Roger Lynn's Sermons

Choose Life!

2010-01-10T10:00:00.000-07:00

Deuteronomy 30: 19-20a & Luke 9: 1-6
Roger C. Lynn
January 10, 2010
Final Sermon at FCC Hamilton

Moses and the Hebrew people stood together at the edge of the Promised Land, looking into a future they could only begin to comprehend. Moses would not be going with them as they took their next steps into that future to which God was calling them. And so he sent them on their way with some final words of encouragement.

This morning we stand together at the edge of the Promised Land, looking into a future that you can only begin to comprehend. And like Moses, I will not be going with you as you take your next steps into that future to which God is calling you. I have my own Promised Land to which I am being called. And so, on this occasion I choose to send you on your way with the same words of encouragement which Moses spoke all those years ago. Choose Life!

It is Life to which God is calling you – rich, full, abundant Life! And there are opportunities every day, every moment, for each of you individually and all of you collectively as a congregation, to choose how you will respond to God’s call. Moses spoke of the choice in terms of blessings or curses. He might just as easily have said light and darkness, or abundance and scarcity, or life and death. The truth of the matter is that there is only one reality – Life! Except when we choose to close our eyes and turn away and live as if we are on our own. Then we find ourselves disconnected from that which is real. We close ourselves off from the abundant life which is our Sacred birthright. So choose life! Not just once, but in every moment of your living! Choose life, so that you may truly Live!

I really do believe that this congregation is standing at the edge of the Promised Land. God is calling you into new life, with a bold, new mission – a ministry of service in this community and in the world. My prayer is that you will heed the call and respond with your whole heart and soul. You are like the disciples when Jesus sent them out to preach the Good News and heal the sick. They could have hesitated – afraid that they didn’t know enough, didn’t have enough, were not enough. But Jesus cut that argument short with his instructions. He sent them out in pairs and he sent them out empty handed, as if to remind them that they are not alone and it isn’t about the equipment they have. I love the way “The Message” translation puts it. “Don’t load yourselves up with equipment. Keep it simple; you are the equipment.” (Luke 9:3)

God is sending you out into the world on a mission of proclamation and service. You are called to share the good news that God is right here, right now, in the midst of us! You are called to share that message with your words, with your actions, and most importantly with your very being. And your ability to take up that mission isn’t about being big enough, or strong enough, or rich enough, or smart enough, or even faithful enough. It is about being fully who you are, fully who God created you to be, in partnership with the God who is always right here with you. Don’t worry about what you can’t do. God isn’t calling you because of the gifts you don’t have. God is calling you because of the gifts you do have. Pay attention to what you can do, what you are called to do, what you are equipped and empowered by God’s ever-present Spirit to do. Pay attention to who you are, because you are a gift of God and there are people in the world who need exactly what you have to offer.

You have the gift of hospitality – when people walk through your doors they are met with warmth and caring and acceptance. Please trust me when I tell you that such a gift is huge! You have the gift of time – even if it is only a few minutes a week (and many of you can find more time than that) you have time and energy to actively participate in projects that bring healing to the world. You have an amazing facility, which can and is being used by other partners in this community. Such a gift is deeply appreciate and makes an enormous difference.

Over the coming weeks and months you will have the opportunity to explore your gifts and explore your mission. Always remember that you are not alone, you have God, and you have each other. The Sufi poet Hafiz put it this way, “Out of great need we are are holding hand and climbing. Not loving is a letting go. Listen, the terrain around here is far too dangerous for that.” (from “The Gift” translated by Daniel Ladinsky) So remember to hold hands and stick together. And always remember – you are the gift of God that the world needs. Choose Life!

Following Stars

2010-01-03T10:00:00.001-07:00

Isaiah 60: 1-6 & Matthew 2: 1-12
Roger C. Lynn
January 3, 2009
Epiphany

It really is a wild ride - this business of living faithfully. When we take it seriously it can inspire us to do things we might never have imagined (like following stars) and it can lead us to places we might never dream of going (like Bethlehem).

I love the birth narratives in Matthew and Luke. They are filled with such rich and imaginative imagery. I think we do ourselves a disservice, however, when we read them as one-time only, happened-to-someone-else sort of stories. I saw a program on PBS last year that spent an entire hour focusing on an in-depth analysis trying to figure out exactly who the wise men really were and where they came from. Through the whole program I kept thinking, “They are really missing the point here.” If they are merely exotic figures from some far-distant time and place, or even more likely just a literary creation of the Gospel writer, then there really isn’t much connection with our lives today. But what if we read the story as an invitation? What if we see it as an illustration of what might happen when we dare to keep our eyes and our hearts open to the presence of the Sacred as it appears in the most unexpected ways?

Singer/songwriter David Wilcox approached the story in just such a way in his song “Miracle.” In his introduction to the song during one of his concerts he talked about reading the story as a child in an illustrated children’s book. One of the pages was filled with a picture of the brilliantly dazzling star, and he remembers wondering why, if the star was so big and bright, only three people show up. But the truth is that the star is only big once we choose to follow.

“Miracle” (by David Wilcox)

A bright star in the winter sky
Led to Bethlehem that night
But only three traveled there to see
And the rest just wished they might

Few will choose to follow
Out of all the star invites
Most will hide safe inside
With the lantern turned up bright

Waiting for a miracle

The journey was a long one
So the story’s told
These three guys
Walking side by side
With their incense and gold

People all along the highway
They just shook their heads
They looked hard at that distant star
And went back to bed

’Cause they were

Waiting for a miracle

The star was dim and distant
To those who stayed at home
But every heart that followed
Behold a light was shone

And then David does what he frequently does in his songs - he lets their story flow into our story.

Hark! The herald angels sing
The song is bright and clear
It’s so quiet on this road tonight
As the travelers’ star appears

But right outside my window
Quiet as can be
All that time making up my mind
The angels wait for me

Waiting for a miracle

We can wait for a miracle to happen, wondering why bright stars never seem to appear for us to follow. Or we can pay attention to the stars that are already shining in our lives (however dim they might seem at first glance), listening for the ones that are calling us, and then take the risk to step out and follow with an openness to discover where life will take us.

It doesn’t happen all at once. There will be plenty of false starts and dead-ends. Not every star that beckons will truly enhance our living. And the only way to begin is to begin. What we will discover is that whenever we decide to take the first step, the angels will be waiting for us, ready to guide us on the journey.

So what might such stars look like in your life? What is it that is calling you into a new way of being in the world? In what out of the way, unexpected place will you discover the presence of the Sacred? Will you notice? Will you follow?

It might very well appear to be something small and insignificant. When my wife (long before she was my wife) stepped onto the path that eventually led to her becoming a midwife, it was because someone invited her to a birth and then planted the seed that midwifery ought to be something she consider. It took years for her to actually follow where that star led her. And, in fact, following that star opened up an awareness of other stars, which led her ever further down the path. But it all began with her paying attention, and then daring to step out and follow.

Maybe your star is that little thrill you got when you tried praying in a new way and actually had a new sense of God’s presence. Who can tell where following such a star might lead you? Maybe your star is your neighbor whom you visit a couple of times a week because no one else does. Stepping down that path of compassion might lead you into very unexpected places indeed. Maybe your star is the call you received to serve on a committee at the church in an area of responsibility you have never before considered. Following such a star might lead you to whole new ways of expressing your faith in the world.

Sometimes following stars will dramatically change our whole lives. Sometimes it will be far less dramatic, but no less significant. Sometimes we will need to pack up and leave our comforts and security behind as we head off into the unknown (like Veronica and I will be doing in a couple of weeks). Sometimes we’ll be home by dinnertime. Always we will encounter the Holy, and as a result the world will be healed, even if only in some small way.

The stars are still out there, waiting for us to follow. And the choice is clear - step out in faith, or go back to bed. I invite you, both individually and as a congregation, to take the risk - follow your stars and be surprised where they lead you.

The Curator

2009-12-27T10:00:00.000-07:00

Here's a link to the story I read during worship on Sunday, December 27, 2009 -

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=176491

The Innkeeper

2009-12-24T19:00:00.002-07:00

Roger C. Lynn

December 24, 2009

Christmas Eve

It was a crazy day. In truth, it had been a crazy month. Ever since that fool of an emperor announced his foolish edict about undertaking a census, with everyone being required to return to their ancestral home. I mean really - have you ever heard such an ill-conceived plan in your life? Oh don't get me wrong. Financially it was certainly good for me. Running an inn meant that I had a steady stream of customers for weeks. A flood would perhaps be a more accurate description. They just kept coming. The rooms filled up and tempers grew short. People needed a place to stay and I could only accommodate so many of them. I don't think I've ever turned away so many people in my life. But what was I supposed to do? I'm not a magician. I can't simply conjure rooms out of thin air. But I'm not a heartless villain either (despite what you may have heard). I saw the suffering this whole thing caused. People's lives turned upside down. I did what I could do, but there was so much more that was left undone.

So it was that they came through my doors. Of course I remember them. Even amid the throng of people in that harried time I could never forget those two, and the events they ushered into my life. He was a rough-around-the-edges working man - you could tell just by looking at his hands. But there was a gentleness about him as well. She was young, and so very heavy with child. I remember thinking how vulnerable they both looked. It was late in the day and they had obviously been travelling all day and more. She looked to be at the edge of exhaustion, and all he could manage to do was to hover close to her in that protective way young husbands do.

Yes, the stories you've heard are accurate. I told them there was no room for them in the inn. But I only told them what really was true. I had already packed as many people as seemed humanly possible into every nook and cranny of my inn. No one was comfortable. No one was happy. And there simply was no more space available. But I couldn't just turn them away. As I said, I'm not a heartless man. So I told them they could spend the night in the stable. It wasn't much, but at least it was out of the wind. I made sure the stable boy put out fresh straw. And I sent out a couple of blankets. And I gave them the few scraps of food that were left in the kitchen. I did what I could.

And then I got busy again. There is always something to do and not nearly enough time to do it all. I got busy, and, quite frankly, I forgot about the young couple in the stable. I forgot, that is, until the man came rushing in with fear and panic written all over his face. His wife's time had come, and he didn't know what to do. Well, I didn't know what to do either, but I did know who would. I called my wife, who had helped with many of the births in our village. I will spare you the words and the withering look she gave me for not telling her earlier about a pregnant woman in our stable. She rushed out the door with instructions for clean towels and water.

Later, in spite of the demands of a busy inn that kept me running well into the night, I decided to slow down long enough to check in on our guests in the stable. What I found changed my life forever. A calm had fallen over the stable. The cries of a woman in labor gave way to the cries of new life. I'm not a sentimental man, but even I could sense that something extraordinary had happened. It really is a miracle - this business of birth. There she was, the mother - exhausted beyond all description, and yet glowing with a radiance I will never forget. And the baby! To look into that tiny face was to look into the face of God.

Something holy took place that night, right there in my stable. And I almost missed it. It would have been so easy to miss. The customers, and the never ending stream of jobs constantly demanding my attention. And it wasn't at all what I would have looked for if I'd gone looking for something holy. It was just a poor couple having a baby - in my stable no less! Most people in town didn't even know they were there. Most people in my inn didn't even know they were there. I almost missed it. And I thank God every day that I didn't. Now I find myself wondering where I will discover something holy today. What might I miss if I forget to pay attention? What miracle of God is just waiting to change my life forever? It can happen! I know, because ever since that night it happens to me all the time.

The Scandal of Radical Love

2009-12-20T10:00:00.002-07:00

Matthew 1: 1-24

Roger C. Lynn

December 20, 2009

4th Sunday in Advent

This morning I’m going to do something you may never have experienced in worship before. I’m going to read one of the most boring sections to be found anywhere in the entire Bible – the genealogy at the beginning of Matthew’s Gospel. The exits have all been locked, so please don’t try to run away. Take a deep breath and it will all be over soon.

Actually, I surprised myself with this decision. Matthew’s Gospel has always been my least favorite of the four Gospels because it has always seemed so stiff and rigid. But what I’m discovering is that there is an amazingly powerful message hiding just beneath the surface, waiting to be discovered. For instance, why in the world would the author choose to begin such an important work – the story of the good news of Jesus – in such a dreadfully boring way? Forty two generations of genealogy! Was he trying to turn people off before they even had a chance to hear the message? Well, as it turns out, I think he had something else in mind. He’s making a subtle, yet powerful statement about the truth he sees revealed in the life of Jesus: the good news of God’s love – everyone is accepted, everyone is welcome, everyone can play a part in bringing God’s love to the world. It isn’t about being righteous (following the rules), it isn’t about being “good” enough, it isn’t about meeting some pre-determined set of criteria. It is about bringing all of who we are to the table and allowing God to work in us and through us. And yes, all of this can be seen in the genealogy. Let’s take a look.

I don’t have a clue who many of these people were (which in itself may also say a lot about who God can use), but just the few I do know a bit about makes the case loud and clear. I will offer some explanations and commentary as we go along.

(Matthew 1:1-17) An account of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham. Abraham was the father of Isaac (Sarah laughed at the idea of God giving them children in their old age, then both of them participated in forcing the issue by using a slave girl to conceive a child), and Isaac the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers (Jacob and his brothers sold their brother Joseph into slavery), and Judah the father of Perez and Zerah by Tamar, and Perez the father of Hezron, and Hezron the father of Aram, and Aram the father of Aminadab, and Aminadab the father of Nahshon, and Nahshon the father of Salmon, and Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab (Rahab the foreigner who betrayed her own government by helping spies escape, also a prostitute), and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth (another foreigner), and Obed the father of Jesse, and Jesse the father of King David. And David was the father of Solomon by the wife of Uriah (the mention of “the wife a Uriah” reminds us that David was both an adulterer and a murderer), and Solomon the father of Rehoboam, and Rehoboam the father of Abijah, and Abijah the father of Asaph, and Asaph the father of Jehoshaphat, and Jehoshaphat the father of Joram, and Joram the father of Uzziah, and Uzziah the father of Jotham, and Jotham the father of Ahaz, and Ahaz the father of Hezekiah, and Hezekiah the father of Manasseh, and Manasseh the father of Amos, and Amos the father of Josiah, and Josiah the father of Jechoniah and his brothers, at the time of the deportation to Babylon (mentioning the deportation moves us from personal to national scandal – the entire people were conquered, subjugated and exiled). And after the deportation to Babylon: Jechoniah was the father of Salathiel, and Salathiel the father of Zerubbabel, and Zerubbabel the father of Abiud, and Abiud the father of Eliakim, and Eliakim the father of Azor, and Azor the father of Zadok, and Zadok the father of Achim, and Achim the father of Eliud, and Eliud the father of Eleazar, and Eleazar the father of Matthan, and Matthan the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Joseph the husband of Mary, of whom Jesus was born, who is called the Messiah. So all the generations from Abraham to David are fourteen generations; and from David to the deportation to Babylon, fourteen generations; and from the deportation to Babylon to the Messiah, fourteen generations.

Talk about skeletons in the family closet, and Matthew revels in them, putting them right out front. He seems to be saying, “These are Jesus’ kind of people! This is what Jesus is all about.” And just in case we missed the point, he follows up the genealogy with the whole Joseph and Mary story. (Matthew 1:18-24) Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’ All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: ‘Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel’, which means, ‘God is with us.’ When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife.

Who are Jesus’ parents – a young, unmarried, pregnant girl, and a man who chooses to marry her anyway even though it would have been unbelievably scandalous for him to do so (the law would have allowed him to have her killed).

The lesson? What are we celebrating at Christmas? Being included on God’s list requires nothing except a willingness to be included on the list – which, considering the company we will be keeping, is pretty scandalous. So in keeping with the best pastoral, biblical, faithful tradition I know, my hope for you this year is that you will experience a scandalous Christmas and a radically scandalous new year, as together we revel in God’s outrageously inclusive love.

Surprised by Joy

2009-12-13T10:00:00.000-07:00

Isaiah 35: 1-10 & Matthew 11: 2-5
Roger C. Lynn
December 13, 2009

The prophet Isaiah proclaims that there is joy coming. And to those who first heard his words he must have seemed more than a little bit crazy. The Hebrew people to whom this wild proclamation is addressed have been living in exile in a foreign land, cut off from home and family and faith. Life was hard. Life was not in their own control. And all the signs they could see pointed to more of the same. The wilderness and the desert were nothing more than barriers between them and where they wanted to be. Joy was not at all what the exiles would have been expecting. It simply was not on their radar. And yet, Isaiah looks beyond the current circumstances and dares to envision abundance springing forth at every turn. "The desert shall rejoice and blossom." (Isaiah 35:1)

John the Baptist has a similar experience with Jesus. He has been watching and waiting for the coming of God's reign. And mostly he doesn't seem to find much evidence. Just in case we might miss this point, Matthew introduces the scene by reminding us that John is in prison at the time, having run afoul of the political powers-that-be. He sends a message to Jesus, asking if he is "the one." You would think that if anyone could recognize the Messiah, it would be John. But apparently Jesus didn't quite match up with John's expectations. Maybe he was looking for a political leader. Maybe he was hoping for a military conquerer. Whatever the case, he doesn't seem certain about Jesus. And so he asks - "Are you the one?" Jesus' reply must have been a surprise, although like most surprises it really shouldn't have been. Quoting from Isaiah, Jesus says that the answer to John's question can be found by looking around at all of the unexpected ways in which God's activity in the world is being experienced.

If we rely simply on what we see going on around us, joy will frequently elude us. We don't have to look far to find unsettling news that can throw us off balance and drive joy completely beyond our awareness. And the message of Isaiah and Jesus still holds true for us. Experiences of joy await us at every turn. What is required is that we keep our hearts and our minds and our lives open to such experiences. What is required is that we pay attention. It is not a matter of waiting until the world is perfect, and it doesn't mean ignoring the darker side of life. It is a matter of discovering what is already here, just waiting for us to notice. And when we notice, the experience helps to re-shape and transform the whole of life, including the darker side.

Singer/songwriter Sting wrote a song several years ago called "Love is the Seventh Wave." It draws on the idea that every seventh wave in the ocean is a larger wave than the others. In this song Sting engages in the same sort of joyful visioning that we see in Isaiah and Jesus. He looks beneath the surface circumstances of life and discovers something deeper and richer and more enduring.

All the bloodshed, all the anger
All the weapons, all the greed
All the armies, all the missiles
All the symbols of our fear
There is a deeper wave than this
Rising in the world
There is a deeper wave than this
Listen to me

At the still point of destruction
At the centre of the fury
All the angels, all the devils
All around us can't you see
There is a deeper wave than this
Rising in the land
There is a deeper wave than this
Nothing will withstand

I say love is the seventh wave

We can choose to believe that the six waves we see define the whole of life. Or we can choose to believe that there is more - another wave we have not yet experienced, but which is real nonetheless. When we pay attention we discover joy in the most unlikely and unexpected circumstances. Singer/songwriter David Wilcox tells the story of a game he and his wife used to play with their son when he was three and four years old. It was called "the navigation game." When they were driving somewhere, if they weren't in a hurry, they would come to a stop sign and say, "Hey Nathan, do you want to navigate?" At this point little Nathan, sitting in his car seat in the back of car, would look at his options and then point down one of the roads and say, "That way!" This would continue at each intersection until Nathan decided they had come to someplace interesting, at which point he would announce that it was time to stop. They would then stop and explore wherever their journey had led them. On one such adventure, the journey led them to the part of Asheville, North Carolina which is down by the river where a long row of warehouse buildings are located. As David tells the story, there's not a lot there, so they just got out and watched the river go by. But after a few minutes the big doors on the warehouse right behind them opened up and they could see sparks flying around inside, like someone was welding or grinding something. "Let's check it out!" said Nathan. So they did. And what they discovered was an artist's studio, with the artist up on scaffolding, welding together a giant dinosaur out of car bumpers. In reflecting on this experience David says, "If you're three years old and you find a dinosaur, behind a closed door, completely winging it, you could start to believe in this guidance stuff."

The world is full of wonder. There are possibilities for joy at every turn. And God is just waiting to offer us surprising guidance. All we have to do is look around. All we have to do is step out in trust and see where the guidance will lead us. We won't always discover thirty-foot dinosaurs. But we will always find the presence of God. And that, finally, is where our joy comes alive. What will you discover today?

Leveling the Playing Field

2009-12-06T10:00:00.000-07:00

Luke 1: 68-79 & 3: 1-6
Roger C. Lynn
December 6, 2009
2nd Sunday in Advent

On this second Sunday in Advent, when Peace is proclaimed as the theme of the day, we hear John the Baptist crying out in the wilderness of the Jordan, "Prepare the Way of God! Make the paths straight." (play "Prepare Ye the Way" from the Godspell soundtrack) At first glance John doesn't seem much like a peaceful sort of fellow. He is wild. He is brash. He is a firebrand. And yet, the Gospel writers all cast him in the role of the one who "prepares the way" for Jesus by preaching about leveling the playing field. And that, in a very real and very powerful sense, is exactly what peace is all about.

Most of the time these days we have so watered down the meaning of peace that we are content for it to mean simply the absence of fighting, or perhaps even just the absence of major international fighting. And even that would be a significant achievement worth celebrating. But John has something more in mind. Certainly Jesus has something more in mind. For you see, both John and Jesus understood Hebrew, and they knew about the word Shalom. They knew that it could mean peace. But they also knew that deep down at the heart of the word it means wholeness. And ultimately when there is wholeness there is peace, because the wholeness of Shalom is an all-encompassing reality which includes me, and you, and all of us, and everything everywhere. It means wholeness not merely for individuals but also for the connections we share with the larger whole of which we are a part.

John's message - "Prepare the way of God, make God's paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God." (Luke 3: 4-6) - offers a vision of peace which is active. It's not about waiting for something to happen. It's not about waiting for someone else to do something. John looks each of us in the eye and says, "Prepare!" You can do something. You can make a difference. It is an incredibly empowering understanding of how peace really works.

When we allow the vision of Shalom - the vision of wholeness - to shape our choices, to empower our actions, to infuse our living, then we are well on our way to becoming active peacemakers in the world. There is a part for us to play. Indeed, the kind of wholeness we are talking about means, by definition, that each of us must do what we can. Otherwise there is a "gap" in the wholeness. Prepare the way! Make the paths straight! Level the playing field so that everyone has the opportunity to experience the fullness of life.

What does that look like? Well, it will look different for each person, and it will look different in each situation. The things that I can do are not necessarily the things that you can do. The things I'm passionate about doing are not necessarily the things you are passionate about doing. And the wonderful thing about the wholeness of Shalom is that together we form a bigger, fuller, richer "whole" than any of us could ever hope to be on our own. When I add my voice to your voice we start singing a harmony that can heal the world. When I use my gifts alongside your gifts, we start building a bridge that can span the deepest divides. When I join my efforts with your efforts, there is nothing we cannot accomplish. All of this is true because it is based on a formula which includes God at the heart of the equation. The very essence of our connection is nothing less than the sacred breath of the Holy. When we participate in the ongoing activity of building Shalom, we are, quite literally, engaging in something which is greater than the sum of the parts.

And we are already doing it, both individually and collective! We are already preparing the way. We are already bringing our creativity to bear. We are already laying the foundation for healing and wholeness and peace. There is a basket in the narthex almost ready to be delivered to SAFE - filled with some of the essentials required for a woman to experience a fresh start. There are boxes of batteries outside the office waiting to be processed and recycled - a step towards helping to make our planet a safe and healthy place for everyone to live. There are various groups who make use of our facility - groups who touch people's lives and seek to make the world a better place. There is an identity statement printed on the back of your bulletin that reminds us that we strive to be open and accepting of all people. Some of you volunteer at local hospitals. Some of you volunteer as local schools. Some of you write letters to your legislators or letters to the editor. Some of you make contributions to the world in quiet ways that no one ever hears about. All of these things and more are the ways in which we put our faith into action and prepare the way for wholeness to be made manifest in our world.

What else is possible? Who can say. When we start down this path, arm in arm with each other and with God, joining our voices and our lives together with the exuberance and the harmonies we heard in the opening song from Godspell, there really is no telling where the journey will take us. But one thing is certain, when we keep before us the vision of an ever-expanding Shalom, then the words of Luke's Gospel become an increasingly powerful reality. "By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace." (Luke 1:78-79) May it be so for us.

In the Midst of the Chaos

2009-11-29T10:00:00.003-07:00

Jeremiah 33: 14-16 & Luke 21: 25-36
Roger C. Lynn
November 29, 2009
1st Sunday in Advent

Wars and rumors of wars. Global warming, climate change, disasters of every sort. Disease and accidents. "In the bleak mid-winter..." is how the ancient carol puts it. We live in frightening times and the forces of fear seem to hold the upper hand. It's no wonder that some people hear the apocalyptic words of Luke's Gospel and believe they are about these times in which we live. "There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves." (Luke 21:25) Which, of course, they are, but, interestingly enough, not at all in the way many people think.
In the midst of the chaos in which we live, we long for a better tomorrow. "The days are surely coming..." is how Jeremiah puts it. (Jeremiah 33:14) We want to be able to believe that the darkness will not have the final word. And so it is that apocalyptic language such as that which appears in our reading from Luke's Gospel has often been a source of comfort for people. It is easy to turn the words into a secret code that somehow reveals a timetable for when God will finally act to put things right in the world.

The problem, of course, is that such an understanding makes it very easy to start believing that God is not active and present now. God becomes the great policeman in the sky, who, for some unfathomable reason is choosing to wait, but someday soon will show up to sweep the neighborhood clean and make it safe for good, decent folk to live. The "bad guys" will get what they deserve and the "good guys" (read here "us") will finally be rewarded.

I believe that Jesus had something else in mind - something both more immediate and more eternal. To discover just what that might be it is helpful to remember the message with which he began his ministry. "The reign of God is at hand!" Throughout his ministry Jesus seeks to help people get in touch with this basic reality - God is here, now, in the midst of life. So when we hear the apocalyptic words of Luke 21 - "Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near." - it speaks not of some future coming of God, but of an always and eternal presence. "So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near." Not near as in "not quite here yet" but near as in "as close to you are your breath." We find God not outside of what's happening around us, not beyond the present troubles, but in the very midst of the chaos - right where we need God the most!

The poet Mary Oliver has this to say on the matter in her poem, "The Fist" -

There are days
when the sun goes down
like a fist,
though of course

if you see anything
in the heavens this way
you had better get
your eyes checked

or, better still,
your diminished spirit.
The heavens
have no fist,

or wouldn't they have been
shaking it
for a thousand years now,

and even
longer than that,
at the dull, brutish
ways of mankind -

heaven's own
creation?
Instead: such patience!
Such willingness

to let us continue!
To hear,
little by little,
the voices -

only, so far, in
pockets of the world -
suggesting the possibilities
of peace?

Keep looking.
Behold, how the fist opens
with invitation.

A couple of years ago I wrote a column for the newspaper in Moscow. The words I wrote then speak also to what I'm saying to you now.

As many of you know, I've been walking the labyrinth for several months now. I find this ancient spiritual practice to be a very experiential, metaphorical form of prayer. Whatever is happening in my life seems to find resonance with some part of the experience, from the twists and turns of the path, to the leaves I find along the way. On more than one occasion the wind has come up just as I've reached the center, reminding me of the ongoing presence of God's Spirit/Breath/Wind.

Last week I had a particularly powerful, and delightfully surprising, experience. There was a six inch blanket of snow covering the ground and I almost didn't do my usual weekly walk. After all, I thought, the path would not be visible. Fortunately, I happened to mention my intention to my wife, who responded, "Why don't you just go be in the space?" It then occurred to me that I could walk a spiral. And so I went.

When I arrived it was a circular space of smooth whiteness. What I saw laid out before me was "all possibility." The path was there, just waiting to be discovered. And it began to take shape only as I walked it - one step at a time. Slowly at first, and then more confidently as each layer was laid down, I moved towards the center - a center which was not yet even visible. And then I found myself turning sharply - almost dizzyingly - into a center which only in that instant emerged. I stood there in the beauty of that moment - seeing my breath - aware of the presence of the Spirit - grateful just to be alive. As I started out again I very quickly realized that I was not yet ready to leave. I needed to allow myself the gift of just being in that moment for a bit longer. When I finally did walk out, the path was there before me. It had, of course, been there all along. But only by stepping into the possibility - one step at a time - did it finally come clear.

So as we begin this Advent season, filled as it is with themes of watching and waiting, may we remember that the object of our anticipation is, in fact, already here. All around us there may be people who are filled with "fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken." (Luke 21:26) But if we will keep our hearts open, if we will pay attention to the deep truth which lays just beneath the surface, we will discover the reality to which Jesus always seeks to point us - God is here, now, in the very midst of us. I invite you to spend some time making room for the presence of the Sacred in your life. Maybe that will take the form of walking the labyrinth. Maybe it will be sitting quietly in front of a candle. Maybe it will be in the midst of some active service in our community. Find what works for you. Just remember to pay attention and be open to the possibility of being surprised - even in the midst of the chaos.

Remembering to Celebrate

2009-11-22T10:00:00.002-07:00

Deuteronomy 26: 1-11 & Philippians 4: 4-9

Roger C. Lynn

November 22, 2009

Thanksgiving Sunday

We forget! We get busy. We get distracted. We get overwhelmed. And we forget to celebrate the blessings of life. The blessings don't stop coming just because we forget. Indeed, it is my firm conviction that we live abundant lives in an abundant world. The bounteous gifts of God are beyond measure or comprehension. But all too often we forget to notice. And in so doing our experience of life is diminished. Our experience of God is diminished. It's a bit like starving in a room full of gourmet food because we were too busy or too distracted to look around and see that it was there. Remembering to celebrate keeps us in touch with the fullness of life and helps us integrate the blessings into our living.

This week we in this country will celebrate Thanksgiving. It is a holiday which stands in a long, rich line of traditions designed to assist us in remembering to devote some of our energy on a regular basis to the business of celebrating. From the deuteronomic instruction to the Hebrew people newly come into the Promised Land to Paul's advice to the Philippians about reflecting on things that are true, honorable, just and pure, people around the world and down through the centuries have understood the importance of "counting their blessings." When we remember to express our gratitude we are more likely to approach the rest of our living with the kind of energy it takes to meet whatever challenges might come our way. And it puts us in a position to live our values of generosity and compassion. I love the note of inclusion in the Deuteronomy passage. The people are not simply commanded to celebrate. They are also reminded that it is vital for any such celebrations to also include "the Levites and the aliens" who live among them. In other words, be intentional about including those who have no other means of support and those most at risk of being marginalized and excluded. For a celebration to be complete it must be inclusive.

There are those who worry that celebrating will distract us from the important and serious matters which face us. "Life is full of hardship and danger and we don't have time for luxuries like celebration." I believe we cannot afford not to celebrate. The challenges of life are very real. Of course we need to address the serious issues of our time - issues like hunger and disease, violence and oppression, poverty and injustice. And such issues are far too important to face with a depleted spirit. Those who would seek to devote all their time and energy to such issues, with no attention to rest and renewal, run the very real risk of burning out long before the task is completed. Life is not a sprint. It is a marathon. We are in it for the long haul. And we need nourishment along the way. Our souls are fed when we pay attention to the blessings which surround us. Celebrating helps us gain the courage and the strength and the inspiration to face all of life.

When we remember to celebrate and give thanks, not just once a year on the fourth Thursday in November, but regularly and often, in big and little ways, we remind ourselves that we are not alone, and there is much in this life worth devoting time and energy to preserving and restoring and healing and saving. When we remember to celebrate and give thanks we renew the connection between us and God, and between us and each other. Such renewed connections serve as an important resource in the ongoing task of living faithfully. We do not have to do it alone. Indeed, we cannot. When we remember to celebrate and give thanks we lift our eyes and behold possibilities we would otherwise miss. When we remember to celebrate and give thanks life just works better.

"Rejoice in God always!" Paul writes to the Philippians. Get in touch with what is real and true in every moment of every day. Pay attention to the abundant presence of God in all of life. Celebrate and give thanks. This Thursday, when you gather with family and friends, around tables big or small, filled with all manner of foods designed to delight your senses, take time to pause and reflect on your life and all of the places where you find evidence of God's presence and God's blessing. And I invite you to resolve to make such a practice a regular part of your living. Once a year is not nearly often enough. Your experience of life will be enhanced, and the world will be enriched by your grateful living. Thanks be to God.

Everything We've Got

2009-11-15T10:00:00.004-07:00

Matthew 13: 31-33 & 44-46
Roger C. Lynn
November 15, 2009

In Matthew's Gospel, many of Jesus' parables focus on "the kingdom of heaven." It is a way of talking about the reality to which Jesus is pointing us - the reality which stands in contrast with the ways in which we often live our lives - the reality of God's active and ongoing presence in our lives and in our world. Jesus begins his public ministry by declaring that the kingdom of heaven is at hand. God is right here, right now, in the very midst of us. All we have to do is notice. Jesus then spends the rest of his ministry helping people notice - offering illustrations which assist us in understanding what it means, and encouraging us to step into that reality and begin living as if it were true.

One of the common threads which runs through Jesus' parables is the understanding that God's presence never looks like what we expect it to look like. How often do we find ourselves, at least privately in our own minds, thinking, "If I were in charge of the world, I would do things very differently." And so it is that we get the pair of very short parables which make up our first reading today. God's presence in the world is like a mustard seed or a bit of yeast. He could just as easily have said it is like the wind. It might as well be nothing for all that we are able to see it and recognize it. God's presence is not something to which we can simply point and say, "Here it is! I found it!" Indeed, it is not really a "thing" at all, but the reality which is intimately and wholly interconnected with everything that is. We recognize God's presence not by seeing it but rather by experiencing the effect it has in us and in the world around us - the mustard seed grows into a tree, the yeast leavens the bread, the wind moves the clouds across the sky. Our lives and our world are shaped by the presence of God. The reality we think we know and understand grows and changes because God is here.

And being aware of this reality of God among us is really only the beginning. Recognizing the possibility that there is more to our existence than we usually notice is certainly a start. But for things to really take off we must give ourselves over to the process and fully participate. The parables which Jesus tells just a few verses after the "mustard seed / yeast" parables point us in this direction. God's presence is like finding buried treasure in a field and selling everything you own to buy the field. God is most real - most fully known and knowable - when we do more than just observe from the sidelines. Faithful living is not a spectator sport, because life as God intends it is built on a foundation of relationship, connection and community. The more we are involved, the more we will realize the power of the sacred reality in our living.

In her book "Coming To Life," Polly Berrien Berends puts it this way, "Therefore our quest for wholeness takes place neither through self completion or inter-self connection, but through discovering what it is with which we are one and, then, being one with it." Paul said much the same thing to the Ephesians when he wrote, "You are children of light, so live like children of light." When we begin to recognize the essential oneness of Life, we can't help but want to jump in with both feet and give everything we have and everything we are to the business of being fully alive and being fully in God.

Having said that, however, it must also be acknowledged that it is painfully easy to get distracted and lose sight of this powerful truth. If you think that I stand up here every week and share sermons like this one because I have it all together and such living comes easy to me, then please allow me to correct your misconception. There are times when I absolutely "get it" - the truth of God's presence in this moment fills my very being. But then there are other moments when I forget to pay attention, and I wander off into some dark and hopeless corner. Just last Sunday, within hours of when I stood right here and said to you, "You can face whatever comes your way, whether it is frightening global upheaval or threats to your personal safety, not by trying to be self-sufficient, in control and having all the answers, but by remembering that God is bigger than any of the details which seem to threaten us", I was sitting in our living room overwhelmed with fear and despair because I had forgotten to remember the truth - the truth that I am not alone, the truth that I am already and always surrounded by the powerful and life-giving presence of God. It is absolutely not easy. Fear can be a powerful, blinding and destructive force in our lives. Which is why it is so important to remind ourselves over and over again of what, in our better moments, we know to be true. And it is why it is so important to surround ourselves with a supportive community that can help us remember when we forget. A prayer which Veronica and I have been saying lately points us in this direction. "In this moment . . . this moment . . . this moment . . . I let go into Love . . . let go into trust . . . let go into abundance . . . and later today (5 minutes from now) I will do it all again . . . and again . . . and again."

What would life look like if we were to REALLY live as if we were one with God and, indeed, with all of creation? How would we talk to each other? How would we listen to each other? How would we use our time? How would we use our money? What would rise to the top of our list of priorities? What would we let go of? What would we stop worrying about? What brokenness within ourselves would begin to heal? What brokenness in the world would we be able to touch in new, healing ways?

"The presence of God in the world is like a mustard seed . . . it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches." (Matthew 13:31-33) It can happen! Abundant, safe, protected life is possible for us and for all of creation. And for it to really take root and begin to grow will require everything we've got - our whole selves, given freely and with gusto, with nothing held back. Because only when we let go of the illusion that we are separate selves who have to do everything by ourselves can we begin to experience the fullness of our connected self - the self that is one with God and one with all of creation. How is God's presence waiting to grow in you? When will you open your eyes and jump into that presence with both feet and everything you've got?

Expecting The Unexpected

2009-11-08T10:00:00.002-07:00

Isaiah 65: 17-25 & Luke 21: 5-19
Roger C. Lynn
November 8, 2009

Where in the world is God? Where do we even begin to look? The world can be a frightening and confusing place, and we want some assurances that God has not abandoned us. We come to church. We pray. We try to live our lives faithfully. But sometimes it is hard to keep from despairing. Much of what we see going on around us is in a mess and it only seems to be getting worse. Where in the world is God?

The prophet Isaiah offers an answer when he writes to people who are newly returned from a time of exile, but not yet restored to the life they expected and desired. He speaks of God's promise to bring all of creation into balance and harmony. It is a marvelous piece of poetry, filled with hopeful images of life as we all want it to be -- peace and prosperity and equality for everyone. When the days are dark and threatening it can be comforting to read such words and dream of a time when God will bring such a reality into existence. The only problem, of course, is that most of the time we don't really see much evidence that it is going to happen any time soon. If God is present and working in the midst of us even now, then why is life like this? When, O God, will it begin to be different?

Such a question surely was on the minds of Jesus' disciples when they asked about the stones and the temple? Living in the shadow of the Roman occupation, they had grown up with images like that of Isaiah and other more dramatically apocalyptic writings as well. For generations their people had been watching and waiting for God to shine forth in one final, all-consuming act of judgment and vindication, where everything would be made right. The images for thinking about such things included great, cataclysmic events like wars, earthquakes, fire and flood. Give us a sign, so we'll know when the fireworks are about to begin! To which Jesus responds in typical Jesus fashion by turning all their expectations upside down. You're asking the wrong questions, he tells them, and you're looking in the wrong direction. When you spend so much time and energy trying to figure out how the latest disaster fits in with your expectation of some divine timetable, you forget to stay focused on the true source of both your comfort and your strength. You can face whatever comes your way, whether it is frightening global upheaval or threats to your personal safety, not by trying to be self-sufficient, in control and having all the answers, but by remembering that God is bigger than any of the details which seem to threaten us.

God is, indeed, all around us all the time, a powerful resource just waiting for us to tap into. But all too often we find ourselves looking only in the places we expect to find God, and our expectations are shaped and molded by our own human instincts and our cultural perspectives. We look for God to come in some big, dramatic way because that is how we would do it if we were God. We expect to find God in certain holy places or in certain holy people because that is where our culture has taught us to look. Isaiah describes God restoring the fortunes of exiled Israel because that is how they wanted it to be.

Over and over again Jesus reminds us that connecting with the God who is right here in the midst of us means watching in the places we wouldn't normally think to look, listening to the voices we wouldn't normally hear, expecting the unexpected. When his disciples start asking him about signs (the ways they expected to find God) he tells them to try a different perspective. All the big, dramatic things like wars and earthquakes aren't signs. They aren't caused by God to make a point. They just happen because that is the way the world works. But when they happen you don't have to be afraid, because God is right there in the midst of the terror, ready to offer strength and comfort. When the authorities arrest you for being a person of faith, God isn't causing it to happen. People make unfortunate and painful choices when they are afraid. But you can certainly use the occasion to share the good news that God is present even in the darkness of such times as those. Even in the Psalm we read as a Call to Worship (Psalm 98) we find surprises. In the final few verses, where everything is getting into the act of praising God, two of the things mentioned are the sea and the floods. In ancient Hebrew poetic symbolism, both represent the forces of chaos. Surely such chaos must be defeated or subdued! But apparently not. The psalmist had the remarkable and unexpected insight that there is nothing which is outside the reach of God's all-encompassing love -- not even chaos.

We are living in dark and frightening times. Everywhere we look we find evidence of pain and suffering, division and brokenness. We want God to show up. We want some sign that God has not abandoned us. And the truth of the matter is that such signs are all around us, waiting to be discovered in unexpected places. A friend of mine tells the story of a funeral he did for a prominent member of the military. My friend's perspectives on life differ fairly dramatically from those which are typically associated with ardent military supporters. So there was some apprehension when the uniformed State Department representative walked through the door of my friend's office after the service. But, surprisingly, what they found was common ground around the pain and fear which is being experienced in our world today. Understanding where only tension was expected. A glimpse of God's presence.

The fact that God can continue to surprise us in unexpected ways is amazingly wonderful good news. If we only found God in the first places we thought to look, and only in the manner we are most accustomed to experiencing God's presence, then far too much of life would be devoid of any sense of the sacred, and far too many experiences would be filled with despair. But it need not be so. If we can remain open to the possibility of the unexpected, and very often even when we can't, we will continue to be startled by the awareness that God has not abandoned us to our fate, and is, even at this moment, actively and powerfully present in ways which will always surpass our wildest imaginings. Where is God? Indeed, where is God not?

All Saints: A Glimpse of a Larger Reality

2009-11-01T10:00:00.002-07:00

Isaiah 25: 6-9 & Revelation 21: 1-6a
Roger C. Lynn
November 1, 2009

Toss a pebble into the center of a pond and the ripples from that single stone will spread to fill the whole surface. So it is with our understanding of life. It usually starts out narrowly focused - it's all about me! Slowly our awareness and appreciation expands to include those closest to us, those we care about the most. If we live long enough, and pay attention, and are fortunate enough to have people in our life who encourage us to lift our eyes and open our hearts, the ripples of awareness spread to include our neighbors, our community, and eventually even the whole world.
Most of the time we need help seeing this reality. Most of the time we need help even believing it is there. There are just so many distraction which lay claim to our attention and seem to tell us that it just isn't true. Someone we love dies, and we feel the pain of separation. It is difficult to see beyond the haze of our grief. The world is torn apart by violence, and we feel the despair of fear. It is difficult to lift our eyes to see beyond the cloud of our anxiety. We lose our job, or our marriage, or our health, and we feel the weight of insecurity. It is difficult to focus much beyond the immediacy of the moment.

In our particular faith tradition we have some help built into the calendar. Every year on November first we have the opportunity to celebrate the Feast of All Saints. It is a reminder that in God we are all connected, even beyond the grave, beyond the fear, beyond the insecurity. The ripples of awareness reach the shore which seems to divide us (in whatever form such divisions take), and the shore just disappears. We are offered a glimpse into a larger reality - a reality in which there are no division, there are no separations, there are no barriers, there is only connection and wholeness and abundance. In the words of Carrie Newcomer's song that we heard earlier in the service:

There's a blurring of the borders
And I swear that I heard voices
But every act of simple kindness
Calls the kingdom down and all around us.

Can't you feel it ever closer
We breathe it in and then we exhale
We touch both sides and now eternal
Standing closer to the veil
(from "All Saints' Day" by Carrie Newcomer ©2005)

Both scripture readings for today offer powerful images with which to sustain such glimpses. They obviously come to us from folks who have paid attention and opened their hearts. They speak to us of a reality where abundance is the norm, connection is the standard, and everyone is together in the presence of God. The language is extravagant. It is exuberant. It is radically hopeful. Isaiah speaks of an amazing feast being set for ALL people, and even death will no longer be able to separate us. John talks about everything being made new. And both of them have an awareness that the whole outlandish vision is built on the foundation of God's presence in the midst of us right here, right now. All else springs forth from that reality.

So why is something like All Saints Day important? Why should we care about readings like those from Isaiah and Revelation? What different do such thing make in our lives? I believe they matter because they remind us of a truth which we very often lose sight of. It is the truth that appearance-to-the-contrary-notwithstanding we are not alone. We are connected - with God, with each other, with ourselves, with the world around us, with everything. And when we lose sight of this truth (which we frequently do) it is so easy to fall into despair. It is so easy to let pain and fear overwhelm us. It is so easy to react in ways which are hurtful to ourselves and to others. Look around at all of the things which we sometimes label "the problems" of the world - war, violence, poverty. Think about how much of that flows either directly or indirectly out of a loss of sense of connection. Look at the things which plague us at a personal level - loneliness, depression, fear, grief. Think about how much of that flows either directly or indirectly out of a loss of sense of connection.

The reality that we are connected is true not because it is in the Bible. It is in the Bible because it is true. It isn't true because it is a part of Church tradition. It is a part of Church tradition because it is true. It speaks to our hearts and we feel it resonate. I can't prove it, but I can know it. I can't convince you of it. I can only invite you to open yourself to the reality.

Remembering is important, not just so we will feel better, but because remembering the truth that we are connected has a powerful impact on the very shape of the world within us and around us. And we do need help remembering. Occasions like All Saints Day offer us that help. Visions like those we find in Isaiah and Revelation offer us that help. Ripples in the pond, spreading out in ever-widening circles, encompassing more and more of our world. We pause to remember our own loved ones who have died, and in experiencing the connection we still share with them we catch glimpses of the possibility that just maybe there is also a connection with others as well. We hear about the feast which Isaiah describes and we remember the connection we experience each week as we share in the symbolic feast of communion. And we catch glimpses of the possibility that just maybe there are others around the table as well.

Open your hearts. Open your lives. Pay attention. The ripples of a larger reality are lapping at the edges of your soul. God is inviting us to experience a whole new world of connection and wholeness and abundance. Will you dare to accept the invitation?

Looking for God in All the Wrong Places

2009-10-25T10:00:00.003-06:00

Matthew 25: 14-45
Roger C. Lynn
October 25, 2009

The 14th-century Sufi poet Hafiz begins one of his poems with these words:

Fear is the cheapest room in the house.
I would like to see you living
In better conditions.
(from 'Your Mother and my Mother' translation by Daniel Ladinsky in "The Gift")

And yet, so often we seem to find ourselves living in those cramped, dark, lonely places where fear leads us. Indeed, fear tends to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, giving us the very life we are so afraid will find us.
In Jesus' parable about the servants and the talents I believe we see an illustration of what life looks like when we allow fear to rule us. If we approach the parable using the traditional interpretive lens, that it tells us about what God is like, then it quickly becomes very problematic. Do we really believe that God throws people into the 'outer darkness' because of their fear? But what if, instead of telling us what God is like, it tells us what we are like? When we take the risk of using the resources we have at our disposal (whether those are financial or personal, tangible or intangible) what we discover is that our lives are in sync with the divine source of life. "Enter into the joy of your master" is the way the parable describes it. But when we allow fear to define our reality, when we let it color our expectations not only of life, but even of God, then we will often find ourselves facing a world very much shaped by that fear. "Master, I knew you were harsh..." (Matthew 25:24) Why should it surprise us that when our relationship with God is based on fear we so often find ourselves in "the outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth"? (Matthew 25:30) God doesn't put us there, of course. We put ourselves there. God is a God of love and grace. The world is filled with abundance beyond our wildest imagining. But when we close our eyes because of our fear, we cannot see the light that is filling the room. The party can be in full swing all around us, but if we have buried our lives in a hole to protect ourselves, from a dangerous world or a dangerous God, we might as well be alone in the dark. We have effectively closed ourselves off from the life which God intends for us.

Please do not hear me even implying that opening ourselves to the full reality of God is safe. It absolutely is not safe. Such faithful stepping into the Great Mystery of God will lead us on adventures that make all the thrill-seeking sports in the world pale by comparison. In C.S. Lewis' book 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' (from his 'Chronicles of Narnia' series) Mr. Beaver is telling the children who have wandered into the land of Narnia about Aslan, the great lion (the Christ figure in the series). Upon hearing the description of Aslan, one of the children asks, "Is he safe?" To which Mr. Beaver replies, "Safe? . . . Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good." If you seek only safety, then you may well be looking for God in the wrong place. But if you are willing to allow trust and faith to open you up to the possibility of doing something other than hiding the treasure of your life in a hole somewhere, then you are well on your way towards entering into the abundant joy of God. The poet Mary Oliver has this to say about life and love, which seems to me to describe quite profoundly what it is to recklessly seek after God.

You are young. So you know everything. You leap into the boat and begin rowing. But listen to me. Without fanfare, without embarrassment, without any doubt, I talk directly to your soul. Listen to me. Lift the oars from the water, let your arms rest, and your heart, and heart's little intelligence, and listen to me. There is life without love. It is not worth a bent penny, or a scuffed shoe. . . .When you hear, a mile away and still out of sight, the churn of the water as it begins to swirl and roil, fretting around the sharp rocks - when you hear that unmistakable pounding - when you feel the mist on your mouth and sense ahead the embattlement, the long falls plunging and steaming - then row, row for your life toward it.
(West Wind #2)

And what does this wild, dangerous life look like? Jesus offers us a glimpse into his vision of such a life with his parable about the sheep and the goats. When we can move beyond our fear and step out into faithful living of the sort which Jesus is encouraging, we find ourselves connecting with God (entering into the joy of the master) through the sharing of our lives with those in need. We see the face of Christ in the face of our hungry neighbor. We experience the love of God as we become the love of God for the homeless stranger among us. We are immersed in God's grace as we share God's grace with the last, the lost and the least in our world. And, sadly, the reverse is also true. We cut ourselves off from such opportunities for experiencing this deep and transforming connection with God whenever we allow fear to rule our choices. In another of his poems about truly living the life of faith, Hafiz writes:

Stay in the dangerous life that's yours.
THERE you'll meet the face
That dissolves fear.
(from 'The Danger,' translated by Inayat Khan/Coleman Barks in 'The Hand of Poetry')

So often we find ourselves looking for God in all the wrong places - in the shadows of our fear, in the illusion of safety, in the comfort of the familiar, in the confines of judgment and exclusion. And then we wonder why our lives seem so dark and fearful and small. But when we turn our attention outward and take the risk of opening ourselves to the wild oneness with all of creation, we find ourselves coming face to face with the God of life and love and abundance. We can live life in the outer darkness or we can live it in the joy of our master. We can live in fear or we can live in faith. The choice is ours. May our choices be filled with wild, reckless abandon. May our choices be filled with God.

Living With Integrity: Connecting Faith & Action

2009-10-18T10:00:00.002-06:00

Micah 3: 5-12 & Matthew 23: 1-12
Roger C. Lynn
October 18, 2009

Jesus had had enough. He just couldn't take any more. He had watched while the religious leaders in positions of power and authority presented the appearance of faithfulness without having that faithfulness reflected in the actual living of their lives. They were abusing their power and others were suffering as a result. So Jesus takes the courageous step of speaking the truth to power and warns people not to follow the path of their example. In so doing he joins his voice with folks like the prophet Micah, who had spoken similar words under similar circumstances several hundred years before. And all these hundreds and thousands of years later, their words still resonate with us because we still see this reality going on around us (and, if we are honest with ourselves, even within us). There is so much disconnection in our world and in our lives, where the values we hold dear are simply not being translated into action.
What I find attractive about both of these texts is not primarily the 'someone getting what they deserve' factor (although there is a certain satisfying thrill which I'm not altogether proud of). What I really find hopeful, and where I want to focus my attention, is the awareness which motivates and drives both Micah and Jesus. Behind their words is the understanding that the world doesn't have to be this way, that it is possible to live with integrity, that faith and action can be connected, and that life actually works better when we live in this reality. If the only thing we find in the words of Micah and Jesus is someone yelling at the 'bad' people, then we probably need to move on, because there isn't really much enduring value in that. And, in fact, if that's all there was to it, neither Micah nor Jesus is likely to have bothered in the first place. They were seeking fundamental change for the way things are, and were not prone to giving their energy to lost causes. Their words have had staying power precisely because another way is possible. Life can be different.

There is something quite primal at work here. It has to do with who we are as human beings way down deep in our core. Faith, when it is at its best, connects us with who we really are, because that is when life is richest and fullest and most meaningful. So, if that is true, how do we end up getting so far off track? Why does it seem so easy to lose sight of what is most real? Partly, I think, it is because such living isn't easy and it isn't without risk. We all live busy lives, with lots of things competing for our attention and our energy. Living lives of integrity requires significant and ongoing attention. We fall into the trap of complacency because it is easy to get distracted and forgot to notice for a while. I don't have to be a horrible, evil person who doesn't care about peace and justice (to say nothing of mom and apple pie). Sometimes I just forget to be intentional about making sure that what I say I believe and value actually matches up with the choices I'm making and the actions I'm taking, including who I vote for and the products I buy and the ways I spend my time.

Living with integrity also requires courage, because it means exposing who I really am to the world. I can't live a life of integrity where my faith and my actions are connected and in sync while at the same time staying safely tucked away in a corner where no one will notice me. It means being willing to take a stand for what I believe. It means being willing to challenge the status quo when people are suffering. And it means being willing to actually engage people who I would really rather avoid and ignore.

So we find ourselves conflicted. On the one hand we long to live integrous lives in an integrous world, because that is who we are really created to be as human beings. And on the other hand it is a challenging and frightening and risky way to live. Sometimes we forget. Sometimes we're scared. Sometimes we just don't have the energy. And we recognize that life simply doesn't work very well unless and until we do. We won't always get it right. We won't always even remember to try. But the world simply cannot afford for us to do anything less than give it our best shot.

Singer/songwriter Jewel put it this way in her song, 'Life Uncommon':

And lend your voices only
To sounds of freedom
No longer lend your strength
To that which you wish
To be free from
Fill your lives
With love and bravery
And we shall lead
A life uncommon

There are plenty of people
Who pray for peace
But if praying were enough
It would've come to be
Let your words enslave no one
And the heavens will hush themselves
To hear our voices ring out clear
With sounds of freedom

This is a choice we make as individuals as we seek to discover the ways of living that give life meaning and purpose. We choose to align our values and our actions in order to make a difference in the world. It is also a choice we make as a congregation as we seek to discover the particular path of mission and ministry which will give meaning and purpose to the life of First Christian Church in Hamilton Montana. I am thrilled that you are making plans to participate in the Journey of Discovery program. It is designed to help you identify your core values and then discover ways to live out those values in the world.

So, both personally and as a congregation, may we pay attention to our lives and our living. May we pay attention to the connection which we share with God, with each other and with ourselves. May we strive always to discover ways to match our actions with our best intentions. May we live with integrity so that we might truly be alive. May we join with Jesus and Micah and all the countless others who believed that when we connect faith and action the world really can be a better place. Amen.

Our Holy Calling

2009-10-11T10:00:00.002-06:00

Leviticus 19: 1-2 & 15-18 & Matthew 22: 34-46
Roger C. Lynn
October 11, 2009

Willie Nelson sings about being "on the road again." I write newsletter columns under the heading "Notes from the Journey." In one way or another most of us can identify with being in process, somewhere between getting started and finally arriving, between who we are now and who we are becoming. Of course, figuring out where we're going and how we're going to get there is the work of a lifetime. It is the ongoing challenge of faithful living.
The book of Leviticus is addressed to a people who are engaged in precisely this challenge. What does it mean to be faithful? What does it mean to be people of God? They had a glimmer of an understanding that we have the stuff of God within us. The creation stories in Genesis talk about it in terms of being made in God's image and having the breath of God as the source of our lives. And so it is not surprising to find Leviticus taking the next step - since we have God's imprint on our souls, it follows that the shape and character of our living also ought to reflect the qualities we find in God. "You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy." (Leviticus 19:2)

The snag, of course, comes in trying to figure out what that looks like. Defining holiness is more art than science. It is subtly nuanced and not very precise. The whole business lends itself to misunderstandings and unhelpful traps. Means and ends tend to get confused. The distinction between process and goal gets fuzzy. We start thinking that where we're going is the same thing as how we get there. In Leviticus this becomes pretty clear in a hurry. In just the chapter from which our reading this morning was taken, we find references to particular cultural practices like shaving your beard in a specific way, right next to prohibitions about planting different crops next to each other and wearing garments made with more than one kind of fiber (which comes from a world view that things are good if they can be understood as either one thing or another, but bad if that distinction get blurry or confused), and all of that right next to admonitions to be kind to your neighbor and welcome the stranger in your midst. All in the name of trying to be holy. Clearly the goal is a worthy one - live so that the divine spark within us shines and the divine connection we have with God remains strong and vital. And when we keep our attention focused on that goal and allow it to help us interpret the particular means which we have, over the years, devised to try to meet that goal, we are much more likely to stay on a healthy path. But when we allow the specific means to overshadow the goal, we quickly find ourselves straying off into unhelpful territory.

In Matthew's account of the closing days of Jesus' ministry, we watch him embroiled in one conflict after another. Those with a big stake in maintaining the spiritual status quo were getting nervous. And it is within this context that our reading for today comes to us. And at first glance it is a curious and confusing pairing of stories. The first (what is the greatest commandment?) seems so clear and straightforward and to the point. The second (is the Messiah David's son?) seems convoluted and obscure. What point was Jesus trying to make? What point was Matthew making by putting these two stories right next to each other? As with much of what we find in the Gospels, there is no way to know for certain. But one possibility which occurred to me as I read it this time might be found precisely in the contrast between the clarity and the confusion. Perhaps the point has to do with what is important for us to spend our time and energy pursuing, and what gets in the way. For both of these stories Jesus' audience are the Pharisees and other religious elite. They delighted in nothing more than engaging in the kind of hair-splitting discussion which we find in the second story. Maybe Jesus was telling them, "If you spend more time loving God, loving each other and loving yourselves, and less time worrying about arcane debates concerning who is acceptable and who isn't, the world would be a lot fuller, richer place." Our holy calling, Jesus seems to be saying, is to live out our connection with God by sharing God's love with the world. It really is that simple, and that hard.

Carter Heyward put it this way, "...to try to be something other than human, is . . . to hide under a bushel the one most valuable gift any of us can give another: our willingness to share what we need, what we yearn for, what we experience, what we believe, what we doubt, what we fear, what we cherish, what we create, what we celebrate, what we grieve for, the stuff that being human is made of. To rise above this precious openness and vulnerability to one another and to the world itself is to snuff out the possibility of meeting God in the world." (Our Passion For Justice, "Compassion", Carter Heyward, pp. 234-235)

"You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy." May the truth of this holy calling be revealed in our living as we seek to truly love all of God's children with as much creativity and compassion and integrity and vulnerability as we can muster. Amen.

When We Get Up From The Table

2009-10-04T10:00:00.006-06:00

1 Corinthians 11: 23-25 & Mark 6: 7-12
Roger C. Lynn
October 4, 2009
World Communion Sunday

They come in a whole variety of shapes and sizes. They are know by a great many names. They are private and they are public. They are elaborate and they are simple. They are ancient and they are modern. I'm talking about rituals - spiritual practices - sacraments. Probably for as long as human beings have been aware of the world around us we have engaged in symbolic activities intended to put us in touch with the Great Mystery beyond ourselves.

For Christians, one of the central of these activities is communion. Gathering together to break the bread and share the cup has been at the heart of Christian worship from the very beginning of the Church. It is powerful in its simplicity - a meal, nourishment, fellowship, remembering, sharing, hospitality. It has always been a corporate act - something which draws us together. In John's Gospel Jesus prays at this meal for the unity of those who share it.
And so it is that once a year churches of all shapes and sizes, from across the theological / liturgical spectrum and from every corner of the planet make an intentional effort to remember their common bond around the communion table. World Communion Sunday reminds us of the reality that we are one family gathered together to share in the feast of God's all-encompassing love. At a bare minimum level we find at this table a call to remember our connection with others who also claim the name Christian. And even just that much has often proved more than we seem able to manage. But even so, I am convinced that the ultimate lesson of this table is our connection with all people everywhere. It is a meal which speaks to us of one of the most basic elements we share as human beings - food. And it points us ultimately to something even more basic which we all share - the nourishment of God's love. Every week when we share in this feast of grace we are reminded that we are human beings who are bound to each other by our common humanity and bound to God by a love which is eternally present.

It is food for our souls - spiritual nourishment. We are replenished and renewed as we open ourselves to the fullness of the reality to which this meal points us. It is bread for the journey of life. But thus fed, where are we called to travel? Where shall we go when we get up from the table? I believe that Jesus himself gives us at least a glimpse at an answer in Mark's Gospel when he sends his followers out two by two and challenges them to share healing and wholeness with the world around them. 'What does it mean to be my followers?' Jesus seems to be saying. 'It means making a difference in the world.' The connection with God which we experience around this table represents the beginning of our journey, not the final destination. We gather here to be fed and nourished and refreshed so that we will be ready to get up and go out into the world and take up the hard, challenging tasks of healing whenever and wherever we find them. Jesus sends the disciples out empty handed so they won't even be tempted to think it is about what they can do on their own. It is not about being self-sufficient. They will know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that whatever happens out there, it is because they are open to the powerful presence of God in their lives and in their world. The nourishment of God's Spirit is enough and more than enough.

On this World Communion Sunday may we remember that the world is where we are called to live out our faith. It is where we are called to go when we get up from the table. There is a church in the San Diego area that has a beautiful mosaic mural on the front wall of the sanctuary depicting paradise. The river of life flows out from this mural, runs across the chancel floor to the baptismal font, then over to the communion table. From there it flows down the steps, up the center aisle, out across the narthex, through the front doors, down the sidewalk, all the way to the street. The path of faith leads us from the table out into the world.

And there on that path we will find partners with whom to share the work. Some we already know - right here in our community, in other churches around our region, in other congregations where we have worshipped in the past. Some we have not yet met. Some we will never meet. Some are just down the street. And some are on the other side of the globe. Together we are a part of a vast multitude of those who seek to live out lives of faith and integrity. Together we are the body of Christ - fed and nourished and empowered to serve by God's own Spirit.

And it is also in the world where we will find our mission and our purpose for living. It is the work we are being nourished for. And it will take all of who we are to accomplish. Whether it is right here in our community or in some war-torn country on the far side of the planet, there are wounds to be healed. There is conflict to be mediated. There is peace to be proclaimed. There is darkness to be illuminated. It is the work we were born to do.

So, let's eat! And then let's get up from the table, fed and nourished and ready to share. Amen.

Where Does God Fit?

2009-09-27T10:00:00.003-06:00

Matthew 21: 23-27 & 22: 15-22
Roger C. Lynn
September 27, 2009

They wanted a quick and easy answer. They wanted to know if Jesus was on their side. Actually, they were pretty sure they already knew the answer. They wanted the world to be black and white, good and bad. Jesus had two choices. If he agreed with their understanding of the world he would be a hero. If he disagreed with their understanding of the world he would be a villain. What they got instead was not at all what they expected. Jesus chose a third path, which was to hand the whole thing back to them.
'Render unto Caesar...' he said. It is a saying so familiar that we have mostly stopped really hearing what it says. Or more precisely, what it does not say. I would venture to guess that most of us, most of the time, hear Jesus saying something like, 'Pay your taxes and don't get money matters confused with spiritual matters. If it's got the government seal on it, then it is separate from the things of God.' But listen closely. He doesn't actually say that. He doesn't actually define what is Caesar's and what is God's. The Pharisees get to decide that for themselves. We get to decide that for ourselves. And that, more than any particular answer to any particular question, is precisely the point. Faith is not about someone handing us a set of answers and us blindly accepting them. That's what the Pharisees were looking for. They wanted to be the ones in charge of the answers. They wanted Jesus to agree with them. But not only did Jesus not agree with their answers. He didn't even agree with the premise of the rules. It's not about a simple list of answers to questions like, 'Should we pay our taxes?' Answers to such questions will come, but that's not where we begin. We begin with a much more basic question - 'Where does God fit in your life? Where does God fit in the world?' That is where we must begin if we are to understand Jesus' answer about rendering unto Caesar and rendering unto God. Where does God's domain begin and end?

There are those who would say that it's a simple matter of dividing the world into that which is physical and that which is spiritual. The physical doesn't matter at all, so we can do whatever we want. The spiritual does matter, so that is what we must pay attention to. Say our prayers. Keep our thoughts pure. Maintain an open channel for a connection with God. And what we do on Monday morning, or Saturday night, is of no consequence. How we spend our money or our time is of no concern. It's a great theory. People have been trying it in one form or another for a really long time now. It would be wonderful if it worked. But it simply does not reflect the reality of how we are put together. We are whole, integrated, connected beings. I can't decide to 'render unto Caesar' that part of me that has nothing to do with God, because there is no such part of me. And as long as we try to live that way, as if life can be divided up into neat, tidy, separate spheres, we are doomed to a life which is disconnected from the fullness of God's intention.

Jesus could have answered their question with concrete details. 'Yes, you should pay your taxes, because the government helps maintain the infrastructure which supports a safe and stable way of life.' Or, 'No, you should not pay your taxes, because the government doesn't respect or represent your values and traditions and ways of life.' Or, 'Yes, but at the same time seek to work from within the system to make changes that will make a positive difference.' Or whatever other detailed answer he might have given. And if he had chosen to give that kind of answer, then people would have been free to agree with him, or disagree with him, to think him a hero or a villain, depending on their particular point of view. But he wouldn't have really changed anything. Everyone would still be operating out of the same basic world view - where things can be divided between us and them, physical and spiritual, God and not-God. The answer he actually gave, on the other hand, places us in an entirely different position. The rug has been pulled out from under that sort of understanding. We have to decide something far more important than whether to pay our taxes or not. The question before us now is, 'Where does God fit?' What part of my life is affected by my faith? What part of my life is different because I am seeking to be connected to God? And if we are honest with ourselves, really honest, the answer may surprise us. We may discover that there is a difference between what we want to be true and what actually is true. When we understand the question in terms of where God fits in our lives, I suspect that most of us want the answer to be 'everywhere.' But that path is really hard. It means paying attention to all of our choices. And even then the answers are seldom neat and easy. Should I shop at Wal-Mart? Should I eat only locally grown organic food? Should I give my business to establishments associated with groups I disagree with? Should I pay my taxes? On and on the list goes. And there is no one set of 'right' answers. We make our way through the wilderness of life's choices haltingly and slowly, doing the best we can in any given moment to discover which choices will lead us and the world towards light and life and away from darkness and death. Sometimes we will get it right. Sometimes we will need to repent and seek a different path. And always we can seek to keep before us the question, 'Where does God fit?'

Radical Hospitality

2009-09-20T10:00:00.002-06:00

James 3: 13 -- 4: 3 & Mark 9: 30-37
Roger C. Lynn
September 20, 2009

Last Sunday we spent some time reflecting on the importance of inviting others to "come and see" what it is that God is doing in your life and in our church that gives you so much excitement you simply can't keep it to yourself. Today I want to spend some time reflecting on the next step. Beyond extending a "come and see" invitation, what are we called to do, how are we called to live, in order to help create an atmosphere that enhances the possibility of someone actually responding to the invitation?
Over and over again Jesus shared with the disciples a vision of a completely different way of doing life. And over and over again they failed to grasp what he was telling them. Down through the years we've been pretty hard on the disciples. Why couldn't they see what Jesus was trying to tell them? Why were they always missing the point? But the truth of the matter is, we in the Church have had 2,000 years to take seriously what Jesus was trying to teach, and we are still missing the point. Even the reasons why have remained the same - it's hard. The way of life which Jesus is promoting, and modeling, and teaching, is difficult. It's not particularly difficult to understand. The basic idea is really pretty simple. But it is difficult to accept, and it is even more difficult to live out, because it stands in such stark contrast with so much of what our culture teaches us, and even our own common sense seems to tell us, about how to live life.

With his words, and with his actions, Jesus tells us that at the heart of faithful living is the practice of radical hospitality. Actually, that's not quite right. At the heart of faithful living is God. And out of the heart of faithful living, out of a life centered on God, comes radical hospitality. I'm not talking about polite, friendly smiles and the occasional shaking of hands. I'm not talking about being "nice." I'm talking about going out of our way to truly welcome the stranger into our midst. Even the stranger who really is strange. Even the stranger who makes us want to turn away rather than extend our hand. Radical hospitality is learning to let go of our fears, our prejudices, our excuses, so that we can genuinely pay attention to the interests of others, genuinely contribute to their lives. It is no wonder the disciples didn't get it. It is no wonder that most of the time we still don't get it. It is hard. But it is the life Jesus lived and it is the life he calls us to live as well.

"Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." (Mark 9:35) And then, to illustrate his point, he picks up a child and sets her in the middle of the circle, wraps his arms around her and says, "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me." (Mark 9:37) Unfortunately, we mostly miss the point here, because our way of looking at the world is so different from the way most people in Jesus' day looked at the world. For us, children are wonderful, sweet and joyful. We love having them around. They easily become the center of our attention. When I sit down front with all the children, everyone in the room is smiling. Of course we would welcome the child in Jesus' arms. But children in his day did not enjoy the status they do today. They occupied the low rung on the social ladder. They were to be seen and not heard, and preferably not even seen. The child Jesus wrapped in his arms was probably dirty and smelly and hadn't wiped her nose in a while. "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me..." Over and over again we see Jesus reaching out to the last, the lost and the least to share God's love in tangible and concrete ways. He touches them. He talks to them. He demonstrates in words and actions and attitude that they are genuinely respected and loved, welcomed and accepted. Not just when it's convenient. Not just when it is someone nice and sweet and respectable. Not just when they come to us. But when it is hard. When it is someone who makes us uncomfortable. When we have to go out and find them. When it costs us something.

When I was in Moscow I participated in a Bible Study group with a number of other clergy in the area. One day the Lutherans were all making plans for a retreat they would be attending that week-end. Several of us "non-Lutherans" in the group commented that it sounded like a great event, and next time they should invite us. Someone laughed and said, "You are always invited. We just don't tell you about it." Unfortunately, that is sometimes a fair description of how we practice hospitality in the Church. Of course everyone is always welcome. But we don't go out of our way to communicate that message. And it is a message which desperately needs to be communicated. There are so many people around us who in one way or another fit into the category of last, lost and least. They are ignored by society, and often they are ignored by the church. Or worse, they are actively reviled and rejected. As we engage in radical hospitality we seek to reverse some of that damage.

Please do not hear this as a harsh and critical indictment. I know that in many ways we in this congregation are already doing this. Hot chocolate Thursdays are a prime example. People who come here, regardless of who they are, experience us as warm and loving and welcoming. The problem is that there is always more to do. There are always people we who need to be touched. There are always people who need to be loved. There are always people who need to experience acceptance. And there are always our own boundaries and limitations that need to be pushed back.

Radical hospitality means always paying attention to what we do and how we do it. Even when it is someone we already accept, is our language inclusive so they will know they are accepted? Do our actions help to create a welcoming environment where they can feel safe and valued? Do we go up to the visitor and personally greet them? One of the reasons I include the words to even the regular songs in the bulletin (like the "Peace be yours" song and the doxology) is to help visitors to feel a little bit less like "outsiders" who haven't yet been given the secret password.

And then, beyond paying attention to how we are with the "easy" folks we already like, radical hospitality also means paying attention to where the "edge" is for us? Who are the last, the lost and the least in our world today? Is it the single mother on welfare? Is it the gay or lesbian couple who feels the judgmental eyes of community and even the church bearing down on them? Is it the mentally ill transient who doesn't fit in and always needs more help than we want to give? And how do we begin to practice "radical hospitality" with these people? How do we begin to live out the words of James, "Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom." (James 3:13) What would it mean if we didn't wait for the last, the lost and the least to come to us? What would it look like if we truly practiced radical hospitality with the people who have been rejected and cast aside? How would their lives be transformed? How would our lives be transformed? "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me."

Come & See -- Go & Share

2009-09-13T10:00:00.002-06:00

Isaiah 49:1-7 & John 1:35-42
Roger C. Lynn
September 13, 2009

I believe there is a deep longing, woven into the very fabric of our being, a desire to be in connection with God. To paraphrase the prayer we used in last Sunday's service, "God made us for Godself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in God." (attributed to Augustine of Hippo) Some people are very aware of this longing and spend their lives consciously and intentionally seeking ways to establish and nurture such a connection. Others are largely unaware of the longing, and so spend their lives trying to fill a hole they don't really understand or even recognize. But the reality is that we are most fully and completely and richly ourselves when we are in relationship with God.
The writer of the Gospel of John understands this. The story of John the Baptist's disciples following Jesus is a story about searching for God. They recognize something in Jesus which gives them hope that perhaps he will have answers for their questions. "Where are you staying? Where can we find God in our lives and in our world? We don't even know where to look. Please tell us if you can." We understand such questions. At one time or other in our lives I suspect they have been our questions as well. Where do we look to find God? We just want someone to tell us where to look, how to believe, what to do so that God will be real for us and we can be certain of a connection. But, as John's disciples discovered, it doesn't work that way. No one can give us those answers - not even Jesus - not even God. This is because they are not answers which can be told - they can only be experienced. When Andrew and his companion ask Jesus where he is staying, Jesus doesn't say, "Just around the corner." He says, "Come and see!" His answer is an invitation to experience for themselves what they are seeking. He will help. He will point the way. Indeed, in the end he will offer everything he has to help them discover what they are seeking. But he cannot do it for them. And so it is with us. Our quest for connection with God must finally include direct personal involvement. We cannot simply listen to someone else's experience. We cannot just think about it. Ultimately we must respond to God's invitation to "come and see!"

And what we discover, whenever we respond to this most intimate of invitations, is that our experience will be unique, because each of us is unique. I will discover connection with God in ways which are different than the ways you will discover connection, because our lives are different. And at the same time, what we also discover is that underneath the uniqueness of our experiences is a great deal of common ground. This is true because we are all human, seeking to connect with the one God. Thus it is that the deeper we venture in our explorations, the more common ground we discover. I have heard it said that the great mystics find they have much in common with other mystics, regardless of the particular faith tradition in which they practice. The invitation to "come and see" opens up for us a vast, expansive territory which is at once both deeply personal and powerfully uniting.

To come and see is not, however, the end of the journey. There is more to the story. Whenever we truly discover God in our lives it always leads us back out into the world to share what we have found. If there is a deep longing within us to be in relationship with God, there is a similar deep longing to be in community with others. We are communal people with a desire to share the richness of our experience with those around us. In the story in John's Gospel, the first thing Andrew does after responding to Jesus' invitation to "come and see" is to "go and share." He can't wait to tell his brother Peter what he found. He doesn't need to convince Peter of anything. That's not his job. Peter will need to "come and see" for himself. All Andrew needs to do is share the excitement of his own experience. The rest takes care of itself.

Isaiah speaks of God's intention for the Servant. "It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth." (Isaiah 49:6) It is not enough to simply have an experience of God and then keep it to ourselves. It is not enough to have God's light shining in our lives. We are also called to allow that light to shine through our lives as well. Then the experience is complete. We don't need to worry about how the light will be received when we share it, or even if it will be received at all. We don't need to worry about whether or not the light will look the same in the other person's life as it does in our own. Our only job is to continue exploring the ways in which the light illuminates our own lives, and then share the excitement of that discovery.

You have an extraordinary opportunity. Right here, right now, in this moment, and in every moment, God is inviting us to "come and see" where God can be found in our world and in our lives. You can choose to pay attention to what is really alive in you, to really get in touch with what is going on in this congregation that keeps you coming back. What is it that you want to invite someone else to "come and see"? What is God doing in your life right now that gives you so much excitement you can't keep it to yourself? May we discover that excitement, and learn to share it! May it be so for us.

Take a Break

2009-09-06T10:00:00.003-06:00

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8 & Luke 10: 38-42
Roger C. Lynn
September 6, 2009
Labor Day Week-end

Tomorrow is Labor Day, a holiday set aside to honor those who work for a living. We make this tribute by taking a break from our labors. And in so doing we join a very old tradition. In the opening chapters of Genesis we are told that at the end of the process of creating the world God took a day off to rest. This practice is enshrined in the religious tradition of Sabbath. We understand, at a very deep and basic level, that human beings cannot long survive on a steady diet of nothing but work. We need rest. We need play. We need recreation. There is a reason why the phrase "working ourselves to death" is a part of our cultural lexicon.
Unfortunately, we often seem to forget this important truth. We have inherited a "work ethic" in our culture which frequently leaves us feeling guilty about any time not spent in the pursuit of something "productive." I know a gifted, creative woman who feels guilty whenever she spends time with her art. All too often we have taken to heart the message that if it isn't making money then it is of no value. And so we spend our lives in frantic pursuit of fulfillment, never quite recognizing that it remains elusive as long as the search is defined by our franticness. We are like Martha - so busy with our "important" work that we fail to notice that we have Jesus sitting in our living room.

Wayne Muller, in his book "Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in Our Busy Lives" (published by Bantam in 2000) said exactly what I was hoping to say in this sermon. He describes the situation this way:

In the relentless busyness of modern life, we have lost the rhythm between work and rest. All life requires a rhythm of rest. There is a rhythm in our waking activity and the body's need for sleep. There is a rhythm in the way day dissolves into night, and night into morning. There is a rhythm as the active growth of spring and summer is quieted by the necessary dormancy of fall and winter. There is a tidal rhythm, a deep, eternal conversation between the land and the great sea. In our bodies, the heart perceptibly rests after each life-giving beat; the lungs rest between the exhale and the inhale.

We have lost this essential rhythm. Our culture invariably supposes that action and accomplishment are better than rest, that doing something - anything - is better than doing nothing. Because of our desire to succeed, to meet these ever-growing expectations, we do not rest. Because we do not rest, we lose our way. We miss the compass points that would show us where to go, we bypass the nourishment that would give us succor. We miss the quiet that would give us wisdom. We miss the joy and love born of effortless delight. Poisoned by this hypnotic belief that good things come only through unceasing determination and tireless effort, we can never truly rest. And for want of rest, our lives are in danger.

In our drive for success we are seduced by the promise of more: more money, more recognition, more satisfaction, more love, more information, more influence, more possessions, more security. Even when our intentions are noble and our efforts sincere - even when we dedicate our lives to the service of others - the corrosive pressure of frantic overactivity can nonetheless cause suffering in ourselves and others.

A "successful" life has become a violent enterprise. We make war on our own bodies, pushing them beyond their limits; war on our children, because we cannot find enough time to be with them when they are hurt and afraid, and need our company; war on our spirit, because we are too preoccupied to listen to the quiet voices that seek to nourish and refresh us; war on our communities, because we are fearfully protecting what we have, and do not feel safe enough to be kind and generous; war on the earth, because we cannot take the time to place our feet on the ground and allow it to feed us, to taste its blessings and give thanks.

Muller then goes on to describe the tragic consequence of this frantic approach to life. He says:

Our lack of rest and reflection is not just a personal affliction. It colors the way we build and sustain community, it dictates the way we respond to suffering, and it shapes the ways in which we seek peace and healing in the world. I have worked for twenty-five years in the fields of community development, public health, mental health, and criminal justice. With a few notable exceptions, the way problems are solved is frantically, desperately, reactively, and badly. Despite their well-meaning and generous souls, community and corporate leaders are infected with a fearful desperation that is corrosive to genuine helpfulness, justice, or healing. As Brother David Steindl-Rast reminds us, the Chinese pictograph for "busy" is composed of two characters: heart and killing.

When we forget to rest our lives fall out of balance and spin out of control. And the resulting damage affects not only us, but those around us, and indeed the whole planet. "For everything there is a season." We do not honor God by working ourselves to death. Jesus said, "Come unto me all you who are weary and heavy ladened, and I will give you rest." And so, on this Labor Day week-end, I would invite you to engage is a deep and significant spiritual practice - take a nap - play with your children or your grandchildren - go for a walk - do absolutely nothing at all - rest in the eternal and abiding arms of God.

Watching for Wonder

2009-08-30T10:00:00.003-06:00

Psalm 104 & Genesis 1: 1-2 & 31 - 2: 3
Roger C. Lynn
August 30, 2009

We spend a lot of time and energy trying to find God. And we spend even more time and energy trying to describe what we find. Biblical scholars devote their lives to dissecting the smallest of scriptural details. Theologians write countless elegantly composed books and articles on every imaginable subject. Church leaders fret over intricately worded doctrinal statements. Preachers (like me) spend untold hours preparing weekly sermons on a wide variety of topics. And such efforts certainly have their place. Part of what it means to be human is that we try to make sense of our experiences. We are "meaning-making" creatures.

But I also know that one of the most powerful ways in which I experience God's presence in my life is by paying attention to what is going on around me all the time. Watching for wonder helps to keep me in touch with a profoundly intimate connection with the Sacred. I discover a sense of who I am and where I fit in the grand picture of God. Experiencing life through the lens of wonder provides some protection against the dangers of becoming overwhelmed by the painful realities which can seem so all-consuming. It offers us another way to approach our living - a path which is filled with meaning and purpose and joy. Jewish philosopher and mystic Abraham Joshua Heschel suffered a near fatal heart attack. In reflecting on the experience later, he said, "When I regained consciousness, my first feelings were not of despair or anger. I felt only gratitude to God for my life, for every moment I had lived. I was ready to depart. 'Take me, O Lord,' I thought, 'I have seen so many miracles in my lifetime.' . . . That is what I meant when I wrote . . . 'I did not ask for success; I asked for wonder. And You gave it to me.' " (from the Introduction to "I Asked for Wonder: A Spiritual Anthology Abraham Joshua Heschel" edited by Samuel H. Dresner)

There are still challenges and struggles, painful realities to somehow deal with. But when we begin to learn the skill of watching for wonder, we really do gain a new perspective, even with regards to the hard stuff. Poet Robert Raines put it this way:

Let me be like a child surprised to find another
Easter egg hidden in a dark place . . .
Trigger in me little explosions of
wonder & delight . . .
push the buttons, pull out the stops,
up with the windows, down with the walls,
over with the fences of exclusion,
and the tables of oppression . . .
out with the demons of hate
in with the angels of love . . .
Kindle in me fires of a strange surmise,
and stir up wild dreams
fantastic & stupendous,
dreams of nations hugging each other across
rivers & deserts & oceans . . .
dreams of a rainbow people holding hands
around a city . . .
dreams of friends & enemies leaning
over to kiss away the tears . . .
Let me be like a child surprised . . .

We know it by a variety of names - wonder, beauty, awe, inspiration. It is that moment when the world stands still. It is the experience that takes your breath away. It is the event that leaves you speechless. And in all of its varied forms, it really is amazing what happens when we start paying attention. We notice things we never saw before. Life becomes fuller and richer. But more than that, as our capacity for wonder expands, so does our spirit. We clear a space and there is more room for God to come in and take up residence. e.e.cummings expressed it this way:

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

So where do we begin? Where is wonder to be found in this world? Well, the good news is that it is found everywhere. The challenge is not finding it. The challenge is learning to see it. The Sufi poet Hafiz had this to say on the subject:

Where is the door to God?
In the sound of a barking dog,
In the ring of a hammer,
In a drop of rain,
In the face of
Everyone
I see.

I am convinced that Jesus knew about watching for wonder in the common, ordinary moments of life. Just listen to his parables, notice the images he uses to draw people's attention to God - mustard seeds, the birds of the air, the flowers of the field, the way grain grows, sheep, bread and wine, even the breath that filled his lungs. Watching for wonder was an important spiritual practice which kept Jesus connected to God, and it can be an important spiritual practice for those of us who seek to be followers of Jesus.

And the good news is that we need not look far to discover wonder. Indeed, part of the trick is learning to not try so hard. Just open up your eyes, and your ears, and your heart, and let it flow in. The viewfinder of my camera has become for me a window into the world of wonder. As I learn to see the world with new eyes, my heart is ever more fully opened to the presence of God's Spirit. Another Hafiz poem put it this way:

Slipping
On my shoes,
Boiling water,
Toasting bread,
Buttering the sky:
That should be enough contact
With God in one day
To make anyone
Crazy.

I do need to offer a word of warning. If you take this business of watching for wonder seriously, you will be changed. You will experience life differently. You will experience God differently. And people will notice. They may not always understand, but they will notice. It is simply not possible to be open to the essence of life and remain untouched. One afternoon, several years ago, while I was working as a counselor at high school church camp, I became so attuned to God's presence that the very air around me was alive. It was an intoxicating experience. I was dancing across the lawn, singing and laughing and shouting. I suspect that the youth in my small group thought I had lost my mind. So beware - watching for wonder is not necessarily a safe undertaking, and is certainly not for the faint of heart. You just never know where it will lead you. Well, that's not exactly true. We know precisely where it will lead us - straight into the heart of God.

This is how Hafiz describes the wild adventure of being fully open to the experience of God in the world:

And
For no reason
I start skipping like a child.

And
For no reason
I turn into a leaf
That is carried so high
I kiss the Sun's mouth
And dissolve.

And
For no reason
A thousand birds
Choose my head for a conference table,
Start passing their
Cups of wine
And their wild songbooks all around.

And
For every reason in existence
I begin to eternally,
To eternally laugh and love!

When I turn into a leaf
And start dancing,
I run to kiss our beautiful Friend
And I dissolve in the Truth
That I Am.

The message which Jesus sought to share with the world remains as true for us today as it was 2,000 years ago - God truly is all around us in every moment of our living, leaving not so subtle clues for us to find, just waiting for us to notice. May we learn to notice.

A Dream of Better Days

2009-08-23T10:00:00.003-06:00

Isaiah 65: 17-25
Roger C. Lynn
August 23, 2009

We live in a time when despair seems always to be threatening - waiting for us around every corner. Everywhere we turn there are signs of fear, violence, oppression, poverty, disease, abuse of power, environmental degradation, and on and on the list could go. The sheer volume of such information we are exposed to can quickly become overwhelming and disheartening. Our thought that "life can be better than this" gets lost beneath the onslaught of "there's nothing we can do to make a difference." It can seem so inevitable that we might be inclined to believe things are the way they are because "that's just the way life works." Sometimes we are even tempted to drag God into the fray. We may not take things to the same extreme as those who proclaim a message of God's anger and wrath. But many of us, at one time or another, have wondered, at least to ourselves, why God allows such suffering to continue. There are times when it seems as if we are left with a choice between a God who is punishing us and a God who just doesn't care.
The writer of Isaiah 65 would probably have been able to identify. The suffering of the people of Israel had been going on for a long time. They had been conquered by a foreign power, sent away into exile, cut off from home and everything associated with their faith. The question never far from their thoughts was "has God abandoned us?" There were plenty of opportunities for Isaiah to give in to despair. But instead he chose another path. He offers a vision of hope for the better day which is coming. He hears a promise from God that there is more to life than the suffering they have experienced. "For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind." (Isaiah 65:17) And this is not some far off fantasy. There is a sense of immediacy about this vision. "But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight." (Isaiah 65:18) And it is specific. Real life situations are addressed. "No more shall there be in it an infant that lives but a few days, or an old person who does not live out a lifetime..." (Isaiah 65:20) "They shall build houses and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit." (Isaiah 65:21) There is even an extravagance about it. This is not just tidying things up around the edges. The very core of how life is experiences will be turned upside down. "The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the ox..." (Isaiah 65:25) It is a powerfully hope-filled proclamation.

And as with all such statements of faith, it is vital that we ask a critically important theological question - "So what?" Why is this vision in the Bible, what does it have to do with us, and why should we care? It is in the Bible because folks down through the years have come to believe that it is True. Not necessarily true in some specific and narrowly defined terms. The people to whom Isaiah first addressed these words certainly did have the opportunity to return home from exile, but life continued to be challenging, filled with many of the same ups and downs, victories and set-backs that had always been the case. People understand Isaiah's vision to be True in a more profoundly universal and far-reaching way. It offers us a reminder that there is always more to life than whatever happens to be going on in any given moment. This vision speaks to us in our 21st-century lives not because it was true for the people of Isaiah's day, but because it portrays what is always at the heart of God's desire for us. Violence and suffering are never a part of God's ultimate desire for us. Life and abundance and joy form the core of how we are called to live.

This vision is important because it helps to keep us focused on what really matters. And it offers a counter-balance to help offset the despair which threatens to paralyze us and rob us of our living. It is a vision which comes to fruition when we begin to embody it and allow it to flow out into the world through us. Dreaming of better days paves the way for living into better days. When we believe that God is on our side, actively working with us to bring joy into the world, it transforms how we experience all of life, including even the painful parts.

In the early centuries of the church, paradise was one of the central images people used to express their understanding of faithful living. Paradise was not some perfect world in some far off distant future. It was experienced in this life, in this world, as they lived with the full awareness of God's ongoing presence in the midst of them. In the words of one of the hymns we sing, "Not in some heaven, light years away. Here in this place the new light is shining. Now is God present, and now is the day." (from "Gather Us In" - words & music by Martin Haugen copyright 1982 GIA Publications, Inc) They did not deny the painful realities, but the understanding of paradise allowed them to continue living and working to transform those realities.

Isaiah's dream is about paradise. It was not fully realized in his day. It is not fully realized in our day. Nonetheless, I believe that it continues to offer us a picture of life as God intends it to be lived. May we dream of such better days, and allow those dreams to embolden us into action.

Just Who Do You Think You Are?

2009-08-16T10:00:00.001-06:00

Luke 4: 16-21 & 1 Corinthians 12: 22-31
Roger C. Lynn
August 16, 2009

For the past several years I've been asking myself a lot of questions. The particulars take a variety of forms, but in the end it all seems to come to one query. "Just who do you think you are?" It is a question worth pondering from time to time. What does it mean to be me? What am I called to do? Who am I called to be? Just who do you think you are?

I am certainly not the first person to ask such questions. Such pondering is firmly rooted in our faith tradition, as well as in every other major faith tradition. I would even venture a guess that it is embedded in our DNA somewhere. Asking such questions seems to be a part of what it is to be human.

2,000 years ago, when Jesus asked such questions, he found himself drawn to the prophet Isaiah. In Isaiah's words Jesus found a description of his own identity. Bringing good news to the poor, release to the captives, sight to the blind, freedom for the oppressed, God's favor for all. Who do you think you are, Jesus asked himself. The answer he found was that he was one who could be a channel for God's work restoring wholeness to the world. And he went about doing so by using all of who he was - his compassion, his gift for telling stories, his sense of God's presence in his life and in every life.

And he managed to live out that calling so fully and completely that others came to see God shining through him and they wanted to follow. "Followers of the Way" was one of the first names associated with this group of people. Just who do you think you are? We are followers of the Way. The Apostle Paul put it slightly differently. When he was writing to the people in the city of Corinth who were seeking to follow where Jesus was leading, he told them that they were the Body of Christ. To be a person of faith, connected with other people of faith, choosing this particular path, meant literally taking on the identity of the one they were following. Just who do you think you are? We are who Jesus was. We are called to be channels for God's work of restoring wholeness to the world.

Fast forward 2,000 years and the answer to the question remains the same. For those of us who seek to live our lives with integrity and faithfulness, we are still called to be who Jesus was. We are still called to live our lives in such a way that God shines through us and into the world. We are still called to help restore wholeness in the midst of all the turmoil and brokenness wherever we find it.

So how do we go about doing that and what does it look like when we do? Well, to begin with we need to recognize that there are no quick and easy answers. Genuine faith does not have shortcuts. Ann Weems put it this way:

A profession of faith is not a part-time promise;
it's a whole time / all the time / every time way of life
(from "Searching for Shalom")

It takes time (a lifetime to be exact) to be a person of faith. And it takes paying attention. We live such busy, even hectic lives, in the midst of a very busy, even hectic world. There is much to distract us from what is really important. There are meetings to attend. There is dinner to be prepared. There are bathrooms to be cleaned. We have to be very conscious and very intentional about slowing down enough to listen for the whispers of God. We have to slow down enough to remember who we really are. The story in Luke where Jesus reads from Isaiah follows immediately on the heels of his time in the wilderness. Discovering just who we think we are requires paying attention.

And I am more and more convinced that the answer which will begin to unfold will be an answer that embodies our whole selves. We each have unique gifts. We are each uniquely ourselves. Why would God want anything less than, or anything other than, the fullness of who we are? Some time back my wonderful wife shared a quote with me. I have no idea where she found it. I don't know anything else about Harold Whitman except these words. And as soon as I read them I heard the ring of truth in them. "Don't ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what make you come alive, and then do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."

So what does it look like to be a person of faith who is helping to bring wholeness to the world? Well, it is going to look different for each person, and it is going to look different for each group of people. And whatever specific forms it takes, you will know it is real if it is leading you towards life and not away from it. You will know it is real if you find yourself coming alive. Frederick Buechner has this to say on the subject - "The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." (from "Wishful Thinking")

My step-daughter Maia responds to the call of God in her life when she dances. It is what brings her soul to life. And in so doing she brings beauty and wholeness to the world. My wife teaches people how to speak a language of peace. It is what brings her soul to life. And in so doing she brings healing and understanding to the world. For some it will be planting and tending beautiful gardens. For some it will be preparing delicious food. For some it will be raising vital, healthy children. For some it will be mediating conflict. For some it will be teaching children to read. The question comes to each of us - just who do you think you are? And the first hints of an answer, I believe, are found when we begin to pay careful attention and discover those places where our soul comes alive. Then we will have something to share with the world. Then God's presence will shine into the darkness. Then the world will begin to be healed.

Just who do you think you are?

Lost & Found

2009-08-09T10:00:00.001-06:00

Exodus 32: 7-14 & Luke 15: 1-10
Roger C. Lynn
August 9, 2009

We lose our socks. We lose our keys. Sometimes we even lose our car. And occasionally we lose our way. We wander off the path and can't find our way back. We think we know where we're going. We get distracted and stop paying attention. We get overwhelmed and confused and miss the landmark we need to guide us. We get unhelpful directions that send us off in the opposite direction from where we thought we were headed.

And, if you haven't guess by now, I'm not just talking about literal navigational problems. Lostness can describe the experience of our living as much as it describes the experience of our driving. We get lost from each other. We get lost from ourselves. We even get lost from God. It can be unsettling and confusing. It can even be frightening. And if we're not careful, such fear and confusion can lead us down all manner of unhelpful dead-end paths.

Take the Hebrew people wandering in the wilderness for example. On a regular basis they seemed to lose their bearings. They forgot all the wonderful guidance that had led them out of slavery. They forgot all the wonderful care and protection which had kept them safe and nourished. They would find themselves faced with some new obstacle in their path and they would panic. It happens. It's a part of the human experience.

So Moses, their leader and guide, goes up on the mountain for a spiritual retreat to reconnect with God. And he doesn't come down for a while. The people don't know what's happened to him. All they know is that they're out in the middle of the wilderness and their leader is missing in action and they don't have the first clue as to which way to go next. They could, of course, turn to God. Except that they'd pretty much been letting Moses take care of all the God stuff. With Moses out of the picture their God meter was hovering down near zero. So with their backs against the wall and their level of fear rising by the minute, they did what people have been doing for millennia - they copied what everyone else around them was doing. That works fine if everyone else happens to be in touch and on track. But it's a train wreck waiting to happen when everyone else is as lost as you are. In this case the "everyone else" they chose to copy were the Egyptians among whom they had lived for so many years. Specifically they decided to make a golden statue of a calf and offer their worship to it. It is important to note that the real problem with worshipping idols is that they are inanimate. There is no life in them. They do not engage us and connect with us and call forth from us our very best selves. So when you come to an idol from a place of fear, the fear is not dissipated. When you come to an idol from a place of lostness, no new direction presents itself. In their panic and fear, they only made matters worse. Sometimes when we lose track of God in our lives, in our frantic effort to "do something," we grab hold of the first thing that presents itself, instead of seeking the stillness where we might once again encounter the presence of the Sacred.

There is also another example of lostness in this story, and I find it even more telling and even more interesting. It is actually a case of lostness narrowly avoided. When Moses becomes aware of the idol-worshipping behavior of his people, the first thoughts that occur to him are images of an angry, vengeful God. "I have seen this people, how stiff-necked they are. Now let me alone, so that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them." (Exodus 32:9-10) Knowing what we know about the God we see revealed in and through the life and teachings of Jesus, I am convinced that this is only what Moses thought he heard God saying. And it's easy to understand why he would have thought God might say such a thing. After all, such understandings of God were everywhere around him all the time. It would have taken almost no imagination at all to believe such things about God. But fortunately Moses didn't remain stuck with that understanding. He saw it for what it was - a distraction, a temptation to lostness just as sure and certain as was the golden calf. Down that path lay only darkness and death. And so Moses chose another path instead. In the face of the temptation to embrace violence and wrath, Moses called on the God of compassion and understanding as the response to the people's lostness.

Many hundreds of years later, that particular lesson still needed to be learned. So Jesus told his followers a series of stories to bring the point home. When something gets lost - a sheep, a coin, a son - God's response is first, last and always a response of tireless, compassionate seeking. And what a contrast that is. What a cause for celebration. Instead of fear and trembling, we can bring to our experiences of lostness a sense of hope and joy. In the words of the composer of "Amazing Grace" - "I was lost, but now I'm found." Being lost can be frightening enough all by itself without compounding the experience with the dark shadows of dread which accompany images of a vengeful, wrathful God. Fortunately, like Moses, we can choose to say "NO!" to such images. We can choose instead to be embraced by the God who seeks us and finds us and loves us and guides us. Robert Raines put it this way in his poem "Playing Hide-And-Seek":

I'm a child playing hide-and-seek
waiting for someone to find me
and call my name
and say, "You're it!"
And you did it, God!
You found me hiding
in the silliest, saddest places,
behind old grudges . . .
under tons of disappointments . . .
tangled up in guilt,
smothered with success,
chocking on sobs that nobody hears.
You found me
and you whispered my name
and said, "You're it!"
And I believe you mean it . . .
And now maybe
the silent tears can roll out of my throat . . .
get wet on my cheeks . . .
And now maybe
I don't have to play hide-and-seek any more.

Where are the places where you get lost? What are the images of God which threaten to overwhelm you when you begin to panic? What will it take to calm your fear enough for you to recognize that you have already been found - that indeed, you have never really been lost? May we be open to the ongoing, living presence of the God who seeks and finds and welcomes us home.

Heading for Home

2009-08-02T10:00:00.000-06:00

Hebrews 11: 1-3 & 8-16
Roger C. Lynn
August 2, 2009

Home! It's a word that evokes a powerful sense of longing. We talk about being homesick. After we've been away for a while we know how good it feels to be home again. When we want someone to feel comfortable and welcome we invite them to "make themselves at home." At its heart, the idea of home has less to do with place than it does with a sense of belonging. Home is where the heart is.

The writer of the book of Hebrews spends a great deal of time elaborating on various Old Testament figures who are lifted up as models of faithful living. And one of the characteristics which is associated with such faithfulness has to do with "seeking a homeland" - a "better country." Part of what it means to be faithful is to pay attention to our yearning for "home." It is a reality we can barely even imagine most of the time - something we catch only in occasional glimpses. And yet, deep down in the core of our being, we know it is real - more real that the pale reflections we encounter so often in the course of our living. Just because it hasn't yet been fully realized in our lives doesn't mean we stop looking. Like Abraham, and all the other faithful characters listed in the book of Hebrews, we continue to move forward, seeking a homeland that is defined by being fully aware of the ongoing presence of God. In their song about seeking just such a home, the group "The Wailin' Jennys" sing,

When we find what we're looking for
We'll drop these bags & search no more
Because it's going to feel like heaven when we're home.

There is a line in one of John Denver's most famous songs that describes this faithful process. He sings about "going home to a place we've never been before." It is the longing, the dreaming, the yearning for this existence which we know is real even though we haven't fully experienced it - yet.

The history of this quest has taken some extremely unhelpful, and sometimes downright destructive, forms, including drug abuse, violence of all sorts, greed, fear-based protectionism, and on and on the list could go. Peel back the layers of such expressions, however, and what you find underneath is a search for home - an existential place where we are safe and cared for, a place where we belong. But so often we end up looking in all the wrong places, using all the wrong strategies. We spend our lives searching "out there" for a home, only to discover that it can't be found "out there" until we first find it "in here." T.S. Eliot wrote a poem which speaks to this reality.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

We will never really find home anywhere until we begin to learn the trick of being at home everywhere. This happens when we recognize that home is defined not by external circumstances but by being in the presence of God - and we are always in the presence of God. Catherine of Siena wrote, "All the way to heaven is heaven." All the way to God is God. All the way home is home. As Dorothy discovers in "The Wizard of Oz," we've always had the ability to go home.

And what sounds at first glance like a solitary enterprise turns out finally to be very much an exercise in community. We may not be able to find home "out there," but even when we look "in here" we also can't find it on our own. The writer of the book of Hebrews, after listing all the heroes and heroines of the faith, sums it all up this way - "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses..." (Hebrews 12:1) When we strive to live faithfully, seeking the home that is nothing less than the fullness of God's presence, we do so with the support of those who share this life with us, and in so doing we also invite and encourage others to discover their "home" as well.

To live faithfully is to always be going home to a place we've never been before, and yet at the same time recognizing that it is the place we've lived our whole lives - fully and completely in the presence of God. Let's go home.

Letting Go To Fly

2009-07-26T10:00:00.000-06:00

Mark 10: 17-31
Roger C. Lynn
July 26, 2009

The little boy ran across the field as fast as he could, clutching the kite tightly in his hand and holding it above his head. If you had been close enough to listen, you might have heard him chanting over and over again, "Fly! Fly! Fly!" But when he reached the other side of the field the results were the same as they had been the countless other times he had repeated this ritual that morning. The kite was not flying. It remained firmly stuck in his hand.

Just as he was about to give up and head for home, he looked around the open space one last time and noticed that someone else had joined him in the field. Way over on the far side stood a man who was holding one end of a string which was attached at the other end to a kite. It was a beautiful kite, made all the more beautiful because it was soaring high overhead, framed by the wide blue sky. The boy watched in silent awe for a few moments and then began walking across the field, drawn by the wonder that the man had been able to accomplish something which had eluded the boy all morning. By the time he reached the spot where the man was standing he had worked up his nerve to ask the question which was haunting him. "What do I need to do to get my kite to fly like that?" The man smiled at the boy and then spoke in a soft and gentle voice. "I've been watching you for a while, and your problem is really very simple. To get your kite to fly, you have to let go of it. It won't ever go anywhere as long as you hang on to it so tightly. Let go and it will soar." The little boy thought about this for a moment and then began to frown. "But if I let go of it, I might lose it." "You're right," said the man. "You might lose it. That's the risk you have to take if you want your kite to soar. And always remember, soaring is what kites are made to do."

And so it was with the man who came to see Jesus. He had spent his whole life searching for fulfillment. And he had done all of the right things - followed all the right rules - said all the right words -behaved in all the right ways. But when all was said and done, he was still unsatisfied. He knew there had to be more. His kite still wasn't flying. And so when Jesus told him the one thing he still needed to do -- sell everything and give it to the poor -- he knew Jesus was right on target and he knew he couldn't bring himself to do it. It is important to note that this is not finally about giving away all our money. It is about letting go of whatever it is that keeps us from flying. The man sincerely tried to live the right life, but he clung too tightly to let go and let it fly. It wasn't that his money or his possessions were bad. Indeed, it is likely that he accomplished a great deal of good with his wealth. It was simply that hanging on to them was preventing him from experiencing the fullness of life which he sought. You see, life as God created it to be lived is about letting go instead of hanging on, about risking instead of playing it safe, about the freedom of reaching for the future, rather than the prison of clinging to the past.

The story is told of a tribe in Africa who have a unique way of hunting monkeys. They put out a jar with holes cut in the sides which are just big enough for a monkey's hand to fit through. Inside the jar they place nuts which the monkeys like to eat. The monkeys then come along, reach into the jar and grab a nut. The problem comes when they try to pull their hand back out. With the nut clutched in their fist the hole is too small to allow their hand to be removed. But having grabbed hold of the prize, it doesn't even occur to them to simply let go. They have trapped themselves with their desire to possess.

And so it is that the question comes to us - both individually and as a congregation. What keeps your kite from flying? What is preventing this congregation's kite from soaring? What traps us inside the jar? What is it in our life that we can't seem to let go of? For some the answer will be money. For some it will be possessions. For others it will be power and control over other people, or perhaps simply over themselves. For still others it might be family and friends. For some it will be safety. There are lots of different specific examples, and the core issue will be the same. You see, the things which hold us back from the fullness of life are not necessarily bad things. Often they have the potential to be very good things - except when we try to control them. They become barriers when our grasp of them instills a sense of fear. It is difficult for us to allow God to move in us and through us when we are devoting so much of our energy to staying in control of our own life. Such an approach to our living fosters a false sense of self-sufficiency which is not conducive to trusting God.

So, I invite you to look carefully at your life and see if you can discover those things which are holding you back from experiencing the full richness of God's eternal life. Look carefully at how you are relating to this congregation and see if you can discover those things which are inhibiting the congregation from soaring. Then ask God to help you let go so you can fly - so we can all fly.

Letting Go of Fear - Opening Up to Blessing

2009-07-19T10:00:00.000-06:00

2 Samuel 6: 1-19
Roger C. Lynn
July 19, 2009

A couple of weeks ago I preached a sermon which I called, "Learning to Tell a Different Story." The sermon this morning could be "Part 2." Like the story of David and Goliath, the text for today provides us with a dramatic illustration of what happens when we get distracted from the reality that God is the God of love and abundance.

I remember reading this story back in the days when I still thought that everything in the Bible had to be taken literally and at face value. Within those parameters I couldn't make sense of this story. Why would God kill Uzzah just because he touched the Ark while trying to prevent it from falling off the cart? I had not yet come to the understanding that for the Bible to have relevance and value it needs to be read through a variety a filters, including the one labeled, "It says this was God's doing, but that doesn't seem to match up with everything else I know about God." It hadn't yet occurred to me to question the basic underlying premise, that God would kill anyone for any reason. But even so, I was left in a quandary, the solution to which was to assume that I must be missing some piece of the puzzle - I just didn't understand enough. I am now convinced that I did, in fact, understand enough. Even then I was beginning to catch glimpses of the basic problem. When we see the world through a filter of violence, the pieces just don't fit. It is not who we are created to be. It is not the framework in which the world makes sense. Sometimes the lesson of scripture is to show us what happens when we lose sight of God's true nature, and our true nature as well. Sometimes the lesson of scripture is, in the words of Rick Lowrey (husband of Sharon Watkins), "Don't do this!"

In the story from 2 Samuel, look what happens when David tries to use violence as the defining theme for who God is and how the world works. For a while everything is fine. There is singing and dancing and celebration. The Ark of the Covenant (the symbolic dwelling place of God) was coming to Jerusalem. It was an exciting day filled with joy. And then something happens. One of the honor guards assigned to accompany the Ark dies. Who knows why? Maybe he had a heart attack. Maybe he got food poisoning. Maybe the lesson about God's terrifying wrath had been so drilled into him that he died of fright when he touched the Ark. The bottom line is that we don't know why he died. What we do know is that in David's understanding, and in the understanding of the writers of 2 Samuel, God killed him. The message - God's awesome power is not to be messed with.

And then the really telling thing happens. David is so unnerved that God would kill Uzzah that he changes plans and redirects the Ark away from Jerusalem. He literally sends God into exile. He doesn't want to have anything to do with that kind of God. And why would he? Why would anyone want to deal with that sort of god? When we proceed from the understanding that violence or fear are defining realities of God, we cut ourselves off from any meaningful connection with the Divine presence, because that is not who God is. We allow our fear to send God into exile. Sometimes it's dramatic and obvious - someone dies, we blame God and the door slams shut. Sometimes it's subtle and nuanced - the understanding of God we grew up with no longer fits our experience, we keep going through the motions but our heart just isn't in it anymore. Either way the results are the same - our lives are diminished to the extent that we are not fully in touch with the God of life and love and abundance.

For David, it is only when word comes that the people who had been given charge of the Ark were actually experiencing the blessing of life with God that he was able to let go of his fear long enough to allow that blessing into his life. Fear keeps us locked into prisons of our own making.

Rachel Naomi Remen, in her book "Kitchen Table Wisdom" (pp. 86-87) tells the story of her father and the fear which kept him prisoner in his own home.

"My father was the son of immigrants. He had worked since childhood and held two jobs most of his adult life. In the evenings he would often fall asleep in his chair, his feet in a basin of warm water, too exhausted to talk. . .

"I grew up on the sixth floor of an apartment building in Manhattan. All through my childhood, there was a game my father and I would play. He would talk about his house, the house he would someday own. . .

"I was almost twenty when he and Mom bought a little place on Long Island and he retired. For a while his dream seemed complete. Some months after the place was his, I stopped by on a Sunday visit and found him asleep exhausted in his chair. A familiar sight from my childhood, but I had thought that things would be different now. My mother told me he had just taken a little job, so that they could keep the place up. Things are always deteriorating.

"On my next visit, he was asleep in his chair again. "Are you enjoying yourselves?" I asked. "Well," Mom said, "your father is afraid that someone will break in and take away everything we've worked for. He's still working because he wants to put in an alarm system." . . . Months later, my father continued to look weary. Concerned, I asked when they would be taking their vacation. My father shook his head. "Not this year - we can't leave the house empty." I suggested a house sitter. My father was horrified. "Oh no," he told me. "You know how people are. Even your friends never take care of your things the way they would take care of their own." They never took another vacation.

"In the end, my parents rarely left the house together, not even to go to the movies. There could be a fire or some other sort of vague and unnamed disaster. And my father worked odd jobs until he died. The house turned out to have far greater control over him than any of his former employers ever had."

As long as we experience life through a filter of fear and scarcity and violence, we close ourselves off from the blessings of God, the blessings which are our birthright and our inheritance. We are like David, sending God into exile for no good reason except our own fear. We stay locked up in our own house, holding both God and the world at bay. Let me be as clear as I possibly can - violence is not who God is, and because we are created in God's image, violence is not who we are, deep down in the core of our being. It certainly is the story we've been told, over and over again, for a very long time now. But, as I said a couple of weeks ago, we need to begin learning to tell a different story. Perhaps then we can begin to let go of our fear and open ourselves to the blessing. In the words of the poet Hafiz, "Now that all your worry has proved such an unlucrative business, why not find a better job." (from The Gift, translated by Daniel Ladinsky)

Surprises on the Winding Path

2009-07-12T10:00:00.000-06:00

Acts 16: 9-15
Roger C. Lynn
July 12, 2009

Both the Gospel of Luke and the book of Acts (written by the same author) have something of a travelogue quality about them. And that is not accidental. The idea of faith as journey is literally woven into the very fabric of the narrative. We learn something important about what it means to be people of faith when we pay attention to the movement which is described in these writings. In today's reading from Acts, for example, we find a powerful illustration of what can happen when we stay open to the leading of God's Spirit. When the journey is the destination, we can't always predict where we'll end up. It is absolutely essential that we pay attention along the way, because there are always surprises just waiting to be discovered.

The Apostle Paul and those who are traveling with him had some ideas about where they wanted to go in their ongoing quest to spread the good news message of their faith. But somehow things weren't working out the way they thought they would. Something kept getting in the way. Then Paul had a dream in which he perceived a call to come to Macedonia. It is not always possible to say with any certainty what a dream means, and it almost always involves reading into it a bit of where we think it is pointing us. But however it happened, Paul decided that it was a message with divine inspiration and contained travel instructions, so off they went to Macedonia. If we stopped there, however, we would be missing much of what this story has to teach us. The writer of Acts begins this section of travel narrative by saying, "We set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace..." (Acts 16:11) And as it turns out, that is the last time anything about this journey can be described in terms of a straight course. Even after finally reaching the city of Philippi it takes them several days before they're "big break" comes, and when it does, it comes from a completely unexpected direction. During the time when the writer of Acts says, "We remained in this city for some days" (Acts 16:12) they were most likely spending time with the Jewish men of the city. And apparently nothing much happened. So finally, on the Sabbath they tried something new. They went outside the walls (sometimes we have to go beyond our walls to find what it is we are seeking), and looked for a place where people might be gathering to pray. It was by the river, so it is easy to imagine all sorts of activities that would have been taking place - over here a group of women doing laundry, over there people enjoying the sun, and down the way a bit a group of men engaged in a heated discussion about the local politics. And it was there, in that eclectic, cosmopolitan mix, that they found what they were looking for, sort of. At the end of this long and twisting path which led them from Troas to Philippi, there by the river in the shadow of the city, they finally find a group of people who are receptive to their message, and it turns out to be a group of women. Not the men, but the women. In a culture that was strongly patriarchal, this is not who they might have expected to be talking with. But it is who was interested in what they had to offer. And so it was that a businesswoman named Lydia overheard them talking and found the path of faith she had been looking for.

It was not where Paul expected to be. It was not who he thought he would be talking with. It was not where Lydia expected to find meaning for her life. And it all became possible because they were open to the ways in which God's Spirit was moving them beyond their expectations, beyond the apparent dead-ends, and out into the uncharted territory of abundant life. There is a saying that "life is what happens to us while we're waiting for something else to come along." The trick is to pay attention so we'll notice when it does. Paul could have continued trying to make headway into Asia. He could have insisted on talking only with the men of the city. He could have been annoyed that someone was eavesdropping on his conversation. Instead he saw the leading of God's Spirit even in the everyday, ordinary, unexpected twists and turns along the way. And lives were enriched as a result.

What surprises are waiting for you to discover? What unexpected paths are waiting for you to follow? What new direction is God seeking to lead you, if only you will notice? Here in this congregation, with its small numbers and seemingly limited resources, it would be easy to think that you have run into a dead end, with nowhere left to go. But it simply is not true - not when God is factored into the equation. When we are open to the leading of God's Spirit on this winding, twisting path we call life, there will always be surprising possibilities to experience abundant life. Listen to your dreams. It doesn't matter if they are sensible or practical. What wild visions do you have for the life and mission of this congregation. Follow your heart. The path will not always be smooth or easy, but it will always be true. Dare to move beyond your walls. We think our walls keep us safe. What they really do is keep us trapped. Stay open to the unexpected. This life is full of possibilities, far beyond our ability to predict or anticipate. Be prepared to be surprised. It really is how God works best.

Learning to Tell a Different Story

2009-07-05T10:00:00.003-06:00

1 Samuel 17: 38-54
Roger C. Lynn
July 5, 2009

It hasn't always been this way, but for the past 5,000 years or so most of the cultures of the world have been dominated and shaped by what some scholars refer to as the Empire model. David Korten, in his article in the Summer 2006 edition of Yes! Magazine, "The Great Turning: From Empire to Earth Community," describes it this way, "Empire organizes by domination at all levels, from relations among nations to relations among family members. Empire brings fortune to the few, condemns the majority to misery and servitude, suppresses the creative potential of all, and appropriates much of the wealth of human societies to maintain the institutions of domination." It is a way of living in which violence is so intricately woven into every aspect of life that it is simply taken for granted and assumed to be "just the way things are."

This way of understanding life has profoundly influenced our faith as well. We need look no further than our scripture text for this morning to see this dramatically illustrated. The story of David and Goliath. It, along with other Biblical stories like it, has shaped the way we understand God, the world and ourselves for countless generations. We teach it to our children in Sunday School! And we do it without even flinching. Most of the time we don't even see the irony which is contained within the story itself. David proclaims, apparently with a straight face, "This very day the Lord will deliver you into my hand, and I will strike you down and cut off your head; and I will give the dead bodies of the Philistine army this very day to the birds of the air and to the wild animals of the earth, so that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel, and that all this assembly may know that the Lord does not save by sword and spear; for the battle is the Lord's and he will give you into our hand." (1 Samuel 17:46-47) David says this moments before he kills Goliath and then uses Goliath's own sword to cut off his head. What happened to "the Lord does not save by sword and spear"? Violence and domination and might-makes-right are so deeply imbedded into our way of seeing the world that most of the time we don't even see the inconsistency.

Yes, at the time this story found it's way into the collective consciousness of the Hebrew people they were a powerless, downtrodden, abused people. It was a story in which they found encouragement, because God would be on their side. And all these thousands of years later we are living (and dying) with the horrific, deadly consequences of such attitudes. A couple of years ago, in a story on NPR, a US Army Colonel was overheard telling a group of Iraqi soldiers under his command, "The enemy talks about God, but we know that God is on your side." (NPR, "Joint Mission Moves to Establish Control in Ramadi" by Philip Reeves) We cannot continue living as if God chooses sides. We cannot continue believing that violence will save us.

Jesus said he came that we might have life and have it abundantly. He pointed us towards joy and peace and oneness. Even in the moment of his violent, empire-driven death, he reveals another way of living in this world. "O God, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

In his powerful Yes! Magazine article, David Korten continues, "Break the silence, end the isolation, change the story. We humans live by stories. The key to making a choice for Earth Community is recognizing that the foundation of Empire's power does not lie in its instruments of physical violence. It lies in Empire's ability to control the stories by which we define ourselves and our possibilities in order to perpetuate the myths on which the legitimacy of the dominator relations of Empire depend. To change the human future, we must change our defining stories." Such a task can be particularly challenging for those of us in the Church, because our defining stories have been enshrined in scripture. We have labeled them as holy. Sometimes we even refer to them as "the word of God." There will be those who will not understand or appreciate those stories being questioned. It requires both courage and humility to stand up and say, "I know this has played an important role in the history of our faith tradition. And I know we must now face the reality that such stories are (sometimes literally) killing us." Do any of us really believe that God wants us to cut off our enemies heads? Do we really believe that "enemies" is even a helpful filter for understanding the new reality into which God calls us? Do we really believe that God is on "our" side and will give us the power to slay those who oppose us? Korten is right. Our stories define us. They shape how we understand who we are and how we live. It is time to start telling new stories.

In contrast to Empire, Korten talks about Earth Community, which he says, "organizes by partnership, unleashes the human potential for creative cooperation, and shares resources and surpluses for the good of all. Supporting evidence for the possibilities of Earth Community comes from the findings of quantum physics, evolutionary biology, developmental psychology, anthropology, archaeology, and religious mysticism. It was the human way before Empire; we must make a choice to re-learn how to live by its principles." What does that look like? He continues, "As the stories of Empire nurture a culture of domination, the stories of Earth Community nurture a culture of partnership. They affirm the positive potentials of our human nature and show that realizing true prosperity, security, and meaning depends on creating vibrant, caring, interlinked communities that support all persons in realizing their full humanity. Sharing the joyful news of our human possibilities through word and action is perhaps the most important aspect of the Great Work of our time."

The Empire world-view of violence and domination is deeply entrenched in our understanding of faith - in our scriptures, in our hymns, in our theology. Sometimes it's blatant, as in the story of David and Goliath. Sometimes it's more subtle, as in the understanding of Christ's death as blood sacrifice. But there are other perspectives present as well. We have resources with which to begin telling a different story. There is the understanding at the very beginning of Genesis that everything which was created was very good. There are psalms which speak of the awe and wonder to be found in the world. There is the erotic love poetry of the Song of Solomon that speaks of our relationship with God in terms of being lovers. There are the words and actions of Jesus as he reaches out to welcome and include the last, the lost and the least among us - to proclaim in no uncertain terms that God's love knows no bounds. There are the words of Paul to the church at Galatia, "There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus." There is the work of the Sufi poets like Hafiz and Rumi which remind us of the transcendent, all-embracing nature of God's love and presence.

Out beyond ideas
of wrongdoing and rightdoing
there is a field. I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
The world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase
each other, doesn't make any sense.
- Jalaludin Rumi
Translated by: Coleman Barks and John Moyne
From: The Essential Rumi, (copyright 1985) Coleman Barks

May God give us the courage to stand up and challenge the stories of Empire, whenever and wherever we encounter them. And may God give us the inspiration to begin telling stories of love and peace and joy and hope, stories of community and partnership and caring and compassion. Together, with each other and with God, may we begin to reclaim what it means to be truly human, carrying in our very being the imprint of the Sacred.

Come & Find the Quiet Center

2009-06-28T10:00:00.000-06:00

Mark 1: 35 & Psalm 46
Roger C. Lynn
June 10, 2007

We live fast-paced lives in a fast-paced world. Even the most relaxed and easy-going among us are exposed to more hectic cultural noise than our grandparents could ever have dreamed of. We have microwaves at home and fast food in the car, high-speed internet and express lanes on the freeway, 24-hour shopping and "all news all the time" television channels, cell phones and e-mail and instant messaging for those times when e-mail is just too slow and now Twitter when instant messaging just isn't good enough. Multitasking is considered a prized skill. I'm exhausted just thinking about it all. And it only seems to be speeding up all the time. In an interview on NPR's Fresh Air, Win Butler, one of the members of the Canadian art-rock band "Arcade Fire," talked about performing in large crowds and experiencing the odd modern phenomenon where people are so "plugged in" that they are on their cell phones talking to their friends about how cool it is to be at the concert, while they are in the middle of the concert. His perception was that in their hunger for instant connection, they are missing the actual experience of the moment - they are talking about life rather than experiencing life.

And even if we manage to turn off the flow of external noise, there is still the voice inside our own head - "you haven't finished that project, there are five more things that need to be done today, you don't have time to sit down yet, reading that book will just have to wait."

And the price we pay for this accelerated life-style is more than just the occasional ulcer. If we are not very careful we run the risk of losing connection with ourselves, each other and the Sacred. It's a bit like trying to see the stars while standing underneath a streetlight, or trying to listen to the whispers of a child while standing in the middle of a crowded airport. Our lives are filled with the spiritual equivalent of noise pollution.

Fortunately, there is something we can do to counter this problem. It's not easy, because there are so many forces, both internal and external, moving us in the other direction. But it really isn't very complicated. In the words of the old Simon and Garfunkel song, "Slow down. You're moving to fast." Or, in the words of our Gathering Hymn, "Come and find the quiet center in the crowded life we lead." We can continue to be pushed along in all directions by the many and varied winds which blow around us. Or we can be intentional about stepping off the treadmill from time to time and focusing our attention on seeking the stillness in which we might stand a chance of hearing God's voice. "Be still and know that I am God." (Psalm 46:10) This is not a call to be a monk or a hermit. It is a call to rediscover and reclaim a sense of balance in our lives - to reconnect with the sacred rhythm of life.

Jesus understood this need very clearly. The Gospels make a point of describing occasions when he took a break from all the other claims on his time and energy, and sought instead to re-connect with the Sacred Source of life. He took the time to get away and pray. There were still sick people who needed healing. There were still hungry people who needed to be fed. There were still those who needed to hear a word of comfort or inspiration. And Jesus knew that he could not continue to meet those needs without also being very intentional about keeping his own spiritual batteries charged.

So, what does this look like for us? How does it play out in the actual living of our lives? Well, for starters, it requires that we be intentional about it. It absolutely will not just happen. There will always be things (important things) that get in the way and crowd out the opportunity. So we must choose to make it a priority. We must choose to make the time and take the time to find the quiet center - to be still and listen for the whisperings of God, to notice that every moment is a sacred moment.

Once we make that choice, the possibilities are endless. There is no one "right" way to go about this. Indeed, each of us probably needs to find several different ways of going about it. It keeps us from getting stuck in yet one more boring routine. And each particular practice opens us up in different ways and to different degrees. So, find the ways that work for you. Try things. Give them a chance.

In my office are several items which remind me to be still - candles, a singing bowl, my flute. Just having them there, even when I'm not actively "using" them, reminds me of the need to slow down and pay attention.

In the midst of worship on Sunday mornings, there are moments when I remember to be still. Often it is a moment when there is music playing, and I don't have anything I need to be "doing." I pay attention to my breathing. I seek to be aware of the presence of the Spirit in that particular moment.

In the gathering space just outside the doors of this sanctuary there is a labyrinth. For me walking the labyrinth is a spiritual practice in which I literally seek "the quiet center." As I walk the path which leads eventually to the center, I seek to quiet my heart, quiet my life, so I can come more fully into the vast expanse of God's presence.

In the past few years I have been using my photography as a spiritual practice. It allows me to focus my attention and find a deep sense of stillness. I am literally learning to see the world differently, and in the process I learn to discover the presence of the Holy in even the smallest of details.

And recently playing the flute has become for me a path to stillness. In order to let the music flow it is necessary for me to get out of the way. I literally lose track of time as I get lost in the moment.

These are just a few of the many possibilities. Maybe for you, finding the quiet center happens when you take time to read poetry. Perhaps it comes when you take a walk in the woods. A time each day for reading the Bible or some other devotional literature might be one of the ways you discover the path to stillness. For some I know that gardening serves this purpose. For others it is art. The important thing is not which particular paths you choose. They simply need to be your paths. The only requirement is that they help you find a place of stillness. The important thing is to seek the stillness, where God's presence can be recognized and experienced.

Out of the stillness flows connection. Out of the connection flows meaning and purpose. Out of the meaning and purpose flows direction and action. "Be still, and know that I am God." I invite you now, in this moment, to seek the stillness.

Being a Neighbor

2009-06-21T10:00:00.000-06:00

Luke 10: 25-37
Roger C. Lynn
June 21, 2009

The parable of the Good Samaritan may well be one of the most famous of all of Jesus' stories - ranking right up there with the Prodigal Son. According to Luke it comes in response to a question from a religious scholar who wanted to know what was required to earn his way into eternal life. In Jesus' usual style, he doesn't answer the question directly. Instead he tells a story which illustrates his understanding of the matter.

One of the problems with Jesus' parables, and particularly the really famous ones, is that we have heard them so many times. And we have heard them referred to so many times. In the case of this particular parable, the title has become so commonplace that there are hospitals and care centers named after it. People in my congregation in Moscow lived at "Good Samaritan." When something reaches that level of familiarity we frequently stop paying attention. So it can be a challenge to approach this story with any kind of freshness. But let's try!

The first thing we need to do is remind ourselves of just how offensive this story would have been to those who first heard Jesus tell it. To cast well-respected religious leaders like the priest and the Levite in unsympathetic roles would have been bad enough. But then to put a Samaritan in the role of the hero would have been unthinkable. Samaritans were hated by the Jews (and visa versa). If they were spoken of at all it would have been with a sneer. This would not have been an easy story for Jewish people to hear. Which is why it was so powerful, and why it has remained so powerful. It challenges us to re-think our assumptions about "those people."

So, having said that, it is also helpful if we look again at the Priest and the Levite. Over the years they have received a lot of bad press. They are seen as heartless, uncaring jerks. After all, we think, how could anyone with even an ounce of compassion simply walk past an injured person? But the truth is far more complicated than that (as the truth almost always is). And if we are to benefit from the lessons offered, we would do well to see them as something more than just bad caricatures.

You see, they passed by without offering assistance because they were trapped in a system that kept them from living up to their own full potential. Quite apart from the dangers involved in stopping along a remote road (maybe the robbers are still waiting in the bushes), there were religious laws in place which spelled out what was required to maintain religious purity. Among the list of things to avoid was contact with blood, and certainly contact with a dead body. There were rituals you could engage in to restore you to purity if you did have such contact, but they were time consuming. So, if the Priest was on his way to preside at some official religious function, stopping to help a wounded man could have prevented him from carrying out his sacred responsibilities to his faith community.

We hear about ritual purity codes and find the whole thing difficult to comprehend. It simply is not how we experience the world. But what barriers are in place for us that get in the way of us offering assistance today? When I drive by a motorist stranded on the side of the road, what prevents me from stopping to help? Maybe it's fear, or a concern that they will feel threatened, or the assumption that they have a cell-phone and have already called for help, or I'm already late for where I'm headed. When I read in the news about the millions of people in this country who are living without even basic health care coverage, what stops me from being so completely outraged that I camp out in the office of my legislators until something is done to change the situation? Perhaps it's a sense of overwhelmed helplessness, or a case of "out of sight, out of mind," or I'm just too busy right now and besides, there are already lots of people working on this problem. Whatever the specific situation and whatever the particular excuses, I think you get my point. In reality, not getting involved has less to do with being heartless and evil, and more to do with being so caught up in our own personal and cultural systems that we lose touch with what is really important - what it really means to be human.

Which brings us back to Jesus' parable. The religious scholar wanted to know what he needed to do, and in the process asked "who is my neighbor." But Jesus doesn't really answer that question, because it isn't really the point. The question to which Jesus really responds is "what matters?" What is really important in this life? What does it mean to be truly human? And the answer, it turns out, is not about knowing who my neighbor is. It isn't about a targeted checklist that allows me to know who I have to be nice to, and who I can ignore and get away with it. The answer, according to Jesus' parable, is about us being the neighbor. It is about being the kind of person who gets involved and reaches out with compassion, even when it's inconvenient. Even when it's risky. Even when it might cost us something. Not because we have to, but simply because it is what it really means to be human. For Jesus the choice is always clear. Health and wholeness always takes precedence over "following the rules." Honoring everyone's basic worth as a human being always takes precedence over following society's norms concerning who is acceptable and who isn't. Proclaiming God's unconditional love for everyone always takes precedence over judgment. The last time my friend Dean Stewart preached on this text he was thinking about calling the sermon "The New Normal." In telling this parable Jesus is re-defining normal, everyday life. Neighborly compassion is not extraordinary behavior. It's what life is intended to be like in the original design specs. It is the life which God invites us to live.

What must we do to inherit eternal life (which isn't about "getting to heaven" as much as it is about living fully and richly in this and every moment)? The answer is surprisingly simple. Live compassionately with each other. In spite of whatever cultural or personal barriers rise up to get in the way. In spite of whatever differences threaten to divide us. In spite of whatever fear and doubt and sense of inadequacy try to paralyze us. In spite of all the limitations we live with everyday. Live compassionately with each other. Poet Ann Weems put it this way:

He said, "Feed my sheep."
There were no conditions:
Least of all,
Feed my sheep if they deserve it.
Feed my sheep if you feel like it.
Feed my sheep if you have any leftovers.
Feed my sheep if the mood strikes you,
if the economy's OK…
if you're not too busy…
No conditions…just, "Feed my sheep."
Could it be that God's Kingdom will come
when each lamb is fed?
We who have agreed to keep covenant
are called to feed sheep
even when it means the grazing will be done on our front lawns.
("Feeding Sheep" by Ann Weems in "Searching for Shalom")

There are all kinds of reasons why we don't live this way. And it is important to remember that we always have a choice. May we choose life.

Finding Our Place in the World

2009-06-14T10:00:00.000-06:00

Psalm 8
June 14, 2009
Roger C. Lynn

Two weeks ago we celebrated Pentecost, the day on which the church remembers the gift of God's Holy Spirit. When we allow God's Spirit to flow freely in us and through us, remarkable things can happen. What we discover is the reality that the healing power of God's love knows no limits. We begin to see the world in a whole new way, and we start to find our place in the world.

The writer of Psalm 8 must have had an experience like this. You can almost imagine him out in a field somewhere, laying on his back at night, staring up into the vast display of stars above him. He gets in touch with just how overwhelming it all is. And he almost heads down the path that leads to a sense of being lost and worthless. "God is so big, and I am so small. I guess I just don't matter." or "I'm only one person in a great big universe. Nothing I do really matters anyway. What's the point?" It's easy to wander down such paths and get lost in the swamp of hopeless meaninglessness. But that is not our only option. The psalmist, for example, found a different way to go. He traveled through the sense of being overwhelmed and came out on the other side, where he saw the ways in which he was connected with everything, including God. He recognized that the sense of being small is only an illusion of perspective. When we think we're separate and not connected, then of course we will feel small and powerless and lost. But when we begin to get in touch with the reality that we are a connected and vital part of all that is, then we find ourselves on the path towards living into our truly amazing potential - a potential which springs from the awareness that we have been made in the very image of God. We bear the imprint of the Sacred in the very core of our being.

Finding our place in the world begins when we get in touch with the immensity of our potential, and continues when we also acknowledge the responsibility of that potential to live gently and compassionately with everyone and everything around us. It is our calling as human beings. It is why we are here. How well do we care for ourselves? How well do we care for each other? How well do we care for the earth and all her creatures?

It is easy to get overwhelmed. The more we hear about what's happening in the world, the more intimidating it becomes. There is so much pain and brokenness. There is so much that needs to be done. There is so much healing that needs to take place. Like the psalmist, it is sometimes tempting to think we can't make a difference in the face of such complex and massive circumstances. We are, after all, just small, fragile human beings. Except it simply isn't true. Marianne Williamson puts it this way, "Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It is not just in some; it is in everyone. And, as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

So what is your place in the world? Who are you called to be? What are you called to do? Where are you called to make a difference? I invite you to begin by remembering who you are - a child of God. Begin by remembering that you are not alone. Begin by remembering that you don't have do everything by yourself or on your own. We can only do what we can do, and that will finally be enough. In the words of Mother Teresa of Calcutta, "We can do no great things; only small things with great love." Search your heart to discover that which is calling you to share great love. It may seem like a small thing, even inconsequential. Trust that nothing done in love is inconsequential. Together may we open ourselves to the presence of God's Spirit which is, even now, blowing in us and through us. May we allow ourselves to be guided into the life we have been created to live. When each of us does what we can do, freely sharing our love in whatever ways we find to share it, then we will be well on our way to finding our place in the world, and the world will be well on its way to being healed.

After The Wind & The Fire

2009-06-07T10:00:00.000-06:00

Acts 2: 1-18 & Revelation 21: 1-5a
Roger C. Lynn
June 7, 2009

God has always been about the business of transforming what is into what can be. From Moses' encounter with God in the burning bush which sent him to Egypt to free a captive people, to the prophets' sense of God which led them to call for social, political and religious reforms, to Jesus' radical proclamation of an intimate, all-inclusive God, to the writer of Revelation declaring that God makes all things new, the history of human faith development is filled with examples of fresh, new insights and expanding awareness leading to a transformational experience of life.

The writer of the book of Acts seeks to capture one such moment of transformation when he tells the story of the day of Pentecost. Jesus is gone. The disciples have remained largely a small, closed community. And suddenly something new breaks into their world. They become aware of God's Spirit in a powerful new way and that awareness transforms them and the world around them by breaking down the walls and eliminating the fear and the barriers which kept them isolated. The second chapter of Acts is filled with dramatic images which speak to us of change and transformation. There is wind and fire and the cacophony of a variety of languages being spoken at once. Something new is happening and it simply is not possible to continue on in the same old ways. Wind and fire are both powerful forces. They are not completely safe and they are not completely controllable. As images of God's activity among us they are both disturbing and exciting. Our old, tired routines will not endure. Something dramatic and compelling is emerging.

At the end of the book of Revelation we find the image of the new Jerusalem and God declaring that all things are made new. The old has passed away and the new is upon us. As with the images found in Acts, this is both disturbing and exciting, fearful and hopeful. We do not usually enjoy having our nice, safe, comfortable world shaken and disrupted. But true transformation cannot take place while at the same time everything remains the same. When faith becomes static it is in danger of becoming stagnant. To remain vibrant and relevant, it is important that we always stay open to the possibilities of growth and change. God is still about the business of transforming what is into what can be.

Today we in the Church must continue to be open to the leading of God's Spirit as we seek to live into our faith. If we want to be a vital and relevant force in the world, then we must continue to ask questions and not shrink back from where the answers lead us. Where are our blind spots? Where are we still in need of transformation? Where is the growing edge that will take us further up the path towards the life to which God is calling us? If you have been listening to my sermons over the past several months, you will probably not be surprised to hear that I believe one of the places such questions needs to lead us is towards a very serious look at the language, the images and the symbols we use to describe, discuss and share our faith. There are people in our world today (I'm discovering more of them all the time) who cannot hear the Good News of God's love when we try to share it with them because the language and images we use are simply too painful and exclusive. I have a vivid memory of sitting with a woman while she cried as she tried to share with me the depth of her pain at the exclusive use of male-gender language in reference to God. "Where am I, as a woman, honored and visible and recognized and valued if God is exclusively male?" she asked through her tears. If there is any lesson to be learned from the Pentecost story in Acts, it is that sometimes sharing the Good News requires changing our ways. It isn't about whether or not it bothers us. When it is a barrier for others then it is time for us to do things differently. The God who speaks in Revelation makes all things new so that the pain and tears associated with the former ways might come to an end.

I recognize that what I am proposing can be both uncomfortable and difficult. We think there is comfort and security to be found in the phrase, "We've always done it this way." This is not something that I come to lightly. And I see more and more pain in the world, and increasingly I am becoming aware that some of the old ways of understanding and expressing the Christian faith are contributing to that pain rather than healing it. God's love and presence as we see it revealed in and through the life and teachings of Jesus is all-encompassing and all-inclusive. Therefore, the language and images and symbols we use to express our faith must be flexible enough to overcome barriers to understanding whenever and wherever we become aware of them. None of this will happen overnight. It took us 2,000 years and more to get to where we now find ourselves. Some of the language and images are deeply and firmly entrenched in everything from the hymns we sing to the traditional words we use around the communion table. For many people this holds the potential of being extremely threatening and disorienting. And I remain convinced that it is a process which is vital for us to undertake if we want to have any real impact in our world today. In the end, there will be some things we will be able to reclaim and there will be some things that we will need to let go of. But always it will be important to remain focused on the God who surrounds us and the world with love and is always seeking to transform our brokenness into a new wholeness, even when we don't yet recognize that it is broken.

So, after the wind and the fire of God's transforming Spirit sweeps through us, what next? We might begin by simply raising the level of our awareness. Listen to the words you use to talk about God. Look at the titles for God which are used in our hymns. Become aware of the language of your prayers. As we begin to recognize just how heavily skewed our language and images are in terms of male-gender (God as always he or Father or Lord) and hierarchical (Lord or King) and judgmental (sinner or guilty), coupled with an awareness of the pain that such language inflicts on others, we are much more likely to find the motivation to begin changing. And if it truly is the wind of God's Spirit blowing in us and through us, then we do not need to do it all by ourselves. We simply need to be open to new possibilities and new models for being church together.

What will all of this look like? To be honest, I don't know yet. At least not completely. But I know it will mean being sensitive to the needs of others. I know that it will mean being open to the leading of God's Spirit. I know that will involve trying new things -- new ways of talking, new ways of thinking, new ways of sharing what is important to us. I know it will involve courage and trust, both in God and in each other. Beyond that, it might mean being more deliberate and intentional about the language we use, in prayers and readings, being careful to use a variety of images when we talk about God. It might mean changing some of the language in some of our hymns. It will require creativity and patience and the willingness to continue talking to each and listening to each other.

As I said, I don't know for sure where all of this might take us, but I am confident that we will get there together if we continue to look for the presence of God's transforming Spirit in the midst of us. May we continue to discover fresh new ways of sharing God's love after the wind and the fire.

We're All In This Together

2009-05-31T10:00:00.000-06:00

1 Corinthians 12: 4-13 & Acts 2: 1-21
Roger C. Lynn
May 31, 2009
Pentecost Sunday

It's all very dramatic. If Pentecost were a movie, the special effects team would have to be called in early. There is wind and fire and sound. The casting supervisor would be responsible for finding lots of "extras" to fill the roles of people from all around the then-known world. The costume designer would be busy dressing those extras in the various clothing traditional to their assorted regions. The dialogue coach would be busy working with everyone so that their accents and dialects were authentic. And then, when the pieces were brought together, it would all be over in a matter of minutes. It is a wonderful, powerful, exciting story, but the outwardly dramatic parts of Pentecost don't last very long. And that's OK, because the real heart of things has enough staying power to endure down through the ages.

After the wind and the fire, after people really wake up to the presence of the Spirit in their lives, what emerges as the dominant theme, not just for that moment but for every moment, is the bringing together of that which was separated, the healing of that which was broken. The real story of that first Pentecost is the shattering of the myth of "us" and "them." When God's Spirit is allowed to get into the act, the chasm of our differences can be bridged by understanding. Unity is formed not of sameness but of true, deep, intimate sharing.

Listen again to the list. I share it with you not just because they are fun names to say, but because they make a powerful point. "Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs--in our own languages we hear them speaking about God's deeds of power." (Acts 2:9-11) They had gathered together from across the then-known world. I don't know much about the details of those places, but I do know something about human nature and human history. With that many different kinds of people, with all of their different customs and loyalties and traditions, you can't tell me that some of those groups didn't have issues with some of the other groups. Maybe it was the folks from Mesopotamia who didn't get along with those Pamphylians. Maybe it was the Egyptians who were offended by the Libyans. Perhaps the Cretans were still upset with the way the Arabs had treated their great great grandparents. Who knows what the details were, but I would be willing to bet that there were issues. And then, suddenly, all of that changed. They were brought together by an experience which transcended their differences. They were able to hear the good news of God's love in words they could understand. They were no longer the "outsiders." There was genuine communication and understanding. They were presented with a vision of the world where borders were less important than people and differences were cause for celebration rather than separation. Those who witnessed the wind and the fire and those who heard the sound of the story of God's love shared in a language they could understand were reminded that we really are all in this together. That's what the Spirit of God does. And when we align ourselves with God's Spirit that work becomes our work as well.

It isn't easy. It isn't always quick. Sometimes it is a long, hard, painful process. But where it is often impossible when we try it on our own, by sheer force of will, it becomes possible when we allow God's Spirit to infuse us with new understanding. I've seen this play out in the Church any number of times over the years. The issues are really challenging and painful. People are entrenched in their own pain. But with the help of God's Spirit, partnered with people's own genuine courage to roll up their sleeves and stay with the challenge, a path to healing and reconciliation is found. There is still work to do. There is still healing that needs to take place. We have not yet reached the promised land, but we can begin to see it from here.

After the wind and the fire, was everything perfect? Were all those differences which had so effectively divided people suddenly banished in favor of some perfect new harmonious existence? The story is a bit vague on that point, but I doubt it. Even in that moment there were those who simply couldn't "get it." "But others sneered and said, 'They are filled with new wine.' " (Acts 2:13) What we read in the rest of the New Testament (to say nothing of the rest of the 2,000 year history of the church) tells us that there continued to be conflicts and divisions and brokenness. And there is also hope. We read this story every year, in part to remind ourselves of what is true and what is possible. Appearances to the contrary notwithstanding, we are all in this together. With God's help we can transcend that which divides us and discover genuine unity.

Who are the Cretans in our lives? Who are those from Mesopotamia that we just can't stand to be around? Who are the Phrygians that we wish would just go away and leave us alone? Today the "us" and "them" divide is just as likely to occur along borders defined by social status as nationality. Perhaps "they" are the people who go to "that" church across town. Perhaps "they" are the people of color who our brains tell us are just folks like us but who make us uncomfortable just the same. Perhaps "they" are the gays and lesbians who are so tired of being shut out of polite society that they have just hidden their true selves away. Perhaps "they" are the neighbors with the loud music or the barking dog. Perhaps "they" are the boss or co-worker with whom we seem always to be in conflict. "They" can be most anyone if we see them as separate and divided from us. "They" might even be "us" when we discover brokenness within ourselves. And on our own, the solutions are likely to remain illusive. But the lesson from Pentecost is that we are not on our own. We are, indeed, in this together, and we have nothing less than the power of God's Spirit blowing in us and through us to inspire us and enable us to communicate with the language of the heart. When we participate with that Spirit of God, the impossible becomes possible. Who is God calling us to embrace today?

This I Believe. . .

2009-05-17T10:00:00.001-06:00

Mark 1: 14-15 & John 20: 19-23
Roger C. Lynn
May 17, 2009

In July of 2007, while serving as Pastor at The United Church of Moscow, I preached my 500th sermon at that congregation, which also happened to be the 1,000th sermon I had preached in my lifetime. It was not my typical sermon, and it didn't take shape in the typical way. Usually I find one idea, or theme, or image, and then I explore it and find ways to breathe some life into it. But on that occasion I chose instead to pause and take a breath and reflect on what I had been preaching - to spend some time pondering what it is that I believe.

The sermon I am sharing with you this morning is based on that sermon. I offer it to you for a variety of reasons. For one thing, it provides a pretty good overview of my theological / spiritual perspective on life. It is an opportunity for you to get to know me just a little bit better. It might also serve as an invitation for you to do a similar kind of summary reflection on your own beliefs and perspectives - an opportunity for you to get to know yourself just a little bit better. And finally, I hope there are some fresh insights which can enhance your journey of faith as you seek to grown in your connection with God.

So, I invite you to hear something of the radical good news of God's presence in our lives and in our world. Sit back, relax, take a deep breath and open your heart as you come along with me on a journey through the land of faith.

I begin with a prayer, written by e.e.cummings, which has always struck a powerful chord in me, calling me back again and again to an awareness of the presence of the sacred which I believe to be at the heart of all that is.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

Jesus said much the same thing when he proclaimed, "The reign of God has come near!" This is the message which Mark chooses to introduce us to Jesus' ministry. God is right here, right now, in the very midst of us. In the words of our Gathering Hymn, "Not in some heaven, light years away. Here in this place the new light is shining. Now is God present, and now is the day!" (from "Gather Us In" by Marty Haugen copyright 1982) Singer/songwriter Peter Mayer calls us to this awareness in his song "Everything is holy now." Catherine of Siena says, "All the way to heaven is heaven." There is nowhere we can go and not find God. The only question is whether or not we will notice. God is speaking to us in every event, every experience, every moment of our living. But we must listen. We must pay attention. At the end of Jesus' ministry, when he is trying to equip the disciples to go out into the world, he breathes on them and says, "Receive the Holy Spirit!" Behind his words and actions is the Hebrew concept of God's Ruach - God's Spirit / Breath / Wind. I love this image because it powerfully conveys the understanding that God is everywhere, as close to us as our breathing. If we can open ourselves to this essential core of reality, then everything else will follow.

It is not enough, however, to simply notice God's presence. It is also vitally important that we pay attention to the nature and character of the God we are experiencing. How we envision God matters - it shapes the ways in which we live.

The God I have come to see everywhere can be described (though not contained) by words like love and grace and abundance. We live in a world of abundance. There really is enough, and more than enough, for everyone - more than enough food, more than enough resources, more than enough love. Any scarcity we might observe or experience is more a problem of distribution, and that is something we humans can do something about.

We live in a world that is fundamentally good. The writer of the first creation story in Genesis was on to something when, at the end of the creation process God looks at everything and declares that it is "very good."

In this amazing, abundant world we are all connected - to God, to each other, to all that is. Everything is woven into the sacred fabric of God's presence. There is no us and them, there is only us. There is only one reality - living fully in the presence of God. When we are in touch with this reality, then qualities of peace, joy, love, compassion, meaning, purpose all flow naturally. When we are not in touch with this reality, then our lives are based on unreality, and the untold suffering which results also flows naturally. We get to choose - we can live in fear and isolation, or we can live in trust and community.

Fear blocks faith. It blinds us to the truth of God's presence, and locks us away in a prison of our own making. Trusting God, on the other hand, means stepping out beyond ourselves so that we can truly and fully experience the life-giving connection which we share with God and the world around us. It means taking risks. Truly faithful living will often be uncomfortable because it involves growing. Living on the edge is an uncomfortable place to be. It is also when we are most fully alive. Faithful living is an adventure.

Along the way, as we live into this adventure, it is critical that we remember who we are - beloved of God and bearers of light for the world. In the words of Paul, we are children of Light, so live like children of Light. Shine! We have been abundantly blessed, and are thus in a position to be a blessing in return. We accomplish this miracle when we are most fully ourselves. We are, each one of us, unique agents of God's love. The world is waiting for us to share our gifts. That is how God is made manifest in the world. That is how the world is healed.

This world in which we live is filled with wonders beyond imagining or description. And, at the same time, it is also filled with pain and suffering and brokenness beyond imagining or description. I don't know why, but I know that it is my experience and the experience of everyone I know. What I do know is that even in the midst of the brokenness and pain and loss God is always present, offering compassion, strength and courage. Sometimes all I know for certain is the truth which William Sloane Coffin proclaimed - "God's heart is the first of all our hearts to break." I believe that Shalom - peace, wholeness - is possible. It is, in fact, the ultimate reality. There is healing for our brokenness. And it begins right here, right now, in this sacred moment, as we open ourselves to the mysterious presence of the One who is in all and through all. We become co-creators with God in bringing new life and abundance and healing into the world.

God is mystery - there is always more than we can know or even imagine. Our senses do not, cannot, tell us the whole truth. And we do have the capacity to perceive and experience the mystery - through prayer, through silence, through community, through creativity, through beauty, through nature. It has been my experience that the glory of God shines through, and when I notice then I am filled to overflowing with joyful awe. In the words of the Irish poet Gerard Manley Hopkins, "The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil. . ." The more we are in touch with the mysterious, sacred, wondrous, joyful presence of God, the more we become aware of reasons to celebrate. Over and over again in the Gospels, Jesus describes the reality of coming fully into the presence of God in terms of a party. And not just a party, but the party - the party to which we are all invited - the party to which we are all called to do the inviting. So let the singing and dancing and laughing begin.

Putting the Pieces Together

2009-05-10T10:00:00.000-06:00

Romans 12: 9-18 & 1 Corinthians 12: 4-12
Roger C. Lynn
May 10, 2009
Stewardship Commitment Sunday

The card table is set up in the middle of the room. The box is opened and the pieces are spread out, with some time spent making sure they all get turned over so the face is up. And then, slowly, the picture begins to take shape as piece after piece is put in place. A jigsaw puzzle can occupy a whole family for hours at a time. I've heard rumors that it is possible for a puzzle to be assembled by an individual, but I can't quite imagine why you would want to. It seems so much more fun and more interesting as a group experience. Each person brings to the task their own perspective and their own gifts. Some have a knack for spotting just the right shape. Others are great at finding the perfect color match. I've searched in vain for a particular piece, only to have someone else reach across the table and pull it out of the pile that was sitting in front of me the whole time. Through the combined efforts of everyone involved, something beautiful emerges from what started out as nothing more than a box of funny shaped pieces of cardboard.

There is something of that same experience involved in being the Church. We are a community of faith. "Wherever two or three are gathered together..." is the way the Bible puts it. A central, essential quality of being Church is that it takes all of us working together to sustain the important work we are called to. Oh sure, it is possible for each of us, on our own, to do important work. But it really does require the combined efforts of all of us to be Church. This year's stewardship theme is "Putting the Pieces Together." It is a reminder that we are in this together. We each bring to the experience the uniqueness of who we are. We each contribute what we can. Sometimes that takes the form of money. Sometimes we give of our time. Sometimes it's something else. Always it occurs within the larger context of God's abundance.

Last week we looked at the story of the Prodigal in Luke's Gospel. We saw that each of the characters had a unique role to play - a unique contribution to make. And when they allowed themselves the freedom to let go of old patterns of understanding the world and old ways of doing things, something remarkable took shape. Relationships were restored. Community was brought together. Celebration became the order of the day. New life emerged. Only when someone stubbornly clung to the old ways and old patterns, refusing to add their pieces to the picture which was taking shape, was the celebration diminished.

All of life is a gift. We have been showered with abundance which takes a variety of forms. And the response which such a gift calls for is to share. Stewardship is ultimately a matter of faith. We are empowered to give in response to the gifts we have first received. Truly faithful giving becomes possible through an openness to God's abundance.

There are a variety of forms which our stewardship responses can take, depending on personal life circumstances. Financial giving is often the first thing we think of when the subject of stewardship comes up. And that really is important. Not because money is the only thing that matters. But rather because in our culture money often represents so much that we value - time, resources, possibilities for service. So the decisions we thoughtfully and prayerfully make regarding the sharing of our financial resources are not to be taken lightly. They are important to us as individuals, to the Church as a whole, and to a great many people in our community and our world. The various ways in which we seek to reach out to make a difference are affected by our financial response. What we give directly impacts what we can do. Our stewardship efforts make a very tangible impact. Planned and intentional giving can enrich our lives and bring us joy as we experience the satisfaction of knowing that we are part of a larger whole - participating in the ongoing work of meeting the needs of the world.

So, what does that look like? How much should you be giving? That is a decision which only you can make. In terms of money, some of us have the means to give a relatively large amount without very much effort. Others will find it challenging to give anything at all. There is no magic formula. There is no one "right" answer. Instead, each of us are invited to review our current life circumstances, our priorities, our values, and all of the ways in which we are currently participating, and then to make a plan for intentionally sharing in the mission of this congregation, as the Spirit moves us. In the process, it is very important to remember all of the different gifts which we have been given, and thus all of the different ways in which we can share, including not only our money, but also our time and our talents and our energy. Abundance comes in a wide variety of forms and so does sharing.

It really does take all of us working together, each contributing in our own unique, creative and faithful ways, "putting the pieces together." And when we open ourselves to that shared experience of sharing, the beautiful picture which begins to emerge is a vibrant and active community of faith which is reaching out to touch the world with God's love. I invite you to make sure that your pieces are included in the puzzle.

Coming To Ourselves

2009-05-03T10:00:00.000-06:00

Luke 15: 1-3 & 11-31
Roger C. Lynn
May 3, 2009
Stewardship Emphasis

This is such a wonderful story. It has everything - drama, suspense, tragedy, comedy, conflict, passion, dysfunctional family dynamics, sibling rivalry, exotic locations, you name it. It's no wonder that among Jesus' parables it is one of the all-time favorites. And believe it or not, it is also a stewardship story. Or at least it provides the foundation upon which to build a theology of stewardship.

The first order of business when it comes to stewardship is perspective. Before we can even begin talking about giving, or the responsible use of resources, or any of the other themes connected with stewardship, it is absolutely essential that we comes to terms with who we are, where we fit in the grand scheme of things, and what we have to offer. Without this sense of perspective, we have no frame of reference from which to even consider anything else in any sort of meaningful way.

So, without further adieu, let's take a look at the parable of the prodigal. It is, above all else, a story about freedom. The father's love provides the foundation upon which it is possible to experience life - to explore the limits and discover where meaning is found. Some of that exploration is painful because it involves discovering where meaning is not found. And even this takes place within the larger context of a parent's love which knows no limits.

The heart of the story comes in that dark moment in a far off country when the younger son's perspective finally begins to shift. I love how the NRSV puts it. "But when he came to himself..." (Luke 15:17) He thought he was being true to himself when he set off to see the world. He thought he would find fulfillment. What he discovered instead, there at the end of that very long and challenging road, was the same thing Dorothy finally discovers at the end of her journey through Oz. Everything necessary for a rich and meaningful life has been there all along. "When he came to himself..."

It is important to note that this moment of repentance (literally turning around and choosing a different path) is only the beginning of the journey. In many ways he still doesn't "get it." He still thinks his father's love is dependent on what he does or does not do. He still thinks he has to earn it. There is a great deal left to learn, but it is enough to get him started down the path towards home. Even in the moment when his father, throwing all pretense at dignity and self-respect to the winds, races down the road to embrace him, he still doesn't "get it." He pulls the battered scrap of paper out of his pocket and tries to launch into his well-rehearsed speech of contrition. Even when the father tells him to put away the speech and go inside and get cleaned up for the party, he still doesn't "get it." I suspect that even when he is standing in the living room, with a glass of wine in his hand, the taste of veal still lingering on his tongue, surrounded by the laughter of family and friends who have gathered to welcome him home, even then he probably doesn't "get it." But he's getting closer all the time. Slowly, ever so slowly, it is sinking in that he is loved and accepted just as he is, no questions asks.

And speaking of "not getting it," we must, of course, spend a bit of time looking at the older brother as well. He had never wandered into far off lands. He had never "squandered" his father's money. He had never once in his whole life put so much as a toe out of line. And yet, for all of that, he still doesn't "get it." He still doesn't even begin to grasp how wealthy he is - surrounded by an abundance of love and support and resources beyond anything he could ever imagine. I love the bit where he complains that his father never gave him so much as a goat to party with his friends. The father's reply says it all. "All that is mine is yours." (Luke 15:31) "You've had it all along. You could have had a party whenever you wanted. What, exactly, have you been waiting for?" He was blind to who he really was. He was blind to what he had. He was blind to how he could contribute. All he was being asked to do in that moment was come in to the party. Just be a part of the family. But, unlike his younger brother, he was still lost. He had not yet "come to himself." Instead he was left standing out in the yard while the party was going on inside.

In any given moment in our lives we might be any one of the characters in this story. Perhaps you have been wandering far from home, seeking meaning and purpose and fulfillment in a variety of unlikely places. Perhaps you have always been a "nose-to-the-grindstone" sort - spending so much time and energy "earning a living" that you never really got around to actually living. Perhaps you are in a position to be the parent - offering love and acceptance which provide others the freedom to discover who they really are. I invite you to use this story as a lens through which to pay attention to your life. Begin asking the important questions - who am I, where do I fit in the grand scheme of things, and what do I have to offer? Remember that stewardship is about everything we do with everything we have, which includes who we are. And it all takes place within the all-encompassing context of God's love for us. Above all else, I invite you to "come to yourself." Once you do that, the rest will begin to flow naturally from there.

Life!

2009-04-19T10:00:00.000-06:00

John 20: 1-18
Roger C. Lynn
April 19, 2009
1st Sunday After Easter

He lived his life intentionally -- always seeking to be open and connected to God. In everything he did and everything he said, there was always an effort to reveal God's boundless and unconditional love to the world. In so doing he turned the world upside down. Those in positions of power, both civil and religious, found his message to be threatening, because it undermined the very things which kept them in power -- fear, guilt, privilege, violence. And so, in the end, in an attempt to silence him, they killed him. Or so they thought. It is the hubris of power that leads us always to think we are in control of life. But Life -- Life with a capital "L" -- Life as God desires us to experience it -- this Life is not meant to be controlled, it is meant to be lived -- fully, richly, abundantly. So it really shouldn't surprise us -- even though it always does -- that the abundant life we see revealed in Jesus couldn't be stopped and it couldn't be killed. In fact, it just keeps thriving and growing and spreading. This life force is beyond our ability to adequately describe, but not beyond our ability to experience. We see this revealed in the Gospel accounts of the resurrection. The descriptions are always ambiguous. There is always more to say than they can find words for. So, we find images of empty tombs and angelic messengers. There is talk of Jesus present but unrecognizable, touchable, but just out of reach. He shows up in unexpected places and surprising ways. It is life that cannot be fully described, contained or controlled. It is life that changes us -- transforms us -- renews us. It is life that always points us to life and leads us away from death.

And the more I open myself to this reality -- the more I allow myself to be immersed in an awareness of this abundant resurrection life -- the more I find myself troubled by the language we so often use in the Church. Over the years the Church has surrounded itself with language which seems to point us more to death than to life. And it is a problem that is both deep and pervasive. The scriptures are filled with a variety of ways of understanding who Jesus is and what meaning we can find in his story. And yet, far too often down through the centuries the Church has chosen to focus almost exclusively on those images which seem most weighed down with death and the most resistant to life. This tendancy seems to come into sharp, clear contrast particularly in the season of Lent and Easter. How do we understand the fact of Jesus' death? What meaning do we find in his crucifixion? In the New Testament, and throughout the history of Christian theology, there are a variety of answers to such questions. But I suspect that for most people, most of the time, the first answer that rises to the surface is captured in the phrase "He died for me!" And unfortunately, if we are not very, very careful, such an understanding can lead us into some really dark and dangerous territory. What are the implications of such thinking? What does it say about God? What does it say about us? I was talking with a friend one time who said, "I would like to come visit your church sometime. But I am bothered by the symbols." I asked which symbols she was referring to. "You have a cross hanging on your wall. It seems to represent such violence -- the idea that God had his son killed." I sighed a heavy sigh of understanding. That need not be where we go, but it is all too easy to arrive at just such an understanding when we begin with the idea that Jesus died for us. It is all too easy to end up with an angry God who will not be appeased until someone dies. Theologian and New Testament scholar John Dominic Crossan asks the question, "What is the character of the God you believe in?" And the answer is not necessarily clear just because we say "God is love." The real answer is found when we begin to explore the implications of the other things we say we believe. How we talk about God matters. It is important to look at our beliefs, and at the ways in which we talk about our beliefs, and ask, "Where do we find the compassion revealed? Where do we find the love revealed? Where do we find the life revealed?" And if we do not find those things revealed in what we say we believe, do we really want to continue believing them? Do they really help us find the Truth? Do they really help us share the Good News with the world?

For me, I find meaning and purpose in Jesus' death when I see his willingness to live his life with integrity. His whole life was so God-centered and God-filled that he simply had to share that abundant joy with the world, even when it upset the status quo, even when it put him at odds with the powers-that-be, even when it led them to kill him. He didn't back down. He didn't run away. He didn't respond in kind. He simply continued to live out a life full of love and full of God, right to his very last breath. And with his very last breath -- "Abba, into your hands I commit my spirit!" -- we see revealed the ultimate truth that there is nowhere we can go that we will not find God already there, waiting for us with the gift of life. And such life cannot and will not be silenced. It simply is not possible. It might look dead. It might feel like it has been stopped. But finally God will have the last word -- and the last word is always Life! Such life always calls us to life. It calls us by name and invites us beyond our limitations and beyond our death-filled understandings into renewed and abundant living.

And such Life is about more than just words. It is a call to action. Jesus calls Mary by name and then sends her out to tell the others about this unstoppable life she has encountered. God calls us by name and then sends us out to live our lives fully, deeply, richly, abundantly.

It is no small thing that from the earliest days of the Church, one of the central images used to describe us has been "The Body of Christ." We are the resurrected presence of Christ. We are the continuation of Christ's life and ministry in the world. If the world is going to see Christ anywhere, it is in our lives where that presence will be revealed, in what we say, in what we do, in how we live. We can begin with our language -- being intentional about using words and images which convey a sense of the light and life we see revealed in Jesus. But our words are only the beginning. Pay attention to the places where God's Spirit bubbles up in your life. Discover what excites you and then allow that passion to shape your living. If you care about peace, then work for it. If you care about reforming health care in this country and around the world, then get involved in groups that seek to make those changes. If you care about helping to bring comfort to people's lives, then visit the sick or write letters to those who are alone. In whatever ways it takes shape for you -- open yourself to God's Life! Experience the resurrection! Be the resurrection! Share the resurrection! Live!

Beyond the Fear & Trembling: New Life!

2009-04-12T10:00:00.000-06:00

Mark 16: 1-8
Roger C. Lynn
April 12, 2009
Easter Sunday

The story gets told a lot of different ways. The cast of characters varies. Sometimes there is one woman. Sometimes there are several. Sometimes there is one angel. Sometimes there are two. Sometimes Jesus says, "Don't touch me." Sometimes he sits down and has breakfast. But underneath all of the variations, which are really just different ways of telling the story, the central theme remains constant and strong. Resurrection! New Life! The good news of the Gospel is that God is here, now, in the very midst of us, and wherever God is there is life - abundant, transformed, new!

It is the Easter message, and it needs to be shouted from the rooftops and proclaimed in as many ways as we can think to tell the story. And, it needs to be acknowledged at the outset that when we take such a reality seriously it can be totally overwhelming and unnerving. Those of us who have spent our lives in the Church have heard the story so many times that we often stop really hearing it. We forget that such news turns everything the world tells us about life and death upside down. We forget that if we give ourselves over to this reality, nothing will ever be the same again. It is bigger than we are. It is most definitely not within our control. This may be good news, but it most certainly isn't safe news.

Which is why I really like the Easter story as it is told in Mark's Gospel. As some of you may know, the ending of Mark is a peculiar collection of stories. There are actually multiple versions. Just printing it requires a confusing array of footnotes and explanations. There is the long ending and the short ending and the alternate ending which sometimes contains some material, and sometimes doesn't. But after all is said and done, what virtually all scholars agree on is that what we can be certain is Mark ends with chapter 16 verse 8: "So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid." Period! Full stop! End of the Gospel! There are some theories which speculate that this isn't really where Mark intended to end the Gospel, but somewhere along the way the actual ending got lost. But I don't think so. I think it's brilliant just the way it is. It is honest. It is no simple thing coming to terms with the reality that death is not the final word - not in some abstract, theoretical way, but in a way which actually touches us where we live.

It is one thing to read the words of Isaiah which were read just a few minutes ago. "And God will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; God will swallow up death forever. Then God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of God's people will be taken away from all the earth, for God has spoken." (Isaiah 25:7-8) It is quite another thing altogether to actually believe it down deep in our bones. Of course it's good news. It is light in our darkness, healing for our brokenness, balm to soothe our weary souls. And it takes some getting used to. We don't immediately have any hooks to hang it on. "Terror and amazement" Mark says of the woman fleeing the tomb. Yeah, I'll bet! The world as we thought we understood it just slid out from under our feet. The Easter message is cause for celebration, but if we move too quickly to the party, we miss the honest truth that it can also fill us with terror and amazement.

But what I really like about this ending of Mark's Gospel is that the story doesn't really end there. The very fact that we are reading the story means they didn't stay silent forever. Beyond the fear and trembling, there really is the gift of new life. And Mark doesn't try to tell us exactly what that looks like, because that would be an impossible task. It's going to look different for each of us. But for all of us it really does offer the power to move beyond the terrors we face, in whatever forms, and discover the abundance of life in the presence of God. And when we begin to accept that gift our lives and the world will be transformed.

At the end of the musical Godspell, Jesus has been killed and the disciples have taken down his body. As they carry it down the street they turn a corner and disappear into the hustle and bustle of downtown New York City. Everything is as it was before, except it has all changed. Anything is now possible. And while all of this is happening, what you hear is the powerfully simple prayer song, "Day by Day."

Day by day
Day by day
Oh dear Lord
Three things I pray
To see thee more clearly
Love thee more dearly
Follow thee more nearly
Day by day
(from Godspell with lyrics by Stephen Schwartz)

After the fear and trembling, what will abundant new life look like for you?

Believing Is Seeing

2009-04-12T07:30:00.001-06:00

John 20: 1-18
Roger C. Lynn
April 12, 2009
Easter Sunrise

"While it was still dark." That's the way John's Gospel begins the story of Easter morning. And the darkness was about more than just the fact that the sun had not yet come up. Darkness had filled their lives for three days. All meaning and purpose had been stripped from their existence. The most important person in their lives had been taken from them and all their hopes and dreams for the future had been shattered. Jesus was dead and for all intents and purposes, they might as well have been dead too.

But then something extraordinary happened. The God of Light & Life found them and brought them out of their darkness & death. It didn't happen all at once. Faith is often an emerging process. But light was dawning in their darkness. It was not seeing that helped them believe, but rather believing that helped them to truly see. And even their believing was not their own doing, but was itself a gift from God.

After running to tell the other disciples about the empty tomb, Mary returns, but waits outside, crying. Even her brief encounter with a pair of angels does not help her to recognize the light that is shining into her world. She is seeing, but not believing. Not even when she finds herself face to face with Jesus does she recognize the truth. She thinks him to be the gardener. But then he calls her by name. He calls her back to her true self -- the self that God created her to be - the self that can begin to see a world which is filled with the light of new life.

2,000 years later our lives continue to be described by phrases such as "while it was still dark." We still have need for the light of God to drive back the shadows. We do not have the opportunity to run to the empty tomb. But that doesn't really matter. Those first witnesses to the resurrection had no real advantage over us. For them, as for us, it requires the gift of faith to truly encounter the risen Christ and experience the power of God's new life in our lives. May our eyes be opened and our lives be filled as we open ourselves to God's gift of faith.

Exploring the Wilderness of Noise & Silence

2009-04-05T10:00:00.001-06:00

Mark 11: 1-11 & John 19: 25b-30
Roger C. Lynn
April 5, 2009
Palm Sunday

- Following the Mark Reading -

If you had been a part of this scene, how might the noise and excitement have enhanced your experience of God? How might it have distracted you from experiencing God?

- Following the John Reading -

Where in this experience might Jesus have experienced God's presence? What might have made it more challenging for him to experience God?

- Meditation on Noise & Silence -

During this season of Lent we have been exploring the theme of wilderness - those times in life when danger and challenge seem to wait around every corner, and yet also when the presence of the Spirit can surprise us. We can easily get lost in the wilderness, but we can also be found there. It is the "wild" places in our lives, outside of our normal, predictable routines. We tend to look at wilderness experiences in terms of the dangers and the ways in which we are uncomfortable. But what makes them remarkable are the ways in which new possibilities emerge when we can let go of our fear.

So it is with the twin themes for this week - noise and silence. Both experiences can be uncomfortable for us, and both present plenty of ways for us to get lost. At the same time, both also offer opportunities for insight and growth and new understanding. Discovering such opportunities, however, requires that we be intentional about our living.

The story of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem is commonly referred to as "The Triumphal Entry." And yet, an examination of this story within the larger context of the days which followed quickly reveals that any "triumph" was short-lived at best (at least in the ways we normally think of triumph). The noise and excitement of such experiences can be intoxicating. They give us a sense of being a part of something important. But unless we are careful it is easy to fall into the trap of just "going along with the crowd" - not really understanding what we are doing or what deep meaning might be found in the experience. We can get lost in the wilderness of noise without even realizing it.

The story of Jesus' death, on the other hand, seems at the very outset to be a wilderness story. We very quickly recognize the themes of isolation, abandonment, suffering, abuse. It seems to be filled with lost and lonely hopelessness, with God nowhere to be found. And yet, it is in the stillness and the quiet of those final moments when Jesus gets in touch with what is really important. He makes sure that his mother is cared for. And then as he senses that he has reached the end, we see a peaceful letting go into the embrace of God's care. "It is finished." In the silence which appeared to be such a wilderness, Jesus found a richness which enhanced the final moments of his life.

We are often drawn to noisy experiences, in part I suspect because they distract us from having to spend too much time alone with ourselves. And experiences of silence often leave us uncomfortable, in part I suspect because it is more difficult to avoid facing our own fears. But I am convinced that when we spend time in the wilderness of silence we discover an abundance which can restore and sustain us in our living. In the silence we find connection with ourselves and connection with the Sacred presence of the Divine. What we imagine to be a frightening and barren wilderness turns out to be a powerful experience of life. May we find the courage to step into the wilderness so that we might encounter God.

The Wilderness of Death

2009-03-29T10:00:00.002-06:00

John 11: 32-44 & Ezekiel 37: 1-14

Roger C. Lynn

March 29, 2009

5th Sunday in Lent

Here we are again - right in the middle of the wilderness, which has been a recurring theme in this season of Lent. This time it takes the form of a vision. The prophet Ezekiel finds himself in a desolate valley filled with bones. And not just any bones - these are dried up and scattered. In describing his vision, Ezekiel uses dramatic language to make sure we get the point that these are really dead. Not "just stopped breathing 30 seconds ago but a little CPR will take care of things" dead, but dead "beyond any hope of recovery" dead. God asks Ezekiel if the bones can live again, to which Ezekiel replies, "Oh Lord, you know." In other words, "it sure doesn't look like it to me." The story of the raising of Lazarus in John's Gospel is really a variation on this same theme. The story-teller makes sure we know that Lazarus is beyond hope of reviving. "There is a stench," is how Martha described the situation. "He's been dead four days. You might have been able to do something then, but now it is too late." There is a hopelessness being addressed in both of these stories - death not just of the body but of the spirit as well. And that, finally, is what these stories are all about - the debilitating paralysis which comes when we lose hope, when we start to believe that what we see is all there is, when we forget to remember God's presence. And so we come at last to this final wilderness - the wilderness of death.

This is about more than merely our physical demise. There are layers of meaning here. Most of us know from personal experience that death does not have to wait until we stop breathing. Whether it is the death of a relationship, the death of a dream, or simply the death of our enthusiasm for living, there is more than enough death to go around. Ezekiel's valley of dry bones has remained a powerful story for all these thousands of years precisely because it provides such an apt description of what life feels like sometimes. All too often despair seems to reign supreme in our world. There is no life in evidence. Our bones are very dry!

But wait! There's more to the story than that. If this were only about a valley of dry bones - if this were only about the death of a beloved family member or friend - if hopelessness holds the final word - then there really is no point. I'll stop talking now and we can all drift quietly back into our own private realms of despair. But it doesn't stop there. There is more. "Prophesy!" says God to Ezekiel. Speak a word of Light into the midst of this darkness! Speak of word of Life into the midst of all this death! There is more here than meets the eye. God is here. And where God is present, even death cannot finally hold sway.

Singer/songwriter David Wilcox put it this way in his song "Show the Way." (click here to view the lyrics - then use the back arrow to return to this page)

We lose heart. We get overwhelmed by grief and pain, and we are more than ready to simply give up. We get so caught up with all of the truly heartbreaking reality around us that we lose sight of the even deeper reality - the deep truth which is present even in the midst of the despair. God is here. Life is here. We are not alone. We have not been abandoned. And remembering makes all the difference. It doesn't stop the hurt. Even Jesus cried at the death of his friend. But remembering that death does not hold the final word transforms the wilderness of death into an oasis of new possibilities. Even here - especially here - God meets us.

We live in a world that is filled with death - both literally and metaphorically. There is despair just waiting for us around every corner. And we can play a part is changing all of that. We can choose to participate in life instead of death. Prophesy to the bones, God tells Ezekiel. Unbind him and let him go, Jesus tells the friends of Lazarus. Proclaim the truth which is more powerful even than death, the truth that the God of Life is here, now, in the very midst of our despair. Prophesy to the wind! Call God's holy Ruach to blow through us and restore us. Proclaim with our words, and even more importantly, proclaim with the powerful witness of our living that we choose Life - we choose to serve as agents of Love and Light even in the face of darkness, death and despair. God is on the side of life and life will prevail.

Coming Home With Shouts Of Joy

2009-03-22T10:00:00.000-06:00

Isaiah 43: 16-21 & Psalm 126

Roger C. Lynn

March 22, 2009

4th Sunday in Lent

The people of Israel have been languishing in exile in a foreign land. Sometimes it seems as if there will never be a way to go home. They are trapped in a life that is dark and oppressive and threatens to leave them forever cut off from everything which gives meaning to their lives. At times it even seems that they are cut off from God. And it is into the wilderness of these hopeless circumstances, so filled with frightening and disheartening shadows, that the prophet Isaiah dares to speaks a word of hope. Appearances to the contrary not withstanding, God has neither forgotten nor abandoned them. Indeed, God is calling them home. The lifeless wilderness which stands between them and their dreams, a wilderness both real and metaphorical, cannot and will not prevent the flow of God's creative love. But in order to find this path, to experience this holy homecoming, the people must look ahead rather than behind. God is always calling us forward into a bright and marvelous future. "Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" (Isaiah 43:18-19)

How often do we find ourselves in similar circumstances? We feel lost and in exile -- cut off from our sense of home, cut off from our sense of self. The road has grown dark and frightening and we begin to despair of ever finding our way again. Perhaps this is only a momentary rough spot in an otherwise centered and purposeful life -- an unexpected diagnosis of disease, an accident, relationship distress. Or perhaps it is an ongoing struggle with no end in sight -- chronic pain, mental health issues, intense loneliness. But whether short-term or extended, seemingly minor disturbance or serious life-crisis, we lose perspective, we become overwhelmed and we lose hope. We long to find our way home, but we aren't entirely sure where to look or even what we are looking for. We only know that there is a deep longing, an emptiness waiting to be filled, an ache for something deeper, richer, fuller than anything we have ever known. And then, just when we are tempted to think that the dream will never be realized, that our lives will always be broken and never be whole, we catch a hint of something echoing down through the years and across all the wilderness miles between then and now -- God's message to the people of Israel living in Babylonian exile can still be heard. "I am about to do a new thing . . . do you not perceive it?" (Isaiah 43:19) If we will remember to look up from whatever it is that has us stuck, even just for a moment, we might discover that God is already at work preparing a new path which will take us home.

When we lose our perspective and our way, it is helpful to turn our attention once again towards the center -- towards God. It is there that we find direction and it is there that we discover joy. In reflecting back on the same events which were only a future hope for Isaiah, the psalmist put it this way, "When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongues with shouts of joy!" (Psalm 126:1&2) Light dawns in the darkness. Laughter and joy emerge from hopelessness. But only when we dare to look beyond ourselves and trust in the God who is calling us home -- home to a place we've never been before. And this homecoming is not a one time event, but an ongoing way of life, for it happens over and over again. Whenever it seems that all we can manage to do is sow the seeds of tears, God offers the possibility of a joyful harvest of abundance.

It isn't that hard times will never find us. Life will hand us difficult and even painful challenges. But we need not face them alone and we need not allow them to define us. God is always with us and God is always doing a new thing among us. All that is necessary is for us to perceive this truth. If we can see the new path, then we can walk the new path. It is so easy to let fear blind us. It is so easy to let despair overwhelm us. Which is why it is so important to practice remembering the history of God's amazing activity among us. That's what the psalmist was doing in the psalm we read this morning -- recalling a past occasion when God had called them home and left them laughing and joyful, so they might dare to believe that it could happen again.

I don't pretend to know why bad things happen in this world. I do not understand why we so often live our lives in fear. I cannot explain why we seem so prone to forgetfulness when it comes to who we really are and in whose presence we always live. But I do know this -- the darkness is never the last word, fear is never the ultimate reality, being lost is not our final destiny. God is calling us home. God will continue to call us home. And whenever we hear the call and respond, whenever we turn our lives again towards the center, then everything else in our lives and in our world falls into a different perspective as we once again open ourselves to the experience of coming home with shouts of joy. Welcome home!

Seeking the Path of God's Abundance

2009-03-15T10:00:00.000-06:00

Isaiah 55: 1-13

Roger C. Lynn

March 15, 2009

3rd Sunday in Lent

The season of Lent provides us with an opportunity to take a step back from the normal hectic pace of our living. We have a chance to spend some time in the wilderness - where the routines from which we often draw comfort fall away and the assumptions of life are reexamined. It can be an unsettling time, but it can also be a time of powerful growth, as previously hidden strengths and resources are discovered and explored. We often perceive it as an experience of scarcity (lack of resources, lack of support, lack of God), when actually it can be an experience of abundance - a time which is ripe with potential and new possibilities.

One of the benefits which can emerge from such wilderness reflection is a new sense of perspective. We begin to see our lives in a new and different light, and our priorities shift. Our sense of what is important is reoriented. Jesus emerged from his wilderness experience with a sense of purpose which propelled him into a ministry which would ultimately change the world. When we are intentional about paying attention to God's presence in our lives, there is no telling what might happen.

The Hebrew people in Isaiah's day had been through their own wilderness experience. They had been living in exile - cut off from their homes and their way of life. It was an experience which would, in many ways, shape them and define them for years to come. As they prepared to return, the writer of Isaiah 55 reminds them to pay attention to what really matters. Life is too precious and too fleeting to waste it on that which does not nourish us.

It is so easy to get caught up in the busy-ness of our living and lose sight of the bigger picture. There are so many things which vie for our attention - paying the bills, taking care of the house, watching all of our favorite tv shows, responding to the never-ending flow of e-mail, etc. etc. And over against that list, Isaiah asks the question, "Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?" (Isaiah 55:2) Sometimes what we discover when we are willing to spend some time in the wilderness, listening for God's voice, watching for God's guidance, is that we have lost our way. Much of our time, much of our energy, much of our resources are being consumed by that which does not enhance our lives or the lives of those around us. And above all else, God's great desire is that all of God's children experience abundance. "Listen, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! . . . Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; listen, so that you may live." (Isaiah 55:1-3)

How do we know if we are truly following God's leading? How can we be sure it is really God's voice we are heeding? Is it a message of abundance, not only for us, but for all people? Is it a path which leads us towards enhanced living, not only for us, but for all people? If our lives are diminished, if we are cut off from those around us, if we are bound up with fear and anxiety and a sense of scarcity, then perhaps we need to listen more carefully, because it most certainly is not the voice of God which is leading us in such directions. When we are truly in the flow of God's leading our lives will reflect that reality and others will begin to notice. God's abundance is attractive. "You shall call nations that you do not know, and nations that do not know you shall run to you." (Isaiah 55:5)

God is always with us. And God is a God of abundance. Why in the world wouldn't we want that in our lives? Why in the world would we settle for anything less? And yet, we do it all the time. We forget. We get distracted. We get discouraged. We lose heart. We listen with our ears instead of with our hearts. We look with our eyes instead of with our faith. We stop paying attention to the ways in which God is present. And before you know it we are spending our money for that which is not bread, and our labor for that which does not satisfy. But the good news is that it doesn't have to be this way. We don't have to continue down that path. God's abundance doesn't disappear just because we stop looking for it. God's grace doesn't abandon us simply because we lose heart. The writer of Isaiah 55 reminds the people of what they all too easily and all too often forget. "For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress; instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle." (Isaiah 55:12-13) The words of Isaiah remind all of us, so that as we remember we will once again experience the reality of God's abundance.

In this season of Lent, I invite you to take some time to step back from the normal routines of your living - to spend some time in the wilderness. I invite you to reflect on what really matters, and what it means to live in the midst of God's abundance.

Spending Time in the Wilderness

2009-03-08T10:00:00.000-06:00

Luke 4; 1-13

Roger C. Lynn

March 8, 2009

2nd Sunday in Lent

Here we are in the season of Lent - the part of the Church calendar which leads us to Easter. It has traditionally been a season marked by thoughtful prayer and reflection. There are valuable reasons why the Church has developed the cycle of seasons which now take us through the year, from Advent and Epiphany, through Lent, Easter and Pentecost, into a long period of "Ordinary Time," and back again to Advent. Each season has its own themes, its own character, its own gifts to share. They offer us opportunities to spend time exploring a wide variety of ways in which life and faith intersect - from times of joy to times of grief, from experiences of deep spiritual connection to "dark nights of the soul," from mountain top ecstasy to the "valley of the shadow of death," from extraordinary moments to ordinary days. The genius of paying attention to the seasons of the Church year is that even if we aren't experiencing a particular theme in our lives at that particular moment, the chances are good that we will at some point. The seasons provide us with a way of practicing faithful responses - trying them on, so to speak - so that we might be better prepared to face the experience when it does come our way.

One of the themes we find in the season of Lent is that of wilderness. It is the experience of being outside the normal, everyday flow of life. It can be an unsettling time - a time when the routines from which we often draw comfort fall away and the assumptions of life are reexamined. It is no accident that such experiences are often described in terms of wandering. The fact that there are no clear directions is central to what it means to have such a wilderness experience. It can also be a time of powerful growth, as previously hidden strengths and resources are discovered and explored. It is a time which is ripe with potential and new possibilities.

Luke describes Jesus' time in the wilderness as a Spirit-led experience. This is an important note which is often overlooked. When we find ourselves in the midst of such an experience, cries of "Why me?" can come easily to mind. There can be a sense of isolation and abandonment. "Where is God?" It can be helpful to remember that we are not alone on this journey. The routines of our living may have disappeared, but God is still with us, ready to lead us if we will open ourselves to such guidance.

And remembering God's presence is at the heart of what will help us deal with the temptations we face as we journey through our wilderness experiences. Luke describes them as coming from Satan, who has been described elsewhere as the "Prince of Lies." That is a pretty good way of understanding what seems to be a common human tendency - we forget the Truth, and try to live our lives based on that which is not true. In Luke's story of Jesus' temptations, all of the things which Satan offers are, at their heart, real and important and needed - food, security, power. The problem was not in what was being offered. The problem was the untruth behind how they were being offered. "God is not in the picture. Community is nowhere to be found. You are on your own. You have only yourself to rely on." When we find ourselves in the midst of a wilderness experience, it is easy to fall into the trap of believing such things. They seem so true. Which is precisely why it is so vital that we remember who led us here in the first place and who is present with us still. Jesus' response to each of the temptations is essentially the same. "I am not on my own. My strength is found in my connection with God. That is what is real. That is what will see me through." Jesus survives the experience because he remembers to stay rooted in this foundational truth.

Immediately following this story of temptation, Jesus moves out of his wilderness experience and begins teaching in the synagogues of Galilee. He is, in the words of Luke, "filled with the power of the Spirit." It is important to note, however, that this powerful beginning to his public ministry occurs on the far side of the wilderness. Sometimes it takes spending some time in the uncomfortable wilderness of "not knowing" before we can find our way into a sense of knowing. Sometimes the only way out is through. And in those times when we find ourselves wandering in the wilderness, we would do well to remember that we are not alone. We are never alone. And even in those moments when we can't see a way out, we can draw strength from knowing that we are forever embraced in the care of the One who does.

In this season of Lent, I invite you to spend some time in the wilderness, remembering again the power which comes from knowing that God is always with us, no matter what.

Quenching Our Thirst

2009-03-01T10:00:00.000-07:00

Exodus 17: 1-7 & John 4: 5-30 & 39-42

Roger C. Lynn

March 1, 2009

1st Sunday in Lent

As we enter into this season of Lent, wilderness emerges as a prominent theme. It is a powerful metaphor for faithful living - a place where danger and challenge seem to wait around every corner, and yet also a place where the presence of the Spirit can surprise us, precisely because it is outside of our normal, predictable routines. It is not necessarily a place we would choose to travel, but it can be a life-changing experience for those who do.

Wilderness can take a variety of forms. It can be any experience which moves us beyond the boundaries of our comfort zone. Wherever we find ourselves overwhelmed by forces which seem beyond our control can be a wilderness experience for us. That will be different for each of us. For some it takes the form of a relationship that always seems to keep us off balance and in the grip of turmoil. For others it comes as a painful illness or debilitating physical condition. Sometimes wilderness can be an unsatisfying job, while for others it is the struggle of unemployment. For this congregation this time of pastoral transition may well be a wilderness experience, as you strive to determine what your future looks like. Often our wilderness experiences directly impact our faith experience - a "dark night of the soul" time when God seems nowhere to be found.

In all of the various forms it can take in our lives, we resonate with the idea of wilderness. We know what it is to feel as if we are lost and alone and forgotten. And, as with all those in scripture who find themselves in the midst of a wilderness experience, we have a choice. We can give in to the fear. We can let the darkness sweep over us. Or we can remember that even in the wilderness we are never alone. If we will pay attention, we can discover that in the very midst of the "wildness" of such experiences God's presence can come alive for us in powerful new ways which would never have been possible had we stayed in the easy, comfortable circumstances of our ordinary routines. What is required is that we let go of the illusion that it is possible to be "in control" and "self-sufficient." Wilderness is a place where we can get lost, but it is also a place where we can be found. Lent is a season when we can spend some time reflecting on our wilderness experiences and pay attention to the ways in which God might be meeting us here.

One of the characteristics of a literal wilderness experience is often the seeming scarcity of water. Here in this part of the world that might be the challenge of finding safe, drinkable water. Certainly in the part of the world where much of the Bible was originally written it would have been simply the scarcity of water in any form, drinkable or not. And this search for a source of water reflects our ongoing quest to quench our spiritual thirst for connection and meaning in our lives. We need water to survive and when we can't find it we can easily begin to panic. We lose sight of all the ways in which our life is sustained by God, not just in this moment but in every moment.

The Hebrew people in the wilderness with Moses reveal this danger over and over again. On a regular basis they follow the predictable pattern of finding themselves faced with some hardship, at which point they panic and begin to complain to Moses. "Why did you bring us here to die?" In the particular case presented in our reading for this morning, the subject was water. They needed it and they weren't finding it. Please note that this is not an inconsequential concern. The point of the story is not that they were worried about nothing. The point is that they lost sight of the ongoing presence of God in their lives. Over and over again they were supported by the abundance of God. And over and over again they forgot and started to panic. Even in the wilderness there is abundance, the story tells us. But all too often our fears and our limited ways of perceiving the world around us prevent us from experiencing that abundance.

The 12th-century Sufi poet Rumi described such an experience this way:

Late,

by myself,

in the boat of myself,

no light and no land anywhere.

Cloud cover thick

I try to stay just above the surface.

Yet I'm already under

and living within

The Ocean.

In the Gospel story about Jesus and the woman at the well we find a different sort of wilderness - a different take on water, scarcity and abundance. It would have been a wilderness experience for Jesus because it was a situation beyond the boundaries of his cultural comfort zone. This story takes place in Samaria, home to a people despised by the Jews. They represented a corruption of the true faith, and contact with them was to be avoided whenever possible. In addition, the person with whom Jesus engages in conversation was a woman. Men and women did not easily interact in that culture. And the final straw would have been that she had a bad reputation. No one with any self-respect would have been seen talking to her. There was a reason why she was alone at the well in the middle of the day, instead of gathered with the other women early in the morning. And this is who Jesus is talking to! In the wilderness of that socially awkward and uncomfortable encounter, there would have been no water to be found, literal or metaphorical, if Jesus had been limited by the usual culturally imposed barriers. But because he chose to look beyond those barriers, an experience of the living waters of the Sacred Presence took place there in that wilderness.

The abundance of God is all around us. The waters of God's grace surround us in every moment of every day. And the only way to truly quench our thirst is when we take the risk of moving beyond our fear. In another of Rumi's poems, he invites us to "move within, but don't move the way fear makes you move." In the wilderness experiences of your living, where will you look to find the water? Will you trust God enough to find it in unexpected places?

Glimpses of Heaven - Living on Earth

2009-02-22T10:00:00.000-07:00

Exodus 24: 12-18 & Matthew 17: 1-9

Roger C. Lynn

February 22, 2009

Transfiguration Sunday

God is all around us in every moment of every day. Many of us have come to believe this. And most of the time our awareness of this reality is fairly low. We go about our living, doing the things we do. Maybe we offer up the occasional prayer of thanks, or make a request for some guidance. Mostly we just put one foot in front of the other, dealing with each moment as it comes along. And all of that is really OK. But once in a while there are experiences which transform the very shape of our living. There are those moments when we become profoundly aware of the sacred quality of life - when the presence of God takes center stage, not to be ignored. Who can say exactly why it happens when it does? Who can say why one person has such an experience and not another? Certainly learning to pay attention increases the chance that we will notice. And yet there is strong evidence that such experiences remain unexpected and unpredictable. Moses goes up on the mountain and encounters the mysterious presence of the divine. Jesus takes three of his followers up onto the mountain to prayer, and they have a profoundly moving experience of the sacred. The scriptures are filled with stories of such experiences. And yet it is also clear that such experiences are not ordinary or commonplace. Such "mountaintop" encounters with God play an important role in living faithfully, but they do not define or contain such living. The temptation is certainly there - to stay in that moment forever. Peter, in the face of such an encounter, wants to erect some tents - to set up camp and just stay in that moment. But that's not how it works. Soon enough they are headed back down the mountain again - back into the thick of their living. The difference is that now they have something to sustain them - a glimpse of heaven to remember when they need strength for their living here on earth. We need such reminders - that we are not alone and there is more to this world than we usually see. We need such reminders to keep us going. They don't happen all the time. Some people go their whole life watching for such an experience. Some spend the rest of their days cherishing the one glimpse they were fortunate enough to catch. But either way, I think maybe the result is the same - our awareness is raised and our living is transformed in the process. We are changed.

Frederick Beuchner describes such an experience in his novel "The Final Beast." I have always found this description to be powerful precisely because the elements of the experience are so ordinary. God's presence has the power to shine through even in the midst of our everyday living. A young minister named Nicolet finds himself behind his father's barn, hoping to have an encounter with Jesus which will rejuvenate his ministry and help him see everything more clearly. He is lying in the grass, his heart pounding, palms up, waiting for the air to part and the splendor of Christ to break through. " 'It must happen now,' he thought. . . Now, now, no longer daring not to dare, but opening his eyes to, suddenly the most superbly humdrum stand of neglected trees. . ." to a shoe lying in some high grass, and piles of leaves left over from last year. "Please," he whispered. "Please come. Jesus." He listens and waits, and then this happens:

"Two apple branches struck against each other with the limber clack of wood on wood. That was all - a tick-tock rattle of branches, but then he felt a fierce lurch of excitement at the beauty of daybreak, and was overwhelmed by the smells of summer coming, and then, starting back for home he was overcome by a kind of crazy gladness and beauty. 'Oh Jesus,' he thought, with a great lump in his throat and a crazy grin. 'Just clack-clack, but praise him,' he thought. Praise him. Maybe all his journeying had been only to bring him here to hear two branches hit each other twice like that, to see nothing cross the threshold but to see the threshold, to hear the dry clack-clack of the world's tongue at the approach of the approach perhaps of splendor."

In attempting to describe it to his friend a few moments later, Nicolet says this: "Whatever this is we move around through..." He raked his hand slowly back and forth through the air. "Reality . . . the air we breathe . . . this emptiness . . . If you could get hold of it by the corner somewhere, just slip your fingernail underneath and peel it back enough to find what's there behind it, I think you'd be . . . I think the dance that must go on back there, way down deep at the heart of space, where being comes from . . . There's dancing there. My kids have dreamed it. Emptiness is dancing there. The angels are dancing. And their feet scatter new worlds like dust. If we saw any more of that dance than we do, it would kill us for sure. The glory of it. Clack-clack is all a man can bear."

Sometimes we are Moses waiting for days in the fog - waiting for we know not even what. Sometimes we are Peter wanting desperately to capture the moment and preserve it forever. Sometimes we are Nicolet listening to the stunningly beautiful music of the Sacred breaking through in the most mundane of circumstances. Most of the time we are simply ourselves, living our lives as best we can. In each of our moments, in all of our days, may we remember that glimpsed or unglimpsed, bidden or unbidden, God is present. And the God who is present is calling us to live in this world so fully that others might begin to catch a glimpse of God through our living.

A Still More Excellent Way

2009-02-08T10:00:00.000-07:00

1 Corinthians 12: 27 - 13: 13

Roger C. Lynn

February 8, 2009

The thirteenth chapter of Paul's first letter to the Church at Corinth might well qualify as one of the most familiar, and most beloved, passages in the whole Bible. It is frequently read at both weddings and funerals. Sometime this week you may even see it on a Valentine's Day card. It really does represent Paul at his poetic finest.

And yet, precisely because of its beauty and its familiarity, I suspect that we often miss much of the real power contained in these words. We tend to think of it in terms of "warm and fuzzy" or "sweet." When viewed within the larger context of the rest of the letter, however, what we discover is Paul taking the Corinthians to task. "Stop living the way you've been living," he is telling them. "Stop acting as if you are the only person in the world that matters." This is Paul spelling out what it really means to take seriously the way of Christ. It is a life that matters. It is a life that reaches out to touch the world and make a difference.

Love, as Paul is describing it here, is the unconditional concern for the well-being of those with whom we share life on this planet. It is outward looking rather than inward looking. And it is the foundation upon which a meaningful life of faith is built. Without it nothing else really matters. Without it nothing else is really worth even talking about.

The good folks in the Church in Corinth had fallen into the trap of thinking it was the outward signs of faith that were really important. They thought it was the flashy externals that gave them bragging rights during coffee hour after worship. "I spoke in tongues today!" "Oh yeah, well I had a vision about what God is going to do next." "Well, I've been asked to give the sermon during the special worship service next week." You get the picture. And when Paul gets wind of such conversations he sits down and pens what has come to be known as "the love chapter." "None of that stuff is worth the breath it takes to talk about it," he seems to be saying, "unless it occurs within the service of love." It's not about bragging rights. In fact, if you do it well folks might not even know it was you. And that's OK, because the important thing is the reality we get in touch with when we allow love to become the driving force in our lives - the reality that we are, in fact, connected to the whole of creation.

Almost 2,000 years later this understanding of the world remains as powerful, and as challenging, as it was when Paul first shared it with the Corinthian church. What might the world look like if we spent even a fraction of our time practicing this kind of approach? It is true that many of the qualities which he describes seem hopelessly naive to our modern, jaded sensibilities. Patience and kindness. Resistance to such life-depleting attitudes as envy, boasting, arrogance, and rudeness. Celebrating truth rather than delighting in the misfortunes of others. Desiring what is best for all rather than simply holding out for our own way. And yet, they would go a long way towards bringing healing to our world, because they set the stage for us to reconnect with the foundational truth of who we really are. We are not solitary individuals whose lives can be lived in isolation. To become fully who we are created to be requires that we discover the connections which exist with ourselves, with each other and with the presence of the Sacred which is all around us all the time. In other words, to use the language which Paul uses, love! To do anything less is to be less than fully human.

There are those who believe that this represents a position of weakness. They think that to survive in this world demands a strength which is defined by force and power over others. Survival of the fittest. But the kind of love Paul is talking about is not weakness at all. It is simply a different orientation regarding what strength looks like. It is an understanding that we are strongest when we are most fully connected with the rest of creation, including our fellow human beings. A rope is stronger than a single strand. A tapestry is more beautiful than a single thread. To practice this kind of love is to seek our natural equilibrium - the balance and harmony which is our birthright because we are a part of God's creation. It is who we really are.

Is it hard to do? Absolutely. We live in a world with very few supports for such an approach to living. It requires vision. It requires courage. It requires creativity. Is it possible? Absolutely. Because it represents the truth about who we really are, the truth about how the world was created to work, it is our natural language. We have, for the most part, forgotten and been conditioned away from remembering. But it is possible. And we do not have to face the challenge alone. Indeed, we cannot do it alone.The ultimate power of love is that it connects us with each other and it connects us with God. Together we can learn to live into this reality.

So may we begin to discover in fresh new ways what it means to be truly alive as together we seek to follow this "still more excellent way." It really is the only thing that lasts.

Less Talk - More Living

2009-01-25T10:00:00.000-07:00

Mark 1: 14-28

Roger C. Lynn

January 25, 2009

Jesus arrives on the scene with an amazing message. Amazing in it's power and amazing in it's simplicity. "The active presence of God is here, now, in the very midst of us, and this is good news!" It is good news because the God who is present is the God of love and grace. It was, and is, a radically inclusive, universal message. And it was, and is, a message which is shared and received one individual at a time.

The problem which Jesus faced when he proclaimed this powerful message was that people thought they already knew what it meant for God to be in their midst, and they thought they already knew what the person bearing such a message would be like. They were, after all, God's chosen people. Who would know better than they what God was all about? They had, after all, been watching and waiting for the coming of God's messiah for a very long time. Who better than they to recognize the anointed one?

But apparently Jesus had other ideas about what it all meant and how best to get the message across. He didn't want to be labeled and he didn't want to be put in a box. Every time someone seeks to hang the "messiah" label on him, he tells them to be quiet. Sometimes he isn't even very nice about it. "Shut up!" would be a reasonable translation of what he says to the unclean spirit who declares him to be the Holy One of God. Why would he do this? Why would he engage in this business which scholars refer to as the "messianic secret"?

I am convinced that such labels often keep us from seeing the truth which Jesus would have us see. Such labels often lead us to believe that we already know what to expect. Such labels often serve to put the focus on Jesus, rather than on the God to whom Jesus is pointing us - much like paying attention to the finger rather than the moon to which the finger is pointing. And such labels, if we are not very, very careful, can even paint a picture of an imperialist God who acts in the world with indiscriminate force and power. Jesus seems to have chosen to share his message of love and hope in a different way than with such labels.

What we find, over and over again, is that Jesus chooses the path of less talk and more compassionate living. "Shut up!" he says to the unclean spirit. And then, immediately, he heals the man. The "teaching" which Jesus engages in is one in which God's love is brought to bear in very concrete, practical, personal terms. People are healed of their brokenness. Lives are transformed. That is what it means to say that the reign of God is at hand. That is the reality to which Jesus seeks to lead us.

All too often we still fall into the trap of talking too much. We use lots of words to describe what we believe and why we believe it. We use lots of words to separate ourselves from those "other" people who believe something different. We use lots of words to talk "about" what we believe, and often don't ever get around to actually translating those words into action. Imagine what it might look like if people could tell what we believe just by observing the ways in which we live out our lives? What if instead of talking about being Christians we actually followed Christ down the path of faithful living - seeking to heal the brokenness of our world, seeking to welcome the stranger, seeking to accept the marginalized, seeking to love the unlovely? What would people understand about God if the only Bible they ever saw was the one they saw revealed in our living? Of course all of this is already true, at least in part. And it is a challenge which is always worth keeping before us.

"Come, follow me!" Jesus says to us. He doesn't say, "Let me tell you why you should believe that I am the Holy One of God." He doesn't say, "Go and tell everyone you meet that I am God's anointed one." He says, "Believe in the good news that God is right here in the midst of us! Follow where I will lead you and I will show you how to live fully into that reality." And when we choose to follow him down that path, what we find is not a lot of talk. What we find is a life filled with action - active living that reaches out to touch the lives of those around us with nothing less that the amazing love of God. This is not a life which somehow earns us a ticket into God's good graces. This is a life which puts us in touch with our truest, best self - the self we were created to be - the self which is already connected to the God of love because God is always and forever right here in the midst of us.

"Come, follow me!" Jesus says to us. Will we stop talking long enough to listen? Will we stop talking long enough to follow?

Called to Service

2009-01-18T10:00:00.000-07:00

Isaiah 42: 1-9

Roger C. Lynn

January 18, 2009

Very early in the history of the movement which would eventually become Christianity, people saw in the writings of the prophet Isaiah a description of Jesus. Reading Matthew's Gospel, for example, you can almost imagine the author sitting at his writing table with pen and parchment in front of him and a copy of Isaiah open beside him. And it is easy to see why this would have happened. There are so many powerful passages in Isaiah which seem to describe the essence of who Jesus was. Why wouldn't you use such words? I know that in my own preaching down through the years, if I find a piece of writing that says what I am trying to say, and says it more eloquently than I could manage on my own, I do not hesitate to make use of those words (giving credit where credit is due, of course).

The problem comes, however, when we begin to understand passages such as those found in Isaiah exclusively in terms of descriptions of Jesus. When we allow them to become only about someone else, then we have allowed much of their power to be drained away. Jesus never wanted the attention to remain focused on himself. He consistently pointed beyond himself to God, and to the relationship with God to which all of us are called. To "follow" Jesus means to walk the path which Jesus walked - to live into the faith which Jesus sought to live. So it is important to remember that when Isaiah first wrote the words which would later become associated with Jesus, he had a broader subject in mind. "Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations." (Isaiah 42:1) The servant Isaiah envisions here is not a single individual - it is every individual. It is all of Israel. It is all of us.

The people of Israel had been beat up, put down, torn apart, cast aside. They had been walked on and walked over countless times by countless foreign powers. At the time when Isaiah 42 was being written they were living in exile, subject to the rule of another nation. Isaiah was envisioning the time when they would be returning home, and he was preparing them for that eventuality by challenging them to think beyond "business as usual." Theologian Walter Wink talks about the two options which our culture usually presents - we can be a doormat for others to walk on, or we can be the ones who do the walking. Wink suggests that the challenge for people of faith has always been to find "the third way." That is the challenge which Isaiah offers to the people of Israel (and through them to us). Listen to some of the phrases he uses to describe this "servant of God." They will "bring forth justice to the nations" (please note that this is distributive justice - making sure that everyone's needs are met - rather than retributive justice - making sure that someone gets punished.) Such distributive justice would, by definition, include even those who had been oppressing them. "He will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street; a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice." The footnote in my Bible says of this passage, "Israel is equipped for and given the task assigned to the ideal king. However, unlike that ideal king, the servant neither strikes the earth nor kills the wicked with his royal command; his voice is not even heard. He brings forth justice in a different way." Later in the passage, Isaiah speaks on behalf of God when he writes, "I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations..."

Yes, Isaiah is saying, you will be going home. Your suffering will not last forever. There is a future for you. And in order for that future to be rich and full and vibrant it must be something other than simply "same song - next verse." God is calling you to a new reality, a new kind of future altogether. God is calling you to be servants who seek to heal the world.

Of course the Church saw such writing as a description of Jesus. That is exactly what Jesus' life was about. And like Isaiah, Jesus sought to fulfill that vision by enlisting all of us into the challenge of bringing this new reality into being with our living. That is what it means to be a follower of Jesus. That is what it means to be a person of faith. Each of us - all of us - are called to bring forth justice in the world. Not through force. Not through violence. Not through "more of the same." But through service - by putting our lives on the line in big and small ways, with the confidence that God is with us and God will use us to make a difference in the world.

I am continually inspired by those who share this life with me and offer the courageous example of their living as they seek to embody a "third way." About a year ago I heard an interview on NPR with Daoud Sultanzoy. Mr. Sultanzoy is (or at least was at that time) a member of the Afghan Parliament. He is also a pilot, employed by an airline company in this country, spending part of his time here and part of his time there. He had the resources and the opportunity to stay out of harms way. And yet, he chose to return to Afghanistan and run for office after discovering that one of the men who commandeered one of the planes on September 11th had been his student. He realized that he could serve as a bridge between the two world - that he could do something to make a difference. Two months prior to the interview I heard he narrowly missed being killed when a delegation which he had been scheduled to be a part of was attacked and killed. He only survived because an illness had kept him at home. And still, even after that, he continues to go back. He continues to stand in the brink. When asked why he does this, in the face of what appears to be a deteriorating situation, he responded by saying, "Democracy is a journey. People have to be courageous enough to take part. Fear cannot be an option." I submit to you that the same can be said of faith.

So, what does this look like - this business of faithfully and courageously living a life of service? I don't really know for sure. Or maybe I do know, but am afraid to admit it. I believe that this kind of radical overhaul of the way the world works will not, cannot, be comfortable. Most of us who live in this country, in this community, with our cars and our cellphones and our health care, cannot even begin to imagine how difficult life is for vast numbers of people around the world. Anything even close to true "justice" will not be possible without a serious shakeup of pretty much everything associated with the current order of things. And, quite frankly, that scares me. On the one hand I absolutely believe that God is with us, and faith will see us through. And on the other hand I am unnerved just by thinking about where it might take us if we started to let the vision of Isaiah 42 even partially guide our living. For example, on a regular basis I am appalled, disgusted, sickened by some (not all by any means, but some) of the things which our government does with my tax dollars. And yet I continue to pay my taxes, because I have not yet found the courage, or the creativity, or the vision to take a different course of action that might bring true healing to the world. And I continue to search - I continue to struggle.

Isaiah knew that this vision would not be easy to realize. Indeed, it was nothing short of outlandish. Jesus knew that the life he sought to live, the life he called us to live, was not easy. Indeed, it eventually got him killed. Those of us who seek to be people of faith, who seek to follow where God would lead us, know that it will not be easy. And when we let ourselves even contemplate taking that seriously it scares us to death. The only reason we keep coming back to it, striving to find the courage to take even the next step on the journey, is because somewhere in the depth of our souls we know that it is the life to which God is calling us. And where God calls we will also discover God's gifts of guidance and courage and strength and support. May we be faithful in our response to God's call.

A New Name for a New Day

2009-01-11T10:00:00.001-07:00

Isaiah 62: 1-5 & 1 Corinthians 12: 1-11

Roger C. Lynn

January 11, 2009

My name is Roger. That's what people call me. It is how I think of myself. I'm a "Roger." I can't really imagine being a "Jeff" or a "Ted" or a "Jim." For most of us our name is one of our most important possessions.

And yet, for all the importance we attach to our names, most of the time they still don't carry the kind of depth of meaning that has been associated with names in other cultures and other times. In the world of the Bible, for example, names were often understood to be a reflection of the essential nature of that to which the name was attached. Names had meaning. Dramatic changes of circumstance or status were often marked with a change of name. Abram and Sarai become Abraham and Sarah. Simon becomes Peter. Saul becomes Paul. Even today we see remnants of this understanding in places like the Catholic Church, where the person who is elected Pope takes on a new name.

Sometimes the names we carry around are doing us more harm than good. These are not usually our actual names, but rather the names we use to think of ourselves. The people to whom the prophet Isaiah was writing had this problem. They had been down for so long they had come to believe that was just who they were. Names like "Forsaken" and "Desolate" described the mood. It was not who they really were, but they had long ago lost sight of that reality. And so it is that the prophet offers them the astounding good news that they no longer have to live with such names. "You shall be called by a new name that the mouth of God will give." (Isaiah 62:2) Instead of "Forsaken" they will henceforth be called "My Delight is in Her." Instead of "Desolate" their land will now be called "Married." Better times are coming, says God. And so they are given a new name for a new day.

In his letter to the church at Corinth the apostle Paul doesn't talk about names, but he does talk about gifts. And if names are a reflection of our essential nature, then Paul's understanding of gifts amounts to much the same thing. He speaks about the variety of gifts which God gives, and then he declares that "to each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good." (1 Corinthians 12:7) Paul's understanding is that God has given to each of us gifts intended to better enable us to contribute to the well-being of the world. "Blessed to be a blessing" is an ancient way of putting it.

For the people to whom Isaiah was writing, the reality which was reflected in their "new" name had, in fact, been true all along. But they had gotten so buried underneath all the other "names" they thought were true that they had forgotten who they really were. For the people in the Corinthian church, their gifts had always been present in their lives. But they had forgotten to notice, or failed to see them as gifts, and certainly had lost sight of the ways in which they might use those gifts for the benefit of everyone. In both cases they had to be reminded. They had to be called back to the truth of who they were. They had to be given a new name.

And so it is that the question comes to us. What names are we carrying around which do not serve us well? What variations on "forsaken" and "desolate" have we taken on as self-identifying descriptions of "just the way life is"? What gifts have we forgotten to notice? What gifts have we downplayed and de-valued? Such questions come to us both as individuals and as a community. Maybe the name from which God is seeking to release you is "too busy." Or maybe it is "not enough." Or perhaps it is "sinner." Whatever it is, I submit that God is offering you a new name for this new day. Maybe your new name is "abundance." Or possibly "beloved of God." You will recognize it because it will enhance your living rather than detract from it. It will open you up rather than close you down. Pay attention and I believe you will begin to hear God's new name for you.

And it is equally important for you to listen as a congregation. Have you been living with names like "too small" or "not enough music" or "scarce resources"? I stand here today declaring to you that God is calling us to begin living into a new name. Listen carefully and I believe you will hear names like "sufficient" and "welcoming to all" and "bountiful." As we turn the corner into this new year, it is a new day which lays before us, and we will not fare well if we attempt to meet it weighed down with old, debilitating and false names.

The truth of the matter is that we are a gifted people who have been abundantly blessed by God with all that we need and more to face whatever challenges might come our way. God is calling us to receive our new names and to live into the truth which they proclaim. "There are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Christ; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone." (1 Corinthians 11:4-6) May we be open to fully receive that which God has to offer. Amen.

Following Stars & Other Foolish Wisdom

2009-01-04T10:00:00.000-07:00

Isaiah 60: 1-6 & Matthew 2: 1-12

Roger C. Lynn

January 4, 2009

Epiphany Sunday

Luke gave us the shepherds - simple, down-to-earth, easy to identify with. They are our kind of folk. Matthew gave us the magi - exotic, mysterious, difficult to understand. We aren't quite sure what to make of them. We don't really know if they ever really existed, or were a plot device devised by Matthew to dramatically illustrate the reality of God's light coming into the world for all to see and follow. And I'm not sure it really matters. Because either way we still need to ask the important theological question - "So what?" What do the magi have to teach us? What do they tell us about what it means to follow God's light?

They've been called wise men, but much of their story doesn't seem very "wise" (at least in terms of how the world usually understands that term). They had a passion for seeking after meaning in life. The path they chose was in the stars - watching for patterns and portends. It was an occupation which required careful attention, a keen intellect, and lots of patience. And so they watched and waited. But then one day something happened - something that would change their lives forever - something that wouldn't have seemed very "wise" at all. They saw something that caught their attention - a star which seemed to proclaim something powerfully new coming into the world. But they did more than just watch it. They did more than simply study it. They did more than merely discuss it among themselves. They decided to follow it. They packed their bags. They collected gifts. They said goodbye to family and friends. And they set off to follow a star. They had no idea where their path would lead them, or how long it would take. They only knew that something important was happening, and they needed to be a part of it. Their passion for seeking after meaning suddenly became very real and very personal.

So what are the stars in our world that we might follow? Where might our paths lead us, if we will take the risk to step beyond the comfortable? For most of us, it probably won't be literal stars, because that is not where we typically look for meaning. And it won't necessarily even be the same thing for us as it will be for our neighbor, because each of us have unique gifts and each of us have unique passions. But one thing we can say with a fair amount of certainty is that it may not seem very "wise" (at least from the perspective of the world around us). When we really follow our passion - when we dare to step out and let our dreams carry us away - it very often seems like foolishness. "It's just a star. How do you know it means anything? You've got responsibilities to consider. What do you mean you don't know when you'll be back?"

I will preach other sermons in which I will encourage a certain amount of caution and paying attention to the perspectives of those around us. That is certainly important. But today I lift up what is also important - following your heart. When we give ourselves completely to something it opens up a space for God's light to come shining through.

Several years ago a star began to rise on the horizon of my life. It seemed to be calling me to something new. At first I ignored it, then I struggled with it, and finally I packed my bags and followed. Stepping into the unknown, I quit my job, left the security of stability and hit the open road for an experience of rest and renewal. According to the "wisdom" of the world it seemed pretty foolish. But we had found a star which beckoned us to follow, and we were trusting that following it would lead us where we needed to go. More than half a year later we are still discovering the implications of that decision, and we remain convinced that it is the light of God that we are following. Among other things, it has led us here, to share life with you for a time. Our lives, and the world, are being transformed because of such "foolishness."

So what is your passion? What grabs your attention and won't let you go? What gifts are bubbling just beneath the surface waiting for you to set them free? Maybe your star is music, or art. Maybe sharing beauty with the world is the star which is calling you. How foolish are you willing to be? How far are you willing to go to answer that call?

Maybe your passion is helping others. Maybe you read to children, or visit the elderly. Maybe you volunteer at the hospital. Maybe you deliver meals. Maybe you make phone calls to those who are lonely. Maybe compassion is the star which is calling you. How foolish are you willing to be? How far are you willing to go to answer that call?

Maybe your passion is peace. Maybe you have a vision of a world in which war, and conflict, and violence don't have to dominate the news. Maybe you have a desire to contribute to the creation of harmony for those with whom we share life on this planet. Maybe shalom is the star which is calling you. How foolish are you willing to be? How far are you willing to go to answer that call?

When we dare to let ourselves even consider following our passions, there will be voices which tell us in no uncertain terms just how foolish we are being. Often we will need to listen no further than the inside of our own heads to hear those voices. They will tell us about how big the problems are, and how small we are. They will tell us about the other times we have tried, and failed. They will tell us to be sensible. And all the while the stars are calling us. God's light is shining in the world. In spite of the voices of caution, I invite you to be on the lookout for the star which is calling you, in whatever form that takes. And I invite you to consider being foolish enough to follow. The world will be a brighter place when we dare to follow our stars.

A Shepherd’s Story

2008-12-24T19:00:00.000-07:00

Luke 2

by Roger C. Lynn

Christmas Eve 2008

My name is Jonas, son of Jesse, and I am a shepherd. My father was a shepherd, as was his father before him, and so have I been all my life. The life of a shepherd is sometimes lonely and mostly quiet, without much excitement. Usually the most exciting thing that happens is when a lion tries to get one of the sheep. Then things get pretty crazy for a while, but even then nothing you could call real, honest-to-goodness excitement. You know, the kind that makes a real difference in your life. But I want to tell you about one night, a long time ago, when I was only a boy. It’s funny how some things stay with you, but I can still remember that night as if it were only yesterday. We were on the hill just outside of town. The sheep were scattered around the hillside, and we were gathered around a fire near the top of the hill. There were several of us watching that night, and I was the youngest. I had only recently been allowed to stay out in the fields at night. Anyway, we were sitting around talking and laughing, when suddenly it was as if the air itself exploded with life. At first we couldn’t move, we couldn’t think, we couldn’t breath. We didn’t know whether to be scared to death, or out of our minds with joy. It didn’t take long for the joy to win out. Some of us just laughed because we could think of no better way to express what we were feeling. You will get different stories about what happened that night, depending on which of us you ask, but I think that is because it was so overwhelming that none of us could really grasp it all, let alone tell about it later in a way that would make any sense. Suffice it to say that nothing like it had ever happened to any of us before, and it was very, very good. I’m sure if you had seen us that night you would have said we were drunk. And you would have been right - we were drunk with pure, undiluted joy. We were laughing and singing and dancing - and we were not alone. The very air around us was filled with laughter and song and dance. And then, somehow, we found ourselves in town, out behind the old inn. And things got very quiet. Not because the joy was gone. No, it was still so real we could taste it. And not because we were afraid of waking sleepy townsfolk. We would have awakened the whole world to tell of our joy. I think we got quiet because our joy had moved us beyond laughter to prayer. I had never thought about those two things being related, but that night I learned many things I had never thought of before. We went inside the stable, which was out behind the inn. And there we found him. He was just a baby, you know. His parents must have been poor because they couldn’t even stay in the inn. He was lying in the straw and he looked just like any other baby. But that was only when you looked with just your eyes. That night we saw things and felt things and knew things that went far beyond plain eyesight. And we knew that this child was special. We didn’t know how and we didn’t know why, but we knew. And the joy that we felt at the knowing brought tears to our eyes and wonder to our lives and not one of us was ever exactly the same again. We walked back to our hillside and our sheep knowing that we had witnessed something that can only be described as the glory of God. And finally we found our tongues again and we sang. Then surely, we must have awaken the whole town with our joy.

The Freeing Power of God's Love

2008-12-21T10:00:00.000-07:00

Isaiah 7: 14-16 & Matthew 1: 18-24

Roger C. Lynn

December 21, 2008

Fourth Sunday in Advent

In a time of political, social and spiritual turmoil and upheaval, the prophet Isaiah longs for the day when people will trust God and seek God's guidance, rather than depending on the power of military might and political alliances. Isaiah's vision is outrageous in it's simplicity. He dreams of a time a young mother will be bold enough to trust in God's presence so completely, to trust in God's ongoing care so implicitly, to trust in the power of God's love so totally, that she names her child "God is with us!" In the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Isaiah proclaims this vision.

As he attempts to tell the story of what Jesus' life and ministry was really all about, the writer of the Gospel of Matthew chooses to begin by drawing on Isaiah's vision. The longing is the same. In Jesus, Matthew sees the fulfillment of Isaiah's dream. We can get all caught up in discussions about biology, and whether or not the "virgin birth" is literally true. Such debates have certainly occupied the time and attention of a great many people down through the years, and no doubt will continue to do so. And I remain convinced that when we stop there we pretty much miss the point. Matthew is trying to tell us something extraordinary about the profound meaning he finds revealed in the life of Jesus. Drawing on the hopes of Isaiah is one of the tools he uses to accomplish that task. All of the pieces of the story which Matthew tells work together to open us up to the reality that God's love cannot be contained or understood by conventional wisdom or culturally accepted norms. However we understand Mary's pregnancy, from the outside looking in it would have been nothing less than a scandal. And yet, Matthew describes it as the work of the Holy Spirit.

At the heart of the narrative in today's reading from Matthew's Gospel, we find a description of what Jesus' purpose was all about. "She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins." (Matthew 1:21) It is one of those sentences that we barely even look at because it comes weighted with so much preconceived baggage about what it means. We move at the speed of light from these open verses of Matthew to the description of the crucifixion to the centuries of commentary and interpretation and re-interpretation which have informed us that Jesus "died for our sins." But what happens if we slow down and really read what verse 21 says (to say nothing of what it doesn't say)? What if we ask the question, "What might it mean to say that Jesus saves his people from their sins?" Perhaps if we can let go of our preconceived notions, we will discover a whole new vistas of possibility.

One very basic definition of sin is any action or attitude which blocks or inhibits our relationship with God. This is true not because of some unwillingness on God's part to be in relationship with us, but because such actions and attitudes get in our way and keep us from recognizing or receiving God's presence. Working with this definition, one of the things which can be understood as sin is spending time and spiritual energy thinking that we are sinners. It gets in the way of being in relationship with God. When we walk around with our eyes focused on our shoelaces, believing we are unworthy pond scum, we tend not to notice most of the ways in which God is knocking at the door to our heart, just waiting for an invitation to be welcomed in. One of my favorite scenes in the farcical British comedy "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" is when God appears to King Arthur in a cloud. The first thing Arthur and all the knights do is fall to the ground and grovel, whimpering and muttering things like "I'm not worthy." At which point God tells them, in no uncertain terms, to get up and stop groveling.

What if Jesus "saving us from our sins" means literally saving us from the debilitating effects of thinking in such terms? Throughout his ministry he consistently points people towards a new way of understanding God and being in relationship with God, each other and even ourselves. On numerous occasions he declares that people's sins were forgiven. In other words, he tells people to let go of that weight which is keeping them from full, rich relationship with the God who already loves them utterly and completely.

Let me be clear. We do not need to be "saved" from our sins in the sense that God is going to send us to Hell otherwise. If Heaven is being fully in the presence of God, then Hell is being in the absence of God. And since God is, by definition, everywhere, then the only way to be in Hell is by closing our eyes to the Heaven we are already in. God does not, will not, cannot send us there. We do far too good a job of putting ourselves there. That is literally what sin does - it puts us in the Hell of being blinded to the reality of God's presence. And that is what Jesus seeks to save us from. He calls us, points us, leads us, guides us to other ways of living, other ways of seeing God, other ways of being in relationship with God and with each other - ways which focus on love and acceptance, connection and community.

Isaiah longs for the day when the reality of "God with us" is fully recognized. Matthew sees that dream realized in the life and ministry of Jesus. At Christmas we celebrate the birth of one who sought to save us from our sins and set us free to live. The only question is whether or not we will choose to follow. When we choose to follow the path which Jesus shows us, when we choose to open ourselves to the presence of God which Jesus reveals to us, then we are saved from sin and saved to a life that is filled to overflowing with the sacred, loving presence of the Divine. We are saved to the life we are created to live. May we choose such love! May we choose such living!

Unexpected Joy!

2008-12-14T10:00:00.000-07:00

Isaiah 35: 1-10 & Matthew 11: 2-11

Roger C. Lynn

December 14, 2008

3rd Sunday in Advent

Opening ourselves to the experience of joy is a faith statement! It is a demonstration of confidence that, appearances-to-the-contrary-nonwithstanding, God is present and active right here in the midst of life. Joy is not based on external circumstances, but on internal trust. Thus it is that joy shows up in surprising and unexpected places in our lives. We aren't always looking for it, but it is always there waiting to be discovered when we least expect it. Frederick Buechner has this to say about Joy: "Happiness turns up more or less where you'd expect it to -- a good marriage, a rewarding job, a pleasant vacation. Joy, on the other hand, is as notoriously unpredictable as the one who bequeaths it." (from Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC)

We live in a world that regularly presents us with circumstances which fly in the face of any joyful attitudes we might possibly hope to entertain. How can we rejoice when war and violence continue to ravage people around the world? How can we rejoice when disease and hunger continue to claim so many lives in so many places near and far? How can we rejoice when the economy has fallen into the basement? How can we rejoice when "fill in the blank with whatever latest headline you choose"? How indeed!

The message of hope and rejoicing which the prophet Isaiah proclaimed to the Hebrew people didn't make any sense, at least in terms of how the world makes sense of things. It came at a time when they were languishing in exile in a foreign country, cut off from home and culture and all that gave their lives meaning. Into those dark and joyless circumstances he dared to proclaim that what seems obvious does not always have the final and ultimate word regarding the true nature of reality. What he describes is radical transformation -- a turning upside down of everything that seems to be true. Wilderness, dry land and desert will blossom, the blind will see, the deaf will hear, the mute will sing, the lame will leap, and water (a very potent symbol of life in that arid region) will pour forth in the desert. That which seems impossible, a safe passageway for them to return home, would indeed become a reality. Isaiah could make such an outlandishly joyful declaration not because the present circumstances of his people provided any evidence that it might be true, but because he had confidence that God is not restricted by the limitations which we perceive to be insurmountable. The joy he proclaimed is not based on verifiable evidence. It is based on that which is always surprising and unexpected -- the mysterious and ongoing activity of God among us.

In Matthew's Gospel we find John the Baptist asking a seemingly odd question of Jesus. "Are you the One, or should we wait for another?" This is, you may recall, the same John who earlier baptized Jesus and saw the heavens open up and a dove descending in declaration of Jesus' status as God's anointed one. So, why in the world would he now be wondering? I suspect it may have been because Jesus was not the kind of Messiah John had been expecting. John had been looking for someone to come with power and wrath and drive the Roman occupiers out of the Promised Land with God's vengeance. That made sense to John. He understood that way of thinking about God and the world. But that is not how Jesus understood God or the world. Listen to Jesus' reply. "Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them." (Matthew 11:4-5) According to Jesus, as it was with Isaiah, the meaning of God's presence in our lives and in our world, the Source of our true joy, is the reality of radical transformation. It is not what we expect to find most of the time, but it is all around us if we will watch for it. Such joy is always available to us.

John McCutcheon is a singer/songwriter who wrote a song a few years ago about Vedran Smailovic, who was a resident of the European city of Sarajevo in the early 1990's, when that city was literally in the middle of a battle zone. Vedran was a cello player whose courageous choice made him a symbol for unexpected joy in the midst of unspeakable horror when he began playing his cello out in the street everyday.

In the Streets of Sarajevo (2001)
words and music by John McCutcheon
He was there one Sunday morning
At the corner of the square
In a freshly pressed tuxedo
In a simple folding chair
Just after curfew lifted
When everything was still
He played his cello
In the morning chill

In the streets of Sarajevo
A place of flame and death
This music so surprising
The whole world held its breath
And each morning he returned
To that spot and he would play
In the streets of Sarajevo everyday

And everyday he made me wonder
Where did he ever find
The music midst the madness
The courage to be kind
The long forgotten beauty
We thought was blown away
In the streets of Sarajevo everyday

And many was the day
The soldiers asked him who he was
They warned him of the danger
In doing what he does
Many said that he was crazy
To risk his life in such a way
On the streets of Sarajevo everyday

I wish someone could tell me
Who is crazy, who is sane
Those who stand in protest
Or those who drop these bombs like rain
Those who fill our lives with death
In this place where children play
On the streets of Sarajevo everyday

So I come here in defiance
And to add a bit of grace
Try to ease the awful hatred
And the horror of this place
To remember there is beauty
No matter what they say
In the streets of Sarajevo everyday

And everyday I see them
Those who will not stand aside
Who refuse to be defeated
Who rage against the tide
They are a glimmer in the darkness
The rolling of the stone
A message in a bottle
From the distant shores of home

And everyday he made me wonder
Where did he ever find
The music midst the madness
The courage to be kind
The long forgotten beauty
We thought was blown away
In the streets of Sarajevo
And in the streets of Tel Aviv
And in the streets of Jakarta
And in the streets of every city everyday
©2001 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

Poet Ann Weems had this to say on the matter in her poem entitled, "Not Celebrate?"

Not celebrate?
Your burden is too great to bear?
Your loneliness is intensified during this Christmas season?
Your tears seem to have no end?
Not celebrate?
You should lead the celebration!
You should run through the streets
to ring the bells and sing the loudest!
You should fling the tinsel on the tree,
and open your house to your neighbors,
and call them in to dance!
For it is you above all others
who know the joy of Advent.
It is unto you that Christ is born this day,
One who comes to lift your burden from your shoulders,
One who comes to wipe the tears from your eyes.
You are not alone,
for Christ is born this day to you.
(from Kneeling in Bethlehem)

It isn't about what's happening around us. It isn't even about what is happening to us. It is about what's happening within us. We discover unexpected joy whenever we remember that we are a part of something vastly bigger and stronger and more enduring than anything the world can ever manage to throw at us. That doesn't mean life will always be easy, or fun, or painless. But it does mean that we can choose how we will respond to all of life, including even the most painful parts of life. When we choose joy, springing as it does out of a deep confidence in God's active and loving presence, we choose to respond out of a position of strength. Think about how much stronger you feel, how much more able you are to do whatever needs to be done, when you are filled with joy, as compared to those occasions when you are filled with despair. Indeed, with God in the midst of us, how can we keep from celebrating?

And so, in the midst of this world in which we live that is so filled with pain and violence and hatred and suffering and ugliness of every sort and in unbelievable proportions, I invite you to choose an alternate reality, to watch for signs of God's presence, to look for opportunities to rejoice, to actively participate in the ongoing work of God's radical transformation. The alternative is simply too depressing to even consider. So please, choose joy!

Our Longing for Peace

2008-12-07T10:00:00.000-07:00

Isaiah 11: 1-10 & Matthew 3: 1-12

Roger C. Lynn

December 7, 2008

Second Sunday in Advent

On this second Sunday in the season of Advent, when the theme of the day is "Peace," we recognize that deep within us there is a longing to live in a world which is shaped by peace. Not simply peace as the absence of conflict, but peace as the harmonious, interrelated connection of all that is. We look around at the brokenness, the pain, the violence which rises up at every turn, and we instinctively know that life was meant to be more than this. We see the suffering, we hear the cries for justice, we experience the divisions, and we want desperately for things to be different. In this season when "Peace on Earth" is proclaimed on everything from cards to banners to songs, the contrast between our longings and our reality can be stark and disheartening.

The writer of Isaiah 11 knew something about this longing. Life was hard. The Hebrew people living in Jerusalem were a people at war. Violence was everywhere. And Isaiah knew that such conditions did not represent God's plan for humanity. He looks back with nostalgic eyes to the glory days of King David's reign and longs for such days to come again. He dreams of a ruler who will rise up and bring God's peace to bear in the midst of the turmoil of life. It is a sweeping, majestic vision of peace in which even seemingly natural enemies will find a way to co-exist in harmony. The vision ends with the amazing declaration which Isaiah boldly dares to speak on behalf of God - "They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of God..." (Isaiah 11:9)

And yet, there is a dark note in this vision as well. A note which I believe should serve as a warning to those of us who get caught up in the passion of our own longing for peace in the midst of this tumultuous world in which we live. Right in the middle of Isaiah's vision, between the descriptions of the new Davidic ruler and the divergent cast of characters who will live together in the peaceful age which is coming, Isaiah wanders off track with an ominous description of actions he thinks this new Davidic ruler ought to take. ". . . he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked." (Isaiah 11:4) So overwhelmingly aware that God's peace is being sidelined by truly awful actions, Isaiah simply cannot imagine any other way of dealing with the problem except to call down divine assassination.

I always find such statements to be sobering, particularly when they occur right in the middle of such grand and sweeping visions of an alternative reality. Isaiah can imagine a world in which wolf and lamb, leopard and goat, calf and lion can all live together in peaceful harmony, and yet cannot come up with any other way for God's peace to be ushered in except by killing those whom he deems to be wicked. I simply cannot accept that God's plan for peace is founded on violence. The radical peace of God becomes possible not through a continuation of more of the same, but through a fundamental healing and transformation which calls all of us back to our basic God-given nature. Of course it's an outrageous vision. Faith is outrageous. It stretches us beyond our own limitations, because it is precisely when we rely solely on our own limitations that we resort to violence in the first place. Isaiah's tragic detour into the myth that violence can lead to peace serves as a warning for us precisely because it is a detour which is so easy to take. When we get passionate about a cause, even when the cause is God's peace for the whole world, it is remarkably easy to start seeing anything or anyone who stands in the way of that cause as an obstacle which must be eliminated. The more just the cause, the easier it seems to be for us to head down this path. And it always, always leads us away from life rather than towards it. It puts us in the very role we are objecting to. In the words of the old comic strip character Pogo, "We have met the enemy, and they is us."

We find another prime example of this tendency in the figure of John the Baptist as he is portrayed in Matthew's Gospel. I have always been drawn to this wild man in the wilderness, dramatically proclaiming the coming of God's reign. He is so passionate about his message. He believes it with every fiber of his being, and he desperately wants everyone else to believe it as well. But as it was with Isaiah, John is so distressed with the brokenness he sees all around him that he cannot imagine any other recourse except for God to destroy the evil-doers. He even puts Jesus, the one we have come to call "the prince of peace", into the role of fiery destroyer of all things wicked. It is a dangerously slippery slope we tread whenever we let our passion for peace become infused with even a hint of violence. It so easily blinds us to the dramatically damaging implications. I am convinced that it simply does not serve us well in our quest for shalom - the wholeness which is the truly defining characteristic of God's peace.

Rick Lowery is a Disciples biblical scholar who teaches at Philips Theological Seminary in Tulsa. He also happens to be married to Sharon Watkins, our General Minister and President. Rick once said something at a Bible study that has always stuck with me, and seems to be relevant here. He said, "Every time I read the Bible I hear a message from God. And sometimes the message is 'don't do this!'" And so, sufficiently sobered by the reminders we find in Isaiah and John about how easy it is to stray from the true path of peace, we return again to the closing words of Isaiah's vision and simply wrap ourselves in its intoxicating glory. "They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of God as the waters cover the sea." (Isaiah 11:9) And this, finally, is what will enliven and empower and inspire us - the promise that God's ongoing and active presence among us will become so fully recognized and embraced that violence will simply become an inconceivable option. May we open ourselves to God's presence. May we proclaim the reality of God's love. May we allow our longing for peace to shape and inform every aspect of our lives. May it be so in this moment and in every moment of our living. Amen.

Watching & Waiting for What's Already Here

2008-11-30T10:00:00.000-07:00

Isaiah 64: 1-9 & Mark 13: 24-37

Roger C. Lynn

November 30, 2008

1st Sunday in Advent

Today is the first Sunday in Advent - the season in the Church's calendar which focuses our attention on watching and waiting and preparing. The theme for the first Sunday in this season is "Hope." For thousands of years people have been hoping and longing for God to come among them and make a difference in their world. And we know about such desires, for they are our desires as well.

So, when I read today's text from Isaiah I thought, "Oh my - this is our story - this is the story of our world today." Maybe not you individually, at least not right here in this moment. But certainly all of us collectively who find ourselves in this tumultuous time in history. The world is a mess in more ways than we can even begin to count, and we want God to "tear open the heavens and come down..." We want God to go face to face with God's adversaries - certain as we so often are that there is such a thing as "enemies" of God. We want someone to blame. We just get confused about who that might be - sometimes even sounding like children who ever so quickly shout, "I didn't do it - it's not my fault!" "You were angry, God, and so we sinned." OK, yes, we made a mess of things - but it's only because God left us and we got lost and scared. Where is God anyway? We even know what it is to plead with God as Isaiah did. "Do not be exceedingly angry, O God, and do not remember our iniquity forever. Remember instead that we are your people. Remember that you care for us." As I read Isaiah's prayer and reflected also on our own similar prayers, I couldn't help wondering who he was trying to convince - God or himself?

It all sounds so familiar. Apparently there really is nothing new under the sun. All of these hundreds and thousands of years later we still find ourselves feeling lost and confused and separated from God. And the experience is very, very real. Just ask anyone who has lost a loved one to some senseless, tragic accident. Ask anyone who is agonizing over the futility of war. Ask anyone who faces the fragility of these human bodies of ours. Ask anyone who battles against depression. "Tear open the heavens and come down!" The experience is real. The only problem is - it just isn't true! At least it doesn't represent the fullest Truth!

In this season of Advent, and indeed in every season of the world, we long for God to come and be among us. And the truth of the matter is, we are watching and waiting for what's already here. As the ancient Celts were fond of saying, "Bidden or unbidden - God is present!" It is the truth which 17th-century German poet Angelus Silesius whimsically proclaimed when he wrote:

God, whose love & joy
are present everywhere,
can't come to visit you
unless you aren't there

When we experience God's absence from our lives and our world, what's missing is not God! What's missing is our awareness of God. The suffering we experience in those moments when we believe God to be missing in action is the pain of being out of harmony with the Truth.

The message which Jesus came proclaiming was, in one sense, remarkably simple. It is profound not because it is complex but because it is so fundamentally basic. It is the foundational Truth upon which all of reality is built. We just keep losing touch with it. We keep forgetting. So Jesus' words keep calling us back. The reign of God is at hand! God is present! Not removed in some far distant heaven. Not waiting for some unspecified future. Here! Now! In the very midst of us!

The 13th chapter of Mark's Gospel contains an interesting and often misunderstood message. The language is decidedly apocalyptic - the same symbolic, stylized form of writing which we find in the book of Revelation. It speaks of the sun being darkened, stars falling from heaven, etc. In Matthew's version of this story we also get things like earthquakes and storms and civil unrest. It is language which speaks to that longing deep within us which cries out for God to "tear open the heavens and come down." And down through the years, in every age, in every generation, there have been those who have read these words and found in them signs that their time was the moment when that would happen. Surely this was when God would come with power! And, in a way, they were right. I believe that the clue to understanding this text from Mark is found in the very fact that people keep thinking the words are about their moment in time. These powerful words point us not to some particular time, but to every time. God is always coming into our world because God is always already here. "Keep awake!" we are told. Keep awake so that we will see what is already true. When we believe that God is absent - when we believe that we are separated from God - when we believe that we are unworthy, filthy rags - when we believe all these things - then we are surely asleep and subject to nightmares of the most frightening and painful sort. Keep awake to the truth. Keep awake to the full reality of what it means to be connected to God because God is connected to you. Keep awake to what it means to be fully alive and fully human.

And so in this season of Advent we will light candles. We will sing songs. We will watch and wait and prepare ourselves so that we will be ready to experience what is already true. There is no need for God to tear open the heavens and come down, because God is already here. Perhaps, instead, our prayer in this Advent season might be - "tear down our walls and come in!"