Last Sunday, Pima County Sheriff’s Sergeant Derek Tyra was supervising seven other deputies handling traffic control and basic event safety, protecting the runners during a race in Tucson named for Gabe Zimmerman, the Aide who was killed in the shooting involving Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords on January 8, 2011.
During the race, Tyra received a call that a car driven by a suspect in a shooting was possibly heading toward the runners. As a car matching the description of the vehicle passed by, Tyra gave chase and decided to perform a “high risk stop” which meant he would have to place himself between the suspect and the runners.
Tyra managed to pull the vehicle over and safely apprehend the suspect.
“The man is a hero,” the race director said. “He says that it’s just what they’re supposed to do, but it’s pretty amazing that he was able to intervene with a live shooting suspect just steps from all these runners. He may have saved any number of lives with his actions today.”
“I just happened to be at the right place at the right time,” Tyra said. “I didn’t think twice about it.”
As I read this amazing story, I immediately thought of Fort Smith Police Captain Danny Baker, who ran in uniform alongside of Marine Captain Maggie Seymour and local runners who were pushing three children with special needs in the Ainsley’s Angels in Arkansas’ inaugural event on Monday morning.
It was remarkable that Captain Baker was able to run the 3.5 miles on a hot, humid morning in uniform. However, it was more remarkable how he ran. Captain Baker ran placing himself between the runners and the vehicles that were passing by in the left lane on busy Highway 64. He ran with one eye on the runners and the children and one eye on the traffic, motioning the runners several times to keep to the right.
Captain Baker kept everyone safe, and he didn’t think twice about it.
Thank you Captain Baker and law enforcement officers everywhere who serve and protect our communities selflessly and sacrificially. You are not only heroically fulfilling your duties, but you are serving as role models for us all.
For this is part of our mission as the body of Christ in this world. The Apostle Paul put it this way: “Love your neighbors as yourself [and remember] that love does no harm to your neighbor” (Romans 13:10). God calls us to selflessly and sacrificially place ourselves between our neighbors and anything that may harm them, and not think twice about it.
It was the summer of 2013. It had been three years since I served my last church. At the time, I didn’t think I would ever serve as a pastor again.
I was on a business trip in Las Vegas, the city that’s said to represent everything depraved that is within us.
Early one morning, I went for a run on the Strip. The streets were already crowded with people. Some were shopping. Some were on their way to another casino. While others were on their way to do who knows what to fulfill their most selfish desires.
As I ran along, I noticed that all of the electronic billboards suddenly changed displaying a picture of a young man with words that read: “David Vanbuskirk.1977-2013. Las Vegas Police Search and Rescue Officer.” I would soon learn that Vanbuskirk was killed while rescuing a hiker stranded in an off-limits area of a mountain northwest of Las Vegas, when he fell from a helicopter hoist line.
I ran a few more blocks, until I noticed that the people walking up and down the busy sidewalks began to stop and peer down the street that was suddenly empty of traffic. The entire Strip, which was booming with the sounds of automobiles and of people enjoying themselves a few seconds earlier, became profoundly silent.
A man removed his hat. A woman covered her heart with her hand. A little boy, sitting on his father’s shoulders, saluted. I stopped running. And with everyone else, my eyes turned toward the street where we watched and listened as a very long police motorcycle motorcade produced the only sound on the hushed strip. The motorcade was followed by a white police pick-up truck carrying a flag-draped casket.
People remained silent and still for several more minutes. Some bowed their heads. Others wiped tears from their eyes. Others embraced their loved ones.
Here are some questions I believe the church needs to ask today:
What was it that stopped the traffic on one of the busiest streets in the country?
What was it that got everyone’s attention?
What was it that made people cry?
What was it that got even the most indulgent and decadent one, in the heart of sin city, to believe in something greater than thenself?
What was it that turned eyes away from reveling and drunkenness, debauchery and licentiousness, quarreling and jealousy and toward selflessness and sacrifice?
What is it that has the power to change the world?
It’s the very power that is the heart of our Christian faith, or should be the heart of our faith.
It’s the power that caused firefighters, police officers and first responders to run into the Twin Towers on 9-11 when everyone else was running out of them.
It’s the power that has sent John Mundy and hundreds of volunteers back to Texas this weekend. It’s the power behind our prayers for Florida and the Caribbean.
It’s the power that gives generously to disaster relief funds like Week of Compassion.
It’s the power that can unite our government to save the lives of the Dreamers.
It’s the force that created the universe, this good earth, and every living thing in it (Genesis 1-2).
It’s the source of all life (John 1:4).
It’s the burning compulsion to liberate God’s people from the evils of oppression and slavery (Exodus 3).
It’s the fire in the prophet’s voice to welcome the foreigner, defend the orphan, stand up for the poor and take care of the widow (Isaiah 1:17).
It’s the drive that sent Emmanuel into the world, not to condemn the world, but to save the world (John 3:17).
It’s the energy that continues to pour out the very Spirit of God on all flesh to overwhelm evil and overcome death (Romans 12:21).
It’s the power of love—pure, unconditional, unreserved, unrelenting —passionate love that propels action, deep love that compels sacrifice.
Jesus said there is no greater power in the world than the power of love compelling one to lay down one’s life for another (John 15:13). And there is no greater commandment than to love your neighbor as yourself (Matthew 22:40).
To the Corinthians, Paul writes about faith, hope and love, but says that the greatest of these is love. And if love is not in our words, even in our confessions of faith, then we are only making noise. If love is not the heart of all that we do, we are nothing (1 Corinthians 13).
To the Romans, Paul echoes the words of Jesus:
You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not covet”; and any other commandment, are 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 (Romans 13:9-10).
Paul writes that “now is the moment” we need to “wake up” and understand that what the world needs now is love (Romans 13:11). And as Dionne Warwick sings, “not just for some, but for everyone.”
When it comes to loving all people, we have too many Christians who keep hitting the snooze button. They pull the covers over their heads, close their eyes, and selfishly sleep. For whatever reason: self-preservation, control, greed, to protect their privileged positions, they seek darkness over light, judgment over grace, exclusion over acceptance, and hate over love.
John calls them “false prophets” who possess “the spirit of the anti-Christ” and “a spirit of error” (1 John 4:1-6).
Stressing how essential it is for Christians possess a spirit of love, he then pleads:
Love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love… No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and God’s love is perfected in us (1 John 4:7-12).
I began to think about the rescue of that stranded hiker. Vanbuskirk probably didn’t know anything about that hiker. He didn’t know whether the hiker was male or female; rich or poor; Democrat or Republican; gay or straight; documented or undocumented; Muslim or Christian; black, brown or white.
He didn’t know if this person would ever contribute to society, or ever give a dime to the Fraternal Order of the Police.
He just knew that the hiker was stranded and needed help. He just knew the hiker was afraid. The hiker was hungry, thirsty, wounded. And Vanbuskirk was called to protect and serve.
Vanbuskirk wasn’t concerned about breaking any religious, cultural or political rules. His only concern was rescuing the perishing, saving the lost.
It was in that moment that something inside of me woke up. It was like an alarm went off inside my soul. Love—pure, unconditional, unreserved, unrelenting. Passionate love pierced my heart. Deep love roused me from a self-absorbed slumber. And there, in the middle of the Miracle Mile, I began to pray:
“God, if you give me an opportunity to serve as a pastor again, I am going to do all that I can to lead your people to love others more than self, to serve and protect courageously, graciously, expecting absolutely nothing in return.
God, I will lead your church with great worship services, but more importantly, I will lead your people to worship you with great service. And I will lead them to do it with no strings attached, selflessly, sacrificially, always lovingly.
Lord, together, we will comfort the fearful, feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, heal the wounded, not because they might believe like we believe, contribute to our budget, or even attend one of our services, but simply because they need help.
Lord, we will serve without prejudice, without judgment. We will love all people, and all means all.”
Before I came home from that trip to Vegas, I received a phone call from the search committee of the First Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Farmville, North Carolina, asking me if I would consider being their pastor.
And four years later, I stand before you today believing that what the world needs now more than anything else is for the church to wake up to rediscover what is the very heart of our faith: love, not just for some, but for everyone.
I love the quote from German Lutheran theologian of the early seventeenth century, Rupertus Meldenius that is usually printed in our order of service: “In essentials, unity. In non-essentials, diversity. In all things, love.”
When thinking about what is essential to our faith, we might say that it is our confession of faith, “Jesus is Lord.” But we can say “Jesus is Lord” all day long, but if we don’t have love, we are only making noise, says Paul. We can say we love God, but if we don’t love our neighbors, we are liars, says John. This is why Jesus says: “Many will call me Lord, yet I will have to say to them, depart from me, for I never knew you.”
Love is our essential. And it is in this essential that we must be unified. Then, we say, “In non-essentials diversity.” And just in case you didn’t get it the first time, we are going to say it again, “in all things, love.”
I have heard the term wake-up call many times in the short-time I have been your pastor. The white nationalists’ march on Charlottesville has been called a wake-up call. The “Nashville Statement” put out by Christians to further marginalize the LGBT+ community has been termed a wake-up call. I heard the solar eclipse and Hurricanes Harvey and Irma referred to as wake-up calls.
I don’t believe the Apostle Paul cares what we use for an alarm, because we already “know what time it is. How now is the moment to wake up. For salvation is coming near. The time has come to lay-aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.”
So, let’s wake up and love our world.
Let us love our city so purely that it stops traffic on Rogers Avenue.
Let us love our neighbors so unconditionally that it gets everyone’s attention.
Let us love people so unreservedly that it brings tears to the eyes of strangers.
Let us love so relentlessly that it gets even the most selfish, indulgent and decadent one in this city to believe in something greater than self.
Let us love so passionately that it turns people’s hearts away from indifference and toward justice, away from reveling and drunkenness and toward self-denial and selflessness, away from debauchery and licentiousness, quarreling and jealousy and toward empathy and compassion, sacrifice and generosity.
Let us love the creation so deeply that it changes the world!
Amen.
Invitation to Communion
This table has been set with the power that created the universe, the source of all life that liberates the oppressed, overwhelms evil and overcomes death. This table has been set with love—pure, unconditional, unreserved, unrelenting—passionate love propelling action, deep love compelling sacrifice.
And it is love incarnate, the living Christ, who invites all to receive this power and share it with the world.
Commissioning and Benediction
You know what time it is!
The time is now! This is the moment!
Having awakened from a self-absorbed slumber,
go and love the creation so deeply that it changes the world.
Go and stop some traffic.
Go and get somebody’s attention.
Go and make somebody cry.
Go and help somebody believe.
And may the God who is love, the Christ who exemplified and commanded love, and the Spirit who empowers love, be with us all.
Let’s think for a minute what it did for that poor blind man when the disciples began theological debate over his blindness.
“So, they say you were born blind? Well, let get out our Bibles and see if we can find some theological reason for your blindness. It has to be because of sin. But since you were born blind, perhaps it’s not your sin that is to blame but the sins of your parents.” Yes, I’m sure all of that blaming did a whole lot for that poor man!
But how often have we’ve been guilty of doing the same. For some reason, because we are Christian, we believe it is our holy responsibility to try to explain human suffering and misery in light of our faith in God.
Since Hurricane Harvey flooded Texas, I have heard people blame the Mayor Sylvester Turner, climate change, the lack of zoning regulations, Donald Trump, the recent solar eclipse and even same-sex marriage. I am sure there will more blame associated with Hurricane Irma in the coming days.
In the face of human pain and suffering, there are two predominate responses by the church.
The first one is that God has a reason for it. God is sitting at the command center in complete control of every earthly thing that happens.
The other point of view is one of silence, just silence.
I find both of these responses troubling. Those who believe God has some kind of divine purpose for every evil thing that happens in this world paint a very mean portrait of God. And those who respond with silence make God out to seem detached and uncaring.
However, I believe the life, suffering and death of Christ teach us that when the rains poured down, so flowed the very tears of God. When the waters overflowed the banks of the bayous, so broke the very heart of God. When lives were suddenly drowned out, so emptied the very self of God. God was not causing the evil. Neither was God silent.
This is where I believe the story of the man born blind can be helpful. When Jesus is questioned about the man’s suffering by his disciples, Jesus doesn’t answer their questions, but neither is he silent. Jesus responds that this is the time, not to assign blame or responsibility, but rather, to bend to the ground and get his hands dirty, so that the glory of God might be revealed.
In the wake of the many storms in our world, may we do the same.
As our facebook profile picture suggests, the First Christian Church of Fort Smith is on a mission.
We are on a mission to be a church of extravagant welcome. We want to live up to the identity statement of our denomination and truly welcome all people to the Lord’s Table as God has graciously welcomed us. Because when we graciously and generously welcome others, we welcome God. When we compassionately and lovingly include others, we include God.
And when we say we include God here, we are saying that we believe the spirit of the Risen Christ is actually present, moving, working, stirring, prodding, pulling, pushing, and calling us to be on this mission, and I believe he is calling us in the same way he called the first disciples, with the simple, yet profound words:
If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.
Jesus says that the first thing we need to do is to decide if we want to follow him. He said: “If any want to be my followers…”
You have heard me say that I believe the reason there are so many empty pews these days on Sunday mornings, is because of the perception that many have of the church. Instead of seeing a group of people who have made a decision to follow Jesus, they look at the church and see some type of religious club created for members to make them feel holier and more superior than others.
This is perhaps why the first thing Jesus says we must do once we decide we want to follow him is to “deny ourselves.” This thing called “discipleship,” this thing called “church,” is not about us. It’s not about making us feel spiritual, righteous, enriched or blessed. It is not about achieving a good, better, happy or successful life, or even gaining an eternal life. It’s about dying to self.
Church is not about receiving a blessing. It is about being a blessing.
It is not about having our souls fed. It is about feeding the hungry.
It is not about finding a home. It is about providing shelter for the homeless.
It is not about prosperity. It is about giving everything away to the poor.
It is not about getting ahead. It is about sharing with people who can barely get by.
I recently saw a church billboard inviting people to their church by saying: “Help people win.”
The problem with that is that our faith is not about winning. It’s about sacrifice.
I believe the reason some churches fail to look like Jesus today is because, in our attempt to entice new members, excite new members, gain new members, we have made the church about us. We say: “Come, and join our church where we have sermons, music and programs that are certain to enrich your life.” Instead of saying: “Come, join our church, where you will be given opportunities to give your life away.” “Come, join our church, where you will be encouraged to sacrifice and selflessly serve.”
Jesus said, “Let them deny themselves, and take up their crosses.”
I don’t know how it happened, or precisely when it happened, but I can understand why it happened. At some point we have interpreted taking up and carrying our crosses to mean something completely different than what Jesus intended. The crosses we bear have become synonymous with the suffering that we involuntarily have to put up with in life.
We say: “Diabetes: It’s my cross that I have to bear.” “Arthritis: It’s the cross I carry.” “Migraine headaches: It’s my cross.”
However, when Jesus is talking about cross bearing, he is talking about something completely different. He is not talking about some kind of involuntary suffering that we are forced to endure for being human. He is talking about the suffering that we voluntarily choose for the sake of our mission to be a movement for wholeness in a fragmented world.
Jesus is talking about living a life so transformed by the love of God that we cannot remain comfortably complacent while others are suffering from disease, grief, disability, poverty, a catastrophic flood, abuse, addiction, discrimination, or even from bad choices they have made.
Forgiving someone who has wronged us and continues to cause indescribable pain in our life, may be a cross Jesus is calling us to carry.
Visiting residents in a nursing home when a nursing home is the last place we want to be, may be a cross Jesus is calling us to bear.
Spending our time mentoring a young adult raised in foster care when we already have little or no time for ourselves, may be a cross Jesus is calling us to pick up.
Agreeing to volunteer to feed the food insecure when our own cabinets are almost bare, may be a cross Christ is calling us to take up.
Choosing a less lucrative career path because we feel called to serve others might be a cross Jesus is asking us to carry.
Loving all of our neighbors as ourselves knowing that loving some of our neighbors will inevitably cost us something is a cross Jesus wants all of us to bear.
Donating to the Week of Compassion Mission fund to help hurricane victims when our own budgets are tight, or making plans to go rebuild a flooded home when our own homes need some work, is a cross I believe Jesus is calling us to carry.
Standing up for the dignity and rights of minorities, of the poor, of those marginalized by the culture and by bad religion, is a cross that I believe Jesus commands all of us to take up.
I believe the reason some churches are failing to look like Jesus is because they only encourage their members to do what makes them happy, what brings them satisfaction, what makes them comfortable. “Do you love kids? Do children make you happy? Then help us with children’s church!” “Do you love going to the hospital to visit sick people? Have you always wanted to be a nurse? Then serve on our hospital ministry team!”
However, as a leader of this church, I am going to lead you to do things may not only be uncomfortable for you, but I am going to lead you to do some things that actually might cause you to suffer.
Because, you called me to be your pastor. You didn’t call me to be your activities director.
That’s because we are a church. We are not a club. We are far from perfect, but we have intentionally made a decision to follow Jesus by denying ourselves and taking up a cross.
This is what makes being a pastor so difficult, especially being a new pastor. Because, like most pastors that I know, I want you to like me.
Seriously, right or wrong, that is perhaps the most stressful part of my life right now. Does my new congregation like me? After all, I like them. And besides that, they pay my salary, and I have two kids in college!
However, because I am called to be your pastor and not your club president, and because this mission we are on together is not about what either one of us like, it is my calling to lead us to do things we may not want to do, to go to places we may not want to go, to love people we don’t want to love, to include people we would rather exclude. And I realize how difficult it is to always like someone who is leading you in that direction. Jesus’ disciples certainly did not like Jesus leading them in that direction.
I suppose it’s a cross that I have been asked to carry. But may God forgive me, may the Spirit convict me, and may the elders of this church have a special meeting and call me out, if I ever succumb to the temptation to be your pastor without carrying a cross.
Finally, Jesus says, “After you make the decision to follow me, after you deny yourselves, and after you pick up your crosses, then I want you to follow me.”
Notice he doesn’t say to walk down a church aisle and publically confess he is our personal Lord and Savior. Notice he doesn’t say: “Have a personal relationship with me.” And notice he doesn’t say to “worship me” or “study me.”
Jesus says to “follow,” which denotes going, moving, action; not sitting in a pew or in a Sunday School classroom. Jesus wants us to go and do the things that he does, share the same radical grace that he shares, go and do what we can to lavish this world with his revolutionary love even if it costs us everything.
It’s important to make this sanctuary, our narthex, our chapel, Disciples Hall, and every Sunday School room, even every restroom, a place of welcome every Sunday morning. Because, when we welcome others here, we welcome God. And if we don’t welcome God here, then I am not sure what we are doing here. We’re certainly not doing church. It’s important to come together in this beautiful place to worship and to study together each week; however, church should never be limited to any place or time.
We are a church that meets in this place, but we are also a church that is on the move. We’re on a mission 24/7, following the risen Christ, loving our neighbors as ourselves, sacrificially denying ourselves, courageously taking risks, generously giving our gifts, leaving behind family and friends if we have to, as we feed the hungry, fight for the marginalized, stand against the haters, care for the elderly, include the disabled, befriend the stranger, provide shelter for the down-and-out, restore shelter for the flooded-out, give hope to the despairing, bring to life the aspirations of the Dreamer. Whether or not people like us for it, we’re going follow wherever Christ leads us, throughout the River Valley, into eastern Oklahoma, across our entire region, down to Lake Charles, then maybe over to Beaumont, Port Arthur, and in and around Houston. Though none go with us, we still will follow. Our cross 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.
Invitation to the Table
When we share the bread and the cup from this table, we remember that for our sakes, Christ denied himself and carried a cross, Christ gave himself, poured himself out for us.
We also remember that this is the one we have decided to follow. We remember that we have been called to deny ourselves and to carry a cross. We are called to give ourselves, to pour ourselves out for the sake of others.
As we sing our hymn of communion may we pray for the courage to follow the Christ wherever he leads us. And may we remember that he invites all of us who have gathered here to follow him.
The catastrophic images from Texas bring back painful personal memories from 1999 when Hurricane Floyd flooded our home in Eastern North Carolina. Carson and Sara, who were four and two years-old at the time, were rescued by boat, while Lori and I stayed behind to put more of our things into the attic. We spent the next three months living in a FEMA camper in the driveway of our decimated home.
In the days the water receded, I remember being overwhelmed with feelings of despair. We had only lived in our home for six weeks prior to the flood. It was the first home we ever owned, and we had yet to make our first mortgage payment. Because we did not have flood insurance, rebuilding our home seemed impossible. I cannot recall any other time in my life when I felt more hopeless. If ever I needed divine help, it was then.
Thankfully, help from God came. Every week help came. Help came bringing pry bars, hammers and saws to rip out carpet, pull up flooring, tear out sheetrock and pull out wet insulation. Help came bringing new flooring, sheetrock, and insulation. Help came with paintbrushes and paint.
Help also came bringing what we needed the most: hope. Help came with a message that rebuilding our home was possible. Help came with the good news that although we could not go back to the good old days before the flood, with the help of God, we could go forward into good new days.
The movie All Saints, which is now playing in theaters, is a true story of the All Saints Episcopal Church of Smyrna, Tennessee. The church was preparing to close their doors for good and sell their property when a group of refugees from war-torn Southeast Asia showed up.
In one scene, the teenage son of Rev. Spurlock asks his father about the fate of the refugees if he decides to allow the church to close.
Rev. Spurlock responds: “We must pray and ask God to help them.”
His son replies: “Dad, aren’t you God’s help?”
The people of East Texas need our prayers. However, when we pray for God to help them, may we remember that we are God’s help.
Today, we can be divine help by sending our dollars to Texas by giving to the mission fund of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) at http://www.weekofcompassion.org. You can designate 100% of your gifts to help communities affected by Hurricane Harvey.
In the days, weeks, and months to come, we will have opportunities to be divine help by sending ourselves, bringing tools and building materials. More importantly, we will have opportunities to be divine help by bringing what these people need now more than anything else: hope.
We will have opportunities to go with the good news, that with the help of God, although it seems impossible, good new days are indeed ahead.
On Monday, if just for a moment, our busy lives were eclipsed by miracle.
At some point we stopped whatever we were doing, with friends, family or co-workers, to wonder at crescent shapes in the shadows on sidewalks, peer through homemade projectors crafted from an empty box of Cheerios, or gaze through a new pair of solar glasses that we will likely misplace or discard before we need them again. The hot August air cooled. The sky darkened. The moon eclipsed the sun, and we expressed a collective “wow!”
The news channels stopped talking about the threat of nuclear war, unstable world leaders, democrats and republicans, racists and terrorists, and showed us beautiful pictures of heavenly bodies that united us in awe.
It was just what our country needed.
We needed a pause to see the sheer mystery and miracle of it all. We needed a break to experience the utter grace of this mystery we call life. And we needed to do it together, in community, as one people.
It didn’t take long for us to see it, to experience it, and to get it. We only needed a few minutes for it to come into focus. Sun, moon, crescent lights on shadowy sidewalks, cool August breeze, projections in a homemade projector: It was all miracle, and it was all grace, completely unearned, undeserved.
Moreover, as the sky lightened, we began to see that this miracle has been here all the while, every day, every minute. The sun, moon, sky, shadows on sidewalks, trees, leaves, cool breezes, our co-workers, our family and our friends, even the concrete and the Cheerios we had for breakfast last week—it is all miracle, and it is all grace. It is all gift.
And this grace that we call life has the mysterious and miraculous power to unite us all, because it is for all: Caucasian, People of Color, Christian, Muslim, Jew, None, gay, straight, English-speaking, Hispanic speaking, rich, poor, abled and disabled.
The good news is that if we will pause, if just for a moment, we can experience this grace any time, any day. We can see it, and we can get it everyday; and with our human family, with our sisters and our brothers, we can express a collective “wow” at the love and the grace that bonds us together.
My dear brothers and sisters, how can you claim to have faith in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ if you favor some people over others? Do not try to blend the genuine faith of our glorious Lord Jesus, the Anointed One, with your silly pretentiousness. Dear brothers, what’s the use of saying that you have faith and are Christians if you aren’t proving it by your words and actions? Will that kind of faith save anyone? (James 2:1,14)
In other words, we cannot claim to be Christians, we cannot claim to follow Jesus and at the same time claim to be a white supremacist, a white nationalist, a member of the KKK, or a member of the neo Nazi Party. They are antithetical.
Nor can we simply stand by and say nothing, or choose to say silent about the horrendous bigotry of these groups whose foundation comes from hanging black people and exterminating…
I first expressed the following bullet-points following the actions of domestic terrorist and white supremacist Dylan Roof in Charleston, South Carolina. Many were calling the murders of the African Americans who had gathered for a Bible Study at the Mother Emanuel Church “a wake-up call.” I have heard the same expression used this weekend following the white supremacists who gathered to spew their hate in Charlottesville. What happened? Did we fall back asleep? It is way past time for America, especially the church in America, to stop hitting the snooze button, stop closing our eyes to ignore the racism and bigotry has been emboldened in our country today. It is way past time to wake up, rise up, stand up, and speak out, as intolerance cannot be tolerated.
We must wake up to the reality that racism is not only a wound from our country’s past, but it is a deadly virus that still plagues us today. White preachers, including myself, have been too often afraid to even use the word “racism” from our pulpits for fear of “stirring things up,” as if we might reignite some fire that was put out in the 1960’s, or at least by 2008 when we elected our first black president. We must wake up and boldly call this evil by name and condemn the racism that is ablaze today, in all of its current manifestations: personal racism; systemic racism; political; and the subtle racism that is prevalent in our homes, in the workplace, in the marketplace, in government, and even in the church, for Jesus could not have been more clear when he said: “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
We must wake up to the reality that hatred in this country is being defended by people who are calling it “religious freedom.” In America, we believe all people are created equally; therefore, “religious freedom” never means the freedom to discriminate. Slave-owners used the same religious-freedom arguments in the nineteenth century to support slavery. Today, we do not tolerate people who want to own slaves, nor should we tolerate anyone who wants to discriminate on the basis of race, gender, religion, or sexual orientation.
We must wake up to the reality that many who cry out that they want to “Make America Great Again” loath what makes our country great today, that is, our cultural, ethnic, religious and racial diversity. We need to boldly speak out that it is this diversity that makes us look most like the image of God in which we were created. This diversity also looks like the portrait of heaven we find in the book of Revelation: “After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb” (7:9). We must wake up to voice our opposition to the purveyors of fear, some who are even calling people bear more arms “to take our country back.” Furthermore, we must wake up to stop folks mid-sentence when they start reminiscing about going back to the good old days of the 1950’s when “we had prayer in school,” as they are completely disregarding the fact that during this time African-Americans in our country were not only treated as second-class citizens, but were being lynched in trees.
We must wake up to the reality that the most segregated hours in our country occur on Sunday mornings. We must find ways to build bridges and tear down the walls that we have created that prevent us from worshipping and doing ministry together. To stand against racism, hatred and violence and to stand for social justice and equality for all, we must do it side by side, hand in hand, as one body, one Church, serving one Lord.
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, 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 on this padded pew.
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, I think I might be able to handle this! 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, 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 handle. 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 the preacher happy, since it is his last Sunday, I will even add: “And all means all.”
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 stay in our pews than take the gospel out to the dying, we who take care of our own children while others starve in the streets, 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 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 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.
A short time ago, I replied to an email from a complete stranger who wrote to thank me for something that I had written on my blog. By the way, I ended that article, “And all means all.”
I replied to his email with a simple, hospitable, what-seemed-to-be-inconsequential, “Thank you.”
A few days later we are friends on Facebook.
A couple of weeks later, I get a telephone call asking me to pray for him about a job opportunity in the City.
A week later, I am asked to meet this stranger at a restaurant.
Before I left the house, I told Lori exactly where I was going. I called her when I arrived and told her that if she did not hear from me in a couple hours to call the police.
During dinner, he shared with me some his burdens, some of his pain, some of fears. He told me how he had often been condemned by the church for being different. I made myself vulnerable by sharing some of my own burdens. Before we departed, we embraced, no longer as strangers, but as brothers who had made a covenant suffer with and to pray for one another. I drove home wondering: “What on earth have I gotten myself into?”
In this fragmented world, a world of walls and barriers, a world where there is so much division, so much hate and loneliness, replying to a simple email, 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. 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, 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.
Nearing the end of my ministry in North Carolina before moving to be with you here in Enid, I went 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 nearly three years, I am ashamed to say that I did not know her name.
But that day, before I really thought about it, 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 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 receiving 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 in responding to an email, 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]
[i] Inspired by William Willimon. “Risky Business,” Clergy Journal, Jun 26, 2005, vol 33, no 2, pp 53-56.
I think sometimes we need to be reminded of the strange way that the Kingdom of God was started on this earth.
Jesus begins his ministry ushering in the reign of God, and how does he do it? Does the Son of God, the Messiah of the world, the alpha and the omega, the one through all things came into being, do it all by himself?
Nope.
Oddly enough, he calls together and sends out ordinary people like you and me to help him.
Master preacher Barbara Brown Taylor has written a wonderful meditation called The Preaching Life where she stresses the need for all Christians to recognize that they have been called to be ministers.
She writes:
Somewhere along the way we have misplaced the ancient vision of the church as a priestly people—set apart for ministry in baptism, confirmed and strengthened in worship, made manifest in service to the world. That vision is a foreign one to many church members, who have learned from colloquial usage that minister means the ‘ordained person,’ in a congregation, while lay person means ‘someone who does not engage in full-time ministry.’ Professionally speaking that is fair enough—but speaking ecclesiastically, it is a disaster. Language like that turns clergy into purveyors of religion, and lay persons into consumers, who shop around for the church that offers them the best product.
Taylor says we need to revive Martin Luther’s vision of the priesthood of all believers, who are ordained by God at baptism to share Christ’s ministry in this world.
All we have to do is sit down and study he scriptures to understand that this is just how our God works in this world. Nowhere in the scriptures do we find God saying: “Go into the world and make Christians. Bring them into the church so they can sing some hymns, sit and pray and listen to a sermon about being good, moral people. Form a type of club. Hire a full-time club president who is going to be there to plan activities for and to support the club members, making sure they are comfortable and happy.”
No, what we do find in scriptures is Jesus instructing us to go into the world and make disciples out of all nations. Make disciples, not Christians.
And what do disciples do? Sit on a pew every Sunday? Sing, pray, try to be good. Maybe attend a committee meeting every now and again?
No, they do what Jesus did. Nothing too big mind you. Just your ordinary raising of the dead. Just your routine healing of a disease. Just your typical demon exorcism sort of thing. They do things that change the world.
Seriously. That’s what it says. Read it with your own eyes.
Maybe this is part of our problem. Maybe ancient scriptures like this which don’t seem to apply to us are why we sometimes look more like club members than disciples.
Perhaps we are tempted to believe that passages such as this have absolutely nothing to do with us. For how in the world can we sophisticated 21st-century folk take these words about raising dead people and casting out demons seriously?
Jesus also sent the disciples out to heal diseases. “Does that mean we are supposed to have faith healing services? Put a billboard out on Garriott: “Before you go to the Emergency room at Bass or St. Mary’s, swing by Central Christian Church first!”
I guess we will also need to create a demon exorcism ministry team and put an ad in the paper which will read: “Know someone possessed by the devil? Call the demon exorcism team of Central Christian Church. We’ll make your possessed loved one’s head spin around until the demons are cast out and are gone for good!”
And then I suppose we need to create a resuscitation ministry team—A team that will be on call to receive calls from families of loved ones who just died? We’ll send out flyers to hospitals and nursing homes which will read, “Before you call the funeral home, call our resuscitation ministry team, and we’ll bring the dead back to life!”
So, we read this and think that just maybe we’re not supposed to take this passage that seriously. Maybe this is not what we are to be about. After all, it was written very different people who lived a long, long time ago, in place far, far away. How in the world can this passage be for us living in the 21st century?
But this is the Bible we are talking about here. If there is anything true, it is in here. We are baptized Christians and believe Jesus is Lord—he is our Lord. And this is Jesus speaking here. This passage has to have something to do with us—perhaps everything to do with us.
Let’s look at healing diseases. Several years ago, Duke University did a study which revealed that people who go to church, people who have faith and a family of faith, people who are prayed for, statistically have a better recovery rate from major surgeries than people who are not a part of a church. Think of how many dreadful experiences you have had, how many horrible things you have gone through which made you say in the end, “I don’t know how people without faith and the church do it.” Christians bring healing to people whenever they pray, send cards or flowers, and make visits or phone calls.
Now, let’s look at casting out demons. We need to understand that the problems that people possess really have not changed in 2000 thousand years. It’s just the descriptions of those problems that have changed. Demon possession was a diagnosis given to a whole host of problems. Most of these problems labeled demon possession had an oppressive nature. People who were said to be possessed by demons had a problem or a habit, perhaps an addiction that they could not break by themselves.
And of course that is still true today. On this day, when our thoughts once more are turned toward family, there are countless children, living right here in our city, who are bound, living in a cycle of poverty from which they can not escape. Drugs have taken their toll on some of their parents. Some have been abandoned by their fathers, some by their mothers. Some of their fathers are in prison. These children feel unloved, unwanted, and unclean. The demons of these children are many. They are in survival mode. And a way out seems impossible.
Unless someone intervenes. Unless someone becomes a mentor or a role model to these children. Unless someone answers a call to step in to befriend these children, include these children, tutor these children, read a book to these children, coach these children, love these children. Unless maybe a church dedicates themselves to these children.
Ok, perhaps we can understand how we called to partner with Jesus to fight the world’s demons and diseases, but how on earth do we raise dead people back to life?
I want to suggest that we do this all the time.
Tony Campolo tells the story of attending a funeral where the minister stopped preaching to the congregation and started preaching to the dead body. The casket was still open as the minister recounted Clarence’s faithful life and talked about how everyone would miss him dearly.
Then his tone changed, as he started talking directly to Clarence. He walked down and looked at Clarence lying there in the casket. He said: “Today, Clarence, we say good-bye. But this good-bye isn’t ‘so long.’ Clarence, it’s ‘until then.’” Then he closed the casket himself and said, “Good night Clarence, we’ll see you in the morning.” Then the choir rose up and started to sing, That Great Getting’ Up Morning.
And when I think about it, at every funeral, I try my best to raise the dead. With scripture and prayer, I do all I can do to assure everyone that we will see them again.
And I will never forget how the dead was raised at the first Enid Welcome Table on Easter Sunday when one of our guests said to a volunteer: “Today, you have made me feel human again.”
The truth is that Jesus Christ gives all of us, his disciples, the power and the authority to partner with him in his mission and ministry in this world which includes, casting out demons, healing the sick and raising the dead.
But, you say, that’s still not for me. That kind of work was for the apostles. It was just for those special twelve disciples that Jesus called to follow him. They were special people, with extraordinary gifts and powers. I’m just an ordinary lay person. This passage is really not for me.
Let’s take a closer look at the list of these twelve to find out what was so special about them. Only two of the twelve here have descriptions in addition to the mention of their names (the rest of them are so ordinary that their names do not merit a description).
One name that does is “Matthew, the tax collector.” Matthew was a despised, disreputable, no good, low-life tax collector who took money from his own people to give to the Roman occupiers.
The other one with a description is “Judas Iscariot, the one who betrayed him.” Jesus is either a miserable judge of character, or even his worst enemies are able to go out and work miracles in his name.
Think about it. There is nothing here to indicate that Judas failed to go out and preach, raise, cast out and heal. As far as we can tell, Judas had the same success as everyone else, including Matthew, the despised tax collector.
Beverly Gaventa says that this passage indicates that Jesus had a general rule for disciple-calling: “Only tax-collectors and traitors need apply.”
Jesus seems to only call sinners and nobodies to do his work. Does anyone here really know who James, the son of Alphaeus is?”
If even these twelve can be called to do Jesus’ work, so can people as ordinary as us. The truth is: this passage, that may seem strange and outdated on the surface, has everything in the world to do with us.
Are you ready to take it seriously? “The harvest is plentiful and the laborers are few,” said Jesus. God is calling every one of us to preach, heal the sick, cast out demons and raise the dead.
Just Love 