Category: Faith and Values

At Home in the Universe, II Corinthians 5:6-6:2

by Steve Harsh, posted in Christian Discipleship, Faith and Politics, Faith and Values, Lectionary Texts

Do you remember what it was like to be at summer camp or some other foreign place and be so miserably homesick that you thought, and perhaps wished, that you would die? The gospel song that says, “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child” describes that horrible feeling for me. And homesickness is not merely a childhood disease. Adolescence, mid-life crises, old age are all life interruptions that are ways of describing recurring outbreaks of homesickness—of feeling broken, alienated and alone in a strange world where we often wonder what we’re doing here?
We try to cure our homesickness with a host of home remedies—large doses of education, exercise—be it running marathons or climbing corporate ladders, accumulating friends and/or lovers who fill our time and the lack of peace we feel. Power, money, prestige, new cars, new clothes, new houses, new jobs, new spouses, booze, beauty treatments, Grecian Formula. We try it all don’t we? And for the most part it is all a huge waste of time and money. Because when we let our defenses down and find ourselves alone with nothing to do—remember those were the times the homesickness got you at camp too? When we’re not too busy to think and feel, then the old feeling sneaks up on us and we start feeling like that motherless child again.
The sad part is that we all feel that lack of peace frequently. But we rarely let anyone know. The world is full of homesick, motherless and fatherless children, and Paul tells us in Corinthians that our job as ambassadors or instruments of peace is to comfort the homesick and assure them they can always come home again—to God, the only reliable true source of peace. The homesick need to hear that word of reconciliation now—to know that peace is not off in the distant future. It didn’t help to have some well-intentioned camp counselor tell me that my parents would pick me up at the end of summer camp on Saturday when it was only Tuesday. I wanted someone to comfort me and hold me right then. I wasn’t sure I would even live till Saturday! That’s why Paul says we are already new creatures in Christ. The day of deliverance has already come in the Prince of Peace from Nazareth.
That’s the good news we need we are to give one another. But as you well know, one homesick kid cannot cure another one. The disease will spread like an epidemic once the tears start to flow. So, if we are to be reconcilers, we need first to be reconciled to God. We need to be at peace ourselves if we have any hope of being peacemakers. We need to be made whole, cured of our own homesickness before we can help others who are lost and afraid.
We need to hear and know that there is only one cure for deep, ontological homesickness, and that cure is faith–faith that is deeper and distinguished from mere belief. Belief is holding certain ideas about something, or about life. Faith, on the other hand, is a more total and deeper response of inner peace and trust. For example, it is one thing to believe a parachute will open properly, to understand the physics of why and how parachutes work. But it is quite another thing to have enough faith or trust in a parachute to strap one on your back and jump out of a plane at 5000 feet.
Faith, according to theologian Wilfred Cantwell Smith, is “a quality of human living. At its best it has taken the form of serenity and courage and loyalty and service: a quiet confidence and joy which enable one to feel at home in the universe, and to find meaning in the world and in one’s own life, a meaning that is profound and ultimate, and is stable no matter what may happen.”
To be at peace means to “feel at home in the universe,” to know as the “Desiderata” says, that “You are a child of the universe, no less than the rocks the trees and the stars, you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive God to be….and keep peace with your soul.” To be at peace at home in the universe is to be at peace with oneself and God.
I have cherished a very powerful and concrete image of what it means to be at home in the universe since shortly after the space shuttle Challenger explosion in early 1986. Part of being at peace is an ability to find meaning and truth in unexpected and even tragic circumstances. For me, the final words from Commander Dick Scobee before the explosion have become a mantra for me of peaceful living. About sixty seconds after blast off Mission Control informed the Challenger crew that they were going back to full power, and Commander Scobee’s confident reply was, “Roger, Go With Full Throttle Up.”
When we are at peace we dare to live life with full throttle up, knowing as those astronauts did that there are serious risks in living. We know also that there are far more serious risks in refusing to face life’s challenges honestly and courageously. Chuck Yeager, a test pilot famous for his description of those early space pioneers who had “All the Right Stuff,” said after the Challenger explosion that “every astronaut and test pilot knows that such a tragedy can happen anytime you go up. But you can’t dwell on the danger or you would not be able to do your job.” Then he added, “There’s not much you can do about it anyway.”
Life is like that. We are all travelers on spaceship Earth, and like the Challenger 7, we are all sitting on enough firepower to blow us all to kingdom come several times over. That’s enough in itself to make us a little queasy, a little homesick, isn’t it? Even if we didn’t have to cope with the routine hassles of living—the doubts, the fears, the guilt, and the disappointments. But we all do have to cope with those things every day. And we all need a faith that will help us feel more at home and at peace in the midst of our hectic and often chaotic lives.
When I was 6 or 7 years old I discovered one sneaky cure for homesickness. I remember coming home with my family from a visit to my grandparents’ farm or my aunt and uncle’s house late in the evening. I would often fall asleep in the back seat of the car after a hard day of playing with my cousins, but I would wake up when the car pulled into our driveway. Sometimes I would pretend I was still asleep because I knew that if I did, one of my parents would carry me into the house and tuck me into my bed. It felt so good to be held in those strong, l loving arms. I felt so secure, the direct opposite of homesick. Don’t’ we all long for that kind of security and closeness at every age?
Then we grow up. We lose that peace in our necessary attempts to establish our independence. We move away, physically and intellectually from the simple belief structures that once made sense of life for us. We become, for better or worse, independent, responsible adults. And with that independence often comes the feeling of homesickness.
How do we get in that situation? It’s like a conversation I overheard between my in-laws several years ago. They were talking about how my mother-in-law used to sit right next to Dad in the car before they were married. This was in the days before bucket seats, of course. My mother-in-law was asking why that changed after they got married. My father-in-law finally just smiled and said, “Well, I’m not the one who moved.”
So it is with our human and heavenly parents. We are the ones who think we want distance and freedom. And that’s OK. We are the ones who get embarrassed when our parents want to hug and kiss us in public, and we’re much too grown up for that kid stuff. And that’s OK too. It’s all part of growing up. And we’re the ones who think God’s rules for living are too confining, too old-fashioned, and certainly our parents are. We are very sure we can do much better on our own. And that’s OK too. So we go out on our own and we blow it, not once, but several times, and that’s also OK. We learn from those experiences. But what isn’t OK is when we are too proud or guilty to admit that we were wrong or that we really do need help.
It’s hard to admit we’re wrong. People just love to say, “I told you so,” don’t they? So we don’t even try to be reconciled with family or friends or even with God because we’re afraid we’ll be rejected or ridiculed. Paul is trying to tell the Corinthians and us that just isn’t so in this passage from II Corinthians 5. “God does not hold our misdeeds against us.” We are forgiven and loved by the essence of Being itself. “The day of deliverance has already dawned.” Peace is here, now, for those who humbly accept it.
Jesus told a story once about a very homesick young man. You know the story from Luke’s Gospel (15:11-32), but you haven’t heard the letter I found recently from that young man to his father. Strangely enough, it was postmarked in Chicago. Listen:

Dear Dad,
I’m sorry it’s been so long. You’ve probably been worried sick about me, haven’t you? Well, I’ve been meaning to write, but I didn’t have any good news, and I didn’t want to worry you. I was in Florida for a year after I left home. I lost the money you gave me on some bad investments. I got mixed up in some drug dealing and spent some time in jail. Please don’t tell Mom. I’ve been bumming around the country doing odd jobs and stuff since I got out of the joint. I was living in a half-way house here in Chicago for several months till I got into a fight with one of the supervisors last week. They kicked me out.
Things are bad here, no jobs, no money. I’ve been living on the streets, eating at soup kitchens or anywhere I can find a meal. It’s a lousy way to live. But I guess I don’t deserve any better. I know now that you were right about staying in school. I’d sure do things different if I had it to do over.
I’m real sorry I hurt you and Mom. I’m embarrassed to ask this. I’ll understand if you don’t ever want to see me again. But I’m sick and cold and would appreciate it if I could come home, for just a little while. Just till I can find a job. I’ll pay you back for my room and board as soon as I can, I promise.
Your son, John

By overnight special delivery, John got a plane ticket and a letter from his father that simply said:

Dear John,
You can always come home, anytime.
I love you,
Dad

(This sermon is included in my book, “Building Peace from the Inside Out: Stories for Peacemakers and Peace Seekers,” chapter 12)

Transfiguration, Matthew 17:1-8

by Steve Harsh, posted in Christian Discipleship, Faith and Politics, Faith and Values, Lectionary Texts

The transfiguration story is one of my favorite Gospel scriptures, but that was not always the case. For a long time this story of Jesus talking to two dead guys seemed a little weird to me. What are we sophisticated, rational, scientific 21st century people supposed to do with this ghost story?

The breakthrough for me and this text came when I was able to suspend my literal questions of what and how and look at this story instead through theological lenses. That ah hah moment happened for me when, after preaching for several years, it finally dawned on me that this transfiguration story in one of the Gospels shows up every year in the same place in the church lectionary. And it is always on the Sunday before Lent begins at a major turning point in the Christian year. We have just come through the joy and light of Christmas and Epiphany and now stand on the brink of the somber dark purples and blacks of Lent. The transfiguration story, this mountain top experience, stands right in the middle of all that, between Bethlehem and Calvary

Matthew 17 begins with the phrase “six days later.” What does that mean? When we hear things like that inquiring minds immediately ask, “What happened six days earlier?” If you read Matthew 16 you find that what happened six days earlier was a “come to Jesus” meeting where Jesus asks the disciples some important questions about what people were thinking and saying about who Jesus is. The final and most important question Jesus put to the disciples (and therefore to us) was, “Who do you say that I am?” Good old Peter of course is eager to answer. “You are the Messiah, the son of the living God,” he proudly blurts out. And he’s right of course. Like us, he knows the right answer on this test, but as the ensuing verses of chapter 16 show, he and the other disciples really don’t know it means. He knows who Jesus is, but he doesn’t REALLY know.

So in the transfiguration story and the verses just before it Jesus addresses that problem. He is preparing his disciples for what is to come in Jerusalem and beyond, just as Lent is a time of spiritual growth and preparation for us as well. In chapter 16 Jesus has tried to tell them about his coming death and resurrection, and they don’t get it. Peter answers the question correctly about who Jesus is, but he doesn’t really understand or accept the cost of discipleship.

So six days later Jesus tries again. He and his three key disciples have a mountain top experience. Like all mountain top experiences, this one is short-lived. There’s no video, no crowds or witnesses – just three scared fishermen and Jesus in a powerful encounter with God.

At first Peter, James and John love it up there. The view is fantastic, it’s peaceful and quiet – they have a moving experience, probably feeling closer to God than ever before in their lives. So quite naturally they want that glorious moment to last as long as possible. They want to stay on the mountain and live the good life away from all the problems and clamoring crowds in the valley below.

John Ortberg in his book and DVD series, “It All Goes back in the Box,” describes the most dangerous object in our homes. It’s not the power tools or the kitchen knives. He says the most dangerous item in our houses is the EZ chair. We even call them La-Z Boys! They seduce us into object lessons of inertia, don’t they? You remember, “An object at rest tends to stay at rest?” That’s not to say we don’t need moments of rest and relaxation. Many of us are so busy “doing” all the time that we don’t make time to simply “be.” We need time in the EZ chair; we just can’t make that our permanent residence.

When the disciples lobby for homesteading on the mountain, Jesus sees a teaching moment. He knows his purpose is not fame and fortune or a comfortable retirement. His is not a theology of glory, but a theology of the cross. God never promised Jesus or us a rose garden – just the garden of Gethsemane. We know that. We’ve seen this movie before, and we know what’s coming next. But every year, isn’t there just a part of us that still would like to think Jesus was wrong. Maybe this year scholars will discover an EZ chair version of this story? One that gets us to Easter without Good Friday.

We know that won’t work, and Lent is time for us to ponder our relationship to that reality. How much are we like the disciples arguing over who gets the EZ chairs next to Jesus in heaven? Can’t we just homestead on the mountain, build little booths for Elijah and Moses and Jesus, and avoid the pain of the valley below. But the full abundant life is not real in isolation. We need regular retreats but not escapes. More than ever before we need regular times to turn off all our electronic gadgets and background noise and be with God. We need times of solitude to renew a right spirit within us, to get a proper perspective so we can see where God is calling us to go next. We just can’t stay there on the mountain top.

We and the disciples aren’t the only ones that want the EZ chair life. The scriptures are full of tales of those who try to run away from God’s call: Jonah called to go preach to the heathens in Nineveh instead boards a ship (hopefully not one of Carnival’s) heading to Tarshish, 180 degrees in the wrong direction. Elijah runs for his life from Queen Jezebel to Mt. Horeb (aka Sinai). These two great stories show us that even if we go to the depths of the sea or to the highest mountain, God will find us and ask what he asked Elijah, “Elijah, what are you doing here?” That’s a great question to ask ourselves every day during this season of Lent: “what are we doing here?” Is it what God is calling us to do or what we want to do?

If you remember the Elijah story from I Kings 19, Elijah doesn’t get to stay on the mountain either – he is called back down into the valley to share God’s word with those desperately needing to hear it and save them from worshiping false gods. But Elijah doesn’t go down alone – God appoints Elisha to partner with him and carry on after Elijah’s death. Jesus can’t go down the mountain alone either. He needs us to carry on God’s work in his stead. Do you hear that call – “This is my son – listen to him,” says the voice of God? Listen, and then follow him, back down into the valley where those who suffer need comfort, where corruption needs to be confronted and corrected–back into the world where Jesus teaches us that the poor will be with us always.

It is not a journey for sissies. Jesus knows it leads to that other mountain he can see in the distance; not one of glory with two saints – but one with crosses and two crooks. None of us like to suffer – it’s scary. No matter how strong our faith, death fills us with some level of anxiety and dread. As comedian Woody Allen so aptly put it, “I don’t mind dying, I just don’t’ want to be there when it happens.”

In the presence of God’s power we all tremble, and the disciples do too. Matthew tells us when they heard the voice of God they fell on their faces – ouch, and not a good position to do much from either. And then listen what happens – Jesus came and touched them and their fear is gone. They are transfigured, changed, and “when they looked up they saw no one except Jesus himself alone.”

Jesus alone is all we need to see us through the dark valleys. If we let him he provides us with the courage to overcome our fears – to come out of hiding, off our mountains of pride and comfort and live in the real world. Jesus speaks to us calmly about real life – joy, suffering, death and resurrection, and because he’s been there and done that – we know we can too.

Lent and especially Ash Wednesday calls us to affirm all of life – the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat – to embrace not only the joy of Easter but the passion of the journey that takes us there. That journey begins again tonight, and in the transfiguration story we get a glimpse of the glory of God that is revealed in its fullness on Easter morning.

I would encourage you to seek mountain top moments this Lent –times when you feel especially close to God. Those moments won’t happen unless we put ourselves in position to witness God’s glory. We don’t have mountain top life-changing experiences unless we take time to climb the mountain. The good news is we don’t need to physically climb a mountain or even a hill. We get close to God through prayer, study, service, fasting or whatever spiritual disciplines work for you.

When we do and take time to listen, God teaches us not to seek only the mountains of glory, but to accept our Calvaries too, our failure, our sin, our mortality – not fearfully and anxiously, but obediently and trusting in the will and redemptive power of God

God’s promise is that on both mountains – the mountain of glory and mountain of the cross–and in the valleys in between – Jesus journeys with us, not just for 40 days plus 6 Sundays. Jesus is with us for the long haul and walks with us “even to the end of the age.”

(Preached Ash Wednesday 2013 at Jerome UMC, Plain City, Ohio)

Wanted: More Collaborators, Romans 12:1-8; Exodus 1:8-2:10

by Steve Harsh, posted in Christian Discipleship, Faith and Politics, Faith and Values

Romans 12 is one of those many familiar passages in the New Testament that praises humility, collaboration and teamwork, qualities that are sorely lacking in our fearful recession-plagued society and world.  What a great time to be reminded of the value our unique individual gifts can contribute to addressing complex social problems.

The Hebrew slaves in Exodus (1:8-2:10) were up an even bigger creek without a paddle than we are today, and that narrative provides a marvelous illustration of what collaboration and teamwork look like.  Most of us think of Moses as the great leader of liberation for the Hebrew exodus from slavery in Egypt.   He’s the one who boldly stares down Pharaoh, one of the most powerful rulers in the world, and demands freedom for God’s people.  True, it helped that he had divine intervention to back him up.  Those persuasive plagues God inflicts on Pharaoh’s people certainly make for memorable drama in Hollywood retellings of the Exodus story, be it the old Charlton Heston version or Disney’s animated “Prince of Egypt.”

Most people know something about Moses.  Shiphrah and Puah on the other hand are far from household names, and yet without those minor characters in this drama, there would have been no Moses and no Exodus.  Without the brave little slave girl, Miriam, and her courageous mother and their creative manipulation of Pharaoh’s daughter’s maternal compassion, Moses, the great liberator would not have survived the first year of life.  What a wonderful twist in this story (Exodus 2:5-9) when Moses’ sister tricks Pharaoh’s daughter into giving Moses back to his mother to nurse him.  The mother not only gets her son back but even gets paid for providing childcare.

The great African-American Preacher, James Forbes, preached on the Exodus story several years ago at the Schooler Institute on Preaching at the Methodist Theological School in Ohio (“Let My Leaders Go,” Nov. 13, 1990).  I still use a recording of that sermon regularly in the preaching classes I teach.  The essence of the sermon is that without the contributions of the “minor” characters in what Forbes calls “Phase I” of the liberation process, there could have been no Phase II led by Moses and his brother Aaron.

In Romans 12 Paul says “do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God— what is is good and acceptable and perfect.”  The world’s order to the midwives is explicit and unambiguous.  They were to kill all the Hebrew boy babies at birth.  But the midwives were blessed with the ability to discern the will of God.  They were not conformed to the world and “did not do as the king of Egypt commanded them, but they let the boys live.”  When called on the royal carpet by the King himself to account for their disobedience of his decree the midwives are not intimidated because they feared God and knew where their ultimate obedience belonged.  They stand up to Pharaoh and exercise what Forbes calls “prophetic license,” telling a little white lie about how the Hebrew women are so vigorous that their babies are born before the midwives even arrive on the scene.

So Pharaoh tries a new tactic.  He orders all the male Hebrew baby boys thrown into the Nile after they are born.  And up steps another minor player in the drama.  A slave woman gives birth to a son, hides him for three months and then does what Pharaoh has commanded, sort of.  She puts her infant son into the river; only first she makes him a little boat to keep him afloat. Then she places her precious child in the most famous bulrushes in the world, strategically choosing the  spot where she knows Pharaoh’s daughter will find him because she regularly bathes there.

Moses’ mother and sister exercise what Paul calls “sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned.”  They creatively and courageously do what is necessary to preserve the life of Israel’s future liberator.  What seem like insignificant actions by the midwives, the mother and sister, and Pharaoh’s daughter are all necessary components of the larger plot that unfolds many years later (Exodus 3) when God speaks to Moses in a burning bush and convinces him to step forward and confront the terrible injustice being inflicted on God’s people.

But notice that not even the great leader Moses is expected to do that daunting task alone.  And no wonder.  God is asking Moses to stand up to challenge one of the most powerful men in the world.  And one has to wonder how complicated this situation was since Moses’ adversary is none other than the one who had raised him and provided graciously for him in his own palace for many years.    Quite understandably Moses tries to talk his way out of this dangerous mission to confront the might of Pharaoh.  And what does God do?  Like a good coordinator, God provides a partner to fill some of Moses’ voids.  Moses’ brother Aaron is recruited to join Moses’ team, bringing his own unique gifts.  One of Moses’ excuses to God is that he isn’t a good public speaker; so God says, OK, we’ll get Aaron to do that part.  Sound familiar?  “We have gifts that differ according to the grace given us: ….. the exhorter in exhortation; … the leader in diligence.” (Rom. 12:6-8)

What daunting tasks do we face today that require partnership with others who have gifts different than our own?  Whatever the challenge, personal or social, local or global, the good news is that no matter how polarized our nation and world may seem, we are “one body in Christ, and individually members one of another.”   We are not alone, even though it often feels that way.  In these challenging times it is good to remember the wisdom of Benjamin Franklin at another crisis point in the life of the American people.  At the signing of the Declaration of Independence Franklin told his fellow collaborators, “We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.”

Rugged individualism and mistrust of others won’t solve complex problems.  We need desperately to collaborate with each other and with God as illustrated in these two anonymous readings, one humorous, one serious, both true:

The first is a letter from a client to his insurance company.

“I am writing in response to your request for more information concerning block #11 on the insurance form which asks for “cause of injuries” wherein I put “trying to do the job alone”.  You said you need more information, so I trust the following will be sufficient.

I am a bricklayer by trade and on the day of the injuries, I was working alone laying bricks around the top of a four story building when I realized that I had about 500 pounds of bricks left over.  Rather than carry the bricks down by hand, I decided to put them into a barrel and lower them by a pulley which was fastened to the top of the building.  I secured the end of the rope at ground level and went up to the top of the building and loaded the bricks into the barrel and swung the barrel out with the bricks in it.   I then went down and untied the rope, holding it securely to insure the slow descent of the barrel.

As you will note on block #6 of the insurance form, I weigh 145 pounds.  Due to my shock at being jerked off the ground so swiftly, I lost my presence of mind and forgot to let go of the rope.  Between the second and third floors, I met the barrel coming down.  This accounts for the bruises and lacerations on my upper body.

Regaining my presence of mind, I held tightly to the rope and proceeded rapidly up the side of the building, not stopping until my right hand was jammed in the pulley.  This accounts for the broken thumb.

Despite the pain, I retained my presence of mind and held tightly on to the rope.  At approximately the same time, however, the barrel of bricks hit the ground and the bottom fell out of the barrel.  Devoid of the weight of the bricks, the barrel now weighted about 50 pounds.  I again refer you to block #6 and my weight.

As you would guess I began a rapid descent.  In the vicinity of the second floor, I met the barrel coming up.  This explains the injuries to my legs and lower body.  Slowed only slightly, I continued my descent landing on the pile of bricks.  Fortunately, my back was only sprained and the internal injuries were minimal.

I am sorry to report, however, that at this point, I finally lost my presence of mind and let go of the rope, and as you can imagine, the empty barrel crashed down on me.

I trust this answers your concern.  Please know that I am finished ‘trying to do the job alone.’

How about you”?

The second reading I first saw in a publication from the Roman Catholic Maryknoll Sisters.

“And the Lord said, ‘GO!’
And I said, ‘who me?’
And God said, ‘Yes you.’
And I said,
‘But I’m not ready yet
And there is studying to be done.
I’ve got this part-time job.
You know how tight my schedule is.’
And God said, ‘You’re stalling.’

Again the Lord said, ‘GO!’
And I said, ‘I don’t want to.’
And God said, ‘I Didn’t Ask If You Wanted To.’
And I said,
‘Listen I’m not the kind of person
To get involved in controversy.
Besides my friends won’t like it
And what will my roommate think?
And God said, ‘Baloney.’

And yet a third time the Lord said, ‘GO!’
And I said, ‘do I have to?’
And God said, ‘Do You Love Me?’
And I said,
‘Look I’m scared.
People are going to hate me
And cut me into little pieces.
I can’t take it all by myself.’
And God said, ‘Where Do You Think I’ll Be?’

And the Lord said, ‘GO!’
And I sighed,
‘Here I am…send me.’

I’VE GOT BAD NEWS AND GOOD NEWS, LUKE 4:14-30

by Steve Harsh, posted in Christian Discipleship, Faith and Politics, Faith and Values, Lectionary Texts, Uncategorized

Nationwide Insurance ran a pretty creative series of commercials a few years ago based on the slogan “life comes at you fast.”  In one of my favorites there is a pastoral scene of a father swinging his little boy in an old fashioned swing made of a heavy rope and a board, tied to a sturdy oak branch.  The dad pushes the little boy a couple of times, and then about the third time the boy swings back into the picture, he weighs about 250 pounds and knocks his poor father flat.

The sketchy details provided in the Gospels about the early life of Jesus remind me of that boy growing up very fast.  If we combine all four Gospels, which makes what a friend of mine calls “Gospel stew,” we still only get one brief vignette of Jesus between infancy and adulthood, that being Luke’s account of Jesus in the temple with the elders when he is 12 years old.  The next time we see Jesus in the Gospels is when he’s about 30 years old and being baptized by his cousin in the Jordan River.

There are lots of questions and speculation about where Jesus was during that 18 year gap because the Gospels are theology and not biography.  The only true answer is that we don’t know where Jesus spent those 18 years.  He may have been working in Joseph’s carpenter shop.  More likely he was in some kind of religious community learning the traditions of his faith and preparing for his role as Messiah, God’s anointed one.

When he makes his first public appearance in ministry in his home town of Nazareth in Luke 4, we see immediately how challenging and dangerous being a Messiah can be.

In his first public proclamation Jesus reads from the prophet Isaiah and then asserts his claim that God’s spirit is upon him.   Ok so far, we’re all God’s kids, created in God’s image.  That’s the good news – God’s spirit is upon all of us.  But immediately, Jesus makes a wrong turn and starts explaining what it means to have the spirit of God upon him or upon us.  He says he is “anointed to bring good news to the poor, release captives, restore sight to the blind, and to let the oppressed go free.”  Ok, we could maybe go for those last two – if we don’t’ think about it too much – like realizing that we are the blind that need our eyes restored or that the oppressed are going to want their share of the pie if we take our foot off their necks and let them up.  But good news for the poor – what about us Lord?  And release to the captives?  You mean freeing the criminal element?  Those potential terrorists at Guantanamo?   Or folks on death row?  Not so fast, Jesus.

Luke says the people still were cheering Jesus on at this point.  They were “amazed at the gracious words from his mouth.”  They haven’t quite figured out the catch yet.  And then someone says, “Hey, wait a minute, this is Joe’s kid.  We know him.  He’s just a carpenter.  What would he know about anything but nails and saw dust?  How could the spirit of God be upon the likes of him?”

They start asking for proof.  “We heard what you did in Capernaum. Show us your bag of tricks here too, Jesus!” And then Jesus goes over the edge – he pushes them too far, too fast.  He starts spouting examples from the Bible, of all places, about how God has favored the Gentiles over the chosen Jews – in Sidon and Syria – and there goes the neighborhood. They are immediately filled with rage and try to throw him over a cliff.  Oops.  Stepped on the wrong toes there Jesus.  But then, Luke’s punch line – “he passed through the midst of them and went on his way.”  Almost a throwaway line, but it is Luke’s way of saying, “see, he really is the Messiah and you can’t stop him, no one can.”  This is a preview of things to come when they really do kill him, or thought they did; and he passes through them again and goes on his way – because Jesus’ way is God’s way, not the way of people.

So, we know very early in Jesus’ story that it’s dangerous to claim a special relationship with God.  Prophets get shot and stoned and run out of town all the time.   That’s the bad news.  The spirit of God is upon all of us, and there’s good reason to avoid claiming our own Messiahship.  We feel unworthy, the responsibility is too heavy, and besides, the Greek word for “witness” also means “martyr.”  No cowards need apply.

There was a story in the Ohio news a few years ago about the power of oneness with Christ.  Thomas and Cynthia Murray appealed to Ohio Gov. Ted Strickland to spare the life of Gregory McKnight, a convicted murderer on death row.  That’s not so unusual.  Many people believe capital punishment is not a Christian response to violence.  What is remarkable about the Murrays is that Mr. McKnight was convicted of kidnapping and killing their daughter, Emily, 7 years earlier.  Emily was a 20 yr. old philosophy major at Kenyon College at the time of her abduction and murder.  She was planning to become an Episcopal priest and was “passionately opposed to the death penalty.”  Out of love and respect for their daughter and her beliefs, her parents asked for McKnight’s sentence to be commuted to life in prison.  Can you imagine doing that if you were those parents?  I’m not sure I could, even though I’d like to think I would have that courage and faith.  The Murrays showed us the power of Christ to overcome hate and revenge with forgiveness and compassion.

Let’s back up.  This story about Jesus in Nazareth comes right after his baptism.  Remember Jesus was never ordained – no bishop’s hands ever weighed heavy on his head.  In fact, no one had invented bishops yet.  Jesus was baptized – just like you and me.  So that means that the spirit of the Lord is also upon all of us, not just Jesus, and that our mission, should we choose to accept it, is also to proclaim release to the captives, good news to the poor, and sight for the blind!

Clergy sometimes tease each other about having a Messiah complex when we get a little too big for our britches and think we have to save the world in a single bound.    That super pastor attitude might be reflected in this quote from one of my favorite authors, Nikos Kazantzakis.  In his book, Saviors of God, Kazantzakis says, “My prayer is not the whimpering of a beggar or a confession of love. Nor is it the petty reckoning of a small tradesman: give me and I shall give you. My prayer is the report of a soldier to his general: this is what I did today, this is how I fought to save the entire battle in my own sector, these are the obstacles I encountered, and this is how I plan to fight tomorrow.“

There certainly might be an ego problem with that kind attitude (and I’m not crazy about the militaristic metaphor); but it may not be all bad, in fact may be very good, to take our faith and personal mission that seriously.  One way to do that is for all of us to realize that the first two letters of Messiah are “me”.

That may sound crazy, but there’s a lot of biblical evidence for that idea.  In John 14 Jesus says it plain and clear, “I am in God, and God is in me…. “The one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to God.”  John 14: 12 says, “Whatever you ask in my name, this I will do.”  Wow! How is that possible?  Because, Jesus goes on …. “You know him (the spirit) because he abides with you and he will be in you.”  (John 14: 17)  And then in John 14: 20 Jesus caps it off by saying, “On that day you will know that I am in God and you in me, and I in you.”

That’s a good thing right – power. We can get Jesus and God to do whatever we want!  Well, not quite – it says “whatever you ask – in my name, this I will do.”  We can all think of some things that we might ask for that just might not qualify as “in Jesus’ name” right?

But there is something even more serious than that.  If we are all one, i.e. “in” God and Jesus and vice versa, what does that mean for God’s expectations of us?   If we are all God’s sons and daughters, as Jesus is – then are we not all Messiahs too?  Messiah means “the anointed one.”  Jesus was baptized by water in the Jordan.  And we as Christian disciples have been baptized too – so far, all the same.  The anointed part is a little trickier, or do we just make it so?  Jesus says, “The spirit of the Lord is upon me.”  Don’t you suppose that’s true of all of us too?

After a United Methodist pastor baptizes someone with water, he or she says, “the Holy Spirit work within you, that being born through water and the spirit, you may be a faithful disciple of Jesus Christ. “

Whoa, that sounds a lot like pride or hubris, and we all know that pride goes before a fall; and having God’s spirit upon or within us sounds like really big pride.  That’s what the angry crowd at Nazareth thought when Jesus said it.  What keeps us from claiming our special relationship with God, from believing that we can do even greater things than Jesus did?  Is it true humility or false humility – what a friend of mine calls the “humble bit?”  That’s when we just pretend to be humble because it serves our purposes and gets us out of living up to our potential.    Is it fear of what other people will think or do, or fear of what is being asked of us?  When Jesus claims his Messiahship in his home town, they immediately try to kill him.  That’s not a great recruiting strategy, Jesus.  Is it just easier to stay in the comfort of the status quo and not make any waves?  Freeing captives and such stirs up trouble.  Those who are in positions of comfort now won’t be very happy if they have to share their wealth with the down and outers.  Oh, yes, a little charity at Christmas time is ok, but that’s not the same as changing the socio-economic rules we live by – the ones that have the system rigged in our favor.

But, even though the costs of claiming our Messiahship are obvious – the hidden cost of not doing so is even worse.

“Our hearts are restless until they rest in thee” is a famous quote from St. Augustine.  What does that mean?  It means there is no peace, genuine peace, until we claim our true identity.  To be at war within ourselves, denying our true worth and mission and purpose may keep us “safe,” but it also prevents true peace of mind and spirit from ever being possible.

Have you ever tried to keep a secret that was eating at you and hard to keep?  Or told a lie and then had to work at covering it up and remembering what you had told whom, so as not to blow your cover?  Pretending to be something we aren’t is very hard work,. It takes a lot of emotional energy.

Many years ago I had the privilege of playing the role of Bert Cates in a production of “Inherit the Wind.”  The play was demanding and required rehearsals late every night, and each night my part required that I fall in love on stage with a lovely young woman.  And then, to preserve my marriage, I had to fall back out of love again before I got home to my wife.   When the play was over I was exhausted – not just from the long hours, but emotionally exhausted from pretending to be something that I wasn’t.

And that’s also what happens all the time when we are at war with our very essence; we are tired and on edge, not close to being at peace.  We all want peace in our world, but peace has to start in our own souls and hearts. That means knowing and being true to who we really are.   In “Hamlet,” Shakespeare describes that important truth this way:

“This above all, to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.”

The internal conflict, the denial of our true selves as blessed children of God, me-ssiahs, happens at a deep level when we are convinced by a theology that overemphasizes the negative aspects of human nature.  Too often we hear only half the Bible, that we are horrible sinners, unworthy folks who need to “bewail our manifold sins and wickedness” (as the old Methodist communion ritual said).   But deep inside we know the truth, that we are created in the very image of God.  You see what an internal civil war that creates.

But Jesus comes to proclaim that truth, the very good news to the poor and the poor in spirit.  And that’s all of us.  When we measure our value and worth by economic standards, we inevitably feel like failures.  No matter how much we have in the bank, it is never enough – it could be gone tomorrow.  One good hospitalization can wipe out the largest nest egg.  And the same fear and negativity is true if we buy into the notion that our basic human nature awful and terrible at our core.

We are all sinners, yes, because we are fallible human beings who live in a world full of sin.  But that is not who we really are.  At the heart of our nature we are God’s children, created in God’s image.  We are one with our Lord and God – as we are told by the creation story in Genesis and by Jesus, our fellow Messiah.  He is the anointed one who proclaims at Nazareth and here today the good news that heals our spiritual blindness, sets us free from captivity to sin and fear, and empowers us to say yes to his call and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

“HEARING THE HEAVENS AND DOING THE WORD,” PS. 19:1-14

by Steve Harsh, posted in Christian Discipleship, Faith and Politics, Faith and Values, Lectionary Texts

The heavens are telling the glory of God – without words – can you hear it?   Early morning bird song, gentle waves lapping at the sides of a canoe adrift on a lake at sunrise or sunset (if you aren’t a morning person!).    Most of us have felt the indescribable presence of God in nature at some time in our lives – as Robert Browning describes it in his famous poem, “Pippa’s Song:”

 “The year’s at the spring, and day’s at the morn,

Morning’s at seven; the hillside is dew-pearled;

The lark is on the wing; the snail’s on the thorn;

God’s in his heaven – all’s right with the world!”

We cherish such moments of communion with nature and the God who created it all – in part because it is extra-ordinary.  Such beauty transcends the mundane and ugly parts of life that are too much with us.  Partly because we don’t take time to seek out those special times and place, partly because it is increasingly hard to find such places in our hectic, crowded lives, polluted by noise and light and smog that tarnish our view of the heavens.  Yesterday’s Columbus Dispatch ran a story about air pollution being so bad in Beijing that they scored in the 700’s on a scale that is only supposed to go to 500!  A month after the Newtown massacre we know all too well that life is anything but peaceful and serene for far too many of God’s children.

Who was this Psalmist and what planet did he live on?  Would he or she have written such glowing idyllic words if he lived in the 21st century?  In our century of suicide bombers and devastation from storms caused by undeniable global warming and climate change?  What about the stagnant economy and congressional gridlock or senseless slaughter in Syria, starving kids in Darfur and Detroit?   The heavens may be telling the glory of God, but heaven is a long way from our troubled planet – and some skeptics say you can’t get there from here!!!

Given all that doom and gloom, even when we gaze at the vast expanse of the universe on a clear night and pray to our God in heaven, don’t we sometimes find ourselves feeling insignificant and lonely and asking what God’s done for us lately?

I know I do.  I can throw a great pity party – and then some friend on God’s behalf  reminds me that suffering is written large in every chapter of human history – from the crusades to the black  plague, from Roman imperialism to Nazi Germany and the Russian gulag, from the dark ages to modern day war lords, slavery and genocide.  And they also remind me that in every one of those generations a faithful remnant has heard and seen the cosmic goodness of God’s creation and refused to surrender to the forces of darkness.  Voices like Browning and our Psalmist have dared to affirm the goodness of creation and life, not because of turmoil and trouble, but in spite of it.  Luther, Augustine, Gandhi, Mother Theresa, Paul of tarsus, Jesus of Nazareth – just to name a few – too many voices of hope that have made too great an impact on the world to write them off as unrealistic optimists.

And that doesn’t even begin to address biblical history.  Like many parts of the Bible, we don’t know for sure who wrote this Psalm or when, but knowing what we know about the history of Israel, it doesn’t really matter.  To get a picture of Israel’s political and economic history – imagine a place like Ohio being an independent country and all of our neighbors – Indiana, Kentucky, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, even Canada and that state up north, all take turns overrunning the Buckeye state and taking over our government and economy.  At one point we Ohioans are driven by a famine to Kentucky in search for food, and end up being slaves there for several hundred years to the pharaoh of Lexington.   When we finally escape and cross the Ohio River again, other people have taken over our homeland, and we have to fight a bitter guerilla war to reclaim it.  A then a few centuries later Michigan invades Ohio and our leaders are carried off to exile in Ann Arbor.

Pretty ugly, right?  Well that’s Israel’s history – Israel isn’t a great agricultural country – they don’t have lots of natural resources or wealth; but what they had, especially in Bible times was location, location, location.   Remember your geography and Israel’s location in that narrow strip of arable land along the Mediterranean coast.  It’s called the Fertile Crescent because everything for hundreds of miles to the east is desert.  So that narrow strip of land was the only trade route between the great political and economic super powers of the day.  The only safe way between Greece, Assyria, Babylon and Rome on the north and Egypt on the south went right through Israel; so everyone wanted to control it, and took turns doing so.  My point is that no matter when this 19th Psalm was written, it could not have been describing some utopian era when “all was right with the world” because no such time to this day has ever existed in Israeli history.  The Jews are fully acquainted with grief – to the point where Tevye in that great musical “Fiddler on the Roof” at one point asks God, “couldn’t you choose someone else once in awhile?”

And yet in this Psalm and throughout the calamities of slavery, exile, wars and rumors of wars, God’s people appreciate and witness to the glory of God.  They heard the heavens proclaiming the glory of God – do we?

Maybe the Hebrews were closer to the earth and creation than we are in our urbanized technological world, but that’s no excuse.  God is still speaking and the cosmos is as magnificent and awesome as ever if we take time to listen to its power and assurance.  As the epistle James (1:17) puts it, “Every generous act is from above, from God, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.”   God and the universe don’t change, no matter how badly we humans mess things up – that’s the good news.

The temptation for some, even many of us, may be to withdraw into the beauty of nature and tune out the cacophony of human conflict.  When I hear the shouting matches going on in federal and local legislatures over fiscal reform or hear the litany of senseless violence and tragedy on the nightly news, I can see value in high tailing it to Walden Pond or a remote mountain somewhere and communing with nature forever.  But we know better.   It’s not enough to hear the heavens proclaim the glory of God; we are expected to put that heavenly assurance into action.  From Micah’s admonition to “do justice” (6:8) to James urging us to “be doers of God’s word, and not hearers only” (1:22), the biblical message is clear.  We need faith and hope and strength from God in any form we can get it – but it’s not there to hoard for a rainy day.  Love is only love if you give it away, or as James puts it even more forcefully later in this letter – “faith without works is dead” (2:26).

Talk can be cheap, and we know actions speak louder than words.  So what does doing God’s word look like for us as Jesus followers today?  To be doers of the word we need to surrender control and allow the ways of Christ to inform every decision we make–about vocations and vacations, how we spend our time and money, how we share our resources and care for mother earth.  And beyond acts of charity and kindness, to prayerfully examine how doers of God’s word can make positive contributions to public policies that shape and influence the lives of everyone in society, not just our own.

We could say, “I have health care and my family is taken care of, so let’s leave the system the way it is, it works for me!!!”   Or, “there’s enough money in social security to last my life time, global warming won’t get serious till after I’m gone; so let someone else worry about those complicated issues.”

No, what the heavens proclaim from our cosmic God requires bigger thinking and responsibility from us, and by the grace of God we are capable of bold, creative action, even if fair and equitable solutions to health care and other social justice issues seem currently impossible to achieve.

Yes, the heavens proclaim God’s glory, but we still know that all is not right with the world; and guess whose job it is to fix it?  When we think about the beauty of God’s creation, we need to remind ourselves that the Bible doesn’t begin with Genesis chapter 3, which is where Adam and Eve get booted out of the garden.  The Bible begins with Genesis, chapter 1 – where humans are created in the very image of God and entrusted to be God’s agents and stewards in the world.

Let’s be very clear that to be God’s agents and doers of the word is not advocating for some kind of works righteousness.  We aren’t called to be doers of God’s word to earn brownie points with God.  None of us can do enough good deeds to earn our salvation – that’s a gift of grace for those who repent and surrender to God’s word.  Faith produces good works, not vice versa.  People of faith can’t not do acts of justice and compassion, because once we truly hear the heavenly voice of God we know we are connected to each other – we are brothers and sisters in Christ, including those who don’t yet know we’re all kin.

Above the clamor and racket of modern life, the heavens are still telling the glory of God today.  Stop, look and listen for it – hear the power and the majesty – the power and the majesty beyond words, beyond human comprehension, beyond human suffering and injustice!

Stop, listen, hear the heavenly voices, and then go from the places of cosmic beauty renewed, refreshed and inspired to be doers of justice and compassion and hope for those who most need to hear what the heavens are proclaiming.

“Who’s the Real King,” Matthew 2:1-20

by Steve Harsh, posted in Christian Discipleship, Faith and Politics, Faith and Values

Matthew’s story of the Magi reminds me of Susie who came home from Sunday school and proudly showed her father the picture she had drawn there.  It was a picture of an airplane and through the windows there were four people visible in the plane, 3 in the back and one up front.  Dad asking a very natural question not recommended for parents of young artists inquired, “What is it?”  Susie replied, “It’s the flight into Egypt.  See, there’s Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus in the plane.”  Stifling his laughter, Dad got in deeper.  “Oh, I see, and who is that in the front of the plane?”  “Dad,” said Susie, “You should know who that is.  It’s Pontius the Pilot.”

Matthew tells the story of the holy family’s escape into Egypt so briefly and matter of factly that it’s easy to pass over it too lightly as Susie did.  This story of the magi and Herod is a significant addition to Luke’s more peaceful account of angels and shepherd.  In Matthew the innocent babe of Bethlehem is not only homeless but is quickly forced to run for his life from a homicidal King Herod.  What might this dark side of the Christmas story say to us today as we come to the end of another Christmas season with the horrors of Newtown and Rochester still hanging in the air?  Matthew reminds us that Jesus didn’t come into a world of pretty lights, tinseled trees and holiday parties.  He came into the real world, the world that had always stoned and rejected God’s prophets and resisted those who try to challenge the status quo.

Jesus came into a world where Caesar Augustus issued a decree to tax an oppressed people – a first century fiscal cliff if you will.  There’s nothing wrong with celebrating the warmth and love of Christmas.  We need breaks from our normal routine; we need to pause and ponder the meaning of life, to visit with friends and family; but lest we forget, Matthew 2 reminds us that like Jesus, when the party’s over, we must still live in the real world.  Given Herod’s slaughter of innocent children, I’m sure there must have been some in Bethlehem who would have lobbied for an armed guard at the manger, or maybe the wise men should have been brought guns and ammo instead of Gold, frankincense and myrrh.

In the real world there is always the struggle between good and evil – has been since time began.  It is both a cosmic and a personal conflict, which plays out here between Baby Jesus and King Herod, a symbol of all the power and violence and selfishness the world can muster.  It seems a very unfair match doesn’t it, a helpless, defenseless new born baby vs. Herod’s armies?  Gun powder vs. baby powder!  But remember what Pastor Dave said on Christmas Eve – God loves the underdog.  Baby Jesus is far from helpless, because he has God on his side, and we can have that same power on our side too if we worship the right king and not Herod’s kind of power.  In the words of the great hymn, “Lead on O King Eternal,” Jesus wins this battle hands down, “not with swords loud clashing nor roll of stirring drums, with deeds of love and mercy, his heavenly kingdom comes.”

My son and daughter-in-law gave me the HBO series on John Adams for my birthday this fall, and those seven hours of viewing were a great way to spend some of my recovery time after my surgery.  It’s a great series based on the biography of Adams by David McCullough, in part because it is so realistic in portraying how difficult the struggle for American independence was.  Political debate raged for months about if or when independence from Great Britain should be declared.  That first Christmas of the American Revolution in 1776 when Washington’s underfed, ill-equipped, poorly trained army looked doomed to an early defeat, Thomas Paine wrote his famous words, “These are the times that try men’s souls.”  Talk about underdogs taking on the most powerful military empire in the world.  Adams and the other members of that Congressional Congress knew they were literally risking their lives, committing treason by standing up to the power and authority of King George.  But as Harry Emerson Fosdick once said, they chose to be “loyal to the royal” in themselves, to the inalienable rights of liberty and justice endowed upon all humans by our creator.

As in every generation we are also living in times that try our souls, and we face the same critical decisions every generation faces, to choose the ways of the world or the ways of the Lord.  Let’s be honest, our priorities aren’t all that different than they were in Herod’s day.  Aren’t we still overly impressed by the lifestyles of the rich and famous?  Don’t we stress out and work too hard and go into debt for things we don’t really need and can’t afford?

Let’s not miss the radical point the story of Herod and the Magi makes, of these wise kings traipsing around the countryside looking for a poor little peasant baby born in a barn.  But even these wise men are fooled at first- they go to Herod, looking for the newborn king.  They expected him to be born in a palace, not a stable, and wouldn’t we make the same mistake today?

The Magi are symbols of worldly wisdom and power.  They show true wisdom just in time when they see through Herod’s lies and follow the star to Jesus.  And there they bow down and worship the true king, the one who doesn’t force his way upon us or try to impress us with wealth and power.  Jesus instead shows us the power that is stronger than any bully or injustice—the power of love.

Herod represents a long line of despots:  Pharaoh, Jezebel, Nebuchadnezzar, Nero, Hitler, Stalin, Saddam, and Osama.  All rulers who appeared to be all powerful.  Matthew tells us that Herod was so powerful that when he was upset about the news of Jesus’ birth, all of Jerusalem trembled in fear of his wrath.  But like every bully Herod’s fear-based power is hollow.  Herod is so insecure and threatened by a tiny baby that he orders the slaughter of innocent children, a horror all too real to us in 2012.  How desperate Herod must have been.  His desperation shows us that he feared others far more than they feared him.  Herod’s kind of power cannot last long because it is built on fear and violence.  Herod has the power of death, he can order men to kill babies and they do it.  By contrast, Jesus came in the power of eternal life.  He has nothing to fear because he is in touch with the power of God that conquers even death itself.  Jesus stands for love and compassion, kindness and peace, eternal values that can be oppressed and oppressed, but never conquered – values that aren’t part of the Herodian vocabulary.

Jesus’ peaceful confidence and power are illustrated in a story by Madeleine L’Engle that tells about the holy family’s dangerous journey across the desert into Egypt.  Wild animals and robbers were very real threats in the desert, and Mary and Joseph would have had to join a caravan for safety.  The story is called “Dance in the Desert,” and as L’Engle tells it, the first night in the desert might have been like this:

“The child will be frightened,” one of the camel drivers said and with his great, calloused hands began to play upon a tiny reed pipe.  A scrawny donkey boy ran into one of the tents and came out with an enormous horn, certainly heavier than he was, and managed to blow into it so that a braying squawk came out the end.   The little boy laughed and clapped with joy as he sat on the young man’s knee in the circle around the largest of the fires.

Outside the circle, from the edges of the dark, came a deep, sustained roar.  The camel driver dropped his pipe, his huge hand reaching for his knife.  “It is a lion.”  The tremor of fear that ran through the group touched everybody except the child.  He slid off the young man’s knees and walked on his still unsteady legs to the edge of the circle.  “Wait,” the mother said, as the camel driver reached for the little boy. 

The firelight seemed dimmer, the moonlight on the sands outside brighter.  At the crest of a dune stood a magnificent lion, completely still, so that he seemed like one of the stone carvings that the sands cover and then uncover on the desert floor.  His tail began to twitch, not in anger or irritation, but in dignified rhythm.  Then ponderously, he rose on his hind legs to his full height.  The child stood at the edge of the circle of firelight, holding out his arms in greeting.  The lion dropped back to his four paws and moved slowly to the company, not menacing, not stalking, but in measured, courtly circles.   “He’s dancing!” the donkey boy said.  “The lion is dancing!”

The camel driver’s grip relaxed, though he kept his hand on the knife’s hilt.  At a responsible distance from the caravan the lion knelt on his forepaws, then dropped to his haunches and lay still on the sands, watching.” 

Because Jesus is the real king, He has nothing to fear from any human king or the king of the beasts.  That’s the same message the gospels tell us when Jesus shows his kind of power over and over again – refusing to use force, resisting Satan’s temptations of glory and worldly power, calming the seas, exorcising demons, healing the sick and raising the dead.  And yet, even with all those signs of divine power, Jesus still had few real disciples.   Why?  Because most people then and now are fooled by Herod’s kind of phony power.  We call the Magi wise because they eventually recognize who the real king is.  Herod tries to order them around like he does everybody else.  He lies to them about his desire to worship Jesus.  But the Magi’s wisdom wins out.  Their ultimate obedience is not to Herod, but to the real king, and they refuse to play into Herod’s evil hand.

It is one thing to recognize the real king and bring him gifts and worship him.  That’s the easy part.  The acid test is which king we obey when push comes to shove.  In our heads we know that God will win in the long run, but we live in the short run, and that’s where we must show our loyalty to the true king if we want our world to become more like God’s kingdom.  We have the choice, every day, and history sadly shows a lack of wisdom in our ability to recognize and follow the real king. Too many Herods have risen to power in our world.  Too many innocent children have died.  Following the Newtown massacre, everyone is asking what we can do to make our world a safer place.  That’s a complicated question and a debate we need to take very seriously.  But there’s one thing we all can do right now today to help change the world and that is to commit ourselves more fully to follow the prince of peace.

In a few days the Christmas trees and decorations will be gone, the manger scene will be packed away in its box, but the choice of which king we serve and how we will live in 2013 will remain.  That choice affects how we relate to our families, friends, colleagues, how we respond to economic challenges, to the needs of the less fortunate.  It affects everything we do, and we need to be constantly aware of that.  Because the forces of evil are subtle and tricky.  Herod will try anything to undermine our faith by fear and intimidation, tempting us with all kinds of lies about earthly comforts and rewards instead of eternal ones.

Nobody ever said allegiance to the real king is easy (and if they did, they were lying).  Accepting Christ as our king is not a one and done decision.  You can’t even do that with your driver’s license, you have to renew it regularly.   Each Christmas we need to hear the story again, fresh and new, to be challenged by its simple yet profound truth.  And every day we need to make a conscious choice to follow the one true King.

Several decrees go out in the Christmas story – one from Caesar Augustus ordering a census, one from Herod ordering a massacre.  But the one we need to hear is the decree of the angels proclaiming the birth of the one true king, the savior of the world who conquers our fear forever.  Let’s remember Jesus’ teaching on allegiance to authority.  He taught us to render to Caesar only that which belongs to Caesar, but always and foremost to give our ultimate allegiance to the true king and Lord of all creation.  Let us remember that this is not a new challenge – that way back in Deuteronomy the Hebrew people were faced with the same choice.  And Joshua made it very clear when he said, “Choose this day whom you will serve.”  And like Joshua, we pray for the wisdom of the Magi to respond today and every day, “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

A Christmas Eve Story

by Steve Harsh, posted in Christian Discipleship, Faith and Politics, Faith and Values

As I pondered what message to share at Jerome UMC on Christmas Eve in a December that felt much darker than most, I remembered a couple of wonderful stories that spoke to me, and I hope will to you also.  As I thought about the struggle between good and evil in human  nature, the first story that came to me is a Native American legend about a young child asking a grandparent why some people are kind and loving and others seem so cruel and violent.  The grandparent responded that there is a constant struggle in every person between two wolves, one that is compassionate and nurturing, and another that is selfish and mean.  “But which wolf wins that struggle?” asked the child.  “The one we feed and nurture,” came the reply.

The image of the wolf reminded me of the second story, one that I had not told or thought about in years.  It is in a collection of short stories by Martin Bell, and the book is called, The Way of the Wolf, where the wolf is a metaphor for God.  When I looked for the story on line I was blessed to find an excellent introduction and conclusion to this story which I adapted slightly, but want to give credit to stjohns-online.org for setting the context.  Here’s the message I shared at the 11 pm Christmas Eve service at my church, Jerome UMC near Dublin, Ohio:

Christmas is a time for telling stories. Some are ancient stories:  about shepherds and angels and a baby born in a barn. Some of them are stories from our childhood – stories of elves and flying red-nosed reindeer, of snowmen who come to life under the spell of Christmas magic, and of Santa Claus.  Each season brings new stories, stories that capture in a new way some of the miracle of the first story, the story of God’s love for us – a love so deep and marvelous that it came alive one night – it became “Emmanuel,” “God with us.”

We tell stories because they touch our hearts and not just our minds.  They help us enter into the mystery of Truth that is larger than our reason and logic can explain.  Stories reveal different levels of truth that reach us wherever we are ready to receive them on any given day.  Christmas is a time for telling stories.

So often the story of Jesus is portrayed as a kind of romantic, sentimental tale – not unlike the decorations and secular stories and carols we hear this time of the year. Christmas is seen as a time of fellowship and fine food, a time to put aside just for a while, the things that divide us, at least until the After-Christmas sales. It is forgotten how marvelous and how expensive a gift Christmas really is, that the manger and the cross are both made of the same wood; that this small child, this enfleshment of God’s love, was sent not just to be a gift, another trinket for us to wear around our necks for a season, but came to show us what God’s love is all about – a love that is willing to die for us, a love that came as the angels told the shepherds that is to save us from all fear and give us eternal peace.

That is where Christmas really begins. That is why we tell the Christmas story again tonight – because of who Jesus became, what he taught, how he lived, and how he died but lives eternally.  Tonight we celebrate the greatness of the Christmas gift. And we remember the cost.   To do that, I’d like to share the story of God’s love for us, even as Jesus often did, through the telling of another story – a kind of parable by Martin Bell, “The Tale of Barrington Bunny.”

Barrington Bunny: A Christmas Story

by MartinBell

ONCE upon a time in a large forest there lived a very furry bunny. He had one lop ear, a tiny black nose, and unusually shiny eyes. His name was Barrington.

Barrington was not really a very handsome bunny. He was brown and speckled and his ears didn’t stand up right. But he could hop, and he was, as I have said, very furry.

In a way, winter is fun for bunnies. After all, it gives them a opportunity to hop in the snow and then turn around to see where they have hoped. So, in a way, winter was fun for Barrington.

But in another way winter made Barrington sad. For, you see, winter marked the time when all of the animal families got together in their cozy homes to celebrate Christmas. He could hop, and he was very furry. But as far as Barrington knew, he was the only bunny in the forest.

When Christmas Eve finally came, Barrington did not feel like going home all by himself. So he decided that he would hop for a while in the clearing in the center of the forest. Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. Then he cocked his head and looked back at the wonderful designs he had made.

“Bunnies,” he thought to himself, “can hop.” And they are very warm, too, because of how furry they are.” (But Barrington didn’t really know whether or not his was true of all bunnies, since he had never met another bunny.) When it got to dark to see the tracks he was making, Barrington made up his mind to go home. On his way, however, he passed a large oak tree. High in the branches there was a great deal of excited chattering going on. Barrington looked up. It was a squirrel family! What a marvelous time they seemed to be having.

“Hello, up there,” called Barrington.

“Hello, down there,” came the reply.

“Having a Christmas party?” asked Barrington.

“Oh, yes!” answered the squirrels. “It is Christmas Eve. Everybody is having a Christmas party!”

“May I come to your party?” said Barrington softly.

“Are you a squirrel?”

“No.”

“What are you, then?”

“A bunny.”

“A bunny?”

“Yes.”

“Well, how can you come to the party if you’re a bunny? Bunnies can’t climb trees.”

“That’s true,” said Barrington thoughtfully. “But I can hop and I’m very furry and warm.” “We’re sorry,” called the squirrels. “We don’t know anything about hopping and being furry, but we do know that in order to come to our house you have to be able to climb trees.” “Oh, well,” said Barrington. “Merry Christmas.” “Merry Christmas,” chattered the squirrels. And the unfortunate bunny hopped off toward his tiny house.

It was beginning to snow when Barrington reached the river. Near the river bank was wonderfully constructed house of sticks and mud. Inside there was singing.

“It’s the beavers,” thought Barrington. “Maybe they will let me come to their Party.” And so he knocked on the door.

“Who’s out there?” called a voice.

“Barrington Bunny,” he replied.

There was a long pause and then a shiny beaver head broke the water.

“Hello, Barrington,” said the beaver.

“May I come to your Christmas party?” asked Barrington.

The beaver thought for awhile and then he said, “I suppose so. Do you know how to swim?”

“No,” said Barrington, “but I can hop and I am very furry and warm.”

“Sorry,” said the beaver. “I don’t know anything about hopping and being furry, but I do know that in order to come to our house you have to be able to swim.”

“Oh, well,” Barrington muttered, his eyes filling with tears. “I suppose that’s true–Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” called the beaver. And he disappeared beneath the surface of the water. Even being as furry as he was, Barrington was beginning to get cold. And the snow was falling so hard that his tiny, bunny eyes could scarcely see what was ahead of him.

He was almost home, however, when he heard the excited squeaking of field mice beneath the ground.

“It’s a party,” thought Barrington. And suddenly he blurted out through his tears, “Hello, field mice. This is Barrington Bunny. May I come to your party?” But the wind was howling so loudly and Barrington was sobbing so much that no on heard him.

And when there was no response at all, Barrington just sat down in the snow and began to cry with all his might.

“Bunnies,” he thought, “aren’t any good to anyone. What good is it to be furry and to be able to hop if you don’t have any family on Christmas Eve?”

Barrington cried and cried. When he stopped crying he began to bite on his bunny’s foot, but he did not move from where he was sitting in the snow.

Suddenly, Barrington was aware that he was not alone. He looked up and strained his shiny eyes to see who was there.

To his surprise he saw a great silver wolf. The wolf was large and strong and his eyes flashed fire. He was the most beautiful animal Barrington had ever seen. For a long time the silver wolf didn’t say anything at all. He just stood there and looked at Barrington with those terrible eyes.
Then slowly and deliberately the wolf spoke. “Barrington,” he asked in a gentle voice, “Why are you sitting in the snow?”

Barrington replied, “Because it is Christmas Eve and I don’t have any family and bunnies aren’t any good.”

“Bunnies are good,” said the wolf. “Bunnies can hop and they are very warm.”

“What good is that ?” Barrington sniffed.

“It is very good indeed,” the wolf went on, “because it is a gift that bunnies are given, a free gift with no strings attached. And every gift that is given to anyone is given for a reason. Someday you will see why it is good to hop and to be warm and furry.”

“But it’s Christmas,” moaned Barrington, “and I’m all alone. I don’t have any family at all.”

“Of course you do,” replied the great silver wolf. “All of the animals in the forest are your family.” And then the wolf disappeared. He simply wasn’t there.

Barrington had only blinked his eyes, and when he looked– the wolf was gone.

“All of the animals in the forest are my family,” thought Barrington. “It’s good to be a bunny. Bunnies can hop. That’s a gift. A free gift.”

On into the night Barrington worked. First he found the best sticks that he could. (and that was difficult because of the snow.) Then hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. To beaver’s house. He left the sticks just outside the door. With a note on them that read: A free gift. No strings attached. Signed, a member of your family.”

“It is a good thing that I can hop,” he thought, “because the snow is very deep.”

Then Barrington dug and dug. Soon he had gathered together enough dead leaves and grass to make the squirrels nest warmer. Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. He laid the grass and the leaves just under the large oak tree and attached this message: “A gift. A free gift. From a member of your family.”

It was late when Barrington finally started home. And what made things worse was that he knew a blizzard was beginning.

Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. Soon poor Barrington was lost. The wind howled furiously, and it was very, very cold. “It certainly is cold,” he said out loud. “It’s a good thing I’m so furry. But if I don’t find my way home pretty soon even I might freeze!”

And then he saw it– a baby field mouse lost in the snow. and the little mouse was crying.

“Hello, little mouse,” Barrington called.

“Don’t cry. I’ll be right there.” Hippity-hop, and Barrington was beside the tiny mouse.

“I’m lost,: sobbed the little fellow. “I’ll never find my way home, and I know I’m going to freeze.”

“You won’t freeze,” said Barrington. “I’m a bunny and bunnies are very furry and warm. You stay right where you are and I’ll cover you up.”

Barrington had only two thoughts that long, cold night. First he thought, “It’s good to be a bunny. Bunnies are very furry and warm.” And then, when he felt the heart of the tiny mouse beneath him beating regularly, he thought, “All of the animals in the forest are my family.”

Next morning, the field mice found their little baby, asleep in the snow, warm and snug beneath the furry carcass of a dead bunny. Their relief and excitement was so great that they didn’t even think to question where the bunny had come from.

And as for the beavers and the squirrels, they still wonder which member of their family left the little gifts for them that Christmas Eve.

After the field mice had left, Barrington’s frozen body simply lay in the snow. There was no sound except that of the howling wind. and no one any where in the forest noticed the great silver wolf who came to stand beside that brown, lop-eared carcass.

But the wolf did come.
And he stood there.
Without moving or saying a word.
All Christmas Day.
Until it was night.

And then he disappeared into the forest.

(at the conclusion)

This cold winter night, we are again given a gift, you and I. A free gift, with no strings attached. A small baby, a person like you and me, who came to be a gift, and to tell us that we are also gifts, and members of the same family – the family of Our God. He showed us that life is truly a gift. To be human is a gift, because it means that God’s own heart can beat within us. We can love as Jesus loves, and we can rejoice in being members – all of us – of the same family. That is truly a great gift. But Jesus showed us that it is also a costly gift – it will cost us our very lives, all that we are, to be the kind of gift Jesus is.   Because Jesus showed us the truth of that paradox, by loving us totally, enough to die for us. And that is what Christmas is really all about.

Let us, then, praise God for that gift. Let us receive it, and through its magic, allow ourselves to be transformed into gifts – gifts to one another. As we receive the bread and the wine, the body and the blood of our Lord, let us become aware of His real presence which transforms us, and makes of us living gifts to one another. Free gifts. With no strings attached. Amen.

Light in the Darkness

by Steve Harsh, posted in Christian Discipleship, Faith and Politics, Faith and Values

O God of mercy, we come to you in greater need of your comfort and love than usual this day.  As a nation we have walked thru the valley of the shadow of death this week with the people of Portland, Oregon, Newtown, CN, and the Sandy Hook school. It’s lonely in that valley and we need your strength so that we are not overcome by the fear of such incomprehensible evil and violence.  We’re shocked and angry that such pain and suffering has been visited upon innocent children and their families.  We’re confused and frightened that these scenes are becoming all too familiar.

Our hearts are broken and our minds struggle to ask why and make sense of the senseless. What we do know is that we want to reach out in compassion to everyone touched directly and indirectly by this tragedy – families, teachers, students, first responders, community leaders, churches ministering to the grief stricken, political leaders looking for ways to stop the cycle of violence.  Guide us with your spirit, O God, that we may be instruments of your peace to those near, and far and bearers of light to those surrounded by this darkness.

Give us faith and courage to continue to praise you and celebrate your presence in this holy season, even in the midst of our pain.  Remind us that Christmas comes in the darkest days of the year when we most need the light of the world.  Remind us that Jesus was born into a world where a desperate insecure king ordered the slaughter of innocent children to preserve his power.  And we know who had the real power.

The light of the Christ child still shines in the darkness, and we thank you for that reassuring presence.  Comfort us in our grief, banish our fears so that we may share the good news of Christmas that the eternal God is one with us, shares our pain, is so close to us that you taste the salt of our tears – and in that faith may we be empowered to share the good news that nothing in all creation, no valley, no darkness, no evil, can ever separate us from your great love, O God, our strength and redeemer.

Socially Responsible Holiday Gifts

by Steve Harsh, posted in Christian Discipleship, Faith and Values 
In the interest of celebrating the holidays in ways that are more in keeping with the reason for the season
 I want to share the following resource from Sojourners.  This social justice organization says:

If you're like us, you're a generous person who wants to engage the world around you. 
Christmas is a wonderful time of year, and you're searching for gifts that will have an impact, 
not just pile up under the tree.
 
But where do we find socially responsible gifts? Is there a list that we can check
twice?
 
Sojourners decided to create a solution to this. We call it the Just Giving Guide
http://go.sojo.net/site/R?i=RgDIq-W8imh7uFRMXNCubw
 
The Guide is an email program where you can get the "Just Deal of the Day" delivered straight to your inbox.
 
Every day until December 31, you'll receive a daily email from us featuring one of our partner
organizations. These include non-profits, fair trade shops, environmentally friendly products, and
Christian publishers.
 
As a bonus for registering, you'll receive 20% off at our SojoStore!
http://go.sojo.net/site/R?i=OuKwPX3_OFb53u740Sxn_A
 
Sign up now
http://go.sojo.net/site/R?i=SEjfuC1xQX1B4bvvNw0SSA

Biblical Politics

by Steve Harsh, posted in Christian Discipleship, Faith and Politics, Faith and Values

Someone left a handwritten note on my windshield this morning, the day before the 2012 election.  It was apparently a response to the collection of bumper stickers on my car.  One of those which has been there quite some time says “Another United Methodist for Peace and Justice” and has the cross and flame symbol of our denomination.  More recently I have added bumper stickers supporting President Obama and Ohio Senator Brown and a state issue to make the way we draw congressional districts in Ohio less partisan.  The note on my windshield said, “Christian, Should you Not vote the BIBLE?”

I can guess which parts of the Bible my anonymous critic reads and does not read.  Robert Jewett in his book, The Captain America Complex has a very helpful discussion of the two major streams of thought, both Biblical, which explain the widening divide and lack of communication and tolerance in our politics and theology.  The first he calls “zealous nationalism” which has had great influence on American self-understanding with its emphasis on prosperity and individual salvation as the primary goals of Christianity.  Christians who prefer that Biblical focus devote much of their attention to the Gospel of John, the epistles and the book of Revelation.  The other equally Biblical path Jewett calls “prophetic realism” with a greater emphasis on social justice and concern for the marginalized and powerless members of society.  That is a primary theme of the Hebrew prophets and Jesus himself in the synoptic gospels, and it is a major reason Biblical Christians can and do view the world and politics differently.

With election day only hours away I am praying that great divide does not create a rerun of 2000’s Florida debacle.  That’s why I am urging my friends in Ohio and other swing states especially to get out the vote for President Obama.  For many reasons I believe the President is more likely to advocate for policies more in keeping with the more tolerant, inclusive and universal values of Jesus and the Prophets.  Beyond the fact that the economy is improving and it would be foolish to return to the Bush-Cheney policies that created the recession, President Obama is the better candidate for a variety of other very important reasons:  a greater commitment to the environment, women’s rights, gay rights, education, the poor, and scaling back our reliance on military solutions to international conflicts.

We know that no president can solve all the problems we face single-handedly.  But there is one far-reaching effect this election will have for years to come, and that is the makeup of the US Supreme Court.  The current court has given us a $6 billion election controlled by wealthy anonymous donors.  If you agree that money should be spent in better ways to address real problems facing our nation and world, get out and vote for the President and prevent the long-lasting damage a more conservative Supreme Court would create.  Because those justices are appointed for life, your vote is about far more than just the next four years.