God will prevail and anything we endure is truly but a moment in time.
Because of the resurrection we are assured that God brings hope out of despair, and no court of life can separate us from the amazing grace and love of our God.
All thanks be to God who gives us our story, to Jesus who offers us salvation and the Spirit that fills us with courage.
Amen and amen.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Wanderings for 06 21 09
Wanderings for June 21, 2009
Acts 4:1-13
Good afternoon everyone.
By now I am sure you have heard that on Wednesday morning June Southway died. Born in 1918, she was a member of our church since 1956. Her viewing will be tonight at Matthysse Kuiper in Grandville, her funeral will be tomorrow (Saturday) at 10:00 a.m.
June lived a long, interesting life. One that indeed saw rags and riches, love and death. A few days before she died she was able to say two words that has provided her family much comfort and inspiration: "Good life."
It's wasn't a long, verbose statement, it came out of nowhere, but it beautifully got right to the point.
This Sunday we are hearing from Acts 4:1-13, and I will also preach a bit from Acts 5:17-42. I invite you to take some time and read it.
What stands out for me is how the disciples faced great adversity, yet they were able to rejoice. Now, their adversity was much different from the adversity June faced in her life. Yet she, facing her last few days on earth, was able to say "good life."
That is the mark of a life well lived. If you were to die today, would you be able to speak those two words? What are you thankful for? What would you have done different? How has God been present, how has the Spirit moved, how have you been the body of Christ to another, and how has someone been Christ to you?
Can you say "good life"? If not, what can be done to make that statement true? And what would it take to step it up a notch and say "Great life"?
In love and grace,
Rev. George Miller
Acts 4:1-13
Good afternoon everyone.
By now I am sure you have heard that on Wednesday morning June Southway died. Born in 1918, she was a member of our church since 1956. Her viewing will be tonight at Matthysse Kuiper in Grandville, her funeral will be tomorrow (Saturday) at 10:00 a.m.
June lived a long, interesting life. One that indeed saw rags and riches, love and death. A few days before she died she was able to say two words that has provided her family much comfort and inspiration: "Good life."
It's wasn't a long, verbose statement, it came out of nowhere, but it beautifully got right to the point.
This Sunday we are hearing from Acts 4:1-13, and I will also preach a bit from Acts 5:17-42. I invite you to take some time and read it.
What stands out for me is how the disciples faced great adversity, yet they were able to rejoice. Now, their adversity was much different from the adversity June faced in her life. Yet she, facing her last few days on earth, was able to say "good life."
That is the mark of a life well lived. If you were to die today, would you be able to speak those two words? What are you thankful for? What would you have done different? How has God been present, how has the Spirit moved, how have you been the body of Christ to another, and how has someone been Christ to you?
Can you say "good life"? If not, what can be done to make that statement true? And what would it take to step it up a notch and say "Great life"?
In love and grace,
Rev. George Miller
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Sermon for June 14, 2009
June 14, 2009
Scripture: 1 Samuel 16:1-13
Sermon Title: “What God Can See”
Rev. George N. Miller
It’s hard to believe, but 4 years ago I moved here. In that time I’ve made friends, dated a bit, but my most significant relationship, outside of the church, has been with my cat: Martin Isaac.
I remember going to the petshop looking for a cat that wasn’t too timid or prissy, an active feline that was more like a dog. And that’s what Martin was. While other cats were depressingly lethargic, he was a ball of black-n-white fur batting around a toy in his cage. He climbed onto my shoulder and on the ride home he broke out of his box: be careful what you wish for, because you’ll get it.
Last year it was brought to my attention that Martin and I are very similar: we’re extroverts who hate to be trapped inside, and neither one of us knows when to shut up! If I constantly talk, he constantly meows, even at 3 a.m..
But, he is mine and I am his, and I love him. Yet, I wonder: did I choose him because his behavior mirrored mine? Or does his behavior mirror me because he is mine? Is it nature or nurture?
When company comes over what causes one cat to show his belly and another to hide behind the couch? With children, why is one painfully shy and the other can’t shut up?
For example, take the boy who lives above me. Bruce has attended our Vacation Bible School since its inception. When he first came here he was a tiny little soft-spoken stringbean of a child.
Up until that summer he had not hung out with other boys. His Mom was worried about how he’d deal with kindergarten in the fall. But Bruce came to our Little Star program for those two weeks, and he blossomed.
There was another boy there and they immediately hit it off, eating meals together, playing crash up with their toy cars and doing all the things boys like to do. Once quiet and shy, Bruce became vocal and playful.
By the end of the program his mother was thankful for all we’d done and Bruce couldn’t wait to start school. Since then he’s grown and grown, does well in school and he’s the leader of the gang of kids he hangs out with.
Although he’s not the tallest or huskiest or oldest, he is the boy everyone centers around. It’s the other boys who come to his door to see if he can play. Be it tossing a ball, fishing in the lake, or skipping stones, he is, for lack of better words, the star. His mother claims she can’t see it, but I do.
Bruce is his group’s leader, but why? Is it because he was born so, even if his height, weight and age might say differently? Is it because of the positive affirmation he received from our VBS program, creating a lasting impact on his life?
Could it be that he’s simply reaping the benefits of living above the local pastor with the cool cat?
You never know by looking at someone what you’re going to get or what to expect. You can make an educated guess; perhaps you’ll be right, or wrong, but we’ll often fail to see a person’s full potential or to see them as God does.
What makes someone a natural leader? Is it what they possess, is it just a luck of the draw, or it is about the possibilities that exist within them?
That question exists in today’s scripture. Why does God choose David to be the next king, and why does the Bible constantly testify to the fact that God delights in choosing the unlikeliest of folk to do the most amazing things?
For a brief history of the Israelites, God never intended them to have a King; God wanted to be their ruler. That’s what made Israel unique- they were not people united by race or politics but by their relationship with God and God’s covenant.
God spoke to them through judges and priests, but they demanded a human king, wanting to be like everyone else. It broke God’s heart, and God tried to give them a word of warning, using Samuel to relay the message.
“You don’t want a king. He’ll take your sons and make them fight in his army, he’ll take your daughters and make them maids. He’ll take the best of everything you have and give them to his cronies and use them for his own benefit. He’ll turn you into slaves and you’ll find yourself crying out because of your king.”
The people could care less: “We want a king so we can be like everyone else and he can fight our battles.” To which God told Samuel “Listen to the people and give them their king.”
Saul is the first person anointed King. He’s tall and imposing and wins wars, but he disobeys God and acts as if he did nothing wrong, leaving God no choice but to “fire” him. Samuel had a hard time bearing the bad news, but afterwards God sent him to anoint a new king.
Samuel is told to go to the little do-hicky of a town called Bethlehem to a nobody named Jesse.
Jesse did not come from what we would call blue blood: his grandma was a foreigner named Ruth, one of his ancestors pretended to be a prostitute while another one of his ancestors was the town prostitute. Yet it’s from this non-pedigree family that God plans to anoint the next king.
What happens next is something akin to “America’s Next Top Model” in which Jesse’s sons participate in a runway show. One by one they walk in front of Samuel for inspection.
First down the runway: Eliab, the oldest son with JFK’s good looks and Michael Jordan’s height.
“This is the one” Samuel thinks, impressed with his beauty. But God says “Na-ah. You’re looking at the superficial appearances, I look inside the heart.”
Next comes Abinadab but God says “Oh no, this one won’t do.” Brother after brother walk down the runway and all 7 brothers fail to pass the test.
In a situation similar to Cinderella, Samuel asks “Are you sure these are all the sons you got?” To which Jesse states “Well... there is an eighth one, he’s the youngest and kind of the runt of the family. He’s out in the fields guarding the sheep.”
“Well bring him in,” Samuel says.
Last born David is brought in and God immediately says “That’s it, he’s the one, get up, get up and anoint him.”
By all sense of established logic, Eliab, the first born with the movie star good looks should have been the king. But instead it was David, the eigth son, who was chosen.
And just in case you missed it, the moral of the story is simply this: God does not see the way we see, and God doesn’t always do what we would expect. God’s ways can surely be odd, but God’s ways are best.
There are various questions we can ask about this reading. What was it God saw in David that he did not see in the seven others? What was it that God saw in David that no one else, even his own father, could see?
Was it David’s traits? Sure, he was musically inclined, strong, sincerely loved the Lord and proved to be steadfast and brave. But David also had some questionable qualities. He would single handedly break five of the commandments. So what was it God saw in him?
Maybe it wasn’t what David already had or what he was capable of. Perhaps what God saw in David was a wonderful vessel that God could fill.
Perhaps David was something like a balloon.
Think about it. Have you ever purchased a bag of balloons? When left in the bag they have no value, just bits of color and rubber.
But look closer. What makes them valuable is that balloons can be stretched, and they can be filled with a multitude of things, thus becoming whatever you need them to be.
Fill them with your breathe and they’re pretty decorations to be tacked to the wall, or twisted into cool animal shapes. Fill them with helium and you have something that floats in air or when inhaled let’s you too talk in a high squeaky voice.
Fill them with water and they become playful blobs of wet fun, to be tossed back and forth in contests or used in a water balloon fight.
But balloons can also be used inappropriately. When swallowed they can become a tool of death. When stretched back they can snap someone’s skin. When filled with rocks they become a weapon. And when accidently let go they float away causing their little owner countless tears.
But a balloon is just a piece of colorful nothing until something is put inside of it.
Was that the secret to God calling David as king? That it wasn’t about his musical ability, his courage or strength, but God knowing here was someone who could be filled by the Spirit; that David was stretchable, thus allowing God to work through him, with him, and for him?
David was a leader, a lover, and a musician. He was raw and charismatic and throughout 1 and 2 Samuel we see how the Lord is with David and how David belongs to the Lord.
But at one time he was a nobody. The runt of the litter, from a questionable family in a tiny town, considered by his own kin not worthy enough to participate in a holy fashion show.
And yet it was David who would become the greatest king God’s people had ever seen, and it would be from David’s family tree that we would receive our Messiah, Jesus Christ.
We should be thankful that God does not see us through flawed human eyes, easily tricked by beauty and pedigree, but beyond, into our hearts, into our souls, into who we are and who we are capable of becoming.
May we not only seek to see others through the eyes of our Heavenly Father, but we should seek to see ourselves through God’s eyes as well.
Perhaps we’ll be surprised at just what God is calling and empowering us to do. And perhaps we can be audacious enough to ask God to fill us with whatever gifts God can, so we can be all God is calling us to be.
Thanks be to God who sees beyond height and stature, the Son who reaches out to all and the Spirit that fill us with endless possibilities.
Amen and amen.
Scripture: 1 Samuel 16:1-13
Sermon Title: “What God Can See”
Rev. George N. Miller
It’s hard to believe, but 4 years ago I moved here. In that time I’ve made friends, dated a bit, but my most significant relationship, outside of the church, has been with my cat: Martin Isaac.
I remember going to the petshop looking for a cat that wasn’t too timid or prissy, an active feline that was more like a dog. And that’s what Martin was. While other cats were depressingly lethargic, he was a ball of black-n-white fur batting around a toy in his cage. He climbed onto my shoulder and on the ride home he broke out of his box: be careful what you wish for, because you’ll get it.
Last year it was brought to my attention that Martin and I are very similar: we’re extroverts who hate to be trapped inside, and neither one of us knows when to shut up! If I constantly talk, he constantly meows, even at 3 a.m..
But, he is mine and I am his, and I love him. Yet, I wonder: did I choose him because his behavior mirrored mine? Or does his behavior mirror me because he is mine? Is it nature or nurture?
When company comes over what causes one cat to show his belly and another to hide behind the couch? With children, why is one painfully shy and the other can’t shut up?
For example, take the boy who lives above me. Bruce has attended our Vacation Bible School since its inception. When he first came here he was a tiny little soft-spoken stringbean of a child.
Up until that summer he had not hung out with other boys. His Mom was worried about how he’d deal with kindergarten in the fall. But Bruce came to our Little Star program for those two weeks, and he blossomed.
There was another boy there and they immediately hit it off, eating meals together, playing crash up with their toy cars and doing all the things boys like to do. Once quiet and shy, Bruce became vocal and playful.
By the end of the program his mother was thankful for all we’d done and Bruce couldn’t wait to start school. Since then he’s grown and grown, does well in school and he’s the leader of the gang of kids he hangs out with.
Although he’s not the tallest or huskiest or oldest, he is the boy everyone centers around. It’s the other boys who come to his door to see if he can play. Be it tossing a ball, fishing in the lake, or skipping stones, he is, for lack of better words, the star. His mother claims she can’t see it, but I do.
Bruce is his group’s leader, but why? Is it because he was born so, even if his height, weight and age might say differently? Is it because of the positive affirmation he received from our VBS program, creating a lasting impact on his life?
Could it be that he’s simply reaping the benefits of living above the local pastor with the cool cat?
You never know by looking at someone what you’re going to get or what to expect. You can make an educated guess; perhaps you’ll be right, or wrong, but we’ll often fail to see a person’s full potential or to see them as God does.
What makes someone a natural leader? Is it what they possess, is it just a luck of the draw, or it is about the possibilities that exist within them?
That question exists in today’s scripture. Why does God choose David to be the next king, and why does the Bible constantly testify to the fact that God delights in choosing the unlikeliest of folk to do the most amazing things?
For a brief history of the Israelites, God never intended them to have a King; God wanted to be their ruler. That’s what made Israel unique- they were not people united by race or politics but by their relationship with God and God’s covenant.
God spoke to them through judges and priests, but they demanded a human king, wanting to be like everyone else. It broke God’s heart, and God tried to give them a word of warning, using Samuel to relay the message.
“You don’t want a king. He’ll take your sons and make them fight in his army, he’ll take your daughters and make them maids. He’ll take the best of everything you have and give them to his cronies and use them for his own benefit. He’ll turn you into slaves and you’ll find yourself crying out because of your king.”
The people could care less: “We want a king so we can be like everyone else and he can fight our battles.” To which God told Samuel “Listen to the people and give them their king.”
Saul is the first person anointed King. He’s tall and imposing and wins wars, but he disobeys God and acts as if he did nothing wrong, leaving God no choice but to “fire” him. Samuel had a hard time bearing the bad news, but afterwards God sent him to anoint a new king.
Samuel is told to go to the little do-hicky of a town called Bethlehem to a nobody named Jesse.
Jesse did not come from what we would call blue blood: his grandma was a foreigner named Ruth, one of his ancestors pretended to be a prostitute while another one of his ancestors was the town prostitute. Yet it’s from this non-pedigree family that God plans to anoint the next king.
What happens next is something akin to “America’s Next Top Model” in which Jesse’s sons participate in a runway show. One by one they walk in front of Samuel for inspection.
First down the runway: Eliab, the oldest son with JFK’s good looks and Michael Jordan’s height.
“This is the one” Samuel thinks, impressed with his beauty. But God says “Na-ah. You’re looking at the superficial appearances, I look inside the heart.”
Next comes Abinadab but God says “Oh no, this one won’t do.” Brother after brother walk down the runway and all 7 brothers fail to pass the test.
In a situation similar to Cinderella, Samuel asks “Are you sure these are all the sons you got?” To which Jesse states “Well... there is an eighth one, he’s the youngest and kind of the runt of the family. He’s out in the fields guarding the sheep.”
“Well bring him in,” Samuel says.
Last born David is brought in and God immediately says “That’s it, he’s the one, get up, get up and anoint him.”
By all sense of established logic, Eliab, the first born with the movie star good looks should have been the king. But instead it was David, the eigth son, who was chosen.
And just in case you missed it, the moral of the story is simply this: God does not see the way we see, and God doesn’t always do what we would expect. God’s ways can surely be odd, but God’s ways are best.
There are various questions we can ask about this reading. What was it God saw in David that he did not see in the seven others? What was it that God saw in David that no one else, even his own father, could see?
Was it David’s traits? Sure, he was musically inclined, strong, sincerely loved the Lord and proved to be steadfast and brave. But David also had some questionable qualities. He would single handedly break five of the commandments. So what was it God saw in him?
Maybe it wasn’t what David already had or what he was capable of. Perhaps what God saw in David was a wonderful vessel that God could fill.
Perhaps David was something like a balloon.
Think about it. Have you ever purchased a bag of balloons? When left in the bag they have no value, just bits of color and rubber.
But look closer. What makes them valuable is that balloons can be stretched, and they can be filled with a multitude of things, thus becoming whatever you need them to be.
Fill them with your breathe and they’re pretty decorations to be tacked to the wall, or twisted into cool animal shapes. Fill them with helium and you have something that floats in air or when inhaled let’s you too talk in a high squeaky voice.
Fill them with water and they become playful blobs of wet fun, to be tossed back and forth in contests or used in a water balloon fight.
But balloons can also be used inappropriately. When swallowed they can become a tool of death. When stretched back they can snap someone’s skin. When filled with rocks they become a weapon. And when accidently let go they float away causing their little owner countless tears.
But a balloon is just a piece of colorful nothing until something is put inside of it.
Was that the secret to God calling David as king? That it wasn’t about his musical ability, his courage or strength, but God knowing here was someone who could be filled by the Spirit; that David was stretchable, thus allowing God to work through him, with him, and for him?
David was a leader, a lover, and a musician. He was raw and charismatic and throughout 1 and 2 Samuel we see how the Lord is with David and how David belongs to the Lord.
But at one time he was a nobody. The runt of the litter, from a questionable family in a tiny town, considered by his own kin not worthy enough to participate in a holy fashion show.
And yet it was David who would become the greatest king God’s people had ever seen, and it would be from David’s family tree that we would receive our Messiah, Jesus Christ.
We should be thankful that God does not see us through flawed human eyes, easily tricked by beauty and pedigree, but beyond, into our hearts, into our souls, into who we are and who we are capable of becoming.
May we not only seek to see others through the eyes of our Heavenly Father, but we should seek to see ourselves through God’s eyes as well.
Perhaps we’ll be surprised at just what God is calling and empowering us to do. And perhaps we can be audacious enough to ask God to fill us with whatever gifts God can, so we can be all God is calling us to be.
Thanks be to God who sees beyond height and stature, the Son who reaches out to all and the Spirit that fill us with endless possibilities.
Amen and amen.
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