Tag: repentance

Standing in Line with God

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

Matthew 3:13-17

No one likes to wait in line, whether it be at the drive thru, the grocery store, the doctor’s office, or even for supper at the church on Wednesday night. When I have been asked: “Preacher, what do you think hell is like?” I have often responded: “I think it’s like waiting in line. It’s like one long, hot crowded line.”

It’s why we go to Busch Gardens on a weekday, make the reservation at our favorite restaurant, and always, always, schedule an appointment with the DMV. It’s why we love the self-checkout lanes at Kroger, online banking, and the ability to pay for our gas at the pump.

That’s why we might find it crazy to discover that this is how Jesus began his public ministry. He doesn’t start with a miracle. He doesn’t open with a prayer or even begin with a sermon. He gets the whole thing started by standing in line.

Matthew tells us that Jesus comes from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John. It’s hard to imagine how long that line was, as we read in verse five that “Jerusalem, and all Judea, and all the region around the Jordan, were going out to John” to be baptized.

I wonder how long Jesus waited in that line—the people he met, the conversations he had.

When Jesus finally gets to the front of the line, John scratches his head. For John knows his role. He knows who Jesus is. And he knows the script saying, “Jesus, this is crazy, you should be baptizing me!”

But Jesus refuses the script: “Let it be so now,” Jesus says, “for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.”

Which is Matthew’s eloquent of saying: “This is how God likes to do things.”

God does not look down on the creation from some lofty throne, watching us from a distance, as Bette Midler used to sing. God gets in line beside us.

The Holy One is not so above us that God has a Fast Pass or Quick Queue, to skip the line, to avoid human suffering. Through baptism, the God of Jesus, wades in the mud and even goes underwater with the people.

And it’s not just any water that Jesus is immersed. It’s the Jordan River. It’s the place where enslaved people once crossed into freedom and Pharaoh’s power was finally broken.

It’s in this historic river that John stands preaching repentance. But not the type of personal repentance you may have learned as a child in Sunday School. Growing up in my Baptist church I was taught that it primarily meant that you didn’t cuss, dance, drink, smoke, or chew, or go with boys and girls who do.

But John was preaching the type of repentance that will get your head served on a silver platter by the King Herods of the world. There, in the historic waters that symbolized the liberation of the Israelites, John was preaching a repentance that names immoral leaders, unjust systems, inequity, violence, and greed.

He calls out economic exploitation. He calls out religious complacency. And he lets all who have been wounded, discounted, or displaced by those in power know that God is on their side.

This is why people from all over the land were lined up that day, and this is why Jesus got in line, and waited his turn to be baptized.

Not to wash away his sins, but to join John’s movement of justice and liberation. And to be counted among those who are desperate, burdened, oppressed, and longing for change. He aligns himself with people who have been told, by empire and by religion alike, that they are the problem.

This is how God likes to do things. This is God refusing to remain aloof, floating somewhere in heaven above history. This is God rejecting a false righteousness that doesn’t dare get its feet muddy and a salvation that skips past suffering. The good news is that Jesus’ baptism is one of solidarity with all who suffer.

And this good news matters right now more than ever.

Because we are living in a moment when the privileged still look down on the poor. They preach responsibility downward while hoarding upward. Violence is accepted, truth is manipulated, and cruelty is justified.

We live in a world where immigrants are blamed instead of welcomed, the poor are shamed instead of protected, military force is justified as necessary instead of exposed as a failure of moral courage, and faith is used to bless it all, instead of denouncing it.

And it is into this moment, the gospel says: Jesus gets in line, steps into the mud, and enters the water. Not above the moment. Not even beside it. But immersed in it.

Baptized in the Jordan, Jesus resists domination by choosing humility.

He resists violence by choosing vulnerability.

He resists hierarchy by choosing to stand in line.

Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan is active, nonviolent, embodied resistance to everything in this world that denies human dignity.

And notice that this is when the heavens open up.

Not when Jesus proves himself with an inspiring sermon.

Not when he performs a miracle that impresses the multitudes.

And not when he conquers anything or anyone.

The heavens open up when Jesus gets in line, stands in the mud, and goes underwater with the people. This is when a voice can be heard: “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

Before sermons. Before healings. Before confrontations.

Before the cross. Before resurrection.

Before anything. God says, “Beloved.”

This is the foundation of everything that follows in the gospel story. Jesus does not do anything in his life or ministry to earn love, but does everything from love. It is love that informs everything.

And when we forget this, that it is all about love, church can become performance, and working for justice can become a burden. When we forget that it is all about love, we can start confusing violence, and even hate, with being with being faithful.

This is why Jesus’ baptism reminds us that before the work of liberation and justice can begin, belovedness comes first.

Because beloved people don’t need to dominate.
Beloved people don’t need to dehumanize.
Beloved people don’t need to lie or believe the lies to survive.

Beloved people can tell the truth in love.
Beloved people can get in line and stand with the suffering.
And beloved people can resist violence without becoming violent themselves.

This is why the Spirit descends like a dove, and not like an eagle. Not like a sword or a bomb. But like a dove, a symbol of peace, revealing that when we accept our belovedness, we see that nonviolence is the shape of God’s power in the world.

This is why Jesus’ baptism is so important. For we live in a culture addicted another shape of power. We are taught that change only comes through force, domination, punishment, humiliation, and violence.

Jesus’ baptism teaches us that the reign of God on this earth does not advance by threatening and crushing enemies, but happens by creating beloved community. The kingdom does not come through fear, but through love. And the movement of God does not rise by lording over or climbing over bodies, but by getting in line and kneeling beside them.

So, what does this all mean for us, right here, right now?

It means if the church is following the way of the nonviolent Jesus, we cannot remain safe, secluded, and separated from the suffering of this world.

That means we cannot remain dry while the world is drowning.

It means we cannot sing about justice while refusing solidarity with those who experience injustice.

It means we cannot preach love, and not stand in line with people in places of grief, protest, and exhaustion, with poor people bearing the weight of policies that benefit the rich, with immigrants terrorized by the state, or with all those shaken by the killing of Renee Good—a mother, a neighbor, and a beloved human being whose death has rightly unsettled our conscience.

It means we must be willing to go into the waters where any person or group is struggling to breathe and boldly call the principalities and powers of darkness to repent.

And to do this faithfully, to do this nonviolently, we must listen again for that voice: not the voice of fear-mongering politics; not the voice of religious nationalism. But the voice that still speaks over muddy water and trembling bodies, saying: “Beloved.”

“You are my sons, my daughters, my children.”

You are not forgotten.
You are not disposable.
And you are not alone.

I stand with you.

You are important. You matter. You are beloved.

And if we believe in that voice, we will:

resist injustice without surrendering our humanity;
confront lies without becoming cruel;
and build movements rooted not in fear, but in belovedness.

Jesus gets in line, stands in the mud, and goes underwater so that we might rise, not above anyone, but together, side by side.

This is how Jesus says righteousness is fulfilled.

This is how God still does things in this world.

This is how the heavens are opened.

And this is how the world is changed.

So, as we leave this place this morning, the call of the gospel is both simple and demanding: stand in line.

Stand in line for justice when white supremacy still distorts our laws, our stories, and our sense of who belongs.

Stand in line for voting rights when democracy is attacked and weakened.

Stand in line for social justice when whole communities are denied dignity, safety, and opportunity.

Stand in line for equity when systems continue to benefit some while burdening others.

Stand in line against violence, in our streets, in our rhetoric, and in our policies, when force is treated as the answer instead of a failure of moral courage.

And today, we must stand in line in grief, lament, and protest, for Renee Nicole Good, whose life was taken by violence that never should have happened.

We must stand beside all who live in fear in their own homes, with all whose lives are endangered by power, control, and violence, and we must name this system that continues to terrorize and kill our neighbors as sin. We must refuse to be silent and commit ourselves to work for a world where such violence has no refuge.

We stand in line not above people, not ahead of people, but with people, all the people, especially those who have been pushed to the margins, silenced, or told to wait their turn.

We step in the mud and stand in line in, even when the line is long, even when they call us crazy, even if it feels like hell.

Because when we stand in line like Jesus did, we discover that this is where God stills shows up.

This where the heavens still open up.

This is where love is still heard

And this is the only way the world can still be changed.

Amen.

When Empire Meets Love

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year C1 Comment

Luke 19:1-10

I will forever be grateful for the way Shirley Paxton and Linda Burger graciously welcomed me into their homes. Even when they were not feeling their best, they opened their doors wide.  And instead of talking about their ailments, as I expected, Shirley and Linda only wanted to talk about me, how I was doing, how my family was doing. They were interested in the church and my role as the senior minister, but they seemed more interested in who I was as a human being, as a father, a husband, a son, and a brother.

 After my first visit with Linda, I will never forget her walking me outside with Ken to my Honda Civic, asking me how in the world I was able to fit into such a little car. It reminded me of my first visit with Shirley. During a barrage of personal questions about me and my family, how my wife and I were liking Lynchburg, she suddenly came out with: “Just how tall are you?”

“6-foot-four,” I replied.

“That’s funny,” she said, “I’m four-foot-six! Stand up and let me stand beside you.”

We stood up next to each other there in her living room and laughed and laughed.

Shirley Paxton and Linda Burger may not have been very tall, but they both had very large spirits, something Zacchaeus had to grow into. And that’s where we meet him today, small in stature, and smaller still in spirit.

Zacchaeus worked for Rome, the empire that taxed the poor to feed the rich, ruled by fear, and crucified anyone who dared to resist. And sometimes, it feels like that same spirit still stalks our streets today.

 Zacchaeus was a chief tax collector, which meant he didn’t just collect money for Rome, he personally profited off the suffering of his neighbors. Thus, when the people saw him, they didn’t see a neighbor. They saw a traitor. And maybe that’s exactly what he was.

However, the good news is, or should I say the challenging news for us living a country that seems full of traitors these days is: Jesus saw him differently, teaching us what can happen when empire meets love.

Luke tells us that Jesus was passing through Jericho, a city built on exploitation and one of Rome’s outposts of control. Jericho was a city where the wealthy lived behind high walls and widows begged outside the gates. And there, in a crowd of people, standing on his tiptoes, was Zacchaeus, who then climbed a tree to catch a glimpse of grace.

Have you ever wondered what made Zacchaeus climb that tree? Why he wanted to see this radical rabbi named Jesus, the one stirring up good trouble for the sake of love. Maybe he was just curious, wondering who this troublemaker was who was proclaiming good news to the ones he was oppressing, while at the same time proclaiming love for tax collectors like himself.

Maybe Zacchaeus was desperate. Maybe, deep down, Zacchaeus didn’t like working for the empire. Maybe he was tired of living off the backs of others, tired of being part of a system where he was asked to trade his soul for a paycheck.

When empire meets love, sometimes it begins with a just a glance, for someone to catch just a glimpse of truth.

And then comes the surprise! Jesus stops beneath that tree, looks up and calls Zacchaeus by name: “Zacchaeus, come down. For I must stay at your house today.”

Luke says, “he came down at once.” I don’t know if that means he climbed down in a hurry, or was so startled when he heard Jesus call his name and heard the urgency in his voice, that he fell out of that tree!

The scene is shocking in more ways than one. For Jesus looks up at the one everyone else looks down on. Jesus humanizes the one everyone else demonizes. And it is because of that, love is able to enter the house of empire.

And something happens when love enters your house and sits at your table. Something happens when you stop hiding behind the systems of the world and start listening to the Savior of the world. Something happens when grace moves in and refuses to leave you where it found you.

It’s too bad Luke doesn’t tell us what Jesus said to Zacchaeus. But we can be certain Jesus didn’t sit there in silence, not the way many of us will be tempted to do this Thanksgiving, when empire shows up at our tables dressed like politics or prejudice. Whatever Jesus said, it was enough for Zacchaeus to realize he had missed the whole point of living. That life is not about accumulation but restoration. That love, grace, mercy, and justice are not accessories to faith. They are the very heart of it.

At the table with Jesus, Zacchaeus doesn’t just say, “I’m sorry.” Zacchaeus flips the whole system on its head: “Half of my possessions I will give to the poor, and if I’ve cheated anyone, I’ll pay them back fourfold!”

On this stewardship commitment Sunday, it is important for us to understand that this is what faithful stewardship looks like. Now, I’m not talking about giving 400% instead of 10%. I am talking about stewardship being about more than keeping the lights on in the church. It’s about the church shining a light into the world. It’s about giving others an opportunity to catch a glimpse of grace and truth. It is the empire coming face to face with love.

Zacchaeus teaches us that it’s not just about giving from what we have. It’s about giving back what the empire has stolen. It’s not about charity. It’s about equity. It’s about making reparations. It is about doing justice in an unjust world.

Before meeting love, Zacchaeus was the face of injustice. He worked for a system designed to keep the poor in their place. The tax collector’s job was to remind people that Rome owns you, Rome rules you, and Rome can take from you whatever it wants.

And today, that same spirit still walks among us. It criminalizes poverty. It takes food from the hungry. It turns brown skin into suspicion. It raids restaurants and convenience stores. It tears children from their parents’ arms. It’s the spirit behind every deportation, every detention center, and any system that profits off fear.

The challenge of Zacchaeus’ story for us is that when Jesus met the face of this spirit in Zacchaeus, Jesus didn’t demonize him. He humanized him. Jesus didn’t shame him or scold him. He didn’t see a villain. He saw a child of God buried beneath the mask of empire.

Jesus then invited himself to Zacchaeus’ home, to meet Zacchaeus where he was, where he lives, to learn more about him as a human being, as a father, a husband, a son, and a brother. Jesus invited Zacchaeus to sit down with him at a table, to break bread, which allowed a revolutionary love to touch his soul and transform him.

If Jesus were walking our streets today, I wonder if he’d stop beneath the watchtower of a detention center and call out to an ICE officer: “Hey John, why don’t you come down from there. Come down and let’s sit together at a table where no one is illegal, and every child is safe.”

For that’s what radical welcome looks like. It’s not a polite kindness that leaves injustice unchallenged. It’s the fierce, unrelenting love that says even to the enemy: “You will not make me hate you. You are God’s beloved child, and I believe you were made for much more than this.”

The good news is I believe that invitation still echoes in our world today. Jesus is still calling: “Come down. Leave the systems of empire. Come sit at the table where the walls come down and the children are safe, where love doesn’t get deported and where grace has no borders.”

This is what we mean when we say, “Radical Welcome, Revolutionary Love.” Radical welcome isn’t polite hospitality behind closed doors. It’s repentance made visible in public. It’s empire being converted— one heart, one invitation, one table at a time.

When Zacchaeus welcomed Jesus, he didn’t just open his front door. He opened his wallet, his conscience, his life. He said, “Half my possessions I will give to the poor. And if I have defrauded anyone, I will pay back 400%.” That’s crazy!

When Zacchaeus changed, Jericho changed. When one house opens its doors to grace, the whole neighborhood begins to glow!

This is what happens when love gets inside a house built by empire. Everything gets rearranged. When love moves in, greed moves out. When grace shows up, fear packs its bags. When Jesus crosses your threshold, the entire house starts to look like heaven.

And church, this is what stewardship is all about. It’s not about fundraising. It’s not maintaining our building. It’s opening our house to the holy. It’s saying, “Lord, this table, this budget we are pledging to fund, this ministry, this community, it’s all yours. And we want you to do something crazy here, something world-changing here!”

Because that’s what happens when empire meets love.

When greed meets grace, chains start breaking.

When fear meets faith, walls start falling.

When apathy meets compassion, hearts start healing.

When a church decides to truly live like Jesus— salvation lights up the city.

Zacchaeus’ story isn’t just about one man’s salvation. It’s about us. It’s about what happens when we let Jesus interrupt our comfort, when we climb down from the systems that keep us safe, separate, and silent and we say, “Come on in, Lord. Our house, our hearts, are wide open.”

And when empire meets love, tables get longer.

When empire meets love, budgets start looking like moral documents.

When empire meets love, the hungry are fed, the unhoused are sheltered, and the sick receive healthcare.

When empire meets love, equity is practiced, kindness is extended, mercy is offered, and justice is done.

When empire meets love, saints like Shirley and Linda smile down from glory, because they see that the welcome they practiced still lives in us.

So today, as we dedicate our pledges, as we name our saints,
as we remember those who opened their homes and hearts, let’s promise to keep doing the same: to open our doors wide; to welcome without condition; to love while refusing to hate; and to give until it changes someone’s life.

Because love like that is still revolutionary.
Love like that still topples empires.
Love like that is still how salvation comes to this house—
to our house
to this church,

to this city,
to this world that God so loves.

So, church, let’s come down from our trees.
Let’s come down from the tree of fear and scarcity.
Let’s come down from the branches of comfort and silence.
Let’s come down and open the door, set a table and make room for love.

Because Jesus is calling our name, saying: “First Christian Church in Lynchburg, Virginia, I must stay at your house today!”

Amen.

Christmas in the Boondocks

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Sermons Year C1 Comment

Luke 3:7-18 NRSV

As a preacher, I often wonder about this thing we call a sermon. Like, why do we do it? Why do preachers prepare and deliver them, and why do you sit and listen to it?

I tend to believe that you are here for the sermon because need a little encouragement. In a world that can be dark and despairing, you need to hear a word of light and hope. In a world that can be sad and chaotic, you need to hear a word of joy and peace.

On top of all the problems in the world, war in Ukraine and in the Middle East, the acceptance of fascism throughout the world, including in our own country, you have all kinds of stress in your life. Some of your children are not doing as well as you would like. Some of you are having a difficult time taking care of aging parents. And some of you have your own health worries. Some of you are still dealing with grief over the loss of a loved one. And you are still struggling with forgiving that friend who let you down or loving a neighbor who betrayed you. So, you come to this place every to sit in a pew to get a little inspiration, to find a little peace.

So, I, along with hundreds of other moderate, educated, mainline preachers in our pretty, city pulpits, seek to give you a dose of what we think you want on Sunday mornings. Instead of saying anything that might add to the stress in your life, we try to say something to fill you with such peace, that when the time in the service comes when we pass the peace, you actually have something to pass. During the sermon, we seek to metaphorically pat you on the back on Sunday mornings assuring you that everything is going to be alright.

I am very tempted this morning to talk about my new granddaughter and how the birth of a little baby can change our world; then somehow compare that to the birth of Jesus peaching a soft, sweet, sentimental sermon of comfort and peace.

But then I encounter a text like this morning’s gospel lesson and read the account of a preacher who doesn’t remind us of any grandfather we know whose heart has been softened by the birth of a baby. His name is John, and he’s also a far cry any educated, moderate, mainline preacher in a pretty, city pulpit. He’s a harsh man with a harsh voice crying out in the boondocks far from the lights of the city.

No one ever called John “moderate.” And no one ever called him “mainline.” And there was seemingly nothing peaceful, about his message of hell, fire, brimstone, and impending judgment.

When John stood in the mud of the Jordan River and looked out in the congregation, he didn’t seem to see what I see when I look out on Sunday mornings. I see mostly good people who truly want to be better. John saw a snake pit. He preached: “You bunch of poisonous snakes! There’s a bunch of dead stones in this muddy river, but God is able to raise up a family out of these stones. There’s a heap of dry chaff, mixed all up in with the wheat, and you know what God’s going to do? God’s coming with fire to burn off the chaff. I wash you with water; and if this water is too cold for you… there is one who’s coming right behind me who is going to scorch you with fire!”

“You better get washed. You better get clean!  If you haven’t treated someone right, go make it right. If you have something you can give to those who have nothing to give, give it. If you have any prejudice in your heart, you better get rid of it. This may be your last warning. Today is the day. Now is the hour, for the ax and the fire are surely coming!”

Now I think, who wants to listen to a sermon like that? As it turns out, lots of people. Luke says: “multitudes” came out to hear him. And genteel, educated preachers in our nice city pulpits everywhere, scratch our heads and ask: “why?”

Perhaps you don’t come to church to listen to a sermon solely to be encouraged. Perhaps you also come to hear the truth.

Multitudes travelled way out into the boonies because that redneck preacher who looked like he could handle a snake or two named John was telling people the truth.

And perhaps that is why we are all here this morning. In a world where we are bombarded with lies…in a world in which we are overwhelmed with deceit, disinformation, propaganda, gaslighting and indoctrination… in a world where people make up stories to control us, using us for their selfish and greedy purposes…in a world where the rich and powerful control the media and malign the media they don’t control…and in a world where money is always the objective, we need to hear someone who will unashamedly speak to us, honestly and truthfully. We come here out of a deep yearning to hear a word of truth from God, because we know deep in our hearts that it is only that truth that will set us free and give us the peace we all desire.

That is why more people went out to hear John preach in the boondocks than have ever come here to hear me preach in the comfortable city sanctuaries where I have preached. Multitudes trudged through the briars and dust and went to hear a fire-breathing preacher who stood, not in a beautifully crafted and decorated pulpit, but in the muddy Jordan River, and spoke of axes, judgment, and fire. They went to hear the truth, even though they knew that truth was going to hurt. Because they somehow instinctively knew that it was the truth and only the truth that was going to set them free and give them a lasting peace.

If John was here today, I believe he would tell you that preachers like me often sell you short. And maybe he would be right.

For I have noticed, when every now and again, I unintentionally slip up and step on a few toes, a lot harder than I would ever intend to, inferring that some of you are not right…That some of you could do a little better…That some of you need a bath…That some part of you needs to be cut off, removed; something in you needs to be burned away…When I challenge you by saying something like: peace is only going to come on earth if you do something, that justice is only going to be done, if you use your privilege and power and act…When I explain how, even now, we are participants in the systems of oppression we deplore… you know what happens? Why, people line up after the service to say, “Thank you preacher. I really needed to hear that!” “You really got on top of my feet today! Thanks for being honest.”

I wonder what would happen if preachers all over the world had the gall to discuss all the lies and disinformation in our world today that is behind the growing popularity of fascism. What if we inferred that all of us could do more to stop it, that we could be more vocal in our condemnation of it, that our silence today only helps to normalize it, and such normalization is actually part of the historical playbook of fascism?

 What do we think our congregants would do if we challenged them— telling them the truth that when they hear their neighbors, co-workers and family members say things like: “People are just over-reacting;” “Things will not get that bad!” “The people in power? Why, they’re only talking. They don’t really mean what they say.” Our system of democracy is not fragile”—when they hear that, and then they say nothing, they only help to normalize fascism.

What would happen if preachers made a historical comparison between our silence today and the silence of those in 1860 when their friends defended slavery, saying things like: “We are actually doing them a favor!” What would happen if preachers compared our silence to those in 1930’s Germany when their friends defended concentration camps, saying something like: “Oh, they are just work camps. They are only helping people learn the value of labor and hard work!” What would happen if we compared our silence with those who said nothing when everyone around them was calling Martin Luther King Jr. “a troublemaker?”

Yeah, saying those things will certainly make some people mad. Some may not turn in their pledge cards. It may cause them to leave and never come back. But I have a feeling they’ll be many people lined up in narthexes everywhere to thank us, because people know the truth that before something can be born anew, something old must die. Before love can win, someone must be willing to pick up and carry a cross. Before justice can be done, work must be done. Before peace can happen, sacrifices must be made. Before Christmas can be celebrated, gifts must be given.

That is why people came to hear John preach. They came for the candor, for the honesty, and for the truth. From his prolific sermon illustrations (the fire, the ax, and chaff), we know that what John was preaching was the death of something old and the birth of something new.

This is why the multitudes traveled out into the boonies to hear John preach. Because when John told the people what they needed to change, what they needed to prune, cut off and burn up, the wilderness began to look something like the Garden of Eden. The muddy Jordan became the River of Life. Out of the dry dust, a flower began to bloom. Peace on earth became a little bit more of a reality.

This was the message of John the Baptist. People flocked to hear John, and I believe come to worship every Sunday so they can hear the truth: that none of us are who we ought to be. All of us could do better. We could be better.

We come here to ask God to hold up a mirror in front of us so we can see our complacency and our complicity. We ask God to search us and know our hearts; to test us and know our thoughts, to see if there is any wicked way in us and lead us the way that is everlasting. And having accepted the truth, we come to drop to our knees and ask God to take an ax and cut us down, or kindle a fire and purge us, so we can be reborn, so we can be cleansed and changed, so we can then do all that we can do to change the world. John preached the possibility of such a transformation.

And he’s still preaching it today. We can’t get to Christmas without first meeting him out in the boondocks. Multitudes have. By God’s grace, so will we.[i]

[i] Inspired from a sermon entitled Here Comes the Judge by William Willimon.

Turn Yo Sef ‘Roun Now

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

we alone get to choose

Luke 13:1-9 NRSV

Most of you know that I had the opportunity to serve with a congregation in Baton Rouge for three years.

One of the great things about living in southern Louisiana were the countless stories I heard about two infamous Cajuns named Boudreaux and Thibodeaux.

Reverend Boudreaux was the part-time pastor of the Boondock Bible Church and Pastor Thibodeaux was the minister of the Backwoods Gospel Church located directly across the road. One day, they were both standing out by the road in front of their churches, each pounding a sign into the ground as fast as they could. The sign read:

Da End is Near
Turn Yo Sef ‘Roun Now
Afore It Be Too Late!

As soon as the signs got into the ground, a car passed by. Without slowing down, the driver leaned out his window and yelled as loud as he could: “You bunch of religious nuts!”

Then, from the curve in the road they heard tires screeching and a big splash.

The Reverend Boudreaux yells at Pastor Thibodeaux across the road and asks:

“Do ya tink maybe da sign should jus say ‘Bridge Out’?”

Now, because I am a seminary-educated minister that has spent the bulk of my ministry preaching from mainline, city pulpits, I have always sought to differentiate myself from the so-called religious nuts. The repent-or-be-sent, turn-or-burn, reach-for-the-sky-or-fry, get-saved-or-get-microwaved style of preaching has never been a part of my repertoire.

Thus, when I preach a passage of scripture like our gospel lesson this morning, I have steered away from any interpretation that sounds like what Jesus is actually saying here is: “The end is near! Ya betta turn yo sef ‘roun now! A fore it be too late!”

For example, I have used this passage as an opportunity to have a deep, theological discussion on the problem of evil. I have said that here, in this passage, we have two basic types of evil in the world. There is natural evil, and there is personal evil.

The tower of Siloam, I have said, represents natural evil. In this fragmented world, sometimes tornadoes and floods destroy property and take lives.

And the Galileans massacred by Pilate, represent personal evil. In this broken world, sometimes a broken person will grab a gun, then walk into a peaceful of worship begin shooting everyone in sight.

And with Jesus’ very emphatic response, “No, I tell you!” Jesus is saying that God does not will such tragedy because of human sinfulness or any other reason. In this imperfect world, sometimes bad things happen to very good people, and there is no divine explanation or driving purpose for it.

However, maybe, to avoid sounding like a religious nut, I have actually missed the very simple point of this passage which is, “The end is near. Ya betta turn yo sef ‘roun now! A fore it be too late!”

Maybe the point that Jesus is really trying trying to make here is: “Unless you repent, you will perish.”

You have a little more time, but unless you start producing some figs, start bearing some fruit, at least start sprouting a bloom or two, you are going to die.

“But, Dr. Banks, that sounds too much like the hell, fire and brimstone sermons of those country backwoods churches, and you know that we moderate, mainline, sophisticated churches are way too smart for that.”

However, I have a feeling that through this passage Jesus is arguing that we may be too smart for our own good!

Luke tells us that people had gathered together, and they started doing what people do best when they gather together, even in the church. They began to gossip, especially about the sinfulness of others, the sinfulness of “those” people. “Those” people who had this tower tragically collapse on top of them.

Sadly, I believe this may be the only reason some people go to church these days: to hear about the sins of all those who are not in church, to feel good, religious, superior, righteous.

And Jesus is emphatic, “No, I tell you!”

It is as if he is saying: “You better stop judging your neighbors and start taking a look at yourselves. Stop worrying about the speck in your neighbor’s eye and worry more about the log in your own eye. Look, bad things happen this world. People die. It’s not a matter of degrees of rightness or wrongness, sin or sainthood. Everyone dies. And one day, you are going to die. So, you better repent. You better change. Ya better turn yo sef roun now. A fore it be too late!

And to drive the point home, Jesus tells the story about a fruitless fig tree. And the moral of the story is simple. Bear fruit or die.

Reverend Sharron Blezard believes this text is begging the church today to ask: “What are we doing to bear fruit, to bloom where we’ve been planted?”

She says that far too many congregations are merely existing like a barren fig tree, wasting the soil. There are no signs of any fruits, no promise of any blooms. These churches exist primarily to get together, and sadly to do what people do best: to gossip, to talk about the sinfulness of those outside the church, to lament about the moral decay of society, and to pine for the return of good old days.

And they’ve lost hope. They’ve grown too weary, too worn down, too disheartened to invest the energy, creativity, and passion to share the Good News of Jesus with a broken and hurting world. While many congregations do provide a place to take care of one another, they have no sense of mission to be the Body of Christ that is sent by God into the world bearing fruit.

She says, think of it this way: fruit always “grows outward from the plant into the light. So, too, a healthy church grows outward.”

Several years ago, my mother gave me a Rose of Sharon root. She told me to plant it, and it would grow to be one of the most beautiful plants in my yard, with its flowers blooming all summer long.

After planting the root, the plant grew, it did not produce a single bloom that summer. I called Mama and said, “I think you must have given me a dud.”

She said, “Oh no. It’s not a dud. It just needs a little TLC. You may need to dig around it, give it a little fertilizer. You may even need to dig it up all together and plant it in better soil. Make sure it is in soil that can soak up water and is growing in a place where it can get good light.”

As always, I did what Mama told me to to do. I ended up transplanting it to a spot that had better topsoil. I kept an eye on it, watered it, cared for it, and the next year, just like mama said, it produced the most beautiful blooms all summer long.

From the short time that I have known you, it is obvious that God has given this church many good gifts. The talents and resources that are here are astounding. There is not one dud in this room. And because of that, God expects us to be fruitful with those gifts. God expects our church to bloom.

I believe Jesus is asking us to take a lesson from a barren fig tree. To bloom and bear beautiful fruit will require some work, some sacrifice. We may need to dig around, put out some fertilizer, even transplant a thing or two. It may take some cutting back, pruning, shaping and nurturing.

Yes, it is scary. It is difficult. It is risky. But, Jesus says that it is the only way to life, the only way to bear fruit that nourishes the world.

Eddie Hammett, my friend and church consultant, loves to say that Christians need to stop going to church, and start beingthe church.

I believe he is talking about the difference between a church that is inward focused, therefore barren, and one that is outward focused, therefore bearing fruit for the world.

Hammett says:

Going to church is routine and easy. Being church in the world is challenging, difficult and calls for prayerful intentionality. Going to church keeps us safe…. Being the church makes us uncomfortable and challenges us to learn to BE salt, light and leaven. Going to church is familiar….Being the people of God as church is unfamiliar to many and overwhelming to most. May we press on in the faith…

And as much as I may want to avoid sounding country-fied religious nut in the boondocks and speak only articulate, sophisticated words that make us comfortable from this mainline pulpit in the middle of the city, maybe what we really need to hear is that the time is coming, the day is approaching, as it was for that barren fig tree, there’s going to be an accounting.

What we really need to hear is that we must bear fruit or die. What we really need to hear is: “The end is near, so ya betta turn yo sef ‘roun now! A fore it be too late!”

May we use the gifts God has given us to press on in the faith, step up and out in our discipleship, do the hard work of getting out the fertilizer and the shovel, doing some digging, getting our hands dirty to produce something sweet.

In the words of John Pavlovitz: “For in the end, when our time here on this earth is done, the world will be more or less kind, gentle, loving, joyous, peaceful generous and good because of our presence here, and we alone get to choose.”

There’s a big world out there, a world that is thirsting and hungering for the love of God. May we go out and bloom, bearing fruit in the image of Christ.

O God, forgive us for sometimes softening your words to make them more comfortable for our itching ears. Grant us a spirit of selflessness where we are selfish, a spirit of courage where we are afraid, and a spirit of urgency where we are complacent. Help us to change where we need to change, to work where we need to work, and to bloom, to bear fruit in a world that hungering and thirsting for your love.

Holiday Party Pooper

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

christmas_invitationMatthew 3:1-12 NRSV

One of the greatest things about this time of year is all of the Christmas parties.

Now, generally speaking, there two kinds of guests we invite to these parties.  First, there are the people that we gladly invite.  Guests we want to invite.  Guests we look forward to inviting.   These are the people we enjoy being around.  You know, people that are fun, the folks who know how to have a good time.

Then, there are those people that we have to invite: those extended members of the family, maybe a coworker, or maybe the pastor.  We don’t really enjoy being around them, we would prefer not being around them, but we know their feelings will be hurt if we do not invite them, so because we are Christian, and because it is Christmas, we reluctantly invite them to our party.

And besides, these folks, well, they are like family.  Sometimes they are family.  Christmas parties have guests we want to invite and they have guests that we just have to invite.

My good friend and pastor Nathan Parrish has said that he is quite certain that John the Baptist would be on our “have to invite’ list.  John the Baptist is that strange character that no one really enjoys having around, especially at Christmas.  Just look at him!

He just doesn’t seem to fit into the mood of the season.  He doesn’t know how to have a good time.  Everyone remembers the way he behaved last Christmas.  While everyone else wore festive clothing, had on their red and their green, had on their Christmas sweaters with Santas and reindeer and snowmen and Christmas trees and wreaths, John the Baptist had the nerve to show up in an old camel hair robe with a worn leather belt.  John the Baptist simply doesn’t know how to dress for such gatherings.

Do you remember what happened at last year’s Christmas Dinner when someone offered him some a slice of roast pork and a warm glass of apple cider?  He said he was on this ridiculous diet. He said he only ate locusts and wild honey!  John the Baptist just doesn’t know how to enjoy himself at these functions.

And while everyone at the a party was simply trying to enjoy Christmas and each other by exchanging warm, friendly conversation, John stalked around the room shouting, “Repent, for the Kingdom of God is at hand!”  He doesn’t seem to realize that a Christmas party is no place for a sermon…especially a sermon on repentance.

So year after year, after every Christmas party, we say to ourselves that this is the last time we invite this character to our party.  For every year, no matter how hard we try, he always seems to ruin the perfect holiday season.

Oh this year, wouldn’t it be nice we could just leave John the Baptist out?  Forget him this year.  Ignore him.  Avoid him.  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we did not have to put up with his bizarre outfit, his strange diet and his somber message?

We don’t want to invite him this year, but we have to, don’t we?

Because after all it’s Christmas and we are Christians and he, well, he is family—he’s Jesus’ family anyway.  And besides that, he belongs to the Christmas story.

His appearance in the Christmas drama was no accident.  He did not choose to be a part of salvation history.  God chose him.  His appearing was prophesied through the prophet Isaiah.  Whose words we find in the fortieth chapter: “A voice cries out: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.  Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground should become level, and the rough places a plain.  Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all the people shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”

So, even if we do not want to have John the Baptist around this Advent season, we do not have much of a choice.  After all he’s family, and he is part of the story.

But if he is part of the Christmas story, why do we find him so offensive?  Why does his weird dress, bazaar diet and somber message turn us off this time of year?  Why do we find him so embarrassing and regard him as our annual holiday party pooper?

Because, when we think about it, we realize that John the Baptist is the exact opposite of how our culture defines Christmas.  Just look at him!  Nothing about him, the way he looks the way he eats the way he talks says:  “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!”   And when we really think about it, we realize that John the Baptist is the antithesis of our beloved Santa Claus.  Just look at Santa.  Santa Claus always dresses in a very festive manner.  Santa has never been on a strict diet in his life. There is no telling how many cookies and glasses of milk he consumes on Christmas Eve.  Yes, Santa knows something about having a good time!  And Santa’s message is anything but harsh or somber.

And think of how Santa operates.  He operates and acts like all human beings operate and act.  He rewards the good, and punishes the bad.  “He’s making a list, he’s checking it twice. He’s going to find out who’s naughty or nice.  He sees you when you’re sleeping.  He knows when you’re awake.  He knows if you have been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake!”

Now, think about what John the Baptist says.  Repent.  You need to change the way you do things.  You need to change the way you see things.  You need to see the world in a brand new way. And there is one coming, John says, who is going to show us the way. And his name is Jesus.

Now, think of how Jesus operates. How does Jesus relate to the ones his culture defined as the bad?  To half-breed Samaritans?  The woman caught in the act of adultery that the religious people wanted to stone to death?  To the sinful, abusive, greedy, to the Tax collectors who he not only ate and drank with, but made them his disciples? To the woman at the well who was having an affair?  To one of the bandits who was being crucified alongside of Jesus?  Instead of punishing the bad, cursing the wicked, Jesus oftentimes blesses them.

And how does Jesus relate to the good, the religious, to the Pharisees and Sadducees?  Well, much in the same what that John the Baptist related to them.  “But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, ‘you brood of vipers!’”  You bunch of poisonous snakes!

Instead of blessing the good, Jesus often cursed them.  The antithesis of Santa Claus.  Valleys lifted up.  Mountains made low.  Uneven ground, level.  Rough places a plain.

Maybe this is why we have so much trouble inviting this John the Baptist to our parties.  Because he reminds of something that we do not like to be reminded of— That we don’t see the world the way God sees it.  That we, every one of us, need to repent.  We need a change of mind.  A change of heart.  We need to see the world in a completely different way.

The truth is, and all who are honest will admit it, we need John the Baptist around.  Because he, no matter how harsh and how somber and how disturbing, is the key to experiencing the hope that is Christmas, hope that we too often miss every year.

Christmas, the gift of Jesus Christ.  The gift of salvation is just that—a gift.  Christmas is all about grace.  And, when we are completely honest with our sinful selves, we realize that that is our only hope.  Because no matter what Santa teaches us, true Christmas is not deserved.

We have a lot to learn, don’t we?  For even when we try to be charitable at Christmas, we want to make sure that the people who are receiving our charity deserve it, have somehow earned it.

When charitable organizations make their plea to the public for help, have you noticed how they are in choosing their words?  “Please give so we can assist several deserving families this Christmas.”

These organizations realize that people in this country have been influenced more by culture than by Christianity—more by Santa Claus than by Jesus.  They realize that many people are afraid to give charity fearing that their donation might go to someone who has failed to earn it.  They realize that for most people the concept of grace is completely foreign.

To experience the true hope of Christmas, John the Baptist says we must change our hearts and minds and attitudes and live a life of grace.  It’s not a pleasant thing to hear, and it’s not a pleasant thing to do.  Giving love to someone who in no way deserves it never brings a good time.  But by the grace of God, it does bring hope.

Visiting the prisons, spending time with folks who deserve absolutely nothing, giving to a family at Christmas that has in no way earned our gift, buying a gift for someone we don’t even know, offering forgiveness to someone who has wronged us, truly loving our neighbors as ourselves, these things are not having a good time, but these things do miraculously bring hope, for both the giver and receiver.

How are your Christmas preparations coming this year?  Are you having a party?  Have you made your guest list?  This year, I hope you will gladly include John the Baptist.  He may not wish you a Merry Christmas, but he will be sure that you will a very hopeful Christmas.