Category Archives: Matthew

Judgment – A Sermon for Christ the King Sunday, Year A

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This sermon is based on Matthew 25:31-46.

———-

Maybe you’ve seen one of these signs in a store – a gift shop perhaps,
some small mom and pop type of establishment,
a place where they want to warn you not to shoplift,
but they also want to issue the warning in the most polite way possible.
SO instead of posting something like “All shoplifters will be prosecuted,”
they have a small sign near the cash register or at the front door so you can see it as you leave.
A sign that says something like:
“We may not have seen you seen you take it,
but God did.”

Ah, the image of the all-seeing God.
Now while this idea may not scare off many potential thieves,
it is an idea that has haunted me since the days of my early childhood.
Now mind you, I was about as close to angel when it came to good behavior as any child ever has been.
My brother was the bad apple and the black sheep.
I was nigh near perfect.
But on those few occasions when I did do something wrong,
my dad was always quick to remind me that though he nor anyone else may have seen me commit the crime,               
it was most certainly the fact that God had.
“God sees every thing you do, boy,” he would say.
“You might be able to pool the wool over my eyes.
You might be able to get away with that stuff with me,
but God’s no fool.
He sees everything you do,
and he writes it all down in that great big book of his.
And one day, you’re gonna have to face up to all you’ve ever done,
so don’t you forget it.”

My dad had a knack of scaring the Hell out of me,
both figuratively and literally.
And his teachings and sayings had a way of keeping me on the straight and narrow. 

They didn’t have the same effect on my brother, mind you,
but for me, they were the gospel truth,
a truth that was reinforced most every time I went to church with my dad.

You see, in the church I grew up in, our pastor, Sister Ruby Richardson, would often preach and teach about the Great White Throne Judgment and the end of time.
You can read about it in Revelation
And between what she said and my dad told me,
I came to imagine what this great judgment day would look like.
I imagined all the people of the world standing in line waiting to be judged,
And each person, in turn, would be brought before God,
and every deed of his or her life would be projected upon a giant movie screen for all to see,
the good and the bad.
Everyone would see everything you ever did,
and then, at the end of the movie of your life,
God would decide whether you were worthy of heaven or should be consigned to the fires of hell.

Now I don’t have to tell you that the idea of the whole world seeing your sins and faults and misdeeds was another scary thing for any healthy teenage boy to contemplate,
and for reasons I won’t go into this morning.
But every time I heard my dad or Sister Ruby talk about judgment,
I would see that long line of people waiting to be judged,
I would picture that giant movie screen up in the sky,
and I would start worrying that when it came time for me to be judged,
I would be found wanting.
[Work in this quote someone left on Twitter:
"One day your life will flash before your eyes. Make sure its worth watching"]

Scary stuff, my friend.
And today’s reading from Matthew did and does nothing to alleviate my fears.
Here in this last parable of Jesus’ earthly ministry we find judgment being levied on all the nations of the world.
My worst nightmare come true, in other words.   
And in this parable, Jesus tells his disciples that on the Judgment day
the goats and the sheep will be separated.
On the one hand, the good sheep, we are told, will receive their just reward:
Jesus the judge will look at them and say,
“Come, you that are blessed by my Father,
inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”
But on the other hand, the bad goats will get what’s coming to them,
and suffice it to say,
it’s not very pretty:
“You that are accursed,” Jesus will exclaim,
“depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.”
The story then ends with these words,
“And these will go away into eternal punishment,
but the righteous into eternal life."

It’s my dad and Sister Ruby all over again.
I just can’t seem to get away from judgment,
and though you may not realize it,
neither can you.
All the nations, Jesus says.
It’s just his way of saying “all the people . . . every man, woman and child who has ever lived, who is living now, and who will ever live. . .
All of them, you and me included, will be judged by Jesus.

And what is the basis for this separation of sheep and goats?
On what basis will we be judged?
The basis is found in our reactions to those in need in the world around us.
It is as simple as that.
What do we do in the face of human need and suffering?

Jesus couldn’t be more plain,
he couldn’t have made it any easier for us to understand.
"For I was hungry and you gave me food,
I was thirsty and you gave me drink,
I was a stranger and you welcomed me,
I was naked and you clothed me,
and I was sick and in prison and you visited me."

And while this is easy to understand,
it has at times proven very hard for Christians and the Church to act upon.
Too often, we, as followers of Christ, reflect the attitude of this poem by William Duckworth (adapted by me):
For I was hungry, and you over ate
Thirsty and you watered your lawn
A stranger and you called the police
and were glad to see me taken away
Naked and you were saying
“I don’t have a thing to wear —
I must get some new clothes tomorrow
Sick and you asked, “Is it contagious?”
In prison and you said,
“That’s where people like you belong.”

And what is true for us individually is more often than not true of us as communities of faith,
for after all, the Church may be greater than the sum of its parts,
and I pray to God that it is,
but it is still composed primarily of people,
people like us . . . people with faults and failings
people who are selfish and self-serving,
people who so often pay only lip service to the teachings of Jesus.
Like most of the world,
we tend to take care of ourselves first,
and only later think about those around us.

There’s an old southern preacher and prophet named Will Campbell.
He must be close to or over 90 years old by now,
and he has lived his life tweaking the nose of the Church that he loves.
When he had been invited to preach at one of Nashville’s largest mainline Protestant churches,
Campbell discovered upon his arrival that the parking lot was filled to overflowing and the sanctuary was packed.
Standing room only.
But as he walked through the church’s lobby,
he took notice of all the fine decor:
Persian carpets and potted palms and works of art all along the walls.
Coming into the sanctuary,
he looked up

at a mammoth stained glass window at the front of the room,
he noted the ornate carvings on the altar and pulpit,
and he saw row upon row of beautiful brass and silver pipes for the organ along one wall.

When it came time for his sermon, Campbell ascended into the pulpit,
took one more look around the place,
and then preached a brief but powerful message.:
He said, and I quote,
"Jesus Christ, you could sell all this crap and feed half the people of Nashville,,"
and then he walked out.                

At another church, this time in Wisconsin,
Campbell took a slightly more subtle approach.
He had spent some time in his message criticizing the opulent lifestyles of TV preachers and evangelists like Jimmy Swaggert and Jim and Tammy Baker, you remember them, don’t you?
Well, after bemoaning the excesses of church folk like them,
he went on to say, and again I use his exact words here,
‘All that was built off the backs of the poor.
If you chase wealth back far enough,
you get into the mines and the fields.
It’s not the boss man who’s digging the coal out of the ground
and raising the crops.
What’s wrong with all this affluence in the name of gentle Jesus is that it’s built off the exploitation of the poor.’
Everybody listening was in general agreement, nodding their heads.
Campbell paused for a few seconds, and then he asked,
‘All right, what’s the difference between what Swaggert and the Bakers do and the pope’s jewels,
or all those Lutheran and Presbyterian and Methodist steeples out there casting shadows on whores and pimps and addicts and bums with . . .
seldom a gesture in their direction from any of us proportionate to what we spend on ourselves?
If you push it to its conclusion, the difference is very little at all,
it’s simply a difference of taste.’

Well, I bet those two churches never invited Campbell back to preach.
What do you think?
But as abrupt and as confrontational as he was,
Campbell was also right.
The Church is to be judged and condemned when it cares more for it’s own well-being or it’s own survival than it does for reaching out with love to those living in the shadows of its steeples and walls,.
the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, the sick, and the imprisoned.

To care for these . . . to care for the least of these,
is not just a good idea,
it’s not just something we do when we have some leftover time or money or energy.
To care for them is at the heart of what it means to follow Jesus,
and we will be judged based as Father Robert Capon says on whether or not we have ministered to the last, the least, and the lost.

There is no other way to read and interpret this simple story of Jesus’.
And I believe that any church wanting to be the church will find a way to offer literally and figuratively the food, the water, the warmth, the love, and the care that this world around us so desperately needs.
And if we don’t,
then we don’t deserve to bear the name Christian,
and our community of faith does not deserve to be called a Church.

Harsh?  Yes.
But is it any more harsh than the words Jesus utters at the Judgment?
`You that are accursed,
depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels;
for I was hungry and you gave me no food,
I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink,
I was a stranger and you did not welcome me,
naked and you did not give me clothing,
sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’

Mother Teresa once asked some visitors to hold up one hand. 
“The gospel,” she said, “is written on your fingers.”
Then holding up one finger at a time,
she accented each word,
“YOU DID IT TO ME!”
She then added,
“At the end of your life, your five fingers will either excuse you or accuse you of doing it to the least of these.
You DID It To Me.

More harsh words of judgment,
and the only thing I will add to mitigate them at all is this:
the one who judges us is also the one who died for us.
And as we move from the word to the table,
we remember his great love for us.
We remember that more than anything else,
he would have us follow him and that he offers us the strength to do his work and will in the world.
And one way we can receive his love, his grace and his strength is by taking into ourselves these simple elements of bread and juice.
So in the words of the prayer of Great Thanksgiving,
we all pray this day:
Pour out your Holy Spirit on us gathered here,
and on these gifts of bread and wine.
Make them be for us the body and blood of Christ,
that we may be for the world the body of Christ,
redeemed by his blood.  Amen.

It’s All About Love

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Here is my sermon for Sunday, 26 October 2008.  It is based on the following Scriptures:  Deuteronomy 6:4-9, Leviticus 19:1-2, Leviticus 19:15-18, and Matthew 22:34-46.  It is also for the following days in the liturgical year:  Proper 25A, Ordinary 30A, and Pentecost 24A.

———-

She loves me . . .
She loves me not . . .
Or for you ladies out there:
He loves me . . .
He loves me not . . .

Do you remember ever doing this?
Do you remember finding a flower and then plucking off its petals one by one to see if the object of your affection felt the same way about you as you did about her or him?
We would gladly sacrifice the life of a flower for the love of a girl or boy.
And oh the joy when the last petal said “she loves me.”
But then there was also the possibility of discomfort and pain when the last petal said “she loves me not.”

When that happened I would often run and get another flower and start all over again, hoping for a better result.
And when I got older I would sometimes resort to cheating.
I would look for the flower that would tell me what I wanted to hear.
I would count all the petals and find just the right flower,
with just the right number of petals.

Now why did we engage in such silly behavior?
Why did we dare hope that a flower, of all things, had the power to tell us what another person felt toward us?
You know why, as do I.
We all want to be loved and accepted and besides,
none of us want to end up like the young man who proposed marriage to a young woman by saying to her,
"I may not have a beautiful house and a fancy yacht and a promising career in
international banking like Jerome Green,
but I love you more than anything in the world. 
Will you marry me?"

The young woman was silent for a moment. 
"I love you too,” she said, “but tell me more about this Jerome Green."

We all want to be loved,
and so when we felt the first stirring of love for another person,
we would seek to confirm those feelings through the power of flower petals.
Besides, if the answer we received was “she loves me,”
then we felt we had some protection against rejection and hurt and pain.
And this was important.
After all, no one I know wants to be rejected.
No one I know loves to be hurt.

The desire, the need to be loved runs so deep in all of our hearts, doesn’t it?
It’s said that before she committed suicide Marilyn Monroe had a conversation with her maid, a woman named Lena.
Marilyn said, “Nobody’s ever gonna love me now, Lena.
What good am I?
I can’t have kids.  I can’t cook.
I’ve been divorced three times.
Who would ever want me?
“Millions of men,” Lena replied.
“Yeah,” said Marilyn, “but who would love me?”

To know that someone loves us,
that someone cares for us and wants the best for us . . .
I know of no deeper desire.
Maybe that’s why so much of the Bible is about love.
So much is said and written about love because love is so very important.
And that is exactly the point Jesus makes in today’s gospel reading when he is confronted once again by the Pharisees, the religious leaders of his day,

Now understand that the Pharisees were not only religious leaders but they were also religious professionals,
and in today’s reading they expect Jesus to join them in a game of sorts.
You see, there were 613 different rules and regulations in Jewish law,
and it was considered very religious to know all of them and to debate which of them were most important.
And this is what the Pharisees hoped Jesus would do when they posed their question about which commandment was the greatest.
They hoped Jesus would pick one of the 613,
so then they could argue with him about it,
and maybe even score a point or two in the debate and make Jesus look bad in the eyes of the people.
But Jesus was in no mood to play their little game.
He wasn’t concerned with religious debates and point-scoring.
Instead, he goes right to the heart of the matter and the answer he gives is not debatable in the least.

Now before going any further, it’s important to understand that Jesus’ answer was not something new, something he invented.
In fact, his reply is straight from the Jewish books of law.
The first part is from Deuteronomy 6:5, which Jews call the Shema,
and which served and serves as a basic creed of Judaism.
These words are the essence of the Jewish faith.
“Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord alone.
And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart,
and with all your soul, and with all your might.”
These words were recited every morning and evening.
They opened every worship service.
They were taught to children and were the first verses committed to memory,
and, if possible, they were the last words spoken before death.
That’s how important they were.

Jesus then ties the Shema to another selection straight from the Pharisees’ own tradition.
“And a second commandment is like the first,” he says.
“You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
And with this quote from Leviticus,
Jesus drives home his point like a stake to the heart,
“On these two commandments hang the whole law and the prophets as well.”

We’re told that the Pharisees didn’t even bother to argue.
There just wasn’t any point.  Jesus had them.
There was and is no commandment greater than the commandment to love God with every part of our being.
And no law about how human beings are to treat each other could go any deeper than the commandment to love one’s neighbor as one’s self.
The religious leaders are stunned into silence by the brilliance of Jesus’ reply,
so they meekly nod their agreement and shuffle away.

Of course, as followers of Christ, we cannot afford to respond as they did.
Now I realize that a legalistic “law-abiding” religion like the Pharisees’ faith can be very appealing.
All you have to do when confronted with a moral or ethical dilemma is to look it up in the book,
find the appropriate chapter and verse and act accordingly.
Jesus, however, says that all we have to do is love,
and while on the face of it this sounds easier in theory,
it is much harder in practice.
Most of us here, for instance, can affirm that we love God.
After all, we are here this morning worshipping God when we could have stayed in bed and gotten some extra sleep.
But in the same vein, most of us here would admit that loving others is infinitely more difficult.

I am reminded of the faithful pacifist Quaker farmer who was out milking one of his cows one morning and was about half finished when the cow kicked over the bucket of milk. 
The Quaker farmer quietly shook his head,
picked up the bucket and started again. 
He had just finished when the cow picked up a foot and this time deliberately planted it in the full pail of fresh milk. 
The Quaker went around in front of the cow, took her gently, but firmly, by the horns, and said,
"Thou knowest I cannot hit thee, nor kick thee, nor curse thee,
nor loose my temper with thee. 
But there is one thing that thou does not know. 
Tomorrow I am going to give thee to my brother-in-law,

who is a Methodist,
and he will beat the tar out of thee."

It is hard to love, isn’t it?
Especially when the world is filled with people who are as bad or even worse than that stubborn and willful cow the Quaker man had to deal with.
“Yes, we love God,” we exclaim, “the hard part is loving my neighbors.
I mean, have you seen some of my neighbors?”
There’s that one guy who is constantly getting on my nerves.
There’s that woman whose mouth is constantly running, but who never says a darn thing of interest or value.
And what about so and so who lied to me,
and the one who put me down,
and the person who hates me for no reason?
I can love God just fine,
it’s my neighbor I have trouble with.
He or she is a different story altogether.”

But it really isn’t so different according the Bible.
Listen to the Apostle Paul who wrote:
“How can you love God whom you have not seen,
if you do not love your brother or sister whom you have seen?”
John goes on to add:
“You cannot love God unless you love your brothers and sisters.”
So there you have it.
There is no separating the two, and I would add that the only way we prove our love of God is by loving others.
And that’s where most of us have a problem.
We just can’t imagine having loving feelings for some people. Right?

Frederick Buechner has helped me to move beyond this problem,
and perhaps he can help you too.
Buechner writes, “In the Christian sense, love is not primary an emotion (That is, it is not a feeling), rather love is an act of will.
When Jesus tells us to love our neighbor,
he’s not telling us to love them with warm fuzzy feelings.
After all, you just can’t up and produce a warm fuzzy feeling.
Jesus is not talking about love as a feeling.
Feelings have nothing to with it.
No, loving God means honoring and obeying and staying in constant touch with God,
and loving my neighbor means acting in their best interest no matter what,
even if I have a hard time even liking them,
and even if that means sacrificing my own well-being in the process.

But preacher, you might be saying by now,
I’m glad that I don’t have to get all gushy to love people,
but if love is about working for someone’s best interest even if it conflicts with what is in my best interest,
well, that’s like hopping from the frying pan into the fryer.
I don’t know if I can do that either.

And I understand this.
And in now way do I want to minimize how difficult real love is.
The Episcopal priest Judith Schneck puts it this way:
“The two great commandments are simple, but they have teeth:
they are tough and costly.
Basically, we don’t comply and perhaps we can’t.
[But] that is one of the beauties of God’s call;
it always stretches us, pulls us from wherever we are to be more.
It is like the horizon, always beckoning, never reachable.
The secret is to want to live out the commandments,
no matter how poorly we actually do it.
The secret is in our heart’s desiring.
Do we really desire to love the Lord our God with all our hearts and souls and minds and to love our neighbor as ourselves?
Truth be known, many say no.
We don’t mind loving God or our neighbor, but forget that little word “all.”
If we, in our own lives, want to make a choice, a decision, to love God and our neighbor as God asks us, what changes would that require of us?”

“The answer may lie the word ‘hang.’
‘On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.’
This word usually gets overlooked in the text.
‘Hang’ can mean the way we put up our clothes in the closet,
or it can mean what we do with the birdfeeder or the peg we put our hat upon. But in this text, the word ‘hang’ is the same one used for “Jesus, whom you slew and hanged upon the cross.”
That shifts the entire meaning of the Great Commandment, doesn’t it?
To love the Lord with all our hearts and souls and minds,
and to love our neighbor as ourselves is a crucifixion.
It means to die to ourselves.
No wonder there are so few volunteers.”

But there are a few.
There are almost always a few who volunteer.
The great Norwegian writer, Johan Bojer, makes that point powerfully in his story, The Great Hunger.
It happened that an anti-social newcomer moved into the village and put a fence around his property with a sign saying, “Keep Out.”
He also put a vicious dog inside the fence to keep anyone from climbing it.
One day, a neighbor’s little girl reached inside the fence to pet the dog and the dog grabbed her by the arm and savagely bit and killed her.

The townspeople were enraged and refused to speak to the recluse.
They wouldn’t sell him groceries at the store,
and when it came time for planting, they wouldn’t sell him seed.
The man became destitute and didn’t know what to do.
One day he saw another man sowing seed on his field.
He ran out and discovered it was the father of the little girl.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.”
The father replied, “I am doing this to keep God alive in me.”

Imagine how difficult love would be in such a circumstance.
But this is the love to which we are all called.
As Schneck said, “To love the Lord with all our hearts and souls and minds,
and to love our neighbor as ourselves is a crucifixion.
It means to die to ourselves.
No wonder there are so few volunteers.”
Will you be one of them?

What Belongs to God

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My sermon for Sunday, 19 October 2008 was based on Psalm 24, Isaiah 45:1-7, and Matthew 22:15-22.  It was written for the following Sunday: Proper 24A, Ordinary 29A, or Pentecost+23A.  Below is a tag cloud for the message.

created at TagCrowd.com

What Belongs to God?

Imagine the scene from today’s gospel reading.
It is a classic confrontation between Jesus and his critics.
Not only does Jesus have to face the primary religious authorities of his day: the Pharisees.
He also has to deal with a group of people called the Herodians,
a political force aligned with King Herod.
The Herodians, like Herod himself, were seen as being in cahoots with Rome, and though they were not loved by the people because of this,
the Pharisees asked them along on this face to face with Jesus because they provided the Pharisees with the perfect opportunity to put Jesus between the proverbial rock and a hard place.
This way the Pharisees had the religious angle covered and the Herodians would cove the political angle.
The Pharisees would be able to catch Jesus if he said anything blasphemous, and the Herodians would be sure to run back to King Herod and his Roman cronies if Jesus said something that would upset the political apple cart.

As you can see, much thought and scheming had gone into the plan,
and the trap they had built for this rebel teacher seemed foolproof.
They would set before him a choice,
and regardless of the answer he came up with,
they were all but sure they could bring this young rabble rouser down a notch or two, if not bring him down altogether.
I can just imagine them rubbing their hands together in anticipation and patting each other on the back for their ingenuity.
They had the deadly combination of politics and religion on their side,
or so they thought.

The encounter begins with some flattery,
what we used to call brown-nosing in school,
the reasons for which I will not go into detail about in a church setting.
Nevertheless, when flattery is being used,
it is always best for the one bei
ng flattered to be cautious.
As Socrates once said, “Flattery is like friendship in show, but not in fruit”
Perhaps Jesus knew this, so that when they attempt to put him off his guard with some pleasant words,
he is ready when they try to pull a trick out of the sleeves of their robes.

"Teacher,” they said, “ we know that you are true and teach the way of God truthfully, and show favor to no one;
for you do not regard people with partiality.
And then comes the trap.
“Is it lawful,” they asked him, “to pay taxes to the emperor?” 

Now the tax that they were referring to was the hated poll tax levied annually upon every man, woman and child.
Typically, it was a denarius – a whole day’s wages.
And since most people only made one denarius a day and then had to use all of it to buy the food they needed to eat for that day,
paying this tax usually meant going hungry on the days it was remitted,
This tax was also a painful reminder of their helpless submission to Rome. 
So, if Jesus said yes, pay the tax,
he would alienate himself from the people.
What kind of Messiah would tell his people to pay a tax to their conquerors and have to take food from the mouths of their families to do so?
If, on the other hand, Jesus said no,
he could be accused of treason,
thus facing arrest, imprisonment and execution by Rome.
In fact, this is something the religious leaders would falsely claim Jesus did later on in Luke’s gospel as he stands before Pilate,
the Roman governor.
“This man set himself up as a king,
and taught the people not to pay tribute to the emperor!” (Luke 23:2)   

“So Jesus, is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar or not?”
They glanced triumphantly at each other,
sure that they had set a snare from which even this self-styled prophet could not escape.
Jesus, however, outsmarted them by turning the question into a deeper issue of where ultimate allegiance of every person should belong.
Challenged by Israel’s religious and political leadership in such a way that it seemed all but impossible for him not to condemn himself before Rome or the people, Jesus says,
“Show me the coin used for the tax”.
Please note that Jesus asks his opponents for a coin;
he does not produce one of his own,
the implication being that he does not have one.
Also note that this conversation is taking place at the Jewish temple.
These are two important facts to remember.

Coin now in hand, Jesus then asks whose “head and inscription” are on it.
The coin bears the image of the emperor.
This is strike one against his would-be attackers.
If you remember your ten commandments,
you know that the law prohibited graven images.
Because of this, coins without human images had been minted for Jewish use.
But these opponents of Jesus—Jewish leaders—have carried an image of the emperor into the temple of God.
In addition to the image of Caesar,
the denarius also had these words printed on it in Latin:
“Tiberius Caesar, worshipful son of the divine Augustus”.

As fellow pastor Clare Oatney has stated:
“The coin claimed far too much for itself and for the empire represented.”
In fact, by virtue of what was printed on it,
this coin was little more than a portable idol!
An idol which the religious leaders had brought into the temple of the one and only true God.
Talk about your hypocrisy!
And Jesus does.
“Why put me to the test, you hypocrites?” he had asked them.

And then Jesus gives them his answer.
He holds up the coin with the profile of Caesar carved upon it, and says,
“Give to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s” (Matt. 22:21). 
It was a brilliant answer, don’t you think? 
And on the face of it, there is nothing in what he says to get him in trouble,
nothing on which he can be charged. 
Not in the way the Romans would have heard it,
not in the way it has often been understood through the years:
that the state has its claims, and God has God’s claims,
and you can separate your life into those two camps. 
It’s all easy and everyone’s happy. 
Unless you think a little further.

Because, you see “Give to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God what is God’s” is not exactly what Jesus said, according to Matthew. 
Matthew’s actual quote of Jesus does not say “give” (dote). 
Instead, Matthew has Jesus say apodote –“ give back”. 
In other words,
give back to Caesar whatever is legally owed to him – but nothing more! 
Thus, the saying that appears at first reading to be equal
(“Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s; give to God what is God’s”)
is not equal at all. 
Because what is owed to Caesar? 
At most, taxes – and nothing more! 
And what is owed to God? 
Why, it is the totality of your being.
You owe everything to God. 
So give your “everything” to that One – and only that One,
the only One who deserves it!

Give to God what is God’s… 
And what belongs to God? 
God: the creator of all, the source of all, the ground of all being … 
What belongs to God? 
It’s ALL God’s. 
There is no claim that can impinge on God’s claim,
no right that trumps God’s right,
no authority that eclipses God’s authority. 
It’s all God’s. 
The emperor can stamp his picture on whatever he wants,
but it doesn’t change that fundamental reality.  
It’s like writing your name in a library book and pretending that makes the book yours. 
Or like a scene comedian Eddie Izzard describes, about colonial explorers.  You know, how Europeans used to travel around the world,
looking for places that no other Europeans had discovered? 
Izzard imagines them walking ashore and being somewhat surprised to find the place already occupied. 
“Oh, you say you live here? 
Oh dear.  Hmmm.  (thinks) Well, do you have a flag?  No?  (Thwomp!—plants imaginary flag)
Then I claim this land in the name of her Majesty the Queen!” 
Planting flags.  As though that made it theirs.

We like to lay claim on things. 
But when we are baptized, God lays his claim on us. 
In baptism, we gave ourselves back to the God who gave us life. 
And that claim will compete with all other claims upon your loyalty, your identity, and your commitment.

Like you, I am an American.
And like you, I love the United States.
I love my country, its culture, its people, the freedoms we enjoy and that so many have fought and dies to preserve.
Being American is central to my identity. 
But I cannot give my first and deepest loyalty to America.
Because in baptism I renounce my allegiance to any power or state or anything else that I might put before God. 
In other words, I owe my first and deepest loyalty to the one who made me.

As Christians, we are united first and foremost under the cross,
rather than any national flag or standard. 
This is not to say the state has no legitimate claim to make,
or to condemn any kind of national feeling. 
It is simply a reminder that we owe our first loyalty to the kingdom of God.

We a

re called, throughout our lives, to measure the claims and values of the state against those of the kingdom. 
We dare not accept unquestioningly the aims and methods of any worldly power, be it political, economic, social or cultural. 
The Gospel calls us to question those competing claims,
whatever they might be:
are they in line with what we know about the kingdom? 
Do they bring healing? 
Do they seek peace and forgiveness? 
Are they steeped in compassion, reaching across boundaries and welcoming in the outsider? 
Above all, do they demonstrate concern for the lowest and the least? 
They just might do so. 
But if they do not, then we need to decide how best to respond. 

Now, I could pick a political issue to illustrate this, but I don’t want to risk any appearance of partisanship that would interfere with my point.
So while I do think we allow the country, or the platform of our particular political party, to come before God too often in our lives,
there are other powers that also lay claim on us.

For instance, television and media have incredible power in our lives. 
Now, while I disagree with those who say there’s nothing good on television, there are definitely some problems with the medium. 
There are mixed messages about sexuality, the glorifying of violence…. 
And then, perhaps worse than both of these is how TV tries to convert us all into nothing more than mindless consumers
That is, we are constantly being tempted to buy things,
many of which we probably don’t even need,
because the TV promises us that our lives will be easier or more worthwhile if we only have this or that item in our possession.

Now if I compare this idea to Jesus’ teaching about and caring for the poor,
and if I take the time to ask myself the question of whether I really want my heart to be living at Target and Toys R Us along with all of my treasure,
I can begin to see a conflict. 
So what can I do? 
I could throw the TV out of my house.
I could limit my own viewing, and that of my children. 
I could watch with them, and use the commercials as teaching moments about the difference between wanting and needing. 
I could give money to public television. 
Or start a campaign to ban commercials during children’s programming. 
Or vote for candidates who support these kind of ideas. 
As you can see, I could do all sorts of thing. 
There is only one thing I cannot and must do:
I cannot allow this competing power to steal my heart and my mind away from the kingdom of God.

The kingdom of God always exists in tension with competing claims of authority (Kari Jo Verhulst, SojoNet for Proper 24A, 2005). 
This is not a comfortable thing. 
Our gut, our upbringing, our perceived best interests might lead us right into the heart of one of these competing claims. 
And it might well be easier to follow. 
It is sometimes easier to just give in to the Caesars of this world,
to allow the competing claims of the things and powers of this world to hold sway over us,
but that is not the way of Jesus who tells us plainly
"Give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and give to God what is God’s."

Biblical scholar Sarah Dylan Breuer makes the following points about this simple statement by tying it to our reading from Isaiah:
Our reading for this Sunday from Isaiah provides some clues.
It has God addressing Cyrus, King of Persia, a gentile.
And yet this gentile has been called by the God of Israel to do his work.
In other words, it’s not solely the people of Israel who are God’s,
but everyone to whom God gives life and breath.
And God tells this gentile king, that he is providing help
I call you by your name,
I have named you, though you do not know me.
I am the LORD, and there is no other;
besides me there are no other gods.

I clothed you, though you do not know me,
so that they may know, from the rising of the sun
and from the west, there is no one besides me;
I am the LORD, and there is no other.
I form light and create darkness,
I make peace and create evil;
I the LORD do all these things (Isaiah 45:4-7).
East or west, light or dark, in all circumstances, God is God,
and there is none other.

The 24th Psalm puts it this way:
The earth is the LORD’s and all that is in it,
   the world, and those who live in it.
It all boils down to this:
What belongs to God is everything.
And if we really take seriously the claim that God is rightful Lord of the earth and all that is in it, the world and all people in it,
over what is any earthly Caesar a rightful lord?
The answer is simple words is this:
Nothing. Nada. Squat. Zilch. Zero.

Initial Thoughts for Preaching this Sunday – Proper 23A, Ordinary 28, Pentecost 22A

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There is a wealth of preaching material in the passages for today. I am struck by the following themes:

Exodus 32:1-14 – God “changes” God’s mind about destroying Israel because of the golden calf incident. This happens after Moses pleads with God on the people’s behalf. I particularly like the dialogue between God and Moses. They resemble two parents discussion the exploits of their children. God repeatedly says “Your people,” and Moses repeatedly reminds God that they are not his people but God’s. It is like one parent saying “Your son did this, or your daughter did that.” To which the other replies in kind.

Philippians 4:1-9 – This passage has a wealth of sermons in it alone. From dealing with church conflict (Euodia and Syntyche), to not worrying, to the climax of the passage for me (the following: Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. (NRSV). Having served in several churches where conflict was high prior to my arrival, these words have become a pet theme of mine. To move people out of their negative thought patterns onto something more positive is hard but essential work if conflict of any kind is to be resolved.

Matthew 22:1-14 – Another difficult parable of Jesus’. I have no problem with it until the poorly dressed slob is thrown out of the banquet. It seems harsh. But my feeling is that we probably have to fill in some details left out in the story. It is highly doubtful that the guests invited at the end have proper wedding attire at all. The host probably had to provide them with clothes. The only reason the man was not wearing the right attire then is that he refused to clothe himself with what had been provided to him free of charge. It is as though he says I will come to your party, but don’t expect me to dress up for the occasion. It is an affront to the King, and he acts accordingly. After all he had provided everything that anyone would need to come and celebrate with him.

There are some who want the benefits of celebrating the gift of the kingdom, but don’t want to do anything different in their lives to show their gratitude for the invitation. Coming to a banquet but refusing to dress according is a metaphor for this. One could perhaps tie this passage to Philippians by stating that the banquet clothes we are to wear include the attitude that Paul states we should have in the verses above.

 

"The Test" – My Sermon for Sunday, August 17, 2008, Proper 15A, Ordinary Time 20A, Pentecost 15A

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The sermon is based upon the gospel reading for today – Matthew 15:21-28, in which Jesus basically calls a Canaanite woman a “dog.” 

———-

Today’s gospel lesson has certainly caused many people problems,
because a casual reading of this text makes it appear that Jesus is being rude, even cruel in his response to a Canaanite woman’s pleas for help.

Jesus is in a foreign country,
and when Mark tells the story he says that Jesus went there in order to escape the growing attention that surrounded him and his ministry.
In other words, Jesus is here on a brief vacation or retreat of sorts,
looking to get some rest and enjoy being anonymous for a while.
But as soon as he and his disciples check into their seaside cottage shore,
their peace and tranquility are shattered by a woman who comes up to them and literally starts shouting for help.
Her daughter desperately needs help and so she turns to Jesus.
It sounds like just the kind of situation that Jesus is perfect for.

But then the text tells us that Jesus ignores the woman’s pleas.
Matthew says: “He did not answer her at all.”
And then the disciples speak up and say:
“Send her away, Lord, for she keeps shouting after us.”
Or to put it another way:
“Jesus, we came here for some peace and quiet,
and this woman is ruining it for us.
She has got to go, Jesus,
just listen to her, screaming at the top of her lungs.
Please, just send her on her way before she drives us all crazy.”

And so Jesus tells the woman that he can do nothing for her.
“I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” he says.
But this woman doesn’t give up easily.
She comes over to Jesus, falls at his feet and cries “Lord, help me.”
To which Jesus replies in what seems to be an devastatingly cruel insult,
“It is not fair to take children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”
Or to put it even more plainly,
“It is not fair to take what I have come to give to the children of Israel and give it to you,
you, who are no more than a dog.”

Now surely Jesus wouldn’t say something like that.
I mean here he is, the Messiah, the Son of God,
and he is insulting a woman who has come to him for help?
And she’s not even asking for something for herself.
She wants her daughter to be healed.
Yes, she’s not a Jew, but she is a human being,
and by this time in Matthew’s gospel,
Jesus has already helped at least two other foreigners before her,
but today he is calling this woman a dog.

Here is where a little more biblical scholarship comes in handy.
Now Matthew is using a story that Mark first told in his gospel,
but he’s changing it slightly.
In Mark this woman is a Syrophoenician.
Matthew changes it to “Canaanite.”
Do you wonder why?

Bible scholar Grant LeMarquand has an idea.
“Syrophoenician” is a long word,
but basically it just tells us where the woman is from.
“Canaanite,” however, is different.
The word “Canaanite” has a history that goes back hundreds of years to the time when God told the Israelites to take possession of the land of Canaan.
In Deuteronomy 7 you can read:
When the LORD your God brings you into the land that you are about to enter and occupy,
and God clears away many nations before you …
and when the LORD your God gives them over to you and you defeat them, then you must utterly destroy them.
Make no treaty with them and show them no mercy!

Matthew is deliberately using language that recalls old controversies, old angers, and old enemies.
If this woman is a Canaanite, then she is an enemy of Israel.
Further, she is also an enemy of God,
and according to the OT, she should be shown no mercy.
And yet here she is, asking Jesus for exactly that . . . mercy.

As my colleague in ministry, Don Hoffman, says,
“What Matthew does here with his version of the story is to make this conversation even more unlikely and even more shocking.
Matthew basically turns this whole story into a parable.
He subverts peoples’ ideas of correct behavior,
and he calls into question his earliest readers’ long-held prejudices.

You see, when Jewish Christians of Matthew’s day read this story,
they probably were not at all shocked by Jesus’ initial words and behavior.
That’s how you should talk to foreigners.
Especially a foreign enemy like a Canaanite.
That’s even how you should talk to women.
In fact, they would be most surprised by Jesus talking to her at all.
People like her, many thought, should be ignored at best.
She’s just lucky her particular ancestors weren’t slaughtered back in the day.”

That would have been the prevailing attitude of many, if not most.
Of course, knowing this doesn’t make the story any easier for us though.
I mean, if there is a more difficult passage for us to ponder in the gospels,
I don’t know what it is.

As I said earlier, this passage has caused problems for even the greatest and most intelligent of biblical scholars.
Many of whom seem willing to view Jesus’ words as a sort of test.
They claim that Jesus is putting roadblocks before the woman to see what she is made of,
to see if she really has faith.

Now I am certainly not a great biblical scholar,
but I think this way of interpreting the passage misses out on the meaning.
I think part of the meaning is obscure because we see only the printed words in scripture.
For instance, someone can take down a conversation word for word,
but still not convey what was actually said.
Because sometimes it’s not what one says, but how one says it.
I can say something to you with a smile on my face and a wink of my eye,
that would hurt you or insult you or cause you to become angry at me if I said it with a straight face.
But because of the way I say it,
we both know that it is not to be taken seriously.

(Example here – Alice Seidts, a member of my church, the most cynical and negative and stubborn woman I know)

It’s often how we say things that helps people interpret what we say.
That’s why Shakespeare’s play are often not very good reading material.
In fact there can be quite boring as words written on a page,
but put them in the mouths of skilled actors who know how to bring them to life, well, then they become works of art.
It’s how something is said that makes all the difference in the world,
and I think this is the case here.

You see, Jesus has used the phrases in today’s reading earlier in his ministry.
In the sermon on the mount, Jesus warns the people to “not give what is holy to dogs,
and he tells them not to throw pearls before swine.”

And early on in the gospel Jesus made it clear that his first priority was to minister to the children of Israel.
In fact, when he sends the disciples on their first assignment in chapter nine,
Jesus tells them to go only among the Jews.
“Go nowhere among the gentiles and enter no town of the Samaritans,” he said, “but go rather to the lost sheep of Israel.”
Sound familiar?

Now of course, as I mentioned earlier,
Jesus himself had healed foreigners before this – one was a Roman Centurion’s son and the others were two men from Gadarene.
But at the beginning of the disciples’ ministry,
Jesus set limits for them.
In effect, he says: “You worry about the Jewish people for now,
don’t try to do too much until you have been with me for a while longer and learned more from me.”
And though we don’t know how long it was between Jesus sending out the twelve disciples and the event we read of today,
we can safely assume that it was a while,
and that the disciples have seen much and heard even more since then.

They have heard Jesus say all human life is valuable to God.
“Are n
ot two sparrows sold for a penny?” he once asked,
“yet not one of them falls without God seeing it,
and you are of much more value than sparrows.”
They have heard Jesus talk about not
being judgmental.
“Let the weeds and wheat grow up together,” he said,
“don’t try to separate them yourselves,
let God take care of that in God’s own time.”
And they have seen miracle after miracle.
Jesus has healed a crippled man’s hand,
he has caused the blind to see, and the mute to speak,
he has brought sanity back to those tormented,
he has fed over 5000 people with just a little bread and fish,
and he has walked on water to the disciples’ boat.

Given all this, I believe that in today’s passage Jesus is wondering what the disciples have learned.
Are they ready for more responsibility?
Have they listened to his teaching?
Have they seen how he has cared for others?
And will they do the same for others,
regardless of who they are or what they might look like?

So I believe that when the woman approaches them screaming for help,
Jesus remains silent, not because her cries fall on deaf ears,
but because he is waiting to hear the response of those with whom he has taught and lived.
This is a test, but not of the woman’s faith.
It is a test for his disciples.

A test that they fail.
“Lord, get this woman out of our hair.
We can’t believe that she had the nerve to come here looking for help.
Why she has her own people, her own faith.
Let her go elsewhere for help, Lord.  Send her away.”

Now at this I think Jesus’ heart fell,
and perhaps he sat down and put his head in his hands.
And I think he repeated the words he had once said,
not out of spite but in order to drive home a point.
“Woman, Jesus said, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel. 
How can I help you?”

But rather than leave the woman came to him,
fell on her knees, took his hand in hers. and cried again,
“Lord, help me.”
And once more Jesus repeated words he had uttered before,
not as an insult, not to hurt,
but to show the disciples a new way of responding to people who are different, who are not like me or you.
“You know,” Jesus said, looking at the woman with love,
that it is not fair to give the children’s food to the dogs.”

And I do believe he said those words with love,
with more than a touch of sadness in voice.
And that’s very important, because after seeing the love in Jesus eyes,
the woman could reply,
“Yes, Lord, but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

And then Jesus stood up,
he stood up and took her hand and lifted her to her feet,
and after making a pointed look in the disciples’ direction,
he turned back to her and said,
“Woman, great is your faith!
Let it be done for you as you wish.”

Now notice that Jesus didn’t say,
For a Canaanite you have a pretty good faith,
nor did he say, well you might be a foreigner and all,
but I’ll do this one thing for you anyway.
No, Jesus looked at her and said something that he hadn’t even said to his own disciples,
those who should have known and believed,
those who should have had the faith.
Jesus said to this woman, this foreigner, “Great is your faith!”

Now if you read through Matthew’s gospel in one sitting,
it is interesting to notice that Jesus has commended someone on their faith only once before,
and as you can probably guess,
it was another foreigner, the Roman centurion.
This centurion came to Jesus for help, saying to him,
“Lord, my servant is lying at home paralyzed and in great distress.”
Jesus offered to come to his home to heal the servant.
But the centurion wouldn’t have this, and he replied,
“Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof,
but only say the word, and my servant will be healed.”
And when Jesus heard this he exclaimed,
“Truly I tell you, I have not found such faith in all of Israel.”
and then he continued,
“I tell you,many will come from the east and the west and will eat with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of Heaven.”
In other words,
the kingdom of heaven is not an exclusive club for a select few.
Rather it is open to all those who have faith,
to all who believe.

My friends, if we are honest, we would admit that it is very often the disciples of Jesus who have the hardest time believing.
It very often those closest to Jesus,
including the church today, who lack faith.
Jesus had to chide his disciples constantly on their lack of faith.
When the disciples crossed the sea of Galilee one night,
a storm suddenly blew up,
and in fear of their death the disciples awoke Jesus,
In an instant, and with just a word,
Jesus calmed the wind and waves, and then he asked them,
“Why are you afraid, you of little faith?”

When five thousand men, not including women or children,
needed to be fed after a long day of listening to Jesus teach,
Jesus sent the disciples out into the crowd to see what food there was to share, and they came back with the reply,
“We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish,
how in the world can they do any good?”
But Jesus said, “Bring them to me.”
And he took them in his hands,
raised them to heaven and prayed a short blessing.
And with that Jesus fed the entire multitude.

And once when the disciples had gone ahead of Jesus in a boat,
Jesus came out to them, walking on the water.
Peter thought this was great and jumped out and starting walking himself until he became afraid,
and Jesus had to fish him out of the waves.
Afterward he asked Peter,
“You of little faith, why did you doubt?”

It is amazing that time after time those closest to Jesus show the least faith,
And in Matthew it is only the faith of the foreigners that is commended.
Their faith alone is commended because it is the kind of faith that trusts in Jesus and in him alone,
because there is no one else to whom they can turn.
Theirs is a faith that relies not upon status or proximity to Jesus,
rather it relies upon his love and grace and desire to reach out to those in need regardless of their status or prestige.
It’is the kind of faith that realizes that one’s response to need should not,
can not be based upon such meaningless differences as nationality, or race, or social status,or any other arbitrary human difference.
After all, Hurt and Pain and suffering are universal conditions,
afflicting all people,
and every person needs Jesus Christ,
every man and woman needs to see the eyes of Jesus looking down upon them with love and acceptance and mercy.

That is the kind of faith Jesus wanted his disciples to have.
That is the kind of faith God wanted Jonah to have.
And that is the kind of faith that God and Christ want us to have, as well.
It was the writer of Hebrews who said that we should show hospitality to strangers,
because we never know if we are entertaining angels unaware.
Now I don’t know how many angels you meet on a given day,
but I do know that you and I meet a great many people,
and if our commitment to Jesus Christ is to have any meaning,
then we must accept each person as the child of God he or she is,
and we must treat them as the brothers and sisters of Christ that they are.
Otherwise, all or proclamations to the contrary are worthless.
If we do not show the love of Christ to others,
if we do not show the acceptance of Christ,
and if we do not offer the hand of fellowship and grace to all we meet,
our church we will surely die a slow and painful death due to the lack of love,
and it will be, my friends, a well-deserved death..

One writer has said it well.
God is waiting,
waiting for us to come out of our comfortable homes,
to come out of our comfortable churches,
and to come around to Jesus’ way of loving.

If this church is ever to be a light on a hill,
we must shine our light to everyone
we meet,
and not just to those we think might fit in here.
If this church is ever to be faithful to Jesus Christ,
we must look upon the world with his eyes,
and see that there is no longer Jew or Gentile,
slave or free, male
or female;
but that all people can be children of God through faith.

The circle of God’s love is wide enough to encompass all humanity. . .
In fact, the gospel for today reminds of a short poem Edwin Markham once wrote:
He drew a circle that shut me out —
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in.

May we do the same.

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Do We Really Believe – My Easter Sermon for 2008

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Based on Colossians 3 and Matthew 28

John Irving, writing about his novel “A Prayer for Owen Meany,” has this to say about his title character:
As a full-grown adult, Owen Meany will stand only five feet tall and weigh only one-hundred pounds –
the minimum acceptable size for the U.S. Army,
As a child,  he’s so small that the other children in his Sunday-school class can pick him up and pass him back and forth in the air – over their heads,
while they remain seated in their chairs.
They do this because they love to hear him complain.
Owen has something wrong with his voice:
his voice doesn’t grow either.
He speaks in a permanent, cracked falsetto,
a kind of strained squeak.
And although Owen takes himself very seriously,
it is extremely hard for anyone else to –
because he is so small and his voice is so absurd.

But Owen is a very serious character.
Owen believes that he is a chosen one;
that his life is following a Divine Plan,
a narrative authored by God.
To Owen Meany everything that happens to him happens for a reason –
he believes that he is small for a reason,
and that his voice never changes for a reason.
So says John Irving.

Now if you want to know what that divine plan is,
you will have to read the book,
I’m not going to give it away.
But I do want to say that Owen Meany has a profound impact upon his best friend, John Wheelwright.
We see this in the opening paragraph of the book when John writes:
“I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice –
not because of his voice,
or because he was the smallest person I ever knew,
or even because he was the instrument of my mother’s death
[again, you have to read the book to understand this]
but because he is the reason I believe in God;
I am a Christian because of Owen Meany.
I make no claims to have a life in Christ,
or with Christ –
and certainly not for Christ,
which I’ve heard some zealots claim.
I’m not very sophisticated in my knowledge of the Old Testament,
and I’ve not read the New Testament since my Sunday school days,
except for the passages that I hear read aloud to me when I go to church.
I make no claims to be especially pious;
I have a church-rummage faith –
the kind that needs patching up every weekend.
[But] what faith I have I owe to Owen Meany.,
A boy I grew up with.
It was Owen who made me a believer.

Now file those words away in the back of your mind for a few minutes.
Filed away?  Good.

Later in the book John is having a conversation with Owen about religion,
or rather John is listening to Owen pontificate on the Christian faith,
and it is this conversation which brings us to the theme of this day.
Owen in his cracked and squeaky voice tells John:
I find that Holy Week is draining;
no matter how many times I have lived through his crucifixion,
my anxiety about his resurrection is undiminished –
I am terrified that, this year, it won’t happen;
that, that year, it didn’t.
Anyone can be sentimental about the Nativity;
any fool can feel like a Christian at Christmas.
But Easter is the main event;
if you don’t believe in the resurrection,
you’re not a believer.

Let me repeat that last part:
Easter is the main event;
if you don’t believe in the resurrection,
you’re not a believer.

Now that statement raises a question for me,
and if you will allow me to be blunt,
I will ask it.
All those for bluntness, raise your hands.
My question is this:
Do we believe in the resurrection?
Do we really believe in it?
Do we stake our lives on that belief?
Or even more close to home,
do we live our lives as though the resurrection is a reality and not just some warm and fuzzy ending tacked on to a sad and tragic story to make us feel better,
like some big Hollywood movie production.
All the big hits from Hollywood have to have happy endings,
so is this story of Easter just more of the same?
Or did it really happen?
Do we believe it happened?

I ask this because there are times, many times in fact,
when I find it hard to believe that we really believe.
Most of the time, in fact, it is hard to tell that we are an Easter people,
that we are a people of the resurrection.
Study after study has shown that when it comes to moral behavior Christians are almost always no better than non-Christians.
Christians cheat on their taxes at the same rate as non-Christians,
Christians get divorced just as much as non-Christians.
In almost every area of ethics and morality,
Christians are about the same as those who have never become disciples of Christ.
Is this the way it should be?
Shouldn’t our lives look different if we really believe?

Paul, in our reading from Colossians, seems to think so.
You remember what we read a few moments ago,
a passage that is often read at baptism services:
“For you have died,
and now you have been raised with Christ.
Set your mind on the things that are above.”

One preacher writing about his own coming to faith and baptism had this to say about Paul’s words:
I walked home [after my baptism] with my wet clothes wrapped in a wet towel under my arm,
and I tried to think about what [the words the preacher spoke] meant.
After you have been raised from the dead,
you do not look the same,
sound the same,
talk the same,
or behave the same.

But what do you do?
Should I dress a little better than I’ve been dressing?
It wouldn’t hurt.
How do you talk?
What do you sound like?
I went to school on Monday morning wondering,
“Is anybody going to know that I’ve been raised?
Do I talk another way?
Do I throw in a verse or two of scripture now and then?
What do I do at ball practice?
Are they going to say. “Well, it looks like he’s been raised from the dead”
How do you walk?
How do you relate?

How does it show that we have been raised with Christ,
that we believe,
not only in his resurrection,
but even in our own?
When you go to work,
when you go to school,
when you hang around with your friends,
how does it show?

Just beyond the verses we read in Colossians,
Paul gives his answer to the question.
He writes:
Put to death, therefore, whatever in you is earthly:
sexual impurity, evil desire, and greed (which is idolatry).
These are the ways you also once followed, when you were living that life.
But now you must get rid of all such things-
anger, wrath, malice, slander, and abusive language from your mouth.
Do not lie to one another,
seeing that you have stripped off the old self with its practices and have clothed yourselves with the new self,
which is being renewed in knowledge according to the image of its creator.
And in that renewal there is no longer Greek and Jew,
circumcised and uncircumcised,
barbarian, Scythian, slave and free;
but Christ is all and in all!

As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved,
clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.
Bear with one another and,
if anyone has a complaint against another,
forgive each other;
just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.
Above all, clothe yourselves with love,
which binds everything together in perfect harmony.

So you want to know what the life of a person who really believes in resurrection looks like?
This is what it looks like:
It is compassionate, kind, humble, meek, patient, forgiving and filled with love.

We must live our lives like we believe Jesus rose from dead.
We must live as though we too have bee
n raised to new life in Christ.
Why?
Well, for one, because people look at our lives to see if the living Christ is a part of who we are;
to see if our lives are informed by the power of Jesus’ resurrection or not.
Second, and even more important,
because we ha
ve something the world and the people in it really need – hope.

There are, of course, many sources of hope in this world,
but most of them provide little more than false hope.
Politicians and politics or government.
Doctors and medical science and the hope for a miracle cure.
The search for that one person who will fulfill all our dreams and desires.
Money and material possessions,
which are perhaps best symbolized by the quixotic power of these:
(Hold up some lottery tickets.)
I was at the 7-11 last night,
and even though the jackpot wasn’t 230 million,
the line for lottery tickets was quite long,
and we all know how long the odds are for hope being realized in these slips of paper,
don’t we?
And yet millions of people place their hope in things like these and other pursuits that will prove just as futile.

But, my friends,  we have real hope.
A hope that comes from the power of resurrection.
Another of my favorite books is “Cold Sassy Tree” by Olive Burns.
I’ve used this quote before,
but it bears repeating today.
In her novel Burns has one of the characters in her book ask his grandfather about Jesus rising from the dead.
“Gosh Grandpa, You mean you don’t Jesus rose from the dead?”

“I’m a sayin thet did he or didn’t he ain’t important son.
What’s important is thet when the spirit-a Jesus Christ come down
on them disciples later,
they quit settin round a-moanin and a-tremblin,
and got to work,
They wairn’t scairt no more,
and the words they said and the things they did had fire in’m.
Compared to a miracle like thet,
Jesus rollin’ back a dang rock and flyin off to heaven ain’t nothin.

And thet same miracle is still a happenin right here in Cold Sassy,
in July of nineteen aught-six.
A crippled person or a invalid, or the meanest thief of most
despairin misfit,why, if can ketch aholt of the spirit of Jesus Christ,
he can quit bein scairt and be like risin from the dead.
Once his soul gits cured,
no matter what his body’s like,
why he can start a new life.”

We have this hope to offer, my friends.
New life.  Resurrection life.
In Jesus sin has been conquered.
He is the alpha and the omega,
the beginning and the end
He holds the keys to hell and death
In Jesus, death has died.
This is the hope that the world needs.
That every man, woman and child needs.

And this thought, this truth, brings me back full circle to Owen Meany and his friend John Wheelwright.
John Irving says that Owen Meany was an instrument of God,
that God used Owen to do his work, to do his will.
Isn’t that what God does with all of his children?
Isn’t that what Jesus expects of his disciples?
Not only to live our lives as though we believed in Easter, in resurrection.
and in their life-transforming power,
but also to be his instruments and to share the hope we have in Christ with everyone we meet?

John Wheelwright said,
I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice –
not because of his voice,
or because he was the smallest person I ever knew,
but because he is the reason I believe in God;
I am a Christian because of Owen Meany.
What faith I have I owe to Owen Meany.,
A boy I grew up with.
It was Owen who made me a believer.

If we believe, really believe in Easter and in resurrection,
don’t we owe it to God,
don’t we owe it to Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith,
don’t we owe it to those who are not here this morning,
and who are not in any church today,
to share our faith, our love, and our hope with them?

When the angel met the women at the tomb on that first Easter,
his words to them were simple and to the point:
Go and tell, he said.
And when Jesus met them on their way back to the city,
his words were the same:
Go and tell.
Go and tell my disciples.
And later in this same chapter he will repeat and add to these words:
Go and tell,
Go and make disciples.
Help others to believe so that they too may live,
that they too may have hope,
and that they too may know my love.

This morning we have told each other that Christ is risen.
When we leave here,
let us tell the world,
everyone we meet, the same,
showing them by our words and with our lives that we really and truly believe.