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.