IS THE LORD AMONG US, OR NOT? Exodus 17:1-7; John 4:1-42 February 24, 2008
Yesterday was a difficult day for me. The Oregon-Idaho Reconciling United Methodists met—a group I ordinarily enjoy the company of. The focus of the meeting was to prepare and bless people who will be going to the General Conference of the United Methodist Church in late April and early May. As a part of that preparation and blessing, Deborah Maria, the moderator, had asked those of us who have been there before to speak about what people needed to know and how they should prepare for General Conference.
I’ve gone to General conference, as an activist and an advocate, 4 times, in 1988, 1992, 1996, and 2000. I couldn’t bring myself to go in 2004—my health was too fragile, and, I think, my spirit as well. Marcia went without me that year. And this year, I struggled with the question of whether I would go again or not. In January, Marcia and I had a heart-to-heart conversation with the Staff-Parish Relations Committee, one where we talked of the reasons for going, and for not going. We decided, together, that Marcia and I would go this year. Once we had had that conversation, we contacted the people who are organizing the activist presence and offered our services. I will be a monitor for one committee at General Conference, the committee on higher education and ministry, the committee that deals with issues of ordination.
There is so much that is good and wonderful about this church of ours. I believe that; I live out of that conviction. But there are also things that are terribly wrong with our church. We seek to be the realm of God, the body of Christ alive in the world, but there are times, painful times, when we are as clueless as the disciples who came back to that well in Samaria and wondered, why is Jesus talking to her? We have important work to do and places to go, and she just isn’t on our agenda for today.
I’m sure you understand that men of that time and place did NOT talk to women in public, that Jews avoided all contact with Samaritans, that women who had relations with men who weren’t their husbands were stoned, not engaged in conversation. Jesus was breaking all the rules here, and for what? To talk about God, and God’s love to a sinful, outcast Samaritan woman who had the gall to engage him, to argue with him, in public.
Of course you know that the villages of the day didn’t have running water. Twice a day, in the early morning and again as evening approached, the women of the village would go to the village well. Morning and night they would gather together, talking as each of them filled her buckets or jars, a time for the women to gather, to exchange news, and to care and share with one another. But this woman was at the well at high noon. Now, do we suppose she went there then because she liked working by herself in the hot midday sun? Or do we imagine that she went to the well then because she was not welcome to be there with the “good” women of the village, or because she was tired of being shunned and judged by the ones who should have been her social community?
This is what Jesus would have known, as the woman came to the well while he was resting there—that she was an outcast in her own village, that she was bright and maybe belligerent, that she had no place, really, where she could belong, where she could live in confidence and safety. And that she was not willing to be a victim, not willing to knuckle under to the whispers and insinuations that she was not fit for human company.
And this is what he did. He engaged her in that most sacred of all activities for observant Jews and Samaritans alike, a conversation about God, about the spirit of God, about the living water that could quench her thirst. He engaged her; he recognized and named the reasons for her life as an outcast within her community, and then, amazingly, he took her as a disciple, sent her back to her people as a bearer of the good news of God’s abundant love for all.
Well, there it is. In the church, you see, we have been struggling for many years now about who is “good enough” to be a bearer of the good news. Who can be ordained? Who can be leaders? Who, even, can join this company of fragile, fractious, and sometimes funny followers of Jesus?
If we would listen carefully, I think we would know that the answer is that God can call anyone to be a bearer of good news. But too often, we fill our ears with the humming of our own songs of self-importance, making it hard to hear God’s message of welcome. We think, sometimes we insist, that there was a part left out of the story, the part where Jesus said, “Okay, listen. You are a sinner, woman. You dared to challenge me; you have had a bunch of husbands and are now living with someone you aren’t married to; you need to repent and get down on your knees and completely change who you are, and then, go get the man in your life, so I can tell him how to make you shape up, and then, well, be really grateful that I stopped to listen to your sorry self.” Wasn’t that in there? Betty—you read it—didn’t we just miss that part? I mean, we want to be disciples of Jesus, and even they were clear that there was something really wrong going on here. Maybe the disciples needed to pass a new resolution at their next gathering, at their next conference—no loose solitary Samaritan well-women can be received, ordained, or appointed to serve in our churches, ever. And maybe, in the meantime, they could take Jesus aside and explain to him, look, we’ve got a campaign to run here and you need to stay on message. None of these side conversations—we’re going to get really bad press from this one, and, well, you just know that this is going to make the Pharisees even angrier with you. You keep doing this and, don’t you know, you’re gonna get killed in the polls—and maybe for real as well.
So, as I was preparing to talk about going to General Conference, I was remembering all the ugly, un-Christian, hateful things I’ve experienced from folk who, like these first disciples, just wanted the body of Christ, the church, to stay on message and stop engaging the unwelcome people at the margins—and then, I guess three things happened.
One was that people listened to each other, and shared from their hope and their pain, and the meeting was a real encounter—sort of like the conversation that Jesus had with this unnamed woman. No matter how bad things have been, it is so important to be listened to, to be engaged, to experience that people care enough to let you speak your own story and truth. That carries over to lots of life. Everywhere we go, people in pain want to be heard. People struggling, whether it’s with injustice or bad habits, want to be heard, not dismissed. This is one of the drafts of fresh water that we can pull out of our well, to listen to the ones who are alone, outcast, in pain, suffering—for whatever reason. In the game of discipleship, listening trumps judgment.
A second thing that happened was that I remembered that this struggle we are engaged in, for a more open and more inclusive church, is a struggle that goes to the heart of who we are, as persons, as followers, as a church. It’s not done yet because we continue to be fallible human beings who want to badly to have someone to look down on, to have someone, someone who is worse than I am, someone who I can point to and say, thank you God, for not making me be one of them. We, all of us, are so tempted to respond to our own feelings of unworthiness by directing our own attention, and that of others, towards the unholy them, whoever they are. So, when I go to General Conference, perhaps it will help me to remember that those people who think it’s a sin and a crime for me to be your pastor are really quite a bit like Peter, or Thomas, or one of the other disciples—they just haven’t figured it out yet, that Jesus would really sit down and talk with someone like me, and then tell me to go tell the good news. Or with someone like you, whoever you are.
But then, the third thing that happened to me, between yesterday’s meeting and today’s sermon was that I came home and logged on to my e-mail and read a beautiful message from Carolyn Hammett. She sent on a short film on the theme, “I have cancer, but cancer doesn’t have me.” “I have experienced injustice, but injustice doesn’t have me.” “I know suffering, but suffering isn’t who I am.” “I can learn from this hard time in my life that I am strong, and courageous, and caring, and beloved—and if I learn that, then, however hard it is, it is also a blessing.”
When the Israelites, fleeing from the slavery and oppression of Pharaoh, came into hard times in the desert, they challenged Moses, “Is the Lord among us, or not?’ And we ask the same question when we are in our own desert times, “Where is God? Why is it so hard? Is God with us, or not?”
And the answer, then as now, is that God is in the desert, offering us refreshing water that will be drawn by someone we didn’t expect to be a disciple, a bearer of good news. God doesn’t promise us a church without fault, a body without cancer, a relationship without pain, a life without great hunger and thirst for healing and justice. God knows life isn’t a simple skip in the park. Sometimes we are parched and dry and dying for a word of refreshment. Sometimes, we think we are the one who needs care, and learn, to our surprise, that we are called to be the bearers of good news to others. Sometimes, the care comes from unexpected disciples. God is at work all over the place, in the deserts of our lives. Using us, using each other, calling us all, even those we think unworthy, to be the bearers of good news and grace and love. And that is such amazing good news. It makes us want to jump up and run and holler and say, to one and all—“I just met this amazing Jesus, and he knows who I am and he still sent me to tell you that God loves you. Now and always. No exceptions. Spread the word.” Spread the word. Spread the word. Amen.
Children of God, Called to Heal the World, January 13, 2008
Written by Jeanne Knepper
Tuesday, 15 January 2008
CHILDREN OF GOD, CALLED TO HEAL THE WORLD Isaiah 42:1-9; Matthew 3:13-17 January 13, 2008
Who are the prophets, in our day? Do you ever wonder that, as we read the words of Jeremiah or Isaiah, do you wonder whether we still have prophets, and who they might be? Who holds up the plumb line; who speaks for the poor, sold for a pair of Nikes, or for the bruised reeds, poor, mentally ill, sick and elderly, unable to get medical care they need so desperately? Where are our great lights, shining in darkness?
For me, when I want to hear words of prophecy, brought forward in words that echo in my soul and stay with me in times of deep darkness, I go to my sounds system, to music that will stir my soul, crank up my courage, quiet my heart and set my feet to dancing and my hands to working. If I were called upon to name the prophets of our era, I would name Martin Luther King, Jr., yes, and Carter Heyward and Cesar Chavez. But I would also name Holly Near, Tracy Chapman, Fred Small. I want to share a song—actually, I suppose, a poem, as I’m not going to sing it—with you today. It’s called, “Planet Called Home.”
Can you call on your imagination, as if telling a myth to a child? Put in the fantastical, wonderful, magical; add the romantic, the brave and the wild.
Once upon a time there was a power so great that no one could know its name. People tried to claim it and rule with it; always such arrogance ended in shame.
Thousands of years would pass in a moment; hundreds of cultures would come and go, each generation with a glorious calling, even when they were too busy to know.
Then one day after two millennia, which after all is was a small part of time, hundreds of souls found their way out of nowhere to be on earth at the threat of decline.
“Let’s all go,” they moved as one being, even though each would arrive here alone. They promised to work in grace with each other, to brave the beautiful planet called home.
There was no promise that they could save it, but how exciting to give it a try: If each one did just one thing beautifully, complex life on earth might not die.
And so they arrived in a spectrum of colors. The population on earth did explode. Some threw themselves in front of disaster; others slowly carried their load.
Some adopted small girls from China; some lived high in the branches of trees; some died as martyrs, some lived as healers, some bravely walked with a dreadful disease.
They mingled among each class and each culture. No one of them could be identified, but together they altered just enough moments to help the lost and the terrified.
To step outside of our egos and our bodies, to know for once that we truly are one— then quickly, we would forget to remember, but that’s okay; their job was well done.
And earth went on for another millennium. Now it’s time for my song to end this magical story of hope and wonder; invite you all to wake up and pretend to be Fabulous creatures sent from the power, souls that have come with one purpose in mind: To do one thing that will alter the outcome, and maybe together we’ll do it in time.
Can you call on your imagination, as if telling a myth to a child? Put in the fantastical, wonderful, magical; add the romantic, the brave and the wild. The souls are coming back!
Do you hear the connections with Isaiah? Somehow, someone needs to come forward, to set the planet right, to bring healing and justice to the world. God will call up that someone; God will call forth a servant of God who will open eyes that are blind, bring prisoners out of their dungeons and bring a light to the nations and justice to the people. Matthew and his interpreters have often claimed that Isaiah was predicting the birth and life of Jesus, that Jesus was the fulfillment of Hebrew Scriptures and the longed for Messiah. We’ve probably all thrilled to the majesty of the music of Handel’s Messiah, which proclaims that Jesus was and is the suffering servant of Isaiah 42.
There are several problems with this line of reasoning. One is that it misinterprets the point of prophetic writings. How often have you heard the word prophecy used to describe magically prescient predictions of an unknowable—except to the powerful prophet—future? Another is that it discredits all those who lived between the times of Isaiah and Jesus. How could Isaiah be scripture, the word of God, for them, when they did not and could not know the story of Jesus? Finally, and perhaps most important, such reasoning demeans Judaism. To argue that Isaiah was writing solely about the coming of Jesus is to assert that the Jewish faith is incomplete and obtuse, unable to recognize that the Messiah, the awaited one, God’s beloved servant, has already come, once and for all.
Our lectionary, following common Christian tradition, has paired these texts, Isaiah 42 and the baptism of Jesus, commonly understood as the beginning of his ministry and the time when God claimed Him as the fulfillment of generations of longing. Can we, in turn, deal with these passages together in a way that is both honest and respectful?
I think the first step is to start with Isaiah, in his own time. What was he living through; what was he writing about? Do you remember that the prophet Jeremiah wrote his messages as he foresaw and awaited the defeat of Judah at the hands of Babylon? The nation of Judah was defeated and many of its people were carried off to exile, to live as captives in Babylon, forbidden to go home. But history moved on. Many scholars think that the latter half of the book of Isaiah was written to the people in exile, written by someone who saw the hand of God in the shape of political fortune. By this time, Cyrus, King of Persia, was waging war against Babylon. Babylon had built its empire on the backs of conquered peoples, carried off from their homelands to be workers and captives in the Babylonian empire. Cyrus realized that he could undermine Babylon form within by cultivating the support of the captive peoples in Babylon, promising that he would allow them to return to their homelands and practice their own religious faiths. Cyrus, some scholars argue, became the unwitting servant of God, the one who would let the prisoners out of the dungeon, who would set the captives free.
Other scholars argue that the servant image of Isaiah is a reference to the faithfulness of Abraham and Sarah and Moses, to all within the people of god who kept the covenant, who established righteousness by honoring God’s commandments. In their view, the one who saves, the suffering servant, is not an individual but is instead the people, the People of God. The servant in whom God delights is the whole people of God, the ones who do not quench the lowly but faithfully and steadily call forth justice.
We are the inheritors of long traditions of interpretation, and that’s a good thing. This is how I would like to tie our stories together. Jesus, entering his ministry, was inspired and galvanized by the words and actions of John. He began to follow John, and went to him to receive John’s baptism, a ritual of repentance, of washing clean. John, recognizing God at work in Jesus and seeing baptism as an act of taking Jesus as a disciple, a hierarchical act, was hesitant. But Jesus understood baptism differently, and was confirmed in this different understanding when he saw the heavens open and heard God proclaim that he was God’s Child, Beloved and pleasing to God.
This was a life-changing event of the biggest sort. Think about it, being called a beloved child of God, by God. The gospels tell us that he went off into the wilderness to think through what that could mean, to figure out what he was called to do and be. He came back ready to be the Christ, the one who put God’s will at the center of his being, a true Child of God.
Baptism—a simple act makes a profound statement: we are children of God, or, as Holly Near put it, “fabulous creatures sent form the power, souls that have come with one purpose in mind, to do one thing that will alter the outcome, and maybe together we’ll do it in time.” Through our baptism, we renounce the spiritual forces of wickedness, reject the evil powers of this world, and accept the freedom and power God gives us to resist evil, injustice and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves. Those are the very words we use as we recognize and claim that God calls us to set the world aright, to welcome and create the Realm of God here, in North Portland.
We are one small church, doing God’s work in the world, doing it here, on this small peninsula that is North Portland. We’re a few people, but we are enough so that together, we might “alter the outcome,” in ways that we might not ever fully recognize. What does it mean to the boys who skate board on our front step that we treat them with respect and openness? Will we ever know whether we have planted seeds of self-respect with our conversations? What does it mean to a man or woman struggling to overcome the manifestation of evil that is addiction that we provide and protect space for Alcoholics Anonymous to meet three times each week?
Alone, we can wonder whether this neighborhood will hold together in the face of rising costs, poverty, and looming recession. Together, we can articulate a vision of communal wholeness, provide space for meetings and conversations, feed the hungry, and encourage those who are struggling on the edges of addictions and despair. Alone, we can feel great sorrow as people we love struggle with grief and pain and chronic illness. Together, we can invite them—and ourselves—to meet and serve and draw support from one another and from the constant presence of God.
Alone—but we are not alone. That’s the point. Through our baptism, through our belonging here, we have joined the people of God. We are God’s Beloved, now, inheritors of Isaiah’s promise, the souls of Holly Near’s imagining, the Christ, alive in the world.
Sometimes, when I pick up a newspaper and find myself near despair, I remember the words of poet Adrienne Rich, found on the front of today’s bulletin:
My heart is moved by all I cannot save. So much has been destroyed. I have to cast my lot with those who age after age, perversely, with no extraordinary power, reconstitute the world.
It’s a huge task, but we are not alone. And with God, I think we are up to it. Do you? I hope so.
University Park United Methodist Church (UPUMC) is located at 4775 N Lombard, Portland Oregon 97203. UPUMC is small, diverse, growing, laughing, committed, caring, serious, warm and REAL! We are a community that encourages each other as we grow in faith, in knowledge, in service, and in love of self, God and neighbor. At University Park we not only respect but welcome diversity in race, gender, national origin, age, sexual orientation, gender identity, physical and mental ability, economic status and profession. We believe all people are equal before God and entitled to Gods grace and abundance. Pastors: Rev. Dr. Jeanne Knepper & Rev. Marcia Hauer http://www.upumc.net
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