Tag: lectionary

Come Home

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year B2 Comments

prodigal_son

Hebrews 4:12-16 NRSV

A huge issue facing the church today is authenticity, or more specifically, a lack of authenticity.

People say that churches are full of people who pretend like they have it all together. Churches are full of fake smiles and phony piety. Churches are full of folks who act like they have all of the answers, have everything on earth and even in heaven all figured out.

Almost every week, I will hear at least one person ask: “Why can’t Christians just be real?” Someone once asked: “Why can’t people act the same way in church that they act at home?”

I believe the reason many Christians are so fake is that we still have a problem with the good news of the gospel we call grace. We have a difficult time believing that God truly loves us, accepts us, and welcomes us just as we are.

Because, it seems too good to be true.

I believe we Christians have a difficult time being authentic, making ourselves at home, because we have a difficult time accepting that the extravagant, amazing grace of Christ that welcomes us to be real; and because of that, we also have difficult time sharing grace. So, not only do we hide or deny our sins, we are quick to point out the sins of others. Consequently, we have gotten this reputation in the world for not only being fake, but also judgmental.

Indeed, the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And before him no creature is hidden, but all are naked and laid bare to the eyes of the one to whom we must render an account (Hebrews 4:13-13).

Indeed, but sadly, I believe this is where most folks in the church stop reading the Bible. We cannot even think about laying all of our sins bare before the Lord. So we cover it up, hide it, deny it and try to justify it.

And it is obvious to our friends and to everyone we encounter that we phony.

So listen again to the good news:

Since, then, we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast to our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need (Hebrews 4:14-16).

But it sounds too good to be true. Doesn’t it? It is almost difficult to hear.

Let us hold fast to our confession. In other words, let us get real and be real. Let us lay bare our sins and authentically approach the throne of judgement.

Wait minute, it doesn’t say that. Does it?

Let us lay bare our sins and authentically approach the throne of grace.

That’s what it says.

And let us do it fearfully.

No, that’s not what it says.

Let us do it with boldness.

That’s what it says.

So, that we may receive our punishment and find correction.

Nope.

So that we might receive mercy and find grace in the time of need. It’s like coming home. Coming home where we can be real, authentic, yet still be accepted and loved.

But it is sounds too good to be true. Doesn’t it? It is all so extravagant, so amazing. It is difficult for us to read, hear and comprehend.

I believe Jesus knew that we would have a hard time with this. That is why I believe he prepared us for it by telling so many stories.

There was a father who had two sons. The youngest had the amazing gall to demand his inheritance so he could leave home. As the youngest, this disrespectful son had no claim to anything of his father’s. Who did he think he was?

Then the truly amazing part: The father takes his “whole living;” (notice how extravagant this is) the scriptures say that he takes all that he has, and gives it to the boy who slips into the “far country” where he wastes every red cent on selfish living. It is only when he finds himself in the time of his need that the boy decides to go back home.

This is where the story gets even more amazing.

“And while he was a long way off,” the father saw him and ran and embraced him.”

Think about this for a moment.

How did the father see him “a long way off?”

Because the father had been looking for him.

Every day this father sat on his front porch gazing down the road, grieving but hoping and praying that his child would one day come home.

And when he finally came home, he ran to him and cried out: “Come and celebrate with me. My child who was dead is now alive!”

I wonder how long the father waited for his dead son’s homecoming. I wonder why the father waited. For all he knew, his son was dead. Can’t you almost hear his concerned friends and neighbors, or maybe even his preacher, telling him: “Old man, it’s time for you to move on. Old Man, you’ve got to get past this. You’ve got to face the facts. He’s not coming back. You got to get over it. Concentrate on your older boy who is still here with you.”

But the father, amazingly, still waited. Most of his friends probably thought he was crazy. Such excessive, extravagant waiting was hard for them to believe.

After all, he really did not know that his son was ever coming home. A young kid with a pocket full of cash first time away from home was an easy target to any would-be thieves and murderers. Remember the story of the Good Samaritan?

Still the father patiently, amazingly waited. Every day he kept looking down the road in front of his house. Straining to see, hoping to see his son coming home.

We call this the story of the prodigal son. But William Willimon says that if the word “prodigal” means “extravagant” or “excessive” or “amazing,” it should be called the story of the prodigal father. For when the boy left home, the father extravagantly gave him his entire savings. While he was gone, his friends and neighbors would say that the father excessively waited. And when the boy at last came home, the father extravagantly threw a huge party, holding nothing back. The father loved his son prodigally when he left home, he loved him amazingly while he was away from home and he loved him extravagantly when he returned home with a fatted calf, a new robe and sandals, a ring, and festive music and dancing.

It all seems too good to be true

It is a story of extravagant, excessive, prodigal love. It is a story of amazing grace.

And the good news is that Jesus’ story of the prodigal father is the story about his prodigal Father. And it is the story about our prodigal Father. Our God is a God who, when it comes to grace and love, holds absolutely nothing back.

I know, the truth sounds too good to believe, but it is the truth.

Our God waits, with confidence that the far country of sin and death shall not be the last word. Our God waits, ready to welcome us home with a celebration that is more than we deserve, not because of who we are, but because of who God is, namely a prodigal father.

One of the greatest things about this story told by Jesus is that it does not have an ending. Have you ever noticed that? We wonder if the younger boy ever learned from his mistakes and grew up to be more responsible. We wonder if the older brother ever let go of his resentment. We don’t know. All we know is that both boys are finally safe, at home with the father.

Willimon suggests that perhaps the reason the story does not have an ending is because this story is eternal. We know when the party began. But for all we know, the party never ended. Maybe this is a scene of what we all have to look forward to. An eternal homecoming celebration for those daughters and sons who once were dead but are now alive, who once were lost but now are found.

After our service this morning, you are invited to a homecoming celebration that has been waiting for you that Joan Smith, once called “a true vision of the Kingdom of Heaven.”

When you see the large amount of food that has been prepared for you this day, it may cause you to pause. It is so excessive, so extravagant, you may have trouble believing it. It will seem too good to be true.

But before this service is over, you are invited to another homecoming celebration that has also been waiting for you. In fact, this homecoming celebration is waiting for you each week. The meal is small. It’s just a tiny cracker and a sip of juice; however, when you understand the meaning of it, the truth of it, the love and grace of it, the extravagance and the excessiveness of it, it may also give you pause. For you may have trouble believing it. It will seem too good to be true.

But the good news is that it is true. For it is the truth. It is the good news of the gospel. It is amazing grace, and it is for you.

So, come home and hold fast to your confession.

Come home and be as real and as authentic as you can be.

Come home with all of your sins laid bare.

Come home and approach the throne of grace with boldness.

Come home because you will not be turned away from it.

Come home because nothing in heaven or on earth can separate you from it.

Come home, because this celebration has been prepared for you, even while you were still a long way off.

Come home, because this table has been set for you even while others have judged you, have condemned you, have given up on you, and even have written you off for dead.

Come home, because your God has not given up on you.

Come home, because your God has been waiting for you.

Come home, because his body has been broken for you.

Come home, because his blood has been shed for you.

Come home, because Christ has died for you.

Come home, because Christ has been raised for you.

Come home, because the baptistery has been filled for you.

Come home, because the Word of God is alive and active for you.

Come home and receive extravagant and excessive mercy.

Come home and find amazing and prodigal grace…

this day and forevermore.

Ashamed of the Gospel

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

ashamed of the gospelMark 8:27-38 NRSV

Next Sunday is Consecration Sunday. It is the Sunday that we are asked to prayerfully commit ourselves to the 2016 budget of this church and to serve on a ministry team, and it is the Sunday that we will ask God to bless those commitments. Members will receive a pledge card in the mail. If you are not yet a member, if you wish, you will be able to pick one up from an usher.

We are doing this, because for almost two years now, I have been preaching that, perhaps more than anything else, the church needs to re-discover its mission to be the church, to be the body of Christ, to be the very embodiment of Christ in this world. As Christ, we are to continue his ministry in this world, doing the very same things that he did while he was on this earth: offering healing to the sick, hope to the despairing, comfort to the troubled, grace to the sinners, love to the hateful, and life to the dying.

Now, if this is like any church that I have ever known, there may be more than a few of you who are thinking: “I just don’t believe I am ready to make such a commitment. I have some things that I need to work out first in my life. My faith needs some work. I have my doubts. I have questions. I have so much to learn, so much to figure out. And I have some very personal issues to deal with. I have this problem with anger. Sometimes I act or say before I think. So right now, if you don’t mind, until I can get my act more together, learn a little more, I think I will pass on this pledge card thing.”

Well, here’s my response to that: “Have you ever met Peter?”

You know, Saint Peter. The one Jesus called a “rock” and said, “on this rock, I will build my church.” The one Roman Catholics recognize as the first Pope. Perhaps you’ve heard of St. Peter’s Square, St. Peter’s Cathedral, and St. Peter’s Basilica. Peter: the one whom Jesus loved and trusted to carry on his ministry in this world.

Well, let me tell you a little more about this Peter fella.

One day, he is out on boat with the other disciples. It is the middle of the night, and there’s this big storm. The wind is howling. The waves are crashing against and into the boat. And as you could imagine, they were all scared to death. But then, Jesus comes to them, walking on the water, saying to them to have courage and fear not.

But Peter…Peter has some doubts. Peter has some questions. Peter needs to work some things out: “Lord, if it is really you, then command me to come out on the water.” And Jesus responds, “Peter, you of little faith.”

Later, Jesus is instructing Peter about discipleship. Jesus talks about being humble, lowering one’s self, even pouring one’s self out. Jesus talks about selfless, self-expending, sacrificial love, being with and for the least of these.

But Peter…Peter has some issues. Peter has some things to learn. Peter gets into an argument with the other disciples about which one of them was the greatest.

After Jesus prays in the garden, surrendering himself to the will of God, offering himself as a sacrifice, Jesus does not resist arrest. Jesus practices what he teaches and turns the other cheek.

But Peter…Peter loses it. Peter acts before he thinks. In a fit of anger, Peter fights back. Peter draws his sword and begins swinging it Jesus’ captors, cutting the ear off of one.

And in our text this morning, Jesus foretells that garden event. He talks about being rejected by organized religion. Jesus is essentially saying:

“When you preach the word of God that cuts like a sword; when you love all people and try to teach others to love all people; when you preach a grace that is extravagant and a love that is unconditional; when you talk about the need to make room at the table for all people, even for folks called “illegal” or “aliens”; when you stand up for the rights of the poor and the marginalized; when you proclaim liberty to the oppressed and say that their lives matter; when you defend, forgive and friend sinners caught in the very act of sinning; when you tell lovers of money to sell their possessions and give the money to the poor; when you command a culture of war to be peacemakers; when you tell the powerful to turn the other cheek; when you call religious leaders hypocrites and point out their hypocrisy; when you criticize their faith without works, their theology without practice, and their tithing without justice; when you refuse to tolerate intolerance; when you do these things that I do,” says Jesus, “then the self-righteous-powers-that-be will rise up, and they will hate. They will hoist their colors, and they will grab their guns. They will come against you with all that they have, and they will come against you in name of God. They will do anything and everything that is in their power to stop you, even if it means killing you.”

But Peter…Peter has some serious issues with that. Peter says to Jesus: “No way! Stop talking like that. This is not right. You are crazy. We will not let this happen!”

Then, having had about all that he could stand of Peter and his nonsense and excuses: his doubts, his questioning, his anger, his lack of faith, his personal issues, all the mess that he needs to work out, Jesus responds to Peter with some of the harshest words ever recorded by Jesus: “Get behind me, Satan.”

Jesus, calls Peter, “Satan.”

And yet, that did not stop Jesus from loving Peter, from using Peter. Jesus kept teaching Peter, kept calling Peter, and kept leading Peter to do his work in the world. In fact, that did not stop Jesus from calling Peter to start his church in the world.

So, if you are not ready to make a commitment to Christ and his church, and if your excuses are: that you have doubts; or you have questions; or you are just not ready; or you have some issues to work out; or even have days you feel unworthy, even have days you know you resemble Satan more than God; then you are going to have to come up with another excuse, because as Peter teaches us: with Jesus, those excuses simply don’t fly!

So, what is it that is really keeping us from committing ourselves to Christ and his church?

After Jesus is arrested, Peter goes into the courtyard of the High Priest. It is a cold night, so he gathers with some folks who had started a fire to warm themselves. A servant girl begins staring at Peter and says: “This man was with Jesus. He traveled around with him doing the things that Jesus did, saying the things that Jesus said.” But Peter denied it, saying, “Woman, I do not even know this Jesus.”

A little later, another saw him and said: “You are a disciple, a disciple of Jesus who defended, forgave and friended sinners. You welcomed strangers, visited prisoners, clothed the naked, gave water to the thirsty, and fed the hungry. You restored lepers, elevated the status of women, gave dignity to Eunuchs, and offered community to lepers. But, again, Peter denied it.

About an hour had passed and another man began to insist saying: “Certainly this man was with Him, for he is a Galilean too. You called out hypocrisy on the behalf of widows. You challenged the status quo on the behalf of the sick. You disobeyed the laws of God on the behalf of the suffering.” But Peter said, “Man, I do not know what you are talking about!”

Perhaps Peter’s denials had nothing to do with his lack of faith. Perhaps his denials, his refusal to take up his cross, had to do with shame.

Peter’s failure to pledge his commitment to Christ and his church had nothing to do with his doubts and his questions, because, as Jesus pointed out over and over, those excuses simply don’t cut it. Peter’s failure was shame.

Peter’s failure to start his own ministry team had nothing to do with his personal issues or poor anger management. Peter’s failure had to do with shame.

Peter failed to make a pledge; Peter failed to commit himself to Christ and his church, because he was ashamed.

Peter was ashamed of the gospel: What the gospel stood for, and for whom the gospel stood.

Peter was ashamed to love, because living among voices clamoring to take their country back from foreign invaders, it was more popular to hate.

Peter was ashamed to turn the other cheek, because it was more popular to draw a sword or get a gun.

Peter was ashamed to identify with the least, because it was more popular to identify with the greatest.

Peter was ashamed to share his wealth, because it was more popular to hold on to it.

Peter was ashamed to side with the poor, because it was more popular to ridicule them for being “lazy” and “entitled.”

Peter was ashamed to welcome immigrants, because it was more popular to dehumanize them by calling them “aliens.”

Peter was ashamed to defend sinners, because it was more popular to throw rocks.

Peter was ashamed to stand up for the marginalized, because it was more popular to call them “abominations.”

Peter was ashamed to visit those in prison, because it was popular to treat them as animals.

And Jesus said: “Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”

So, are we ready to commit? Are we ready to give sacrificially and serve graciously? If not, what’s our excuse? We must remember, with Jesus, a lack of faith, having a lot of questions and some serious issues, or not having ourselves together simply doesn’t cut it!

Could it be it is because we are somewhat ashamed? Are we ashamed of the gospel? Are we ashamed of what it stands for, and for whom it stands?

The good news is that Peter dealt with his shame. Peter made his commitment. Peter turned in his pledge card. Peter joined one ministry team and started another. And, this one Jesus called “Satan,” helped start the church and has been named by the Church as its first Pope.

And the good news for us this morning is that we still have a little time to deal with our shame.

Without God, All Things Are Possible (and Probable)

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

without god2 Samuel 11:1-15 NRSV

Psalm 14 NRSV

Ephesians 3:14-21 NRSV

A wonderful facet of Holy Scripture is its sheer candor. Unlike much of other ancient literature, the Bible does not protect its greatest heroes from their shortcomings and failures as sinful human beings. Absent of any spin and bias, the writers tell their sordid stories with astonishing honesty.  Their misconduct and foolishness are laid bare, with remarkable objectivity.

All who take time to study the Bible are privy to the impatience of Moses, the skepticism of Sarah, the reluctance of Jeremiah and the cowardice of Peter. But of all the offensive exploits of God’s special men and women, perhaps none is more despicable than David’s dealings with Bathsheba and her husband Uriah.

David’s treachery is even greater when we compare it to Uriah’s fidelity. Uriah is faithfully defending his country when David learns that Bathsheba is expecting with his child.

David thinks: “I have to cover this up.”

David deceitfully pretends to inquire about the war’s progress, but his real purpose was to devise a reason for Uriah and everyone else to assume that the unborn child naturally belongs to Uriah.

He encourages Uriah to go home to be with Bathsheba so the adulterous affair might not be revealed.

However, Uriah’s integrity and loyalty to his comrades on the battlefield supersedes the hospitality of his wife. Uriah sleeps out back in the servant’s quarters, explaining to David that this was his way of keeping faith with his fellow soldiers.

Frustrated, David tries once again by getting Uriah all liquored up.  However, even while intoxicated, Uriah remains faithful to his comrades by sleeping on the sofa.

Uriah’s loyalty to his troops is especially remarkable when we remember that Uriah is not even a native Israelite, but a Hittite. Yet, his personal code of conduct, his unwavering fidelity repeatedly stands in the way of David’s deceitful plans.

And here is when the story really goes awry. Frustrated by the fidelity of Uriah and knowing that as soon as the child is born it will be clear to all that adultery had been committed, David spirals out of control, desperately, deceitfully and audaciously ordering the death of Uriah.

Perhaps we have all heard the hopeful words of Jesus recorded by Matthew, “With God, all things are possible.” Well, the story of David reveals that the opposite can also be a true.

It was the 19th century Russian philosopher Dostoevsky who penned the phrase, “Without God, everything is permissible.”  Without God, things are quick to go awry, get out of hand. Without God, we all have the propensity to spiral out of control. Without God, everything is possible.

As the Psalmist warns, without God all behavior that is foolish and destructive is not only possible, it has no limits.

Without God, God-created sexual attraction is transformed into selfish lust leading to the objectification and dehumanization of others and sometimes to betrayal, deceit, and even murder.

Without God, a little money earned fosters insatiable greed leading to the exploitation of others, especially the poor.

Without God, the understanding that all of life is a gift from God, that all is grace, is twisted into an egotistical and entitled pride leading to all kinds of bigotry and exclusivity.

Without God, power derived from birth, inheritance, dumb luck, is used to dismiss and to oppress, to abuse and to misuse, those born without power.

Without God, the holy call to forgive as we have been forgiven is replaced by a call to resentment, revenge and malicious acts of violence.

Without God, lies and propaganda breed fear, and fear breeds bitterness, and bitterness breeds anger, and anger breeds hatred, and hatred can provoke a man to take a gun into a movie theater, into a school or into a church and start shooting the innocent.

Without God, narcissism, sexism, racism, extremism, despair, murder, limitless atrocities are not only possible, they are probable.

Walter Brueggeman has correctly observed that: “It is the knowledge of the reality of God present and at work in our world and in our lives which sets limits to destructive possibilities.”

David’s problem was simply a lack of this knowledge. David had become so powerful, so confident and so proud, that he became blind to the reality of God present and at work in our world.

David imagined that he was somehow exempt from the supreme law of God to love his neighbor as himself. David lived his life, made his decisions, and acted out without knowledge of God, as if God did not exist. And it was this self-indulgent lifestyle which brought destruction to him and his family.

I want to suggest that the prayer in our epistle lesson can help us to avoid such foolishness or madness—madness of which we, including yours truly, are all capable.

One does not have to be a King to forget who we are and whose we are. For all of us, perhaps especially us Westerners living in the 21st century, there exists the danger to go too far with our freedom. We are tempted to cross the line with our liberty. In our sinfulness and brokenness we tend to forget that the world in which we live in is bounded by the mysterious but trustworthy love and law of God. We sometimes forget the reality of God present, at work in our world and at work in our lives—we forget that all of life is bounded by God’s inexplicable, but unfailing grace.

I believe the prayer for the church at Ephesus needed to be David’s prayer and needs to be our prayer today.

I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name.

We need to know that God’s connectedness with us is so intimate and so personal that God, God’s self, has named us. God is as close to us as good parents are to their children. We need to know that God cares for us and nurtures us and loves and suffers with us like a devoted parent. We have all heard the phrase, “only a mother could love that man!” God’s love for us is always present. There is no end to its trust, no failing of its hope. It stills stand when all else has fallen. And this love is all we will ever truly need.

I  pray that, according to the riches of his glory that you will be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts as you are being rooted and grounded in love.

We need to know that when we are physically weak, God can and will make us spiritually strong. God can and God will strengthen us to overcome temptations and trials. God will be our conscience and help us through the knowledge of Christ to replace our lust with respect, our resentment with forgiveness, our hatred with love, our disregard and disdain for the poor with a conscience for justice.

I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length, and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses all knowledge so that you may be filled with the fullness of God.

We need to know that God loves us more than we can possible imagine. This is why the Bible can be so honest and so objective. This is why this book is a canon of candor. This is why misconduct and madness can be laid utterly bare. David can be as sinful as a person can be, and, by the grace of God, be remembered by the Apostle Paul in Acts as “a man after God’s very own heart” (Acts 13:22).

Think about this:  If David understood the breadth and the length and the height and the depth of God’s love and God’s grace, would David have gone as far as he did to cover up his sins?

God’s love for us is so great and so big, that there is nothing in all of creation that can separate us from it, through Christ Jesus our Lord.  Thus, with God, when we expose our sins, when we reveal our shortcomings, when we lay bare our brokenness, when we confess our anger and hate, we are enveloped by an amazing grace that is greater than our sin.

But, if we ignore our sins without God, never confess it, pretend it doesn’t exist, conceal it by calling it by another name, try to somehow justify it, then, well, anything is possible.

The good news is that the breadth and length and height and depth of God’s love is so great and so intimate and so personal that it has the power to make all that is destructive in this world simply impossible.

Without God, things can go completely awry. Without God, all Hell will break loose. Without God, all things are possible. But with God, there are many things that are impossible.

With God, unforgiveness is impossible.

With God, absolute loneliness is impossible.

With God, being completely lost is impossible.

With God, utter despair is impossible.

With God, being unaccepted, unloved and unworthy is impossible.

With God, spiraling out of control into utter madness is impossible.

With God, saying things or doing things or voting for things that harm our neighbors, especially our neighbors whom the Bible calls the least of these, without a conscience that that names these sins and calls us to repent to obey the supreme law of God to love neighbor as self is impossible.

With God, coming to church, praying, singing hymns and listening to a sermon without a divine call and a holy conviction to leave the comfort of this sanctuary to go out into a dangerous world to be the church, to do the things that Jesus did, lifting up the lowly, seeking out the lost, healing the sick, speaking truth to power, and confronting and challenging and exorcising all kinds of evil, is impossible.

With God, total destructiveness, eternal death, and all Hell breaking loose is impossible.

Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever.  Amen.

Being a Friend of Jesus

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn EasterLeave a comment

friends

John 15:9-17 NRSV

Our text this morning contains some of the greatest words Jesus ever said to anyone:  “I do not call you servants any longer. . . I have called you friends.”  The disciples are invited by the risen Christ to know their Lord in a new light; they are invited to see their Jesus as a friend.  The question that I want us to ask this morning is this: “What does being a friend of Jesus truly mean?”

First of all, we learn from this text that being a friend of Jesus means to be chosen. Jesus said to his disciples, “You did not choose me, I chose you.”  This is very different from our definition of friendship, is it not?  For we are accustomed to choosing our friends. For us to be friends with another there’s usually got to be some sense of mutual attraction. My daughter Sara is going to Charlotte this afternoon to meet a girl who may be her college roommate this fall. They met on facebook and have scheduled a meeting today to see if they would both like to choose one another to be friends. However, Jesus had a much different understanding of friendship. It is Jesus who chooses us. We do not choose Jesus.

This understanding of friendship was also completely foreign to Jesus’ disciples. In Jesus’ day, it was customary for Jewish students studying the Torah, the Mosaic Law, to seek out a rabbi whose teaching they wanted to emulate. The choice was theirs. But Jesus reverses the order. The choice is his. Jesus chooses his followers.

That Jesus chooses us to be his friends prevents us from possessing a consumerist attitude toward the practice of this friendship. As disciples, we are not in a position to dictate when and where we will act like friends of Jesus. For example, we cannot choose to be Jesus’ friend on Sunday and treat him as a stranger the other days of the week. We cannot choose to act like he is our friend in front of some people, while acting like we have never heard of him in front of others. Furthermore, we are not in a position to pick and choose to accept and follow some of his teachings, while completely ignoring those teachings that we find offensive.

Secondly, we learn from this text that being a friend of Jesus means to keep his commandment to love others as he loves us.  Again, this too is very different from our understanding of friendship and love.  Most of us would probably tend to agree that the word “command” and the word “love” simply do not fit in the same sentence. We would say that love is not something that can be commanded.  For many of us, genuine love, we would say, must be spontaneous and come from within and not without.  We simply do not associate friendship or love with the word “command.”

The reason that “love” and “command” seem at odds is because we so often misuse and overuse the word “love.”  We have reduced the meaning of the word “love” to a mere feeling.  Jesus is talking about agape here.  This Greek word for love does not represent a “feeling.”  Nor is it a synonym for “like.”  To love is to be for another, to act for another, even at cost to oneself. The supreme act of love is the giving of one’s life for the other.

But for many of us, love is simply a feeling.  Love is an emotion. And we would say that no one can command feeling. We can not even command our own. But Jesus is not talking about feeling here. Jesus is talking about action. Jesus is talking about giving one’s self for another.

This is why the preacher never asks the groom and the bride in the wedding ceremony if they love one another. Think about it. You have never heard a preacher ask, “Do you love each other?” The preacher always asks, “Will you love one another?”  “Do you promise to love each other?”  True love is a verb. True love is action. True love is not a feeling. This misunderstanding of the definition of love is why many marriages end in divorce. A spouse wakes up one day and discovers that they have lost that loving feeling, so they move out.

Being a friend of Jesus means keeping his commandment to love others as he loves us. Unlike a feeling, love can be commanded. This means that we are to be there for others, to act for others, to be there with others, to laugh with others and to cry with others. Being a friend of Jesus means that we are willing to give of ourselves completely for others. Police officers, firefighters and others who put their lives on the line for us every day are our friends. The men and women of our armed forces who we remember in a couple of weeks on Memorial Day were our friends. Being a friend of Jesus means to sacrifice.

And thirdly, being a friend of Jesus means to know what is going on. Followers of Jesus become friends of Jesus when they know what he is doing. Jesus said, “I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father.” What distinguishes servants from friends is that friends have been let in on the plans.

I once heard story of a family that was getting ready to move to another state. The parents did not want to upset their four year-old son who had made many friends at his preschool and in their neighborhood, so they kept putting off telling him about the move. When the movers came, the little boy was upstairs in taking nap, so the parents instructed them to pack up every room in the house except for their son’s room. They would finally tell him about the move when he awoke.

While the parents were outside taking some things to their car, the poor little thing awoke to find that every room in the house was empty except for his! The parents came back in and found him sitting on the floor in the empty family room crying like a baby. Realizing that it was probably a bad idea to wait until the last minute to let their son in on the plans, they finally told him that they were moving to another state, but assured him that he would quickly make new friends in their new town.

The little boy stopped crying. His face lit up with a big smile. And he said, “What a relief, I thought everyone was moving except for me!”

As friends, we do not like to be left out of the plans do we? As friends, we want to know what is going on. We want to be included in the plans. Jesus lets his disciples in on the plans. They are not kept in the dark about what is happening and what is going to happen.

Being a friend of Jesus means knowing God and God’s plans for us.  Do you remember the words of the prophet Jeremiah? “For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope. Then when you call upon me, I will hear you. When you search me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me, says the Lord….”

Being a friend of Jesus means finding God. Being a friend of Jesus means knowing that Jesus was God incarnate—God who loved us so much that he came to earth and became one of us—God who became our friend and laid down his life for us on a cross. Being a friend of Jesus means knowing that the same God who resurrected Jesus abides with us today, resurrecting our sorrow into joy, our despair into hope, and our death into life. Being a friend of Jesus means knowing that there is nothing on this earth or in all of creation which will ever separate us from the love of God we know through Jesus Christ our Lord. Being a friend of Jesus means always knowing that God is here with us working all things together for the good.

Students are in their last weeks of the school year. One of the things I loved doing during these weeks was passing my yearbook around and having my friends to sign it. I don’t know if you still do this today or not, but when I was going to school, nearly all of my friends signed my year book, AFA, a friend always.

Being a friend of Jesus means that God has signed our hearts, AFA, a friend always, and forever. It means that he will never forget us, never forsake us, always stay beside us, now and forevermore.

Choosing Our Pain

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year B1 Comment

Mark 8:34-38 NRSV

This past week, I invited someone to visit our church. They responded that they had been wounded so badly by people in the church in the past, that they were much better off staying at home on Sunday mornings. Their words and the snow that had just fallen reminded me of an old song by Simon and Garfunkle:

A winter’s day in deep and dark December

I am alone, gazing from my window to the street below

On a freshly fallen, silent shroud of snow,

I am a rock, I am an island.

I’ve built walls, a fortress deep and mighty that none may penetrate.

I have no need of friendship.

Friendship causes pain.

It’s laughing, it’s loving I disdain.

I am a rock, I am an island

Don’t talk to me about love;

Well, I’ve heard that word before.

It is sleeping in my memory.

I won’t disturb this slumber of feelings that have died.

If I had never loved, I never would have cried.

I am a rock, I am an island.

I have my books and poetry to protect me.

I am shielded in my armor, hiding in my room, safe within my womb.

I touch no one, and no one touches me.

I am a rock, I am an island,

And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries.

How many of us have been tempted by the brokenness of human relationships, hurt so badly by love, that were tempted to withdraw unto ourselves becoming rocks or islands?

We give our love to another—a spouse, a relative, maybe a friend, perhaps even the church. We empty ourselves. We pour out ourselves.  We make ourselves vulnerable as we give ourselves completely to that person, to that family or to that community.  And what do we get in return? We get disappointed. We get betrayed. We get stabbed in the back. We get manipulated. We get used and abused.

Sometimes the pain is so profound and so intense that we are tempted to withdraw. We say: “If loving others is only going to bring heartache and heartbreak, I will never love again! I will never open myself up, empty myself, pour myself out to another!

“If being her friend is going to hurt this much, I’ll go it alone. “If loving him is going to bring this pain, I’ll be a rock.” “If joining a church and getting involved in the life of the church is going to bring this much misery, then on Sunday mornings, I’ll be an island! And I will never feel pain and grief again!  For ‘a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries.’”

Perhaps we’ve all said it, or at least felt it. For who can deny the reality that when we do open ourselves up and love another as God has created us to love, we indeed open ourselves up to the enormous likelihood of grief and pain.

However, the question I would like to pose this morning is this: “Is the likelihood of grief and pain any less enormous when we choose to stay home, go it alone? Is it really true that “rocks do not hurt and islands do not cry?” The truth is that if we love, we cannot avoid grief. But can we truly avoid grief by avoiding love? As human beings, is it possible for us to avoid pain by going it alone, by living life outside of community?”

A Buddhist Monk would argue that the one element in life that is unavoidable in this world is pain. One of the four noble truths of Buddhism is that suffering is a basis for reality. Pain is in inescapable. I believe there is an element of truth here. If we love we will suffer. But if we go it alone we will also suffer. Whatever path we choose, pain is always inevitable.

Jesus himself said, “In the world, we will have tribulation.”

But here’s the good news: We have been given the grace to choose our pain.

We can choose to love as Christ taught us to love, choose to be in community and experience the pain of grief. Or, we can choose to become rocks or islands and experience the pain of loneliness. But what every human being needs to do at some point or another is to choose their pain. We can choose the pain that comes from emptying and pouring out ourselves, denying ourselves, loving and forgiving others, living in community or we can choose the greater pain that comes from being alone.

Let’s consider for a moment the pain of loneliness, the pain of living a total self-centered life.

In the beginning, God called everything in creation good. But when God looked around and saw that Adam was alone, God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone. I will make him a helper as his partner.”  John Milton once wrote: “Loneliness was the first thing the eyes of God called ‘not good.’”[1]

The truth is that we were created for relationships. We were created to be with one another and to love one another. Without other human beings, we cannot be truly human.

Commenting on this passage from Genesis, John Claypool once said, “A man by himself is not a man; that is, he could never have become one, nor having become one, remain one, without…other humans.”[2] And although the path of love will lead to the enormous likelihood of pain, any other path we choose will lead to even greater pain.

The pain of loneliness and isolation is so much greater that C.S. Lewis likened it to Hell itself. He once said that the thought of “being alone forever was more fearful than a thousand burning hells.” And such existence is the logical end of not loving, of leading a totally self-centered life. [3]

T. S. Elliot once wrote these words about self-centeredness and loneliness:

There was a door And I could not open it. I could not touch the handle. Why could I not walk out of my prison? What is Hell? Hell is oneself, Hell is alone, the other figures in it merely projections. There is nothing to escape from And nothing to escape to. One is always alone.[4]

I believe this is partly what Jesus meant when he said: “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life, for my sake, for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”

Loving others as we are created to love others is painful. Being a part of a church can be painful; however, not loving, becoming a rock or an island is “as painful as a thousand burning Hells.”

When I was a pastor in Winston-Salem, our church advertised in our community that we were going to have “a mission blitz.” We were going to take an entire Saturday, split up in teams and to go out into the community to work in people’s yards and homes. We had several people respond to our advertising by contacting the church days before the blitz to request yard work and light housework.

There was an elderly man we will call Mr. Jones who contacted us stating that his gutters needed to be cleaned and his yard needed to be raked. That Saturday afternoon I arrived at his house with three other adults and four teenagers to do the requested work.

Before we could get started, Mr. Jones met us in the front yard. He immediately welcomed us with left over Halloween candy explaining that since the light on his front porch was burned out, not a single trick-or-treater had visited his house this year.

As we sat on his front porch eating fun-size candy bars, Mr. Jones began to share his sad and rather long story with us. He said that since his wife died twenty years ago he had been living all alone in his house. He then shared with us that although he and his wife had desired a family, they were never able to have any children. Having been injured in World War Two, he never had a job, but he somehow managed to make ends meet with his disability checks. When we finally were able to get away from his stories and hospitality, we got the ladders and the rakes out of the truck and went to work on his gutters and yard.

I had not been on my ladder for more than fifteen minutes when Mr. Jones came out of the back door carrying a tray of cups of hot chocolate for all of us. He said, “Y’all better come and get this before it gets cold.”

We stopped our work and visited again with Mr. Jones for another half hour or so. This time he asked us a lot of questions, especially the teenagers. He wanted to know what grade they were in, what their favorite subjects were, what they wanted to do when they grew up, and whether or not they had a girlfriend or boyfriend.

When we finally got away from him again, we began to see something that we had not seen earlier. There was really not that much work to do. He only had one tree in his yard. The gutters had very few leaves in them. They were not impeding the flow of water. And the leaves that were on the ground were being blown by the wind from his yard into a field behind his house.

It then occurred to me, that Mr. Jones did not need any work. Mr. Jones needed us. Mr. Jones needed someone in the world to acknowledge that he was alive. Mr. Jones needed what he was created to need. Mr. Jones needed others to love him. And Mr. Jones needed to love others.

Yes, loving others will inevitably bring us enormous pain. But the pain will not be any less enormous if we become rocks or islands. In fact, the pain of isolation and loneliness may be as enormous as “a thousand burning hells.”

We can choose to love or not to love.  But we cannot choose pain or no pain. Therefore, in this world we must choose our pain. My prayer is that each of us will recommit to choosing the pain that comes with giving, with emptying ourselves, and pouring out ourselves to others.

And may we go out into our community and find the Mr. Jones’ of the world, male and female, young and old, and love them, and allow them to love us.

[1]This quote of John Milton was borrowed from a sermon entitled “When You Are Lonely” by Dr. William Powell Tuck to Hampton Baptist Church in Hampton, Virginia on July 20, 2003

[2]John Claypool, “Choose Your Pain”

 [3]Ibid

 [4]William P. Tuck, “When You Are Lonely”

Baptism by Fire

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year B1 Comment

baptism debate

Mark 1:9-11 NRSV

If you were to ask me what my favorite part church is, I would say that it the service of Christian baptism. I have always said that it is a good day when the preacher comes to church on Sunday with a Bible in one hand and a bathing suit and pair of dry underwear in the other.

Thus, I love this day on the Christian calendar that we call The Baptism of the Lord. Although I would much rather be getting wet this morning, and getting some of you even wetter, this day at least gives me the opportunity to reflect on the wonderful service of baptism.

Baptism is essentially about grace. Baptism is about new beginnings, fresh starts, and clean slates. Baptism is about dying to the old, broken self and rising to a new, better self. Baptism is about the confession, forgiveness and washing away of sins. It is about coming to know that there’s nothing in heaven or on earth that can ever separate us from the love of God. Baptism is about knowing God is with us, not away from us, for us, not against us. Thus, baptism is about living with a hope that is certain and eternal.

Baptism is about initiation into the Kingdom of God. Baptism is a commissioning to be the body of Christ in this world, the hands, legs, feet and mind of Jesus on this earth. There is a reason that baptism is often called a sacrament. Baptism is sacred. It is holy. It is grace, pure and unfettered.

There is perhaps nothing in the church that is more beautiful than baptism. How ironic is it then that some in the church have taken baptism and have created something very ugly. Throughout church history, baptism has created more controversy, schisms and arguments than perhaps any other ritual, service or rite.

Throughout my own ministry, I have seen people angrily walk out of church meetings over it. I have even seen people who have transferred their membership to another church over it. I know people who have written nasty emails, made harassing phone calls, and started vicious rumors—all over arguments about baptism. I know of churches that have even split over baptism.

I have had staff members threaten to resign if we changed our church’s bylaws to accept members who were baptized as infants or by sprinkling. In their eyes, they simply did not get wet enough to join God’s Kingdom. I have heard people argue that some were not old enough, mature enough, good enough, sincere enough, or even married enough to be baptized. A pastor friend of mine from Concord, North Carolina, was kicked out of the Baptist State Convention because a couple of folks he baptized were not straight enough. I even know people who have gotten upset, because the people being baptized in their church were not white enough.

The irony is that we have taken something beautiful that is essentially about God’s free and unfettered grace for all people, and created something incredibly ugly by placing restrictions, limitations and conditions on it. There have been more rules and regulations written in the bylaws of churches about baptism than any other service of the church.

Some churches believe that you can only baptize in a flowing creek or a river (the water has to be moving) because that was how Jesus was baptized. A stagnant pond, lake, and of course, a baptismal pool will simply not do. Some people believe you can only baptize when the church is gathered for a worship service. And most people believe that a baptism can only be performed by an ordained minister, who is, of course a male.

And once a person’s baptism has been accepted and approved, sanctioned by church officials as worthy of the grace of God, then one can use his or her baptism as an admission ticket to become a full-fledged member of the church. They can take communion, serve on a committee, become a voting member of the church board, and of course, one day, go to heaven.

Pastor Karoline Lewis once preached a sermon to her congregation emphasizing that baptism is not something that we do, but something that God does. She said that when we baptize someone in the name of God, we believe that it is God who is actually doing the baptizing. And she insinuated that when we make baptism something that we do, that we control, that we place limits and restrictions on, we pervert the very intentions God has for baptism, for God’s grace can never constrained.

After the sermon, a woman who was in her nineties approached her. “Karoline,” she said, “Is that really true?”

“What?” the pastor answered.

Hazel responded, “That God baptizes you.”

“Yes, it’s true. This is what we believe. Why?”

Hazel then told her pastor about her sister who was born several years before she was born. Her sister was born very ill in the home and never left the house because she was so sick. The family knew she would not live long. She lived about two months. Right before she died, Hazel says that her mother took her sister in her arms and lovingly baptized her.

When Hazel’s parents went to the pastor of their church where they had been lifelong members to plan the funeral, the pastor refused to hold the funeral in the sanctuary because he had not baptized the baby. The funeral was held in the basement of the church.

Hazel, almost a hundred years later, then asked her pastor, “Karoline, does this mean my sister is OK? Is she really OK?”

“Yes,” she said. “Your sister is OK.”

There was Hazel standing in front of her pastor, weeping for the sister she never knew, crying tears of relief and grace.

This is what happens, says Karoline, this is the ugly consequences restricting, placing limitations on the grace of God.

Of course, such restrictions and limitations on God’s grace is nothing new. The Jewish law was full of rules and regulations controlling who can and who cannot have access to God. Throughout history people of all cultures have sought to control and tame the grace of God.

This is why we need to be reminded of Jesus’ baptism. First of all, it was not in a controlled environment such as a baptismal pool or font in the confines of a religious hall, but out in the untamed, wide-open wilderness.

And we are told that when Jesus came up out of the water, that the heavens, according to some translations, were suddenly opened. Now there is a Greek word for open, but that word is not used in Mark 1:9. The word that is used means “ripped” or “torn” apart. The word describes a God who cannot take the separation any longer. God has had about all that God could stand and rips the heavens apart.

The question for us this morning is: who closed the heavens? Who placed the restrictions and limitations on God’s grace? Who placed the barriers between God and humanity? Who creates systems and structures to mediate God’s presence? Insist on rituals and formalities to regulate God’s grace, control the means of God’s love, not for the sake of good order (like we would like to think), but for the sake of our own power?

As a minister I cannot begin to tell you the amount of trouble I have gotten myself into over the years for baptizing people outside the controlled confines of the church’s bylaws. I have baptized people on days other than Sundays in places other than the church building. I have baptized people in rivers, in swimming pools, in small ponds, even in the Atlantic Ocean. I baptized one man with his head laid back in the basin of a sink at a nursing home, trusting that it is God, and not me, who is actually doing the baptizing. It is God, and not me, who rips the heavens apart to shower God’s people with grace.

For the same reason, I honor, respect and accept all baptisms—sprinkling, dunking, pouring, infant, adolescent and adult. And I believe baptisms can be performed by any Christian, clergy or laity, male or female. I do not believe people ever need to be re-baptized because some self-appointed or otherwise-appointed baptismal authority believes their baptism somehow did not “take,” failed to meet certain clerical requirements, or was not sincere enough or wet enough. There is but one Church, one Lord, one faith, and one baptism.

With Karoline Lewis and other ministers who understand that expansive abundance of God’s grace, I welcome all people to the Lord’s Table, because, well, the last time I checked, it’s the Lord’s Table. While some ministers only extend the invitation to those who have been baptized a certain way, I cannot, nor can I imagine Jesus turning anyone away.

What are we going to do? Require baptismal ID cards to be presented to the deacons before receiving communion? Are we to say to those who have not been baptized or not sure they have been baptized: “Sorry, you sitting there in the pew wondering if you have been baptized or not. When the plate of bread and tray of juice come to you, don’t take anything. Just politely pass it to the more worthy person sitting next to you who has the official seal of approval? Because, here at First Self-Righteous Church, we believe it is better to hedge our bets on the side of human reason and control rather than God’s abundant and unfettered grace.”[i]

When we take something as beautiful as the service of baptism as it was performed in the wide-open wilderness, with God ripping apart the heavens to get to God’s Son, to get to God’s people, to reveal God’s love and grace to the world, and we turn it into something that is restrictive, legalistic, divisive and exclusive, some sort of qualifying test for membership, communion, and salvation, then we have missed the whole point of who God is and who we are called to be as God’s Church.

However, when we begin to understand that at our baptisms, whether we were a tiny infant or a grown adult, whether we were sprinkled, dunked or poured upon, whether by clergy or by laity, male or female—When we understand that God, the creator of all that is, ripped open the heavens to come close enough to us so we could feel God’s breath and hear God say: “I love you. I have always loved you. And there is nothing that can ever limit, restrict or constrain this love. There is nothing in heaven or on earth that will ever separate you from this love. I know all of your shortcomings and all of your sins, and I forgive you. I am with you, and I will always be with you. You are my beloved son. You are my beloved daughter. You are my Church in this world”—When we understand this truth, this good news, then our baptisms become what they were always intended to be: pure, unfettered, abundant grace, and we can live with a hope that is as eternal as it is certain.

[i] Sermon inspired by: Karoline Lewis, Baptism of Our Lord, https://www.workingpreacher.org

Christmas Begins in the Wilderness

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Sermons Year BLeave a comment

TheGriswoldFamilyChristmasTreeMark 1:6-8 NRSV

When does Christmas begin for you? Was it on Black Friday at the mall, or while watching A Charlie Brown Christmas or National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation? Was it last Sunday morning as the first candle of Advent was lit in this place? When does it start? When do you begin to realize the good news that is Christmas? Where are you when it happens? On the Town Common during the annual Christmas tree lighting? Walking down Main Street during the Taste of Farmville? Going caroling with the children from church? Maybe it is not until Christmas Eve, as you light your candle and sing, Silent Night. Perhaps it is when you are alone at home, listening to Christmas music and decorating your own tree.

For Mark, the good news of Christmas begins in what most of us would call a strange and unexpected place. Unlike us, the good news of Christmas does not start with some warm sentimental scene. And unlike Matthew and Luke, for Mark, the good news of Christmas does not begin with heavenly visitations, choirs of angels, the worship of shepherds, a star rising in the East, or Magi bearing gifts. For Mark, Christmas does not even begin with a little baby wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in a manger.

For Mark, the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the good news of Emmanuel, God with us, the good news of Christmas, begins somewhere out in the wilderness. And he is not talking about some snow-covered winter wonderland where the Griswold’s find their family Christmas tree.

For Jewish people aware of their history, Christmas begins in that place that was experienced somewhere between slavery in Egypt and the Promised Land. Somewhere out in that place of testing, trial and temptation, somewhere out in that place of doubt, dread and despair, that place where you do not know if you want to live or die, that place with the Red Sea swelling before you and Pharaoh’s army advancing behind you. That place where Elijah fled to save his life from Jezebel’s army and then prayed for God to take his life away. That place where even Christmas himself would be haunted by wild beasts and tempted by Satan. For Mark, Christmas begins in the most strange and unexpected place, a raw, dangerous place called the wilderness.

The beginning of the good news that is Christmas occurs in that place where God seems to be against you, or appears to be so far away that you doubt God’s very existence—suffering in an intensive care unit at the hospital, laying in utter misery in a nursing home, holding the hand of a parent with Alzheimer’s, picking out a casket for a spouse in a funeral home, at home anxiously trying to pay your monthly bills, in the middle of a fight with a loved one, in Pearl Harbor 73 years ago this hour, in any place where people are overtaken by tension and terror, overwhelmed by despair and disappointment, or overcome by sin and shame.

Last weekend, I was at home trying to get my own Christmas started as I do every weekend after Thanksgiving. However, this year it began a little differently, you might say it began strangely and unexpectedly.

Instead of decorating my tree this year with Christmas music playing in the background, I decorated it while watching the local news. As I hung ornaments, I listened to the tragic story of a high school student killed in an automobile accident outside of Pinetops. As I turned on the lights of the tree, I glanced up to see pictures of mothers with their children escaping from war-torn Syria into refugee camps in Lebanon. I saw images of many children: some starving, others injured, some dying, others sick, all very afraid. I saw gruesome images of parents holding the lifeless body of their child. And I thought to myself, “I need to turn this depressing mess off and put on something a little more Christmasy.”

Then it occurred to me. This may be as close to Christmasy as it gets, for this is Christmas in the wilderness. The Good News according to Mark concurs that this is Christmas, raw Christmas. This is where Christmas truly begins. This is Christmas untamed and undecorated. For Christmas began when God came into a depressing mess.

And no matter how hard we try, no matter how much energy we expend or how much money we spend; we cannot escape the raw truth of it. Christmas begins, says Mark, with a “voice crying out in the wilderness.” And there is no music, no matter how Christmasy, that we can play loud enough to drown out this voice. There are no decorations glitzy enough and no lights bright enough to temper this voice.

This voice can be heard throughout every refugee camp in Lebanon and by every parent mourning the loss of their child. It can be heard in every intensive care unit, in every nursing home and funeral home. This voice can be heard in every wilderness, in every depressing mess on earth.

Through the good news of Christmas, God is crying out: I am for you; not against you. I am with you; not away from you. And I am more real, more alive, and more at work in this world than you can sometimes believe. As the prophet Isaiah said: “I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (Isa 43:19).

The good news is: Christmas does not begin with us. It does not begin when we get the house all decorated or get all of our shopping done. We do not have to host a Christmas party or even go to one. We don’t even have to go to church, light a candle or sing a carol. Christmas begins with God and with a voice crying out in the wilderness, in those places where we may least expect it, but need it the most.

Some of us know that Luke tells his beloved Christmas story in chapter 2 of his gospel. However, I believe he perhaps tells it more poignantly in chapter 10.

A man was traveling down a wilderness road that was so dangerous that it was sometimes called “the way of blood” or “the bloody pass.” And there out in the wilderness, the man fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, leaving him half dead on the side of the road. As the man lay on the roadside, somewhere between Jerusalem and Jericho, somewhere between life and death, wanting to live, but also maybe wanting to die, he is ignored by two religious leaders who are also traveling down the same road.

God only knows why these men who you would expect to stop and help ignored the man. Perhaps they thought the robbers were still nearby, or maybe they thought the man lying on ground was only pretending, playing some sort of trick, so that when they came near him, he would beat and rob them. For whatever reason, they believed it was much too risky for them to stop.

Then came this one, Luke calls him a Samaritan, which means this was someone who was despised and rejected by the religious establishment, someone who was often misunderstood and rarely respected, someone who knew something about pain and brokenness, betrayal and abandonment, God-forsakenness; someone who had spent many days and nights in the wilderness himself, tempted and tried.

This one who was the least expected to stop and help, saw the man. He saw the man’s wounds, saw the man’s fear, saw the man’s despair and was moved with mercy and compassion. And there in the wilderness he risked his own life, as he sacrificially came to him, selflessly bent himself down to the ground, and joined the man.

The man did not have to do anything to make this one come to him. Out of pure love, unconditional and unreserved, this one just came. He then touched the man where the man most needed touching, pouring oil and wine on the man’s wounds and bandaging them. He then picked the man up and safely carried him out of the wilderness. He stayed with him, at his side through the darkness of the night. When morning came, he paid for the man’s debts, and made the promise: “I will come back. I will return.”

Of course, we call this “The Story of the Good Samaritan.” However, I believe it should be called, “The Story of Christmas.” A story that begins with a voice of mercy and compassion crying out in the wilderness, in those strange, dangerous places where we least expect it, but most need it.

Hospice caregivers will often speak of a dying person “rallying” for a brief time right before death. A person who has been non-responsive will begin to talk. One who has been confused or disoriented will become suddenly coherent. And those who have not had any food for sometimes days may request something to eat or drink. As a pastor, I have seen this “rally” more times than I can possibly count. I am not sure exactly why it happens; I just know that it happens, and it happens often.

My faith tells me that it is Christmas. It is God seeing one lying in the wilderness in their weakest, most broken state, seeing one in their most desperate, most vulnerable need, and it is God being moved with mercy and compassion for that one. It is a voice crying out from the heavens into the wilderness: “I am for you, not against you, I am with you, not away from you. I am Emmanuel. I will risk my own life for you. I will give my all to take care of your wounds and to pick you up, to forgive all of your debts. And when you are ready, I will come back, and I will take you unto myself, so that where I am, you will also be.”

The good news for us this day is that Christmas comes to us all when we confess that we are all half dead, lying on some wilderness road east of Eden, beaten up so badly by this sinful world that no one can tell whether we are Jew or Gentile, male or female, black or white, slave or free.[i] Whenever we confess our brokenness, our sinfulness, and our need for a Savior, a voice from heaven cries out in our wilderness and Christmas comes. Christmas always comes.

When does Christmas begin for you? When does it start? Where are you when you begin to realize the good news that is Christmas? The good news, according to Mark, is that Christmas begins when and where you may least expect it, but need it the most.

[i] This sentence is adapted from words spoken by Frank Tupper in one of my theology classes at Southern Seminary, Louisville, Kentucky, 1989-1992.

All Are Welcome, but…

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

Homecoming sign

Matthew 22:1-14 NRSV

Jesus said that the Kingdom of God is like a King who hosted wedding banquet for his son. But today, let’s say that the Kingdom of God is like a church hosting their 160th Homecoming Celebration.

The church sent out invitations, publicized it in the newsletter, on their on their sign out front, on their website and all over social media. The invitation was generous: “A bountiful table has been set.” The invitation was inclusive: “All are invited.” And the hospitality promised to be extravagant: A fat cow grilled, a fat pig barbequed, and thirty fat chickens fried golden brown.

Now, most people who rode by the church and read the sign “made light of it” and never gave the invitation much thought at all. They simply continued down the road, some to their farms, others to their places of business, others to CVS or The Little Rocket. Most who came across it in their facebook newsfeeds continued to scroll down to look at funny pictures and videos that had been posted by their friends.

However, some people who read the invitation were rather offended by the inclusive welcome. “What do they mean, ‘all are invited.’? Do they really have the audacity to invite all? If I go, will I have to sit at the same table with the poor, the undeserving, the marginalized, tax collectors and sinners?”

Some became so offended by the invitation that they even had thoughts which proved that the preacher was right when he one day proclaimed: “When you truly love all people and try to convince others to love all people, there will always be some people, probably religious people, who will want to kill you.”

On the day of the feast, many were found to be unworthy as they refused the invitation because the very thought of attending any party with some people was too much to bear.

But many accepted the generous invitation. For they knew that the invitation to the table came not only from the church, but it came from the Lord Himself. So, they came. They came through doors that were opened wide and they came to a table made large by the Lord. They came, and they filled the sanctuary. They came, the good and the bad, saints and sinners. They came from all walks of life, with diverse backgrounds and different beliefs. But they came united by the same extravagant love, the love of their Lord who lived for all and died for all. They disagreed, but they were not divided. They came together in love, through love and by love.

The love which united their hearts was so amazing, so divine, so selfless and so sacrificial that it literally changed them. It changed them inwardly, and it changed them outwardly. Sorrow was turned into joy, stress was replaced by peace, and despair was changed into hope.

It was a radical transformation. Everyone in the sanctuary that morning was covered with grace. They were clothed by grace. It was as if they were all wearing it like a beautiful garment.

Hate was replaced by love. Pride was transformed into humility. Judgment was replaced by acceptance. And complacency was turned into passion. Simply accepting the invitation of the Lord was replaced by a commitment to follow the Lord. Simply admiring the Lord being a shallow observer of the Lord, being a casual fan of the Lord, was transformed into a deep and deliberate discipleship.

Someone sent me the following quote on facebook this week:

Most of us don’t mind Jesus making some minor change in our lives but Jesus wants to turn our lives upside down. Mere fans of Jesus don’t mind him doing a little touch-up work, but Jesus wants complete renovation. Fans of Jesus come to Jesus thinking tune-up, but Jesus is thinking overhaul.

I have heard United Methodist Bishop William Willimon say something like, “Jesus does not want to meet our needs; he wants to rearrange our needs. He does not want to merely fulfill our desires; he wants to transform those desires.”

One of my favorite quotes by Henri Nouwen is that Jesus wants to take us to places we would rather not go: dark, dangerous, dreadful places.

And on that day, that glorious Homecoming morning, the people came and were changed the the grace of it all. They were overhauled. They filled the sanctuary, united by love, ready and willing to follow their Christ wherever he leads.

Then comes the disturbing part of the parable.

But one of the guests at the Homecoming service that day was sitting there in his pew unchanged. He was just sitting there unmoved, unaffected by the extravagant grace of it all, the generous hospitality of it all.

And he was asked, “Friend, how did you come here and not be changed? How did you accept such a generous invitation, receive such an extravagant hospitality, receive such a divine love and an amazing grace, and not be transformed? How can you receive love and not love others? How can you receive grace and not extend grace to others?”

The man was speechless. And the congregation watched in horror as the deacons sprung into action. They went over to the man, picked him up, tied a rope around his feet and hands, and carried him out the front door.

And when the congregation turned back around to face the pulpit, the preacher matter-of-factly said: “Many are invited, but few are chosen.”

That is harsh! It is why I don’t like this parable. But should it surprise us?

A couple of chapters later we read something remarkably similar.

A King will say, “You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.” Then they also will answer, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?” Then he will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.” And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.

Jesus seems to be saying, “All are welcome, but…”

The invitation is inclusive. The hospitality is extravagant. The grace is generous. The love is divine. The doors are wide and the table is large. All are welcome, and “all” means “all”, the good and the bad, the sinner and the saint, all are welcome, but…

All are welcome to this Homecoming Sunday this morning, but there is something more going on here on than a gathering of friends and family, an observance the Lord’s Supper, the singing of hymns, the preaching of a sermon and sharing an extravagant meal on the grounds.

All are welcome, but there is no real acceptance without the acceptance of others.

All are welcome, but there is no real love without loving those who hunger for it.

All are welcome, but there is no grace without extending grace to those who thirst for it.

All are welcome, but there is no forgiveness without forgiving those who have trespassed against us.

All are welcome, but there is no Holy Communion without the offering of our own bodies, the pouring out of our own lives as living sacrifices.

All are welcome to the table, but there is no true sharing, no true fellowship, no true nourishment, without feeding the hungry.

All are welcome to put on the white robes of baptism, but there is no meaning in those garments without clothing the poor.

All are welcome, but there is no life, abundant or eternal, without the dying of self.

All are welcome, but there is no salvation without the cross.

All are welcome, but if there is no discipleship; if there is no desire to follow Jesus; no commitment to stand against the bullies of this world, to share hope with the victims of bullies everywhere; if there is no commitment to stand for the poor, the marginalized, and the outcasts; no desire to eat with tax collectors and sinners; no dedication to love the least of these our brothers and sisters; well then, the deacons might as well pick you up, bind your legs and arms, and carry you out the front door.

That is harsh. It is why I don’t like this parable. It is why I use the entirety of the Bible to interpret this part of the parable.

Now here’s the good news. As far as I know, there is not a deacon in this room who is prepared to pick anyone up and throw them out the door this morning. Each person in this room is different. We come from different backgrounds, different walks of life, and we have different beliefs. We are at different places in our journeys of faith. But we came through these doors this morning united by the same love: the extravagant love of our Lord who lived for all and died for all.

And listen to the good news in the words of the Apostle Paul concerning this love:

Jesus’ love is patient. Jesus’ love is kind; the love of Christ is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. The love of our Lord love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful. The love of Christ does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. The love of the Lord bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.[i]

So let us join God and keep loving one another with the patient love of our Lord and our Savior. And may this love always be with us as we continually seek to change to be the people and the church God is calling us to be. Amen.

[i] Gale Burritt Hagerty, a thoughtful Christian friend responded  with these words from 1 Cor 13 to the interpretation of Jesus as “belligerent” and “demanding” in the following quote: “Most of us don’t mind Jesus making some minor change in our lives but Jesus wants to turn our lives upside down. Fans don’t mind him doing a little touch-up work, but Jesus wants complete renovation. Fans come to Jesus thinking tune-up, but Jesus is thinking overhaul.”

 

 

Jesus Prays for Us

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

Jesus prayedJohn 17 NRSV

As a pastor, I have the wonderful privilege of sharing not only the best of life with people, but also the worst of life. I have the privilege to celebrate the joys of life as I will with Ashley Mozingo and Bryant Watson this week when they are married, and I have the privilege of suffering through the sorrows of life as I have this past week with Shirley Meeks as she buried her husband of 57 years.

Now, I do realize that may sound rather peculiar to call sharing the sorrows of others, a “privilege”; however, when you witness the miraculous strength and extraordinary courage; when you witness a faith that never fades, but only grows stronger in the midst of the suffering as I have, when you visit people amid suffering and leave feeling, not sad, but inspired and uplifted, you would understand why I call it a “privilege.”

Some of you know what I am talking about. There is no other word but “miraculous” to describe how some of you are you able to be here in this place today, and doing as well as you are doing, in spite of everything that you have been through. Some of you have lost persons that you love the most in this world. Some of you have suffered a heart-breaking divorce. Just this past year, some of you lost your job. Some of you have had major surgery. Some of you have been diagnosed with a chronic illness. Some of you have lost your siblings, and some have lost your very best friends. Yet, here you are. Somehow, some miraculous way you have survived, and you are somehow making it. And not only are you here, but your mere presence, your smile, your hugs, the faith and love that we see burning in your eyes is more of an inspiration to us than you can possibly begin to understand.

But how do you do it? How do any of us really do it?  How do we keep on keeping on in a world of gloom and doom?  How do we maintain our sanity in a broken world of sickness and strife?  How do we keep the faith in a world of doubt and disbelief?

Shirley Meeks who faithfully and graciously cared for William during this last difficult year as he suffered with cancer, told me that she believes she knows exactly how she has made it through, how she has remained so strong. Besides her sewing room where she would escape for a few moments during each day to create something with her hands, needle and thread, she said there was one other thing that has seen her through her suffering. Last Saturday, standing on her front porch she confidently said to me: “Jarrett, the Lord answers my prayers.”

One of the greatest things that happens to me as a minister, and it happens very frequently, is when I go to the hospital or to a home to minister to someone, and the person to whom I am ministering, ministers to me.

There is no doubt that Shirley believes in the power of prayer. Right before William passed away, his body began to shiver as if he had a chill. The very first thing that Shirley did was grab the prayer quilt that the women of the church had made for William, the one that the church had consecrated with prayer for William. She picked up that quilt and lovingly and graciously wrapped it around him.

Shirley is able to be here this morning because she believes in prayer. She believes the Lord hears her prayers and the prayers of her church family and friends. However, our scripture lesson this morning suggests that there may be much more to it than that!

For here we learn that Jesus, as he was preparing to leave this world, prayed for us. Think of that for a moment, God within the three persons of the holy Deity prays for us.

We read in 1 John 2 that we all have an advocate with God the Father, we all have someone on our side,  praying for us, supporting us and loving us. He is Jesus Christ the righteous.

The writer to the Hebrews assures us that “he is able for all time to save those who approach God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them.” The writer is saying that Jesus lives to make intercession for us. Jesus lives today to pray for us (Hebrews 7:25).

The Apostle Paul in his letter to the Romans writes: “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that the very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.  And God who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God” (Romans 8:26-27).

If you ever worry that no one is praying for you, the apostle Paul says that you can stop worrying.  If no one earth is praying for you, Jesus certainly is. Jesus is our High Priest. He is our intercessor. He is our advocate. Christ lives today to pray for us. Even when we don’t know how to pray for others or for ourselves, even when we cannot find the words to pray, Paul says that the Spirit of God intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words.

This wonderful truth should be bring us great comfort. For sometimes the pain of life is so great, the grief is so overwhelming, that we don’t even know how to begin to pray. I have heard someone say that sometimes when the pain is so great, when they pray they don’t pray words at all. They simply “pray their pain.” They pray their pain and trust that Jesus hears, Jesus understands, Jesus intercedes and Jesus answers.

So, what does it truly mean for us to be prayed for by Jesus?  Let’s look again at the words found in our lesson this morning.

There are several petitions to God that are offered by Jesus on our behalf.  Because of time, I just want to point out two of them that I believe explains a lot.  First, Jesus asks that the Christian community exhibit the same oneness that exists between Jesus and the Father. There is an edifying mutuality which exists between Jesus and the Father. Each glorifies the other. John 15:8-10 reads:  “My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples. As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my father’s commandments and abide in his love.”

Jesus prays for us to share this oneness between Jesus and the Father by keeping his commandments to love others as he loves us.

As I met with Ashley and Bryant to plan their wedding celebration, we talked about love being more than a mere feeling, for feelings cannot be commanded. Jesus commands us to love others. He does not say love others, if you feel like it. If you have feelings for another, then love them. No, he says to love others. Love is always a verb. That is why I told Ashley and Bryant that they will never hear any minister ever ask in a wedding ceremony, “Are you in love” or “do you love” but always, “Do you promise to love.” Love is always action. Love is not a feeling, but Love is selfless, sacrificial service. Jesus prays that we will love one another.

Another petition offered to God by Jesus is that God sanctify the church. The verb translated “sanctify” here belongs to the cultic language of the Old Testament, where priests and animals were set apart for sacrifice.  And it belongs to the Holiness Code of Leviticus where the whole nation was directed to live as a special people separated for the service of God. Jesus prays that we will understand that we have been ordained, set apart, and sanctified for selfless, sacrificial ministry.

This is how I believe Shirley Meeks was able to minister to the minister. If God has ordained us for ministry, then God is always going to give us the strength and the courage we need to be an inspiration to others, to love others, even when we do not feel like it loving others, even in the face of suffering and grief. God is always going to do all that God can do to help us to love others, to be selfless servants to one another. For this is the prayer of Christ for each of us.

So, this is how I believe we do it. This is how we keep the faith in a broken world of doubt and disbelief. This is how we keep on keeping on in a world of gloom and doom. This is how we have been able to make it through this last year amid so much loss and grief. This is how we can be an inspiration to others amid the worst in life. We are prayed for. We are prayed for by others, but more importantly we are prayed for by Jesus Christ himself.  The Spirit of God is interceding for us with sighs too deep for words.  Jesus, our advocate, is praying that in this world of despair, we will abide in his love, and be sanctified and set apart for ministry.

Getting Our Hands Dirty

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

John 9:1-41 NRSVdirty-hands-medium-new

Let’s think for a minute what it did for this poor blind man when the disciples began a 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 theologizing and rationalizing 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 religious, or at least, spiritual people, we believe it is our ordained duty to try to explain human suffering and misery in light of our faith in God.

When the earthquake and Tsunami struck Japan a few years ago, like the Tsunami that struck Southeast Asia years before, I heard some preachers say that it is because Japan was not a Christian nation.

When terrorists destroyed the World Trade Center Towers on 9-11, they said that corporate greed was to blame.

When Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans and Gulfport, I heard some blame it on all the new casinos that had been built in the region.

And whenever there is an outbreak of strong storms, tornadoes, wildfires or landslides, I have heard plenty of Christians say, “God must be trying to get our attention!”

For whatever reason, when suffering occurs, we believe God must have had some pretty good reasons to allow it.

In the face of human pain and suffering, there are two predominate explanations that are usually given by the church.

The first one is the one I usually hear from the TV evangelists and conservative pulpits. God is sitting at the command center in complete control of every earthly thing that happens. God has got a plan for the world, and it’s a good plan, but we as limited human beings may not always be able to figure that plan out. Who knows? Maybe people who suffer deserve to suffer. But we do know this: God’s judgments are always just. You just have to have faith and believe. You have to trust that God has his reasons, has his driving purposes for everything that happens.

The other response comes from more liberal scholars. And that is one of silence, just silence. God is large and God is indescribable. Life, and the suffering that comes with it, is utterly mysterious. We simply have no answers to our “why” questions—silence.

Frankly, I believe both of these responses are terrible, to say the least. First of all, those who believe God has some kind of divine, driving purpose for every evil thing that happens in this world, in my estimation, paint a very evil and anti-christ portrait of God.

And those who respond with silence, those who refuse to say anything at all in response to human suffering, make God out to seem detached and aloof. God is watching us, but from a distance. Thus, God is reduced to this a mysterious abstraction devoid of any real meaning.

However, the gospels paint a very different image of God through the words and works of Christ. I believe the life, suffering and death of Christ teach us that when the landslide shook the earth in Washington, so quivered the very heart of God. As the earth rolled down and toppled homes and lives, so rolled down the very tears of God. As the lives of many were suddenly were poured out, so emptied the very self of God. God was not causing the evil. Neither was God silent.

This is where I believe our Gospel lesson this morning is especially helpful. When Jesus is questioned about this man’s lifetime of pain and suffering by his disciples, Jesus really doesn’t answer the question, but neither is he silent. Jesus responds by pointing out that this was a good opportunity, not for theological debate, not to assign blame or responsibility, but rather, to bend to the ground, spit in the dirt, and get his hands dirty, so that the glory of God might be revealed. Jesus responds to human suffering and misery by bending to the ground, getting his hands dirty to bring about healing and wholeness.

And with that, a huge argument ensues. But notice that Jesus refuses to engage in the argument. Jesus is not interested theological debate or speculation. Jesus is interested in simply being there with the man, touching the man, thus revealing the peculiar glory of our God and power of out God.

When I was in college, one of my favorite professors was Dr. Bobby Bell. During my junior year, Dr. Bell was diagnosed with a terminal cancer. I had the wonderful opportunity to take what would be his last class. He was a sociology professor; however, he would often share his faith in class.

ll never forget the time when one of my classmates asked Dr. Bell if he ever felt that God had some reason for allowing his cancer. “

God did not give me this cancer. I am a human being. And human beings sometimes get cancer. I have cancer because I am human, and not for any other reason. I don’t believe for a minute that God wants me or anyone to have cancer. That’s why I believe during this time of suffering and pain, I have sensed, in a way that I have never sensed before, the very intimate, near presence and love of Christ in my life. And I may not be healed physically, but I have certainly felt the hand of Christ on me and know that I have been healed spiritually. I believe the living Lord is here suffering with me, and that means everything in the world to me.

Dr. Bell died two days before final exams. But there’s no doubt in my mind that he died a healed and a very whole man.

I think it is interesting that the great Southeast Asia Tsunami hit the day after Christmas. One of the world’s worst natural catastrophes took place the very first day after the church’s celebration of the Incarnation, the celebration of the good news that our God did not remain silent, aloof and detached from us. The celebration that our God became flesh and came among us; our God is a God who descends; our God is a God who bends, who stoops to the earth.

The story of this healed blind man comes in the same Gospel of John that begins, “In the beginning was the Word…and the Word was made flesh and moved in with us…and we beheld his glory.” The great, grand glory of this God who became flesh with us, is not that God is in complete control of everything earthly thing that happens, and it is not that God has an explanation or a reason or a driving purpose for everything that happens to us, but rather that God is here with us.

In the face of suffering, our God reaches in and reaches out to us, bends himself to the ground, gets God’s hands dirty and touches us.

Every year when Holy Week approaches, I think about the worshippers of the Goshen United Baptist Church in Piedmont, Alabama. It was Palm Sunday in 1994. About midway through the worship service at 11:35 am, as the choir began to sing, a tornado ripped through the church building destroying it completely. Eighty-three out of the 140 worshippers who attended the service that day were injured. Twenty-one worshippers were killed. Eight of the dead were little children—children who had just walked down the aisle carrying their palm branches.

There was absolutely no driving purpose, no theological explanation for that tragedy, except for the fact that we live in fallen, broken, unfair and sometimes senseless world where tornados, landslides, tsunamis, hurricanes, and cancer can develop and arbitrarily destroy.

Thankfully Christians from all over the world responded to that great tragedy by emulating our God revealed to us in Christ, by bending themselves to the ground, getting their hands dirty, raising that church out of the rubble. Christians everywhere imitated their Savior by suffering with and being with the grieving.

On the church’s website today, you will find these words:

 After the tornado, we received many gifts from all over the world. They lifted us up and helped us to know that we are not alone. Among those gifts were a banner and a painting of Jesus walking on turbulent waters. These and other gifts are reminders that God is with us through our storms, and with His help we will rise above them and be stronger because of them. We can now affirm the truth of the message that is contained on a plaque and in the words of a song: ‘Sometimes God calms the storm. Sometimes, he lets the storms rage, and calms the child.’

The good news is, as the Psalmist so beautifully describes it in the 23rd Psalm, God is always there to calm God’s children.

And in the end, isn’t that much better than any theological explanation?