Category: Sermons Year A

Go Figure!

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year A1 Comment

Matthew 18:21-35 NRSV

My worst subject in school was always math. One day, I remember someone asking me, “Jarrett, what made you decide to go into the ministry?”  I responded, “They don’t have math in seminary.”

It is interesting that math is not the forte of most ministers I know. Someone told me that they once played golf with a pastor who always insisted that he keep score. He said: “At first, the other golfers and I didn’t mind the preacher keeping score, because surely a man of the cloth would never cheat. However, one day after looking over the scorecard, I had to speak up. I said: “Preacher, I don’t question your theology, and I don’t question your honesty, but I do question your mathematics.”

Now, I’m not completely ignorant when it comes to math. I can do simple math, good ol’ common sense math. One plus one equals two. Two plus two equals four. Three strikes and you’re out. But, when it starts to get more complicated than that, let’s just say I’m thankful for the calculator on my cell phone.

Like our gospel lesson this morning:

For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves. When he began the reckoning, one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him.

Sounds like one of those fourth-grade math word problems that used to stress me out!

Unfortunately for me, as a sermon from United Methodist Bishop William Willimon once pointed out, there is, even in the gospel, a sort of mathematics.[1]  For when Jesus began teaching the ways of God, he brought us a new way of making calculations, and this math of Jesus is oftentimes very difficult for us to figure.

I am thinking about that woman who took nearly a quart of fine perfume, costing over a year’s salary, and poured it all over Jesus’ feet.  On his feet! The woman wastefully pours all that perfume, 60, 70, maybe 100,000 thousand dollars-worth all over Jesus, and then, Jesus has the audacity to praise her.  What kind of mathematics is that?

I am thinking about that time Jesus praises a shepherd who left behind 99 sheep, “in the wilderness,” in order to look for 1 lost sheep. What kind of math is that?

If you leave 99 sheep alone, vulnerable, in the wilderness, what do you think is going to happen when you are gone? When you get back from finding the one lost sheep, if you find it, common sense says you’re certain to return to far fewer sheep! How does that add up?

One day Jesus watched the rich making a big show dropping their bags of money into the temple treasury. Think about that: “A bag of money.” When’s the last time you’ve seen “a bag of money?” That’s a lot of money! But when Jesus saw a poor widow come and drop one penny into the temple offering, he said that she had given more than all the others put together.

Click on your calculator app and try to figure that one out!

And then there was a farmer who hired people to go to work in his vineyard. Some arrived at work just as day was dawning, others came mid-morning, others at mid-day, some in the afternoon, and then some slackers showed up just one hour before quitting time.

At the end of the day, this eccentric farmer called everybody together and paid everybody the exact same wage. Now, how on earth does he figure that one hour of work is worth the same amount as 12 hours of work?

Do you see the common theme which runs through all these parables? It’s an entirely different kind of math. In our mathematics one plus one equals two—one plus one always equals two, only two. But here, in this new math, the value of 1 may be equal to the value 99, depending on who’s doing the counting.

And one little coin is said to be worth more than several big bags of money, depending on who’s keeping the books.

When Jesus tells us the story about the farmer who hires servants to work in his vineyard, I suppose most of us hard-working, tax-paying, responsible citizens of the vineyard immediately identify with the servants who worked in the vineyard all day. To be told that somebody shows up in the vineyard just one hour before the end and gets the same as those who labored all day, well, that just doesn’t add up. And we are not ok with that.

However, if we could empathetically hear this parable from the standpoint of those workers who showed up late—the person who because of a disability, because of a family crisis, because of a lack of training, a lack of education, a lack of language proficiency, a lack of transportation, or for whatever reason, was only  hired at the end of the day but then  received the same wage as those who had been there the whole day—if we could hear it from their vantage point, I guarantee you, we’d be ok with it.

Yes, there’s a common theme running through these parables.  And it is not so much math as it is grace.

And if we are honest, this thing we call “grace” is sometimes difficult for us to figure.

We think to ourselves, “As far as God is concerned, if I do this, then I will receive that; and if I don’t do this, I will not receive that.”  But the truth is that our relationship with God is not a matter of what we do, or the way we figure it, but a matter of what God does, and the way God figures it.

Peter came to Jesus wondering how many times he should forgive someone who had wronged him. “Seven times?” The way we figure it, that number seems more than reasonable. Right? It’s hard enough to forgive someone one time, much less seven times.

But Jesus said, “You must forgive not seven times, but seventy times seven.” That’s a huge number, whatever it is.

“Built right into the heart of the gospel is an extravagant graciousness which refuses to be calculated.”[2]

Perhaps that is why many of us love the passage of scripture that comes right before our gospel lesson this morning.

Jesus said, “If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone…if you are not listened to [STRIKE ONE], take one or two others along with you…If the member refuses to listen to them [STRIKE TWO], tell it to the church; and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector [STRIKE THREE, YOU’RE OUT OF THERE!].”

Finally, something that we can figure out!  Some simple math—One plus one equals two. Be good and be rewarded. Three strikes and you’re out. Be bad and be punished.

But here’s the problem. When we place this mathematical calculation in the context of Jesus’ mathematics of grace, we get another result.

 As Eugene Boring has commented, Jesus’ “context is not of self-righteous vindictiveness, but of radical caring for the marginal and straying, and of grace and forgiveness beyond all imagining.”[3]

We like to think, “Yes! Treat them like tax collectors! Three strikes, they’re out!” But have you thought about how Jesus treated tax collectors?

Jesus called them to be his disciples. When they betrayed him, he washed their feet and served them from the table. And when they deserted him and denied him, he said, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Then, he died for them.

The truth is, in our self-absorbed, self-centered, oftentimes vindictive little world, God’s math just doesn’t add up.

This time of the year I almost always hear someone comparing the losses that we suffer here from natural disasters to the losses suffered in poorer nations. They say things like: “the wealthy living on the coasts of Florida or Maui have much more to lose.” And if you think about it in terms of property values, the numbers might add up.

But that’s our math. It’s not God’s math.

Willimon would say that what they failed to calculate is that…

…small, insignificant numbers like one sheep, or one insignificant person, one little coin, one hour of labor, become very large in God’s mathematics. On the other hand, the impressive accomplishments and wealth of the rich and powerful are seen as nothing.  As the prophet says, God’s ways are not our ways. God’s measurements are not our measurements.

What we think adds up, doesn’t add up.

And here’s the really good news: because of God’s amazing grace, what we think doesn’t add up— adds up.

We look at something and say: “That just doesn’t make any sense. That doesn’t compute.  I don’t care how many times you count and recount, check and double check, that just doesn’t add up.”

And God responds: “Oh, yes it does! In the mathematics of my grace, it most certainly adds up!”

Spending several hours on a Saturday morning to feed our neighbors at Parkview Mission, yet going home feeling like someone has fed you—adds up.

Giving a $100 to disaster relief, not expecting one cent in return, yet feeling like someone has paid you ten times that amount — adds up.

Volunteering an hour to help someone in need when you do not have five minutes to spare, only to discover that you had plenty of time—adds up.

Going to a nursing home to bless someone, but leaving the nursing home having received a greater blessing—adds up.

Facing one’s own imminent death, yet feeling more alive than a newborn and more hopeful than a newlywed—adds up.

A congregation has a budget that is much smaller than it used to be because it is smaller than it used to be; yet, the congregation loves the people in their city so unconditionally, offers grace to others so unreservedly, and extends mercy so extravagantly, that it transforms not only their church, but their entire city, the region, even other parts of the world, in ways that are beyond their calculations—adds up.

One day, Pricilla, a dear friend of mine, called me to give me the news: “Brad and I have decided to adopt two more children from Ukraine.”

“Two more children!” I responded.

They had already adopted two the previous year, one was two and the other was three years old. They both had lived in an orphanage since they were born and suffered with PTSD and other issues.

As a concerned friend, I asked, “Do you really think that is wise? You’ve already adopted two children. And I know what a handful they are. Pris, I know you are a great mother, and I know Brad is a good father, but don’t you think there are limits?

Pricilla responded by saying something like: “When it comes to love, Jarrett, I have discovered there are no limits. I really don’t believe you can ever run out of love. The more love you give… the more love you seem to have.”

The good news is: In God’s mathematics, that adds up! Go figure!

[1]Idea for “Mathematics of Jesus” in the Matthean Parables was derived from William H. Willimon, The New Math (PR (33/3; Inter Grove Heights, Minnesota: Logos Productions, Inc., 2005), 49.

[2]Bruce Metzger, ed. The New Oxford Annotated Bible (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 27 NT.

[3]Leander Keck, ed., New Testament Articles, Matthew, Mark, The New Interpreter’s Bible: A Commentary in Twelve Volumes, vol. 8 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), 379.

Wake Up and Love

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year A2 Comments

Romans 13:8-14 NRSV

The song “Fruitcakes,” from Jimmy Buffett’s album of the same name, has a verse to which many of us can relate:

 

 

Religion is in the hands of some crazy-ass people

Television preachers with bad hair and dimples

The god’s honest truth is: it’s not that simple!

Right?

That’s why I find it interesting that a local pastor is preparing a Bible Study series entitled: “Answers to Your Toughest Faith Questions.”  The Facebook post then listed a small sampling of the theological questions that he would be giving answers to:

Who is God?

Why do bad things happen to good people?

What is salvation?

Now, I was raised going to church every Sunday. I hardly ever missed Sunday School class. I attended every Vacation Bible School and went to church camp every summer. I studied religion and philosophy in college, and I went on to get a Master of Divinity Degree, and then, a Doctorate in ministry. I did some math and deduced that I have written and preached over 1,500 sermons. So, you would think, that when it comes to theology, I would know a thing or two; however, the truth is that I really don’t know that much.

The only thing that I really know about theology is that the more I know, the less I seem to know.

Some of you are probably thinking about right now: “Well, if there’s a local pastor who giving answers to some tough theological questions, maybe our new pastor, bless his heart, should show up for a class, or at least Zoom in, and learn something!”

But here’s the thing:

I know just enough about theology to know that there many ways one can answer those types of questions. In our seminary theology classes, we studied several answers to those tough questions from several different theologians, and then we worked to form our own opinion.

This may surprise you, but when it comes to God and God’s relationship to this mystery we call life, with both the holy and the horrible parts of it, that’s about all I’ve got: opinions.

This is part of the reason I could not be happier today to be counted as part of Disciples of Christ. With the late, wonderfully honest and thoughtful Rachel Held Evans, I have always “longed for a church to be a safe place of doubt, to ask questions, and to [always] tell the truth, even when it is uncomfortable.”

I believe First Christian Church has a long history of being that type of church. We call ourselves “disciples” because we have decided to follow the way of love Jesus taught and emulated, not because we have figured out God. With the Harry Emerson Fosdick, most of us “would rather live in a world where our lives are surrounded by mystery than live in a world so small that our minds could comprehend it.”

If you keep coming to worship here while I am the pastor, you may begin noticing a few words that I use more than other words when I am preaching. Besides “God” and “Jesus” and “good news” and “all means all”, the two words that I use more than any other are: “I believe.”  “I believe this to be true…I believe that God works this way…I believe that God desires this…I believe that God wants us to do that…“I believe God is calling us to go, be or act…”

One day, a parishioner in one of my previous churches made an appointment with me to complain about my preaching. Which, by the way, was very common. He sat down in my office and began telling me how frustrated I made him by saying “I believe” so much, and if I didn’t stop saying it, he might have to find another church!

I asked him, “What would you rather me say?”

“I need my pastor to be more authoritative,” he said.

He wanted me to say: “I know,” “I’m certain,” “I’m confident,” “I’m convinced,” “I conclude…”; not “I believe.”

But when it comes to theology, that’s all I’ve got. I believe. I theorize. When it comes to this being or Spirit, or force, or power in, behind and over the universe we call “God,” I think. I consider, I ponder, and I wonder.  I “lean more towards.” I surmise, guess, deduce, speculate, estimate and contemplate. I hope, which, by the way, infers that I also doubt.

And if that bothers some of you who come to this place Sunday after Sunday in search of concrete, black and white authoritative answers about God, all I can say is, I am sorry. You won’t find that here. At least, not from me.

When I was in my twenties, still fresh out of seminary, and still naïve enough to think I knew some stuff about God, I had the amazing opportunity to gather each Wednesday for lunch with a group of highly esteemed and seasoned clergy in Winston-Salem. Among those who attended the group was the Rev. Dr. Warren Carr, a retired pastor and renowned Civil Rights hero while serving Watts Street Baptist Church in Durham. What an honor and privilege was it for me to sit at a table each week this man who was a sought-after lecturer on college campuses for his wealth of knowledge, experience and expertise.

For a few years, a group of clergy, religion and philosophy professors in North Carolina gathered for a retreat at the Caraway Conference Center in Asheboro. I was absolutely giddy one year when I checked into the retreat center and was told that I would be sharing a room with Dr. Carr.

After an extensive and very academic group discussion that evening, much of which was over my head, we all retired to our rooms. As we settled in our twin beds like we were in youth camp and turned off the lights, Dr. Carr asked me: “Did you enjoy tonight’s conversation?”

“Yes,” I responded. “But to be honest, being in a room of full of wisdom with people like you reminds me that I still have much to learn.”

 Dr. Carr laughed and then spoke words that I will never forget:

I have been a pastor and a serious scholar of scripture for sixty-five years, but all that I really know about God is that God is love. And God loves me. Therefore, I ought to love. And to be honest, everything else is fuzzy.

I was taken back by his honesty and didn’t know quite how to respond.

Then, after a moment of silence, he said, “But love is all I need to know.”

I wonder if that was what Paul was trying to infer in his letter to the Romans:

Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. [The entire law code] …is summed up in this word, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law.

To the Galatians, again Paul writes:

For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself’ (Gal 5:14).

And we’ve heard this before. Matthew records Jesus saying that the greatest commandment is to love God, [which means to literally love Love] and to love our neighbors as ourselves, and on this commandment hangs all of scripture (Matthew 22:34-40).

Mark remembers Jesus saying we are not far from the kingdom of God if we understand loving our neighbor as ourselves is more important than any act of worship (Mark 12:28-34).

Luke recounts Jesus telling a lawyer that loving our neighbors as ourselves is the key to inheriting eternal life. “Do this, and you will live,” says Jesus (Luke 10:25-28).

Not only is love all we need to know, all we need to understand about the scriptures, worship, and eternal life, Paul describes it as a debt we owe. Owe no one anything, except to love one another. John put it this way: “Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another” (1 John 4:11).

And in our Epistle lesson this morning, Paul expresses an urgency to love. “Besides this, you know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep.” It’s time to wake up and love.

Lori and I experienced this urgency when we lost our first child in the 23rd week of pregnancy in 1993. A week or so after we left the hospital, a colleague and pastor immediately offered a pastoral visit. But instead of offering his love like it was a debt he owed me, with a confident, rather authoritative voice, he said:“Jarrett, I believe God knew that you were not ready to be a father.”

But, you know, I didn’t need his theology. I didn’t need his belief, his contemplation or his speculation.

As you know, Erin, our Christian education intern is in Illinois today after receiving a call this week that her grandfather, who she adored, and who adored her, had passed away. Although Erin is a seminary student studying theology, right now she doesn’t need our theological theories. She doesn’t need our ponderings or our wonderings. What Erin needs and needs urgently is our love.

Tripp, the seven-year-old grandson of Jim and Verna who has been on our prayer list for several years, will soon undergo treatments again to fight leukemia. Tripp and his family do not need our theology, our deductions or our estimations. What they urgently need is our love.

Having learned this week that their premature baby has suffered brain damage, Miles and Emily do not need our guesses or our opinions about God. What they need, and need urgently, is our love. In fact, the following words are from a text I received from Emily on Friday:

Send lots of love and prayers his way so we can have some clarity in the days, weeks, and months to come. We are in for a long journey with Henry, and we are just pouring all our love and energy into him by spending lots of time together reading, talking and loving.

Emily’s urgent plea was: “Send lots of love.”

A line from of one of Jimmy Buffett’s newest songs, released after his death, goes:

…when the journey gets long, just know that you are loved. There is light up above, and the joy is always enough.

The good news for people like you and me who do not have all the answers, who accept and even embrace the mystery of it all, who do more pondering than knowing and more wondering than concluding, is that we have experienced love— holy, sacred, divine, mysterious, incredulous but certain love. And although we cannot fully comprehend the power of love or the Source of love, we know with confidence that it is love that has brought us to this place we call church. And, with all our misgivings and misunderstandings, with all our doubts and unanswered questions, we somehow, some miraculous way, know that it is love that keeps us here.

And here is some more good news.  I KNOW– even this one who doesn’t KNOW much about theology— who some say might not know much about anything, from a science book or from three years of the French I took— But I KNOW, without a doubt, with absolute certainty and with utmost confidence, and on good authority, that Love is present here in this church, and Love is calling us with an urgency to be love and to share love. And if we wake up and answer this call, what a wonderful world this would be.

There’s a Cross Involved

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year A7 Comments

I have a confession this morning. This preaching thing is hard. It’s hard on me, and I know it’s hard on you. And there are some Sundays I wished I didn’t have to do it. Not because it’s Labor Day weekend and half the congregation is out of town, but because as a lectionary preacher, as someone who does not choose my own scripture to preach, I sometimes have to preach scripture that I don’t want to preach.

This morning’s lectionary gospel lesson is especially problematic for a new preacher, one who really likes their new congregation, and who really wants their congregation to like them.

Sometimes preaching can be fun, like last Sunday when the text speaks of the church possessing the keys to break loose some heaven on earth, of the church being on the offensive, confronting the forces of death, darkness and despair, with the promise that, in the end, love always wins! Now, that will preach!

But then you have a text like the one we have this morning. After Jesus announces that love will indeed win, freedom will ring, death will be defeated, Easter will happen, he says, “but before any of that can take place, somebody needs to pick up and carry a cross.”

Peter immediately takes Jesus aside and rebukes him. Of course, he does! For who wants to hear a sermon like that?

And then we hear what are perhaps the most offensive words Jesus ever spoke: “Get behind me Satan.”

It is then that our scripture lesson becomes even more difficult to hear: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Jesus is implying for love to win, for heaven to break loose, for freedom to ring, there’s a cross involved. And it’s not just Jesus who has to carry a cross, it’s anyone who wants to follow him, anyone who wants to bring some heaven to this earth, some wholeness to this fragmented world. Although we possess the keys to break loose some heaven on earth; to use those keys, for love to truly win, we must be willing to sacrifice everything.

Can you see why I don’t want to preach this text this morning? Nobody wants to hear that!

So, what we preachers do with a text like this, especially preachers who want their congregations to like them, is to walk it back, or dial it back.

 To avoid upsetting too many congregants, preachers interpret carrying a cross (a symbol of execution, assassination and murder) as simply doing things for the church that we might not want to do.

For example, we say things like:

“Somebody needs to carry a cross by volunteering one Sunday morning to help in the nursery” (By the way, Gretchen did call me this week and asked me to mention that).

“Somebody needs to carry a cross by stepping up to chair a ministry team” (By the way, I understand that the Christian Education team currently needs someone).

Or “the preacher needs to carry a cross by showing up on Sunday morning to preach a sermon, even a sermon he doesn’t want to preach.

Now, that’s a sermon we can all tolerate. Right?

However, I often wonder how much better this world would be if preachers did not walk or dial back these words of Jesus? What if we preached these words the way Peter heard them, in a way that was so offensive, that made Peter do something as audacious as pulling aside and rebuking the Messiah and Son of the living God?

Jesus said: “…he must go to Jerusalem” (notice the urgency here. “He must”). “He must go to Jerusalem” to serve on a ministry team?  No. To preach a difficult sermon? No. “To undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes and be killed.”

In other words, I believe Jesus is saying: If you follow the way of love that you see me demonstrate. If you love all people and teach others to love all people, especially those who have been pushed to the margins by self-serving religion: sick people, Eunuchs (who, today, would be considered a part of the LBGTQ community); poor people; people of other ethnicities, and people of other religions—if you teach people that God even wants us to love our enemies—if you point out, speak out and call out the demonic forces of evil that are oppressing people, if you stand up to hate and attempt to disarm hate, then there will be some people, probably religious people, who are going to want to kill you.

This past Monday, I attended a beautiful gathering of clergy on the campus of the University of Lynchburg to consider ways we can work together in this city. Meeting in that room vowing to partner with white and black pastors, male and female pastors, along with a Jewish Rabbi, I could not help to think how far we have come in the last 100 years. But in order to get here, the truth is: somebody had to pick up and carry a cross.

I believe Dietrich Bonhoeffer understood this.

Bonhoeffer did not have to return to Germany to stand against the Nazi aggression. After all, he was safe and sound visiting New York City in the early 1940’s. He was free to stay in America and preach the gospel from the safety of a free church pulpit or teach New Testament in the peace and freedom of a university. But when he decided to follow Jesus, he knew there would be a cross involved. Bonhoeffer understood “saying ’yes’ to God requires saying ‘no’ to all injustice, to all lies, and to all oppression” even if it gets you killed. So, he returned to Germany, and for helping Jews escape and flee to Switzerland, he was arrested and executed by the Nazis just days before the war ended in 1945.

Ten years later, the Rev. George Lee, one of the first black people to register to vote in Humphreys County, Mississippi, used his pulpit and his printing press to urge others to vote, despite the many death threats he received. White government officials offered Lee protection on the condition he end his voter registration efforts. However, Rev. Lee understood that if justice was going to prevail, if heaven was going to break loose, somebody needed to pick up and carry a cross. So, Rev. Lee kept preaching, and he kept printing, until he was murdered by White Supremacists.

William Lewis Moore, a postman in Baltimore, could have remained safe and comfortable in his home in Maryland in 1963. But instead, he decided to pick up a cross and travel to Mississippi.  There, Moore staged a one-man march against segregation to deliver a letter to the governor urging an end to the hate. But before making it to Jackson, he was shot and killed.

In 1964, the Rev. Bruce Klunder, a Presbyterian minister, was aware he was carrying a cross every time he demonstrated for fair housing and spoke out against segregation and discrimination. But when he decided to follow Jesus, he decided that there were things more important in this world than his life. And one day, while out protesting the construction of a segregated school in Cleveland, Ohio, he was brutally murdered when he was crushed to death by racist operating a bulldozer.

The following year, after watching state troopers attack civil rights marchers on the Edmund Pettus bridge in Selma, Alabama, the Rev. James Reeb, a Unitarian minister from Boston, drove to Selma, picked up a cross and joined the marchers. After the march, while he was walking down a street in Selma, he was attacked and beaten to death by white men.

After Viola Liuzzo, a housewife and mother from Detroit, saw the televised reports of the attack on the Edmund Pettus bridge by state troopers, she decided to pick up a cross and follow Jesus alone to Alabama to help with the Selma march. Though none went with her, she still followed. And while she was helping to ferry marchers between Selma and Montgomery, she was shot and killed by a Klansmen.

That same year, Jonathan Daniels, an Episcopal Seminary student in Boston, decided to pick up a cross and go to Alabama to help with black voter registration. He was arrested at a demonstration, jailed, and then suddenly released, only to be immediately shot to death by a deputy sheriff.

In 1966, Vernon Dahmer, a wealthy businessman from Hattiesburg, Mississippi, picked up a cross when he offered to pay poll taxes for those who couldn’t afford the fee required to vote. The night after a radio station broadcasted Dahmer’s offer, his house was fire-bombed. Days later, Dahmer died from severe burns.

Two years later, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., a Baptist minister and leader of the Civil Rights Movement, knew that if freedom was to ever ring, if his dream of a beloved community was ever to be realized, somebody needed to pick up and carry a cross. Thus, despite receiving countless death threats, King kept preaching. He kept marching. He kept protesting. He kept carrying a cross, no turning back, until he was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee.

As the late Frank Tupper, my seminary professor of theology, once said: “There’s a lot of correlation between what happened in Memphis in 1968 and what happened in Jerusalem 2,000 years ago.”

Whether we like it or not, when Jesus talked about carrying a cross, he wasn’t talking about working in the nursery or serving on a ministry team, as important as those things are. He was talking about a passionate, courageous willingness to put it all on the line. His words are nothing less than radical. For he doesn’t say that we cannot be exemplary disciples, super-hero disciples, unless we carry a cross. He says that we cannot call ourselves disciples at all unless we are willing to sacrifice it all.

I recently saw a sign outside of a church which boasted: “We help people win.”

The problem with that is that our faith is not about winning. Our faith is about losing.

This thing called “discipleship,” this thing called “church,” is not about achieving a good, better, happy or successful life, or even gaining an eternal life. It’s about dying to self.

It’s not about receiving a blessing. It’s about a willingness to risk it all to be a blessing.

It’s not about having our souls fed. It’s about sacrificing it all to feed the hungry.

It’s not about finding a home. It’s about giving it all to provide a home for the homeless.

It’s not about prosperity. It’s about giving everything we have to the poor.

It’s not about getting ahead. It’s about sharing with people who can barely get by.

It’s about courageously taking risks. It’s about challenging the powers-that-be. It’s about raising our voices in front of the city council, getting arrested if we must. It’s about an unwavering, fearless willingness to lose it all while fighting for the marginalized and standing against the haters.

The Rev. Dr. William Barber, a Disciples minister who has been arrested 17 times for protesting injustices, says that one of his arrest records reads: “praying too loud.”

When we call ourselves disciples, we are saying that we have decided to follow Jesus, which always involves praying loudly for God’s peace and justice, standing on the side of love, even if it costs us our very lives. We are saying that we’re going to follow Jesus wherever he leads us, even into dark, dreadful, dangerous places. Though none go with us, though friends and family forsake us, though proud boys threaten us, we still will follow. Our crosses we’ll carry, forward together, not one step back. Until we see Jesus. No turning back, no walking it back, no dialing it back, no turning back, no turning back.

-Sermon inspired the prophetic preaching of Rev. Dr. William Barber

Pastoral Prayer

Before he was executed by the Nazis in 1945, German Lutheran pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote the following words that I believe the American Church needs to hear again:

Cheap grace is the preaching of…forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, communion without confession…  Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ living and incarnate. Costly grace is…the gospel which must be sought again and again. The gift which must be asked for, the door at which one must knock. Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly because it costs us our lives. It is grace because it gives us the only true life.

The following pastoral prayer was inspired by Bonhoeffer’s timeless words:

O good and gracious God, we come to this place this morning to recommit ourselves to being faithful disciples of Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior. However, if we are ever going to truly follow Jesus, we will first need to repent of our sins that are derived from our love with what your servant Dietrich Bonhoeffer called “cheap grace.”

We gather in this place to hear preaching that will remind us that we are loved and forgiven; not to hear that we need to change our selfish ways.

We gather to remember the way we came up out of the waters of our baptism to symbolize life abundant and eternal; not to remember our immersion into the waters to symbolize death to self.

We come to gather around a table to receive the gift of Holy Communion; not to confess our sins and our shortcomings.

We come to this place to be accepted with grace and love; not to be encouraged to accept others with grace.

We come here to worship at the foot of the cross; not to pick it up and carry it ourselves.

We come here to worship Christ in the safety and comfort of this sanctuary; not fully realizing that the Christ is actually alive today, present here, calling us, prodding us, pulling us to follow him out into a risky and uncomfortable world.

So, O God, forgive us of our love for “cheap grace.” Help us to truly repent, turn from our selfish ways and seek to live for a grace, in a grace, and by a grace that is worthy of your sacrificial love for us, even if it is “costly.”

May we keep asking, keep knocking at your door, keep giving our lives away to you, keep denying ourselves, and keep looking to you for the strength we need to pick up our crosses and follow our Lord and our Savior wherever he leads. Because we know that this grace, although it costs us our very lives, is the only way to experience life now and forever.

All Heaven Will Break Loose

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year ALeave a comment

hatewall

Matthew 16:13-20 NRSV

Jesus understands the importance of perception and identity.

He asks the question about himself. Who do people say that I am, and who do you say I am? It is Peter who answers correctly: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.”

Then Jesus shifts the conversation from his identity to the identity of the church, which is very important for us to consider today. This, by the way, is the first of the two times the word “church” is mentioned in Matthew. The word does not appear in Mark, Luke or John. So, it’s probably a good idea that we pay careful attention here.

What is the church? Who are we? How do people perceive the church? What is our purpose? What makes the church special?

Of course, we love part of Jesus’ answer, especially as it is read in the King James Version: “The Gates of Hell will not prevail against it” (KJV).

In a world where hate crimes are on the rise, wildfires are claiming lives, storms are more violent, COVID still threatens, war is still raging, and all hell seems to be breaking loose, this is indeed some very good news.

The forces of death, despair, and darkness, no matter how great those forces seem to be in our world, will not prevail.

Sickness, disease, war, hate, any power of Hades, a word that is accurately translated “the power of death,” will not have its way with us.

That might be one of the reasons we call the place the church meets each Sunday morning a “Sanctuary.”

Death is moving and hell is coming, as the old hymn says. It threatens us. It frightens us. But together, gathered in this sanctuary as the church, we are reminded that we are safe and secure from all alarm leaning on the everlasting arms.

There’s no way I can count members of my congregations who have told me that they don’t know how people make it in this world without the church.

Because, as we are gathered in community, assembled in our sanctuary with people who are praying with us and for us, worshiping together, singing hymns together, as we make commitments to support and to care for one another, when we hear evil knocking at the door demanding to come in, threatening to do us harm, with nothing to fear and nothing to dread, we respond with utmost confidence:

“What’s that you say? You say it’s darkness and despair out there knocking on our door? You say it’s ‘hell’ out there trying to get in here?”

“Oh, not no. But heaven no!”

“In the name of Jesus, heaven no, you’re not coming in here. Heaven no, you’re not taking away our blessed peace. Heaven no, you’re not getting any of our joy divine.”

The good news is, and those of us who are the church know it, despite the constant onslaughts of Hades, despite the powers that seek to destroy us, the church hangs on, because we know that, ultimately, we will emerge victorious. We hang on knowing that, in the end, love always wins.

We hang on.

We hang on.

We. Hang. On.

How many times have you used that expression to describe the church? “How are things going there at First Christian Church in Lynchburg?”

“Oh, we’re hanging on.”

“It’s tough being church in today’s world, but we are making it.”

“We are surviving.”

Sadly, that describes both the perception and identity of many churches today. They’re in survival mode.

And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. For who doesn’t want to be a survivor, especially when all hell is breaking loose?

It’s a struggle, but we’re hanging on. It’s tough, but we’re paying the bills. It’s a fight, but we’re keeping the lights on. COVID knocked us down, but we are getting back on our feet.

Not exactly sure what we think of him yet, but we got a new preacher. He’s not perfect. He’s pretty bad with names. But we seem to be getting by.

But wouldn’t you like to be more than a church that is just getting by? More than just hanging on?

Wouldn’t you like to be a church that is more about making a difference out there, and less about maintaining the status quo in here?

Wouldn’t you like to be a church that is more about bringing some heaven to earth and less about hanging on until we die and go to heaven?

Although we love this place, shouldn’t the church more than “a sanctuary?”

Let’s look again at this passage. About the church, Jesus says: “The gates of hell will not prevail against it.”

Do you hear it? Do you see it?  Jesus says that it’s the gates of Hades, it’s the gates of death, it’s the gates of despair, it’s the gates of darkness, that will not prevail.

Notice that he’s not talking about the gates of the church, the doors of the sanctuary, prevailing against an onslaught from Hades. He’s talking about the gates of Hades that will not prevail against an onslaught from the church!

When Jesus describes the identity of the church, when Jesus talks about who we are, and who we are called to be in this world, he doesn’t talk about a host of evil rounding us. He doesn’t say death is coming and hell is moving. He says that it is the church that is coming, and it is heaven that is moving. It is the host of good that is rounding the host of evil.

By talking about the gates of Hades, Jesus is expecting the church to be on the offensive. Jesus is expecting the forces of truth, light, grace, justice, mercy, empathy, kindness, love and life to be on the move tearing down the gates of death, darkness and despair.

Jesus isn’t talking about all hell breaking loose in our world. Jesus is saying that when we embrace our identity, when we answer the call to be disciples, when we claim our authority, when we fulfill our mission to be the church in our world, all heaven is going to break loose!

Sadly, the perception of the church is often the other way around. We are the ones cowering behind the gates, hiding behind the walls, shrinking behind the stained glass. We are always on the defensive. We are gatekeepers and wall builders. For our own protection and preservation, we decide who can come in and who must stay out.

But Jesus warns us: “what is bound on earth is bound in heaven. And what is loosed on earth is loosed in heaven.”

In other words, too often the church— by taking a defensive posture, with our gates and with our gate keepers, with our walls and our barriers, with our obstacles and our hurdles—the church has been guilty of preventing all heaven from breaking loose in our world.

However, Jesus says we possess the keys, we are given the authority, to open doors, remove barriers, and get rid of obstacles. As the church, we are not gate keepers, deciding who’s in and who’s out; we are gate destroyers. We are not wall builders; we are wall demolishers!

And when we do that, when the church swings wide its doors, when God’s people leave the safety and security of the sanctuary, when we boldly go out into our world to confront the gates of death, darkness and despair, Jesus says, the gates of hell will not prevail, and all heaven will break loose.

But, when we live in a time and place where all hell seems to be breaking loose, with Rev. Dr. King, we must remember that Jesus does not want God’s people to use darkness to defeat darkness or use hate to defeat hate.

I believe Jesus wants God’s people to use the authority entrusted to them to overwhelm deep darkness with illuminating light; overthrow bigoted fear with revolutionary love; overcome deliberate deception with gospel truth; overtake passive attitudes with empathetic mercy, override uncalled-meanness with called-for kindness, and overrun white nationalism with a non-violent determination to work for the liberty and justice of all. Because I believe what our world needs more than anything else is for all heaven to break loose!

There are many ways I am looking forward to breaking loose some heaven with the First Christian Church in Lynchburg.

Next year, as we mark 150 years of serving God and community, in addition to our three celebration dinners, the planning team has already started having a conversation about providing opportunities for service out in the community to compliment each dinner. Together, we will address big problems such as: food-insecurity, affordable housing and illiteracy. And when we tackle these problems head-on, all the while lavishing others with love and grace, then I believe all heaven will break loose!

When we partner with Rabbi Harley of the Agudath Sholom congregation and other faith leaders to offer special opportunities for faith dialogue in the community, such as something called: Theology on Tap; when we demonstrate to the community the holy value of sitting at a table in a public place with people of all faiths and people of no faith, discussing important, albeit difficult matters of faith such as: racism, gun violence, climate change, reproductive justice, and substance abuse. And when we act on these matters with love, then I believe all heaven will break loose!

When we invite and inspire students from our neighboring colleges and universities to join a movement for wholeness in our world, when we harness their passion, their youth, their energy, their love, and their unwavering faith that love always wins, then all heaven is going to break loose!

As advocates for prophetic justice, as part of an anti-racism, pro-reconciling church, we are going to join with the prophets and Jesus to proclaim love for the marginalized and liberation to the oppressed. We will seek to transform racist systems and to change hearts and minds by communicating our faith convictions to policy makers and people in power. We will continue working to fulfill the dream of Dr. King and speak out against the whitewashing of history and the hateful, anti-woke, anti-Christ agenda of racist politicians who embolden others to commit deadly crimes of hate and acts of terror. And when we work for change with love and determination, hell may tremble. Hell may shake, and hell may push back against us; but then, if we don’t moderate our voices or compromise our convictions, all heaven is going to break loose!

We are going to continue to break down the barriers of bigotry that are dividing our nation by partnering with people who truly believe that the greatest thing we can do as human beings is to love our neighbors as ourselves. And when, together, when we pledge to stand up and speak out for the equality, the dignity, and the worth of all people, while celebrating and affirming that the diversity of humankind is the very holy image of God, I believe all heaven is going to break loose.

And as a church committed to unconditional love of God, to the extravagant grace the Christ, and to the unwavering persistence of the Holy Spirit, we will destroy any gate, remove any hurdle, and break down any barrier that any person or institution tries to erect to prevent anyone from coming to the table of the Lord. And when we do this, when we welcome all to the Lord’s table as God has welcomed us, when we encourage all people to answer the call to be a movement for wholeness in our fragmented world, we believe all heaven is going to break loose!

So, let us embrace our identity. Let us claim our authority. And let us answer the call to fulfill the mission to be the church, to move heaven and earth, so the world may know who we are and whose we are: disciples of the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. Amen.

Responding to the Cries

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year ALeave a comment

Matthew 15:21-28 NRSV

“Inclusion” has always been one of my favorite words. I have proudly worn the word like a badge of honor and have been criticized by the religious culture for being “too inclusive.” Which, by the way, I consider affirmation that I am following the way of Jesus.

However, over time, I have been challenged to re-think the virtue of the word “inclusion.”

For five years or so, I was an Ambassador for an organization called Ainsley’s Angels. I recruited runners to include children and adults with disabilities (another word I have re-thought, preferring now to use “different abilities”) in 5Ks, 10Ks, or marathons, as they rode in what we called “chariots.”

The word “inclusion” was our mantra. Runners included those who could not run in the sport that they love. However, I quickly learned that the runners were not the only ones doing the including. The children and adults with Cerebral Palsy, Traumatic Brain Injury, Angelman Syndrome, Downs Syndrome and other diagnoses which impaired their ability to run, were actually including us in their lives. We even would say: “As runners, we don’t push our riders. They pull us. We are pulled by their positivity and joy across the finish line.”

They included us. They taught us, They challenged us, and they changed us. Perhaps more than anything, by including us in their lives, they taught us the virtue of empathy. How to really put ourselves in the shoes of another.

I believe that if we prayerfully think about the state of our divided nation today, it becomes obvious that what we have here is an empathy crisis. Some people just seem unable, or unwilling, to walk in the steps of another, to really hear, to listen, to truly understand and empathize with the groaning or the cries of others who are tormented by evil. Many are unwilling to leave their safe, protected bubble, where people who don’t look like them or live like them are excluded, to empathize with the cries of others yearning to be free, cries of others in their pursuit of some happiness, some acceptance, some affirmation and love, cries of others begging for a chance to just survive.

I believe this is why Jesus said: “On this, hangs all of the laws and message of the prophets, ‘you should love your neighbor as yourself’” (Matt 22:40). It is as if he was saying, “The entire Biblical witness comes down to this: “Love your neighbor and love your neighbor empathetically—as yourself. Which is to say: “put yourself in the shoes of another.”

I believe this morning’s gospel lesson has much to teach our nation today.

Just then, a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, ‘Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.’ 

We hear this cry every day. Yet, many really don’t hear this cry. Many don’t understand this cry, nor want to understand this cry. Many don’t like this cry. Thus, never truly listen to the cry. To privileged ears, it’s just shouting. Strange, foreign shrieks that, frankly, we find offensive.

They are cries of mercy for a child tormented by demonic evil.

They are hopeful cries for a safer, more loving and just world for their child.

They are moral cries for equality.

They are cries for equal access to a quality education, for equal protection of the law, for fair living wages, for access to equitable healthcare.

They are prophetic cries against injustice.

They are cries against racism, against discrimination, against predatory loans, against voter suppression, against Gerrymandering, against oppressive government legislation. They cry out that their black and brown lives matter. For their queer lives to be seen and acknowledged.

Jesus’ first response to the cries is the most common response: it’s one of silence.

We know that response all too well. Silence, just silence.

If we ignore their cries, maybe they’ll go way. Responding to their cries will only stir things up, make things worse, uncover old wounds. And responding might cost us something. It might make us feel guilty. We may have to give up something. We might have to change something.

The second response comes from the disciples. It’s shocking, but not surprising. For it’s as familiar as silence: “Send her away.”

It’s the response of fear: fear of the other; fear that causes defense mechanism to go up; fear that breeds selfishness, anger, and hate.

Then, they blame the victim.

“What about her shouting?” “She keeps shouting.”

“What about the way she is behaving?” “She needs to be more respectable.” “She’s only making things worse.” “She needs to go away, get a life, get a job, go volunteer somewhere.” “She needs to learn some personal responsibility, stop begging for handouts and learn that God only helps those who help themselves.”

“They are what is wrong with this country.” “These snowflakes need to grow up, toughen up and shut up.” “And they need to learn that all lives matter.”

Jesus breaks his silence, but like the disciples, with words that are all too familiar. With words that are culturally popular; not biblically informed:

I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.

“We should put our people first. We must look after our own interests. We need to do what is fair for us. We can’t give you a seat at our table, especially if you have needs. If you don’t possess the skills to help yourself, how can you help us?”

Nevertheless, she persisted. The outsider continues to protest. In an act of defiance, she takes a knee.

He answered (again with language culturally accepted; not divinely inspired):

It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.

But the good news is that is not how the story ends.

The foreign mother from Canaan keeps shouting. She keeps fighting. She does not lose heart or hope. She believes that justice will come, truth will prevail, and love will win. She speaks truth to power saying:

Lord, at my house, the dogs eat at the same time we eat. Lord, at my table, there’s room and enough for all, especially for those tormented by evil.

And here is the really good news: Jesus listens to this outsider, and although he was neither Canaanite, nor female nor a parent, Jesus empathizes with this mother from Canaan. Jesus just doesn’t merely include this mother. He is not inviting her to accept what is culturally accepted in his religious bubble of doctrines or traditions. Jesus doesn’t expect her to assimilate to his culture and speak only his language.

Jesus is able and willing to do something that many are unable, or unwilling, to do these days; that is, to put ourselves in the shoes of the other. Jesus is able and willing to see the world as she sees it, bear the pain of it, experience the brokenness of it, sense the heartache and grief of it, feel the hate in it.

And because he is really listening, because he is truly paying attention, because he has what so many are lacking these days, because he has empathy, because Jesus truly hears her cries, I believe Jesus is outraged. I believe Jesus begins to suffer with her, offering her the very best gift that he has to offer, the gift of himself, which is breaking before her and for her.

Jesus loves her. He loves her empathetically, authentically, sacrificially. He loves her unconditionally, deeply, eternally.

And loving like that always demands action.

After hearing her cries, listening to her pleas, empathizing with her pain, becoming outraged by the demons that were tormenting her child, Jesus announces that her daughter will be set free from the evil that was oppressing her.

However, her daughter is not liberated by his love alone. She is liberated from her oppression, both by the love of Jesus, and by the persistent faith of her mother, this mother who would not give up, back down, shut up, or go away.

When we hear the cries of people our culture considers to be outsiders— instead of responding with typical silence; instead of criticizing their shouting, their protesting, their marching and their kneeling; instead of blaming them for their situation— if we will follow the holy command to love them as we love ourselves; if we will listen to them and allow their cries to penetrate our hearts; if we will empathize with them; if we will put ourselves in their shoes; walk in their steps; experience their plight; feel the sting of the hate directed toward them— then a place will suddenly become open at our table for them.

Outsiders become family. The underprivileged become equals from whom we can learn, be led, be challenged, and be changed.

And then, together— because the miracle we need today cannot happen unless more of us come together— together, with the one who is no longer a foreigner, no longer feared, no longer ignored, no longer ridiculed— together, in community, side by side, hand in hand, with faith in God, and with faithful, holy persistence— we will stand up, we will speak out and cry out, and we will fight the demonic evil today that is tormenting any of God’s beloved children.

Of course, there will be great cost involved, for the Bible teaches us that love is always costly. But the cost of refusing to love is greater.

I love reading what happened next (“the rest of the story,” as Paul Harvey used to say). It’s the story of justice coming, truth prevailing, and love winning.

Beginning with verse 29…

After Jesus had left that place, he passed along the Sea of Galilee, and he went up the mountain, where he sat down. Great crowds came to him, bringing with them the lame, the maimed, the blind, the mute, and many others. They put them at his feet and [without asking any questions about where they were from, what they believed, or what they had to offer] he cured them, so that the crowd was amazed when they saw the mute speaking, the maimed whole, the lame walking, and the blind seeing. And they praised the God of Israel (Matthew 15:29-31).

The words of the prophet Isaiah were fulfilled:

Foreigners were brought to God’s holy mountain, and there, experienced great joy in God’s house of prayer. They received the good news that God’s house of prayer is for all peoples. The good news is that their offerings are accepted, and God gathers the outcast and sits them beside those already gathered (from Isaiah 56).

Amen.

COMMISSIONING AND BENEDICTION

Go now and respond to the cries for justice.

Don’t ignore the cries. Don’t try to send them away.

Listen to them, empathize with them, love them.

Make them your sister, your brother.

And then, together— in the name of the God who is Love, the Christ who exemplified love and commanded love and the Holy Spirit who leads us to put our love into action—together, may we stand up, speak out and defeat the demonic evil that is tormenting God’s children, until justice comes, truth prevails, and love wins.

Recognizing Jesus

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year A4 Comments

Matthew 14:22-33 NRSV

On Wednesday morning, I got a big surprise in the church office. Carrie said: “Jarrett, someone is out here to see you. They didn’t tell me who they were. They said they wanted to surprise you.”

When I walked out, I saw a man, who seemed to be about my age, standing with a younger man. The older man immediately greeted me with a smile and gave me a great big hug, telling me how good it was to see me again.

Having no idea who was standing before me, I responded the way I suppose most of us would respond: “Oh, it is so good to see you!”  I then shook the young man’s hand who said, “I told Dad that you would not know who we are, after all, it’s been like thirty-seven years since you saw my Dad!”

I shook my head as if to say, “Of course I remember you!” Embarrassed to admit that I really did not have a clue, I began to ask questions: “What are you doing here? Do you live here?” He went on to explain how he was visiting family in town after attending a funeral and that he was still living in Maryland.

Not wanting to confess that I still had no idea who these folks were, I kept asking questions: “How long have you lived in Maryland?” All the while thinking to myself, “Say something, anything, that will help me to recognize you!”

Eventually, he gave enough clues that I finally recognized him! It was David Brooks! In 1986, he was in the youth group the summer I was serving for the first time on a church staff as a youth director! His father was the pastor of the church, and the very first person who encouraged me to consider that God may be calling me to be a pastor!

This wonderful encounter prompted me to ask a serious question as I studied our gospel lesson for today’s sermon. I wonder how many of us would recognize Jesus if Jesus miraculously showed up? How would we know that it is Jesus who is standing in our midst, calling out to us? If we do not recognize him at first, what questions would we have to ask and what clues would he have to give for it to suddenly dawn on us that it is indeed our Lord.

Now I know it’s hard to believe that we would not recognize Jesus if he came to us, but this morning, we read where Peter, one of Jesus’ most prominent disciples, doesn’t seem to recognize Jesus when he comes to him and the other disciples in the middle of a raging storm.

“Lord, if it is you…”

Strange, isn’t it?

“Lord, if it is you…”

It’s strange because we would like to think that if we were in that boat, we would have certainly recognized him, especially if he came walking out to us on some angry waves.

Because that is exactly how we like to picture Jesus. He is the one who comes to us during the storm. He is the one who comes to us when our world turns dark, when the winds of life are against us, when the waves of life are crashing down upon us.

His is the presence that calms our fears, quiets our anxiety, dispels our despair, soothes our souls.

Jesus speaks familiar, comforting words to Peter and the disciples, “Take heart, it is I, do not be afraid.”

We know the sound of that voice. We recognize those words—the voice of the good shepherd coming to rescue his flock from danger.

But here’s the thing: It is after Jesus speaks those familiar, assuring words, Peter still doesn’t seem convinced that it is Jesus, asking, “Lord, if it is you…”

So, how will Peter know? How will Peter recognize that it is Jesus standing before him and not some made-up ghost of his imagination? What clues does Jesus have to give Peter for Peter to know that he is indeed Jesus his Lord?

Are you ready?

“Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.”

What? Is Peter serious?

I wonder why Peter didn’t say: “If it is you, calm this storm.” “If it is you, climb up in this boat with us and hold us, protect us, and take care of us.”  “If it is you, give us some peace.” “If it is you, comfort us and assure us that everything’s gonna be alright.”

After all, isn’t this how we recognize Jesus? “Jesus, if it is you, come into our church and hold our hands.” “Come and tell us that the storm will be soon be over.” “Come and assure us that somehow, someway, some day everything’s gonna be alright and all we have to do is trust in you.”

For that’s how we recognize Jesus. Right?

But that’s not how Peter recognizes Jesus.

Peter says: “Jesus, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.”

“Jesus, if it is you, command me to risk my life. Jesus, if it is you, command me to get up and get out of this boat and venture into a dark world.”[1]

“Lord, if it is you, command me to put it all on the line. Lord, if it is you, command me to walk into the storm, face the waves, brave the wind, and take on the night.”

It is as if Peter cannot recognize Jesus unless this voice commands him to literally throw caution into the wind and risk everything. Peter cannot recognize Jesus unless Jesus calls him to do something dangerous, something selfless, something sacrificial, something many in the world would consider to be foolish.

“Lord, if it is you, call out to me like you did that day when I heard your voice for the very first time, that day I was minding my own business, that day I was there standing in my own little world by the lake with my brother Andrew with a fishing net in my hand. Command me to drop my net, drop everything, leave my family, leave my job, and all forms of security to venture forth with you on a risky journey called discipleship.”

“Call out to me like you did that day when you sent me out into the world to proclaim that good news had come for the poor and the oppressed for the kingdom of heaven had come near. Call out to me like you did on that day you commanded me to do risky, demanding, world-changing things like healing the sick, raising the dead, restoring lepers back into the community and casting out the demonic forces of evil.”

“Lord, if it is you, warn me again about certain persecution I will face if I follow you. Tell me again about the trials I will face, the great tribulation I will endure. Lord if it is you, command me to love all people, although doing so will certainly upset some of my friends and family members. Jesus if it is you, remind me that if I love, live and serve like you that there will always be people, most likely religious people, that will try to stop me. Say something that will remind me that if I follow your voice, there will be a cross involved, as the powers-that-be will try to silence that voice.”

“Lord, if it is you, command me to get out of this pew, (I mean this boat). No, I mean these pews, to walk courageously into the darkness. Lead us to be the church beyond these four walls, and then, Jesus, and only then, we will recognize you.”

“Command us to stand up to racism, sexism, ableism, xenophobia, homophobia and transphobia. Command us to pray for the enemies of the beautiful diversity of humanity created in the image of God. Command us to confront the hate and darkness in our world with love and light knowing that only love can drive out hate and only light can overcome the darkness.”[2]

“Lord, if it is you, command us to do something that seems impossible. Command us to build a community where all people have access to affordable housing, fair living wages, equitable education and available healthcare.”

“Oh Jesus, we know it’s not going to be easy. At times, we will be afraid. For walking with you like this will not be something that comes naturally for us. We don’t like taking risks, so of course we’ll have our doubts. We may even have moments when we will take our eyes off you and think only about saving ourselves. We will make mistakes.”

“But Lord, we trust in your grace, and we know your grace will never forsake us.”

Several chapters later, we read Jesus reminding Peter and the rest of his disciples: “Do you want to see me? Do you want to recognize me?  Do you want to encounter me? Do you want to know me? Then feed the hungry. And it will be like you are feeding me.

Give drink to the thirsty. Clothe the naked. Visit those who are imprisoned, and you will be doing it to me.

This is how you will recognize me:

When you do it to the least of these; when you deny yourself; when you empty yourself; when you throw caution into the wind; when you give yourself away, when you do something that others consider to be unnatural and impossible; when you truly love your neighbor as yourself; when you forgive seventy times seven; when you stand up for the dignity, the worth and the rights of the those who are marginalized, even by some of your friends, even your so-called Christian friends; when you make it clear, to even members of your own family, that your faith will no longer allow you to tolerate hate; when you make a commitment to live modestly so you can give generously in a world that worships wealth; when you pray and work for peace in a world that only responds to threats of. violence; when you do these things… there I will be.”

My fear is that the church has watered down the gospel for its own comfort. And by diluting who the Christ commands us to be, by making him up to be some ghost of our own imagination, when people come to church looking for Jesus, he’s nowhere to be found.

I am afraid we have traded the authentic good news to proclaim to the poor for some unrecognizable, bogus news to appease the privileged. “Professing a faith,” as Jonathan Martin says, “where emperors feel comfortable and oppressed people feel unsafe.”

We have made church more about security and salvation and less about self-denial and sacrifice; more about receiving a blessing and less about being a blessing; more about affirming what is culturally acceptable and less about doing what is biblically mandated; more about keeping account of the sins of our neighbors and less about loving our neighbors; more about ignoring evil and less about confronting evil, calling evil by name, exorcising evil; more about worshiping Jesus and less about following Jesus; more about dying and going to heaven one day and less about living for Jesus and going to those places Jesus calls us to go today, places we may not want to go—dark, dangerous, dreadful places.[3]

Do you want to see him? Do you want to recognize his voice? Perhaps, more importantly, do you want others to see Jesus through our church? Then, let us embrace the authentic good news, the gospel of Jesus Christ in all of its fullness, all of its delight, and all of its demand.

For the storms are raging. Winds of hate are howling. Waves of violence have been emboldened. Each day, our world seems to grow darker.

And he’s coming toward us. Do you see him? Do you recognize his voice? He calls out to us with words that both comfort and challenge, words that calm and command.

[1] This point inspired by a sermon by William Willimon, How Will You Know if it is Jesus? August 2005.

[2] Words of Martin Luther King, Jr.

[3] This line is from the writings of Henri J. M. Nouwen

Let’s Overdo It!

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year A6 Comments

I might as well address the elephant in the room right here and now from the get-go.  The rumors are true. Rev. Mooty was right last week when he said: “I don’t know Jarrett, except that he is an eastern North Carolina boy.” Which he said was “a good thing.” And “that he was originally a Baptist.” Then, with tongue in cheek, he said he had “always heard Baptists made good Christians!”

So, allow me to use my first sermon to tell you how I got to this place where I am standing today, behind this Open and Affirming pulpit wearing a stole with chalice and a St. Andrew’s cross.

Although there many types of Baptists, I sometimes unfairly place them into two categories.

First,  there’s the hard-shell variety. These are the ones who don’t drink, dance, cuss or chew or go with girls or boys who do…at least not before Noon on Sunday.

Then there’s the category of which I was a part: those of the more moderate persuasion.

“Pastor, that doesn’t look like sweet tea in your glass.”

“Everything in moderation,” I used to respond.

“Let’s be Christian, but let’s not get too crazy with it.” 

 “Follow Jesus but don’t get fanatical about it.” 

“Embrace the gospel, but don’t go overboard with it.”

“Be a disciple, but don’t overdo it.”

“Moderation is the key to everything in life,” I was taught, especially when it comes to pastoring a church.

“Don’t upset the status quo. Don’t disturb the peace. Don’t stir things up.”  

“Moderation” is the key to playing it safe. Moderation helps one avoid conflict, in the community and in the church. Moderation keeps your congregation comfortable, satisfied, unchanged. Thus, moderation helps pastors pay their mortgages, get their kids through college, and fund their pension. Moderation makes for more pleasant church business meetings and uneventful board meetings. I learned very quickly that when you preach moderate sermons, you don’t have to spend your entire Monday smoothing all the feathers you ruffled in the congregation on Sunday morning!

Moderation is the key to survival in this divisive time. So, it’s best to avoid saying anything that someone may interpret as being “political,” especially from the pulpit.  

But then I started reading the likes of Barton Stone and Thomas and Alexander Campbell.

These Scottish-Americans had the audacity to preach revolutionary messages that called for a return to taking the message of Jesus seriously. They courageously denounced all creeds and confessions and radically committed themselves to following Jesus at all costs. And in so doing they were continually bucking the system, going against the doctrinal grains of the Church and defying the societal norms of the culture.

They preached and supported politics against slavery. They preached for the inclusion of all Christians at the communion table. And they openly criticized mainline Christianity and anything that didn’t jive with Jesus. 

And of course, the mainstream powers-that-be pushed back. They said: “Barton and Alexander, you’re taking this too far.” “You’re out of bounds.” “You need to tone it down, slow your roll, pump the brakes, moderate.”

But they would not bow down, back down or slow down. They refused to compromise. And for so doing, they were excommunicated by the Church and labeled heretics, radicals, rabble-rousers and fools. They were called every name in the book, but one. 

They were never called “moderate.”

During this same time period, other prophetic voices like William Lloyd Garrison echoed Stone and Campbell’s revolutionary opposition to the injustice of slavery.

Garrison wrote:

I am aware, that many object to the severity of my language; but is there not cause for severity?

 I will be as harsh as truth, and as uncompromising as justice. 

On this subject, I do not wish to think, or speak, or write, with moderation. 

No! no! Tell a man whose house is on fire, to give a moderate alarm; tell him to moderately rescue his wife from the hand of the ravisher; tell the mother to gradually extricate her babe from the fire into which it has fallen; –

– so don’t you urge me to use moderation in a cause like the present. I am in earnest — I will not equivocate — I will not excuse — I will not retreat a single inch — AND I WILL BE HEARD.

After studying the forbearers of the Disciples movement, one day a verse I read in the first chapter of Ephesians nearly jumped off the page.

 He destined us for adoption as his children through Jesus Christ, according to the good pleasure of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace that he freely bestowed on us in the Beloved. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace that he lavished on us (Ephesians 1:8).

“Lavished.” Don’t you like that? When I think of all my shortcomings and failures, I think: “Thank God that God doesn’t give grace in moderation. Praise the Lord that God just doesn’t give me a sensible amount of mercy, a reasonable amount of forgiveness, a rational amount of love. Praise God that when it comes to grace, God lavishes.

When we took our two children to the beach or to the pool when they were younger, Lori was always in charge of the sunscreen. And when it came to protecting her babies, she would always lavish them with the sunscreen lotion. The poor things would be covered in white lotion in from head to toe. 

And if I ever said, “Baby, don’t you think you overdid it a little with the sunscreen? Moderation, baby. Moderation is the key.” 

She’d look at me with this look of disappointment and say: “You must not love them like I do!”

When it comes to covering God’s children with grace, Paul says that God lavishes. When it comes to love, God loves all God’s children, thus God overdoes it.  

Disciples like to say that where the Bible speaks, we speak, and the entire Biblical witness testifies to this lavish grace. It is a grace that is extravagant, excessive, over-the-top, overdone.

Cain kills his brother Able, thus Cain himself deserved to die. But what did God do? God lavishes Cain. Cain is exiled from the community because of his actions, but God faithfully promises to go with him, mark him with grace and protect his life (Genesis 4).

Moses kills an Egyptian, breaking one of the Ten Commandments. But God chooses that murderer to reveal those commandments to the world and to lead the Israelites out of bondage into the Promised Land (Exodus 2).

David not only commits adultery, but kills the husband of his mistress (2 Samuel 11). Yet, Matthew proudly announces David in Jesus’ genealogy (Matthew 1).

The Psalmist proclaims that the Good Shepherd doesn’t just fill our cups, the Lord overdoes it as our cups runneth over.

The good news is, when it comes to grace, when it comes to love, God lavishes. God always seems to overdo it. 

The story of Jesus’ first miracle says it all. When the wine gave out at a wedding party, what does Jesus do? He turns water into more wine. But not just some water into a little bit of wine. He makes, according to John’s estimate, 180 gallons of the best-tasting wine they ever had.

And considering that most traditional wedding parties at the time were attended by 50 or so guests, it is shockingly obvious that Jesus really overdid it! There’s nothing moderate about 180 gallons of wine!

Then, there are all those stories that he told.

The father of the prodigal son doesn’t just welcome home his returning son. The father lavishes the son. The father overdoes it: “Quickly bring out a robe, the best one, and put it on my son; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it. And let us eat and drink and have one extravagant party!”

It wasn’t that the Good Samaritan stopped and helped the wounded man in the ditch. It was the way he lavished the man. It was the way he overdoes it by pouring expensive oil on his wounds, putting the wounded man in his car, taking the man to the hospital and telling the doctors, “Forget about filing insurance! Here’s all my credit cards, my debit card, everything. I’ll be back in a week, and if that’s not enough money to treat the man’s wounds, I’ll give you even more!”

And this morning we read where Jesus was teaching on a hillside and looks out at the large crowd that showed up looking for some hope. Thousands of them came from all over. They were hungry. Darkness was setting in.

The moderate disciples said: “Let’s be prudent, Jesus, and send them back to town so they find themselves something to eat.”

But Jesus radically takes all they have, blesses it, breaks it, and in an act that can only be described as revolutionary, feeds 5,000 people!

But the story doesn’t end there. They took up what was left over, and 12 baskets were filled. Once again, Jesus overdid it. Jesus took it too far. Jesus lavished.

The good news is that when disciples are willing to listen to Jesus, people in need— people who are hungry, poor, oppressed, marginalized, vulnerable, and hurting— don’t only get what they need. They always get more. They are lavished.

So, as followers of Jesus, how do we live?  Are we moderate with grace? Are we passive with justice? Are we subtle with kindness? Are we modest with mercy? Are we restrained with the good news? 

Afraid of upsetting our moderate friends and family, are we discreet with the extravagance of our love that sets an elaborate, excessive, overdone, and yes, very liberal table of grace every Sunday morning for all people without exceptions?

Or do we truly believe that the greatest commandment is to love the God of love with ALL of our heart, soul, mind and strength and our neighbors as ourselves?

Because the truth is that the church has been embarrassingly and tragically guilty of doing tremendous damage to the world, as well as to the mission of Christ, by loving others in moderation. 

Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. had something to say about that from the isolation of a Birmingham jail when he said:

The great stumbling block…in the stride toward freedom is not the… Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted to order than to justice…

The late John Lewis shared King’s frustration when he said:

Followers of the One, who when it came to love, never did anything in moderation, can no longer passively wait for a more just and equitable world, but we must be willing to stir up some holy trouble.

This past week I received these powerful words of encouragement from The Reverend Cyd Cowgill:

This is why I have answered the call to be a Disciple and to stand with this congregation in the spirit of Stone, the Campbells, and prophetic voices like Garrison, Lewis and Cowgill, around a table that has been lavishly prepared for all people, joining a group of Disciples dedicated to sharing the good news to this city, region and world: 

That when it comes to the revolutionary Word of God, 

when it comes to the boundless love of God, 

when it comes to the extravagant grace of God, 

when it comes to the prophetic justice of God,

when it comes to the radical inclusion of God, 

when it comes to the excessive and socially unacceptable hospitality of God,

when it comes to fighting for a world where every life has equal value, when it comes to standing and preaching and fighting against Christian White Nationalism, racism, sexism, sick and harmful religion, meanness, misinformation, and all types of bigotry, 

We will not compromise. We will not bow down, stand down or even slow down. We will not moderate. We will not equivocate. We will not excuse. We will not retreat a single inch. WE WILL BE HEARD!

A Prophetic Cup of Water

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year ALeave a comment
Matthew 10:42-45 NRSV

Matthew Chapter 10 is perhaps one of the most demanding chapters in the entire Bible. 

Early in the chapter, we read that the discipleship business is a risky business. We are to go out into the world and encounter the sick and the dying. We are to engage those possessed by pure evil. We are to be willing to leave behind our families, our homes, even our clothes! Persecution is not only to be accepted. It is to be welcomed!  To save one’s self, we are to practice denying one’s self, pouring one’s self out, and losing one’s self.

And when read it, we think, “You know, I don’t think I am really cut out for this discipleship business. I don’t have the gifts, the time, the energy, the courage, and quite honestly, I don’t have the desire.” 

So thanks for the invitation, but I prefer to just keep my place safe and comfy in air-conditioned sanctuary. I am quite content singing some songs, even listening to a sermon. 

 Then, we reach the end of the chapter and we read these words: “Whoever gives even a cold cup of water to one of these little ones—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”  

And we say: “Hey now.  Wait just a minute! You know, this just might be something I can handle!—I can’t heal the sick. I hate hospitals, and I do all I can do to avoid nursing homes. 

I don’t have what it takes to minster to the poor. They make me nervous, make me feel dirty, and quite honestly, they stress me out.

I can’t be with the dying. That is what Hospice is for. And I dread going to funerals. I never know what to say or what to do. 

And I can’t leave my family behind. I can’t give up my possessions. And I don’t want to even think about losing my life. But hey, I am all about sharing a cold cup of water! 

Finally! Something I can do!. So, Jesus, I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. As soon as I get home from church this afternoon, I am going to hook up my water hose to the spigot out in front of my house.  Then I am going to I make a sign and put it out by the road that reads: ‘Free cold drink of water for all who are thirsty!’ And to make this guest preacher happy, since he is preparing to move away, I will even add #JustLoveYour Neighbor.

Maybe I am cut out to be a disciple of Jesus after all!”For most of us, this seems like some good news! We who generally fail at casting out demons (even when they show up in church), we who would rather come to this lively place, than take the gospel out to the dying, we who take care of our own children while other children go hungry, and we who find praise far more satisfying than persecution, even we can open the doors of the kingdom through a simple act of hospitality, as small as giving a thirsty stranger a cold cup of water. 

“Praise be to Jesus!” we say. 

“So, I am going to just forget about all of that other stuff Jesus talked about, that big prophetic stuff, that demanding stuff, that risky and radical stuff. I’m just going to take Jesus at his word in Matthew 10:42 and run with it!  In fact, is going to be my new favorite scripture verse. This is my new calling. This is my mantra and my ministry. Cold cups of water for all God’s people!

But you have to wonder if we aren’t missing something. For deep inside, we all know we can do a lot better than that. We all know a cross or two we could bear. We all know a neighbor or three we could love. We all know someone we could help out. We all know ways we could be a little less selfish, less materialistic, more generous. 

True discipleship really cannot be as easy as passing out a few cups of water, can it? Are we really supposed to forget all about everything else that Jesus talked about? All of that hard stuff about “turning the other cheek,” “loving our enemies,” and selling everything we have to give to the poor?”  

Surely those are the marks of true discipleship. Those are the keys to the kingdom of heaven. There’s just no way a small act of inconsequential hospitality can compare to the risky and radical business of battling the demonic, coming into contact with the sick, ministering to the dying and enduring persecution.  

But Jesus seems to disagree. For in a fragmented and divisive world such as ours, a simple act of kindness, a small gesture of welcome to a stranger, a little genuine hospitality is never an easy, inconsequential act. In fact, it can be very risky business with very radical consequences.

 If you have trouble believing it, ask Don Hames who recently fell through someone’s front porch while delivering a small box of groceries! 

Or ask him how the act of delivering a hot meal can actually lead to the disappointment, rejection and persecution that Jesus talked about. As they encircled Jesus to arrest him in the Garden of Gethsemane, ask him about the day the St. Tammany’s Sherriff’s department came to his home, after a meal recipient who was suffering with mental illness and paranoia had trouble believing in our gracious hospitality. 

But also ask him how simple, practical acts of acts of love have literally changed people’s lives, and I am not talking only about the lives of those we serve, but I am also talking about those who serve. 

In this fragmented world, a world of walls and barriers, a world where there is so much division, so much hate and loneliness, a small gesture of hospitality, becomes a risky, radical and prophetic act that has the power to change your life, and perhaps the world.

And Jesus says to go and do this. Go out, move out, seek out, and reach out to strangers. Go and love your neighbors. 

And yes, this world is frightening beyond our walls. Our neighbors can be so different. And the truth is some of our neighbors can be downright scary. 

But our neighbors are also thirsty. 

So, welcome, engage, touch. Share a drink with someone. Make yourselves vulnerable to another. For there is no other way to fulfill the purpose for which you were created—to seek and make genuine peace in this world. 

This is discipleship. This is following the way of Jesus. It is done face-to-face, side-by-side, hand-to-hand, person-to-person. 

We cringe. Because we know that this kind of hospitality involves risk. It involves radical openness and intimacy with another.

Offering a cup of water to another involves the risk of rejection, even persecution, but also the risk of laughter; the risk of tears, but also the risk of love. 

I’ve heard it said that the problem with others is that they are just so “other.” Others can quite often be different. Others may not like us. Others might refuse our kindness. Others might wound us. Others might crucify us. And worst of all, others might change us.

The truth is that putting a welcome sign in the front yard beside the water hose is a downright dangerous activity.

Let me share the story with you that helped to inspire this movement, we call Just Love. A few years ago, while serving as pastor, I walkedx into the church kitchen to get a cup of coffee. A woman from the cleaning service the church had hired was in there preparing to mop the floor. Although I had seen her almost every week for three years, I am ashamed to say that I did not know her name. 

But that day, before I really thought about it, before considered the dangerous consequences of it, I asked this stranger, “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Somewhat shocked by my simple act of hospitality, she responded, “Yes, I would.” 

She then introduced herself to me over that cup, as she introduced all of her children, a sick grandchild, a sister battling cancer, a brother who lost his job, and an absent husband. I filled a bag with squash and cucumbers from our community garden, and I hugged this woman who I had hardly spoken to in three years—this stranger that I had all but ignored—this woman who was no longer a stranger. She was my sister. And acknowledging the change, the miraculous transformation that had occurred, I thought, or maybe I prayed, “Good Lord, it was just one cup of coffee!”

Paraphrasing United Methodist Pastor William Willimon: This is the way of the good Lord. For Jesus, oftentimes through the smallest and simplest of ways, is always trying to change us, challenge us, move us. He welcomes and accepts us only so we will welcome others, for not only their sakes, but for our sakes.

This is the gift of community. This is why we were created. It is the answer to our own sadness, to our own loneliness and to our deepest desires. Jesus knows we were not created to live in isolation, but created from the heart of a God who lives in a self-giving, loving communion with the Son and the Holy Spirit—A heart that is so full of love that it cannot help but offer grace and redemption to all and call all into this communion. 

And this communion grows. It grows when we offer kindness, gentleness, and mercy, when other lonely lives become wrapped up in our own, when the grace of God that was given to us is freely given to someone else. 

And before we know it, the small cup of water we offered to another becomes a cup of salvation as fear fades, barriers fall, walls come down, hands touch, hearts connect, eyes open, lives become entwined.  Creed, color, gender, sexual orientation, it really doesn’t matter.

Doing business with this kind of God, even when it seems small, safe and inconsequential, is always a risky business with radical consequences. And Jesus wants us to know that these consequences are eternal. Whether we are fighting demonic evil, healing the sick, caring for the dying, leaving behind our homes, our possessions, our friends and family, being persecuted for taking a stand for social justice, or simply offering meager acts of hospitality to a stranger, we always risk experiencing salvation.  

This is the great wonder of the gospel. When we reach out, accept, and welcome others, when we take the hand of another, when we embrace another, when we offer the unconditional love of God to another, even in the smallest of ways, even in sharing a glass of water or a small cup of coffee, or a box of groceries, God welcomes us. 

When we encounter another, we find communion with God and receive the overflowing hospitality of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.[i]

Today, this is more important than ever. 

One of my favorite preachers, Diana Butler Bass, prophetically proclaims:

When the law fails to welcome and include, the practice of hospitality falls back to those who envision a truly accepting society — a community where all are welcomed and all are fed, a place of reciprocal generosity, humbled by the tender knowledge that (at any moment) we might be either host or guest.” 

The New Testament is clear. When Caesar’s law rules against hospitality to strangers, God’s people inveigh against such laws. We welcome everybody. We respect the dignity of every person. If you turn people away, you are turning Jesus Christ himself away.

The Cottage, Sunday Musings, Diana Butler Bass

“When the law fails to welcome and include, the practice of hospitality falls back to those who envision a truly accepting society — a community where all are welcomed and all are fed, a place of reciprocal generosity, humbled by the tender knowledge that (at any moment) we might be either host or guest.” 

The New Testament is clear. When Caesar’s law rules against hospitality to strangers, God’s people inveigh against such laws. We welcome everybody. We respect the dignity of every person. If you turn people away, you are turning Jesus Christ himself away.” 

Thank you, O God, for the hope that we can be a part of your plan for this world. Through Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

Commissioning and Benediction

Go out from this place with hope—hope that you can be a part of God’s plan for this world.  Move out now and reach out to strangers. Love your neighbors. Yes, even your neighbors who are different, even those who are downright scary. 

Because your neighbors are thirsty. 

Welcome, engage, touch. Embrace. Make yourselves vulnerable to another.

Go home and metaphorically make a sign to be placed out front where you live that reads: “Cold Cups of Water for All! #JustLoveYourNeighbor!”

And may the love of God, the grace of Christ, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with us all. Amen.

[i] Inspired and Adapted from William Willimon. “Risky Business,” Clergy Journal, Jun 26, 2005, vol 33, no 2, pp 53-56.

Mercy, Not Sacrifice

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year ALeave a comment
Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

It is indeed an honor for me to stand before a congregation that has the audacity to believe that we should only exclude those people Jesus excluded, and that is no one—a church that not only believes that God’s love is for all people, but believes God’s call to ministry is for all people, with no exceptions. 

This is one of the great truths revealed in our gospel lesson this morning where we read Jesus calling a tax collector for a puppet king of the Romans to be a disciple. The oppressive taxes alone were enough to alienate Matthew, but the fact that the taxes went to a foreign government made Matthew hated among the Jews. 

Jesus is calling someone the religious establishment despised to be a disciple. Matthew, and his friends, are deemed morally reprehensible by the religious culture, yet, Jesus chooses to sit down at the table and share supper with them.

I believe it is very important for us to notice where Matthew was sitting when this initial invitation from Jesus to be a disciples takes place. In the third pew on the piano side of the synagogue? At a table in a Sabbath School class? No, Jesus has an encounter with Matthew while Matthew is at work, sitting in a tax booth out in the marketplace. I believe this underscores another great truth: If the church truly wants to fulfill the great commission and make disciples, then we must learn to find ways to go out and meet people where they are, instead of expecting people to come to us, especially those who may not understand that we truly welcome them here.  

After the Pharisees disparaged Jesus for demonstrating that there are no exceptions when it comes to the love of God, Jesus, rather ironically, reminds these teachers of the law that they still have a lot to learn. Notice that it is to the teachers he says: “Go and learn what this means: I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” “Go and learn what this means.”

The church today still has much to learn about how to truly be the church; however, perhaps the greatest thing we need to learn is this: that Jesus desires “mercy, not sacrifice.”

Jesús is quoting words from Hosea chapter 6 where we read the prophet speaking out against meaningless acts of worship, stating that what God truly desires is mercy, not burnt offerings, not sacrifices. The Hebrew word translated “mercy” is hesed, which denotes the love of God for us— a constant and consistent, compassionate and extravagant love that never gives up, gives in or gives out. 

And Hosea is not the only prophet who proclaims what God truly desires. In the first chapter of Isaiah we read: 

What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices? says the Lord;
I have had enough of burnt-offerings…
… who [even] asked this from your hand? Trample my courts no more; 

Bringing offerings is futile; incense is an abomination…
   I cannot endure solemn assemblies… 
Your appointed festivals my soul hates;
they have become a burden to me, I am weary of bearing them. 
When you stretch out your hands, I will hide my eyes from you;
even though you make many prayers, I will not listen;
   your hands are full of blood. 
Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean;
remove the evil of your doings from before my eyes;
cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed,
defend the orphan, plead for the widow.

 Isaiah 1:11-17 NRSV

It is in the fifth chapter of Amos we read:

I hate, I despise your festivals,
   and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. 
Even though you offer me your burnt-offerings and grain-offerings,
   I will not accept them… 
Take away from me the noise of your songs;
   I will not listen to the melody of your harps. 
But let justice roll down like waters,
   and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

Amos 5:21-24 NRSV

And the prophet Micah asks: 

‘With what shall I come before the Lord…
Shall I come before him with burnt-offerings…
…He has told you, O mortal, what is good;
   and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
   and to walk humbly with your God? 

Micah 6:6-8 NRSV

“Go and learn what this means,” says Jesus, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” And it is then that we read about Jesus’ encounter with two people who need mercy. We read about Jesus healing a woman who was ostracized and otherized, deemed “unclean” by the powers-that-be as she had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. And then we read about Jesus restoring life to a girl who was dead, while the religious folks laugh and ridicule him.

I love corporate worship. I believe gathering together for worship is one of the great essentials of our faith. The word “church” is translated from the Greek word ecclesia, which literally means a “gathering” or “assembly.” And it is certainly good for us to gather.

However, what we need to learn is that our assemblies on Sunday mornings are meaningless to God without the unwavering and undeterred acts of mercy we are called to carry out outside these sacred walls during the week— acts of healing and of restoration, acts of liberation and justice.

When I was growing up in rural northeastern North Carolina, on Sunday mornings we had what we called, “Sunday School” at 9:45, and then we had what we simply called “church” at 11, which, of course, was the worship service. I should probably confess that I have not always loved corporate worship, for I will never forget how happy I was those times mama would announce on Sunday morning that we were eating dinner with grandmama, therefore we were going to Sunday School but then would miss “church.”

You know what I disliked the most about church? The preaching, of course!

And sometimes we even referred to worship or “church” as “preaching.” I remember asking: “Can’t we just go to Sunday School and skip preaching?”

Still today, when somebody today says: “I missed church last week,” what they mean is that they missed sitting in a pew listening to a sermon. Or maybe they missed singing some hymns. A Disciple might be saying they missed receiving Communion. The point is, that when we say that we missed church, more often than not, we are saying that we missed assembling here, in this building worshipping God.

I believe the prophets and Jesus want us to understand that “church” means much more, much more than our assemblies and certainly much more than this building. It means being the embodiment of Christ, the merciful hands and feet of Jesus in this world.

I believe God wants the church to create such a culture that if we say “we missed church last week”, we’re not talking about missing a sermon. We’re talking about missing an opportunity to love a neighbor as we love ourselves.

When we say “we missed church last week,” we’re not talking about missing Communion. We’re talking about missing an opportunity to feed someone who is hungry, or clothe someone who is poor, or give shelter to someone who does not have a home.

When we say “we missed church,” we’re not talking about not coming to this building, we’re talking about missing an opportunity to go city hall, travel to Richmond or to Washington to stand up and speak out for those who face discrimination, isolation and alienation. 

When we say “we missed church,” we are talking about missing an opportunity to bring healing and restoration to someone who has suffered spiritual abuse, or has been made to feel that they are outside the boundaries of God’s grace and God’s love. 

When we say “we missed church,” we are talking about missing an opportunity to bring abundant life to those who are treated as if they do not exist, forced to be called by their dead name. We are actually talking about raising the dead, despite the laughs and the ridicule we might receive from some religious folks.

“Go and learn what this means,” says Jesus, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice!”

Because when the voices of hate are loud, the world doesn’t need us to just go to church, the world needs us to be the church, to go out and show up as the church. The world doesn’t need us to only light a candle inside the sanctuary. The world needs us to be a light of mercy out in the darkness, a light that is so bright that it is bound to upset some religious folks!

When our children are being slaughtered by assault weapons, the world doesn’t need our prayers, the world needs our mercy.

When people are led by fear instead of by love, when queerphobic rhetoric in politics, and in many churches, is causing immeasurable suffering, when holy scripture is weaponized to support hate …the world needs our mercy. 

When a travel advisory against visiting another state is issued for our black and brown siblings, and when our trans siblings are denied healthcare and are unable to use a public restroom… the world needs our mercy. 

When reproductive rights are stripped from women, when greed is destroying the planet, when books are being banned, science is denied, truth is rejected, compassion is maligned, empathy is scarce and love is restricted …the world needs our mercy. 

When diversity, equity and inclusion, mercy itself, is outlawed, along with teaching our children the truth about racism, if there is one thing that we need to hear on this upcoming Juneteenth Weekend, is that our world needs us to go out, stand up, speak out, march, work, serve, fight and vote for mercy. Through our gospel lesson this morning, Jesus is imploring the church today on the behalf of the world to “go and learn what this means!” 

I believe this is the holy purpose of our Sunday morning gatherings here in this place, and this is why this time together here is so important, essential and sacred. In Sunday School and in worship, at and around the table, in church, we are to learn what it means to go out to be the church, to be the unwavering merciful, visible, demonstrative embodiment of Christ in this world. 

We are to learn what it means to go out into the marketplace to make disciples. We are to learn what it means to welcome those whom others fear and despise to the table. 

We are to learn what it means to heal the sick and raise the dead. 

We are to learn what it means to defend the orphan, plead for the widow, and rescue the oppressed.

We are to learn what it means to love kindness, to do justice and to walk humbly with our God.  

Through our gatherings in this place, together, we are to learn how to love this world as Christ loves this world. We come here to be refreshed and renewed, empowered and emboldened to go out and do all we can, with all that we have, to let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever flowing stream.

Amen.

A Politically-Correct Gospel

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Guest Bloggers, Sermons Year ALeave a comment

Shannon

The following sermon was preached by Rev. Shannon Fleck at the Installation Service of Jarrett Banks as the 25th Senior Minister of First Christian Church in Fort Smith. 

Matthew 22:15-22 NRSV

  • Good morning everyone! I want to preface this morning by saying that I am not the usual occupant of this pulpit. So if you are visiting this morning and you hate it, come back next and hear Jarrett before making that decision. If you love what you hear today, come back next week also because he and I are kind of cut from the same theological cloth.

 

  • It is my intention to get a little real with you today. Because the world we live in could use a little more real. A little less side stepping. A little less “fake news”. A little less politically correct. I hope you don’t mind.

 

  • For sixteen blissful, easy breezy, smooth sailing months Jarrett and I served in ministry as a team in Enid, OK. And by easy breezy, I mean the hardest experience in ministry either one of us has ever faced. Those 16 months united the two of us as a team more so than any ministers I had ever seen.

 

  • And I tell you this only to qualify myself to you all as ready and willing to stand here on his behalf, alongside him as he makes promises to you all, his new congregation… and you make promises to him.

 

  • Ministry is hard. Ministry is especially hard in a world where religion has been used to repeatedly cause traumatic injury to God’s children for centuries. As a minister, one walks a consistent line of being “pastor” to those who have been hurt and those who have committed the hurting.

 

  • Living always in a dichotomy of another’s religious priorities versus your own, and inevitably, always letting someone down for not “doing faith” exactly as they see fit.

 

  • So friends, heeding to the promises exchanged here today will at times be easy and at times a challenge. But a minister’s heart and mind is constantly living in multiple places in order to be present with all of you;

 

  • You’re ALWAYS a minister. It is not an occupation that you do, it is a call you live every day, in every interaction.

 

  • I mean, one of the first questions one has upon meeting someone is asking what they do for a living, right? Ministers dread this question, because the minute we tell someone, we are immediately sentenced to carry whatever religious opinion, or guilt, or shame, or praise (maybe) they have.

 

  • Ministry is so very hard.

 

  • I know this person, as all of you will, if you don’t already. And he knows as well as I that there are things that pastors will always want to say that they probably never should, but a guest pastor can.

 

  • Like say, talk about politics from the pulpit.

 

  • This has been a spoken and unspoken no-no for ministers and preachers of the gospel for what seems like an eternity, erring on the side of caution, rather than offending the occupants of our pews. Ministers have been cautioned using the most emphatic of deterrents, fear.

 

  • So, imagine my quandary when today’s text appeared before me as the lectionary gospel for this week. A text that unashamadely places issues of religion and politics fully front and center. Crammed together. Not uncomfortably, like an awkward interaction with a relative at Thanksgiving, but as a matter of fact….

 

  • Any person who claims that religion and politics don’t mix, clearly missed today’s Gospel lesson.

 

  • It is important to note that Jesus, does not provide religious absolution from political and government involvement, we are going to have to pay those taxes.

 

  • But he makes the important distinction that loyalty to such things should only go so far as our complete and moral love of God will let us. So as we seek to give to Caesar what is caesars and to God what is God’s, we must remember that each and every being is God’s, and our loyalty is to what belongs to God first.

 

  • Now as I begin to wonder if some want to shift in their seats a bit I have to say that it’s understandable really, our desire to keep these topics out of the forefront of our most comfortable settings. Our relationships, our families, our sanctuaries. We do not want to be uncomfortable. There is nothing safe about that.

 

  • But in this effort to bifurcate the gospel from the reality of the political systems that influence our lives, we have done a disservice to that all important notion of Christian call.

 

  • And most importantly, we have left faith vulnerable and isolated. Up on the auction block to the highest bidder.

 

  • The bible has been contorted so many times to fit the comfort level of the powerful. Pushed, twisted, and breached more times than we can count.

 

  • What is politically correct about that?

 

  • Well church, if you wanted a pastor who would succumb to the fear of offending you… you hired the wrong guy.

 

  • Because this man that you just exchanged promises with, knows the politically correct work of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. And most importantly, he knows all about its unpopularity amongst the masses.

 

  • He is not concerned about comfort, least of all his own, he is concerned about living in the messy, abundant, unapologetic love of Christ with all people.

 

  • He is not one who will, as a friend of mine says, give you baby food from the pulpit, but sustenance for the journey.

 

  • He will ask from you all that makes you comfortable so that it can be stretched and extended into a grace filled life you may not had known was possible. But it will take trust on all your parts to change this world, and a willingness to stand up tall for what is hard.

 

  • That is a politically correct Gospel.

 

  • And in case you might need some real-world examples of a politically correct gospel, let me see if I can come up with a few.

 

  • When a terrorist, no matter the color of their skin, rings shots out through the streets or schools of America, the church should be prepared to offer a call to action against such disasters. Remaining silent is not an option.

 

 

  • When thousands upon thousands of women cry out “me too” on social media, the church of Jesus better stand in support of the endless victims of assault, harassment, and violence. Remaining silent is not an option.

 

 

  • When yet another person of color is gunned down by those sworn to protect and serve with nothing to show for it but another acquittal. Remaining silent is not an option.

 

 

  • When individuals are hated, ostracized, belittled, stripped of rights and protections, or disowned because of who they love. Remaining silent is not an option.

 

  • When the hurting, disabled, and abused are brushed aside, not even to be seen or heard. Remaining silent is not an option.

 

 

  • When white supremacists once again feel the safety to come out of their holes of hiding and not be held accountable by modern day “caesars”. Remaining silent is not an option.

 

  • When events like taking a knee become more important than providing aid to devastated storm victims, remaining silent is not an option.

 

  • When public education is devalued, politicized, and underfunded; when immigrants and refugees are locked out and shoved out of a better life; when Christians use their religious privilege to demean and degrade other religions… we absolutely cannot remain silent.

 

 

 

  • The idea that the Gospel isn’t political is offensive, because it refutes everything Jesus stood for and died for.

 

  • This gospel is a moving, emphatic, provocative, unshakeable political statement against a world that wants nothing to do with the unrestricted love God

 

  • I cannot help but congratulate you all on your choice of pastor.

 

  • Jarrett has had a journey out of a denomination that did not fit his need to practice a politically correct Gospel and into one that fits him like a glove.

 

  • His immense and humble gratitude for the opportunity to genuinely serve in context that is ready and willing to move and shake a world with unrestricted, unapologetic and immovable love radiates in his passion for the work of Christ.

 

  • Congratulations to you all. Now it’s time to get to work.

 

About Shannon

The Rev. Shannon Fleck currently serves as the Director of Community Engagement with the Oklahoma Conference of Churches, where she focuses on Community Organizing, Social Justice and Interfaith ministries.

Rev. Fleck is a native of the State of Oklahoma, spending her childhood with her family in Guthrie. Rev. Fleck attended the University of Central Oklahoma in Edmond, OK, where she received a Bachelor of Arts in Sociology. After working for the State of Oklahoma for two years in Juvenile Justice, she began seminary at Phillips Theological Seminary in Tulsa, OK where she was the Matthew Thompson Fellow, Student Senate Moderator, and the recipient of the Sojourner Award, the Interpreter’s Award and multiple book awards. Rev. Fleck was Ordained by the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in 2011.

Prior to her current position with OCC, Rev. Fleck served as the Associate Minister at Central Christian Church in Enid, OK where she was instrumental in beginning the weekly Welcome Table Ministry for the food insecure of Enid, a bi-monthly Suicide Survivor Support Group, a religious presence at Enid’s Pride Celebration, and multiple services and programs throughout the church year to accommodate marginalized communities. She has also served in ministry at the Little Rock Air Force Base Chapel in Jacksonville, Arkansas, First Christian Church in Yukon, OK, Western Oaks Christian Church in Oklahoma City, OK and First Christian Church in Guthrie, OK.

Rev. Fleck serves on the Board of the Oklahoma Coalition for Reproductive Justice and is the 2nd Vice Moderator for the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Oklahoma. On October 20, 2017, Rev. Fleck was presented the 2017 Church Women United in Oklahoma Human Rights Award in recognition of her justice work in the State of Oklahoma. Rev. Fleck is a passionate minister for the work of Social Justice; standing up for the marginalized and ensuring dialogue and understanding among all people is at the heart of what ministry means for Rev. Fleck.