God Sightings - Part 3

Sometimes ordinary words just won’t do, will they? Ordinary words can’t capture immense fear, the beauty of a magnificent sunset, or the love for a child. Ordinary words could not capture the experience of Isaiah when he received his call to be a prophet for Yahweh.

The time is roughly 742 BC, the year that King Uzziah died. Uzziah had reigned in Judah, the southern kingdom, for more than 40 years. And by most standards, he had been quite successful. He had repaired the defenses of Jerusalem, reorganized the army, and secured many trade routes running through Judah. He was a strong king, but he died, as the book of Chronicles tells us, because he was punished by God for his proud power. It was in this same year, when the country was mourning his death and wondering what the future would bring, that Isaiah saw his vision. Found in the first part of today’s reading in Isaiah, chapter 6.

In the year of King Uzziah’s death, I saw the Lord sitting on a high and exalted throne, the edges of his robe filling the temple. Winged creatures were stationed around him. Each had six wings: with two they veiled their faces, with two their feet, and with two they flew about. They shouted to each other, saying:

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of heavenly forces!

All the earth is filled with God’s glory!”

The doorframe shook at the sound of their shouting, and the house was filled with smoke.

I said, “Mourn for me; I’m ruined! I’m a man with unclean lips, and I live among a people with unclean lips. Yet I’ve seen the king, the Lord of heavenly forces!”

Then one of the winged creatures flew to me, holding a glowing coal that he had taken from the altar with tongs. He touched my mouth and said, “See, this has touched your lips. Your guilt has departed, and your sin is removed.”

Then I heard the Lord’s voice saying, “Whom should I send, and who will go for us?”

I said, “Here I am; send me.” --Isaiah 6:1-8 (CEB)

The place is the temple. We aren’t surprised by this - we expect things like this to happen in the temple - this magnificent building. We might not expect, perhaps, to see visions of thrones or winged seraphs - those fiery beings who sing about the holiness and the glory of God. We might not expect to experience the shaking of the temple’s thresholds or smoke rising to the height of this extraordinary building. These are not ordinary words that describe ordinary things. But ordinary words often cannot be used to describe one’s encounter with God.

Isaiah is standing in the temple, when he sees the vision of Yahweh sitting on a throne. Yahweh is high and lift up. The seraphs are singing to each other words that we have often sung: “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord…” The building shakes. The smoke rises. Then, Isaiah speaks.

It’s not a response to God’s call that we hear, for God has not yet called Isaiah. Instead, his first words come in response to the remarkable vision he has experienced. So overwhelming that his first words are words of despair. “Mourn for me!” he says. In contrast to the greatness that he has witnessed, Isaiah feels small. In contrast to the glory and holiness he has experienced, he feels unworthy. That he has no place in the presence of One who is as awe-some as this.

This sense of fear and awe is not new to the Israelites. Throughout the Hebrew scriptures, they have asked the question, “Can one see Yahweh and live?” Yet, Isaiah seems less preoccupied with death here as he is with how he has lived life. He has unclean lips. He is part of a community with unclean lips.

It’s the seraph who first responds to Isaiah’s outburst. Immediately, it flies to Isaiah holding a live coal and touches his lips. Isaiah’s lips are not burned. Instead, his confession is acknowledged, his uncleanliness, his unworthiness is seared away. His guilt departs and his sin is blotted out. 

Perhaps you, too, have experienced something similar to Isaiah, when something you have done wrong, a mistake or a word you have said that has caused harm to someone, has been forgiven and reconciliation has happened. There is that life-giving moment when we exhale, recognizing that, despite our past, we can indeed begin anew.

It is then, after Isaiah has had this life-giving experience that he hears the voice of Yahweh. Yet, the words are not directed only to Isaiah - they seem to be directed to the community, to each and everyone who might we willing to hear them. “Whom shall I send, who will go for us?” Were there others there who might have come forth to answer? Perhaps. But Isaiah has been prepared and made ready for his mission, even as it has yet to be defined. 

Without even knowing what God is calling him to, Isaiah responds, “Hineni. Here I am. Send me!”

What is it that happens between these two outbursts of Isaiah? He first cries out, “Mourn for me!” Then, later his cry is “I’m here. Send me!” One can only wonder if what happens in between is this remarkable transformation that we feel when we have truly experienced grace. Amazing grace.

Now, as your pastor and as a storyteller, it would be my choice, my easy choice, to end the story here. It is important for us to hear the stories of these courageous people - these men and women in scripture and in the history of the church who have, in their own lives, said, “Hineni. Here I am.”

But to be true to the story of Isaiah, we must continue on in chapter 6, beginning with verse 9.

God said, “Go and say to this people:

Listen intently, but don’t understand;

    look carefully, but don’t comprehend.

Make the minds of this people dull.

    Make their ears deaf and their eyes blind,

    so they can’t see with their eyes

    or hear with their ears,

    or understand with their minds,

    and turn, and be healed.”

I said, “How long, Lord?”

And God said, “Until cities lie ruined with no one living in them, until there are houses without people and the land is left devastated.” The Lord will send the people far away, and the land will be completely abandoned. Even if one-tenth remain there, they will be burned again, like a terebinth or an oak, which when it is cut down leaves a stump. Its stump is a holy seed. --Isaiah 6:9-13 (CEB)

To be true to Isaiah’s story, we must hear the overwhelming challenge that God presents to him. We hear Isaiah’s sadness as he hears the words the Lord speaks. “Make the minds of this people dull. Make their ears deaf and their eyes blind, so they can’t see or hear or understand and turn and be healed.”

Isaiah has been called to deliver a word that will lead people not toward life, but toward death. The words given to him to speak to the community were harsh words, words of confrontation about the emptiness and desolation of a people and a land that Yahweh deeply loved. To be true to the story of Isaiah we cannot end with the words, “Hineni. Here I am, send me!” We must hear the last words of Isaiah as he stands there in his frailty, completely forgiven, when he asks, “How long, Lord? 

Recently, I listened to one of Leonard Cohen’s last interviews where he spoke about one of the last songs he wrote, entitled, “You Want It Darker.”  Throughout the chorus of this song, we hear the very word that Isaiah spoke in response to God’s call. Hineni. Hineni. Here I am. 

When asked about this song, Cohen commented that we are all motivated by deep impulses to serve, even though we may never fully identify that which we are being called to serve. That this is part of our nature to offer ourselves at the moment, at the critical moment, when the emergency becomes clear. 

Perhaps this is our hineni moment. Perhaps God is calling us into a mission for which we do not know the ending, just like Isaiah. Who didn’t know the ending either, but knew that this was the moment. The emergency to which he was being called. And who trusted that God would somehow bring new life from the stump. The holy seed mentioned in the very last verse of this chapter. The stump of Jesse. From which would come an ancestral branch. A King. Upon whom the spirit of the Lord would rest. And from whom would come life and light for all people. 

As we wait in this time of transition and upheaval. As we bear witness once again to hospitals overflowing and increasing numbers of infected and dying - when all we want to do is to throw off our masks, emerge from our cocoons and hug our friends and loved ones - is it possible that, like Isaiah’s, this is our hineni moment? When we are being called into selfless service in this time of emergency? Not knowing how long or what is to come, but trusting that out of the stump, out of the holy seed, will come new life and new purpose for us as the remnant people of God?

How will you respond?

Preached November 15, 2020, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY

24th Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Isaiah 6, 1-13; Luke 5:8-10

God's Triumph: In Light of the Resurrection

Then the soldiers led him into the courtyard of the palace (that is, the governor’s headquarters); and they called together the whole cohort. And they clothed him in a purple cloak; and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on him. And they began saluting him, “Hail, King of the Jews!” They struck his head with a reed, spat upon him, and knelt down in homage to him. After mocking him, they stripped him of the purple cloak and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him out to crucify him.

They compelled a passer-by, who was coming in from the country, to carry his cross; it was Simon of Cyrene, the father of Alexander and Rufus. Then they brought Jesus to the place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull). And they offered him wine mixed with myrrh; but he did not take it. And they crucified him, and divided his clothes among them, casting lots to decide what each should take.

It was nine o’clock in the morning when they crucified him. The inscription of the charge against him read, “The King of the Jews.” And with him they crucified two bandits, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, “Aha! You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself, and come down from the cross!” In the same way the chief priests, along with the scribes, were also mocking him among themselves and saying, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. Let the Messiah, the King of Israel, come down from the cross now, so that we may see and believe.” Those who were crucified with him also taunted him.

When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o’clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, “Listen, he is calling for Elijah.” And someone ran, filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down.” Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. Now when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was God’s Son!”

There were also women looking on from a distance; among them were Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome. These used to follow him and provided for him when he was in Galilee; and there were many other women who had come up with him to Jerusalem. --Mark 15:16-41 (NRSV)

I’ve been thinking alot over these past few days about the words spoken by Jesus. The only words spoken by him on the cross. In both Mark and Matthew. And, in Mark, the last words that He will speak on earth.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? These words of lament spoken by Jesus from Psalm 22. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

If you noticed, they were spoken at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, just 3 hours after everything had grown dark. In the middle of the day - darkness. At a time when things should be brightest. Instead, everything is dark. 

In scripture, the imagery of darkness is often used as an apocalyptic portrayal of God’s judgment. Is this what Jesus was feeling when he spoke these words? Was he feeling the weight of God’s judgment? Or was he, perhaps, feeling as though God had abandoned him completely? After all, everyone else had. His disciples. Peter. Now God?

One has to wonder at his lament. Surely, Jesus knew that this wouldn’t be the end. He had predicted his own death on the cross. He, too, had predicted his resurrection. Yet, in the midst of his crucifixion. In the midst of the pain and agony he is suffering from this cruel means of torture, used only by the Romans for political revolutionaries. In the midst of dying, it is as though Jesus has simply forgotten everything he knows. As he suffers, feeling isolated and abandoned, he cries out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

I wonder if, in this time in which we are living, we cry the very same words. Where is God in the midst of this pandemic? Has God abandoned us we wonder? I even recently read a post on Facebook where someone had commented that, occasionally, God lifts the veil of protection from us. Really? The God who comes to us on earth, who shows his very nature in the suffering Jesus, chooses not to protect us?

But, isn’t this where we go in the midst of our own suffering and confusion? When everything we know seems to be falling down around us. When we have socially distanced ourselves into complete isolation. When we feel alone and abandoned. At the mercy of an evil we can’t even see or touch. Don’t we cry out, just as Jesus did, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”

We don’t like to admit this. Our fear. Our sense of isolation. And, mostly, our sense of loss. Our grief. Particularly in the church when we are so accustomed to gathering together each week. And, then, during this Holy Week, when we are unable to gather on these holiest of days. It is hard for us to admit this grief over all of the loss we are feeling in the midst of this time. Because it is easier to be Easter people than it is to be Good Friday people. When death and loss and grief and, like Jesus, our own fear of abandonment meets us head-on.

But isn’t this why God in Jesus came? To experience our very humanity? Our fear and grief and our sense of abandonment? To meet us where we are. To bring us peace.

I’m particularly struck by the closing verses of tonight’s reading. About the women. These verses are the first time in Mark that any women are named. These women, who have been following Jesus, who have cared for and provided for him in the rural parts of Galilee, who have not abandoned him, but who are still there.

It’s a reminder for us, that even in these times of isolation and what may feel like abandonment, God remains with us. In the connections we have with one another. God is still there. And, it is in these connections, even in the darkest of times where God, who knows our fear and our pain and our grief, meets us. In love. Bringing us new life. 

A few days, one of my fellow pastors died in our synod.  Rev. Dick Hunt. I never knew him. But I learned that, for every day of the past 20 years, Pastor Hunt had written a haiku poem. This was the one included in his obituary, entitled “God Delights In Us.”

Alive or dead God

delights in us because love

knows what death feels like

knows what grief and mourning feel

like to search through what is lost

to find the light of new life.

May we, on this Good Friday, trust that God has not abandoned us, but continues to be present. That God continues to meet us in these darkest of times. And that God will lead us through the darkness to find the light of new life. This is not the end, but only the beginning. Amen.

Preached April 10, 2020 online with Grace & Glory Lutheran Church and Shiloh United Methodist, Goshen, KY.

Good Friday

Readings: Psalm 22:1-2, 14-21; Mark 15:16-39

The Call to Serve: Authority and a Few Other Things

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God, our Father; from Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior; and from the Holy Spirit, our Advocate and Comforter. Amen.

These are unusual times we are living in, aren’t they? Such dramatic change in just a week. The cancellation of major festivals, major sporting events, school classes, even worship. A declaration of a world-wide pandemic. Travel restrictions. The shutting down of offices and other buildings. The upheaval in the stock market and the oil market. It might almost feel for us as though we are in the midst of a cosmic change. 

Similarly, the direction of my sermon has changed dramatically from where I first started. Because everything is just changing. Quickly. So, today, I’m going to touch on six different topics that may seem completely unrelated. It is my hope (and my prayer!) that, by the end, I will have been able to weave them together. So, here they are: Authority. Vineyards. Economic systems. David Brooks. Pandemics. And Luther (and a little bit of Bonhoeffer!). 

Topic number one. Authority. The question of authority is at the heart of our text today. It isn’t part of our Gospel reading, but, if you back up to the very end of chapter 11, to the part that just precedes today’s reading, the questions that Jesus is asked by the chief priests, the legal experts, and the elders - in other words, the religious leaders. The two questions they ask of Jesus are: “What kind of authority do you have for doing these things? And who gave it to you?”

You see, since the very beginning of Mark, Jesus has been throwing his authority around all over the place. Healing people who are sick. Restoring sight to the blind. Releasing demons from people. (Demons, who, by the way, know and recognize Jesus’ authority.) The authority of Jesus has been oozing out all over the place. So, when he is asked this question by the religious leaders about his authority, his response is to tell them a parable. About a vineyard. 

Jesus spoke to them in parables. “A man planted a vineyard, put a fence around it, dug a pit for the winepress, and built a tower. Then he rented it to tenant farmers and took a trip. When it was time, he sent a servant to collect from the tenants his share of the fruit of the vineyard. But they grabbed the servant, beat him, and sent him away empty-handed. Again the landowner sent another servant to them, but they struck him on the head and treated him disgracefully. He sent another one; that one they killed. The landlord sent many other servants, but the tenants beat some and killed others. Now the landowner had one son whom he loved dearly. He sent him last, thinking, They will respect my son. But those tenant farmers said to each other, ‘This is the heir. Let’s kill him, and the inheritance will be ours.’ They grabbed him, killed him, and threw him out of the vineyard.

“So what will the owner of the vineyard do? He will come and destroy those tenants and give the vineyard to others. Haven’t you read this scripture, The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone. The Lord has done this, and it’s amazing in our eyes?”

They wanted to arrest Jesus because they knew that he had told the parable against them. But they were afraid of the crowd, so they left him and went away. --Mark 12:1-12. 

Topic number two. Vineyards. The image of a vineyard is common in scripture. I counted it up yesterday and the word is used 118 times through both testaments. In the Hebrew scripture, there are 95 references alone to the imagery of vineyards. Last fall, we heard a love song about a vineyard in Isaiah 5. Well, really, it was a break up song about a vineyard and its owner, where Israel was portrayed metaphorically as the well-tended, but unproductive vineyard of Yahweh. 

Would it surprise you to learn that the description of the vineyard in today’s reading is the same description as the one in Isaiah, which was a vineyard with a pit for a winepress and a watchtower?Planted by a man who characterizes the vineyard as his beloved Israel. This beloved community that he has cared for and guided and served. And that has responded, in turn, with injustice and bloodshed.

In Mark’s gospel parable, there’s still a landowner. And a vineyard. But there’s a little twist, added characters to the story. Tenant farmers. And slaves. And a son.

Now, we with our 21st century understanding, might be a little offended by this parable and, particularly, of the imbalance of power between the wealthy landowner and the tenant farmers, who are really sharecroppers. But, if we remember that parables use common elements that are understood by the audience to teach them something they don’t understand, we have to look at this parable with first century eyes.

Because this practice was common under Roman rule. It even has a term connected to it - latifundia. These were great landed estates specializing in crops for export, such as grain, olive oil, or wine. They were the closest example in ancient times to our industrialized agriculture. And their economics depended entirely upon slavery.

Topic number three. Economic systems. If this economic system of Rome sounds familiar, it should. Because, it’s a practice that has been carried down through centuries. Such as by European monarchies who often gave large grants of land to reward services by people to them or their empire - exactly how parts of the US were settled. It’s a model we learned well as we created a similar economy built on slavery. On people. Human beings imported as chattel to prop up and sustain unjust economic systems. That pit poor people against other poor people. That benefit the wealthy. Economic systems that still persist today. 

Whatever we understand about this vineyard, it is clear that something is amiss. That there is a power struggle happening here. Between the owner and the tenants. First, the tenants try to flip the power. Then, the owner takes back the power and gets in new tenants.

Now, I have to stop for just a moment and make a corrective here. For way too long this parable has been used as a parable to talk about the end of Israel as God’s beloved and Christians as the “new tenants” in the story. That the Jews had their shot and now it's time for Christians. This is simply wrong. And hurtful. Because there’s an interesting word in verse 9. The word translated “destroy.” In Greek, it’s a term that is used to describe the destruction of evil as a result of an apocalyptic upheaval. Its use here suggests that the destruction carried out by the landowner is not about a people, but a cosmic battle between good and evil. And that Jesus, the cornerstone, is in the midst of this battle. A battle that will result in the destruction of evil and of evil systems that continue to exploit people and creation. 

And, if you still don’t think that this parable is about economic systems, then look at the very next part of the story. When the religious leaders realize that Jesus is talking about them, they get angry and they want to arrest and destroy him, but they can’t because of the crowd. So, they send others to entrap him. By talking about nothing other than money. And taxes. Boom.

They sent some of the Pharisees and supporters of Herod to trap him in his words. They came to him and said, “Teacher, we know that you’re genuine and you don’t worry about what people think. You don’t show favoritism but teach God’s way as it really is. Does the Law allow people to pay taxes to Caesar or not? Should we pay taxes or not?”

Since Jesus recognized their deceit, he said to them, “Why are you testing me? Bring me a coin. Show it to me.” And they brought one. He said to them, “Whose image and inscription is this?”

“Caesar’s,” they replied.

Jesus said to them, “Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.” His reply left them overcome with wonder. --Mark 12:13-17. 

The religious leaders send two groups - Pharisees and Herodians - who approach Jesus with flattery and false praise, and then hit him up with a question to which there is no good answer. And Jesus knows it. So, he answers with a non-answer. But, first, he asks them for a coin. And they give him a Roman coin, with a picture of Caesar on it. By giving him this coin, they implicate themselves - that they have bought into an economy that they decry. Because, as Jesus points out, if you participate in an economy, then you have a responsibility. To pay taxes.

But, do you notice that Jesus doesn’t have a coin with the image of Caesar in his pocket? Is this a message that, perhaps, he is rejecting the entire economy of the empire, particularly one that exploits the poor? 

Which brings me to topics number four and five. David Brooks and Pandemics. On Thursday, conservative columnist David Brooks wrote in the NY Times about what pandemics do. How they drive people apart. Because in these moments, fear can drive people. It can drive us away from each other as the possibility of death drives away concern for no one but ourselves and our loved ones. Witness the hoarding and panic buying over these past few days. Witness the privilege that allows us to be able to afford to hoard, when we know that pandemic always hits the poorest and most vulnerable in our community the hardest. All out of fear.

But, it’s not only fear that drives people in times of pandemic. So does shame. Because in the midst of pandemic, hard, life-and-death choices have to be made. They’re being made today. By doctors in Italy, for example, who because of a limited number of ventilators, are having to decide who gets one and who doesn’t.

But, these hard choices are not all that drives shame. As Brooks was researching the 1918 flu pandemic for his column, he was surprised by how few books or plays had been written about it. He wrote that roughly 675,000 American lost their lives in that one year, compared with 53,000 dead in the four-year period of World War 1. Yet, little was written about it. It seemed to leave almost no mark in culture. Why? Because, when it was over, people would not talk about it because they were ashamed at how they had responded. With one exception. Healthcare workers. Who responded then, as they do today, with heroism and compassion.

Which brings me to my final topic. Number six. Luther. (And that little bit of Bonhoeffer!) In 1527, ten years after the Reformation, the bubonic plague, which had been winding its way through Europe, struck Wittenberg, Germany. The political leader of this area, Elector John, fearing for the safety of Luther and the other professors at Wittenberg University, ordered them to leave town. Luther, along with another professor, refused. Instead he stayed to minister to those who were sick and frightened. Seventeen days later, there were 18 deaths, including the wife of the mayor, who died in Luther’s arms. Eventually, the plague receded. Yet soon after, clergy from a neighboring town now affected by it, wrote him a letter to ask his advice. Whether they should stay to serve the community or whether they should leave to preserve their own lives.

Here’s what he had to say. “This I well know, that if it were Christ or his mother who were laid low by illness, everybody would be so solicitous and would gladly become a servant or helper. Everyone would want to be bold and fearless; nobody would flee but everyone would come running….If you wish to serve Christ and to wait on him, very well, you have your sick neighbor close at hand. Go to him and serve him, and you will surely find Christ in him….”

In addition, he also said was that, in the process of serving our neighbor, we were to use our brains. To follow careful safety precautions. To use care to prohibit spread. All of the things that we are doing today.

Now, just a little bit of Bonhoeffer. After being arrested, Bonhoeffer was imprisoned for some time as he awaited his fate. It was in this time that he truly began to reflect what it meant to be human. And to be true community. To be a beloved community. He wrote: "To be Christian does not mean to live in a specified religious way...but, it means to be human, not a particular human type. Christ creates true humanity in us. It is not religious acts that a Christian does, but participation in the suffering of Christ in worldly life.” 

Dear friends, we are in unusual times. Are they part of some apocalyptic cosmic change to overturn unjust economic systems in our world? I don’t know. But, what I do know is that we have been created to be in beloved community with one another and with the world, especially where there is suffering, because this is where we will find Christ. We have been called to serve those here in our congregation and in the world who are most vulnerable and at risk. To take care to stop the spread of this disease. And, mostly, to love and support one another in this time of fear and anxiety. 

We do this, not because it will gain us salvation, but because salvation has already been gained for us. By God’s authority in Christ, who is our chief cornerstone and our true vine. Who frees us and, then, nourishes us so that we might go out into the world and with the Holy Spirit beside us bear fruit in the beloved vineyard of God. 

May God guide and keep us in this time. Amen.

Preached during virtual worship on Sunday, March 15, 2020, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Lent 3
Reading: Mark 12:1-17