A Sense of Wonder

The following was a sermon I preached this past Sunday, Palm/Passion Sunday. We read the Gospel of Mark's account of Jesus entering Jerusalem and the entire Passion narrative.

Mark 11.1-11
Mark 14.1-15.47

Scripture is a funny thing: we are charged to read it, ingest it, and make it a part of who we are as God’s children. Yet, there is so much that it is overwhelming to take it all in! Then there are those texts that we have become very familiar with, like the birth narratives of Jesus, the passion narratives, or even the creation stories in Genesis. In fact, sometimes they can seem so familiar to us that we almost stop paying attention. We stop listening to the details, our familiarity breeds in us a complacency, a loss of wonder at what we are reading, hearing, and experiencing.

It’s like an automatic CD player turns on in our head as soon as it is even mentioned that we are going to be reading one of these texts: the player starts in and we stop paying attention to what we are reading and instead focus on what we remember the text to be.

Unfortunately, believing we know the text already causes us to miss some interesting things that often happen in scripture. For instance, in the passion narrative today in Mark 15.47, two Mary’s are at the tomb as the stone is rolled against it: Mary Magdalene, whom we expect, and then Mary the mother of Joses. Who is Mary the mother of Joses? And where is Mary the mother of Jesus? Is this a typo? I thought it was a mistake until I checked every Bible I had and they all had the same thing: Mary mother of Joses. I checked the commentaries and no one knows this Mary mother of Joses. There are some theories about Mark’s intention of making sure to show the prominent place women had in Jesus’ radical ministry, others purport a scribal error in spelling, but no one really knows.

But the thing that really caught my attention in today’s text is in Mark 11, in Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem: there is this strange sequence where Jesus enters Jerusalem, goes directly to the temple—sounds good so far—but, then, when he enters, the text tells us that he simply looks around and then leaves to join up with his friends. What’s that all about? There is nothing in the text about why he did this or what he did when we was in there.

A question we should ask ourselves when reading scripture is this: Why would an author include a particular text? Remember, writing instruments were relatively rare and expensive during these times. People who could write had to use space and resources efficiently. We have to assume that anything in the story was deemed necessary in order to convey whatever the author was trying to convey.

So, Jesus goes into the Temple, looks around at everything, and leaves. Let’s ask some questions. One of the most obvious questions we must ask is: What significance does the Temple hold for the author? The Temple represented the center of Jewish life in Israel. The Temple held the entire history of the people Israel and their relationship with the One who saw them through all sorts of trials and triumphs. The Temple, for early Israelites, represented the focal point of their entire existence: God, YHWH, the One who loved them, the One whom they loved. The temple was sacred space, the space where God dwelled, the space where God spoke, the space where the people experienced wonder and amazement at all that God had done.

Could it be that Jesus went into the temple, late in the day, presumably when no one else would be there, to kinda of “check in” with God? Could it be that he went to listen for the God who had spoken so many other times in that space?

The temple was the representation of all the people’s history and tradition. Maybe Jesus went in order to gather all the memories of God’s people as he prepared to do this thing that would change the world forever. Maybe Jesus went to take it all in, remembering how through all the people’s covenanting and breaking covenant with God, this One God continued to be present and active in their lives—and was now still very present and active through Jesus.

It makes me think about walking into this space in which we gather every Sunday morning. Nearly 2,000 years after Jesus walked the hills of Galilee, entered Jerusalem, and did this strange, beautiful and tragic thing for all of humanity, I can’t help but feel closer to God in the space where people gather to be with God. Sure, God is always with us no matter where we are or what we’re doing, but somehow in this space and others like it I can’t help but feel closer, more connected.

I wonder how many people entered the temple as though it were any other building and ignored the significance of that space in the lives of their own people? I wonder how many people entered and could not feel the significance of God’s power and grace in that place? I wonder how many times I have walked into this space and not taken the time to take in the history and significance of this space, and others like it, and how God has spoken to people here for decades? How often have I taken it for granted?

Anne Lamott wrote in her book, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith:

Most of what we do in worldly life is geared toward our staying dry, looking good, not going under. But in baptism, in lakes and rain and tanks and fonts, you agree to do something that’s a little sloppy because at the same time it’s also holy, and absurd. It’s about surrender, giving in to all those things we can’t control; it’s a willingness to let go of balance and decorum and get drenched.

Was this Jesus’ surrender to the will of the One who calls us by name? Was this brief moment in an all too familiar sequence of events Mark’s way of letting us know Jesus’ willingness to let go and get drenched in God’s grace that flows through and with the muck of human tragedy? Was this Mark’s way of rekindling that lost sense of wonder, making sure we understand that Jesus knew the challenges that lay ahead of him and also the significance of what was about to happen?

How often do we take a moment to pause, to take in the significance of a given space or moment, to listen for the voice of God to guide us, for the voices of those faithful who have gone before us who remind us that God is indeed present and active? How often do we stop to pay attention to that which seems so familiar to us in order to really take it all in, to notice things we have never noticed before or have taken for granted to reclaim that age old sense of wonder in God? How often do we just stop?

Taking It All In

It's the evening of Palm Sunday. Today I preached a sermon on when Jesus, after entering Jerusalem in Mark 11, goes into the temple, looks at everything, and then leaves to meet with his friends. I can only imagine what Jesus was thinking as he entered the temple. The text tells us that it was late, so I imagine most of the people were gone.

Have you ever spent time in a sanctuary or holy place all by yourself? It can be both eerie and exhilerating all at the same time. It is amazing to walk into a space others consider holy and realize that in that space God has spoken to people's hearts and souls. I can't help but be in awe of these holy places.

My wife kind of laughs at me when we are on trips and I want to see the local churches. I love being in these spaces. Somehow, though I know no one who attends these churches, I feel connected not only to those who attend there at the time, but also to those who have passed through that place through its history. It's exciting to think of when these churches were first formed. Many of the older churches across the country--especially in the East--many of them started with gatherings in a barn or an old school house. Somehow they were able to muster enough money to build a sanctuary. The time, money, and effort that went into building these communities and houses of worship is inspiring. Somehow God has spoken to these people and they heeded God's voice and felt compelled to make some lasting memorial of this thing that had happened.

Jesus did something wonderful after the people welcomed him with their Hosannah's. He went to the place that was the center of the people's life together and took in all that history, all that tradition, all that God-speak. I wonder if he was sad in some way, though. After that week none of it was going to be the same. In fact, the world was never going to be the same. All that weighing on his shoulders. I really can't imagine. Yet, somehow I want to be a part of it all. Somehow I want to take hold of what Jesus did and is doing and be a part of what God is doing here now--offering grace, hope, life, to all people everywhere. And, yes, God's grace even extends to all the greedy and narrowminded folk who sought the short gain at the expense of our current world-wide economic catastrophe.

You want to know what I heard this morning during worship while I stood in our modern sanctuary with all those people gathered for the same thing but a thousand different reasons? I heard the fickleness of a crowd who cheers "Hosannah" today and "Crucify him" only a few days later. But somehow in the midst of all that, I heard the hope of a new tomorrow, the joy of an Easter renewal.

May God bless us is this Holy Week. May we take time to step in to those holy spaces in our lives and just take it all in. May we be overwhelmed by the wonder of it all!

Invitation to Freedom

A sermon preached on March 15, 2009, the third Sunday in Lent. Based on the Revised Common Lectionary text for the day:
Exodus 20.1-7
1 Corinthians 1.18-25

The Ten Commandments are well known—even non-Christians have heard of them (giving you some idea of their reach beyond the world of our Judeo-Christianity). Something with such reach should give us all pause as to the their relevance and importance in our world.

These Ten Commandments are listed twice in the Hebrew Scriptures: in Leviticus 20, from which we read today, and Deuteronomy 5. Though they are known more commonly as the “Ten Commandments”, they are also known as the Decalogue, or, in Hebrew, the “ten words.” In Greek, “ten words” is translated as deka logoi: deka meaning "ten", and logoi, the plural form of the word for “word”, logos. Thus, in modern English, we get the Decalogue, or ten words.

They are said to have come down from God, to Moses at Mount Sinai while the Israelites were wandering the desert after having escaped hundreds of years of slavery in Egypt, and finally from Moses to the people of Israel after he had come down from the mountain. They were given in the context of a people who had forgotten who they were, and to whom they belonged—namely, to God. They had forgotten how to be in relationship with God because they believed God had abandoned them during their Egyptian slavery. They wandered the desert, following Moses, secretly, and later outloud, wondering if they might have been better off back in Egypt. So, God gave them the “ten words” to guide them in their journey through the desert and their journey back to God.

The first four “words” share how to be in relationship with God: put God first, don’t mistake the real presence of God with other things, don’t abuse this relationship, and trust God’s wisdom, taking time to rest and take care of yourself. The next six “words” share how to be in relationship with other people: honor your parents, gleaning from them the wisdom of their life experiences (both good and bad); don’t murder; don’t commit adultery; don’t steal; don’t lie; and don’t covet.

These “ten words” have had an incredible impact on the world as civilization after civilization have tried to apply these words to their own context, trying to carve out a peaceful existence. In our own time, these words have created both comfort and discomfort. We can all remembered lawsuits over these ten words being posted in front of court houses, and how that butted up against our modern, though diverse, understandings of separation of church and state. Some of these laws have been used to shape our own laws in this country when it comes to our belongings and the belongings of others.

There have been thousands of papers and books written about these ten words. In fact, there have even been a number of take offs, like: the Ten Commandments for computer programmers and the Ten Commandments of customer service for retail chains. These are not particularly religious applications, but it gives us an idea of their far reach.

There have also been all sorts of interpretations of these ten words, like, one of my favorites, the New Cajun Version. It goes something like this:

1. God is number one… and das’ All.
2. Don’t pray to nuttin’ or nobody… jus’ God.
3. Don’t cuss nobody… ’specially da Good Lord.\
4. When it be Sunday… pass yo’sef by God’s House, now.
5. Yo mama an’ yo daddy dun did it all… lissen to dem.
6. Killin’ duck an’ fish, das’ OK… people - No!
7. God done give you a hu’band or a wife… sleep wit’ jus’ him or her.
8. Don’t take nobody’s boat… or nuttin’ else.
9. Don’t go wantin’ somebody’s stuff.
10. Stop lyin’… yo tongue gonna fall out yo mouf!

But, we know that different rules can mean different things to different people. There’s a story about a man who, having lost his hat, goes to a church to steal one, knowing there would be a wide selection of hats hanging on the coat racks. When he gets there, the priest was giving a sermon on the Ten Commandments. Something in the sermon caught the man’s attention and gave him a reason to pause. He did not steal a hat.

After mass, the man felt compelled to go to confession to tell the priest what he was about to do. Once inside the confessional, the man says, “Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

“Go ahead, son,” the priest says assuredly.

So, the man starts to explain, “Father, I lost my hat and I came to church today to steal a hat off the coat rack.”

Somewhat surprised, the priest responds, “Is that so?”

“Yes,” the man says, “but when I heard you talking about the Ten Commandments, I changed my mind.”

Feeling rather good about his sermon now, the priest responds, “Really? My son, did you make this decision when I was discussing the commandment: ‘Thou shalt not steal?’”

“No,” the man says. “It was when you started talking about, ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery’. I suddenly remembered where my hat was!”

These commandments, aren’t so much about a bunch of do’s and don’ts. If we take anything from this off-color joke, we might begin to realize that these God's Ten Commandments are really about relationships—how we treat one another, how we treat God, and even how we treat ourselves. In fact, I would go so far as to say that these aren’t commandments at all, these are “words” of invitation, from God, to a way of life different from that which we are taught in this world. They are words of freedom, true freedom, built on understandings of respect for God, for ourselves, and for all of God’s children.

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians about how all this “commandment” stuff, this faith stuff, is seen as foolishness by those who do not share our faith. But, then he flips the tables. In verse 20 he writes, “Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?” After all, where has it gotten us? Wars? Violence? Starvation? Spiritual bankruptcy.

I might add, hasn’t God made foolish the ways of the world that tell us on bumper stickers, “The one with the most toys wins!” Hasn’t God made foolish the ways of the world that tell us to do what ever it takes to get to the top; or, my personal favorite, “Second place is the first loser.”

The world doesn’t understand the grace of God’s words, God’s invitation to relationship, to love, to grace. I found a story about how the world sees all this foolishness:

There was a married man and woman whose names were Harold and Jane. They were not a very religious couple, but they tried their best. You see, they only went to church once a year, usually around Christmas time.

One Christmas, as they were leaving the church, the minister greeted them and said, “Harold, Jane, it’s great to see you, but it sure would be nice to see you here more than just once a year.”

“I know, I know” replied Harold, somewhat ashamed. “It's just that we’re very busy people, leading very active lives. But, you may be happy to hear that we do keep the Ten Commandments.”

“That's great,” the minister said. “I'm glad to hear that you keep the Commandments.”

“Yes, we sure do,” Harold said proudly. “Jane keeps six of them and I keep the other four."

Harold and Jane, unfortunately, are only getting half the gift (or 60/40, depending on how you look at it). They aren’t getting the whole package.

In the Gospels Jesus summarizes all the 613 laws of the Torah, including these “ten words” with: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. And…love your neighbor as yourself.

Jesus really gives us three things: 1) Love God; 2) love your neighbor; but also, 3) love yourself. This is about healthy love, the kind of love that honors, appreciates, and cherishes all that God has done and created. If we have a healthy love of God, a REAL relationship with God, we will learn to appreciate who we are as individuals, loving ourselves for who God made us to be. When we love ourselves in a healthy way, we can then look beyond ourselves and appreciate who God made others to be.

The one invitation we seem to mess up more than the others is God’s invitation to love ourselves. We love God, not always well, and we try really hard to love others, but, in the end we in America have some real self-esteem issues. We are either obsessed with ourselves, or we struggle to love ourselves and find other ways to define our self-worth: buying a bunch of stuff that makes us feel important and successful, trampling over whomever gets in our way as we climb that corporate ladder, or even looking down on others we deem worse off because it makes us feel better about ourselves. If we truly love ourselves, we wouldn’t wrap our self worth up in our constant comparisons to others. We wouldn’t feel we need to out maneuver, out perform, out educate, or out purchase ourselves compared to others. Rather than padding a college application or resume, we might spend our early years in school discerning who are as God's children. And as parents we might spend the early years of our children's lives encouraging them to spend their time learning about and discerning who they are as God’s children. We might spend our time discovering our true gifts; not just what makes money, but what makes us complete, fully filled.

These “invitations”, as I like to call them, are more than just a bunch of do’s and don’ts. Paul sees the commandments as invitations to open our eyes and see the world as God sees it: full of beauty and worthy of respect. The Ten Words are about respect not only for God and other people, but for ourselves also. It works at least two ways: we show respect for God and all of God’s creation, including the people, and we may then grow in freedom to finally love and respect ourselves as part of the bigger picture; or we learn to love and respect ourselves for who God made us to be, and out of that growth of maturity we begin to see God and God’s creation differently, and even discern our part in it—we can’t help but grow to love and respect both God and those whom God has created.

So, here is your invitation, yet again. It is the same invitation God gave to the people of Israel through Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. It is the same invitation God shared with God’s children throughout the history of the world. It is the same invitation God offered through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus the Christ. You are personally invited to be in relationship with God and a part of what God is doing in our midst. You are personally invited to discover your self worth, not in what you do or how much you earn, but through the free and freeing salvation of hope and grace that can only come from the One who created us, loves us, and sustains us.

Do you, can you, will you accept God’s invitation into the freedom of love, respect, and grace?