Good Friday everyone: it's a beautiful day. The Gladys and John Kapenga Community Peace Garden is looking great. The flowers have been watered and are thriving, the birds and squirrels have been feasting upon the seeds and the fence David created is just the perfect touch to welcome folk and (in the fall) to remind them that we were here. With my office windows open I can hear kids playing and a neighbor fixing his car/revving the engine.
Life, for this moment, is good. And let us not forget that little Kayla is having her feeding tub taken out today, which is certainly good news for her and her family.
This Sunday we are journeying back into the Old Testament. 1 Samuel 16:1-13 introduces us to a young person named David. He is the youngest and most seemingly inconsequential of an inconsequential family in a tiny, teeny town. As the author of "The Message" describes David, he's a "runt."
Yet this runt of a son/brother is the one God chooses to become the next King of God's people, and this runt from a nobody family will also become the greatest king Israel ever knew, and the king that all others will be compared to.
Yet again, it's a story of how God surprises us, and how God sees not with human eyes, but with God's eyes: eyes that see not just the physical, but the emotional, the spiritual, the gifts, the strengths, the flaws and the works in progress.
I had a friend who use to pray "God, teach me how to love myself the way you love me." I think you could also change that to "God, help me to see myself the way you see me."
How do you believe God is seeing you, and how can you allow that to shape and inform how you see yourself, as well as those around you?
Have a blessed day, and let us also keep in our prayers those who have not been feeling so well lately: Gladys Kapenga, Mary Louise Johnson, Marv Timmerman and Mary Jane Everett.
Peace and joy,
Rev. George Miller
A UCC Pastor's walk through the spiritual waters of Scripture, pop culture and life.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Sermon for June 7, 2009
June 7, 2009
Scripture: John 3:1-17
Sermon Title: “From Darkness Into Light”
Rev. George N. Miller
It was one those moments. A moment in which you have no choice but to be fully present. The sun was still out. The crowd was still there. Nicodemus and Joseph did not care.
After Jesus bowed his head and gave up his spirit, after the soldiers were sure he was dead, Joseph of Arimathea asked Pilate if he could have the body.
It was an unusual request. Usually the body of criminals were left up for wild dogs and vultures to eat, sending a message to other troublemakers.
No one asked for the body of a crucified man.
Pilate, perhaps surprised at the man’s audacity, gave the OK.
Nicodemus had with him a mixture of myrrh and aloes, a hundred pounds worth. It was a testament to his wealth. It was a testament to his love for Jesus. And before the sun could set the two men began to work.
Usually a man such as Nicodemus would never touch a dead body right before the Holiest Day of the year, rendering himself unclean, but he didn’t care. What he cared about was showing Rabbi Jesus the respect he deserved.
Nicodemus and Joseph took the spices, applying it to Jesus’ hands: hands that healed the sick, hand that fed the hungry and reached out to the lonely.
They took the spices, applying it to his feet: feet that traveled from Nazareth to Jerusalem, from mountaintops to water wells.
They took spices, applying it to his mouth: lips that proclaimed good news, lips that spoke words of forgiveness, lips that smiled upon the people.
They took spices, anointing Jesus’ entire body, a body that was indeed a temple, a living, walking, embodiment of God’s Wisdom, Torah and Grace.
When done, Nicodemus and Joseph wrapped Jesus in a linen cloth, filling it with more spices, and then, while still in the sunshine, for all to see, they lovingly placed him inside a brand new tomb.
And here they were, showing radical hospitality to a dead body. This Joseph of Arimathea who once secretly followed Jesus, afraid of what others would do. This Nicodemus, a Pharisee who once visited Jesus under the cover of night, when everyone else was asleep.
Somehow, even after the violence of the cross, these two men lost their fear and boldly displayed their love for Jesus in an act of profound grief. But what was it that made them do this?
We don’t know much about Joseph, but we’ve met Nicodemus twice before. The first time in John 3, when he pays Jesus a nighttime visit.
Nicodemus was a Pharisee, a once radical branch of Judaism.
Pharisees were the ones who took worship of God out of the Temple and brought it into the people’s homes. They declared that if people obeyed the ritual purity laws of the temple priests then any place could become sacred, the dining room table could become an altar, and no matter where a person wandered, God was right by their side.
In their beliefs the Pharisees found profound comfort, but over the centuries, the Pharisees began to gain power and to condemn those who didn’t correctly follow the purity laws.
Which is why Jesus bothered them so. Here was a new rabbi stirring up trouble: hanging out with unclean folk, turning water into wine for drunken party goers, and most recently driving vendors out of the temple. What would he do next?
Nicodemus wanted to find out, so he paid Jesus a visit. But to make sure no one else knew about it, he traveled under the cover of night, while everyone else was asleep.
“Rabbi,” he stated, “We know you’re a teacher who has come from God; no one can do what you do apart from the presence of God.”
It seemed like straightforward comment, but Jesus responded with what sounded like a riddle. “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born anothen.”
Anothen was a tricky word since it had at least two meanings: it could mean “from above” or “again.” Either way it made no sense. Nicodemus took his best shot: “How can an old man be born again? Can I reenter my mother’s tummy?”
Jesus continued the riddle “No one can enter God’s kingdom without being born of water and Spirit...the wind blows where it chooses and you hear the sound of it, but you don’t know where it goes.”
“How can this be,” the old Pharisee asked, to which Jesus responded “You’re a teacher, and yet you don’t understand?”
For Nicodemus it was a very odd moment, one that left more questions then answers. So as the moon still hung in the sky, he made his way back across town, pondering all that Jesus has said.
Though it didn’t make sense at the time, that late night meeting transformed him forever. The idea of being born again or from above giving him hours of deep religious introspection that brought him closer to God, introspection that brought him closer to Jesus, introspection that began replacing his nighttime fears with fearlessness and faith.
What Jesus said got under Nicodemus’s skin, into his soul, changing his actions. By chapter 7, as the Good Ol’ boys are trying to arrest Jesus, it’s Nicodemus who stands up and says “This is wrong: our law doesn’t give us the right to judge people without a fair trial.” To which he’s ridiculed and accused of being low class.
Truly, the wind of change was blowing in Nicodemus’s life, a wind that was bringing him closer to Christ even if it meant creating a division amongst his friends; a wind of change that allowed him to speak words of social justice in front of folk; a wind of change that Jesus had talked about one night not so long ago.
Knowing Jesus, having an encounter with him in the darkness of night was a turning point for our man Nicodemus. A moment in which he would never, could never be the same.
That can happen when we meet Jesus in the dark moments of our own lives. We’ve all had dark moments, haven’t we? Moments when the sun has seemed to set in our lives. Moments when it seems like everyone else is sleeping soundly and we have a restless soul. Moments when our mind just goes and goes, refusing to shut off.
Moments of darkness, when we are up late, worrying about how the bills are going to get paid. Moments of darkness when we worry about our health or the fate of a loved one. Moments when our past feels too broken and our future too uncertain and we can’t find rest.
Those are sad, lonely moments. When we don’t know what we can do, we don’t know what we should do, we’re not even sure if anything we can do will make a difference.
Those are moments that don’t seem to make any sense, forcing us to wrestle with the very core of what we believe, wondering if God could even exist. Some people get lost in those moments, wandering deeper into a wilderness of despair.
But you know what: those are often the moments when Jesus is the most present. Those moments of dark night, when Jesus our teacher, our healer, our friend, is right there, ready to speak to us, ready to reach out, ready to offer a chance of transformation.
Sometimes, like Nicodemus, we have to find a way to make it to where Jesus is. Sometimes it’s Jesus making himself known in an unmistakable way. And sometimes, like in today’s reading, Jesus speaks in a manner that may not fully make sense, but in reflection, brings about change.
I think of my life, my moments of darkness. The times of unemployment, the separation from family, and how in each of those moments I can look back and see how the face of Christ, the hand of God, the blowing of the Spirit was moving and transforming, even if I was unable to see it.
I think back to my ministry, of how much has taken place in the night. Back in April when Bev died and at 4 am in the morning Nila and I drove to the hospital to pay our respects.
An overnight at St. Louis Hospital in which I sat with a family as their son was on life support, eating cold hamburgers and soggy fries, talking about God, faith and “Touched by An Angel.”
My most powerful night experience was in 1996. My father has just died and I was working the overnight at St Joseph’s Home for Children. There was a baby who was born addicted to crack, and at 2 a.m. the child, going through the painful throes of withdrawal, began to cry and cry. In all my life it was the most horrifying sound I heard.
All alone, numb from my father’s death, I had no idea what to do. I went into the child’s room, picked him up, and sat on living room steps, cradling him in my arms, and singing a song.
It was one of those nighttime moments. I didn’t know what was exactly going on, but there was healing. It was as if by comforting a crying child the healing of the broken son inside of me began, and my wounded heart was able to comfort the withdrawal pains of that innocent baby boy. Soon his cries subsided and he fell asleep.
In that moment, Christ was present. Both Christ who heals and Christ who was crucified, both the Christ who wept for Lazarus and the Christ who said “Do not weep, for she’s not dead.”
It was at the darkest time of night, when no one else was around and it was one of the most real moments I have ever lived.
Jesus has the most amazing ways of making himself known. Jesus appears to us and speaks to us when we are least expecting it, and Jesus will speak to us in ways we may not understand or like to hear. But nevertheless, Jesus speaks, and in that moment, transformation begins.
Transformation that brings us from darkness into light, transformation that gives us the courage to speak even when others don’t agree.
Transformation that allows us to do what is right and what is true. We saw that transformation take place in Nicodemus.
After Jesus was humiliated and killed on the cross, when others would have left his body to the dogs, Nicodemus found a way to do something, to boldly act in the afternoon sun.
Nicodemus, with the help of Joseph, found a way to pay tribute to Jesus’ temple, by caring for it, bathing it in fragrant spices, wrapping it in linen and placing it in a newly made tomb.
And in that act of love, in that act of radical hospitality, they helped set the stage for God’s greatest miracle of all and the very beginning of our faith: the resurrection.
Because of Nicodemus’ journey from the darkness into the light, we too got to discover just how, on that Easter morn, no amount of darkness, no amount of secrecy can ever cover up the light that is Christ.
How has Jesus helped bring you into the light?
Thanks be to God the creator, Jesus our Savior and the Spirit which empowers us in each moment of the day.
Amen and amen.
Scripture: John 3:1-17
Sermon Title: “From Darkness Into Light”
Rev. George N. Miller
It was one those moments. A moment in which you have no choice but to be fully present. The sun was still out. The crowd was still there. Nicodemus and Joseph did not care.
After Jesus bowed his head and gave up his spirit, after the soldiers were sure he was dead, Joseph of Arimathea asked Pilate if he could have the body.
It was an unusual request. Usually the body of criminals were left up for wild dogs and vultures to eat, sending a message to other troublemakers.
No one asked for the body of a crucified man.
Pilate, perhaps surprised at the man’s audacity, gave the OK.
Nicodemus had with him a mixture of myrrh and aloes, a hundred pounds worth. It was a testament to his wealth. It was a testament to his love for Jesus. And before the sun could set the two men began to work.
Usually a man such as Nicodemus would never touch a dead body right before the Holiest Day of the year, rendering himself unclean, but he didn’t care. What he cared about was showing Rabbi Jesus the respect he deserved.
Nicodemus and Joseph took the spices, applying it to Jesus’ hands: hands that healed the sick, hand that fed the hungry and reached out to the lonely.
They took the spices, applying it to his feet: feet that traveled from Nazareth to Jerusalem, from mountaintops to water wells.
They took spices, applying it to his mouth: lips that proclaimed good news, lips that spoke words of forgiveness, lips that smiled upon the people.
They took spices, anointing Jesus’ entire body, a body that was indeed a temple, a living, walking, embodiment of God’s Wisdom, Torah and Grace.
When done, Nicodemus and Joseph wrapped Jesus in a linen cloth, filling it with more spices, and then, while still in the sunshine, for all to see, they lovingly placed him inside a brand new tomb.
And here they were, showing radical hospitality to a dead body. This Joseph of Arimathea who once secretly followed Jesus, afraid of what others would do. This Nicodemus, a Pharisee who once visited Jesus under the cover of night, when everyone else was asleep.
Somehow, even after the violence of the cross, these two men lost their fear and boldly displayed their love for Jesus in an act of profound grief. But what was it that made them do this?
We don’t know much about Joseph, but we’ve met Nicodemus twice before. The first time in John 3, when he pays Jesus a nighttime visit.
Nicodemus was a Pharisee, a once radical branch of Judaism.
Pharisees were the ones who took worship of God out of the Temple and brought it into the people’s homes. They declared that if people obeyed the ritual purity laws of the temple priests then any place could become sacred, the dining room table could become an altar, and no matter where a person wandered, God was right by their side.
In their beliefs the Pharisees found profound comfort, but over the centuries, the Pharisees began to gain power and to condemn those who didn’t correctly follow the purity laws.
Which is why Jesus bothered them so. Here was a new rabbi stirring up trouble: hanging out with unclean folk, turning water into wine for drunken party goers, and most recently driving vendors out of the temple. What would he do next?
Nicodemus wanted to find out, so he paid Jesus a visit. But to make sure no one else knew about it, he traveled under the cover of night, while everyone else was asleep.
“Rabbi,” he stated, “We know you’re a teacher who has come from God; no one can do what you do apart from the presence of God.”
It seemed like straightforward comment, but Jesus responded with what sounded like a riddle. “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born anothen.”
Anothen was a tricky word since it had at least two meanings: it could mean “from above” or “again.” Either way it made no sense. Nicodemus took his best shot: “How can an old man be born again? Can I reenter my mother’s tummy?”
Jesus continued the riddle “No one can enter God’s kingdom without being born of water and Spirit...the wind blows where it chooses and you hear the sound of it, but you don’t know where it goes.”
“How can this be,” the old Pharisee asked, to which Jesus responded “You’re a teacher, and yet you don’t understand?”
For Nicodemus it was a very odd moment, one that left more questions then answers. So as the moon still hung in the sky, he made his way back across town, pondering all that Jesus has said.
Though it didn’t make sense at the time, that late night meeting transformed him forever. The idea of being born again or from above giving him hours of deep religious introspection that brought him closer to God, introspection that brought him closer to Jesus, introspection that began replacing his nighttime fears with fearlessness and faith.
What Jesus said got under Nicodemus’s skin, into his soul, changing his actions. By chapter 7, as the Good Ol’ boys are trying to arrest Jesus, it’s Nicodemus who stands up and says “This is wrong: our law doesn’t give us the right to judge people without a fair trial.” To which he’s ridiculed and accused of being low class.
Truly, the wind of change was blowing in Nicodemus’s life, a wind that was bringing him closer to Christ even if it meant creating a division amongst his friends; a wind of change that allowed him to speak words of social justice in front of folk; a wind of change that Jesus had talked about one night not so long ago.
Knowing Jesus, having an encounter with him in the darkness of night was a turning point for our man Nicodemus. A moment in which he would never, could never be the same.
That can happen when we meet Jesus in the dark moments of our own lives. We’ve all had dark moments, haven’t we? Moments when the sun has seemed to set in our lives. Moments when it seems like everyone else is sleeping soundly and we have a restless soul. Moments when our mind just goes and goes, refusing to shut off.
Moments of darkness, when we are up late, worrying about how the bills are going to get paid. Moments of darkness when we worry about our health or the fate of a loved one. Moments when our past feels too broken and our future too uncertain and we can’t find rest.
Those are sad, lonely moments. When we don’t know what we can do, we don’t know what we should do, we’re not even sure if anything we can do will make a difference.
Those are moments that don’t seem to make any sense, forcing us to wrestle with the very core of what we believe, wondering if God could even exist. Some people get lost in those moments, wandering deeper into a wilderness of despair.
But you know what: those are often the moments when Jesus is the most present. Those moments of dark night, when Jesus our teacher, our healer, our friend, is right there, ready to speak to us, ready to reach out, ready to offer a chance of transformation.
Sometimes, like Nicodemus, we have to find a way to make it to where Jesus is. Sometimes it’s Jesus making himself known in an unmistakable way. And sometimes, like in today’s reading, Jesus speaks in a manner that may not fully make sense, but in reflection, brings about change.
I think of my life, my moments of darkness. The times of unemployment, the separation from family, and how in each of those moments I can look back and see how the face of Christ, the hand of God, the blowing of the Spirit was moving and transforming, even if I was unable to see it.
I think back to my ministry, of how much has taken place in the night. Back in April when Bev died and at 4 am in the morning Nila and I drove to the hospital to pay our respects.
An overnight at St. Louis Hospital in which I sat with a family as their son was on life support, eating cold hamburgers and soggy fries, talking about God, faith and “Touched by An Angel.”
My most powerful night experience was in 1996. My father has just died and I was working the overnight at St Joseph’s Home for Children. There was a baby who was born addicted to crack, and at 2 a.m. the child, going through the painful throes of withdrawal, began to cry and cry. In all my life it was the most horrifying sound I heard.
All alone, numb from my father’s death, I had no idea what to do. I went into the child’s room, picked him up, and sat on living room steps, cradling him in my arms, and singing a song.
It was one of those nighttime moments. I didn’t know what was exactly going on, but there was healing. It was as if by comforting a crying child the healing of the broken son inside of me began, and my wounded heart was able to comfort the withdrawal pains of that innocent baby boy. Soon his cries subsided and he fell asleep.
In that moment, Christ was present. Both Christ who heals and Christ who was crucified, both the Christ who wept for Lazarus and the Christ who said “Do not weep, for she’s not dead.”
It was at the darkest time of night, when no one else was around and it was one of the most real moments I have ever lived.
Jesus has the most amazing ways of making himself known. Jesus appears to us and speaks to us when we are least expecting it, and Jesus will speak to us in ways we may not understand or like to hear. But nevertheless, Jesus speaks, and in that moment, transformation begins.
Transformation that brings us from darkness into light, transformation that gives us the courage to speak even when others don’t agree.
Transformation that allows us to do what is right and what is true. We saw that transformation take place in Nicodemus.
After Jesus was humiliated and killed on the cross, when others would have left his body to the dogs, Nicodemus found a way to do something, to boldly act in the afternoon sun.
Nicodemus, with the help of Joseph, found a way to pay tribute to Jesus’ temple, by caring for it, bathing it in fragrant spices, wrapping it in linen and placing it in a newly made tomb.
And in that act of love, in that act of radical hospitality, they helped set the stage for God’s greatest miracle of all and the very beginning of our faith: the resurrection.
Because of Nicodemus’ journey from the darkness into the light, we too got to discover just how, on that Easter morn, no amount of darkness, no amount of secrecy can ever cover up the light that is Christ.
How has Jesus helped bring you into the light?
Thanks be to God the creator, Jesus our Savior and the Spirit which empowers us in each moment of the day.
Amen and amen.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Wanderings for July 7, 2009
How have you grown? What has Jesus meant to you? What would you be willing or able to do today that you could not have imagined yourself doing a year ago, five years ago, before Jesus came into your life, before you fully basked in his sunshine?
One of the joys of being a Christian is finding the faith and strength to face things that ordinarily would have scared us, to try things we thought we would never be good enough to do, and to challenge those who wish to shroud the land in darkness.
But it can also be scary: to be the one to stand up, to be the one to act, to try that new thing, to stretch as a person, as a sibling of Christ, as a child of God, as a benefactor of the Spirit.
But if we have not changed, if we have not grown, then we have not fully embraced the relationship with Jesus that is being fully offered.
One person who did was Nicodemus, the Pharisee. He goes toe to toe with Jesus in this Sunday's scripture, John 3:1-17. In the dark of night, when no one can see him, good old Nico' visits Jesus and ends up engaging in mysterious word-play that he does not fully "get" at the moment, and word play which still leaves some scholars scratching their head.
But faith is not always about understanding, faith also comes in the wrestling, in the act of trying to figure things out. And apparently, Nico's encounter with Jesus made an impression because the next time we see him, Nico' is standing up for Jesus even when the powers that be are trying to arrest him (John 7:45-52). Of course, Nico gets slammed in the process with an "Oh no you didn't: comment.
But that doesn't stop him, for the next time we see Nicodemus is right after Jesus has been killed, and it is Nico with Joseph of Armithea who ask for Jesus' body, who anoint it, who wrap it in linen, who place it in the tomb. And Nico uses not just a mixture of myrrh and aloes to care for Jesus, but a 100 pounds worth, a sign not only of his wealth but his devotion to Jesus.
Nicodemus not only becomes a great role-model of a way in which to grieve, but also a great role-model on how one can grow in Christ. When we first see him he is secretly visiting Jesus in the dark of night, but he grows and matures into someone who is able to stand up for what is right, and into someone who is not afraid to act in the daylight, for all to see, showing his love for Jesus.
May we all be like Nicodemus, may we all find ways to embrace how much we have spiritually grown and the ways we can reach out to show and profess our faith.
In love and abundance,
Pastor G
One of the joys of being a Christian is finding the faith and strength to face things that ordinarily would have scared us, to try things we thought we would never be good enough to do, and to challenge those who wish to shroud the land in darkness.
But it can also be scary: to be the one to stand up, to be the one to act, to try that new thing, to stretch as a person, as a sibling of Christ, as a child of God, as a benefactor of the Spirit.
But if we have not changed, if we have not grown, then we have not fully embraced the relationship with Jesus that is being fully offered.
One person who did was Nicodemus, the Pharisee. He goes toe to toe with Jesus in this Sunday's scripture, John 3:1-17. In the dark of night, when no one can see him, good old Nico' visits Jesus and ends up engaging in mysterious word-play that he does not fully "get" at the moment, and word play which still leaves some scholars scratching their head.
But faith is not always about understanding, faith also comes in the wrestling, in the act of trying to figure things out. And apparently, Nico's encounter with Jesus made an impression because the next time we see him, Nico' is standing up for Jesus even when the powers that be are trying to arrest him (John 7:45-52). Of course, Nico gets slammed in the process with an "Oh no you didn't: comment.
But that doesn't stop him, for the next time we see Nicodemus is right after Jesus has been killed, and it is Nico with Joseph of Armithea who ask for Jesus' body, who anoint it, who wrap it in linen, who place it in the tomb. And Nico uses not just a mixture of myrrh and aloes to care for Jesus, but a 100 pounds worth, a sign not only of his wealth but his devotion to Jesus.
Nicodemus not only becomes a great role-model of a way in which to grieve, but also a great role-model on how one can grow in Christ. When we first see him he is secretly visiting Jesus in the dark of night, but he grows and matures into someone who is able to stand up for what is right, and into someone who is not afraid to act in the daylight, for all to see, showing his love for Jesus.
May we all be like Nicodemus, may we all find ways to embrace how much we have spiritually grown and the ways we can reach out to show and profess our faith.
In love and abundance,
Pastor G
Friday, May 29, 2009
Wandering for May 31, 2009
Tongues of Fire!
Speaking in other Languages!
The sound of Rushing Wind!
A filled House!
Bewildered Bystanders!
Perplexed Party-Poopers!
and a Passionate Peter Preaching!
It can only mean one thing: Pentecost Sunday. That's the amazing, confusing, electrifying scripture we'll read this Sunday. Acts 2:1-21 is such a great read, marking the anniversary/birthday of the Christian Church. It's the day the Spirit really broke into the world, filling people with prophecy, visions, dreams.
Pentecost is a day in which God once again did something NEW. I find it amazing how throughout the Bible we encounter again and again the ways in which God breaks into our reality and does something so amazing you think "There's no way God can top that!"
But guess what: God does.
Just think of a few of the astonishing, seemingly un-topable things God has done:
Creation, parting the Red Sea, Resurrection.
And yet, just when it seems God has played the best card, another Ace comes out to wow us. And that is what Pentecost is all about.
Jesus has been crucified, resurrected and ascended. And then !BAM! something new and exiting happens as the Spirit comes roaring in and begins to change the game. And one of the first changes the Spirit will do: make it so people can understand one another.
What a joy to behold, what a blessing to let loose on Creation.
May the Spirit move you in ways you could never imagine this week. May the Spirit enable us to understand one another a little bit more.
Peace and joy,
Pastor G
Speaking in other Languages!
The sound of Rushing Wind!
A filled House!
Bewildered Bystanders!
Perplexed Party-Poopers!
and a Passionate Peter Preaching!
It can only mean one thing: Pentecost Sunday. That's the amazing, confusing, electrifying scripture we'll read this Sunday. Acts 2:1-21 is such a great read, marking the anniversary/birthday of the Christian Church. It's the day the Spirit really broke into the world, filling people with prophecy, visions, dreams.
Pentecost is a day in which God once again did something NEW. I find it amazing how throughout the Bible we encounter again and again the ways in which God breaks into our reality and does something so amazing you think "There's no way God can top that!"
But guess what: God does.
Just think of a few of the astonishing, seemingly un-topable things God has done:
Creation, parting the Red Sea, Resurrection.
And yet, just when it seems God has played the best card, another Ace comes out to wow us. And that is what Pentecost is all about.
Jesus has been crucified, resurrected and ascended. And then !BAM! something new and exiting happens as the Spirit comes roaring in and begins to change the game. And one of the first changes the Spirit will do: make it so people can understand one another.
What a joy to behold, what a blessing to let loose on Creation.
May the Spirit move you in ways you could never imagine this week. May the Spirit enable us to understand one another a little bit more.
Peace and joy,
Pastor G
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Sermon for May 21, 2009
May 21, 2009
Scripture: Acts 1:1-11
Sermon Title: “The Places You Will Go”
Rev. George Miller
Earlier this year I attended a workshop on evangelism and the presenter told a story about his father. His Dad had a saying that went like this: “I’m gonna tell you once, you’re gonna hear me twice. I’m gonna tell you once, you’re gonna hear me twice. You’re going to wake up and you’re going to say ‘Is it going to be a good day or a bad day?’ Make the right choice and you’ll be OK.”
What did that mean, and why did his father repeat it again and again, year after year? One day our presenter understood...but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s talk about tonight’s scripture.
It’s the beginning of Acts, which in many ways is the 2nd volume of a story that will never end. Jesus has been resurrected and for the past 40 days he’s been hanging out with the disciples, teaching them about the Kingdom of God. He’s ordered them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait, for soon they’ll be baptized with the Holy Spirit.
He redirects their attention to the present moment, and is lifted up and taken away.
After 3 years of ministry, after 3 days in the grave, after 40 days of resurrection appearances, Jesus is out of their sight; he’s absent. And in his absence the newest stage of ministry begins.
That may sound like I misspoke, but if you look at what occurs here and couple it with the Gospels, you’ll realize that part of Jesus’s ministry was preparing the disciples for his departure while at the same time helping them understand that his leaving is just another part of his ministry.
For example, in John 14-16 Jesus explains that he’s to go ahead, establishing a place for them, and that God will give the disciples an Advocate, meaning the Spirit. He encourages them to continue abiding in him, as he abides in them.
Then in ch. 16 he gets right down to it: that it’s for their benefit that he goes away because if he stays the Advocate will not come and guide them in all things. In other words Jesus is saying to them: “Oh, all the places you will go!”
Yes they’ll weep and mourn, yes they’ll miss him, but their pain will turn into joy because Jesus has already proved victorious.
In Acts we witness that it was the ascension of Christ that created a space for the Spirit to pour down upon the people, ensuring that the Good News reaches all people throughout the world.
But how can absence be a good thing? How can being apart work for the good? Theologian Henri Nouwen wrote about absence in his book “The Living Reminder.” According to Nouwen, much of our faith is stories of memories, of people, places and events that happened some time ago.
Memories are more then just things we recall but they connect and sustain us during hard times. They are well-springs of hope, teaching that love transcends the limits of time and space.
How does this pertain to absence? When a place, person or event is close to us, we can grow numb to it, failing to see and appreciate it, failing to learn from and find comfort in it. Absence does something unique: it helps us see in a new way.
When we’re not near someone, we engage in an act of memory about them that allows us to see them in ways beyond physical, creating a space for a different level of intimacy.
Think about it, when you’re apart from someone, you don’t focus so much on their idiosyncracies, such as the mole above their lip or spinach caught in their teeth. Instead you can reflect on things they have said, actions they have done.
The space creates a chance to clarify and bring to the foreground things such as gifts or kind words they said or lessons you learned from them.
Absence also does this: it makes us want to be together again. When someone is always in our life, we take them for granted and wish for space. When we are apart and separated, we long to see them again, to be in their presence, to hear them snore, to hear their goofy jokes, to see what new outrageous ensemble they will wear.
Space creates closeness, and absence can make us more present to each other then we can imagine. Think of the truths that are revealed by friends on the phone when intimacy is increased by the non-existent sight of body movement. Think of the war time letters soldiers wrote to their honeys saying vulnerable sweet-nothings they may not have had the courage to say face to face.
Absence works in ministry, such as visits. A visit that’s too long can drain a person, but a visit done right creates a healthy space that allows the Spirit to move and educate. Sometimes the real visit happens in absence: as one waits for the visit, looking forward to the time together; in the space that’s created when the pastor leaves, and both people can reflect upon and bask in the spiritual after-glow of what they shared.
Tonight we spiritually kick off Memorial Day Weekend. We’re closed this Sunday so people can enjoy the holiday. Diaconate wanted to create a space, a chance to be absent and to give people the OK to take a step back, chill and relax.
Some may use this as an opportunity to garden, others to travel, some to spend time with family and friends or visit other churches. Oh, the places you will go.
But it’s also a way to create healthy, holy absence. For each week we worship here, we gather, we take in the sounds we know, the sights we see, the people we’re familiar with.
But with an absence we now have a chance to come back next Sunday. And to come back with new eyes, new spirits, new insights.
To see the windows anew after a week away. To hear our organist anew after hearing the sound of silence or of someone else playing.
To revel in the voices and smiles of our children, to shake hands and to reacquaint ourselves with dear old friends and faithful apostles.
This time of absence is not to pull us apart but to actually bring us together, to remind ourselves of who we are and of whose we are.
Jesus spent 40 days with the disciples. This gave them the space and time they needed to grow, become adjusted and be prepared for what they had to do. And when the time was right, he left.
The irony was that in Jesus’s departure he actually became closer to them, for now he was ever present, always there, in their hearts and spirit, in their work and their mission. Jesus remained the center of what they did, but now their focus could be redirected onto the community and ministry that was at hand.
And when Jesus ascended, the disciples were actually able to step into the people they were destined to be, to do the work they were destined to do and to prepare the next foundational level for the church we are today.
And it happened all because of Jesus’s absence.
In conclusion, let us return to the story I was first telling, about the father and his words. Day after day, the father told his son “I’m gonna tell you once, you’re gonna hear me twice. I’m gonna tell you once, you’re gonna hear me twice. You’re going to wake up and you’re going to say ‘Is it going to be a good day or a bad day?’ Make the right choice and you’ll be OK.”
The son grew tired of hearing his father say those words. Then one day he was hanging out with his friends. They were drinking and got it into their heads that it would be fun to go drag racing.
The young man was about to step into one of the cars, when he heard his father’s voice “I’m gonna tell you once, you’re gonna hear me twice. You’re going to wake up one day and you’re going to say “Is it going to be a good day or a bad day?’ Make the right choice and you’ll be ok.”
And now he understood. The hearing once was his father’s first telling him, the hearing twice was what he was now hearing in his father’s absence.
He listened to his absent father’s voice, and stepped away from that car, and it was the right thing to do. Moments later an accident occurred, killing the driver and leaving another paralyzed.
His father was wise. He knew he could not be with his son 100% of the time, otherwise his son would never live his life. But he made sure that even in his absence his son would know well enough to make the right choices to live life.
In his father’s absence, those words took on more meaning and power then they ever had before.
Its Memorial Day Weekend. Oh the places you will go, the things you will do and the people you will meet. Even though we’ll be apart this Sunday, may our absence liven our hearts and bring us closer to one another.
And when we are reunited, may we be glad to be in the house of the Lord and glad to be in one another’s presence again.
All thanks and praise be to the Spirit that falls upon each and every one of us, for God whose kingdom we are called to make real and for Jesus who, even in his absence, lives within us all.
Amen.
Scripture: Acts 1:1-11
Sermon Title: “The Places You Will Go”
Rev. George Miller
Earlier this year I attended a workshop on evangelism and the presenter told a story about his father. His Dad had a saying that went like this: “I’m gonna tell you once, you’re gonna hear me twice. I’m gonna tell you once, you’re gonna hear me twice. You’re going to wake up and you’re going to say ‘Is it going to be a good day or a bad day?’ Make the right choice and you’ll be OK.”
What did that mean, and why did his father repeat it again and again, year after year? One day our presenter understood...but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s talk about tonight’s scripture.
It’s the beginning of Acts, which in many ways is the 2nd volume of a story that will never end. Jesus has been resurrected and for the past 40 days he’s been hanging out with the disciples, teaching them about the Kingdom of God. He’s ordered them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait, for soon they’ll be baptized with the Holy Spirit.
He redirects their attention to the present moment, and is lifted up and taken away.
After 3 years of ministry, after 3 days in the grave, after 40 days of resurrection appearances, Jesus is out of their sight; he’s absent. And in his absence the newest stage of ministry begins.
That may sound like I misspoke, but if you look at what occurs here and couple it with the Gospels, you’ll realize that part of Jesus’s ministry was preparing the disciples for his departure while at the same time helping them understand that his leaving is just another part of his ministry.
For example, in John 14-16 Jesus explains that he’s to go ahead, establishing a place for them, and that God will give the disciples an Advocate, meaning the Spirit. He encourages them to continue abiding in him, as he abides in them.
Then in ch. 16 he gets right down to it: that it’s for their benefit that he goes away because if he stays the Advocate will not come and guide them in all things. In other words Jesus is saying to them: “Oh, all the places you will go!”
Yes they’ll weep and mourn, yes they’ll miss him, but their pain will turn into joy because Jesus has already proved victorious.
In Acts we witness that it was the ascension of Christ that created a space for the Spirit to pour down upon the people, ensuring that the Good News reaches all people throughout the world.
But how can absence be a good thing? How can being apart work for the good? Theologian Henri Nouwen wrote about absence in his book “The Living Reminder.” According to Nouwen, much of our faith is stories of memories, of people, places and events that happened some time ago.
Memories are more then just things we recall but they connect and sustain us during hard times. They are well-springs of hope, teaching that love transcends the limits of time and space.
How does this pertain to absence? When a place, person or event is close to us, we can grow numb to it, failing to see and appreciate it, failing to learn from and find comfort in it. Absence does something unique: it helps us see in a new way.
When we’re not near someone, we engage in an act of memory about them that allows us to see them in ways beyond physical, creating a space for a different level of intimacy.
Think about it, when you’re apart from someone, you don’t focus so much on their idiosyncracies, such as the mole above their lip or spinach caught in their teeth. Instead you can reflect on things they have said, actions they have done.
The space creates a chance to clarify and bring to the foreground things such as gifts or kind words they said or lessons you learned from them.
Absence also does this: it makes us want to be together again. When someone is always in our life, we take them for granted and wish for space. When we are apart and separated, we long to see them again, to be in their presence, to hear them snore, to hear their goofy jokes, to see what new outrageous ensemble they will wear.
Space creates closeness, and absence can make us more present to each other then we can imagine. Think of the truths that are revealed by friends on the phone when intimacy is increased by the non-existent sight of body movement. Think of the war time letters soldiers wrote to their honeys saying vulnerable sweet-nothings they may not have had the courage to say face to face.
Absence works in ministry, such as visits. A visit that’s too long can drain a person, but a visit done right creates a healthy space that allows the Spirit to move and educate. Sometimes the real visit happens in absence: as one waits for the visit, looking forward to the time together; in the space that’s created when the pastor leaves, and both people can reflect upon and bask in the spiritual after-glow of what they shared.
Tonight we spiritually kick off Memorial Day Weekend. We’re closed this Sunday so people can enjoy the holiday. Diaconate wanted to create a space, a chance to be absent and to give people the OK to take a step back, chill and relax.
Some may use this as an opportunity to garden, others to travel, some to spend time with family and friends or visit other churches. Oh, the places you will go.
But it’s also a way to create healthy, holy absence. For each week we worship here, we gather, we take in the sounds we know, the sights we see, the people we’re familiar with.
But with an absence we now have a chance to come back next Sunday. And to come back with new eyes, new spirits, new insights.
To see the windows anew after a week away. To hear our organist anew after hearing the sound of silence or of someone else playing.
To revel in the voices and smiles of our children, to shake hands and to reacquaint ourselves with dear old friends and faithful apostles.
This time of absence is not to pull us apart but to actually bring us together, to remind ourselves of who we are and of whose we are.
Jesus spent 40 days with the disciples. This gave them the space and time they needed to grow, become adjusted and be prepared for what they had to do. And when the time was right, he left.
The irony was that in Jesus’s departure he actually became closer to them, for now he was ever present, always there, in their hearts and spirit, in their work and their mission. Jesus remained the center of what they did, but now their focus could be redirected onto the community and ministry that was at hand.
And when Jesus ascended, the disciples were actually able to step into the people they were destined to be, to do the work they were destined to do and to prepare the next foundational level for the church we are today.
And it happened all because of Jesus’s absence.
In conclusion, let us return to the story I was first telling, about the father and his words. Day after day, the father told his son “I’m gonna tell you once, you’re gonna hear me twice. I’m gonna tell you once, you’re gonna hear me twice. You’re going to wake up and you’re going to say ‘Is it going to be a good day or a bad day?’ Make the right choice and you’ll be OK.”
The son grew tired of hearing his father say those words. Then one day he was hanging out with his friends. They were drinking and got it into their heads that it would be fun to go drag racing.
The young man was about to step into one of the cars, when he heard his father’s voice “I’m gonna tell you once, you’re gonna hear me twice. You’re going to wake up one day and you’re going to say “Is it going to be a good day or a bad day?’ Make the right choice and you’ll be ok.”
And now he understood. The hearing once was his father’s first telling him, the hearing twice was what he was now hearing in his father’s absence.
He listened to his absent father’s voice, and stepped away from that car, and it was the right thing to do. Moments later an accident occurred, killing the driver and leaving another paralyzed.
His father was wise. He knew he could not be with his son 100% of the time, otherwise his son would never live his life. But he made sure that even in his absence his son would know well enough to make the right choices to live life.
In his father’s absence, those words took on more meaning and power then they ever had before.
Its Memorial Day Weekend. Oh the places you will go, the things you will do and the people you will meet. Even though we’ll be apart this Sunday, may our absence liven our hearts and bring us closer to one another.
And when we are reunited, may we be glad to be in the house of the Lord and glad to be in one another’s presence again.
All thanks and praise be to the Spirit that falls upon each and every one of us, for God whose kingdom we are called to make real and for Jesus who, even in his absence, lives within us all.
Amen.
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