July 23, 2017 Matthew 18.1-9

At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” Then Jesus called a little child over to sit among the disciples, and said, “I assure you that if you don’t turn your lives around and become like this little child, you will definitely not enter the kingdom of heaven. Those who humble themselves like this little child will be the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.

 “As for whoever causes the Children of God, you disciples, who believe in me to trip and fall into sin, it would be better for them to have a huge stone hung around their necks and be drowned in the bottom of the lake. How terrible it is for the world because of the things that cause people to trip and fall into sin! Such things have to happen, but how terrible it is for the person who causes the disciples to sin!  

If your hand or your foot causes you to fall into sin, chop it off and throw it away. It’s better to enter into life crippled or lame than to be thrown into the eternal fire with two hands or two feet. If your eye causes you to fall into sin, tear it out and throw it away. It’s better to enter into life with one eye than to be cast into a burning hell with two eyes.

***

I knew I wasn’t supposed to do it, and that I was only being encouraging, but the childishness of Dylan Thomas, crawling through the truck’s front seat to get to the back was so endearing I had to follow suit. So after his little, then, six-year-old body easily obstacle-coursed from the passenger seat, to over the arm rest, and head first into the backseat, I like a clown car, yet, with the awareness of dirty shoes on upholstery, climbed on my knees and palms, follow-the-leader-style with my extremities akimbo, to finally plop down in the middle seat in the back of the truck. This was just as his sister Cadance, opened the truck’s back door, stepped up and sat in, like the grown up among the kids. We were all giggling, adults included, Dylan un-realizing how kiddish and funny his climbing had been to those of us who do not normally amble through cars, and yet likewise, he was laughing at me, an adult attempting to amble. His mother Megan, wisely teaching good manners, reminded Dylan how we get in a car, but her compassionate demeanor allowed for our playfulness not to be undercut. And so, this was how Dylan and Cadance and I went about the day, finding all manner of silly things to entertain the chore of moving homes, and it’s subsequent car trips back and forth in the big Ford. 

I wonder too how this little child walked over to Jesus and the disciples, because no matter how transfixing Jesus was or intimidating the disciples were, I bet there was a similarity. Children always walk like children, little legs never quite under them, any semblance of balance constantly being outgrown, the combination of skipping, and hopping, and running, and walking, made one. It is why they are so cute no matter how perfectly they carry the unreachable acolyte candle’s taper, it is why you, the congregation, root for them to dominate the Children’s Sermon over my lack of authority. It is that for which playgrounds, and parades, and pools were created. Yet, it is, also why the death of a child breaks the heart of a community. Because children are bearers of a fragile joy, fragile because there is a danger in growing up, the danger of youth’s suitability to tragic death and the danger too of growing up and out of that fleeting joy. 

The death of a child, makes us see the starkness of Jesus’ call to become like these little ones. We can feel the romanticized - yet realistic images of childhood and their vulnerability is tangible. 

Yet, to this dangerous joy is that which Jesus calls us, saying. “Those who humble themselves like this little child will be the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” We are humble ourselves to come to light the acolyte candle even if we can’t reach it, we are to ring the church bell even if we need help, we are to yell out words like, “coconut,” during the children’s sermon just because we like the way it sounds, and we are to go the Jubilee parade, if simply to be reminded of how fun it is to wave from a float and to run for thrown candy, because someday, whether it be that day at the parade itself, or when as an adult we try to remember the last time we ran for candy, there is a danger in growing up.  

That danger is sin, that danger is distance from God, that danger is the idolatry that allows other things to creep in and steal that joy, that danger is the danger that exists in life sheerly by our living it. But it is the danger to which Jesus calls us, and the fragile joy in which he dares to live. The scripture says,

 “As for whoever causes the Children of God, you disciples, who believe in me to trip and fall into sin, it would be better for them to have a huge stone hung around their necks and be drowned in the bottom of the lake.  How terrible it is for the world because of the things that cause people to trip and fall into sin! Such things have to happen, but how terrible it is for the person who causes the disciples to sin!”

Adults, we are already drowned when we no longer live in the precarious joy that can so easily cause us to trip and fall. We are already at the bottom of the lake when we have chosen to distance ourselves from the living of life, the celebrating, the enjoying of God’s good day. We are missing the kingdom of God when holding our children extra tight is something we do out of protection when tragedy strikes, instead of daily, moment by moment, out of grateful joy. We are missing the kingdom of heaven when life becomes a list of chores without room to climb over passenger seats and arm rests. We are missing the kingdom of God when we wouldn't have enough time to skip-hop-jump-walk over to Jesus. 

Therefore, if your hand or your foot causes you to fall into sin, chop it off and throw it away. If work is always so busy that you lack the time to enjoy life’s little pleasures then this is sin and distance from God, so cut it off. If you do things out of drudgery and not because it is your calling then throw it into the fire. If the friends you keep don’t welcome your humor or your so called mistakes, throw them away. If your fear stops you from trying something new, or reconciling something old, then cast it out with the dangerousness of childish joy. And if you don’t know what these this kingdom can look like, spend more time with little ones such as these. 

Because adults, this is the dangerous joy to which Jesus calls us. This precarious fragile kingdom is the one to which he beckons us to come and stand among him and his disciples. Jesus knew this dangerous joy as he rode on a donkey toward his death, a death too soon, and tragic like a child, and too serious to be hand of God, and yet it was they, the Children of God, who lined the road to the kingdom, their small hands waving palms and singing, “Hosanna.” It is they who took their cloaks and frivolously laid them on the road as a carpet upon which hooves trod, carrying an unexpected king on a lonely donkey. It was the children who knew. It was the the children at the parade, and their dangerous joy.

July 9, 2017 Matthew 16.13-20

Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, 

he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” 

And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” 

He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” 

Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” 

And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.”

 Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.

***

Who do you say that Jesus is? 

Awhile ago we were preparing for a church rummage sale, and there was in some church closet, a print of a  famous Warner Sallman painting of Jesus. Jesus’ long dirty blond locks cascaded down a fair-skinned countenance, highlighted by a sharp Greek nose and full pale lips. His beard also was light, and thin like many of the Portland hipsters and young men around Baker today, and in like manner if he entered your house, he probably would look more like our former Youth Director, Luke Rembold than anything unfamiliar. That is to say that Jesus, in this picture was totally white, totally like us. 

And this is what cultures do. They take images of God and make them look like themselves. The Braham of hinduism have dark hair. The Aztec Gods look like tan warriors. The Egyptian hieroglyphics are colored with brown skin, while in the U.S. we have often colored Jesus with the Crayola skin color - nude, which is only our version of nude. This practice of translating the image of God into our own context is what has helped religions spread, and if this is what is happening, I am all for it, but I am afraid, in America our image of Jesus has limited our ability to portray Jesus even our own country’s people, who do not look like that painting, who essentially do not look like us.

A handful of years ago, some forensic anthropologists began to research and study what Jesus would have actually looked like. Most likely, his customary short black hair was coarse and curled, his brows unruly and thick, his eyes one continual black pupil like my hispanic sister where you can’t decipher where pupil starts and where it stops. Jesus’ dark weathered skin and traditional beard would get him stopped at airport security, though his height and weight would have been un-intimidating, closer to the average of the time for a Gallilean Seminte man of five feet one inch and 110 pounds. Not exactly what our Flat Jesus outlines suggest or that Warner Sallman painting. Likewise, one of these forensic anthropologists was riding in a taxi in New York to present on his findings and got into a conversation with middle-eastern immigrant taxi driver. The anthropologist showed the driver the image, and the driver was shocked, “it looks like me,” he said. And through that divine image the taxi driver’s view of Christianity became one that could include him. Here the anthropologist was a disciple saying, this is who Jesus is. 

The location of Caesarea Philippi is similar to how New York City plays in the aforementioned story. It is Caesarea Philippi and therefore Caesar’s city. When Peter names Jesus the Messiah he believes that Jesus will give the Israelites political independence. Peter believes Jesus is anointed for this, like a king to the thrown. Peter believes Jesus will overthrow the Rome, and this is what Peter believes will be the keys to the Kingdom of heaven. Still today, we believe that our country, our race, will end up on top. We have a hard time believing that all of humanity is given the keys. We have a harder time handing out the keys to others who do not look like us, when we imagine Jesus looked like someone we know. How can we hand over the keys to the stranger who is held up in the airport, who is pulled over on the side of the road, who is begging on the street asking for a ride to the Rainbow Festival. We show them that they are a kin to Jesus’ image. 

We did this when we drew the Advent Windows, that hang in our Fellowship Hall at Christmas time. There were a handful of tests to make sure that even with light shining through the transfer paper, that Jesus looked dark, not light. We wanted those with dark skin to be able to say, “it looks like me.” We wanted to remind those of us who prefer the Warner Sallman version, Jesus probably looked more like the immigrant we are not letting into our country. And how might our image of immigrants, of different races, of various religions change, if we knew Jesus looked very dissimilar to your historically white Presbyterian Baker City family? How might the racial makeup of our congregation change if we changed our image of Jesus? When my sister has come to church here, she has noted that she is the only minority in the congregation. Would she feel more included welcome if we depicted Jesus more like her? 

Because of this, and because who we say Jesus is, is important, and foundational, instead putting that painting of white Jesus to sell at the rummage sale, I was walking with it to the trash, when an older congregant stopped me. She wanted to keep it in the church, she wanted to put it up somewhere, and I get this, its nice to think Jesus is like us, but I wonder how thinking Jesus is like us, limits our ability to see he is also like others, limits others ethnicities different that white, to say, “it looks like me.” and so that picture is probably back in some church closet again, until we are ready to throw it away and exchange it for one that looks a little more like a new-yore taxi driver.

July 2, 2017 Matthew 15: 21-28

Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. 

Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But Jesus, did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” 

Jesus answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But the woman came and knelt before Jesus, saying, “Lord, help me.” Jesus answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” 

And her daughter was healed instantly. 

****

If you believe Jesus is perfect, and knows every answer before any questioned is asked, knows the future before it is right in front of him, and has all power, and is completely divine, then this is a troubling passage. As it has proved to be, for bible studies and theologians, and Christians throughout the ages. Because Jesus, in this passage seems so human, and perhaps not even a human on it’s best behavior. He succumbs to his culture, racism, gender bias, and in the least, perhaps to his exhaustion, and lashes out. 

Here is a woman, who has ventured outside of her station - which would be hidden in the home away from men, here is a woman who has ventured out beyond her own ethnic group of Canaanites, whom were considered pagans by the Jews of which Jesus was one. Here is a woman, who comes shouting after the disciples, following them, demanding they pay attention, coming to Jesus and begging up to him, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” And I doubt it is any less than any of us would do, had we had a child in this state. And Jesus, ignores her. The disciples ask him to send her away. 

Jesus says to her, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” A.k.a. I was sent to save the Jews, and the Jews only, I was not sent for you. This would mean, in turn, Jesus was also not sent for the majority of us in this room whose descendants are not Jewish. this would mean that we too are the woman whose daughter is tormented by deacons and Jesus is telling us he only came for another group, his heritage, his race. But the woman doesn’t stop, thank goodness. 

She comes before him and kneels. I imagine her kneeling right in the place which he was walking, stopping him on his path, asking, “Lord, help me.” and Jesus then, insults her, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” A.k.a. the children are the Jewish people of Israel, and everyone else, including this Canaanite woman, is a dog. He is calling a woman a dog, which still translates into our culture, and wouldn’t this woman be still seen as such. Her persistence, her stepping outside her place, and his ability to dismiss her and kick her aside. Yet, even female dogs have fight in them when it is for their children. She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” She has been kicked but she knows the mouth that will feed her and her pup, and she reminds him this. It is the kind of comeback we all wish we had. It is sharp, and it is true, and it takes Jesus’ words and turns them on his head. It is that moment where the other person stands for that extra second in disbelief. It's where there is no worthy retort. And what does it mean that Jesus himself can be bested by this woman? What does that suggest about his divinity and our humanity, especially if in the next penance Jesus changes his mind?

Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly. It seems as though Jesus’ initial assessment, and reaction was wrong, and in fact hideous, the worst of humanity, sexist, racist, without compassion, insulting. And this woman, was able to show him what was right, breaking boundaries of gender and race, having valor for her daughter while still worshiping Jesus as master and healer. It seems strange to me she was able to have faith in his divine being that seemed less than man. But I think she knew something he didn’t.

That there is divinity in the ability to change ones mind. Here she was, a Canaanite, worshiping Jesus a Jewish prophet and healer. There had to be a point at which she too changed her mind. That she turned away from the rituals and beliefs of her own people to seek out that of his. If she could do this, so could he. Is she could do this, so could he, and so can we. 

So often, we equate honesty, resolve, respect, and trustworthiness on people’s ability to be consistent, to follow through, to do what they say, to hold fast to beliefs, and to stand by their personal values, or campaign promises, or founding principles. But isn’t wisdom acquired from experience, and part of what happens in experience is opening up one’s mind to a new way of thinking, or being. What if Jesus’ perfection lies not in his unwavering omniscient divinity, but instead his human ability to change his mind, be bested, and be righted. What if for us too, our openness to change is what allows us to grow closer to God’s perfection? 

I think we as Presbyterians and those of us in the reformed faith are pretty good at this. We believe that the church has been reformed since Martin Luther and his 95 thesis against the Catholic Church and we believe we will keep reforming for all time. This is a start, but it also must sneak down into the essence of our personal lives. How often do we identify people by what sport they played in high-school, and whom were their friends, by where they are from, by their occupation or social status, or marital status, or race, or gender, or sexual orientation. We think we know them, but what if to be like Jesus is to be open to having those people change our minds. This town’s Miner’s Jubilee is coming up, which if you aren’t from here, feels like the whole town is someone else’s high-school reunion, which it is. But what if instead of just catching up with old friends, you found the person with whom you weren’t close and learned their story, what if you found the person who wasn’t even from here? I am sure there are friends along who would love it if you came up and asked about them while everyone else is telling old stories.

And for those who are traveling in these summer days, what if when we went to a new place, we didn’t just talk about where we’re from, but instead asked so many questions about the place which we are visiting. When I was a little girl in fifth grade and my sister was in third grade we went to Mexico with my family. And everywhere we went at first we said, “That’s weird.” “That’s weird.” and my parents said, “They can’t be saying this.” So we two girls were trained to say, “This is something to which we have yet to become accustomed.” So here we were in third and fifth grade saying, with correct grammar, “This is something to which we have yet to become accustomed.” “This is something to which we have yet to become accustomed.” But there was something which my parents did in that moment, which was teaching us that other isn’t weird, that different isn’t wrong, and that perfection just might be the ability to become accustomed to something you are not. And in this case, in our scripture, it was Jesus and the Canaanite woman. 

It’s a place to start, and I think we reformed Presbyterians, already have practice at this, but it’s a place to start, but lets go a step further, and maybe we can be like the woman, who spreads healing to a whole new group, and allows us to find ourselves here, in this sanctuary, saying, “Jesus, you are a master, healer and Lord. Amen.