December 24, 2015 Luke 2

FIRST LESSON

Luke 2:1-20

And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.

(And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.)

And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.

And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:)

To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.

And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.

And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.

And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.

And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.

But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.

And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.

***

There is a magic in December. I woke to snow that had already piled on the empty branches outside my bedroom window, and as I watched the day pass from lighter to darker shades of gray, and the glow of my lit tree become stronger respectively, I noticed, three times someone had shoveled my walk. 

The first shoveler remains unknown, their scrapping of sidewalk, an equally silent surprise as the snow falling and accumulating overnight, and I, gifted like a child to a White Christmas without the chores of an adult. 

The the second shoveler was unknown to me, but clearly older, and perhaps older than should be shoveling, but with his age - that kindness and duty as I have witnessed in old men, who, upon finding out I am alone, treat me as a granddaughter. From my spot between hearth and tree, I spied his shovel and glimpsed grey hair peeking out the back of his cap. Instantly, I felt ashamed that I was inside instead. I withdrew, wanting to lay flat, unable to to face the older man’s shoveling grace. From my hiding spot, I wondered if it was the man who stopped his car when a week ago, I was shoveling the widow’s walk and my own. “Was it you that shoveled mine?” He asked. “No, Sir.” I said, and introduced myself. I wondered, was this his gift returned in kind for my shoveling hers, or was he paying it forward for the one who shoveled his? No matter, my walk had been done more times than I could count, and more times than I have done another’s, and I felt a shame in that. But, perhaps, his shoveling wasn't about keeping tabs, or my harboring guilt. Perhaps it was about freely giving.

As the day darkened to dusk, and the flurries continued - filtering light toward a haze of peach that solidified sunset and snow into a true gloaming, I looked outside, and there in clarity of nearness was Cody, the neighbor kid, the shovel over half his height, but he doubled in energy and quickness. I jumped up, and opened the front door and shouted, “Thank you, Cody!” 

Back in the shadow of indoors, I checked my wallet. Only a couple dollars, and had it of been more, his gesture still would have seemed cheapened in the exchange. I went to my quickly diminishing stash of dried fruit, then pulling on my boots without time for a jacket, I hurried outside after him - shovel over shoulder walking toward his home in the lessening light, “Cody.” He turned and my steps lengthened further and arm reached, “I don't have any cash, but your mom says you like these, the pear things,” and then he smiled, as kids do when they are old enough to shovel snow but not so old that gifts have lost their grander. Walking the paces back toward my door I was warm, and dazed, and exhausted, as if after a race. The handle clicked shut, and just as instantly, I crumbled hunched over. Tears welled my eyes and in my heart I pondered why. 

I wonder, if these are the things Mary pondered in her heart. I wonder, if when she wasn’t looking, someone shoveled out the stable, not once, but the confounding, humbling grace of three times. 

Perhaps the first time, in the morning, on the day, of the eve, of her son’s birth, she woke to a winter’s snow of fresh hay, everything scrapped clean, and piled new again, the flakes of dust particles still stirring and swirling through the stable-crack’s beams of light, and she with an equal restlessness, attempted to settle in on the straw, spreading its fresh bedding, like plumping a pillow of down.

By midday the sun had warmed the stable and with it came the distinct scent of livestock, part dirt on sweat, part straw rubbed into strands of hair, an earthly balm like the fragrance from a fresh Douglas Fir. From past their swing backs and soft translucence of ears Mary glimpsed a second shoveler. He was a stranger, and from beneath the fabric of his head scarf Mary could see the curled gray of his hair. She wondered was he was one those grandfatherly men, who upon seeing her swung back and brimming belly and finding her alone, went the extra mile to show care. Yet, having walked, with child, the distance from Baker to Pendleton, clearing and cleaning the stall was something of which she was entirely capable. Perhaps she felt badly for not, and sunk with shame into the deeply shadowed light. Waiting, she wished Joseph had returned from the registration, the favor seeming less if done by family, rather than someone unfamiliar. Surely, she thought, this was not a gift in kind, for something which she had done, or something she would do.  Yet, maybe the older man’s gift wasn’t about family, or friendship, or paying back, but instead was the kindness of strangers in a foreign land. 

As the day was darkening, Mary was comfortably settled inside, as if by a fire with the glow of holiday lights. Watching the window’s fading day, she again heard the sound of shovel scrape. Who this time? Looking up she glanced the Inn Keeper’s son, shovel over half his height, cheeks warmed and bright. And there in the comfort of familiarity and the gift of third chances, she hopped up belly and all, and glided over to the door and shouting almost before it opened, “Thank you!” 

Back inside, she looked around, at the little she had, and knew none of it seemed quite right, that his wasn’t a gift given for payment. Maybe then she knew, for sure, and looking unto herself, she pulled on her boots by the door, and sans jacket hurried out into the dimming light, to welcome him in, to welcome them all. And as they came, the boy, the old man, the shepherds and the wisemen, Joseph and the Inn Keeper, the sheep and all the animals, and the strangers of this foreign land like neighbors from back home, and all those who were nameless and silent as flakes of snow, as they came, she knelt down, and swaddled him with simple bands of cloth, and laid him in the manger, a gift freely given.

November 22, 2015 Mark 12:38-44

I wonder what the poor widow will eat, for if she has given all she has, there is none left for food. I wonder where the poor widow will sleep, for if she has given all she has, she has accumulated nothing for rent. I wonder how far she must travel to feel safe enough to rest, for I don’t see the scribes, with their long robes, providing her a space to call home. So, I wonder who will help her on the road. She has given everything she had, and in so doing, become a beggar, and beggars can’t be choosers. In giving everything she has she has given up having choices and I can’t imagine, because I have never been without. These are the places my head takes me when I hear her story. I go to practicalities, and necessities. I question what is next. I dislike her frivolousness, her naivety, her delirious hope. But then, I imagine the freedom of such an encompassing hope, and I look around, and this hope is my inspiration. 

This week, “When seven year old Jack Swanson heard that the Islamic Center of Pflugerville, in Texas, had been vandalized, he decided to donate all of his savings – $20 dollars – to the mosque. Vandals had torn pages of the Qur’an, covered it in feces and left it outside the entrance of the mosque. Jack’s mother told ABC News that her son had counted all of his pennies that he had been saving up and exchanged them to a $20 note to give to the mosque. Faisal Na’eem a member of the Mosque’s management told ABC News that members of the Mosque were delighted by Jack’s generosity and that it had brought him hope, “Jack’s 20 dollars are worth twenty million dollars to us because it’s the thought that counts…This gives me hope… it’s not one versus the other. Our kids are going to grow up together… If we have more kind-hearted kids like (Jack) in the world, I have hope for our future.”

In the end the mosque gifts Jack with an iPad, the very thing for which he had been saving, but I don’t think the physicality of each gift is the point, it is the hope that accompanies them, the hope in a future worth giving everything you have. This was this week, but certainly not the first time people have been called to a frivolousness of hope. 

Dan Mcknight, “In 1934 a young pastor watched in sadness as his democratic, educated, and Christian country discarded more and more of its core values. Fear-mongering politicians lured patriotic citizens to throw out their Bibles and worship at the altar of National Security instead, and to behave terribly toward foreigners, minorities, the disabled and the mentally ill. Three weeks after Adolf Hitler was proclaimed Der Führer, nine months after the 'Law for the Prevention of Hereditarily Diseased Offspring' took effect, that young pastor preached a sermon to his flag-waving, nationalist colleagues about how Christians in a crisis should behave.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote,

"There is no way to peace along the way of safety. For peace must be dared, it is itself the great venture, and can never be safe. Peace is the opposite of security... To look for guarantees is to want to protect oneself. Peace means giving oneself completely to God’s commandment, wanting no security, but in faith and obedience laying down the destiny of the nations in the hand of Almighty God, not trying to direct it for selfish purposes. Battles are won, not with weapons, but with God. They are won when the way leads to the cross."

- Dietrich Bonhoeffer, 1934 [Renate Bethge's Dietrich Bonhoeffer: A Brief Life]

The way that led to the cross was not one of fighting, it was not one of hoarding, it was not one that kept a single penny. It was that which was delirious with hope, frivolous with expectation, and held a naivety that overcame the world. We as Christians are a people of hope, not of fear, and I like to imagine, what it would be like, even if just for a moment, we entertained a picture of life rooted in hope. Life based not in practicalities, but in the necessity of hope. 

To imagine it is to imagine the kingdom of God. It might look like four women in 1884 beginning a Presbyterian Church in the middle of mining camp, frontier town, Baker City, Oregon. It might look like two church fires later the same congregation still continuing. It might look like that congregation today, taking youth under its wing, nurturing its Luke Rembolds that they might someday nurture its Jake McClaughrys of this congregation or others. It might look like a church who puts as much, or more effort, into otherwise unaccepted kids, as it does those who are bound for high achievement. Because they value hope as much and more than success. It might look like a congregation who watched Nathan Defrees grow and now celebrates with a bustle of excitement he and his wife’s first child. It might look like writing on the Stewardship letters to college kids, “We wanted you to feel included, but hope you think about giving where you are.” That the stamps and paper, are worth the cost of the possibility, of helping young adults learn to pay it forward, and to pay those blessing back to God, with whatever single penny they have. That they are worth our hope. It may look like the volunteers at Open Door, serving breakfast to middle schoolers because they believe people should be fed body and soul no matter if those volunteers, much less the church, receives anything in return. It may look like a lot of planning for the Backpack Program which sends food home with kids for the weekend because to give to them is to give out of our abundance, when we could have easily had lack as they. I imagine too that a life based in hope isn’t based on an endowment, or perpetuity, much less tomorrow, it is based our giving today. That we give out of our hope, that we give toward the church, and the community, and the world we can imagine to be God’s kingdom. 

I like to imagine that we are Jesus watching the poor widow, unafraid of what she will eat, unafraid of where she will sleep, unafraid of her safety, or the kindness of strangers, but instead already living into the kingdom of God. I pray we watch and one another, and see her frivolousness of hope, and its inspiration thereunto. I pray as Christians we can been seen as deliriously hopeful. I imagine a place with the generosity of children and the way they are able to break down the walls that divide us with their hopeful simplicity. I imagine a place with naivety of peace valued as the strength of nations. I imagine a church who gives not as those with abundance and fear for their own tomorrow, but instead gives out of their abundance of hope - for a community whose children are fed and accepted, for a country with youth who know how to paying it forward, for adults who value giving their time and talents to others as central to their identity, an identity of hope. It is to be Christian. To hope is to see the kingdom of God.

November 15, 2015 Mark 12:28-34

One of the scribes came near and heard the disciples disputing with one another, 

and seeing that Jesus answered them well, the scribes asked him, 

“Which commandment is the first of all?” 

Jesus answered, 

“The first is, 

‘Hear, O Israel: 

the Lord our God, 

the Lord is one; 

you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, 

and with all your soul, 

and with all your mind, 

and with all your strength.’ 

The second is this, 

‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ 

There is no other commandment greater than these.” 

Then the scribe said to him, 

“You are right, 

Teacher; you have truly said that 

‘the Lord is one, and besides the Lord there is no other’; 

and ‘to love the Lord with all the heart, 

and with all the understanding, 

and with all the strength,’ 

and ‘to love one’s neighbor as oneself,’

 —this is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.” 

When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, 

“You are not far from the kingdom of God.” 

After that no one dared to ask him any question.

SERMON (PASTOR)

Folks, I am angry. I am angry about Paris and Lebonnon, I am angry about politics, I am angry about liberal conservative, republican democrat, Christian Agnostic, Presbyterian or those leaving the denomination, Eastern Oregon vs Portland - not to mention Californians clumped in as a group. I am angry about Agriculture vs. Enviomentalism, urban vs. rural, Israel vs. Palestine, Big Government vs. Social Programs, black vs. white, America vs. Afghanistan, or Iraq, or even ISIS, China, Russia, fill in the blank. I am angry about borders and walls. I am angry that every cardinal direction has not only an identity or culture but instead a definition and with it a division. What do you picture when I say, the South, the Northeast, the West, the Pacific Northwest, the Midwest, and my home state, Texas, which pretends it is entirely its own thing forgetting that six flags have flown over its land. I am angry about the ways we define others in a word, homeless, addict, schizophrenic, gay or lesbian, man or woman, fat or beautiful, smart or ‘frankly an idiot.’ I am angry that the phrases which get cheers at a political rally are those which are simply against rather than constrictively unique. Did you know that the votes of 95% of Americans likely to cast ballots are already determined along party lines. And those who swing from between parties has dropped from 15% in the 1960s to a mere 5 today. I am angry because there is a constant push to pick one side or another, and in so doing to define ourselves against the other. I am angry because to do so dismisses acceptance, and thats how I read the greatest commandment. 

To, ‘love your neighbor as yourself,’ doesn't mean to love them if and only if they agree with you. It doesn’t mean to love them by attempting to change their mind. It doesn’t mean to try to convince them that physician assisted euthanasia is wrong. It doesn’t mean to attempt to get them to stop drinking. It doesn't mean to pressure a young couple into marriage or an older one away from divorce. It doesn’t mean that you turn your back on those who have left the denomination. It means you turn toward and love with all you have. Loving your neighbor means loving them as they are and for who they are, now matter how deep that difference runs. I think about the Christmas truce of WWI. The trenches deep and cold and the no mans land between a ground of certain death, and from those very trenches came the song of Silent Night that Christmas Eve. In the morning a day of peace was garnered and men emerged from the shell of trenches to be met with gifts and games rather than the shells of war. I think of Mother Theresa walking into the midst of battle and the two sides laying down their arms. I think of Mr Roger’s admonition to look for the helpers in the midst of conflict. I think of Challenge Day at the high school with dozens of kids from different groups crossing the line for the hardships they have known, and coming together despite their social class or economic station. 

I think of this church, where forest service and ranchers sit next to one another and worship. I think of this church where we can a discussion about same sex marriage and though there exist opposing sides with deep personal convictions, no one is angry, and certainly no one leaves the conversation, much less the church. I think of this church and the now infamous flags in the sanctuary debate and that after the session discussion one side called the other the next morning, just checking in, reminding of their care. You a a congregation that when someone gets divorced prays for both sides of a couple. You are a congregation who celebrates the myriad of gifts and the diversity of backgrounds. This is our church. The love runs deep. This ability to love one another for who they are, is perhaps the most defining thing of our congregation. I reassured a newer member the other day, who worried about how changes in our church finances might split the body. “It wont happen I said.” Its not who you are. You love one another and seek each other’s well being, you are not unified in thought, but more importantly, like the commandment, you are united in love and that, not any ideology or theology is what binds you. 

First Presbyterian, we can’t go out and change our neighbors who have become polarized, that in itself would not be loving them. We have love people who can only see one side or the other. But what we can also do, is hold tight to the love we have and share that love. We as first Presbyterian can show that love have a place to remain, because it doesn’t sit on one side or another, it is in the trenches on each side, and crosses the no mans land, and lifts up the hymn of silent night. In this increasingly one or the other world, may we, First Presbyterian, keep the commandment, to love our neighbors, as ourself, even if they are very different from ourselves. 

November 8, 2015 Mark 10:17-31

As Jesus was setting out on a journey, 

a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him,

 “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

 Jesus said to him,

 “Why do you call me good? 

No one is good but God alone. 

You know the commandments: 

‘You shall not murder; 

You shall not commit adultery; 

You shall not steal; 

You shall not bear false witness; 

You shall not defraud; 

Honor your father and mother.’” 

The man said to Jesus,

“Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.” 

Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, 

“You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, 

and give the money to the poor, 

and you will have treasure in heaven; 

then come, follow me.”

 When the man heard this,

he was shocked and went away grieving, 

for he had many possessions. 

SERMON (Rev. Katy Nicole)

I wonder how the man asked the question, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Did he ask it in way that conveyed he already knew the answer? That the checklist of not to murder, not to commit adultery, not to steal or slander, had been accomplished since his youth. Did he say it with pride and that was why Jesus looking at him loved him and said, “You lack one thing.” Is that why when the man heard this he was shocked and went away grieving, had he thought he had done enough. Had he thought he followed every rule, and then realized he had forgotten the golden one. 

Or perhaps, did the man ask the question, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Did he ask it in a way that was scared of what the answer might be. Was it one of those answers that deep down he knew. Did he merely have to look around his house, and then look outside to see the discrepancy between the haves and the have nots? Was it something that had been nudging him, and now, in the moment with the Good Teacher, compelled him? Was he not at all surprised to be told, “go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor,” was his grief instead the shock of being told exactly what he didn’t want to hear? 

Today? years later, the scripture asks us the same question, and I wonder if we are surprised. Having kept those commandments quite well, did we think we have lived a good life and believed we are righteous by our merit alone? Did we try to alter the text, and say such things as, “I think it speaking of priorities,” and therefore excuse ourselves from the radical nature of giving away for all we have worked? Or do we get it, and are shocked at the new checklist of all we have to give away. If we were to line up everything we own in front of our door, how long would the line stretch, and would this be the first time we have looked at its conglomeration, it’s rich excess? Would be shocked, or do we already know what’s there?

Are you like me, does this scripture come as no surprise, is its presence routine like a ever present reminder of the still more there is to do? When there is that extra little something in our shopping bag does it also bring guilt as it pulled out and placed among the myriad of other things? Do we hear Jesus’ admonition and walk away sulking because though we kept the bigger commandments, this most pervasive one has snuck in as a new this, or just a little that. Are we to scared to line up our belongings outside our door because we already know the shame of having too much when others have so little. Likewise if we lined out our time, our calendar, do we spend it seeking the treasures on earth, or is it lived in the treasures of heaven of the action of the golden rule?

I am not sure which one each of you are, if you hear this scripture and are shocked by its radical charge, or if you are constantly reminded to reassess. Either way, the charge is humanly impossible, and we get lost from where to start and cannot imagine where to end. The scripture doesn’t tell us what the man does, if he goes home and begins, or never starts, and if he starts, to whom he begin to give, and how long does he keep on giving? Jesus didn’t tell him how, or how long. Instead he looked on him with love, and I imagine him looking upon us the same, that standing beside our hoarding lines of stuff stretching down the street from our front door, he looks on us with love, and asks us to come follow him, to leave those treasures. And I wonder if I could do it, if I could walk away from everything I own, for all my years of accumulation, and walk on down ninth street and follow him. But I will tell you, the times Jesus has looked on me with love, I would. I would do it for the frivouslness of joy, for the spontaneousness of laughter, for the depth of thankfulness, for the satisfaction of justice, for the encompassing of love. He has looked at us with love, and with it our shock or reminder, he is saying follow. It is ours now, to tell the beginning of how we shed our earthly treasures, and of the treasures we have found in following him. The treasure of being looked upon with love. Which story will we tell?

November 1, 2015 Revelation 21: 1-6a

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God… And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘See, the home of God is among mortals. God will dwell with them; they will be God’s people, and God will be with them; God will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.’ And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.’ Also God said, ‘Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.’ Then God said to me, ‘It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life.


***

I don’t know much; I don’t know how the universe is continually expanding, or what the weather will be next week, or whose funerals will come with the Fall. Likewise, there is not much I fully believe; you’ve heard my skepticism of miracle stories, and I often skip preaching the yearly Transfiguration lectionary, I used to wish for, ‘world peace,’ on dandelions but have since given up. I don't know much, and there is not much I fully believe, but I believe there is much we don’t know.
       

 Once upon a time a person could know all written knowledge, and today that amount is produced in a matter of seconds. Yet, there are there are things which eons will not explain. These are things I believe.
       

I believe there this time, counted by clocks and daylight savings, and the pattern of sunrise and sunset, but I also believe that there is God’s time, which stretches from everlasting to everlasting, like a continually expanding universe. I believe it can neither be marked or measured but that it simply is.
       

I believe that there this world, with the flat Baker Valley ground beneath our feet, abutted by alpine ranges, overcast with the morning clouds’ haze burning off in the sun. I believe in this ground, how could I not, for it is where I step, but I also believe there are simultaneous other worlds, that the earth, this dust upon dust, does not merely bury, but is merely a passage from one world to the next. I believe these passages do not simply come once, that we die and are raised, instead I believe we are visited, by the departed and the steps they make among us, through memory, through dreams, through heirlooms on to which we hold tight, and tears we grieve hard.
       

Paramountly, I believe that we are visited not just by the deceased, but by the divine. Like the reverse of a grave, Jesus was born from a womb, from holy to lowly, from heaven to earth, to walk among us, where we step, in this Baker Valley, so that we might see a new Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God, in the green plants that muddle through summer’s ashen ground, and the rain soaking this dry, dry earth. I believe Jesus came so that we might know the justice that seeks out the blind from the crowd, or gives equality to a myriad of students at Open Door and to those in need through Backpack. Jesus, this same voice which beckoned the children forward, is still beckoning, let them come.
       

I believe if we listen we might hear the loud voice from the thrown saying,
‘See, the home of God is among mortals.” I see God’s tabernacle in the dark veins of brightly color leaves, and the needles of Western Larch which fall like golden snow. The loud voice says, “God will dwell with them;” and in those times where I would otherwise feel completely alone, I believe I am not, and the presence of God surrounds me like two friends in the lean of a hammock. The loud voice says, “they will be God’s people,” and I believe that no matter who we are or what we do, nothing can separate us from God’s continual leaning in, that, “God will be with them;” in those with a deacons hearts and an elders’ actions, those who keep who know the deep places of others and seek to comfort. The Loud voice calls, “God will wipe every tear from their eyes.” I believe this as I tell a divorcing husband, a now parentless adult, a child on the playground, that though the pain might last, there will come a day when you shed no tear. I believe, just as the loud voice says, “Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more,” I believe this when in the same season there is both birth and death, when I hear the memories of a loved one and see them perpetuated in their heirs, I believe this when a widower finds love again and a widow kinship in old women. For the first things have past away, but God says, ’See, I am making all things new.’

 I no longer wish on dandelions, I have given up on world peace through human effort, but I believe that there is more to the world than what I can know. I believe in the unknown, in its unfathomable ability to make all things new, just as we were made new in the womb of heaven, just as we are made new each morning in this womb of earth, and that someday beyond this present dust we will be made anew. God said to me, ‘It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. Also God said, to the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. This belief is a gift, it has quenched my thirst, and I pray does yours. May we believe beyond knowing and find comfort in the assurance unknown. We don’t know much, but this may we know.

October 4, 2015, Luke 24:13-33, Jim Kauth, Guest Preacher

                                                             The Road to Emmaus

            There are times I really miss my parents, the reasons oh, any number of them, sometimes I just want to call and share the wonderful things that have happened with my family, in my life, in my community, but I can’t call, they’ve been dead for over thirty years. But that desire to hear the voices of loved ones, to see them once again brings back so many good memories of favorite uncles and aunts, moms and dads, brothers and sisters, what wonderful gifts these memories.                           Isn’t that how it goes with families?

           These special gifts sometimes come with smells, faint echoes of voices and feather touches from our past. When I remember my mom and dad, I mean really remember, I can smell her and him from those special times, usually just before bed, when I would snuggle with mom. She smelled of cinnamon and roses, I can still smell dad’s breath when he would tuck me in, faint hints of the meatloaf he so loved, a whispered good night, I can feel his whiskers on my cheek when he kissed me, even now. Isn’t that how it goes; you don’t have to be a child to remember like a child.

When we remember those who we love we remember their habits, their idiosyncrasies and the funny family stories about them. We had a fairly large lawn out in front of the house; at least it seemed large when I had to mow it. One time when my cousins came over on a hot summer day, we kids were jumping over the sprinklers; aunts, uncles, mom and dad were all out front watching us. Lots of giggling and yelling by us kids, lots of laughing by the grownups as we kids slipped and slid on the wet grass jumping over the sprinkler. I can clearly hear my mother saying that sure looks like a great way to stay cool! Well you see the direction of this story; my mom took up dad’s challenge, kicked off her shoes and gave it a try. I remember she did ok the first few jumps but…… her feet finally slipped and she butt planted on the wet grass, it was a great jump just a lousy landing. Oh we kids rolled on the grass in abandoned laughter and the grownups laughed pretty hard too. My mom didn’t like to be laughed at and as she stomped to the front door, wet bottom swinging side to side we all laughed even harder. Yet just before she walked in to the house she turned and smiled the most brilliant, dazzling smile I have ever seen to this day and I swear that her smile was just for me.

When I remember, like this, I know I am once again with her in a way I could never be with her when she was alive. The way I’m with my mother is very real, even though my physical senses tell me no one is with me, I know she is here with me because my spirit tells me we are together and this happens when

I REMEMBER HER! Isn’t that how it goes when we remember those we love?

Two men walking on a dusty road deep in thought and sorrow, a stranger joins them, notes how despondent they are and asks why. Cleopas’ world is very small right now; he’s surprised that someone doesn’t know what happened three days ago in a comparatively backwater speck of a city in the wide Mediterranean world, a city called Jerusalem. He tells this stranger about Jesus of Nazareth, a “Prophet powerful in action and speech before God and all the people”, and how their chief priests and leaders handed Him over to the Romans to be sentenced to death by crucifixion. And it has been three day since He was crucified, died and was buried. They tell the stranger of their hope that this man was the anointed one whom God would send to redeem Israel, a hope that was now just a corpse of a memory. And it seems this memory of dashed hopes was the only corpse because friends of this man Jesus went to the burial cave to prepare the body where they found the stone over the cave mouth rolled aside and there was no body.

I think these men were not really walking toward Emmaus; they were walking away from Jerusalem, away from pain, loss, dashed hopes, and sorrow.

Listen closely to how these men refer to “the things about Jesus of Nazareth”. These men see Jesus as a “Prophet” yes, powerful in word and deed but just a man. After all, wasn’t the Messiah a leader of men? Yes, these men saw the messiah through their preconceptions supported by their hearing only those parts of Scripture they were comfortable with, that harmonized with their world-view, not truly hearing what God was telling His people through His Prophets.

This was not acceptable to Jesus so He chided them and opened their ears as He taught them what God has said through the prophets about the Messiah, about the “Living Word, the creation Word who was God, who was to be rejected, who was to suffer and die”, and their hearts were ablaze.    Isn’t that how it goes for Disciples of Christ, Jesus, the Living Word of God, opens our ears to God’s Word in Scriptures and our hearts are ABLAZE!

These men, Cleopas as named in this Gospel and Simon as Christian tradition names, both of them said to part of the group of disciples whom Jesus sent out to towns and villages where Jesus would soon be going, these men once again have HOPE. In this hope these men now can see a much larger world. Where once they were encased in a bubble of sorrow, fear and hatred for their own leaders and the Romans, they now are free to embrace God’s purpose in this wide world. In this freedom these men, Cleopas and Simon opened their hearts to this stranger and offered him hospitality, they invited him to take a meal with them.

This week another stranger has come into our lives and has opened our hearts in a different way. I’m talking about the Umpqua Community College shooting, where nine people and the shooter are now dead and seven others are wounded, three of these seven are still in critical condition. This tragic violence for some has opened their hearts to hate and fear. Because of this tragedy the families of those killed and those wounded and the family of the one who had visited this violence on others have had their hearts opened to devastating sorrow. All are in a bubble of sorrow, fear and hatred. How can hope be embraced where no hope is now present, how can they be released from a prison of fear when a life of fear is all that can be seen; how can forgiveness be given when there is no room for forgiveness in their sorrow, how can love once more grow where it has been killed. How can we be the face and hands of Jesus to these hurting sorrow filled people? We start with opening our hearts to all these strangers offering them hospitality. In our hearts we invite them to share a meal, a very special sacred meal.

Isn’t that how it goes for Disciples of Christ, in grateful thankfulness for the gifts Jesus gives us, we open our hearts to Jesus and invite Him into our hearts.

When we remember those who we love we remember their habits. As Jesus “reclined at the table with them He took the bread, blessed and broke it and gave it to them, then their eyes were opened”. Cleopas and Simon spent three years living with Jesus, they know Jesus, they know His gestures, His habits, they recognized the way he took the bread, blessed it and broke it. They remembered the way He handed the pieces of bread to each of them. They saw Jesus. The New Revised Standard Version Bible translation says “and He vanished from their sight”, but not from their Spirit. That very hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem to share the Good News.

The Road to Emmaus sets the tone for this new Kingdom age, this age of Christ.

• We feel the loss of Jesus’ physical presence and for some of us we can’t name this feeling, we just feel empty.
• Then a stranger, someone outside of our lives, opens up a new reality, a new way of looking at life. God’s Word comes alive for us.
• We respond to this gift with a gift of our own, we open up our hearts to this new thing, this new way of seeing, and this stranger.
• When we open our hearts we recognize and can name the stranger, we remember Jesus, we see Jesus.
• With our recognition and embracing of Jesus we now belong to God, we are now the beloved; we now have hope, freedom, forgiveness and purpose all because Jesus has reached out to us.

The scriptures can and do bring the real presence of Jesus into our lives and we celebrate this real presence in a very special way.

This special celebration, this special sacred remembering of Jesus is the “Lord’s Supper”. This sacred remembering is foreshadowed in this part of the Gospel; the disciples remembered Jesus when He broke the Bread and we remember Jesus when we take the bread and wine.

Now I want to share with you something my youngest daughter recently taught me, I know she doesn’t realize what she taught me, yet God did God’s work through her, I just learned that sacred remembering is not intended only for Jesus and those we personally love, yes this sacred remembering is Jesus centered but not only of Jesus. We can remember families who we do not personally know, we can remember families in their sorrow, in sacred and caring love just as we remember Jesus, we can share this sacred meal with these families today, share in our hearts and in God’s Spirit.

There where two disciples and Jesus was there with them, when we gather in community for the “Lord’s Supper” Jesus and all who are in need are here with us. I know we are with Jesus and all of God’s family in a way we could never be with Jesus if we were alive when He walked this earth and I Know we can be with all those in need in a very special way even if they are not here physically. The way we are with Jesus is very real, even though our physical senses tell us no one is with us, we know Jesus and the world are present with us because our spirit tells us we are together when WE REMEMBER JESUS as we celebrate the “Lord’s Supper”. We and the world are the BELOVED; we, the world, can now have hope, freedom, forgiveness and purpose. Isn’t that how it SHOULD go FOR THE WORLD AN US when we remember Him who LOVED US FIRST, WHEN we RETURN hIS love IN OUR REMEMBERING?

AMEN

           

             

September 6, 2015, Mark 10:13-16

People were bringing little children to Jesus in order that he might bless them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them. But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, 

“Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; 

for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. 

Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child 

will never enter it.” 

And he took the children up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.

***

I have never seen a congregation as good at welcoming children as you. Just last week Ed and Jim Kauth suited up Sydney and Silas in the acolyte robes and walked behind them, Ed picking up Sydney whose face scrunched in concentration as she lit the each candle with the help of her grandmother’s guiding arm. Ditto the the same for the offering plates and the patient hand on the shoulder to wait to pass them over until after the prayer of dedication. The thing is any of you, not just their grandparents, would have jumped up to do the same. You do it for Vacation Bible School, where we welcome kids from all over the community, our church rooms are full and squirming like an ant colony and your leadership and attention equally an organized chaos. You are comfortable with the chaos of children, and during the children’s sermon many of you are rooting for the kids, rather than their pastor. The kids winning doesn’t look like perfect angels quiet and attentive. Instead it looks like perfect angels silly and disruptive. If I win it looks a little too much like the disciples winning in this passage, keeping the kids away from Jesus. If the kids win, in the crazy kid-ness, it looks a lot more like Jesus describes the kingdom of God. It looks like coloring sharing cards, running down the aisle, and jumping off the chancel steps. Its a kid-dom of God in this place, and it doesn’t stop with our little ones. 

We are a tiny church with a full time youth director, with adults who volunteer their time to go on mission trips, cook Presbyterian Youth Group (PYG) dinners, and serve Open Door Breakfasts or play a round of ping pong. The youth have an auction and your generosity is astounding, its not because you desire some help raking leaves. Its because you want each kid to know they and their gifts are supported. Likewise, we have a youth elder and a youth deacon who help give voice to different perspectives and a different look to congregational care. Their voice and their care often means more than those of the adults around them, in the same way that watching Sydney and Silas brings us more joy than an our adult ushers. Kids are valued in this church and that is half of what Jesus is saying. The other half is harder.

The other half is for us to be like children. We are a congregation of doers and sometimes we have to be reminded to play. I know often times I rush in like a whirlwind, each minute a checklist prior to worship. I wonder how much of you feels the same. How do we enter this space? When is the last time you jumped from the chancel steps because it looked fun or ran down the aisle without care. If this would would be the end of you, when is the last time you simply smiled at the thought. How do we enter God’s space? Do you want grab a kids coloring bag, because I think it would be okay, pick up a sharing card and decorate it like the world is a blank page, or if you knit, knit, or if you have to giggle just let out (though we all know, part of the kid-dom of God is laughing when your supposed to and how much funnier things become when your trying to hold it in, especially in church. I think this is a God thing.) How do you enter God’s space?  Little Grace sometimes walks in with a totwo and Kathryn Gentry likes sparkles, Maddie princesses, and Jake his boots, and Coleman his cowboy hat. What would you wear if each day held the opportunity of a dress up box because it does in the kid-dom of God? How do express your concern in the kid-son of God? Cards and phone calls and flowers are great but don’t limit yourself. Once when I was having a hard day Maddie asked Melissa if she was going to dance to cheer me up, so the Irvine kids made hopping, dancing, Maddie subsequently falling and getting right up - video, just to make me smile and brighten my day. It worked and I have taken it on, and I have got to tell you, making silly, jumping, dancing videos for people is about the most fun way to cheer someone up. Its about living in the kingdom of God. How do you sound in the kid-dom because its about singing at the top of your lungs no matter how you sound, or whose around, whether or not you know the hymn. Its about exploring and adventuring, and making the most of three day weekends even in the cold. Its about giant hugs given at the knees and the bend over to rub the little back and say thank you. Its about sitting with Dale and Shirley in fellowship hour and laughing contagiously like Zach Allen, or being as witty as Julie Gentry and Mark Ferns who also excels at making faces. Its like Sharon Defrees reading a Bible story or Luke leading the guitar. Its like the silly photo booth pictures we took last Christmas with antlers and red noses and frankly they were some of the best, most happy pictures of you I’ve ever seen. Its like Tom Kulog who would help Magnolia when she was younger feel comfortable at church or each of the volunteers who have signed up to help watch the nursery. There are people in our congregation who are closer to the kid-dom of God. Perhaps they can help show us the way but it takes a letting go, so we are going practice. On the count of three, I want you to make the silliest face you can think of 1, 2, 3, okay, that was decent, but lets get even sillier, 1, 2, 3, silver 1,2,3,

that my friends is the kid-dom of God. How did that feel? What did you experience? What did we have to let go to make a silly face? The fear of being the only one? Wondering how our face looks? The idea that silly faces don’t belong in church? We know they do, because we welcome them in our kids, but it takes an effort to welcome them from ourselves. There is doctor who has studied relationships and he says that one of the most important ways that relationships last is if during the middle of disagreement if someone can lighten the mood, make a joke, a silly face, ask for a hug. I have watched countless parents do this, the kid is wailing and the parent, knowing that this is not the end of the world validates the kids feelings but then does something silly, tickles the kid, points out a duck or a caterpillar going by. Its one of those moments where adults practice kid language, the language of God, of love, and care, and sheer joy. Can you imagine if our world leaders did this? What if during official visits and discussions there was a golden retriever who wandered around the room smiling and nudging the speaker? What if our parades in town focused on throwing kids candy and being a community instead of protest march? What if our congregation colored and did art together? What if more Sundays were in the park and more hikes to heaven? What if we did these things not just for the kids, but for ourselves? What would you do as you leave the sanctuary? Go listen to Jazz in the park? Go for a hike or even a mushroom hunt? Lay on your back and watch the clouds? What would you do in your work? Write with colored pens? Keep stickers in your purse? listen to music while you work? What might interacting with your family change? would there be game nights, and dance parties before bedtime, or stories told with laughter and open grace?

Next week is Children of God Sunday. Its geared to our preschoolers and elementary, that once a year they may have worship at their age level, geared for them, but next Sunday, I want you to remember you too are a Child of God, so come in your totoos, your sparkles, running down the aisle, singing at the top of you lungs. Come and learn from those who already belong, for the kingdom of God, is in many ways the kid-dom of God and you belong.

August 30, 2015 Mark 7:24-30

A few things to note,

When Jesus talks of the dogs in this passage he is referring to Gentiles and Syrophoenician who are disposed by the Jews like Jesus. In like manner, the children to whom Jesus refers are his own people. 

 

Mark 7:24–30 

From there Jesus set out and went away to the region of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there. Yet he could not escape notice, but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about Jesus, and she came and bowed down at his feet. Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged Jesus to cast the demon out of her daughter. 

He said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 

But she answered Jesus, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” 

Then he said to her, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” 

So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone. 

***

I’m going to tell you a story of breaking up, because firstly, and most importantly, it mirrors the scripture, but also because heartbreak, though a universal feeling - from anyone past age of middle school, is rarely preached on, and hopefully in the telling, we can enter this crazy text, in a way that is approachable rather than reproachable, as our gut feeling leads us to believe about Jesus. 

It happened awhile ago, I had been watching his plants while he was abroad, watering them as if caring for him, a quarter turn to the left each time, that the sun might round them out into a bouquet to welcome him home. Its unclear whether for him these plants were parting gift or good riddance, but he needed neither they or I when he came home. What I knew was I needed parting gift, as well as good riddance, or in other words - closure; I needed to heal the unclean spirit of heartbreak, and this required finishing final things and removing reminders of blooming bouquets cultivated for other intents. I asked to meet up and hand them off, and he said keep them, and I said I had questions, and I heard no answer. 

He didn’t have to answer. He could hole up and not want anyone to know he was there. Jesus had sent the disciples, fed the 5,000, cured the sick and lame throughout Israel and been persecuted by the Jewish authorities, and now finally, was attempting to rest. The man I loved had done the thousand things that happen when you move away, move back and moved on, and his desire for peace was also fair. Yet, I likewise, could do what I wanted, and I wanted him to have his plants, whether or not I saw him. I, and the Syrophoenician woman, knew enough that he could not escape notice. So I cautiously packed them behind the front seats in the car and drove north with the windows up and the AC on to keep them fresh and unfurled for the drive. I wonder about the Syrophoenician woman’s walk toward Jesus. What was her intent? Did she want healing, the kind that turns things back the way they were to a daughter running in play, or did she just want acceptance and understanding for the way things are for a daughter who will never play? What did she carry, a drawing of her daughter on the slide, or the description of her disease, or memories that sat with questions unanswered? What did she bring to Jesus’ door?

Arriving at my his office building, I carried each plant. First was Grumpy, his favorite, who never liked me much after the day I tried to put him in the sun because I think sun heals everything, and he wilted, never looking the same. Then two at a time I brought the vine one that sat in a giant brown coffee cup and saucer, along with the pretty variegated one of which I was most proud, it having looked the worst on stringy stalks now having sat in direct sunlight for a year blooming full with dozens of new leaves. Finally hefting in the now giant coffee plant in its neon pot shaking with oncoming tears I made my last trip. I wonder if the Syrophoenician woman also made several trips around the place where he might be. Did she leave the drawing of the daughter and the slide, or the description of the disease, or walk the perimeter with the stories of her daughter, noting them as they circled around her memory. Each time, carrying plants, I walked passing his darkened office window and around through three hefty doors, feeling their and my heaviness. I arranged them like a display just outside the door and if you had walked up it would have been a mis-en-scene of beauty and bounty. 

Respecting the silence of the unanswered e-mailed, and perhaps the unanswered door -with my walks past and the sound of potted plants clinking to set on the tile ground, I looked at them about ready to leave. I wonder if the Syrophoenician women too tried to leave it up to chance. If I see him I see him, if I don’t I don’t, and thought of simply leaving Jesus that drawing, that description, that memory spoken to the wind, but in the end she came and bowed down at his feet, and I knocked on the door. I see both as a sign of respectful boundaries, no one has to answer. I see both as women with nothing to loose because everything is already lost, and the only thing to be gained is a little healing for the present. 

He looked at me, crying, sliding the mis-en-scene precariously into the office - a mess of overflowing plants. “You okay?” “No, but I am going to be.” I said. “I needed to bring them, for me. Since you are here can I ask a question.” At this point it was the match of wits, two people with counseling backgrounds, knowing the rules, 

He said, “I didn’t think it would be helpful, often questions aren’t and they just create more questions and continued hurt.” He might as well have said, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Both were the responses of a tired man who didn’t feel he had more to give.

I said, “They are not that kind of questions, and I realize you don’t have to answer but I can also ask.” We leveled off. Likewise, the Syrophoenician woman answered Jesus, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” They were the responses of women equally tired but with nothing to loose. And I asked one question, and then another, and then two more and I was done. They were things I was too afraid to ask before because I didn’t want to know the answer. Now I just needed to know that I already did. In the asking, and hearing I felt resolve and I wonder too if in articulating what her daughter deserved the Syrophoenician woman also felt resolve. Resolve that told her the answers that she already knew but was afraid to ask. That sometimes people get broken, but that healing can come through accepting the brokenness and moving on.  The daughter deserved a mother who sought her healing in understanding. Then Jesus said to the Syrophoenician woman, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” 

So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone. It didn’t cure the girl, who still remained on the bed, but the demon was gone, the demon that hoped for a healing of a different kind, that wanted things the way they were, a child running and a play and a future that matched the bouquets of plants at the door. But I imagine the mother looked with new eyes, there was still possibility and future even with a daughter who could not run, there would be other ways to play. There was a daughter and a future, and new eyes. We hugged, I said, “I never intended to knock,” He said, “Its always better to say goodbye.” and I got out to the car, and rolled the windows down and felt the hot sun on my face because it heals everything, and I felt myself beginning to grow a new leaf.

August 23, 2015

Mark 7:1–8, 14–15, 21–23

Now when the Pharisees and some of the scribes who had come from Jerusalem gathered around Jesus, they noticed that some of his disciples were eating with defiled hands, that is, without washing them. (For the Pharisees, and all the Jews, do not eat unless they thoroughly wash their hands, thus observing the tradition of the elders; and they do not eat anything from the market unless they wash it; and there are also many other traditions that they observe, the washing of cups, pots, and bronze kettles.) 

So the Pharisees and the scribes asked Jesus, “Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?” 

Jesus said to Pharisees, 

“Isaiah prophesied rightly about you hypocrites, as it is written, 

‘This people honors me with their lips,
but their hearts are far from me;
in vain do they worship me,
teaching human precepts as doctrines.’

You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition.” 

Then Jesus called the crowd again and said to them, 

“Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile.” For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.” 

***

You know there is social faux pas involved in not washing your hands when they created an entire Senfield episode around it. Jerry is at his girlfriend’s father’s restaurant, both men are in the bathroom, and the father doesn’t wash his hands before cooking. Therefore Jerry doesn't eat, and subsequently his girlfriend dumps him. Similarly, and less comical is the truly life or death consequence of those in hospitals transmitting infection if they don’t wash their hands from room to room, or from outside in. I know we are always supposed to be against the scribes and the Pharisees, but in this case they make an important point. Washing your hands is a good thing. 

They are the leaders of the community, and there are practices that keep the community healthy. Their warning is like the signs with smiley-face chariticures of germs in restaurants, “All employees must wash their hands.” and in hospitals, “Soap up upon entering and leaving.” I don’t blame the Pharisees on this one. In fact, I think they are right in some ways.

The disciples have been going town to town, home to home, in and out of boats, in contact with the sick and the poor, and at the end of one of these long days they sit down to eat and with dirt on their hands, grime under their nails, and countless germs. Its like at youth group, the youth walk in sweaty from practice, basketballs have been passed, locker rooms entered and exited, handles and knobs and steering wheels grabbed, and unfortunately cell phones with their touch screens smeared. As Luke gathers them for prayer, we hold hands around the circle and I am highly conscious of those hands. After the Amen, I remind them, “Wash your hands.” Sometimes, I am washing mine again after the prayer depending on if I myself witnessed the youth, with whom I held hands, wash their hands prior.  I don’t blame the Pharisees on this one; I don't blame them for what they are saying. They are right. I blame them for how they say it. 

The Pharisees and the scribes asked Jesus, “Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?” The Pharisees are not giving gentle advice, they are slinging judgments. They are saying the hands of these outsiders are defiled, and I wonder how many times we have done the same. I read an article the other day from the Week Magazine, "In a bid to rid the city of the smell of urine, officials in San Francisco have begun coating walls near bars and areas frequented by the homeless with a special liquid-resistant paint that repels pee. “The urine will bounce back on the guys’ pants and shoes,” said a spokesperson. “The idea is they will think twice next time about urinating in public.” Requests for the pee-proof paint are pouring in." The Week Magazine. I thought of another idea. More public bathrooms. San Francisco is trying to fix the problem not the cause. What about more rehab and counseling centers, or housing the homeless? How would that cut down on public urination? I think how sometimes we treat foreigners as similarly dirty, how many times I have walked into a bathroom and seen shoe prints on the toilet seat and somehow told myself their shoe marks were dirtier then hundreds of bottoms on that same seat, when in fact to squat down low is healthier than to sit, and would take care of the need for sanitary paper seat covers. Who is dirtier? Likewise, I think about the political rhetoric that deems Spanish speaking immigrants from below our border to be criminals though we Americans feed the drug trade that murders their own for our own hunger. Who are the criminals? I think about the number of times I drive by houses with old cars and various equipment and parts and I think of how trashy it makes the home look, ignoring the possible source of income when just the right person needs just the specific part and trash becomes reusing and sustainability. Who is the trashy one me or them? Perhaps the disciples, once fishermen are now the migrant workers, the homeless, of our time. When you are out in the field, or unwelcome on city streets, where do you wash your hands? 

On our youth mission trip one day we designated a spot behind a haystack as the bathroom, another day was between the rows of a corn field, then we’d break for lunch, with the hunger of hard work and no sink, none of us washed our hands, not even me, and we ate. Someone might have seen us sitting to eat, that may not have seen the work of God the youth had done, and I wonder if the Pharisees had come up to our leader, Luke and said, “Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?” I would hope he would respond similarly to Jesus, 

“Isaiah prophesied rightly about you hypocrites, as it is written, 

‘This people honors me with their lips,
but their hearts are far from me;
in vain do they worship me,
teaching human precepts as doctrines.’

You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition.” 

Jesus is right. There are a lot more important things than washing your hands. Doing the work of God being one of them. Hygiene may be important and indeed essential to the health of the community, but what is a healthy community that cannot welcome the outsider, that cannot look upon itself and its own rituals with question and perspective. That is not a community of God. I don’t see us spending time harping on the importance of washing hands at Open Door (which feeds Middle School kids breakfast from our basement), or before Fellowship Hour after worship, there are more important things at hand. And there are a lot worse things then grubby fingers on a breakfast biscuit, or a fruit tray. There are kids who are hungry and need a place not to be harped on, there are congregants and visitors to welcome. What is important is being the people of God. 

That said, I wonder what of our own rituals would become less important if we welcomed the outsiders, the homeless, the immigrant, the impoverished, the migrant worker. I wonder what we would deem dirty or have a hard time putting in perspective. Would we open up our building for a public restroom, or have signs in different languages, how might we look at our own abundance of trash with resourcefulness. What would we have to give up? What is truly important in being the people of God?

August 16, Mark 6:30 – 34, 53-56

A couple things to note: 

The scripture has Jesus and the disciples trying to find a place to rest but being bombarded by the needs of the people, the lectionary skips a big chunk in the middle of these two scenes, which is Jesus feeding the 5,000.

Additionally, the sermon will go back and forth from the scripture to the present day, weaving the two stories. 

Mark 6:30 – 34, 53-56

The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of the disciples and Jesus. As Jesus went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things. 

When the disciples had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized Jesus, and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed. 

***

Many disciples were coming and going and they had no leisure even to eat. It was coffee for breakfast and meetings for lunch. It was scant vacations with no e-mail or text left un-replied and an inbox somehow still full to the brim. It was the to-do list at work, the errands out and about and the chores beckoning at home. It was grocery shopping and making family dinner, and carpools and kid’s sports, and homework help, and things to sign and the morning starting again early the next day. It was friends with whom to catch up and thank yous to write, and giving neighbors goodie bags of fruit. It was church, and committees, and session, and Lions, and work deadlines, and bills and balancing the checkbook. It was everyone coming and going, the disciples then, and we disciples now with no leisure to even eat. 

And Jesus said to the disciples,“Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while,” Jesus told you to take time to enjoy this late summer, with family trips to Yellowstone, or horseback rides with friends and grandkids, and kayak expeditions before college, and Alaska with grandkids, and adventures on motorcycles, trips to Portland and family weddings and a Serria Club Trip at Moltnomah Falls. And so the disciples then and we disciples now went away in the boat,

Now many saw the disciples going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them, overhead the sky was still black with smoke and spiderwebs were littered with confettis of ash, the backyard birds were chirping frantically yet neighborhoods sat like ghost towns - no children at play on this summer day, inside their homes the sound of helicopters pulsed the stale windows-shut-air, leaving a feeling of trapped already. On the streets of town, white government trucks moved, as if in slow-motion, their sirens pending the next update, they mirroring the townspeople monitoring maps and evacuation levels and fire boundaries. Despite the disciples then, and we disciples now, need for sanctuary, the community pressed into our holiest places. And as Jesus went ashore, at the place he intended to find solace, he saw a great crowd; there in front on the boat was,

Elk Creek Lane to Griffin Gulch, Old Auburn Road, Durkee, the Bridgeport Area, Interstate 84 East and Westbound lanes, Hyw 7, the Greater Bowen Valley, French Gulch, Forest Road 77 near Tamarack Campground, Main Eagle and Bennett Peak, Kitchen Creek Rd., Dry Creek Cutoff Rd., Dry Creek Rd., Deer Creek Rd., Burnt River Canyon Rd., Hixon Rd., Troy Rd., and the Pleasant Valley, Black Mountain, Rancheria Creek, Denny Creek, Beaver Creek, Alder Creek and Ebell Road, Sutton Creek, and Stices Gulch Road, all the way back to Huntington. And Jesus, and you, had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.

The teaching began with the Forest Service, with Joe Sullivan guiding Kate Averett fulfilling the last days of her summer work under 100 foot blazes, then Keith Romtvedt volunteer firefighting alongside prisoners and sleeping out in the blazing storm, with Danny O’Neal up North following in his mother’s footsteps, and continuing with Lynn Roehm called in to lead at the most pressing sites from nearby to Vale. More firefighters were summoned from Portland and the governor issued an order bringing in structure protection crews. And with greater numbers fighting then ever on record, thousands were fed the bread of life, and livelihood, and safekeeping and that was a sanctuary unto itself. 

When they got out of the boat, the disciples rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard Jesus was. A mat was carried as friends came out and helped Kevin Lee pack up his belongings and church members called and offered prayer and a place to stay. A mat was carried as Annalea continually tried to reach Candy Arledge while Susan Triplett and Alice Trindle hoisted mats, taking in Candy’s horse as well as other’s. Sharon Defrees brought a mat as she called Nancy Johnson and Shannon to offer comfort and wisdom having been through a previous timber fire on the Defrees Ranch. Two different daughters drove the backroads along Anthony Lakes Hwy all the way to Sumpter carrying mats and in once a horse trailer and grandkids to which Dallas and Clarissa. Mardelle Ebell’s family, visiting on vacation from D.C., took over the mat of coordination for their family property and livestock. Luke carried the mat of checking in with Sarah and Mary-Lou McNeil and the heavier mat of helping support me. Gary Yeoumans lived up to his title as Deacon in charge of visitation and connected and prayed with handfuls of people on their mats. Karen -Kolb Schoneigh took charge of reaching out, accessing needs and providing mats for church evacuees, Presbyterian Disaster Assistance and Linda Toth offered mats of national denominational resources. Rev.s Keith and Laura Hudson in LaGrande, offered support as well as the mat of humor teasing their child to do a rain dance and offered him to blame for its lack when he was unwilling. Jim Kauth offered the mat of words of encouragement to me and Rev. Marci Glass and her friend Ruth offered the mat of wisdom that ministry didn’t have to be just me. And it wasn’t, it was you, the disciples, carrying the sick on mats throughout our whole region, that wherever Jesus went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces.

and because of the dire need the sick begged Jesus that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; but they didn’t need to beg, because even in the midst of your search of sanctuary, you saw sheep without a shepherd, and your compassion created a sanctuary for others, you were the fringe of Jesus’ cloak and all who touched it were healed. You were the fringe of Jesus’ cloak and all who touched it were healed, saying I didn't know people cared that much about me, and all who touched it were healed repeating over and over, tell the church on Sunday thank you so much for all the calls and prayers, and all who touched it were healed two mothers noting the efforts and the effect of their daughters determination on backroads, and all who touched it were healed that instead of feeling like a solo pastor in a time of emergency truly I had parters in ministry and one standing beside me to face the blaze and all who touched it were healed and will continue to be, because you are the fringe of Jesus’ cloak, a sanctuary in the storm. 

Thank you, and thank God for you, First Presbyterian Church. and when this is all over come away to a deserted place and rest awhile. Amen.