Pastor Nagle
01/30/2005
“I Have A Blanket” Micah 6:1-8 The Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany January 30, 2005
If you want to keep your name on the voting rolls, you need to go to the polls every couple of years and notify the authorities if you change your address. If you want to get your name on the dean’s list, you need to maintain a particular standard of academic excellence. If you intend to stay a cheerleader, you have to show up for practice and games. If you want to maintain your membership at the club, you have to pay your dues. There are standards, requirements, expectations for lots of things in life. Do you know what is required to be a child of God? To stay on God’s good side, what do you think you have to do?
If you ask most people, the number one answer is to be obedient. That’s the word on the street. If you obey the commandments, if you do what you should and avoid the opposite, you’re very likely in. The number two answer is almost the same. To be in God’s pleasure, you need to be moral. Number three, go to church. And then there’s a tie for fourth place, among praying, reading the Bible and giving money. Now, your own answers may vary somewhat, and maybe you would switch number one with number two. But those informal results are close enough. Be obedient, be moral, go to church, pray, read the Bible and give money. You’d think all that would be obvious to anybody. But it wasn’t that clear to Micah.
Eight hundred years before the birth of Jesus, Micah was one of those people God chose to make sure people understood how things were supposed to go. We call people like Micah prophets—not because they were able to see into the future, but because they were spokesman for God. People who pro-claimed. Micah, Isaiah, Amos, Hosea. These were the great names of the socially-minded prophets who declared that people’s usual lists of what pleases God were simply wrong. Micah said, If you really want to know what pleases God, listen up: Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God. Which makes those words from this morning’s first lesson some of the most important in the entire Old Testament. Some of the most important but some of the most ignored, because they’re some of the most misunderstood, since it isn’t always clear what I should do with my blanket.
It surely has been cold lately. Whenever I bump up my thermostat or fire up my gas logs or pick out one of my many sweaters, I’m reminded just how cold it is. But I’m also reminded that not everyone has the luxury of extra sweaters or alternative heating systems or the money to stay warm. So that’s why I’ve decided to give away one of my blankets. To help people stay warm. In times like these, it seems the right thing to do. Everyone would agree with that. Or almost everyone. At least some of the time. Maybe.
For in truth, some people scoff at my attempt at caring, saying that the temperature is so low and the city is so big and the needs are so great that my single blanket won’t do much good. As a symbol, it’s very nice, but as a practical application, I might as well put it back in the closet. That’s what some people say. Other people encourage me to give up my blanket but say that, more important, is the giving of money. Whenever I’m cold, I should write a check for a hundred dollars or a thousand and make it available for those in need. That’s what some people say. But still others argue that’s only a temporary fix and that, if I really want to make a difference, I’ll work to change society so that there aren’t many people who are cold in the first place. All of which is probably true, but it all goes deeper than I want it to. See, I just want to get rid of my blanket. To do something good with my blanket.
But someone else asks, How do you know your blanket will be used for good? What if the person who gets it already has a blanket? What if the person who gets it misuses it? What if the person who gets it isn’t appreciative? What if the person who gets it isn’t Lutheran, or isn’t Christian, or actually curses God for the way things are? Well, I have to admit that I’m not really thrilled about my blanket being given to someone who might sell it at a yard sale in order to get a couple of bucks to feed an addiction or slake a thirst. Maybe I need to re-think this whole blanket-giving matter. And you know what— the prophet Micah would agree. Not keep the blanket from being given, but say that, before the blanket is given, it’s important for you and me to look at life itself. To understand what God means when he says that we’re to do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with God. Oh, but it’s not an easy thing to deal with, because it takes a lot of time and a lot of effort and challenges the very core of who we are.
According to Micah, doing justice means making sure that everyone’s basic needs are met. That the simple requirements for living are accessible to every person. Nothing terribly radical about that. Our constitution says the same thing. It’s a right and noble thought. That each of us should be committed to the care of those around us— especially when some of those around us aren’t able to care for themselves. The old. The weak. Those with physical and mental challenges too huge for simple relief. The children. The cold. The poor. Though in truth, some people bristle at the notion we should take care of the poor, because it seems obvious to them that a lot of the poor don’t have to be poor. That if they’d work hard and be responsible people and invest their money wisely and buy cheaper food they wouldn’t be poor. They say, if the poor would just stop being poor, they wouldn’t need my blanket in the first place, would they? Which makes sense to some people today, but that’s not at all what God spoke through Micah. God says, More than being concerned about whether or not you’re being ripped off, start with an assumption that there are people in need. Don’t make them prove their need at first. Don’t make them match your definition of need at first. But give your blanket first, for then you have a basis to talk. Are you not both attached to that blanket?
About that blanket. I already said I’m going to give one away. In truth, I have extra blankets and bedspreads someone could use. But I do need to figure out which one I should choose. I won’t give the best one; I just bought it after Christmas. I’m not going to give the frayed one; it’s not presentable. I’m not going to give the antique one; it’s too valuable. I’m not going to give the yellow one; it goes with my wallpaper. I’m not going to give my favorite one; anybody could understand that. Wow, which of my blankets can I give up? It seems a reasonable, if privileged, question. But the answer that comes from God through Micah turns the whole matter around, saying—you don’t have to worry about which of your blankets to give because you don’t have any blankets. There may be blankets in your linen closet, but they aren’t your blankets. All that we have belongs to God, and is only held in trust by us. Which is technically correct, but I don’t know many people who’d press the issue. I mean, I bought blanket number 1. I stitched quilt number two. My kids gave me comforter number three. I inherited quilt number four. Yeah, everything probably comes from God, but don’t I have any say in this whole matter?
The first lesson today is presented in the form of a court trial. On one side is God; on the other side are God’s people. God’s charge is that his people have violated the covenant he had with them, have stopped doing what they should and have enjoyed doing what they shouldn’t. God says that people have gotten selfish and turned inward and become mean-spirited. God says that people spend more time trying to obey the commandments than they do loving those around them. But they don’t do well loving the people around them because they don’t do well following the commandments. And worst of all, the people have forgotten all the good stuff God has done for them, even from the beginning of history. God has done all that he has done, and promises to keep on doing it, and the people have trouble deciding which blanket to give up. And it’s not even our blanket! That’s what the first lesson says.
But I’d have to say that we here aren’t all that bad. I mean, in the wake of the awful tsunami, we’ve given over $10,000. And our record of helping the poor and the hungry, the homeless and the imprisoned, the refugee and the challenged is noticed by many. In some ways, we’re a leader in sharing blankets. But Micah reminds us that, more important than the sharing of blankets, is the necessity of seeing the face of anyone who needs that blanket, anyone who gets that blanket. And to say to that person, let’s work together to see what God intends for all of us next. Admittedly, the faces of tsunami terror are so far distant that we won’t be able to have that conversation. But there are people closer by with whom we can speak. If we want to. Which we may not want to. I’ll tell you, it’s easier to write a check than to give a blanket. It’s easier to anonymously donate a blanket than to physically hand over a blanket. It’s easier to hand over a blanket than it is to talk about why there is no blanket. It’s easier to talk about why there is no blanket than it is to wrap your arms around someone who is cold. Someone who is, in any way, cold. Afraid. Picked on. Forgotten. Unable. Scorned. Like you used to be.
Do you remember when you were cold? God spoke through Micah and said that we’re to do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with God. But I’d add—and to remember when we ourselves were cold. For when we remember that, we’ll see justice as making sure that everyone has a chance. And we’ll see kindness as compassion and commitment and dependability. And we’ll see walking with God as being troubled by whatever would trouble him.
What does it mean to be the people of God? The survey says that the number one answer is to be obedient. But I ask, obedient to what? And the number two answer is to be moral. But honest and decent in what? And what good does going to church do, or praying, or reading the Bible, if it doesn’t help you figure out this whole matter of blanket-giving?
The beatitude not included in this morning’s gospel is one which should be: Blessed are the blanket-givers. And blessed will you be when you let God help you think through all that it means.
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Sunday, January 23, 2005
"Seeing Things Your Way"
Pastor Nagle
01/23/2005
“Seeing Things Your Way” Is 9:1-4 1 Cor 1:10-18 Mt 4:12-23 The Third Sunday after the Epiphany January 23, 2005
January can be an awful month. Not just because it’s cold, though it is that. Not just because it’s bleak and dark, though it is that too. Not even because it’s a time when resolutions that were made are so-soon broken, but because January is the month of our great divide, the time when we tend to be antagonistic. January is when people choose sides on the great abortion debate of Roe vs. Wade. January is the month when Democrats and Republicans insist their own inaugurated leader can handle things best. January is the month when people quarrel about the contributions of Martin Luther King, Jr. This January, people are divided on the right way to deal with Iraq, and the school system offers new re-assignment plans, and our church has offered recommendations on how to deal with the issues of same gender blessings and the ordination of non-celibate gays. All of which is important, but all of which can be divisive, and often is. Though it wouldn’t have to be a problem if you’d just see things my way. But of course, that’s the problem isn’t it—that you and I don’t see things the same way.
Such was the situation in that Greek city of Corinth. In the relatively small congregation of Christians there, people divided themselves at least four ways, with each group claiming social and theological insight and each honoring a particular leader and each presumably saying about the others that they were doing things the wrong way. Which is the real difficulty, you see. Not simply that there are preferences. Not even that there are divisions. But that if you don’t see things my way, you’re doing it wrong. Which ought to be obvious. Which is obvious to me. Why isn’t it obvious to you?
Into that situation stepped Paul, the great Christian missionary who mustered up all the authority he could and told the Corinthian Christians that they had to stop this nonsense of disagreement. “I appeal to you,” he said, “that you be united in the same mind and the same purpose.” But not much changed, because everyone waited for everyone else to start seeing things their way. And the divisions that were continued on. Though in truth, if people had finished what they started, some progress would have been made.
Remember that I said each group waited for the others to see things their way. And that’s exactly what would make things work—if I would see things your way. Not necessarily buy into everything you say or agree with why you say it, but at least take the time and make the effort to understand how you are and why you choose the way you do. True, many people, in their zeal for the truth, maintain that there’s only one way, one real way, one accurate way to see an issue. Two ways, really, but the other way is wrong. And sometimes it is wrong, but that more is expected of people like you and me.
Ten days ago, our national church released the findings of the study many of us went through a year ago. The questions were simple: should the church bless same-gender unions, and should the church ordain non-celibate persons. The questions were simple, but the answers were not. Were not simple because they were so varied. Were so varied because of the difference in stories that people told. Stories that were at the basis of the 28,000 responses which were sent off for counting and advising. Stories which led the study commission to say, Let’s leave things the way they are, with the understanding that marriage is a promise and bond between a man and a woman, and that if any leaders of the church are homosexual, they should be celibate. Not surprisingly, the most conservative among us thought the report said too little, because it didn’t go far enough. Not surprisingly, the most liberal among us thought the report said too little because it didn’t go anywhere at all. Which leaves us with a biblical and theological and social bickering that’s never going to stop.
But for me, the best part of the whole report—and it ran to some pages—is the recommendation that encourages all of us to be pastoral. Not just that the pastors be pastoral, but that the whole church be pastoral. That each of us takes the time to see how the other bunch sees things. Because there’s a reason we each see what we see, isn’t there? If your child or niece is stationed in Iraq or if you served our country in the military, you have feelings about our government’s priorities. If you ever got pregnant at a time when you didn’t want to, you have some feelings about abortion. If you were ever beaten up by a bully at school or had to ride a bus to a too-distant school, you have feelings. If you lost a promotion because of your race or gender, you won’t sit quietly by. Nor should you. There is nothing wrong with dissent, not here and not in the Corinthian church. There is nothing wrong with dissent, but there is everything wrong with an attitude that says there’s only one right way to live life. And I say that, knowing that some of you disagree. Strongly disagree, saying, aren’t there some things that are non- negotiable? Yeah, probably so. But I’ll bet we don’t agree on what those non- negotiable things are. You and I might both agree that Jesus Christ is non-negotiable. Even doing things Jesus’ way. But I’d say that Jesus’ way was one of listening, caring, healing and forgiving. And in all of that, enlightening.
In the first lesson today, you heard words that you may associate only with Christmas Eve. Near the end of our services then, we hear that “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined.” And then we all raise our little white candles so that everyone sees light in the darkness. We heard the words from Isaiah, from today’s first lesson, repeated in today’s gospel lesson, when Matthew claimed that Jesus himself was the light that overcomes people’s darkness. And as Christians we’d agree with that. Though we ought to know that the first lesson told the truth about God’s light long centuries before Jesus.
According to Isaiah, the people who walked in darkness, who lived in darkness were those who didn’t depend on God. Those who, in the face of an enemy’s terrible threat, tried to depend on their own mind, their own wits, their own strength and their own alliances with other people who also depended only on themselves. Not surprisingly, the invasion that threatened those people sort of swept over them, and they were carried off. But Isaiah, living with hope more than despair, said that the days were coming—sooner, later, just ahead, eventually—when anyone who trusts in God would be freed from terror. Freed from personal terror and national terror, from all the trials that mess up life. Certainly we believe that Jesus was such a light. But Jesus himself passed on the ability, even the necessity of being light, when he called people to be his disciples.
For those of us who pay attention to the church year, today is another one of those Sundays in the Epiphany season—when we emphasize the beginning of Jesus’ ministry and how he calls us to ours. For several weeks in a row, we hear about the early disciples signing on with Jesus. And we try to figure out how we should live as disciples. Whether or not we should study to be pastors or Sunday School teachers. How we can be better parents. Seeing the importance of world missions. Connecting Monday with Sunday. Understanding that every day’s work can be faithful to Jesus’ calling. But specifically today, I see, in this awful month of division, that we are called to enlighten. To enlighten and to be enlightened. Oh, but that’s a hard thing to do.
For instance, concerning abortion, I give people the right to choose whether or not to continue a pregnancy. I do not see God’s will furthered when pregnancy occurs because of rape. I value the health of a mother more than the health of a child. On the other hand, I don’t believe that abortion should be used as a kind of birth control. On the other hand, I believe in birth control. On the other hand, birth control is too often a part of sexual promiscuity. Well, some of you agree with that and some of you are horrified. A couple of you stopped listening after the first sentence, and a few more of you pigeon-holed my remarks in a way that you think you know my politics and my morals. But I have feelings about war too, and peace. I used to care more about school re-assignments than I do now. I’ve come to grips with organ transplants and capital punishment and I know where I stand on the ordination of homosexual people. And so do you, I hope. I hope that you’ve taken the time to study and pray and figure out and discover how you feel. That you use your common sense and the holy scriptures and the stories of other Christians to make decisions. And in all of that, you may consider yourself enlightened. But I say you are really enlightened when you listen to someone else’s story, when you see things their way. Not that it changes your way, but that you care enough, love enough, to see things their way. That you live as a pastor, a shepherd, one who cares for the sheep and how they are.
For when you see things a different way, when you take the time and effort to see things the other way, you may understand the situation more fully. May see how personalities come into play. May see prejudices or passions. May see faith and trust as something foundational. May understand your own assumptions better. May deal more with the announcement of good news than with dread darkness. Which is what the people of God are called to do for the rest of the people of God—to offer light more than darkness and life more than death. In truth, we disagree when life begins and what the quality of life ought to be, whether the giving and taking of life should be equal or not, whether eternal life begins now or later. But if we listen to each other, listen to each other with the words of Christ in our ears, who knows what we will see in our walk together.
Jesus said to those first disciples, Follow me. And they did. But it’s my view that the path they all took wandered all over the place. Wasn’t a straight line from here to there. Maybe doubled-back on itself. Had an end-point always in sight, but took detours to be where people were in need. Where people were in pain. Where people were in darkness. And when all was said and done, Jesus and his disciples brought them light. The problem today is that, as disciples called to follow Jesus, when all is said and done, more is usually said that done. Which makes January an awful month, in that what we could do is swallowed up by what we do say. But if we will see things from another’s perspective, how much we might understand. How we could be enlightened. And how we would be a light for others.
Paul said, “I urge you to be united in the same mind and the same purpose.” In January, it may seem that will never happen. But if you promise to look at things my way, and I promise to look at them your way, who knows what February will bring.
01/23/2005
“Seeing Things Your Way” Is 9:1-4 1 Cor 1:10-18 Mt 4:12-23 The Third Sunday after the Epiphany January 23, 2005
January can be an awful month. Not just because it’s cold, though it is that. Not just because it’s bleak and dark, though it is that too. Not even because it’s a time when resolutions that were made are so-soon broken, but because January is the month of our great divide, the time when we tend to be antagonistic. January is when people choose sides on the great abortion debate of Roe vs. Wade. January is the month when Democrats and Republicans insist their own inaugurated leader can handle things best. January is the month when people quarrel about the contributions of Martin Luther King, Jr. This January, people are divided on the right way to deal with Iraq, and the school system offers new re-assignment plans, and our church has offered recommendations on how to deal with the issues of same gender blessings and the ordination of non-celibate gays. All of which is important, but all of which can be divisive, and often is. Though it wouldn’t have to be a problem if you’d just see things my way. But of course, that’s the problem isn’t it—that you and I don’t see things the same way.
Such was the situation in that Greek city of Corinth. In the relatively small congregation of Christians there, people divided themselves at least four ways, with each group claiming social and theological insight and each honoring a particular leader and each presumably saying about the others that they were doing things the wrong way. Which is the real difficulty, you see. Not simply that there are preferences. Not even that there are divisions. But that if you don’t see things my way, you’re doing it wrong. Which ought to be obvious. Which is obvious to me. Why isn’t it obvious to you?
Into that situation stepped Paul, the great Christian missionary who mustered up all the authority he could and told the Corinthian Christians that they had to stop this nonsense of disagreement. “I appeal to you,” he said, “that you be united in the same mind and the same purpose.” But not much changed, because everyone waited for everyone else to start seeing things their way. And the divisions that were continued on. Though in truth, if people had finished what they started, some progress would have been made.
Remember that I said each group waited for the others to see things their way. And that’s exactly what would make things work—if I would see things your way. Not necessarily buy into everything you say or agree with why you say it, but at least take the time and make the effort to understand how you are and why you choose the way you do. True, many people, in their zeal for the truth, maintain that there’s only one way, one real way, one accurate way to see an issue. Two ways, really, but the other way is wrong. And sometimes it is wrong, but that more is expected of people like you and me.
Ten days ago, our national church released the findings of the study many of us went through a year ago. The questions were simple: should the church bless same-gender unions, and should the church ordain non-celibate persons. The questions were simple, but the answers were not. Were not simple because they were so varied. Were so varied because of the difference in stories that people told. Stories that were at the basis of the 28,000 responses which were sent off for counting and advising. Stories which led the study commission to say, Let’s leave things the way they are, with the understanding that marriage is a promise and bond between a man and a woman, and that if any leaders of the church are homosexual, they should be celibate. Not surprisingly, the most conservative among us thought the report said too little, because it didn’t go far enough. Not surprisingly, the most liberal among us thought the report said too little because it didn’t go anywhere at all. Which leaves us with a biblical and theological and social bickering that’s never going to stop.
But for me, the best part of the whole report—and it ran to some pages—is the recommendation that encourages all of us to be pastoral. Not just that the pastors be pastoral, but that the whole church be pastoral. That each of us takes the time to see how the other bunch sees things. Because there’s a reason we each see what we see, isn’t there? If your child or niece is stationed in Iraq or if you served our country in the military, you have feelings about our government’s priorities. If you ever got pregnant at a time when you didn’t want to, you have some feelings about abortion. If you were ever beaten up by a bully at school or had to ride a bus to a too-distant school, you have feelings. If you lost a promotion because of your race or gender, you won’t sit quietly by. Nor should you. There is nothing wrong with dissent, not here and not in the Corinthian church. There is nothing wrong with dissent, but there is everything wrong with an attitude that says there’s only one right way to live life. And I say that, knowing that some of you disagree. Strongly disagree, saying, aren’t there some things that are non- negotiable? Yeah, probably so. But I’ll bet we don’t agree on what those non- negotiable things are. You and I might both agree that Jesus Christ is non-negotiable. Even doing things Jesus’ way. But I’d say that Jesus’ way was one of listening, caring, healing and forgiving. And in all of that, enlightening.
In the first lesson today, you heard words that you may associate only with Christmas Eve. Near the end of our services then, we hear that “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined.” And then we all raise our little white candles so that everyone sees light in the darkness. We heard the words from Isaiah, from today’s first lesson, repeated in today’s gospel lesson, when Matthew claimed that Jesus himself was the light that overcomes people’s darkness. And as Christians we’d agree with that. Though we ought to know that the first lesson told the truth about God’s light long centuries before Jesus.
According to Isaiah, the people who walked in darkness, who lived in darkness were those who didn’t depend on God. Those who, in the face of an enemy’s terrible threat, tried to depend on their own mind, their own wits, their own strength and their own alliances with other people who also depended only on themselves. Not surprisingly, the invasion that threatened those people sort of swept over them, and they were carried off. But Isaiah, living with hope more than despair, said that the days were coming—sooner, later, just ahead, eventually—when anyone who trusts in God would be freed from terror. Freed from personal terror and national terror, from all the trials that mess up life. Certainly we believe that Jesus was such a light. But Jesus himself passed on the ability, even the necessity of being light, when he called people to be his disciples.
For those of us who pay attention to the church year, today is another one of those Sundays in the Epiphany season—when we emphasize the beginning of Jesus’ ministry and how he calls us to ours. For several weeks in a row, we hear about the early disciples signing on with Jesus. And we try to figure out how we should live as disciples. Whether or not we should study to be pastors or Sunday School teachers. How we can be better parents. Seeing the importance of world missions. Connecting Monday with Sunday. Understanding that every day’s work can be faithful to Jesus’ calling. But specifically today, I see, in this awful month of division, that we are called to enlighten. To enlighten and to be enlightened. Oh, but that’s a hard thing to do.
For instance, concerning abortion, I give people the right to choose whether or not to continue a pregnancy. I do not see God’s will furthered when pregnancy occurs because of rape. I value the health of a mother more than the health of a child. On the other hand, I don’t believe that abortion should be used as a kind of birth control. On the other hand, I believe in birth control. On the other hand, birth control is too often a part of sexual promiscuity. Well, some of you agree with that and some of you are horrified. A couple of you stopped listening after the first sentence, and a few more of you pigeon-holed my remarks in a way that you think you know my politics and my morals. But I have feelings about war too, and peace. I used to care more about school re-assignments than I do now. I’ve come to grips with organ transplants and capital punishment and I know where I stand on the ordination of homosexual people. And so do you, I hope. I hope that you’ve taken the time to study and pray and figure out and discover how you feel. That you use your common sense and the holy scriptures and the stories of other Christians to make decisions. And in all of that, you may consider yourself enlightened. But I say you are really enlightened when you listen to someone else’s story, when you see things their way. Not that it changes your way, but that you care enough, love enough, to see things their way. That you live as a pastor, a shepherd, one who cares for the sheep and how they are.
For when you see things a different way, when you take the time and effort to see things the other way, you may understand the situation more fully. May see how personalities come into play. May see prejudices or passions. May see faith and trust as something foundational. May understand your own assumptions better. May deal more with the announcement of good news than with dread darkness. Which is what the people of God are called to do for the rest of the people of God—to offer light more than darkness and life more than death. In truth, we disagree when life begins and what the quality of life ought to be, whether the giving and taking of life should be equal or not, whether eternal life begins now or later. But if we listen to each other, listen to each other with the words of Christ in our ears, who knows what we will see in our walk together.
Jesus said to those first disciples, Follow me. And they did. But it’s my view that the path they all took wandered all over the place. Wasn’t a straight line from here to there. Maybe doubled-back on itself. Had an end-point always in sight, but took detours to be where people were in need. Where people were in pain. Where people were in darkness. And when all was said and done, Jesus and his disciples brought them light. The problem today is that, as disciples called to follow Jesus, when all is said and done, more is usually said that done. Which makes January an awful month, in that what we could do is swallowed up by what we do say. But if we will see things from another’s perspective, how much we might understand. How we could be enlightened. And how we would be a light for others.
Paul said, “I urge you to be united in the same mind and the same purpose.” In January, it may seem that will never happen. But if you promise to look at things my way, and I promise to look at them your way, who knows what February will bring.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Pastor Nagle
01/16/2005
“As Crazy As God Himself” John 1:29-42 The Second Sunday after the Epiphany January 16, 2005
Of all the people you know, who’s the craziest? Is it a relative, a friend, someone in public life? Is it someone who’s been certified insane, or someone who’s mildly eccentric, or someone who simply has a zest for the unusual in life? Who do you know who is nuts? And if someone called you nuts, should you take offense? You probably would, but I wonder if you should. Is it possible to say that someone like John the Baptist was crazy?
You may be tiring of John the Baptist stories. Today’s gospel is the last of them for awhile. We read about him during Advent and again during Christmas, but this morning we reach a kind of conclusion when the Mes- siah whom John predicted actually shows up. Remember that John had chosen to leave the comforts of home and family to go off into the desert wilderness of Palestine. That doesn’t make him crazy, but certainly anti- social. The camel’s hair outfit he wore and the diet of locusts and wild honey he chose weren’t just like everybody else’s, but that may be a minor point. In his preaching, he pressed the need for people to offer their loyal- ty and obedience to God. Nothing crazy about that either, though he might have shouted more than some other preachers. But then John spoke of a vision in which he saw the Holy Spirit coming down from heaven, landing on Jesus’ head. Which either is colorful language or something delusional, when John pointed to Jesus and claimed that he was the Messiah of God, the anointed one, God’s choice to be among Israel, Saviour of the world. Which is sort of wild. But wilder still is that, hearing that proclamation, some of the people who had listened to John preach started following Jesus instead. Sort of stopped the lives they were living to begin some- thing new. Chucked all that had been with John and gave their all to Jesus instead. Walked away from what they were and had, left the rest of their life behind in order to follow Jesus like puppy-dogs, taking mental notes about earthly and heavenly things they never really understood. And some people think a choice like that, commitment like that, is nuts. Do you? Well, here’s a question to help you decide.
Tomorrow morning, I’m going to arrange to have a bus in the driveway to travel to a walled-in monastery where you will give up everything you own and turn aside from everything you have known, say goodbye to family and friends and spend all your time contemplating God. Forever. Do you think I’ll get many takers? And if you’re not one of them, do you think the others are nuts? Maybe not now, since these days Jesus is an ok kind of guy to believe in. But I remind you that Jesus was hugely unpopu- lar with the sensible authorities of his own day, so much so that they final- ly killed him off. So would following somebody like that seem crazy? Does it seem unusual, if not weird, that people still follow a dead guy from long ago? And does it seem even stranger when I say the dead guy didn’t stay dead? Would you wonder about the sanity of anyone who believes that? Or how about this: do you think it’s perfectly normal to believe in a virgin birth or the total forgiveness of sins or walking on water or being raised from the dead? How do you feel about obeying a divinity who can’t be seen but who expects to be worshipped? Do you think it makes sense to say that mighty God speaks to you and wants a relationship with you? If you expect that prayers are heard and that good things happen on purpose, are you nuts? Have you ever considered that this whole thing may seem awfully foolish and more than a little suspicious and calls for some kind of disconnect between reason and faith? Tell the truth, not what you think others expect you to say. The Christian story is almost outlandish, isn’t it? And anybody who just up and follows Jesus may need some serious therapy.
And someone says, that was really cute—how you pointed out the foolish- ness of what we believe. What a clever way to remind us of the import- ance of faith instead of proof. OK. But actually, I still think you’ve got to be crazy to have faith, to believe. I mean, haven’t you had moments when, thinking about people who have lots of faith, people who have more faith than you have, people who have faith when you think they shouldn’t, you consider them nuts? Or if not nuts, at least excessive. Or if not excessive, delusional. Or if not delusional, needy. Or if not needy, certainly not normal. Whatever that means. Do you know what normal means? Was John the Baptist normal? Was Jesus normal? Were the first disciples normal?
Well, if you’re not going to show up for tomorrow morning’s monastery bus ride totally stripped of wealth and family, if you think that that kind of commitment is pushing things a bit too far, if you think that’s crazy, I offer you something else to help you decide what may or may not make sense. I want you to make a list of people who have hurt you or ignored you, people who despise what you hold dear, people who disgust you and give you every reason to hate them, and I want you to go to them and give them a great big hug and tell them you love them. And if they laugh at you, or slam the door on you, I want you to try harder and hug better and kiss longer. It may take several days to visit all the names on your list, but use up your sick leave and vacation days if you need to.
And someone says, “That’s another cute one. Right? You’re just saying these things to prove a point. Right? But what’s the point you’re making? You don’t really expect us to kiss a blue state liberal, do you, or take a godless heathen to lunch or forgive the guy who raped our daughter? ‘Cause that’s not gonna happen. John the Baptist can dress up any way he wants, and he can say that Jesus is God’s Messiah if he wants, and Jesus can walk downtown if he wants and he can call together whatever disci- ples he wants, and he can even drive the bus to the monastery but I’ll be darned if I’m going to do what doesn’t make sense.” Which is the situ- ation, isn’t it. That each of us has some well-developed idea of what does or does not make sense. And if God fits into our sensible scheme of things, that’s fine. But if he doesn’t, well, forget about it. But the assump- tion is that your scheme of things is right. So how far would you go?
If a kid is being mistreated in school, would you make a big stink? What if the kid were somebody else’s? What if it were the kid’s own fault? If the government were denying basic rights to its citizens, how much would you protest? Is it ok to deny rights to non-citizens? Would you give up your job to be a defender of the weak? Is it ok to empty your own kids’ college fund to help provide a Habitat house for somebody else’s kids? Is it normal to think God will provide? Would you buck the country club rules to invite someone dirty and hungry to have lunch with you? Or lend them your car for the afternoon? Would you do any of that very long if the tide of family or public opinion turned against you? And someone says, What are you, nuts? Maybe. But is that bad?
Because, you know, some of life’s most amazing things, some of life’s most wonderful things, some of life’s holiest things, have been carried out by people who were crazy, according to the world around them. Some were people who did in fact think that God speaks to them. People who did in fact believe that we hold our wealth only in trust. People who did in fact think that even sleaze-balls are our brothers. People who did in fact believe that Jesus was serous about forgiveness. People who did in fact believe that God loved more than hated the whole world more than our neighborhood. And there are still people around today who see life in color instead of black and white. People who see excitement more than drudgery. People who are innovative with old things and creative with the rest. People who claim to have visions. Do you think we should call those people nuts?
Call them nuts and either shut them up or ship them off, hoping someone will make them normal so they fit in again? Do you think that’s some- thing desirable—that everyone fits in? Most of us do think that, because challenges aren’t all that wonderful, and upset isn’t all that comfortable, and strangers aren’t all that welcome and imposition isn’t something we would choose. And being a disciple sounds sort of crazy. But the wonder- ful news is that God is crazy too. Probably crazier than we are. Think about it. God created the world, and allowed the creatures to think they ran it. And then allowed them to mess it up. And over and over again re- created it and us, and loves us throughout. Which is not what everybody believes, by the way. Most people we know think that God is not happy and loving, and is really displeased with the way things have turned out and that he’s just waiting for reasons to zap us, and that he may choose tsunamis and certainly does choose cancer to punish us, and day by day fuels the fires of hell to prove to us once and for all who’s in charge. And to some people, I guess that makes sense. Not to me. I like the non-sense of it all—that we believe God didn’t do the logical thing, the normal thing, the sane thing, but instead turned the awful cross into a thing of wonder. Who could have shaken his head in disgust, but who looks at our miser- able lives and washes us clean. Who, after we have run off and run away and run aground and run down, calls us back and welcomes us back and leads us back into some kind of relationship with him. He loves us at the very moment when he shouldn’t and no one else does. Which is totally nuts—and far more and better than you and I have ever given each other.
But you know, what you and I have given each other hasn’t really worked well. And family squabbles and international wars just show how stupid humanity is. Would that we could give up our logical stupidity in favor of old-fashioned craziness. To be nuts. To think that there’s a purpose in life and that we have a chance to work with it and through it. And that God is calling you to make a difference. To be a good parent. To be a forgiving neighbor. To share your wealth with people in need. To use your mind for something ground-breaking. To work for good more than evil. To lead in compromise when there is difference. To not make violence the default. To speak out against what is wrong, and listen when other people are certain that the wrong is in you. To know that we get better than we deserve. To sing in the face of loss. To know that death is not the end. Which sounds vaguely acceptable in church, but doesn’t always get carried over into Monday.
Do you know how many people think that any and all of that is nuts? Do you realize how different being a believer can make you? Do you know how strange it is to live with joy and not sadness, with hope and not despair, with life and not death? Maybe you do. And if you do know that, then you’re probably nuts. As crazy as God himself. Which isn’t all bad. So this week, I invite you to think about it.
01/16/2005
“As Crazy As God Himself” John 1:29-42 The Second Sunday after the Epiphany January 16, 2005
Of all the people you know, who’s the craziest? Is it a relative, a friend, someone in public life? Is it someone who’s been certified insane, or someone who’s mildly eccentric, or someone who simply has a zest for the unusual in life? Who do you know who is nuts? And if someone called you nuts, should you take offense? You probably would, but I wonder if you should. Is it possible to say that someone like John the Baptist was crazy?
You may be tiring of John the Baptist stories. Today’s gospel is the last of them for awhile. We read about him during Advent and again during Christmas, but this morning we reach a kind of conclusion when the Mes- siah whom John predicted actually shows up. Remember that John had chosen to leave the comforts of home and family to go off into the desert wilderness of Palestine. That doesn’t make him crazy, but certainly anti- social. The camel’s hair outfit he wore and the diet of locusts and wild honey he chose weren’t just like everybody else’s, but that may be a minor point. In his preaching, he pressed the need for people to offer their loyal- ty and obedience to God. Nothing crazy about that either, though he might have shouted more than some other preachers. But then John spoke of a vision in which he saw the Holy Spirit coming down from heaven, landing on Jesus’ head. Which either is colorful language or something delusional, when John pointed to Jesus and claimed that he was the Messiah of God, the anointed one, God’s choice to be among Israel, Saviour of the world. Which is sort of wild. But wilder still is that, hearing that proclamation, some of the people who had listened to John preach started following Jesus instead. Sort of stopped the lives they were living to begin some- thing new. Chucked all that had been with John and gave their all to Jesus instead. Walked away from what they were and had, left the rest of their life behind in order to follow Jesus like puppy-dogs, taking mental notes about earthly and heavenly things they never really understood. And some people think a choice like that, commitment like that, is nuts. Do you? Well, here’s a question to help you decide.
Tomorrow morning, I’m going to arrange to have a bus in the driveway to travel to a walled-in monastery where you will give up everything you own and turn aside from everything you have known, say goodbye to family and friends and spend all your time contemplating God. Forever. Do you think I’ll get many takers? And if you’re not one of them, do you think the others are nuts? Maybe not now, since these days Jesus is an ok kind of guy to believe in. But I remind you that Jesus was hugely unpopu- lar with the sensible authorities of his own day, so much so that they final- ly killed him off. So would following somebody like that seem crazy? Does it seem unusual, if not weird, that people still follow a dead guy from long ago? And does it seem even stranger when I say the dead guy didn’t stay dead? Would you wonder about the sanity of anyone who believes that? Or how about this: do you think it’s perfectly normal to believe in a virgin birth or the total forgiveness of sins or walking on water or being raised from the dead? How do you feel about obeying a divinity who can’t be seen but who expects to be worshipped? Do you think it makes sense to say that mighty God speaks to you and wants a relationship with you? If you expect that prayers are heard and that good things happen on purpose, are you nuts? Have you ever considered that this whole thing may seem awfully foolish and more than a little suspicious and calls for some kind of disconnect between reason and faith? Tell the truth, not what you think others expect you to say. The Christian story is almost outlandish, isn’t it? And anybody who just up and follows Jesus may need some serious therapy.
And someone says, that was really cute—how you pointed out the foolish- ness of what we believe. What a clever way to remind us of the import- ance of faith instead of proof. OK. But actually, I still think you’ve got to be crazy to have faith, to believe. I mean, haven’t you had moments when, thinking about people who have lots of faith, people who have more faith than you have, people who have faith when you think they shouldn’t, you consider them nuts? Or if not nuts, at least excessive. Or if not excessive, delusional. Or if not delusional, needy. Or if not needy, certainly not normal. Whatever that means. Do you know what normal means? Was John the Baptist normal? Was Jesus normal? Were the first disciples normal?
Well, if you’re not going to show up for tomorrow morning’s monastery bus ride totally stripped of wealth and family, if you think that that kind of commitment is pushing things a bit too far, if you think that’s crazy, I offer you something else to help you decide what may or may not make sense. I want you to make a list of people who have hurt you or ignored you, people who despise what you hold dear, people who disgust you and give you every reason to hate them, and I want you to go to them and give them a great big hug and tell them you love them. And if they laugh at you, or slam the door on you, I want you to try harder and hug better and kiss longer. It may take several days to visit all the names on your list, but use up your sick leave and vacation days if you need to.
And someone says, “That’s another cute one. Right? You’re just saying these things to prove a point. Right? But what’s the point you’re making? You don’t really expect us to kiss a blue state liberal, do you, or take a godless heathen to lunch or forgive the guy who raped our daughter? ‘Cause that’s not gonna happen. John the Baptist can dress up any way he wants, and he can say that Jesus is God’s Messiah if he wants, and Jesus can walk downtown if he wants and he can call together whatever disci- ples he wants, and he can even drive the bus to the monastery but I’ll be darned if I’m going to do what doesn’t make sense.” Which is the situ- ation, isn’t it. That each of us has some well-developed idea of what does or does not make sense. And if God fits into our sensible scheme of things, that’s fine. But if he doesn’t, well, forget about it. But the assump- tion is that your scheme of things is right. So how far would you go?
If a kid is being mistreated in school, would you make a big stink? What if the kid were somebody else’s? What if it were the kid’s own fault? If the government were denying basic rights to its citizens, how much would you protest? Is it ok to deny rights to non-citizens? Would you give up your job to be a defender of the weak? Is it ok to empty your own kids’ college fund to help provide a Habitat house for somebody else’s kids? Is it normal to think God will provide? Would you buck the country club rules to invite someone dirty and hungry to have lunch with you? Or lend them your car for the afternoon? Would you do any of that very long if the tide of family or public opinion turned against you? And someone says, What are you, nuts? Maybe. But is that bad?
Because, you know, some of life’s most amazing things, some of life’s most wonderful things, some of life’s holiest things, have been carried out by people who were crazy, according to the world around them. Some were people who did in fact think that God speaks to them. People who did in fact believe that we hold our wealth only in trust. People who did in fact think that even sleaze-balls are our brothers. People who did in fact believe that Jesus was serous about forgiveness. People who did in fact believe that God loved more than hated the whole world more than our neighborhood. And there are still people around today who see life in color instead of black and white. People who see excitement more than drudgery. People who are innovative with old things and creative with the rest. People who claim to have visions. Do you think we should call those people nuts?
Call them nuts and either shut them up or ship them off, hoping someone will make them normal so they fit in again? Do you think that’s some- thing desirable—that everyone fits in? Most of us do think that, because challenges aren’t all that wonderful, and upset isn’t all that comfortable, and strangers aren’t all that welcome and imposition isn’t something we would choose. And being a disciple sounds sort of crazy. But the wonder- ful news is that God is crazy too. Probably crazier than we are. Think about it. God created the world, and allowed the creatures to think they ran it. And then allowed them to mess it up. And over and over again re- created it and us, and loves us throughout. Which is not what everybody believes, by the way. Most people we know think that God is not happy and loving, and is really displeased with the way things have turned out and that he’s just waiting for reasons to zap us, and that he may choose tsunamis and certainly does choose cancer to punish us, and day by day fuels the fires of hell to prove to us once and for all who’s in charge. And to some people, I guess that makes sense. Not to me. I like the non-sense of it all—that we believe God didn’t do the logical thing, the normal thing, the sane thing, but instead turned the awful cross into a thing of wonder. Who could have shaken his head in disgust, but who looks at our miser- able lives and washes us clean. Who, after we have run off and run away and run aground and run down, calls us back and welcomes us back and leads us back into some kind of relationship with him. He loves us at the very moment when he shouldn’t and no one else does. Which is totally nuts—and far more and better than you and I have ever given each other.
But you know, what you and I have given each other hasn’t really worked well. And family squabbles and international wars just show how stupid humanity is. Would that we could give up our logical stupidity in favor of old-fashioned craziness. To be nuts. To think that there’s a purpose in life and that we have a chance to work with it and through it. And that God is calling you to make a difference. To be a good parent. To be a forgiving neighbor. To share your wealth with people in need. To use your mind for something ground-breaking. To work for good more than evil. To lead in compromise when there is difference. To not make violence the default. To speak out against what is wrong, and listen when other people are certain that the wrong is in you. To know that we get better than we deserve. To sing in the face of loss. To know that death is not the end. Which sounds vaguely acceptable in church, but doesn’t always get carried over into Monday.
Do you know how many people think that any and all of that is nuts? Do you realize how different being a believer can make you? Do you know how strange it is to live with joy and not sadness, with hope and not despair, with life and not death? Maybe you do. And if you do know that, then you’re probably nuts. As crazy as God himself. Which isn’t all bad. So this week, I invite you to think about it.
Sunday, January 2, 2005
"Merry Christmas, Sgt. Jenkins"
Pastor Nagle
01/02/2005
“Merry Christmas, Sgt. Jenkins” Jeremiah 31:7-14 John 1:1-18 The Second Sunday after Christmas January 2, 2005
They say it was a darker than usual night, and as cold as anyone could remember. The landscape was desolate, an awful battlefield of the war. The sides were clear-cut. We were the good guys. The North Koreans and their Chinese allies were the bad guys. Everybody knew that. And yet 40 years ago this Wednesday, January 5, 1965, Sgt. Charles Jenkins left the American side of the battle and fled to North Korea. Which made him a deserter, a law breaker, someone guilty of treason perhaps. But more than the official charges, his decision to defect demoralized his fellow soldiers and he was branded a turncoat. For forty years, his family lived in shame at the news, the almost incomprehensible news, that their son and brother had gone over to the enemy. But the family also hoped that one day he would come to his senses and want to return home.
If you’ve read the newspapers any time during the last few months, you know the rest of the story. How Sgt. Jenkins decided he did want to come home, how that desire affected diplomatic relationships, how the news was received by his family in North Carolina, and how it was received by former and present brothers-in-arms. But what do you think? If it were up to you, knowing what you do, a little or a lot, would you allow Sgt. Jenkins to come home, or would you welcome Sgt. Jenkins home, or would you make him live out the days of his bad choice in a foreign land? I assure you that every possible response has been suggested. But in its way, the outcome is a lot like the story of the exiles in this morning’s first lesson.
The prophet Jeremiah, speaking on behalf of the Lord God of Israel, said about the exiles in a far-off place, “See, I am going to bring them from the land of the north, and gather them from the farthest parts of the earth.” “I will turn their mourning into joy, I will comfort them, and give them gladness for sorrow.” Which is pretty amazing. That those who had been carried off would be coming back. Of course, the story of the Jewish exiles isn’t exactly like that of Sgt. Jenkins. In battle, the Jews were prisoners, carried off by the enemy. One dark night, Sgt. Jenkins decided to flee to the enemy. How is it you got on the wrong side? Were you taken there? Did you run there? Are you still there?
Maybe you saw that coming, maybe not. But the purpose of a sermon isn’t to recount old history, so much as it’s to use old history as a basis for looking at how things are today. So there have always been people who have gotten on the wrong side of God, people who intentionally wandered and ran off to the bad guys, people who did stupid and treasonous things, people who disobeyed commandments and consorted with the enemy. The government calls it treason. The church calls it sin. Either way, there’s a disconnect. But how do you feel about anyone changing his mind, and wanting to come back?
You shouldn’t be surprised to know that I get those inquiries all the time. Pastor, I really messed up some years ago. Do you think God still holds it against me? Pastor, if there’s a ranking of sin, do you think what I did was something little or big? Pastor, is New Year’s a good time to look at how life could be? Pastor, this repentance word, does it apply to me? Well of course it does. That’s what today’s first lesson was about—that when you’ve been in a bad place, when you want to come back to love and safety, God is ready and waiting to welcome you home, will actually bring you back. So I’m not worried about God’s response. But I am a little concerned about how people like you feel.
How do you feel about Sgt. Jenkins? That he made his bed and should have to lie in it? Or that he already served a kind of punishment by being away from family and nation? That he should go on national television and apologize for his conduct? Or that forty years is long enough for any of us to forgive and forget? Do you think that the military code and desertion has no statute of limitations, and that the law must be upheld? Should anyone who ran away be allowed to come back? Would it make any difference if Sgt. Jenkins were your uncle? Would it make any difference if your uncle got killed in the Korean War? How inclined are you to wish Sgt. Jenkins a Merry Christmas?
Though the radio station has returned to regular programming, though the mall has moved on to the next holiday, though most people have put the tree out by the curb, in the church we still celebrate Christmas. For four more days, we celebrate Christmas— though in truth, the importance of the day never stops. You do know that there is an important truth, don’t you? That God came and dwelt among us. What this morning’s gospel claimed—that “the Word became flesh and lived among us.” And do you know why that’s such a big deal? So that anyone who had messed up can be brought back. So that anyone who was far off can be made near. So that there can be joy when it’s least expected. So that hope can be made real. So that people like Sgt. Jenkins can come home again. Which, if that really is the Christmas message, must annoy the heck out of some people. That someone who did something wrong, who flagrantly did something wrong, who hurt his family and a whole nation by doing something wrong, should be allowed to get away with it. Would you let Sgt. Jenkins get away with it? Do you think we should allow you to get away with it too?
The gospel lesson for today includes these words: “The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” Granted, I have taken out of context a single sentence. But standing there in the first chapter of John’s gospel, significant Christmas-time scripture that it is, I wonder if words like that could be, should be, ought to be, the foundation for the way you live. That Moses’ way and Jesus’ way are not identical. That we are to worry less about commandments and live more with grace. That we could live less with standards and more with generosity. And understand that Christmas is not about living rigidly, checking our list twice, but that it’s God’s way to cover our naughty with his nice. Not to live foolishly. Not to live totally forgetfully. But to say to Sgt. Jenkins—you want to come back. Fine. We wondered why you wandered off in the first place. We thought you were stupid to do it. But we’d be stupid if we didn’t love you. Certainly we’ll let you back in. Though that doesn’t change the fact that you did break the law. And if the law is broken, there’s a price to be paid.
Does this sound like the way your parent once dealt with you? Is it the way you dealt with, or should have dealt with someone you love? Of course we can start over. Not that we forget it ever happened, but that we’re all entitled to a second chance. Which doesn’t mean there are no consequences. When stuff happens, there’s a fall-out that has to be dealt with. But how much fallout there should be and how long it should be important— ah, that’s the point.
There were some people who were so angry, so hurt, so annoyed by Sgt. Jenkins’ desertion that they did everything possible to prevent his return. That’s understandable. There is pain in life. And when we hurt, when we get hurt through no fault of our own, we sometimes try to hurt back. Some families go to court begging for capital punishment for those who are guilty of a loved one’s death. Though there are also families who go to court urging that such a life be spared. Their own loved one is dead, but they don’t see the purpose of causing another death as payback. How do you feel about sinners? Should we kill them off, or give them a second chance? The theme of the first lesson is that God will bring his people back. Again.
Did you ever get a second chance? Do you ever wish you’d been given a second chance? Might you give a second chance to someone else? Well that’s something to consider at New Year’s, isn’t it? That we have all kinds of images of starting over, of wiping the slate clean, of refreshment. Maybe even repentance and re-establishment. Or at least that’s what you said at the beginning of last year. And did it work out that way for you? The end of Christmas. The beginning of a new year. Should it all be about you giving forgiveness or you getting forgiveness. You helping people start over again or them helping you. The law of Moses or the grace of Jesus. Sgt. Jenkins getting a second chance, or you.
There are different schools of thought, of course. When we appear before the parole board or before the altar of God, some would ask, “Do you deserve a second chance.” “Yes, Lord, I do!” “Are you sorry?” “Yes, Lord, I am.” “Really, really sorry?” “Oh, sorrier than that.” “But can your word be trusted?” “Yes, Lord, it can.” “Will you do it again.” “No, Lord, I’m changed.” Well, the words are right, but how can you gauge the truth? Is anyone willing to be burned twice? Maybe God, who through the prophet Jeremiah said of his people, “See I am going to bring them from the land of the north, and gather them from the farthest parts of the earth, among them the blind and the lame, those with child and those in labor, together; a great company, there shall return here.” God said he would bring the exiles back. But do you know how they got far-off in the first place? They disobeyed God. They didn’t believe him. They didn’t trust him. They figured false gods offered more promise. So they ran off as much as they were taken off. Like Sgt. Jenkins, were guilty of desertion and treason. But even so, God decided to bring them back. Would you, could you, do that?
Again, we’ve left the history books in favor of today’s possibilities. How willing are you to delight in the words of John’s gospel? Not to focus on Moses’ law but to depend on Jesus’ grace. How willing are you to understand Christmas? Not having much to do with mangers or stars or wise men, but having everything to do with the purpose behind God taking on human flesh and coming to live like us and with us. That a world which for so long lived with law, lived only with law, judged everything in black and white and saw retribution as the best response to hurt, suddenly was given a concept of grace. An idea we don’t understand, even though we need it and could delight in it, because it’s not logical, is it? For when someone deserts, when someone lives with the enemy, when someone engages in propaganda against his own people, when someone hates what you love, when someone hurts you, how likely are you to love that person and give your life for them. But he did. The baby Jesus, grown up.
Which is what Christmas is all about, of course—that the baby Jesus grew up, and that Christmas is a prelude to Good Friday and Easter. That God came to take on human life in order to give it up again. That the law was broken and a punishment was given. But that the offense was ours and the punishment was his. That he lived in order to die, knowing he would live again. And that because he lives, so do all the Sgt. Jenkinses of the world. All of us who have been guilty and who deserve punishment. But whose punishment has been taken on by God himself. That he suffers the consequences even though he didn’t cause the problem. That there’s a spanking due, but that God hurts himself. Which doesn’t make sense, but it sure was a nice Christmas present for Sgt. Jenkins who served just a month in prison, and was set free. Free to go back to his life, to his family, to his story.
And we too have been freed to go on. Not because we deserve it, but because we need it. Because God wants us to have it, and gives it to us, even knowing we may run off again, but hoping we’ll run off with him, more, acting as Jeremiah hoped the returning exiles would act: coming and singing aloud on the height of Zion, being radiant over the goodness of the Lord. Not because they had accomplished their freedom. In fact, they could not. But glorifying God who gave them, who gives us, a second chance. A new year. A new life. A gift, at Christmas.
01/02/2005
“Merry Christmas, Sgt. Jenkins” Jeremiah 31:7-14 John 1:1-18 The Second Sunday after Christmas January 2, 2005
They say it was a darker than usual night, and as cold as anyone could remember. The landscape was desolate, an awful battlefield of the war. The sides were clear-cut. We were the good guys. The North Koreans and their Chinese allies were the bad guys. Everybody knew that. And yet 40 years ago this Wednesday, January 5, 1965, Sgt. Charles Jenkins left the American side of the battle and fled to North Korea. Which made him a deserter, a law breaker, someone guilty of treason perhaps. But more than the official charges, his decision to defect demoralized his fellow soldiers and he was branded a turncoat. For forty years, his family lived in shame at the news, the almost incomprehensible news, that their son and brother had gone over to the enemy. But the family also hoped that one day he would come to his senses and want to return home.
If you’ve read the newspapers any time during the last few months, you know the rest of the story. How Sgt. Jenkins decided he did want to come home, how that desire affected diplomatic relationships, how the news was received by his family in North Carolina, and how it was received by former and present brothers-in-arms. But what do you think? If it were up to you, knowing what you do, a little or a lot, would you allow Sgt. Jenkins to come home, or would you welcome Sgt. Jenkins home, or would you make him live out the days of his bad choice in a foreign land? I assure you that every possible response has been suggested. But in its way, the outcome is a lot like the story of the exiles in this morning’s first lesson.
The prophet Jeremiah, speaking on behalf of the Lord God of Israel, said about the exiles in a far-off place, “See, I am going to bring them from the land of the north, and gather them from the farthest parts of the earth.” “I will turn their mourning into joy, I will comfort them, and give them gladness for sorrow.” Which is pretty amazing. That those who had been carried off would be coming back. Of course, the story of the Jewish exiles isn’t exactly like that of Sgt. Jenkins. In battle, the Jews were prisoners, carried off by the enemy. One dark night, Sgt. Jenkins decided to flee to the enemy. How is it you got on the wrong side? Were you taken there? Did you run there? Are you still there?
Maybe you saw that coming, maybe not. But the purpose of a sermon isn’t to recount old history, so much as it’s to use old history as a basis for looking at how things are today. So there have always been people who have gotten on the wrong side of God, people who intentionally wandered and ran off to the bad guys, people who did stupid and treasonous things, people who disobeyed commandments and consorted with the enemy. The government calls it treason. The church calls it sin. Either way, there’s a disconnect. But how do you feel about anyone changing his mind, and wanting to come back?
You shouldn’t be surprised to know that I get those inquiries all the time. Pastor, I really messed up some years ago. Do you think God still holds it against me? Pastor, if there’s a ranking of sin, do you think what I did was something little or big? Pastor, is New Year’s a good time to look at how life could be? Pastor, this repentance word, does it apply to me? Well of course it does. That’s what today’s first lesson was about—that when you’ve been in a bad place, when you want to come back to love and safety, God is ready and waiting to welcome you home, will actually bring you back. So I’m not worried about God’s response. But I am a little concerned about how people like you feel.
How do you feel about Sgt. Jenkins? That he made his bed and should have to lie in it? Or that he already served a kind of punishment by being away from family and nation? That he should go on national television and apologize for his conduct? Or that forty years is long enough for any of us to forgive and forget? Do you think that the military code and desertion has no statute of limitations, and that the law must be upheld? Should anyone who ran away be allowed to come back? Would it make any difference if Sgt. Jenkins were your uncle? Would it make any difference if your uncle got killed in the Korean War? How inclined are you to wish Sgt. Jenkins a Merry Christmas?
Though the radio station has returned to regular programming, though the mall has moved on to the next holiday, though most people have put the tree out by the curb, in the church we still celebrate Christmas. For four more days, we celebrate Christmas— though in truth, the importance of the day never stops. You do know that there is an important truth, don’t you? That God came and dwelt among us. What this morning’s gospel claimed—that “the Word became flesh and lived among us.” And do you know why that’s such a big deal? So that anyone who had messed up can be brought back. So that anyone who was far off can be made near. So that there can be joy when it’s least expected. So that hope can be made real. So that people like Sgt. Jenkins can come home again. Which, if that really is the Christmas message, must annoy the heck out of some people. That someone who did something wrong, who flagrantly did something wrong, who hurt his family and a whole nation by doing something wrong, should be allowed to get away with it. Would you let Sgt. Jenkins get away with it? Do you think we should allow you to get away with it too?
The gospel lesson for today includes these words: “The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” Granted, I have taken out of context a single sentence. But standing there in the first chapter of John’s gospel, significant Christmas-time scripture that it is, I wonder if words like that could be, should be, ought to be, the foundation for the way you live. That Moses’ way and Jesus’ way are not identical. That we are to worry less about commandments and live more with grace. That we could live less with standards and more with generosity. And understand that Christmas is not about living rigidly, checking our list twice, but that it’s God’s way to cover our naughty with his nice. Not to live foolishly. Not to live totally forgetfully. But to say to Sgt. Jenkins—you want to come back. Fine. We wondered why you wandered off in the first place. We thought you were stupid to do it. But we’d be stupid if we didn’t love you. Certainly we’ll let you back in. Though that doesn’t change the fact that you did break the law. And if the law is broken, there’s a price to be paid.
Does this sound like the way your parent once dealt with you? Is it the way you dealt with, or should have dealt with someone you love? Of course we can start over. Not that we forget it ever happened, but that we’re all entitled to a second chance. Which doesn’t mean there are no consequences. When stuff happens, there’s a fall-out that has to be dealt with. But how much fallout there should be and how long it should be important— ah, that’s the point.
There were some people who were so angry, so hurt, so annoyed by Sgt. Jenkins’ desertion that they did everything possible to prevent his return. That’s understandable. There is pain in life. And when we hurt, when we get hurt through no fault of our own, we sometimes try to hurt back. Some families go to court begging for capital punishment for those who are guilty of a loved one’s death. Though there are also families who go to court urging that such a life be spared. Their own loved one is dead, but they don’t see the purpose of causing another death as payback. How do you feel about sinners? Should we kill them off, or give them a second chance? The theme of the first lesson is that God will bring his people back. Again.
Did you ever get a second chance? Do you ever wish you’d been given a second chance? Might you give a second chance to someone else? Well that’s something to consider at New Year’s, isn’t it? That we have all kinds of images of starting over, of wiping the slate clean, of refreshment. Maybe even repentance and re-establishment. Or at least that’s what you said at the beginning of last year. And did it work out that way for you? The end of Christmas. The beginning of a new year. Should it all be about you giving forgiveness or you getting forgiveness. You helping people start over again or them helping you. The law of Moses or the grace of Jesus. Sgt. Jenkins getting a second chance, or you.
There are different schools of thought, of course. When we appear before the parole board or before the altar of God, some would ask, “Do you deserve a second chance.” “Yes, Lord, I do!” “Are you sorry?” “Yes, Lord, I am.” “Really, really sorry?” “Oh, sorrier than that.” “But can your word be trusted?” “Yes, Lord, it can.” “Will you do it again.” “No, Lord, I’m changed.” Well, the words are right, but how can you gauge the truth? Is anyone willing to be burned twice? Maybe God, who through the prophet Jeremiah said of his people, “See I am going to bring them from the land of the north, and gather them from the farthest parts of the earth, among them the blind and the lame, those with child and those in labor, together; a great company, there shall return here.” God said he would bring the exiles back. But do you know how they got far-off in the first place? They disobeyed God. They didn’t believe him. They didn’t trust him. They figured false gods offered more promise. So they ran off as much as they were taken off. Like Sgt. Jenkins, were guilty of desertion and treason. But even so, God decided to bring them back. Would you, could you, do that?
Again, we’ve left the history books in favor of today’s possibilities. How willing are you to delight in the words of John’s gospel? Not to focus on Moses’ law but to depend on Jesus’ grace. How willing are you to understand Christmas? Not having much to do with mangers or stars or wise men, but having everything to do with the purpose behind God taking on human flesh and coming to live like us and with us. That a world which for so long lived with law, lived only with law, judged everything in black and white and saw retribution as the best response to hurt, suddenly was given a concept of grace. An idea we don’t understand, even though we need it and could delight in it, because it’s not logical, is it? For when someone deserts, when someone lives with the enemy, when someone engages in propaganda against his own people, when someone hates what you love, when someone hurts you, how likely are you to love that person and give your life for them. But he did. The baby Jesus, grown up.
Which is what Christmas is all about, of course—that the baby Jesus grew up, and that Christmas is a prelude to Good Friday and Easter. That God came to take on human life in order to give it up again. That the law was broken and a punishment was given. But that the offense was ours and the punishment was his. That he lived in order to die, knowing he would live again. And that because he lives, so do all the Sgt. Jenkinses of the world. All of us who have been guilty and who deserve punishment. But whose punishment has been taken on by God himself. That he suffers the consequences even though he didn’t cause the problem. That there’s a spanking due, but that God hurts himself. Which doesn’t make sense, but it sure was a nice Christmas present for Sgt. Jenkins who served just a month in prison, and was set free. Free to go back to his life, to his family, to his story.
And we too have been freed to go on. Not because we deserve it, but because we need it. Because God wants us to have it, and gives it to us, even knowing we may run off again, but hoping we’ll run off with him, more, acting as Jeremiah hoped the returning exiles would act: coming and singing aloud on the height of Zion, being radiant over the goodness of the Lord. Not because they had accomplished their freedom. In fact, they could not. But glorifying God who gave them, who gives us, a second chance. A new year. A new life. A gift, at Christmas.
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