Woodlawn Chapel Sermons & Blog

Walking Humbly With God & Each Other:  

A Commissioner’s Perspective on GA 218

Rev. Dr. Christopher Keating

Remarks to the Presbytery of Giddings-Lovejoy Stated Meeting

       Some were elated, some were frustrated, some even to the point of despair.  And all of that happened in the baggage carousels at the airport before we even had a vote!

       I thank you for the opportunity and privilege of serving the Presbytery as a commissioner to the 218^th General Assembly.  It was an honor to serve you in this way, and I hope that my reflections may be helpful to you as we continue discerning where we go from here.

       Prior to leaving for GA, a colleague said to me, “Please, I beg you, do not come back from GA and give your report to the Presbytery saying, ‘As soon as I landed in the airport, I was so proud to be a Presbyterian. Tell me instead where you saw Jesus.”  Nothing in all that I did to prepare me for General Assembly prepared me better than those words—and so let me tell you where I saw Jesus in San Jose this summer. 

       I could tell you about so many faces that conveyed Christ’s love and grace, his suffering and mercy. But I want to be more specific than that.  In particular, let me tell you how I experienced Christ leading us through the ebb and flow of the Assembly and then back into the everyday work of ministry.  In the context of discerning our next steps, let me tell you about two moments where I saw Jesus.

       One of those moments came during the election of the stated clerk.  We had good candidates from which to choose, and I do believe the conversations those candidates initiated will serve us well in the years ahead.   A particularly poignant moment came when Gradye Parsons shared with the commissioners his reflections on Luke 8:22, where Jesus gets in the boat with the disciples.  Jesus is in the boat, resting while all the disciples were anxious and fearful about the storm. The wind is swirling around them, the circumstances look dire.  The outcome is not certain…and yet Christ is with them. He rises when they cry out to him, and he calms the storm. Yet he looks at the disciples and says, “Where is your faith?” As he told the story, Gradye reminded commissioners that he sees these words almost as a personal mantra that he repeats daily: Get into the boat. Go across the lake. There will be a storm. You will not die.”  I believe that is a word of God that can shape the direction the PCUSA can take in the months and years ahead. It was a pastoral word that revealed to me Christ’s presence there in that assembly hall, a word of profound pastoral hope and prophetic witness.

       We did not need the votes on the overtures or the authoritative interpretations to remind us that we are still in a storm.  The storms were brewing well ahead of this assembly.  Ever since I was confirmed in this church and visited the 1978 GA in San Diego, we have had ongoing debates about sexuality.  We have taken votes, held debates, appointed task forces. And still the storms rage.  They will be raging long after our votes are cast, and so it is easy to understand why some are afraid.  Others are not only frightened, but angry.  Many on both sides are tired.

       But we must allow faith and not fear to dominate our conversations. Instead of picking sides and preparing speeches, we might try praying with each other. We could promise to uphold the Micah 6:8 theme of the assembly by walking humbly with each other.  Moving forward means we must honor each other—even when we disagree. Moving forward means we will listen more and argue less. Moving forward means we will remember that our unity comes from Christ alone.  Our unity in Christ is not the result of polity, property, or constitutional amendments. It is an identity given to us in our baptism – a reminder that all who claim Christ are in the same boat. The storm is here, but we must continue this journey together.  We will not die.

       A second image of Christ’s presence with the church also gave me great hope at General Assembly.  During the opening worship, a 10-year old baptized member from a northern California church stood and invited us to the Lord’s Table. It was an electrifying moment—the hairs on my arm stood up.  He faced the assembled community of Christ’s body – the missionaries, the scholars, the moderators, pastors of churches of all stripes, seminary presidents and hundreds of others from his Presbyterian family and in a strong, clear voice called us to share in the feast which Christ had prepared.  Others were listed in worship bulletin by their many credentials; he was named simply as a “baptized member.”  That was a powerful image to me partly because I remember a time when, at an age not too much younger than him, I was not welcomed to the table of our church.  But it was also a poignant reminder that our baptisms confer upon us our unity.

       Too often the conversations we have had with each other have fallen apart because we have not been willing to honor each other’s baptisms.  You and I know that we have not always been as gracious, or as loving, or as welcoming as Jesus.  My hope and my prayer is that we will engage each other in conversations modeled on Christ’s hospitality and formed by the recognition of our basic identity as brothers and sisters in Christ will move the church forward.   We do not gather like fans at the Olympics or even as delegates to a political convention.  We gather as brothers and sisters—and as such we ought to find ways to pray together, read scripture together, and eat of Christ’s body together.

       There are resources available on the Internet and within our Presbytery for interpreting the more than 400 decisions we made at General Assembly, and I also invite you to attend the listening sessions.

       So let us move forward by remembering that Christ is with us in that boat—and that ever since the council in Jerusalem there have been tensions between unity and diversity.  Yet, it is one holy, catholic and apostolic faith we proclaim. It is one baptism we receive and one cup we bless. And it is those glimpses of Jesus that give us reason not to fear though the storms may come.  Thanks to be to God, and thank you for the privilege of serving.

A voice called up the stairs the other morning. "Time for Vacation Bible School! Let's go!" The responses came quickly. "I'm not going. I'm tired. My t-shirt isn't clean." But the mom was persistent. She kept on yelling. "Let's go! We need to go in ten minutes." "Nooo.." came the reply. "Let me sleep!" A minute later, the call came back up the stairs, "Listen, mister, get yourself up and out of bed!" Out from the under the covers a sleepy voice replied, "Give me one good reason why I have to go." The response was immediate: "Because you're the pastor!"

I have come to believe that given enough construction paper, tape and glue, VBS teachers and leaders could stabilize our economy, achieve world peace, and reverse the effects of green house gas emissions. Seriously, didn't you love those photos? They reveal so much about what we believe as a congregation - because those pictures show the seeds of love and faithfulness that emerge from this plot of ground.

Like the parables, those images from VBS shout out to us: they tell us that God's love and provision for our life is never far. It is always at work, like a tiny seed sprouting, or like leaven in a batch of flour. It's precious-like a treasure in a field, or a pearl of great value. It is a net cast deep into our community in gracious hospitality.

I'm not sure about you, but VBS was not always part of my vocabulary. The summer after my family moved to California, my mother informed me she had enrolled me in something called "Vacation Bible School" at our church. I tried my best to look invisible. I wasn't impressed. "I'm not going," I offered. "I've signed up to bring cookies," said Mom, who gave me that "Mom" look. I knew my fate had been sealed. I was doomed. Further protests would be futile. With her cookies packed in a Tupperware container marked "Keating," mom delivered me to the care of the VBS director, a woman all kids in the church called "Smiley." Her presence as director did nothing to encourage me. Her real name was something else, and was, indeed, a dear Christian woman. Behind her back, though, most of the children despised her because she was the VBS Director...and she indeed was always smiling! I mean, Always smiling-almost in an eerily unnatural way. Even when she was telling you to stop talking in church, she kept smiling at you. Perhaps this charmed the preschoolers, but it was unnerving to sophisticated third and fourth graders. We were on to her. No one, we surmised, could always be smiling-especially when facing a week of VBS! How could a person physically smile so much?

Once her squadron of VBS children arrived, the Director would organize us in battalions and give out marching instructions. On her cue, we'd stand up in nice, neat lines and march around the sanctuary singing "Onward Christian Soldiers, marching as to war, with the cross of Jesus, going on before..." Over and over again. Do you know that hymn has 14 verses? Oh, yes. Believe me, the rainforest was paradise in comparison! Perhaps now you know why we've never sung it in worship!

But VBS held some surprises for me. Not only did we get to eat cookies, but they told us stories, like this one about "the kingdom of heave is like a mustard seed." We read about Jesus cursing fig trees-a story we boys especially liked because it almost seem to give us permission to curse! We sang other songs, too, like "Nicodemus," and "They'll Know We are Christians By our Love," and "Pass It on." And on the last day, the pastor gave us a little New Testament. By then I had been caught in the net. I made a promise I'd read a page a night.

Well, by the end of the week, I learned why she was smiling. Of course, I can't remember what the theme was or exactly what we learned. No, it wasn't the crafts or the cookies, but it was this small, almost imperceptible seed that a group of prayerful parents popped into the fertile imagination of my being: God is unequivocally on your side.

What an amazing, surprising, and potent affirmation!

And that is what happens as we open our doors to children. It is what happens as we share in conversation with each other, or as we agree to pray for each other, or as we do any one of a myriad of rather ordinary tasks. We share seeds of the kingdom that can be deceiving in their appearance. They don't look like much. In fact, looking at these seeds they hardly seem to have any potential at all.

But that, says Jesus, is exactly the point. The kingdom, says Jesus, is about as unassuming and humble as a small seed, or perhaps as seemingly insignificant as a single week out of your life, but it holds potential. It holds the potential to generate an astounding result...a result that allowed Paul to affirm "Nothing can separate me from the love of God." The seed, the flour, the week spent at camp or VBS or on a mission trip: they all seem so insignificant. But, as Barbara Brown Taylor says, give any "of them something to work on-sow the seed, mix the yeast with flour-and the results can be astounding: a tree big enough for birds to nest in, bread enough to feed a family for a month." She continues, "If the kingdom of heaven is like that, then it is surprising, and potent, and more than meets the eye."

All that from a puny little seed.

There are moments in our lives when we will forget affirmation. We may have listened to Paul's words in Romans hundreds of times, each time nodding our heads in agreement. Yet lurking around us are the anxieties of our world, the fears that threaten to keep us captive, the hurts that make us feel as though we are estranged or alienated from ourselves and even God. At those moments, says Daniel Clendenin, tapes may be playing in your head that say, "You're unloved," or "everyone is against me." We may wonder if the seeds of the kingdom have died or even blown away. We may look at the world, filled with anger and rage, and wonder, "Is God present?" In those moments, the parable reminds us of our baker-woman God, kneading steadily, pushing and mixing the dough until it is all leavened. God is still at work, and all the time, the kingdom is growing steadily.

There was once a child in Sunday School who prayed fervently, "Dear god, please bless everybody except my little brother Tommy." According to the story, the teacher of the class was mortified. She replied that God did understand how difficult little brothers can be at times, but that God really did love Tommy. "Then he's a mighty funny kind of God," the little boy said.

And it is true: at times we can look around our world and wonder if those seeds really are working. How can we believe with any sort of integrity? Albert Winn, a great Presbyterian from the south, once observed that the heart of biblical faith is not a series of airtight arguments about God, the world, evil, and so on. We don't have a solid "therefore," he said-all is right with the world, therefore we have faith. Instead, what we find at the center of biblical faith is a promise that begins "Nevertheless." There is much about the world that is difficult, there is much about our lives we do not understand, nevertheless, let us remember God is for us. Oh, how we might be surprised at what God is doing if we remembered, "nevertheless."

Amen.

“The Crazy Old Farmer”

July 13, 2008

Matthew 13:1-9

The parable of the sower invites us to trust in the overwhelming abundance of God’s graciousness that falls into the soil of our lives, and warns us against lives that prohibit fruitful discipleship.

            It is good to be back home!  A week ago, having touched ground in five states in a 36 hour period, I was beginning to wonder if I would ever get home!  I look forward to sharing with you my experiences of our denomination at the General Assembly.  It was an exhausting, intense experience that blended worship and work.  Days began usually around 7:00 or 7:3010:00 or 11:00 p.m.  and lasted until the last gavel fell each night often around

            In between, there were conversations and debates and moments of quiet reflection. There were hurts as we acknowledged that we are a shrinking denomination. There were fears about decisions, and worries about money.  Yet there was also moments of celebration—including the commissioning of mission service personnel, including a young adult from our Presbytery who has volunteered to spend a year teaching in India.  There were moving moments, including greetings from our ecumenical partners in Iraq, and the archbishop of Galilee.  In our opening worship we also commissioned to service military chaplains whose ministry will be dedicated to military personnel and their families.   We elected a new stated clerk, Gradye Parsons, who I believe will serve our church with the heart of a pastor and the visionary skill of a talented CEO.  We elected a moderator who reflects the changing face of our denomination: he is an under forty pastor of a church in San Francisco of primarily young adults. 

            This beautiful piece of pottery was one of 400 chalices used during the opening communion service. Four thousand of us shared communion together that morning.  Evangelical, liberals, young, old, conservative, tongue-speaking, Spanish speaking, African American, white, you name it—we gathered around the Lord’s Table in two locations and lifted the cup and broke the bread, united in Christ.  And I  felt a seed of the kingdom fall into my life that morning. It wasn’t the sermon, which was pretty good.  It wasn’t the music, which was glorious.  It happened as a little boy, a ten year old baptized member of a Presbyterian Church in Palo Alto, CA, stood before these thousands of Presbyterians and in a commanding voice invited us the Lord’s Supper.  It was a moment that to me revealed the Kingdom of God.  

            He didn’t wear the robes of clergy or the hoods of a PhD.  His shirt wasn’t tucked in, and he wore khaki cargo pants. He had to stand on a box to be seen in the pulpit. But standing in front of the church’s leaders and scholars and commissioners, he called us to remember Christ was our host.  He reminded us that we came to be fed.  And he challenged us to not come to the table unless we were prepared to be changed.  At that moment, I felt a seed of the kingdom take root in my life.

            And Jesus said, “Listen!”  Listen to what the boy is telling you. Listen: and see if you can hear the call of God to shape your life against the contours of the gospel.  Praying for those you name as enemies.  Bearing fruit worthy of repentance. Gathering treasures in heaven, and not on earth.  Loving your neighbors.  Loving God.  I tell you, listen!

            Jesus, of course, never attended a General Assembly, but he did tell stories that bear repeating by those of us who have.  Over these next three weeks, I’m going to look at these parables of the kingdom – parables that Jesus tossed out to the crowds who were following him.  Parables, literally, mean “to throw alongside,”[1] and were a teaching tool designed to stimulate the crowd’s awareness of the work God was doing.  Jesus takes ordinary elements of life and uses them to illustrate an aspect of belief.  They are intriguing stories.  They are important part of our story of faith, and we should know them well…for they could possibly change us.

            Listen.

            It’s the first and the last word of this parable, and a reminder that these parables contain hints or perhaps “seeds” of what the kingdom of God looks like.  Those who have ears, says Jesus, will be able to detect that kingdom…they will be the ones whose lives bear the fruit of discipleship.

            Imagine, then, Jesus standing in a boat before a crowd on the beach.  He spins this yarn about a farmer sowing seed.  Of course, this imagery is plainly familiar to the villagers, most of whom were either farmers or persons who lived in close proximity to farms.  As he described the seeds being sowed, they would have nodded their heads.  They would have chuckled at the thought of birds swallowing some of the seeds.  They would have understood frustration of seed falling on rocky ground and the invasive power of weeds.  We let Tru-Green handle our weeding problems—they could only sit by and watch in frustration.

            What’s important about these parables is how their imagery shakes us and awakens us to the new things God is doing.  Take, for example, the image of the sower. We might rush right past him, trying to figure out how we might apply Jesus’ words about the different soils to our own lives.  We want an individualistic interpretation that fits our own lives—but that’s not the point.   This is really a story about a crazy old farmer.

            I spent a summer working in rural Washington State. I lived with apple farmers, and taught in their churches.  It was an interesting summer for a kid from Southern California.  I’m no expert, but that summer taught me something about farmers.  I learned how hard they worked, how exacting they calculated the cost of trees, and seed, and labor. You would never call those farmers “spend thrifts.”  These old Brethren farmers were quick to surround me with love, but slow to spend...I only made $40 a week!

            So this image of the old sower tossing seed everywhere doesn’t make sense. That’s not how a farmer would do it.  A farmer would know the best places to sow seed. The farmer would have avoided the rocks and the pathways and the places with poor soil.  As Jesus is telling the story, surely someone in the crowd is scratching his head and thinking, “This crazy old boy is foolish!”  The results, too, are beyond anyone’s wildest imaginations: a thirty fold return on seed would have been incredible; a 100-fold almost unthinkable!

            Yet, Jesus says, listen.  This is the way God is in this world. God scatters seed everywhere, with wild abandon, letting mercy and grace blow everywhere. One preacher said he imagine God kneeling before a field of dandelions, blowing the seeds wherever they might go. Gardening God’s way is not based on weeks of careful preparation.  No, God throws the seeds of mercy, love, and hope in all directions. God’s love goes even in places where we might not expect a good yield.  That’s the point: God’s love is extravagant.  There’s even enough for the birds!

            It’s a crazy lesson. But Jesus says, “Listen! The ways of God are extravagant, wild, and they may seem a bit crazy to the world.  Some of you have heard the story Gay Reese tells about a congregation that had been studying her book Unbinding the Gospel.  This particular church had been steadily losing members for decades.  Located in a difficult, even troubled neighborhood, the members were holding on for dear life.  They began studying her book and spend three months praying about the way God would use them to reach out to their neighborhood. Well…one night, a member was leaving one of these meetings and saw a woman sitting on the hood of her car.  The church member swallowed hard when she realized this street woman was sitting on her car, but she began to pray silently. The woman on the car began to sing…and as the church member approached the car, for some reason she blurted out, “Oh, you should come join our church choir…it meets tomorrow night!”  A seed of the kingdom…and you know what? The woman said, “OK!  I’ll be there!”   Of course as soon as the woman got home she phoned her friends and told them who she invited to choir practice!  The next night, the lady from the street came into the church, and the following week she started bringing her friends, too.  The seed had sprouted.  And you can only imagine God’s delight!

            Friends, there are many times the seeds of God’s love rolls into my life, and I’m sure yours, and like the seed in the thorns, the anxieties and worries of the world choke it out.  But the good news in this story is that God doesn’t give up. That crazy old farmer keeps on scattering seed! Indeed, God’s love is like those zucchini growing in your garden. There’s so much you have to leave them on your neighbor’s porch when they’re not home!  It reaches us in ways we cannot imagine or explain.  Who knows where the seeds of the kingdom will land?  Those who have ears, let them hear!

Galatians 5:22-26

A Wedding Homily for Molly & Ryan

Saturday, July 19, 2009 

The Biggest Question

By Rev. Chris Keating 

          OK, so you’ve made it this far!  You’ve survived the fast lane of cross-country wedding planning.  All the anxiety-ridden moments of searching for the right dresses, flowers, meals, tuxedoes—all that is over.   You have made it to this place—and the good news is that credit card bills aren’t due for another month!

          So much about your relationship so far has been a series of questions, such as “Is that really the guy that used to work with me at Peppers?”  “Will she go out with me?” “Is he the one?”  “Will you follow me all the way to California?” “Do our parents get along?” “Can we make it?” And, of course, the really big question that Molly you had to answer before we got to this place: “Will my dog accept him?”

          In a moment, you will answer more questions.  Here’s the thing: the questions will keep coming from this moment forward.  There will always be questions.  Questions about where you’re going to live. Questions about what paths you’ll pursue.  Questions about your relationships with family.  Questions about children, health, finance, God, and so much more.    There will always be questions—even where there doesn’t seem to be many answers.

          And today, the biggest question you have to answer is not: “Do you love me?” You already know that.  We know it—we can see it in the way you look at each other, the way you trust each other, the way you count on each other.  No, the biggest question you must answer comes to us from scripture: are you willing to be led by the Spirit of God?

          Paul leads us to this question.  He is not, of course, writing to a couple in love; he is writing about a group of Christians who are filled with envy, jealousness, anger and strife.  They are constantly arguing and fighting with each other.  They’ve forgotten how to care for each other, and become consumed with pursuing their individuality. And so he warns them: those who pursue this sort of path in life won’t inherit the kingdom of God.

          Paul reminds us that in the roller coasters of life, it isn’t always easy to keep on loving each other. It is easy to begin thinking only about our own individual needs. Yet a life led by the Spirit says Paul brings forth a harvest of good fruit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness.  It happens as we allow ourselves to be guided by the Spirit. 

          Ryan and Molly, led by the Spirit, you have found each other in God’s providence. Led by the Spirit, you have pursued career paths against many odds.  Led by the Spirit, you are now ready to promise yourselves to each other.  Life will be filled with many questions. There will be moments of great joy, and more than likely some hard times, too.  Led by the Spirit, you will find in each other strength, hope, and faith.  You’ll discover new paths.  You’ll find God’s grace to encourage you.  As you awaken each day, look into each other’s eyes.  See the joy that is there.  Know the generosity that is blooming.  Trust that you belong, body and soul, to Jesus Christ…and be willing to be guided that day by the Holy Spirit.

          Singer Gary Chapman has said that so much of his life resembles a big roller coaster. “Each morning,” he writes, “I get out of bed and commit to keep my arms and legs inside the ride at all times.  I ask God to carry me through the laughs and the screams, the exhilaration and the horrow that I know from experience is waiting for me. Each evening, I climb out exhausted and thrilled to have completed the ride one more time.  I sleep in peace, knowing tomorrow I’ll get back on the ride…my ride.  Locked into place, I’ll throw my hands in the air, feel the wind in my face, and trust.  I will trust the One who designed both me and the ride to take me through the ups and downs, round and round one more time.”

          So, here you are, standing in front of the  biggest, most gigantic Six Flags’ roller coaster you can imagine. Go ahead, and get in. Allow the Spirit to guide you. And whatever you do, do everything in the name of our Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.  Amen.

 A sermon by Rev. Dr. Chris Keating

Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43 

            There was a knock at the door the other evening.  A rather friendly young man was standing there, wearing a dress shirt and tie.  Since it was about 90 degrees, and I did not know this man I rather quickly surmised he was going to try to sell me products or religion.  He wasn’t holding a Bible, so I figured he was safe.  No, he wasn’t selling Jesus; just fertilizer and weed killer.  He looked around our yard and gave us a quote, signed me up right on the spot.  After I went back to the dinner table and reported the transaction, Dean looked at me and said, “Wow. Guess he thought our yard really needed help, didn’t he!”

            We don’t like weeds, and that’s what intrigues us about this parable.

            Maybe you have the same experience as I do when I read this parable. I find myself nodding in agreement with the sentiments of the servants. “Sure,” I said. “Let’s get those weeds. Look at ‘em. They’re spoiling everything—choking out the beauty of the field, keepin’ the wheat from growing.” Let’s put out a full on assault to rid us of these weeds, Jesus.   The servants, of course, are in full agreement.  They’ve been working this field, straining under the summer sun day in and day out to prepare it for the master’s harvest.  They’re hard workers. They’ve clawed out rocks, ploughed strait rows, watched as the master sowed good seed, and then made sure water flowed into the tender seedlings.  And what do they see?

            Weeds.  Nothing but nasty, poisonous weeds.  The weeds Jesus is speaking about so closely resemble wheat that they are often indistinguishable when the plants are tender and young.  If left unchecked, the weeds will spoil the field. Darnel seeds can be poisonous—meaning this is not some sort of idle threat.  The weeds do more than merely intrude on a beautiful landscape.  Their intrusion will impose an economic hardship for these poor farmers.  A stealth invader has ruined the healthy crop.

            If we are honest with ourselves, we are in full agreement with the servant’s plan of action.   We wander into our yards like Marshal Dillon from “Gunsmoke,” our hand grasping the trigger of a bottle of Round-Up.  Our eyes scan the turf, ready to annihilate any unwanted plant. Spurge, crabgrass, dandelions, clover, nutsedge: all of them are Public Enemy Number One. We love our gardens and our lives neat, tidy, and weed-free.  We will not tolerate these weeds.  Clutching our arsenal, we go into battle.  “If one shot is good, then two or three must be better,” is our motto.  I had a friend in another church who was a master gardener.  We were talking about the spirituality of gardening once, and she shook her head and laughed.  “I tell you, Chris, gardening is simple. They’re just plants, not people. You don’t like something, yank it up! Two shots of Round Up and most of your problems are solved.”

            She reminded me of a colleague who was known to say, “This isn’t anything wrong with my church that a few well placed funerals couldn’t solve!”

            But Round Up will not remove all the weeds of our lives. Some weeds grow deep into the landscapes of our lives. They wind themselves so deep into our being that there is no easy way of  removing them.  Unresolved, smoldering resentment and anger, for example. Anger can take root in our lives and turn into destructive rage.  It is a sort of weed that invades the garden of God’s grace that yearns to grow in us.  Other gardens are filled with the thorny and prickly bushes of guilt and shame.  Once in a while, for example, I run across persons who are former member of this or another church.  Our conversations are usually friendly enough, but there can be a ring of prickly guilt circling around the conversation. You sense that somewhere, somehow, guilt had grabbed hold of them.  Many times, I will simply raise my hand and say, “You’ll always be part of the family.”  But guilt can choke out the freedom of God’s restorative peace; it can kill joy in the fields of faith.  Other times, the weeds that intrude into our lives are weeds of doubt and mistrust; sometimes they are fear and anxiety; still others are varieties of emptiness, resentment and jealousy.  We look into the good gardens of our lives and ask, “Where, then, did these weeds come from?’

            And they do grow.  What starts as a minor irritation in your life soon becomes a major stress, which soon becomes a debilitating illness, or even worse. The weed patches grow thick around us. Have you spotted them?

            Recently, there have been reports of a new species of weeds from Belgium growing in the fields of American hops and grains.  Others see weeds choking our political system, our economy, our values, our way of life, our hopes, our dreams.  Weeds seem to be everywhere. The other day I saw a weed patch growing in Ballwin, right on Manchester Road. Dean and I had enjoyed the breakfast of champions at McDonalds.  Because of the way I was parked, I needed to turn my car around and go behind a vacant store.  As soon as I turned the car behind the store, I saw the weed staring straight at me.  There on the wall someone had scrawled a racial slur. Above it, there was an even more disturbing weed: a large freshly painted swastika.  Anger built inside of me, for if one group is attacked, all groups are attacked. I found myself agreeing with the servants of the field: “Master did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then did these weeds come from?”

            An enemy has done this. That much is clear. This is not the work of God. But what is somewhat less clear, perhaps even confusing is the master’s response. When the servants ask him, “Do you want us to go and gather the weeds?” He says, “No.”  Friends, this is exactly where the parable gets complicated.

            We want to shout, “Why not let us rake out the weeds?”  Look at them. They’re impure. They’re harmful. These weeds are not like us. They’re unacceptable. Let’s get rid of them.  But Jesus says, no.  The master in this story restrains the servants from going and pulling up the weeds—that would probably kill the good plants, it could even increase the spread of the wretched plants, it isn’t a good idea.  No, the master will not allow the workers to rip out the weeds.  Instead he says, “Let both of them grow together until the harvest, and at the harvest time, I will tell the reapers, collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn. 

            Jesus, don’t you want us to get rid of those weeds?

            Let it be so for now, the master says. Matthew is clear: judgment will come, and what a scene it will be.  The good wheat stacked neatly and safely in the barn, the bad weeds tossed and burned.  But for now, at least in matters pertaining to life in the community, who is to tell who is wheat and who is weeds?  It isn’t always as clear as the graffiti on that wall in Ballwin. That, certainly, is a weed that must go.  But painting over grafitti is only one step, it doesn’t kill the root. This weed will keep coming back—so perhaps listening to Jesus’ words means that as disciples should we work harder at deepening bonds of racial tolerance and healing. God yearns for the time when healthy plants shall overtake the weeds.

            Jesus knows our inclination is to side with the judgment-oriented field workers who simply want to thin out the weeds. Yet, the gospel reminds us that such is not our calling. We live in covenant faithfulness with wise, patient, and nurturing God of Grace. In fact, the good news of this parable is its call to be a community of transformation, a center of grace.  Tom Long notes, that all of us, all of us, are at best “a mixture of good and evil.  Sometimes we are faithful, and sometimes we are not; one moment we can be God’s loyal disciples and the next we can be champions of all that opposes the kingdom.”

            No, purifying the field ourselves will only make matters worse. For now, we are called not to rip up the weeds but to continue growing in the image of Christ.  And Jesus said, “Let anyone with ears, listen.”  Amen.

Beginning on Friday, June 20, I'll be travelling to the 218th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (USA). To read about my experiences, visit my GA blog site.  Feel free to leave comments, etc. at:    http://gacommissioner.blogspot.com/

“The Ministry of Everyone”

Part Two: “Giving Without Paying”

Sunday, June 15, 2008 (Father’s Day)

Matthew 9:35-10:8

            On the radio the other day, a commentator was saying that one of the gifts father’s give their children is the ability to cross the threshold of adulthood.  My father, as you may or may not know, died just a few days before Carol and I graduated from Princeton Seminary.  He had knew that I had received a call from a congregation to be a pastor, but he did see me graduate, nor was he able to participate in my ordination, nor did he live to see his first grand-daughter born.  In one sense, then, its hard for me to judge that statement about helping your children cross into adulthood, but one thing I do know is this: by God’s grace, Dad helped me understand that there always new things to see. He offered the gift of perspective.

            Dad had been a traveling salesman, and he always loved traveling and going on trips—even stay-at-home vacations became opportunities for new adventures.  One winter weekend, he decided that we would go down to the Port of Los Angeles to go whale watching.  Pacific gray whales migrate off the coast of Los Angeles from December to March and can be a remarkable sight.  Now, there are two things that are particularly memorable about this trip for me.  One thing I remember was thinking that I couldn’t believe Dad had come up with this idea.  My Dad hated boats. He was prone to seasickness – and his own memory of crossing the Atlantic ocean in a troop carrier during World War II.    Secondly, and more poignantly, the comparison of the beauty of those migrating sea creatures of the against the rugged outline of the working seaport of Los Angeles  was a marvel beyond words. I’m not sure what I had expected.  I’d been to Sea World. I’d seen Shamu.  I figured I knew what a whale looked like.  But it was nothing like what Dad took us to see. 

            The gift of a shifting perspective: there’s always something new to see.

            I’ve only gone whale watching that one time, but the journey transformed me. Dad was forever taking us journeys like that.  Once on a family vacation through New England, he became infatuated with ferry boats. (For a man who didn’t like boats, he always seemed to be going out of his way to ride them.) He’d stay up late in the motel, studying the Rand McNally atlas, looking for ferries. We drove miles out of our way to ride these ferries – including one quite memorable crossing of a large lake in the middle of a thunder storm.  It was a horribly frightening trip; but there was also a certain beauty to it. The thunder, the lightening, the waves – it was all really terrifying, but also an incredible display of nature’s power.  I’m sure that cost him an expensive dinner!

            Yes, there’s always something new to see.

            So, Jesus, having summoned his followers, calling them from their homes and businesses, inviting them away from their normal locales, wants them to see something new.  Matthew tells us that Jesus went all around the cities and villages, teaching in synagogues, proclaiming good news, curing the sick, healing the injured.  Crowds were everywhere, and as he scanned their faces: broken, hurting, lonely, impoverished, oppressed.  “There were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” 

            He saw them—which is apparently more than anyone else.  He saw them not just as the countless poor who dotted the land.  Instead, he saw them from the gift of God’s perspective—and he offered that perspective to the disciples. “He had compassion on them,” writes Matthew.  Yes, compassion – a sharing of their plight and agony. Yet Jesus does not merely absorb this pain into himself.  Instead, he helps the disciples see and feel the crowd’s desperate situation.  He directs the disciples to see how God’s light is shining in the world, and then he empowers them to see these new realities.

            Growing up, I can remember pastors preaching sermons on this text.  Always, almost always, the sermon was a reminder of the church’s evangelistic task.  “The harvest is plentiful,” the pastors would say, pointing toward new neighborhoods springing up next door to the church.  And, then, with a heavy sigh the pastors always swept their hands down toward the empty chairs on the first row: “the laborers are few.”  It was, as Whoopi Goldberg says in the movie Sister Act, a reminder that the church’s mission is to get some butts into pews.

            The gesture always stirred people a bit.  But it did little to inspire or motivate.  Few left worship feeling empowered to share the story of Good News, and come next Sunday the fields of harvest were still ripe, and the laborers even fewer.   I wonder what would happen if we allowed Jesus to shift our perspectives a bit.

            Jesus’ intent here goes beyond simply getting butts into pews. He yearns to direct our eyes to see new realities: to see those who are harassed and helpless; to see the faces of the abused and frightened child; to see those struggling with addiction, to see the empty stares of those who have lost hope.  Jesus doesn’t organize a task force or call a committee meeting.  He calls common folk – men and women of ordinary backgrounds, and gives them authority.  He gives power to the disciples, enabling them to see new realities.  The broken, the hurting, the grieving, the lonely, the outcast—this is where  God is at work.  

            Jesus sends the disciples to be the embodiment of God’s compassionate presence.  He calls them to be God’s light and God’s salt in a world filled with darkness and lacking zest. Here as plainly as we can ever see is the call to the ministry of everyone.  Go and share what you have seen and learned in me.  Go with power and with authority.  Go, serve, and do not expect to be paid or rewarded or even noticed. Go!

            Yes, we are given that power. We are called to that ministry. We are sent into that world.

            Yet his words sound radical and strange.  Matthew remembers Jesus’ instructions with precision: the disciples are given power to cast out unclean spirits and called to cure every disease and illness.  They are called to raise the dead and cleanse lepers.  Even more, they’re told that this job will cost them their very lives, yet they are not to take a penny.  Give, but do not expect payment.  It is, I’m told, a bit like the way some churches approach retirement planning. They tell their pastors, the salary isn’t great, but the retirement plan is out of this world!

            I don’t know about you, but these words frighten me.  I am not at all comfortable with the notion of not being paid to do ministry. I have no intention of walking into funeral homes and raising corpses. And the closest I have ever come to having authority over unclean spirits or cleansing lepers was the last middle school lock in I led.  My job description says nothing about exorcisms, and I do not plan to challenge that.  Nor do I think the nominating committee’s job would be made any easier this year if they told candidates for church office that elders were expected to cure the sick, raise the dead, and cleanse lepers.

            But that is part of the problem.  The community commissioned by Christ is not segregated into “clergy” and “nonclergy.” I am not the only minister of this congregation. You, too, are called to bear each other’s burdens. You, too, are called into mission. Together we are called to be an apostolic community, a holy and sacred community of individuals sent into the world.

            If that is our calling, then suddenly casting out demons is not a scene from the Exorcist.  It may look more like calming a four year old! Well, maybe that’s too literal an example.  It may look like relief for flood victims.  It could look like repairing a home for an older woman in Tennessee.  Jesus tells the apostles that they have enough gifts. They do not need to be paid or otherwise rewarded; God will supply all that is needed. And then, he says, simply begin to see as God sees: a community filled with the lost and lonely, neighbors whose hearts are filled with worry and pain.  See your customers as longing for friendship and community, not only as business transactions. See children yearning for teachers who will really touch them.  See youth in your neighborhoods as longing for some glimmer of authentic hope in a world that can be both wonderful and cruel at the same time.   This is what Jesus calls us to do.

            It begins, of course, by first receiving the gift of healing for ourselves.  Then it continues by knowing we have been given power. Empowered to heal the demons in our own lives, we are sent to the world around us. We trust that God is at work, and then begin to see the very real needs of those near to us.

            Daniel Homan, a Catholic priest, shares a story of a young family who were eating in a restaurant.  The waitress began taking their order by asking the family’s young son what he wanted to eat.  “A hot dog!” he proclaimed. His parents interrupted him in unison. “No, hotdog!” they said. The boy grew silent as they mother said, “He’ll take grilled chicken and vegetables and milk…” But the waitress ignored the parents. She looked directly at the boy and said, “What do you want on your hot dog?”  The boy looked amazed and said, “Lot’s and lots of ketchup. And a pickle. And, could you bring me some milk, too?” 

            The waitress smiled and said, “Coming right up,” and turned from the table.  The parents were stunned.  The boy was beaming.  He turned to his parents and said, “You know what? She thinks I’m real!!!” She things I’m real!!!”[1]

            Yes, you and I have a ministry: it is to hear the voices of those harassed and helpless, those who wonder deep inside of themselves… “Does anyone think I’m real?”  AMEN.

The Deacons of Woodlawn Chapel invite your help in responding to the needs of flooding victims throughout the midwest. Here is a link to down load a list of necessary supplies to fill a "Clean Up Bucket." Please bring your bucket or supplies to Woodlawn Chapel. We will arrange a team to deliver them to victims.

Our supplies will provide relief for victims of flooding in Indiana.  Former Woodlawn Chapel members Rev. Larry Jackman and his wife Deb Goforth live near the center of the crisis in Columbus, IN.  Fortunately for Larry and Deb, their home was not impacted, but flooding throughout their regions was severe.  Larry now serves as stated clerk of the Presbytery of Ohio Valley, which has been particularly hard hit.  Here's an email I received from Larry on Friday:

Well thanks again to you guys.  Again, Deb and I have been blessed in all this.  We have no loss and have the ability to help others.  Now that some of the critical response structures are going in place, we have a way to help also.  We are still evolving our structures.  The Presbytery is coordinating a lot of stuff and First Church in Columbus is doing a good job too.  As we move along, I will keep you posted on the connections to make down the road. 

Love to all of you,

 Larry & Deb

Senior SermonText: Psalm 46 and Matthew 7: 21-29

KEY: E= Erin Hennessey B= Brian Schrotenboer C= Christine Keating

E: Reads Psalm 46 out of New International Version

B: That sounds different than the psalm that Ben just read!

C: Oh! It’s because this bible is a different version than the one read. It’s the New International Version of the Bible, not the New Revised Standard Version.

 E: I remember this Bible; it’s the one that Ed got in Denver at that coffeehouse that we went to while we were there. That coffeehouse was the place where the homeless could go and cool down for the day, and they served sandwiches for lunch too.  

C: I remember being scared when we first got there.

B: I remember I was pretty scared too.

C: Yea, remember how we had to parked across the street and came in the back door. We were led up to a small room above the coffeehouse, and introduced to an older man named Jimmy. He was dressed in old jeans and an old t-shirt, and he had most of his teeth missing. He sat us all down, and talked about what we would be doing for the day. He told us that our job wouldn’t include any hard labor. All we had to do was to talk to the people that came to the coffeehouse that day.  His ominous warning that some of the people may not be the friendliest or smell the best left us longing for heavy lifting of the day before. With that “guidance”, we stripped our pockets of our valuables knowing they would be locked away upstairs.

E: I remember we even had to leave our sack lunches up there. And we had to ask to use the bathroom so he could take us upstairs to use a separate one from the people in the coffeehouse.

C: After leaving our “safe area” we hesitantly began to walk down the stairs to see what the day had in store for us. Everything within us was in an uproar, our minds were buzzing with the thought of what we were getting into, our stomachs ached as the stress really hit us.

B: I remember the walk down the stairs you could sense a change in atmosphere. The air grew thick with smoke, and I became overwhelmed with fear of the unknown we were about to experience.

C: Once down there we all were scared, and none of us could gather up enough courage to talk to the people, who were mostly men. All of them were smoking and playing various card games, and they all looked as if they were hot and tired. We cowered in the corner of the smoke filled room, looking around trying to distinguish things in the dim light waiting for some magical force to descend upon us and allow us to talk to the strangers sitting before us. We moved together, no one wanted to leave the “safety” of the group we had become. We were our own safety net; we knew we could rely on each other, but what else?

E: I remember Ed grabbing a deck of cards and inviting us to join him at a table, one that was already occupied by several of the coffeehouse visitors.

B: Yea, we all just kind of sat there looking at each other, and then the men at the table started to talk to us. With that I think we began to realize this wasn’t so bad.

C: We slowly loosened up and began conversations with several of the people in the room on our own, realizing that it wasn’t such a difficult thing to do.  

B: That was such a frightening experience because none of us knew what to expect. We were going into a strange place with little experience in what we were about to be doing and seeing as we interacted with the people there. All of us were scared but didn’t want to show it, so each of us didn’t realize we were all feeling the same thing. We all gathered strength and confidence from God, and he lead us to do his work.

 E: What I found the most interesting about this experience was how our opinions changed.  What started out as the most intimidating thing we had done on the trip turned into one of our most cherished experiences.  We were all anxious at first, but after managing to push our fears aside we really got to know these people.  I feel that my strength to succeed in this task came directly from God.  It was with God’s guidance that I stepped outside of my comfort zone and into a new place with new people.

B: I think that is true of me too. As we went into the room we were looking for something to help us through the day. Courage, compassion, and the knowledge to realize this was something we could do.

C:  That sounds like the Wizard of OZ!!!!!

B: What do you mean?

E: Come on Brian! You know the story of Dorothy, tin man, scarecrow, and the lion; how they were looking for something magical, something they had to get from the Wizard. They were all looking for something to make their problems go away, but they ended up finding it within themselves because God had already given it to them.

B: Hold on guys! Wizard of OZ! Did you guys know that in Hebrew OZ means strength? 

E: The Wizard of OZ is a story of strength! They go to the wizard to request for missing attributes to make them stronger people. The wizard says that he can grant them these things but only if they earn them.

B: Why don’t we watch a short clip now!!!!!!!

CLIP

C: The wizard sure doesn’t seem very GODLY?

E: NO, he doesn’t. God never asks us to demonstrate our ability in order to receive God’s grace. We never have to earn it like the characters had to earn their grace. “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Refuge and strength are what protects us, our comfort, and our ability to cope with what is worrying us. The wizard in the film makes Dorothy and the gang prove themselves in order to receive what they ask for. Our God provides no matter what, without regard to age, gender, or economic and social status. Just as God was helping us that day in Denver, he was helping the people in the coffeehouse. We were all one in God’s eyes, we were equal.  

C: “Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult.”

 All: WE WILL NOT FEAR!

 C: God is our ever present help, when the earth is faltering he is still there guiding and protecting us.

B: Even in the worst scenario God is there for us, unlike the wizard who needs another day to think it over. The wizard says they should be lucky to see him now not twenty years later. God is always with us RIGHT when we need help. God never needs time to think things over for a day.

 C: The wizard is found to be only a man, not someone who can magically make their lives better. Eventually, he “solves” their problems by giving them tangible objects and he makes each one of them look inside themselves in order to find what they were missing God had already given them.

 E: God is always with us in our struggles; we should never feel abandoned.  Unlike Dorothy and her friends, we are not searching for things to justify the answers to our problems.

C: In Denver, we were scared to start conversations with the people in the coffeehouse. However, we knew that everything would work out because God was with us, and through this knowledge we found the strength to do something that we were afraid to do.

 B: We never have to go searching for anything. Our faith has taught us that in our times of need, as long as we trust in God he will provide. If we will listen to God and trust God WE will be like the wise men that built their house on rock

.E: Yea, as long as we act upon God’s word we will be in God’s grace. Our strength comes from this grace not our material possessions. But as we rely on these things, God “breaks the bow, and shatters the spear; He burns the shield with fire.” He destroys the things we put our trust and security in.

C: You could say that all of those things that we put our trust in are the wizard of oz. The Psalm reassures us that the only true Oz is God.

 B: Thanks be to God, Our true strength.

C & E: AMEN                             

This beautiful spring day is a day for children, and I invite you to join me in prayer for children -- your children, our children, the children of this community and our world.

As I write, two sets of groups are mixing in our parking lot.  One set of parents are dropping off their young ones for our wonderful Mother's Day Out, while another group of parents are gathering for a city-sponsored children's event at the park across the street.  The park's limited parking means the city needed to borrow a few of our spaces.  Children's voices fill the air, making it just about a perfect day.

Our vision for ministry has always included making this church a place for children. We take to heart Jesus' admonition in Mark 10:13-16.  Some tried to intercept children as they made their way to Jesus; but he welcomed them.  He blessed them.  He told the disciples that the kingdom of God was so different, so tender, so amazing that it belonged not to the powerful but to tiny children.  So Jesus blesses children--whether they are in our parking lot or in the streets of Baghdad.

Join me today in praying for children -- those near and those far away.  Rejoice in their gifts, their laughter, their silliness.  Give thanks for them, and pray that God will continue to bless all children. Think of those we know who suffer from illness, those whose young lives have been disrupted by divorce, those who will be hungry today, and those who who want for nothing except attention.  Pray that our attention to children will never waver.

“The Traits of the Beloved Community”

#3 “The Gift of Abundance”

April 13, 2008

Text: Acts 2:42-47 

A Sermon by Rev. Dr. Christopher W. Keating (copyright 2008)

            A friend of mine was the pastor of a tiny church in the deep south for many years.  After he had been there for a year or so, he preached a sermon in which he challenged the congregation to identify its rather tacit acceptance of the racial divisions which still haunted this small textile mill community.  No one had ever made outright statements of racial hatred, mind you, but few of the congregation had ever taken steps to address long standing patterns of intolerance and bigotry that permeated their small-town culture.   Judging by the heads that were nodding during the sermon, my friend assumed everything had gone well and that his message was hitting its target.

            Until he stood at the back door of the church, shaking hands.  One by one the parishioners filed out of the sanctuary nodding their head and saying “good sermon, preacher.”  One man, however, a pillar in the church, hung back.  Finally, this man made his way to the line and grabbed my friend by the neck. “Son,” he said. “Someone in that fancy Yankee seminary of yours shoulda taught you the difference between preachin’ and meddlin.’  Today you stopped preachin’ and started meddling.”

            And that is what Luke is trying to do today.  This isn’t just preaching – this is meddling.  Luke is attempting to get deep under our skin by suggesting to us what the church can be.  He offers an image of the church as a communion of the beloved, sharing, praying, believing, and worshipping together.  And when he does that, he is meddling with us:  He pries into our presumptions about what the church should be doing. He intrudes on our ideas that it is just another volunteer group. He tampers with the notions that our salvation is some sort of privatized affair…and he does it by consistently reminding us that one of the traits of the beloved community is the way it share the gift of God’s abundance.

            It might be hard to catch what Luke is up to at first glance.  Read this text from Acts quickly and you might dismiss this as some sort of idealized vision of what the church is to be. “Everyone around was in awe,” writes Luke “all those wonders and signs done through the apostles!” And here’s the kicker: “And all the believers lived in a wonderful harmony, holding everything in common. They sold whatever they owned and pooled their resources so that each person's need was met. They followed a daily discipline of worship in the Temple followed by meals at home, every meal a celebration, exuberant and joyful, as they praised God. People in general liked what they saw. Every day their number grew as God added those who were saved.”

            I don’t harbor any delusions about what would happen if I would stand up next week and suggest that everyone pile their key chains into an offering plate, followed by the deeds to our homes and our stock portfolios.  Imagine, for example, the chaos that would ensue if the Session were to announce that, from now on, we will be having Sunday dinner at the Schrotenboers, followed by breakfast at the McClellands.   This could make for some interesting scenarios. There are, as I figure, roughly 100 families somehow connected to this church.