Click “Like”
Rev. Christa Fuller Burns

Faith Presbyterian Church
1 Samuel 16:1-13 – 22 October 2017

 

Like most of you I have a morning routine. I check my email first and then I check Facebook. I am not a particularly savvy Facebook user and some of the stuff on Facebook infuriates me.  None the less, I do find out things about my parishioners and friends. For example, I know what you are doing when you aren’t in church!

This morning we are going to check Facebook. The first post that we see is God’s! God has posted something on the prophet Samuel’s page: “How long are you going to grieve over Saul! I am going in a different direction. Get over it, Samuel!!!” If we look at previous posts, we will see that God’s communication with Samuel has been spotty. God has posted numerous messages about the perils of having a king. Kings tax you. Kings raise armies. Kings require that you do things you do not want to do. None the less, Israel wants a king. Israel wants to be like the other nations. So, eventually we see God’s post that Samuel should check out Saul’s Facebook page. When Samuel does, he sees a good looking young man but nothing special. On Saul’s page, we see a young man and his friend out on a small road seemingly nowhere. Saul has written: “Me and my good buddy out looking for Dad’s donkeys!” Samuel, for the life of him, couldn’t tell why God thought so much of this guy, at least from what he posted on Facebook! Saul seemed, in fact, so ordinary – nothing on his page suggested that he’d traveled anywhere beyond his small village. His biggest adventure was going to look for those donkeys! None the less, Samuel clicked “like” on the donkey posting and asked to be one of Saul’s friends. As a result, the two men – well, one man and one young man – eventually meet and Samuel is prepared. He has his bottle of oil. And just like that, with a dribble of oil, Samuel anoints (I know – not a very Facebook description) Saul king.

Samuel follows Saul closely. He reads about Saul’s numerous military exploits. He sees Saul in uniform standing proudly in front of his troops – with the tag line: “Beat the pants off the Ammonites today! Can I get a like?”

A lot of what Saul posts on Facebook is, in fact, about his military success. We see him urging his fellow Facebook friends not only to like him but to join up with him. In one post, we see Saul standing before a fire announcing that he has just offered to God the ritual offering: “Don’t know where Samuel is”, Saul proudly announces, “so I just went ahead without him!” Oops!

In another post, we see Saul proudly announcing that he is off to fight the Amalekites – anyone want to join in the fun? Samuel responds to his post by saying “Just remember what the deal is – If you win, no one escapes”. However, in the next post there is ole Saul proudly standing with his vanquished enemies’ leader and the enemy’s best sheep and oxen. “The perks of war”, Saul boasts, “Can I get a like?” At this point, Samuel sends a notification – “What do you think you are doing, Saul? I saw what you posted on Facebook! You may not think so much of yourself but you are the king! You are the one the people trust, or should trust, and you simply cannot do whatever you want! This is not about you! You have to listen to God and obey God”. From that time on Samuel did not click like on any of Saul’s posts. From that time on, Samuel knew that Saul would never make it as king.

Samuel’s Facebook page read: “What a disappointment Saul turned out to be. I regret ever thinking he could be king. Sad.” He still followed Saul on Facebook but never did Samuel click “like” again.

God sends Samuel another message on Facebook: “Get over it Samuel. Move on.”

About this time, we start paying attention to another Facebook page. David is new to the whole Facebook thing. After all, he is a kid, the youngest of eight sons. He can only get online when one of his brothers lets him use his laptop. As such, David spends most of his time out with the sheep. Sometimes, when his brother lets him, he takes a lap top with him just to fend off the boredom of it all. David’s posts tend to depict him out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of sheep saying something like “Another day out here in exciting Bethlehem!” The thing about David is that you can tell from his selfies that he is good looking – he has the rosy cheeks of someone who spends their days outside. He has penetrating eyes. David’s posts are pretty much the same – they do not vary much until one day. Suddenly we see David standing there with Samuel.  Samuel is holding his trusty bottle of oil. Underneath the photo David has written: “Check this out! I just got anointed – this dude says I’m gonna be king. Go figure!”

We know what the Facebook posts will show going forward. David will post a picture of himself standing over the massive body of Goliath holding only his sling. Saul’s posts will become increasingly erratic as his mental state deteriorates. David, on the other hand, can be seen playing his lyre in the king’s palace: “Wrote this psalm today – I thought it was good but the king didn’t seem to notice”. By now, David has his own laptop – one of the perks of being right down the hall from the king. David will become a military hero. Saul will become increasingly jealous of David. Saul will seek to get David killed. David’s posts on Facebook disappear. He is, after all, a refugee fleeing from his king.

Finally, one day, the New York Times posts a picture of the aftermath of a horrible battle with the headline – “King Saul dead.  He and his sons killed in battle with the Philistines”.

David’s next Facebook post reads: “Saul and Jonathan: beloved and lovely! In life and in death they were not divided; they were swifter than eagles, they were stronger that lions.” (2 Sam.1:23)

Not long after this post, we see another post of David depicting him being crowned King of Judah.

The very name of the social media vehicle – Facebook – suggests a superficial aspect to this widely popular way of communicating. If you saw the movie about Facebook’s founder, Mark Zuckerburg, you know that Facebook started as way of identifying college students by their faces when Zuckerberg was a student at Harvard. Zuckerberg has maintained that he started Facebook so that you could learn about other people. The fact that our society needs a tool so we can learn about other people says something significant in and of itself. We are isolated and anonymous and lonely so we go on Facebook in order to know people.

The problems with Facebook are numerous. It has been accused recently of posting fake news. It has been known to have been hacked. However, the more profound problem with Facebook is its superficiality. We love to post pictures of ourselves showing how great we look, doing things that are fun or successful or indicating how popular we are. Studies show that if people are prone to depression, Facebook only makes the situation worse. Even if you aren’t depressed you can get depressed by looking at all the beautiful people doing all those beautiful things. Why isn’t our life like that? Why aren’t we like that? What are we doing, sitting at the kitchen table in front of a screen…alone? In addition, our reality is reduced to sound bites rather than a thoughtful, honest assessment of who we are and what we do.

The striking thing is that the Biblical world knew the pitfalls of Facebook! Saul is chosen and we are told he was a good looking fellow – no other characteristics are listed in his credentials. David is described as handsome too. But he is also a kid – hardly qualifying him for such a lofty position. His physically more qualified brothers are one by one passed up. God tells Samuel: “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” (1 Sam.16:7) It is called Facebook…not Heartbook isn’t it?

I dare say what matters to God is not the fact that we just beat the Philistines, or that we really look good in a helmet and spear, or that we have a beautiful partner and beautiful kids. What matters to God is what is in our heart. As the psalmist puts it: The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart…” (Ps.51:17) Rarely do you see a broken and contrite heart on Facebook! I am not saying it doesn’t happen. Rarely does it happen.

Facebook simply seems to symbolize the reality that we are a culture who values appearances. Racial profiling is possible because we look only on the outside – we see the color of a person’s skin, or the fact that she wears a hajab. ICE agents apprehend people not because they know they have a record but because they look Hispanic, therefore they must be undocumented.

It is astonishing to me that this country which claims to have at its core Judeo-Christian ethics has succumbed to being more impressed by outward appearance than what is in a person’s heart. I am not blaming Facebook only suggesting that Facebook is symptomatic of where we are as a society – more concerned with a face than a heart.

What would it be like if we tried to see people as God sees them? What would it be like if we saw women not as objects to be manipulated but as children of God? What if we saw those pulled over for a broken tail light not as black but as children of God? What if we saw the father dropping his child off at school not as illegal but as a child of God?  What if we saw the family doing their grocery shopping not as Muslim but as children of God? What if we saw the Red Sox not as cheaters but as children of God?

 

Things that Go Bump in the Night

Rev. Christa Fuller Burns

Faith Presbyterian Church

1 Samuel 3:1-21 -15 October 2017

 

Even though most of us grew up hearing the story of Samuel in Sunday School or in children’s books, it seems to me some introduction is appropriate.

The children of God survived the wilderness experience, though not without messing up more than once. There was, as you recall, the matter of the golden calf – one of many failures. After numerous battles and mishaps, they finally make it to the Promised Land. All the while, the children of God are learning what it means to be a people – a nation of people. They are loosely arranged into 12 tribes and they are governed by judges. The story of Samuel begins with his rather miraculous birth to the previously barren Hannah. Hannah promised God that if she can have a son, she would dedicate him to the priesthood. There is a curious little detail in this part of the story. Hannah and her husband go to Shiloh, as is their custom, to worship. Hannah is praying to God and asking for a child. She does so by only moving her lips. The Bible says, “her voice was not heard” (1:13). The priest, Eli, sees this and thinks she is drunk! Hannah comes back at him, saying “Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time”. (1:16) I point this little detail out because in many ways our story is one about hearing and listening.

Hannah gives birth to a boy and she names him Samuel because, as she says, “I have asked him of the Lord”, the inference being that God heard her even though she was only moving her lips.

As promised, the boy Samuel is taken to study at the House of the Lord in Shiloh with the elderly priest, Eli.

Here’s the thing: Eli had sons of his own. His priesthood and authority should have passed to them. However, Eli’s sons were a mess. They cheated the people, took advantage of their prominent position, and they slept with the women who served people at the door of the tent of meeting. Eli knew about his sons. He knew they were scoundrels. Eli had a father-son talk with his sons but they didn’t listen.

God sends a man to tell Eli what a disappointment he has been. God has been counting on Eli. Eli’s family was trusted by God to lead the people in the way they should go, but his sons have been a disgrace. God’s trust in Eli and his family is broken and God is going to go in a different direction.

And, so we come to today’s story. The boy, Samuel, is serving God in the house of Eli. In those days, the word of God was rare. Visions were not widespread. Is it comforting to know that ours is not the only time when we feel like the word of God is rare and that visions are not widespread? Do we read the paper or listen to the news and yearn to hear God speaking through the people who seem to have so much to say these days?

Of course, in the very next sentence we learn that Eli’s sight is getting worse and he can’t see. It might hard to have visions if you can’t see….or maybe not! Eli has turned in for the night. The lamp of God has not yet gone out. Well, that is hopeful. Is there hope for us if there is even a little flicker of God light? So what if there is no Pentecostal fire burning up the place (I use this image with caution as we are mindful of those blazing fires in the west). There is just the faintest flicker of God light. That is the point. And the man is blind. And he is sleeping. Samuel is also sleeping in his room.

God calls Samuel. Samuel jumps up. Here I am. He runs to Eli who says go back to sleep I didn’t call you. So Samuel goes back and lies down in his bed. God calls again. And again Samuel says “Here I am”, runs into Eli’s room only to be told to go back to bed.

We are told at this point that Samuel did not know God yet. Samuel did not know how to identify God’s voice. Samuel couldn’t tell when God was talking to him. The inference is that if we really know God, we’ll know when God is talking to us. That is kind of scary, isn’t it? I mean Moses had a burning bush. That is kind of a heads up. Jacob had a ladder full of angels. That is kind of a big tip off. All Samuel has is a voice in the night. Poor kid! Would you know it was God? Do we know it is God…or is it simply something that goes bump in the night, branches brushing against your window, the sound of the floor creaking or furniture settling?

After all, Samuel is just a boy. Why would God be talking to a kid, especially when you’ve got the supposedly wise anointed Eli?

The next time Samuel hears the voice and goes to tell Eli, Eli gets it. He figures out it must be God talking so he tells Samuel to go back to bed and if he hears the voice again he should say, speak for your servant is listening. Sure enough God comes and stands there calling Samuel’s name. Samuel replies: “Speak, for your servant is listening.” Then God tells Samuel that God is about to something in Israel that will make everyone’s ears tingle. God proceeds to tell the boy what will happen to Eli and his sons because of their behavior.

Samuel is understandably afraid to tell Eli what he heard. But Eli knows. He calls Samuel. He addresses him – Samuel, my son. The son I should have had. The son who will lead the people. The son who will take Israel into the future. Samuel, Eli says, tell me everything. Eli recognizes God’s words.

In verse 19, we read, “As Samuel grew up, the Lord was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground.”

How do we listen for God? How do we hear God? We too live in a time when the word of God is rare and visions are scarce. We preachers never know how many folk will be here on a Sunday morning. If there is a Ravens game – I mean how do we compete with a Ravens game? Sometimes it seems like people trust Jimmy Kimmel more than they trust a priest! It is a time when the word of God is rare and visions are scarce. The United Church of Christ has a slogan: God is Still Speaking. If we believe God is still speaking, why is the word of God rare? Why are visions scarce?

The story of Samuel seems to suggest some answers.

1. Hannah believed God would hear her, even if she did not speak out loud.  She believed God would hear her. She believed all those barren years that God would hear her. Hannah, I guess you could say, she persisted. Do we believe in a God who hears us?
2. Eli heard God. He heard God even though God was telling him something he did not want to hear! Maybe God is speaking through one of our friends, someone we know. Maybe God is telling us something we do not wish to hear. You can’t fix it. This job is not for you. Just let it go. Maybe God is saying to us “These things – the hurricanes, the earthquakes and now the fires – pay attention to them. Maybe they mean something.
3. Maybe we do have prophets. Maybe we do have visions. Maybe we don’t notice them because they aren’t what we think they should be. Maybe they don’t go around in suits with mellifluous voices quoting the Bible by heart. Maybe, just maybe they are a kid…”who doesn’t know God yet”. Or maybe, just maybe, God speaks through an elderly man who tells a little boy that God is speaking, God is still speaking.
4. What if one of the signs of hearing God is the ability to do what Eli did and see that God is doing something new, and guess what, it isn’t any longer up to me but it depends on this little kid. Does listening to God depend on our recognition that God uses an elderly man who has been a disappointment to facilitate the vision and the future? Eli tells Samuel what to say so that he will hear God. Conversely, does listening to God depend on the possibility that God is speaking through a little kid who doesn’t know all that much.
5. That phrase, Things that go bump in the night, comes from a Scottish poem:

“From goulies and ghosties
and long legged beasties
and things that go bump in the night –
Good Lord deliver us!

I don’t know – maybe listening for God means listening to the things that go bump in the night.

Let us pray: (This is a prayer by Walter Brueggemann)

We are surrounded by a din of demanding voices:

selling

recruiting,

seducing,

coercing.

We screen them out in order to maintain our sanity,

to secure our rest.

And then, in the night, you address us,

you call us by name,

you entrust to us risky words,

you empower us with authority.

But your voice is on first hearing not distinctive.

We confuse your voice with that of an old friend

or a deep hope

or a powerful fear

or an ancient bias.

We hear, but we do not listen –

joined, bewildered, resistant.

But your voice sneaks up on us:

you address us,

you call us by name,

you entrust us with risky words,

you empower us with authority.

Sometimes…occasionally…boldly…we answer:

“Speak, I am listening.”

Then we say, “Here am I.”

And listening, we are made new and sent dangerously

by your address.

Prayers for a Privileged People, p. 113-114

 

Meditation after Las Vegas Massacre
Rev. Christa Fuller Burns

Faith Presbyterian Church
Exodus 16:1-18 -8 October 2017

Today, we find ourselves in the wilderness. Moses (with God’s help) has succeeded in liberating his people from slavery in Egypt.  The children of Israel have escaped through a miraculous parting of the sea. Now, reality of another sort sets in. They are in the middle of nowhere. They have no water and they have no food. So, they do what all of us do, they complain. They mourn what they had when they were slaves in Egypt. They may have been slaves, but life was predictable under Pharaoh. They knew what to expect.  They had food to eat. They had routines. When you are a slave, you know what to expect. It wasn’t like it is out here where we don’t know where our next meal is coming from or where we will sleep at night or even where we are going.

The children of God are, after all, traumatized. They are the victims of cruel slavery and they are afraid. So, they do what we all do – they complain. Why didn’t we just die in Egypt? At least in Egypt we had those flesh pots! We had bread in Egypt!

We can imagine that slaves in the Underground Railroad felt much the same – hunted and running in dark woods with no food and the sound of dogs barking in the distance. Maybe they, too, thought twice about freedom. Maybe they, too, considered the safety of the master’s house.

I must confess that I sympathize with the Children of Israel! This week I wondered if I would be better off in a country where there wasn’t such a gun culture, a country in which violence wasn’t so much a part of our DNA, a country that did not have the sin of slavery.

Perhaps the most striking thing about this experience is that God listens to the Israelites’ complaining! We might remember that God hears us, even if we are being less than brave, even when we are being ungrateful. At least we are honest in describing how we feel: We are afraid and we are hungry. If we are going to die why didn’t you just leave us in Egypt?  God hears us.

And God provides what we need. We will have enough. We will have enough. However, God is very clear that no one should take more than they need. Does that include politicians who take private jets when they could fly commercially? Does that include the outgoing head of Equifax who has a 90 million dollar severance package even though while he was in charge his company was hacked putting half of all Americans at risk? Does that include a gunman who had a whole arsenal of weapons? Who needs assault weapons? “They gathered as much as each of them needed”

I also want to point out that God doesn’t just cause quail to fall out of heaven and manna to cover the ground. In the midst of the danger of the wilderness, in the midst of famine, God tells us to keep one day holy: “Tomorrow is a day of rest, a holy Sabbath to the Lord.” In other words, God tells us that we are to recognize the holy even in the worst hardship, even when we feel like we are abandoned and lost: we are to observe a time of rest and sacred space. In the midst of a wild and dangerous wilderness, we are to recognize that God is present and we are on holy ground.

I love Everett Fox’s translation of this part of the Bible. Verse 10, as he puts it, reads like this:

Now it was, when Aaron spoke to the entire community of the Children of Israel, they faced the wilderness, and here; the Glory of YHWH could be seen in the cloud.”

They faced the wilderness. My friends, we are facing the wilderness. It is very tempting to ignore what ails our country. It is very tempting to turn away from the photographs of the carnage in Las Vegas and to go about as usual. We are already doing that aren’t we? We pastors actually discussed whether tackling what happened in Las Vegas a week later would be too late. It is already old news. It is very tempting to move on to the debate over taxes and claim that we will talk about gun control another time. We have to face the wilderness and we have to admit to ourselves what is wrong with our country.

We have to do this because the Glory of God can be seen in the cloud. In the smoke from gunfire, in the smoke of gunfire that set off the fire alarms in a hotel, in the dark, horrible night of terror, God can be seen.

God tells us that, in the midst of whatever wilderness we find ourselves in, the community that observes the Sabbath, a community that is intentional about recognizing who it is that delivers us and feeds us and makes us whole is not only important. It is essential! The church, then, is more important than ever in times of tragedy.

The act of lament is a very Biblical one, a very ancient one. There is a whole section of the Psalms, including the one we read together this morning, in which the author, like the ancient Israelites, cries out in anguish. These psalms are honest expressions of how we feel: How long will you forget me, Lord? Forever? We feel forgotten. We feel God is hidden. We feel like the enemy is defeating us. The problem is, our culture is already moving on. Our culture wants only the happy hymns, the triumphant ones. This is not the time and place, it says, to talk about what we are afraid of and what wilderness feels like.

And, so, this morning, we decided to change the service we had planned. We changed the music. We changed the readings and the prayers to allow ourselves this space, this time to grieve and to admit our anger, and our shame.

We are now going to take time to pray. You are invited to stand, if you are able, and to say “Let us pray for….naming whatever is in your heart. At the conclusion of each petition, we will say together

“Lord Hear Our Prayer”

The Offering will be received as you come forward to place those symbols of who we are, our response to God’s presence and assurance, in the basket at the front. Then, if you will, please continue to the cross, placing a ribbon over it. We need, it seems to me, to physically express our sadness.

Let us pray:

Look at us, we pray. Look at us and answer us O God. Help us to see what is true. Help us to say what is on our hearts. We feel forgotten. Hear us.

When we see your children fallen in the streets, when we hear the rapid fire of guns, when we hear the crying of those who mourn, we are consumed with grief.

Deep down we know that you love us – we remember your mercy and your faithfulness in the past. So we turn to you again, longing for your presence, looking for comfort and peace. Hear our prayers.

Wait…What Just Happened?
Rev. Christa Fuller Burns

Faith Presbyterian Church
Exodus 2;23-25, 3:1-15, 4:10-17
1 October 2017

My father was transferred during my senior year in high school. We were to move from California to St. Louis, Missouri. None of us were happy about it, most of all my mother. Even though she had grown up on a farm during the depression, I think her spiritual home was in California. In those days, you worked for the company your whole career. The thought of not going, or of changing jobs instead was simply not an option. Consequently, we went. My father did not believe in having a plan when we drove across country. We set out and drove until it was time to stop. So it was that we found ourselves in the middle of the Navajo reservation as darkness set in and there was nothing – no gas stations, no restaurants, no motels. Finally, we found a motel that had a place to eat. The place was modest, shall we say. Most importantly, there was no TV! Having worked on the campaign of one of our presidential candidates, I was desperate to watch the Chicago convention. The place did have a radio. There I was with my ear glued to the radio as I listened to reports of police beating demonstrators and I cried. As we settled in our beds that night under that vast, pitch dark sky, all we could hear was the bleating of sheep. It turns out we were in the midst of a sheep ranch.

This memory surfaced this week as I thought about Moses out there in the middle of nowhere herding sheep.

You might have noticed that the sermons texts so far this fall have had to do with call – God calling us and our hearing God calling us. Abraham heard God call him to sacrifice his son. Jacob slept in the desert and has a dream in which he hears God calling him and promising him a future. Today, we heard the story of Moses out in the desert and his encounter with a burning bush out of which he hears God calling him. None of these men were remarkable. We aren’t told they were especially accomplished, or handsome, or super smart, or great orators. All of these men were flawed. Abraham passes his wife off as his sister so he won’t get killed. Jacob cheats his brother and runs away. Moses is the son of slaves who murders an Egyptian who is mistreating one of his fellow slaves. Moses, too, is on the run.

Moses flees to Canaan, takes refuge in the home of his father-in-law and becomes a sheep herder. My! How life can turn on us. One day we are the pampered pet of Pharaoh’s daughter. The next day we find ourselves on the lam eking out a living tending sheep!

We can imagine that one day herding sheep is exactly like every other day. The monotony of it must be deadening. Moses was out there in the middle of nowhere, miles and miles of desert, alone with no company, no cell phone, nothing.

Suddenly, out of this desert nowhere, something extraordinary happens. Moses had come to Horeb, when suddenly he sees a “flame of fire out of a bush” and there is an angel in it. Moses has to make a call. Does he just keep going? Does he say to himself, Man, I got to sit down! I’ve been out here too long and the sun is getting to me? Does he dismiss this weird apparition and turn away? Does Moses just keep going because, darn, he needs to get home before dark? No.  Moses stops and pays attention: “I must turn aside and look at this great sight.” I just want to point out that it is precisely when Moses stops that he hears God talking to him.

In some sense, this story is about the importance of stopping and paying attention. God does not always, maybe almost never, show up in extraordinary places or times. More often than not, God speaks to us while we are doing the dishes or mopping the floor or taking out the trash or lying in bed at night.

I guess you could say the burning bush was rather dramatic. But was it? Maybe it was simply a brush fire….a scrawny little bush burning. You see it all the time…out there in the desert. Moses stopped. That is the thing. Moses stopped and he paid attention.

God tells Moses who God is. This is not some generic God who speaks. It is not some vague voice. The Bible does not say that God’s voice was big or commanding, but it does say God is specific. God calls to Moses out of the bush and God says, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob”…you know who I’m talking about here! Those guys – none of them were super heroes. None of them were obvious choices for the job. I am the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob – those guys – the ordinary guys.

It is as if God is priming Moses up for the big ask.

I pay attention, this God says. I see what is happening to my people. I am not some absent landlord. I am intimately involved in my people’s misery. I hear their cries. I know their suffering. I have come down to deliver them. I am going to take them to the land of milk and honey. God repeats again and again what God has done and will do. God is faithful and just and will deliver us.

At that point, I figure Moses must have felt comforted. Moses must have felt reassured by God’s reminders of what God has done and will do. Great, Moses is thinking. I feel better. Now I better round up my sheep and get going…knowing that God is going to take care of everything. I feel better.

But God is not finished. There is twist that comes in v.10 of Chapter 3. And, here’s the deal, Moses, God says. I want you to go and tell Pharaoh to let his slaves go. Wait…what just happened here? After God’s beautiful speech about what God has done and will do, God suddenly tells Moses: You go. You, Moses, you go.

Moses – you gotta love him – says, “But God – who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and ask this kind- of- a- big favor?”

We know, even though he doesn’t say it, we know Moses is thinking, Man Pharaoh hates my guts. Pharaoh is gonna kill me! And you want me to go and ask him to free his slaves, the ones who are his bread and butter, the ones who are his bread ticket? You, Yahweh, you gotta be kidding!

God persists. “Don’t worry Moses. I will be with you.” Now, I don’t know about you but I am not sure I would be reassured by this

Moses tries again. “God, look, if I get back to Egypt, I am not saying I will, but if I do get back to Egypt, those people aren’t going to listen to me. After all, they probably see me as a traitor. I was Pharaoh’s man wasn’t I , living all those years in his fancy palace. Worse, they know I killed that guy which certainly didn’t make their lives easier. I mean, what if they ask me what your name is? What should I tell them?”

Tell them, God says, “I am who I am. Just tell them I am sent you.” Right!

At this point, we guess, it might be getting dark. Moses’ dinner is getting cold at home. The sheep are restless. He wants to get back to that sheep ranch and watch the news. None the less, Moses doesn’t leave. He doesn’t say, let’s finish this conversation in the morning. Let me think about it. I’ll get back to you. Moses persists. “What if they don’t listen to me? I can’t talk well. I stutter. Who is going to listen to me? Besides, can’t you see I’m busy. I have a job. Who will take care of all these sheep?”

Before the liberating words, Let my people go, comes the command “You go” Wait…what just happened here? After God’s repeated declaration of God’s actions and promises, comes the command “You go”….you go back to Egypt, you go tell Pharaoh, you, Moses slow of speech, lacking self-esteem, little ole Moses – you go!

On this World Communion Sunday, we cannot escape the reality that our world is messed up. The United States and North Korea are trading war-like taunts. A vicious dictator in Syria appears to have the upper hand. Hurricanes and earthquakes ravaged Mexico, the Caribbean and Florida and Texas. Afghanistan. Iraq. Myanmar. Sudan. Republic of Congo. It seems like everywhere we look there is violence and misery. Everywhere we look there are oppressive pharaohs with their thumbs on the people.

One of the great peacemakers of our time was the Rabbi-scholar, Abraham Heschel who marched with Dr. King and, like King, protested the Viet Nam War. Heschel reminded us: “At the first conference on religion and race, the main participants were Pharaoh and Moses. The outcome of that summit meeting has not come to an end. Pharaoh is not ready to capitulate. The Exodus began, but is far from having completed.”

If that is the case, if the Exodus is far from being completed, there is a very high likelihood that God is looking to interrupt our lives. There is a very high likelihood that God could interrupt our ordinary routine, just going about our business. There is a very high likelihood that God will call to us and remind us of everything God has done – how God has healed us, how God has kept us safe, how God has blessed us, how God is paying attention to us – little ole us. There is a very high likelihood that God will then say to us – You go. You go and tell Pharaoh to let my people go. You go and tell the President that we don’t want any more war. You go and tell the powers that be that violence in our city is not acceptable. You go. You go.

Wait….what just happened?

A Piece of Stone
Rev. Christa Fuller Burns
Faith Presbyterian Church (USA) Baltimore

Galatians 3:1-9, 23-29 – 28 May 2017

I think I am having a bit of an identity crisis! People have asked me if I’ve changed my name all of a sudden. Since my marriage, I have used “Christa Fuller Burns”, but not religiously. I never legally changed my name to include Fuller and until recently my name has appeared in the Sunday bulletin as Christa Fuller Burns or, simply, Rev. Burns. However, our new church administrator was trying to be politically correct and lately people have asked me if I’ve changed my name because it has appeared as Rev. Fuller Burns in the bulletin. People want to know if I am not Christa anymore. That’s got me thinking: Am I not Christa anymore?

This past week, Mitch Landrieu, the mayor of New Orleans, addressed the removal of several of the city’s Confederate monuments. In his speech, Landrieu spoke about the things we choose to say about who we are, at least that is what I heard in the speech. As he pointed out, New Orleans is a city of divergent peoples: Choctaw, Houma Nation, the Chitimacha, Hernando De Soto, Robert Cavalier, Sieur de La Salle, the Acadians, the Islenos, the enslaved people of Senegambia, Free People of Colorix, the Haitians, the Germans, both the empires of France and Spain, the Italians, the Irish, the Cubans, the south and central Americans, the Vietnamese and so many more – all make up the identity of New Orleans. Why, then, Landrieu asked, do we choose the images of men who stood for subjugation and segregation for lofty monuments when there are “no slave ship monuments, no prominent markers on public land to remember the lynchings or the slave blocks; nothing to remember this long chapter of our lives; the pain, the sacrifice, the shame…all of it happening on the soil of New Orleans”. In short, a significant part of New Orleans identity is missing in its public statements.

Landrieu recalled something President Obama said about the need to re-frame our identity. Obama remembered a piece of stone, a slave auction block engraved with a commemorative plaque noting that Andrew Jackson and Henry Clay had both stood on the stone while they gave speeches. He said: “Consider what this artifact tells us about history…on a stone where day after day for years, men and women…bound and bought and sold and bid like cattle on a stone worn down by the tragedy of over a thousand bare feet. For a long time the only thing we considered important, the singular thing we once chose to commemorate as history with a plaque were the unmemorable speeches of two powerful men.” (as quoted in the NY Times, May 23, 2017) These monuments, these pieces of stone say who we think we are as Americans. They are emblematic of our identity and we need to get it right…about our identity.

I think that is what Paul was arguing for in his letter to the good people of Galatia. We need to get it right. I think identity was very important to this man who was raised a Jew, who, as a Jew persecuted the Christ followers, who had a blinding vision that changed him and his identity forever. He would no longer be Saul. His name would be Paul and his identity was now as one in whom Christ lived. As such, Paul traced his identity to Abraham: “Just as Abraham ‘believed in God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness, so, you see, those who believe are the descendents of Abraham” (v.6) whether they are Jewish or Gentile, their identity is shaped by Abraham. “And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to the promise.” (v.29)

I think we, in this country, are also having something of an identity crisis. The white majority is disappearing and we find ourselves debating bathrooms and what kind of proof we need in order to vote and who is an American and who isn’t. There was a story on the news this week about a man who was arrested as he took his son to school here in Baltimore because he is undocumented, but with no criminal record. His wife, who is not the mother of the boy, does not have his papers and no way of proving the boy’s identity. We are having an identity crises in this country. Are we going to retain our identity of e pluribus unum – one out of many? If so, it seems we will need a new image of ourselves in which all Americans can see themselves.

Paul argued for such a re-visioning when he urged the church to see itself as neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave or free, neither male of female. You see, the churches Paul started in Galatia were also having an identity crisis. They were asking themselves what makes one a Christian. Does the adherence to Jewish law make you a Christian or, as Paul argued, is it that Christ lives in you? Perhaps these communities in Galatia were also asking themselves how can we be who we are when the Roman oppression system is watching our every move.

Paul is here, not rejecting Jewish law. I think he is saying that as a guide, law is not enough. One has to have to have an intimate relationship with Jesus Christ such that Christ lives in us.

Think about it: don’t we know a lot of people who call themselves Christian, who go to church every Sunday, never miss communion, obey all the church’s laws, but who are not examples of the Christ who cared about the poor and the sick and the outcast? If you talk to a devout Jew, I think they, too, would say that simply following the Torah is not enough. Torah is more than that – Torah is how we live.

I am thinking about John Colmer’s recent trip to Eastern Europe in search, I think it is safe to say, of his identity. John, you see, grew up thinking his family name was Colmers and that his family was Catholic. Only recently, did he come to discover that this original name was Cohn and that many of his relatives perished in the holocaust because they were Jews. An identity crisis? Maybe. Maybe John is Paul in reverse – having known that Christ lives in him, but now discovering the significance and the beauty of Jewish law.

For me, the point is not so much about the law versus the Gospel, but that Jesus breaks down all the barriers between Jews and Gentiles, slave and free, men and women and when that happens we discover our true identities…we are all, all of us heirs of Abraham.

Last week, my nephew graduated from Dickinson College. I went up to Carlisle to be there for his senior recital on Friday. In a hushed and darkened auditorium, Liam walked on stage in a long, flowing dress and I wept before Liam even opened his mouth to sing (those of you who know me know that I am a crier). It moved me that this young person who claims to be “gender non-conforming” could so bravely walk out there on that stage, so boldly claiming that identity…gender non-conforming. And, then, Liam sang!

It seems to me that whether we are the people of Gaul who have been brutally conquered by the Roman Empire, or whether we are Americans who see our identity represented by a piece of stone, or whether we are discovering our family story for the first time, or whether we are 21 years old and declaring that our identity does not conform to the neatly drawn lines on our birth certificates, we need to be honest about who we are. We need to tell the whole story of our identity. We need to live into Paul’s advice: “…in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith”…it doesn’t matter if you are a Jew or a Gentile, if you are a slave or a free person, it does not matter if you are a man or a woman – all, all of us are one. Let’s get that right!

When the Ramparts Start to Crumble
Rev. Christa Fuller Burns
Faith Presbyterian Church (USA) Baltimore

Luke 19:29-44 – 9 April 2017

Palm Sunday

 

Archaeologists in recent times have uncovered huge stones and rubble near the Western Wall in Jerusalem. The stones are all that is left of what was the glorious temple in Jerusalem. The temple was, by many accounts, one of the most impressive pieces of architecture in the world and all that remains of it are some massive stones and broken pieces of columns.

In 70 CE, the Roman army brutally crushed a Jewish uprising. In the process, they virtually obliterated Jerusalem even though it is reported that some Roman officers were reluctant to execute Titus’ order to destroy the temple because it wouldn’t “be right to destroy a holy building renowned as one of the greatest products of human endeavor.” (P.186 Excavating Jesus – Borg and Reed)

Large stones, pieces of rubble, are all that is left of the temple of Jerusalem.

When Jesus entered Jerusalem, riding on a donkey, he entered a city that was both the holiest of holy and the most dangerous place in his part of the world. The temple was in Jerusalem making it the hope of every Jewish pilgrim. Jerusalem was the “Golden”, as the old hymn puts it:

Jerusalem the golden,

with milk and honey blest,

beneath your contemplation Sink heart and voice oppressed.

I know not, oh, I know not

What joys await us there,

What radiancy of glory,

What bliss beyond compare. (Jerusalem the Golden; Bernard Cluny)

However, Jerusalem was also the center of everything that was wrong with a country occupied by foreign armies. It reeked of corruption and the beautiful temple was not immune from that corruption. Jerusalem was especially dangerous at festival times when its population multiplied with pilgrims, when religious affections so easily became passionate and the risk of unrest was acute.

This was the Jerusalem Jesus entered on Palm Sunday, Passover time, riding on a donkey while, at the same time, in another part of the city Roman soldiers entered the town riding massive horses, covered in glittering silver armor, carrying their weapons, demonstrating their power, sending the message that there had better not be any disruption. There had better not be any disruption.

When Jesus neared the city, he wept over it, saying “If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. Indeed, the enemies will set up ramparts around you and surround you, and hem you in on every side. They will crush you to the ground, you and your children within you, and they will not leave within you one stone upon another, because you did not recognize the time of your visitation from God.” (19:41-44)

In 70 CE, the Romans did exactly what Jesus predicted and not one stone was left upon another. The ramparts had completely crumbled.

My question for us this morning is: What do we do when the ramparts crumble? The fact is, sometimes our sanctuaries are destroyed and we are left without safety or shelter. What do we do then?

In last Sunday’s paper there was a story about the people of Niger who have been driven from their homes by Boco Haran. They’ve found refuge out in the open along a highway where daily existence is precarious. There is virtually no shelter, not enough water, food is scarce and there is no way to make a living. None-the-less, they endure. The ramparts of their lives have been destroyed.

In another part of the world, ISIS is systematically destroying whole cities and the Syrian government is gassing its own people. What do we do when the ramparts start to crumble?

But we need not look very far for evidence of crumbling ramparts. We know from our own experience the reality of lives upended. The walls of our lives break apart by divorce, by death, by the sudden diagnosis of a life-threatening illness, by being uprooted and having to make life over again in a strange place. In those times when life rips down our beautifully constructed walls, do we not feel defenseless and exposed and laid bare? Do we not say to ourselves, Oh that we knew the things that make for peace?

What do we do when the ramparts start to crumble?

First of all, we learn that God is not confined to buildings, either physical ones or the ones we make for ourselves. Stephen preaches in the book of Acts: “Yet the Most High does not dwell in houses made with human hands, as the prophet says,

Heaven is my throne,

and the earth is my footstool.

What kind of house will you build for me, says the Lord,

or what is the place of my rest?

Did not my hand make all these things?

-(Acts 7:48-50)

And, Paul, in his letter to the church in Corinth, wrote: “For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” (2 Corinthians 4:16-5:1) Our God is not confined to buildings and it is hubris to think that our buildings are indispensable to the existence of God.

Second, when the ramparts are destroyed, we improvise. In the absence of the temple, Judaism focused on education and eventually centered their religious life in local synagogues. Rabbinic Judaism was born and Judaism turned toward the Torah rather than Temple worship and political sovereignty.

The followers of Christ who fled Jerusalem because it was going to be destroyed discovered that there was a ministry to others, non-Jews. Christianity grew in the midst of the rubble and displacement.

I like to tell the story of the church in Charleston South Carolina that was destroyed by Hurricane Hugo. The church decided that rather than worship in somebody else’s building, they would construct a big tent on their now vacant property. While the church was in the tent, before they could rebuild, the congregation multiplied.

After Jesus’ death, his followers learned to do for themselves and adapt to their new situation. They thought they could go back to their old lives and fish. But the risen Jesus told them to get off their duff and “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit….” (Matt. 28:19)

Those of us who have lost loved ones through death or divorce know that we learn how to manage by ourselves. We learn how to trust our instincts. We learn how to improvise.

Finally, when our earthy tents are destroyed, do we not come to see that, we are sanctuaries: “Lord make me a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true. With thanksgiving, I’ll be a sanctuary for you.” (Lord, Prepare Me)

The singer, LeAnn Rimes has named her most recent album, Remnants. When asked about the title of the album, Ms Rimes referred to what it feels like to fall apart and the value of that experience. She said that if you can give into the grieving you feel, you discover that there is beauty in it. When you crumble, she says, you are able to identify the pieces, like those rocks buried under what was the temple. You are able to identify that remnant that is indestructibly you. And, with those pieces, you can be made into something new. (Ayann Johnson Watkins, Christian Century, March 29, ’17)

My friends, let us not be afraid to face what happens in Jerusalem on Good Friday. Let us not be afraid to face what happens to Jerusalem when armies destroy it. Let us not be afraid to admit that our carefully built fortresses can crumble. Let us not be afraid…to let God call us to new life!

In The Bosom of Abraham
Rev. Christa Fuller Burns
Faith Presbyterian Church (USA) Baltimore

Luke 16:19-31 – 26 March 2017

Fourth Sunday in Lent

 

After a long illness, a woman died and arrived at the Gates of Heaven. While she was waiting for Saint Peter to greet her, she peeked through the Gates. Se saw a beautiful banquet table. Sitting all around were her parents and all the other people she had loved who had died before her.

They saw her and began calling greetings to her – “Hello” “How are you? We’ve been waiting for you!” Good to see you.”

When Saint Peter came by, the woman said to him, “This is such a wonderful place! How do I get in?”

“You have to spell a word,” Saint Peter told her.

“Which word?” the woman asked.

“Love.”

The woman correctly spelled “Love” and Saint Peter welcomed her into Heaven.

About six months later, Saint Peter came to the woman and asked her to watch the Gates of Heaven for him that day. While the woman was guarding the Gates of Heaven, her husband arrived.

“Boy, am I surprised to see you,” the woman said. “How have you been?”

“Oh, I’ve been doing pretty well since you died,” her husband told her. “I married the beautiful young nurse who took care of you while you were ill. And then I won the lottery. I sold the little house you and I lived in and bought a big mansion. And my wife and I traveled all around the world. As a matter of fact, we were on vacation and I went water skiing today. I fell, the ski hit my head, and here I am. How do I get in?”

“You have to spell a word,” the woman told him

“Which word?” her husband asked.

“Czechoslovakia.”

What will happen to us when we die? We all want to know that, don’t we? Our adult class has been tackling a series of difficult theological questions during Lent and what happens when we die certainly falls into that category.

The story Jesus told about the rich man and Lazarus seems to be a story about what happens when we die. The rich man is described in great detail. He wears purple robes made of fine linen and eats extravagantly. Outside his gate, lies a poor man, Lazarus who, by the way, is the only person in Jesus’ parables to be named. Lazarus is not only poor, he seems to have leprosy and is covered with sores. Lazarus lives for the possibility the rich man might toss some crumbs his way. However, the only attention Lazarus gets is from the dogs that lick his sores.

Eventually, the poor man dies and is carried up to heaven by angels…”to Abraham’s side” is how it is translated in our reading. The rich man also dies, thereby proving the dictum that death does not discriminate. The rich man is buried and ends up in Hades where he is tormented. He looks up and sees Abraham with Lazarus “by his side”. Hey, Abraham, the rich man shouts, can you get Lazarus to wet his finger and come down here and soothe my parched tongue? The audacity and ignorance of the rich man is hard to fathom, isn’t it? On the other hand, maybe it’s not so hard. I am thinking there are a lot of rich men types out there in our country these days that simply do not get it! In this parable, the rich man doesn’t end up where he does because he is rich. He ends up where he is because he just does not get it. He is oblivious to the suffering right outside his door. Clarence Jordan, in the Cotton Patch Gospel, aptly puts into words Lazarus’ reply: “Lazarus ain’t gonna run no mo yo errans, rich man.”

Abraham reminds the rich man that while he was alive, he was richly blessed while the poor man had nothing but misery. Now it is the poor man’s turn and he is being comforted. In addition, there is a huge chasm between you, rich man, and us. It can’t be bridged.

The rich man, still not getting it, wants to know if Lazarus can’t be sent to warn his brothers so they don’t end up like him. Really?

Abraham tells him that they’ve heard what the prophets and Moses have taught. You know what the prophets taught – how we should be just and righteous and follow God…or else. One particular prophet comes to mind – the prophet Micah. Oh yeah, remember what that prophet said? You shall beat your swords into plowshares and not learn war no more. (4:3) The same Micah said, “What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

Abraham tells the rich man that if he is not going to listen to the prophets what difference will it make “if someone rises from the dead”. In other words, if I send Lazarus back from the dead to tell your brothers to shape up, you think they’re gonna listen to him?

We think this is a story about what will happen to us when we die – who gets to go to heaven and who will end up in torment.

 

Will Willimon tells a story about a church he once served. One of his parishioners lost a loved one and Willimon and his wife went to the funeral. We pastors do that…attend the funeral even though it isn’t one of ours. It is a way of supporting our people. Plus,you learn stuff at those funerals. You learn about your members, but you also learn about how other churches do. The church, in this case, was a little wood-framed country church. The pastor eventually got into his sermon, red-faced and vehemently preaching about how for the deceased it was too late. It was too late to live a good life. It was too late to be a church-goer. It was too late. But it is not too late for us! It is not too late for us, he railed. On the way home, Willimon turned to his wife and allowed as to how that was just about the worst sermon he’d ever heard at a funeral. Can you believe that guy said what he did? His wife paused for a moment and said “And you know why it was so bad? Because he was right!”

Perhaps, then, the story about Lazarus might not be about what happens to us when we die. Maybe it is about how we live in this life…before it is too late.

In the end, Lazarus is comforted in the lap or by the side of Abraham because of how he lived on earth while the rich man is without comfort because of how he lived on earth.

Now, it seems to me that how we should live is fairly clear in this parable, but isn’t it stunning how many people who claim to be Christian ignore the suffering ones right outside their door? I mean, how else would you interpret this story?

Who is outside our door? Who do we simply refuse to see…because they are potentially dangerous? Because we might get sick if we touch them? Because we are in a hurry and can’t be bothered? Because they might be illegal? Because, well, because there are just so many of them!

We’ve been thinking during this Lenten season about sanctuary – what is sanctuary physically and spiritually? The rich man is safe and sound behind the sanctuary of his gates. The poor man, on the other hand, lies completely exposed without any shelter, like the picture on the front of your bulletins of the refugee family lying without any shelter in the middle of a field. They look so vulnerable and at risk. The rich man could have provided Lazarus with shelter and care. In the end, it is Lazarus who is given shelter and comfort and sanctuary…in the bosom of Abraham.

If you were listening carefully, you perhaps noticed that our translation of Luke’s text did not use the word “bosom”. Lazarus was carried to “Abraham’s side”. When the rich man sees him, he is “at Abraham’s side”. The difference in translations caused me to do some research. The King James Version reads “bosom”. The New English Bible reads “to be with” and “close beside him.” Eugene Peterson’s contemporary translation reads “lap” as does the New International version of the text. Why this discrepancy?

The Bosom of Abraham has very ancient usage. Up until about 1583 CE the use of the phrase referred to the custom of parents holding their children on their laps. Even earlier than this, it is believed that the bosom of Abraham referred to the custom of eating meals in a reclining position, leaning on the chest of the person next to you. If the usage of the Bosom of Abraham has such a long history, why change the translation into something less physical, less intimate? I mean, does “close beside him” have the same meaning as “in the bosom of”? Is it because bosom seems feminine? Is it because bosom seems just a little too close for comfort? A little too intimate for our likes? Too touchy touchy feely feely for us frozen chosen?

Or does changing bosom of Abraham for a description less intimate suggest who we think God is? Are we worried about getting too close to God? Do we think God does not care enough about us to grasp us and hold us tight to God’s self?

There are some beautiful depictions of the bosom of Abraham on the stone columns of Romanesque and Gothic churches in which Abraham is depicted holding a sort of blanket with the souls of the departed close to his chest. These images tell us something about who God is. God is compassionate and nurturing and wants nothing more than to hold us tightly in God’s strong arms.

I love the idea that, in Baptism, God has taken little William Nixon in God’s arms and holds him tight…to the bosom of God.

Why wouldn’t we want that God? Why would we want to change the words from bosom to simply standing nearby? I will tell you what I think. I think we may not want God to be so intimately caring because that means we might have to be so intimately caring. If God is like that…then we should be like that…while we are alive – before it is too late.

Who is outside our gates? Who is outside our church doors? Who is outside…right in front of us that we do not see…this morning? This morning…it is not too late!

A Woman’s Work Is Never Done!
Rev. Christa Fuller Burns
Faith Presbyterian Church (USA) Baltimore

Luke 18:25-42 – 5 March 2017

First Sunday of Lent

 

The dictionary defines “sanctuary” as 1) a holy place set aside for worship and 2) a place of refuge or protection; originally, fugitives from justice were immune from arrest in churches or other sacred places.

I am guessing most of us are familiar with the idea of church as a place for worship and even refuge from the cares of the world. Indeed, one of the most frequently used arguments against churches taking part in the affairs of the outside world is that the church ought to be a spiritual refuge from the affairs of the world. We may not be so familiar with the idea of church as a place of safety for those in trouble with the law. However, the idea that there should be such places is intrinsic to our identity as people of God. As I pointed out in my Voice of Faith letter, Moses was instructed by God to set apart certain cities of refuge, sanctuary cities, for those in need of a safe place (Numbers 35:15). Through-out it’s history, the church has provided refuge to people in danger. Christians during the Holocaust were simply enacting their faith when they took in Jews in defiance of Hitler’s laws.

God is often described in the Psalms as providing refuge for us: Psalm 91: “You who live in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty, will say to the Lord, ‘My refuge and my fortress; my god in whom I trust.’ For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence; he will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler.” (v 1-4)

The author of Hebrews describes Christ as a high priest who gives us a sanctuary “not made with hands”. ..eternal in the heavens (Hebrews 9:11).

This idea of sanctuary, then, is a foundational one in our faith whether we are talking about a physical place of sanctuary or the sanctuary of the heart, a spiritual sanctuary.

During our Lenten season I would like to explore the meaning of sanctuary, both physical and spiritual. As you may know by now, Susan Minor and I have been attending meetings at St. Matthews Church. A variety of faith communities, the number of which grows each time we meet, are coming together to think about what it means to provide sanctuary for immigrants who are being rounded up by the authorities and detained. What would it mean if Faith declared itself a “Sanctuary Church”?

As I looked at our lectionary for Lent it occurred to me that the stories Jesus told are so often about refuge of one sort or another.

Let’s begin by considering the very familiar story of The Good Samaritan. You know the story. A lawyer comes up to Jesus, as Luke puts it, to test him. He wants to know what he has to do to inherit eternal life. Jesus responds: Well, you know the law. You tell me. The lawyer knows his law and his faith. He answers “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus tells him that he has the right answer. If he can do this, love God with all that he is and his neighbor as himself, he will live.

The lawyer persists and asks Jesus who is his neighbor at which point Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan. A man was going down the road from Jerusalem to Jericho when he was stripped, robbed and beaten by a gang. It seems to me, part of the problem with our modern hearing of this story is that it is so familiar. We know the story – not just the Biblical account of the story. We know it because everyday we hear on the news or see on Facebook accounts of people who are robbed and beaten and left for dead. We know this story.When we are daily bombarded with horrific accounts of people left for dead, we run the risk of being the ones who walk by on the other side. After all, there is just so much misery we can take. Maybe we are numb to the story.

And, we also know the part about those who walk by and do nothing because…why? Because we are rushing somewhere and don’t have time? Because we feel inadequate to help? Because it might be dangerous? Because our religious obligations forbid touching someone like that? Our excuses are too numerous to mention.

We know, too, the Samaritans in our world. The Samaritans are not simply those we think of as “other”. They are the enemy. Jews thought Samaritans were something as vile as terrorists. We probably cannot overestimate the antipathy Jews felt toward Samaritans. None the less, Jesus felt the obligation to reach out to them. In chapter 9 of Luke, Jesus sends his messengers into a Samaritan village where they are not met with a welcome committee, to put it mildly. They refused to welcome Jesus and the disciples want to know if Jesus wants that they should command fire to come down from heaven and wipe ‘em all out! Of course, Jesus says no, and they move on.

The Samaritans – they were not just bad neighbors. They were despised. They were hated, which makes Jesus’ telling of this parable all the more remarkable.

The priest walks by. The holy, prestigious Levite walks by. But the hated and despised Samaritan stops. He doesn’t just stop. Moved with pity, he bandages the victim’s wound, he hoists him up on his donkey, and he takes him to an inn where he gives the inn keeper some money and instructions to take care of him.

We know this story…because it is about all of us. At some point, haven’t we found ourselves in the ditch? At some point, haven’t we been the ones who just kept going? At some point, hopefully, were we the ones who stopped and gave refuge to the wounded, the vulnerable, the refugee?

The Good Samaritan, after all, is a story about loving our neighbors to the point where we pick them up out of the ditch and offer them safety. The Good Samaritan is a story about providing sanctuary. The second story we heard this morning is perhaps less clearly about sanctuary.

The story about the two sisters, Mary and Martha, is also familiar. As Jesus and his friends kept going they come to a village where a woman, Martha, welcomes them into her home. That’s about sanctuary isn’t it? Martha provides a safe place that is warm and where there is food for the travelers on their way to Jerusalem. While Martha busily works in the kitchen fixing dinner, her sister Mary sits at Jesus’ feet, listening to what Jesus says. Martha gets upset and wants to know why Jesus doesn’t tell her sister to help her whereupon Jesus says, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” (v.41-41)

Traditionally, we women have been asked, “Are you a Mary or a Martha?” Are we the one who keep everything working and in order? Or are we the dreamy one who spends her days in contemplation? I have decided that this choice is unfair and may not have been Jesus’ intended point at all. Perhaps the story about Mary and Martha isn’t about how one role is better than the other. Perhaps it is a story about defending a woman’s right to choose. Martha’s work was traditional for her day, maybe even for ours. The fact that Mary is allowed to sit at Jesus’ feet, to be a student of Jesus was unthinkable in Jesus’ time. It was unthinkable that a woman would be allowed to sit at the teacher’s feet. Jesus defends Mary’s right to choose.

And, what is it that Mary chooses? Howard Thurman, the great American spiritual mentor who we just studied in our adult forum, writes that we have an outer life and an inner sanctuary. Sometimes, he writes, it is hard to know that we are in fact one: the outer life is made up of things we do – our relationships, our work and play, job, people and things. Martha represent an outer life. On the other hand, the inward sanctuary “is the place where I keep my trust with all my meanings and my values. It is the quiet place where the ultimate issues of my life are determined. What I know of myself, my meaning; what I know of God, His meaning; all this, and much more, is made clear in my secret place.” (P.173-4 Meditations of the Heart) Thurman concludes that we need both the outer sanctuary and the inner one because the outer one will have no meaning without the inner one. In other words, we need to be both Martha and Mary – the one who provides physical sanctuary and the one who has the sanctuary within.

I always think of the writer, Frederick Buechner’s story about his father who committed suicide when Buechner was a small boy. Later, Buechner came to realize that, as accomplished and intelligent as he was, his father had no real home within himself. In other words, he had no inner sanctuary, no inner refuge that gave meaning to his life. Or, as the great poet, Billy Joel, put it in his song, And So It Goes: “In every heart there is a room; A sanctuary safe and strong to heal the wounds from lovers past until a new one comes along”. Perhaps that is what Mary found when she sat at Jesus’ feet: A sanctuary safe and strong to heal the wounds.

The fact is that what the Good Samaritan did, what Martha did and what Mary did was all work. There is the work of physically rescuing the person in the ditch. There is the work of making our homes places of welcome. There is the work of tending our inner homes, our sanctuaries of the heart. That work…is never done!

 

The View from Here
Rev. Christa Fuller Burns
Faith Presbyterian Church (USA) Baltimore

Luke 9:28-45 – 26 – February 2017

Transfiguration

What would you say if Jesus came up to you and tapped you on the shoulder and said, “Hey, I’m going to hike up that mountain for some quiet time. You want to go with me?” What would you say?

I, for one, find the suggestion of getting away, finding a quiet place, a change of scenery, very attractive.

This past week-end, I met up with my son Cal for my nephew’s wedding in Texarkana, Texas. Anyone ever been to Texarkana? As Randy will tell you, there is not much in Texarkana – not much at all! Nonetheless, the weekend excursion offered me a welcome change of scene. For one thing, there was no talk of politics at the wedding. In fact, it was kind of like being in a different world – far removed from the daily grind, the bleary bombardment of bad news, the every-present reminders of what is wrong with the world.

It is comforting, is it not, to know that Jesus may have shared our fatigue with worldly worries? After all, Jesus’ daily encounters were with the poor that you have with you always, the demonpossessed and all those despairing women. The woes of the world crowded around Jesus and there was no respite. His feet were covered with the dirt of the world. It must have been oppressive to ever be in demand, to always fell surrounded by hunger and need, to always be reminded of the work to be done as the poet described it:

And all is seared with trade;

bleared, smeared with toil;

And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell;

the soil Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

-(Gerard Manley Hopkins)

Yes, our world too is seared with trade, bleared, smeared with toil. So. If Jesus asks us if we’d like a change of scenery, if we’d like to hike up a mountain, would you stay or would you go?

The fact is, we don’t know why only the three went with Jesus: Peter, John, and James. However, I appreciate the possibility that Jesus simply asked who wanted to go hike to a quiet place where they could pray uninterrupted and they were the ones who agreed.

Of course, the irony is, when the four men get to the top of the mountain, they are interrupted. There are other people up there. Moses and Elijah are up there and, doggone it, they are talking! We never get the idea that much praying happens! Isn’t that the way life so often goes? Our best laid plans are interrupted and what we’d hoped was going to be quiet solitude gets interrupted.

We have to point out that it is not just anybody who is up there on that mountain. It’s none other than Moses and Elijah. They appear just as Jesus has been illuminated – his face shone and his clothes “flashed white like lightening”. Moses and Elijah appeared in heavenly splendor too.

Even this occurrence may seem familiar to us. We are in a place where we think we know what to do. We think we know the place. We are praying, maybe, and we are with people we know and it’s manageable. Something happens that totally changes the way we see things, the way we see ourselves, the way we see Jesus. It may not have been a blinding light… or maybe it was.

One of my favorite short stories is by Flannery O’Connor and it is about a southern woman who is set in her ways. Her world is predictable and she works hard at keeping it that way – nothing to make her upset, nothing out of order. Blacks are in their place and whites are in their place until one day, our of the blue, just as Mrs. Turpin is doing an ordinary thing – visiting a doctor’s office – a young woman has an outburst and throws a book at Mrs. Turpin. When Mrs. Turpin gets home it is if she seeks to put her life back where is should be, predictable. She goes out to feed the pigs and suddenly there is a kind of blinding light and she sees folks in long white robes marching up the heaven….except it is not the way it should be…it is out of order. The people in front of the line are all black! The misfits are also at the front of the line. Mrs. Turpin’s world view is transfigured and her tidy order of things is disrupted.

(Revelation)

“The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil Crushed.”

Sometimes it happens that way…sometimes…if we manage, like Jesus’ friends in the story, to stay awake and we are not overcome by sleep. That is the risk for us, it seems, in these days – when we have the chance to get away and we relax. We catch up on our sleep and we can totally miss the shining like shook foil that has the potential to totally change our view of things…from up here.

Peter and his friends see the shining but they respond in predictable fashion. Jesus, they say, it sure is a good thing we are up here! We can build something to contain this experience. We can manage it. We can make it fit our human expectations or order where everyone is where they should be. We want to do something because that is our way to manage the shining shook from foil.

And, that is when the cloud comes! That is when, I figure, God has to say something. The cloud comes and completely covers everyone on the mountain and you can’t see anything. Have you ever been swallowed up in fog? Maybe you’ve been on a plane and one minute you can see the earth below and the next minute all you can see is the dense, impenetrable whiteness, I grew up in Southern California. We’d be a football game at night watching our team, the Corona Del Mar Sea Kings, and the fog would roll in and you couldn’t see a darn thing! We could hear the whistles blowing but we couldn’t see anything. The amazing thing to me now is that we stayed for the whole game…in the fog. That is High School for you!

It is no wonder then that Jesus’ friends were overcome with awe or fear, as some translations have it. The shining was one thing – they could manage that – or so they thought. The shining. But that cloud, that is a different thing. God is close in the cloud.

My grandmother and I used to have a running debate about where we felt closest to God. My choice was always the ocean. My grandmother on the other hand always went for the mountain…She did have the Bible on her side!

And then….God speaks: “This is my son, my chosen one. Listen to him.” It is one thing to see Jesus – to really see him for who he is. It is another thing to listen to him.

Sadly, the disciples, and we, cannot stay up there on the mountain. We have to come down to the world, which is as we left it. The large crowd is waiting. The epileptic boy needs healing. The disciples either couldn’t or wouldn’t heal him and we are the faithless and crooked generation.

The world is as we left it – still violence-ridden, still rude, still unjust. And Jesus? Jesus will be put to death by this faithless and crooked generation.

It is as if all the shining wore off on the way back down the mountain. All the awe evaporated.

You see, I believe that it wasn’t just Jesus who was transfigured up there on the mountain. What difference would it make if it was just Jesus- like a tree in a forest – and no one saw him? I think Peter, John and James were also changed – they had to be – by the reflected light and the sound of god’s voice.

However, something happened in the descent. Something happened to cause Jesus’ comment on their faithlessness. They lost their shine. They lost their confidence. They lost their vision of who Jesus is. Did they forget what happened and how they felt? Did the misery of the world, like a magic eraser, simply wipe the shine off?

Our task, it seems to me, on this Transfiguration Sunday – the Sunday before we enter the wilderness that is Lent – before we go out into our grimy and hurting world is to remember what we’ve seen and heard. Our task is to look at ourselves in the mirror and see the incandescent light that Jesus gives to us. I am not talking about a cosmetic blush here. I am not talking about simply putting on a happy face. I am talking about shining with the light of truth. I am talking about shining with the light of justice. I am talking about shining with the light of endurance and courage. Our task this morning is to go out into the world….and shine!

It Takes Guts!
Rev. Christa Fuller Burns
Faith Presbyterian Church (USA) Baltimore

Luke 7: 1-17 – 5 February, 2017

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Many of you know that I have been on an administrative commission for a church in Bel Air. “Administrative commission” is Presbyterian speak for a group of folks who go to be with a church that is split up. Consequently, I find myself driving out to Bel Air, sometimes at odd times; most of the time at night. Now, as you know, we’ve got Faith people who live out that way and who drive in to church all the time. But I am a city girl. You get me out there on those dark roads at night and I feel disoriented and lonely. I mean, Bel Air feels like another state! I am coming to the idea that my little excursions out into the county are teaching me things.

This morning I invite you to think, first of all, about the geography of the two stories we heard this morning. Let’s imagine we are among those who have been walking with Jesus. Our numbers have grown. We’ve pretty much stayed close to home. Jesus is from Galilee, right? His disciples are from Galilee. Galilee is, at the time of Jesus, considered something of a backwater place. It lacks the culture and the commerce and sophistication of the area around Jerusalem, for example.

So far, we’ve been in familiar surroundings, more or less around the Sea of Galilee. We know this place, this land, these people.

When Jesus goes to Capernaum, right there as it is on the lake, it is “our people” he speaks to. We know this place.

However, this time, when we get to Capernaum, after Jesus does his thing teaching, we are met by some Jewish elders who ask him to come to the house of a centurion that is a general in the Roman army who commands a hundred men. The centurion’s slave is gravely ill and he wants Jesus to heal him. We are in a familiar place, but this is not a familiar encounter – a Roman soldier wants Jesus to come to his house? The elders persuade Jesus by telling him that, even though the Romans are hated and despised, even though the Romans are our oppressors, Jesus should go to his house because the guy is a good guy. He loves our people. He even built our synagogue for us.

Jesus, and we, because by this point, where Jesus goes, we go, we start for the centurion’s house. When we are most of the way there, we are met by some of the centurion’s friends who tell Jesus that the centurion feels unworthy to have Jesus come all that way. If he just says the word, his beloved servant will be healed. It is as if the centurion recognizes Jesus’ authority. If you just say the word, he says, healing will happen. Jesus turns around to us and tells us, we who have been following him all along, we who have left our homes and families in order to go all over kingdom come, Jesus turns to us and says, “I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith”.

It is stunning. All we can hear is the gentle lapping of the Sea of Galilee in the background; it is such a familiar sound to us. We are in our home turf. We are with our friends; people we know. And Jesus is telling us that this foreigner, this wicked Roman has more faith than we do? All because he tells Jesus that all he has to do is issue a command and his servant will be healed. And who is this servant anyway? Whoever heard of a Roman commander caring that much for an Israelite slave – so much so that he built him a synagogue, so much so that he goes to a Galilean healer man on behalf of his slave? Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Maybe their relationship is more than meets the eye. Maybe they are more than master and slave. Just thinking. And, this Roman has more faith than we do? Just thinking. The slave, by the way, he is healed.

Soon after this encounter, we leave the familiar and head some twenty or so miles south to a place called Nain…kind of like going from Baltimore to Bel Air. Now, we are out of our comfort zone. Nain is a fair piece from Capernaum. We get to this town, and there is a huge procession coming out of the gates of the town. It is quickly apparent that it is a funeral procession. It seems a widow has lost her only son. It is a heart-wrenching scene – a mother completely bereft. She has nothing. Nothing. There is no future for her. And, she is inconsolable. As the crowd slowly moves toward the rock-hewn tombs on the outskirts of town, Jesus sees this widow. No one else really sees her. After all, it is a common enough sight, a crying mother. But Jesus sees her. Not only that, but Jesus feels for her. He has compassion for her. When we say “compassion”, we are actually using a word that means coming from our gut, wrenching our guts, our innermost selves.

Jesus tells the widow not to cry, at which point the crowd stops moving, and Jesus reaches out and touches the coffin. “Young man”, he says, “I say to you, rise!” The son sits up in that coffin and starts talking! Jesus takes the young man and gives him to his mother. The crowd, as you can imagine, is awe-struck. We are both scared and amazed. What kind of power does this man have that he can heal from a distance and raise a kid from the dead?

Here is what we learn when we walk with Jesus: He takes us out of our comfort zone. He tells us that just because we are baptized, good church folk who are in church on Sunday morning, we don’t necessarily have the faith that someone we may despise has. Oh, my – there are all those people outside this church that are living…faithfully…we’ve got to open our doors to them. Not only that. We have to be open to those who disagree with us; those who define faith differently than us.

William Willimon tells a story about a church that was dying and trying to decide what to do with their church building. They got a new pastor that convinced the church that what they should was just keep the church open to anyone who wanted to come in. And, so they did. They kept the church open all the time and never locked the doors and soon there were regular homeless people who slept there at night and there were people who hung out there during the day because it was warm. However, the insurance people soon warned the church that they could not keep their insurance and not lock the doors. So, the congregation regretfully locked the doors to the church. However, they put the keys under a rock where all could see it. The rock had big bold letters: “KEY”. Don’t you know that church came to life again because it opened itself to the others in its neighborhood!

Second, if we walk with Jesus, we learn something about trusting our gut. In both the story of the centurion and the story of the widow and her son, Jesus had compassion for the plight of otherwise ignored people. I fear one of the things I am seeing in our country today is the inability to feel what another is feeling. We keep hearing that this past election was all about “my” pocketbook, “my” security, “my” job, “my” doctor. Have we lost the ability to feel compassion for the other – that ability to feel from our innermost selves, not what I am feeling, but what the other is feeling – whether it is the steelworker in Ohio or the Syrian child with no place to go? When Jesus tells that story about the folk who pass by the fellow lying in the ditch is he talking about us – the Levite and the priest – the good guys who go to church? And, who is it that has compassion for the robbed and beaten man? A foreigner? A Samaritan? Might as well have been a Roman army officer. If we say we are going to walk with Jesus, if we say that, yes, there is a balm in Gilead, then we are going to have to tell the love of Jesus…and, that is going to take guts!