Guide our feet into the way of peace
Luke 1: 68-79
A sermon by Thomas R. McKibbens
December 14, 2014

Hear the sermon.

The dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace. Can you imagine a more appropriate scripture text for our day of national division and resentment and outrage? These birth stories in the gospels of Luke and Matthew are not foreign to the social and political turmoil that we are experiencing, and to be faithful to the meaning of these stories means that we gain some spiritual insight into our own situation.


So we begin by noticing that these stories sound like they were told in an obstetrician’s waiting room! This is especially true in the gospel of Luke, which tells us not one, but two birth stories! The first is the birth of John the Baptist, a story that in many ways is just as fascinating an account as the stories about the birth of Jesus. So as we wait for Christmas, let us notice the birth of a baby boy named John.

If you are prone to think that this birth story is a quaint little religious tale that says nothing about current issues, take another close look. The way the writer constructed this birth story says a great deal about power politics, even as feisty as ours is today. It all comes in the way he introduces the main characters. He opens the story this way: In the days of King Herod of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah…His wife was a descendant of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth.

Now that may sound innocent enough, but Luke is telling a story about how God was changing the face of history. And how would that change happen? Through the power politics of Herod of Judea? Would world history be changed for better because of this political leader who represented Rome, considered the most powerful military on earth? Is God’s ability to bring dramatic newness to the world limited to the precincts of any nation’s political maneuvering? The answer seems obvious from Luke’s perspective.

Every generation tends to label its time by the name of its political leaders. “In the days of Franklin Roosevelt,” we say. “In the days of President Eisenhower,” we say. We speak of eras as if the truly great events of the world are limited to what happens at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue or at the other end of Pennsylvania Avenue. But Luke’s not so subtle reminder is that God’s work for good in this world is not limited to those who hold the great political and military positions of power.

Luke tells a story about a world-changing event that begins among a group of people known in local parlance as the Anawim, the poor of the land. They had little of this world’s goods and even less of this world’s power and prestige. They never had to stand before the cameras, interview with the press, walk the red carpet, or argue before the courts. They were the nobody’s of the age; they were part of the hoi polloi; they blended into the landscape. The fact that Luke introduces these two people, Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth, in the very same breath with reference to King Herod, is a subtle message.

Zechariah and Elizabeth lived in a different universe from King Herod. Herod was a King, while Zechariah was a country priest, way down on the ecclesiastical totem pole. His wife Elizabeth was dealing as best she could with the fact that they had not been able to conceive, and the years were rolling by like empty perambulators. Both were getting on in years, says the text. The implication is that both of them were settling down, learning to live with the disappointment, and hanging on until retirement. It was a plodding existence, and they were hoping to live long enough to get some pleasure out of life, but not long enough to be a burden on anyone.

This sad old couple become the venue for God’s great work in the world. History would remember Herod primarily as the King at the time when John the Baptist and Jesus were born. Yet Herod was not even aware of the events for which he would be remembered! God was quietly working in the lives of a forgotten older couple to bring about change.

Luke’s story of the birth of John the Baptist confirms the truth that James Russell Lowell would write centuries later, that

…behind the dim unknown
Standeth God within the shadow
Keeping watch above his own.


Surely God was keeping watch over this aging couple who had just about given up hope. The story says that Zechariah was chosen by lot…to enter the sanctuary of the Lord and offer incense. This was a big day in his life. All the priests of Israel were divided into twenty-four groups; each group served twice a year for a week in the Temple. So this large group of country priests came to the big city, and one of them would be chosen by lot to enter the Holy of Holies and bring the incense to the altar.

Zechariah must have been shocked that his name was pulled from the hat. It would be a high moment, the pinnacle of his professional life. While the multitude of people were praying outside, Zechariah would enter the sanctuary alone and offer the incense. The people would be waiting expectantly outside for him to emerge.
But the people had a long wait. They waited and waited. Where was this country priest? Why was he delayed? The other priests must have fidgeted and whispered. Would someone dare to go in and see what was wrong?

But in the way of biblical stories, we readers know what was happening. We know that in his religious fervor, Zechariah had a vision of an angel, and like everyone else in the gospel of Luke who encounters an angelic vision, he falls to his face in terror. And the angel says, Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard.

Now, I don’t want to dwell too much on this because it is a little embarrassing, but have you noticed here that even priests can be shocked and dismayed when prayers are answered? Even professional religionists become dull in their expectations. We officiate in the sanctuary itself, but repetition brings familiarity, and familiarity (as we all know) can breed contempt. Even religious folk can go through the motions of prayer and worship and not expect anything significant to happen.

In Zechariah’s case, he had become so used to praying with no evident response from God, that when the angel tells him that he and Elizabeth will indeed have a son, he argues with the angel. I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years, he says. The argument goes like this: Zechariah says emphatically, I am old…. Then the angel says just as emphatically, I am Gabriel. They are nose to nose in argument. I am old…I am Gabriel. You can’t…you can! You won’t…you will! And finally Zechariah comes out of the sanctuary mute, unable to speak, overcome by the divine.

Here is a reminder that we cannot afford to become too complacent in our expectations. We pray fervently for the renewal of the church, and when it happens, we are scared to death. We hear the argument of Zechariah echoing through this holy place, You can’t…I can! You won’t…I will!


And sure enough, the story goes on to tell us that Elizabeth did conceive, and a baby boy was born. When they brought him for dedication, the community was gathered around the parents celebrating the birth of their baby. Everyone thought they would name him Zechariah after his father. But his mother said, No, he is to be called John. And poor, mute Zechariah confirmed it by writing on a notepad, His name is John. And the story tells us that immediately his mouth was opened and his tongue freed, and he began to speak, praising God.

In language of praise and gratitude and hope for the future through the birth of a new generation, we have before us what has come to be called The Benedictus, surely an ancient hymn of the early church that drew from early Jewish piety but added a Christian dimension to the hymn. The people of Israel had long expected that God would deliver them from the political domination of a foreign power. This hymn coming from the mouth of a new father reflects this form of Jewish piety, but the church added a new dimension to the hymn; you might call it a new stanza:

By the tender mercy of our God,
the dawn from on high will break upon us,
to give light to those who sit in darkness
and the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.

That haunting phrase, to guide our feet into the way of peace, ends Zechariah’s hymn sung before his newborn son John. It is the prayer of every parent that the new generation will guide our feet into the way of peace.


It is our audacious faith that God’s purposes in the world are not confined to the great and the powerful. There are people of faith whose names are not on CNN, who do not negotiate contracts in the millions, who do not wield great power and influence in the media, who do not vote in Congress or head big corporations, but who by their quiet, often inconspicuous, and humble lives can lead a church, a nation, and even a world into the way of peace.

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With Blessing in His Hand
Luke 1: 26-38
A Communion Meditation by Thomas R. McKibbens
December 7, 2014

Hear the sermon.

Generally speaking, the closer we get to Christmas, the shorter my sermons will be. The reason for that is that sermons rely largely on logic, and Christmas is not logical. It was never meant to be logical. The deepest truth always seems to overflow the cup of logic. So we rely on things that reach down beneath the level of logical reasoning…things like music and symbol and silence. Great love can never be reduced to logic, and Christmas is fundamentally a story of the greatest love there is.


So we continue this Advent season with a story that invites us to examine a young woman’s perplexity and fear. Her name is Mary, and we know her quite well from generations of reading her story. When we enter her story today, she has just encountered the voice of an angel. It is worth noting that in biblical lore, this is not just any angel. It is Gabriel, and Gabriel has a special role among all the angels in the Bible. You might think of Gabriel as the Sergeant at Arms of the Angelic Congress. He is always announcing arrivals.

So here is Gabriel announcing to Mary that she will conceive in her womb and bear a son. And if that is not enough to elicit a torrent of questions, nothing would be! Why doesn’t she interrupt Gabriel and say, “Wait a minute! I can’t be pregnant! Joseph will break our engagement! My parents will disown me! My friends will turn their backs on me! For God’s sake, the legalists in town will try to stone me!”

But those feelings are not recorded in the story. We just see her standing there with a stunned and puzzled look on her face. She was much perplexed by his words, the text says, which I suppose is one of the greatest understatements in the Bible!

But Gabriel is not through yet. He has another announcement. Not only will she conceive, but she will have a baby boy, and Gabriel even announces his name: …you will name him Jesus. Gabriel the Sergeant at Arms is not into asking questions or giving options. He never says, “Well, Mary, how do you like the name ‘Jesus’? Or would you rather name this baby something else, like Moshe or David or Seth?”

So this part of the Christmas story begins with a shocking announcement, an announcement that had to throw Mary off balance, to say the least. It was an announcement that meant facing a new life for her. It was stunning news; it meant a new beginning; it was really a new day.


We are told that Mary said very little in response to that shocking news. About all the dialogue we have from her is the statement at the end of today’s reading: Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word. We can imagine her young face, full of perplexity and fear, gulping down the lump in her throat, and rasping out those words in a voice so low it is hardly audible. Toward the end of Luke’s Christmas story we get another statement about Mary that we love to hear in the King James Version: But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart. Some news needs pondering more than explanations.
Perhaps that was the thought behind one of the most ancient hymns in our hymnbook. A little church in the 3th century left a printed liturgy which was only translated from the Greek into English in 1869. It is a little poem, which was apparently sung or chanted in this 3th century congregation, and it happens to be a Christmas poem. It goes like this:

Let all mortal flesh keep silence
And with fear and trembling stand;
Ponder nothing earthly-minded,
For with blessing in his hand
Christ our God to earth descendeth,
Our full homage to demand.

Of course we sing it every year in this season, and we love it. It strikes me that at this early moment in the history of the church, a time when Christology (as theologians call it) was still being formed, that this early church spoke of keeping silence before the mystery of the incarnation. It is a mystery. In fact, the literal translation of the first line of that poem is, “Let all mortal flesh keep the mystery.” It is a mystery that we will never be able to explain because it is beyond logic. But some things don’t need explanation as much as they need silence…they need pondering…they ultimately need worship.

But the line in that poem that has struck me this week is this one which refers to the way Christ came to earth: For with blessing in his hand. Think of that! The divine comes into the world with blessing in his hand, not with a sword or a spear or with lightning or thunder. There are so many ways that the divine could enter the world, and they lived in a culture in which the predominant way people imagined God entering the world was with violence. The fundamental competition among religions around the Mediterranean world was around this assertion, “My god is stronger, tougher, meaner, and bigger than your god!” But here we have a poem that speaks of Christ coming into the world with blessing in his hand!


With that in mind, I invite you to shift your gaze from the perplexed face of Mary, to the faces of the shepherds on a hillside who see a vision of the sky full of angels. These shepherds stand in sharp contrast to Mary. They are tough guys who had seen it all. Think of them wearing leather and riding Harleys, chewing Red Man and drinking long-necked Buds. They flex muscles with tattoos on their biceps. They know the seamier side of life, and they have both tasted and dispensed injustice.

To them, if the divine would appear in the world at all, it would be to take revenge on those who had stabbed them in the back, done them dirty, or betrayed them in some way. It is this hardened and skeptical bunch of tough guys who see the vision of an angel in the sky. And who is this angel? We can only guess that it is our old friend Gabriel, the Sergeant at Arms, making another announcement: …good news!…great joy!…to all people!…a Savior! And then these tough guys see what the story calls a multitude of the heavenly host in the sky.

Now before you think of a host of cute little angels in the sky, be aware that the word host in the Bible always refers to an army. This time it is a heavenly host, a heavenly army. It is meant to make us think of a divine army in full battle gear, ready (the shepherds assumed) to take revenge on all the injustices and cruelty of the world.

And at the front of that army is none other than our old friend Gabriel the announcer, ready to shout out the orders of attack. But what Gabriel shouts out is just the opposite. God is not entering the world through an army, but through a baby! God is not wreaking havoc on the world; God is wreaking a breathtaking kind of love on the world! This is the shocking news of Christmas, a piece of news that the world is still in desperate need of hearing.

Then the army of angels, who for all practical purposes seem to be just out of Fort Bragg ready for battle, clears their throats and starts to sing in beautiful angelic harmony. And their song is not about defeating the enemies of God, but about giving what the world so desperately needs: peace on earth! The story is absolutely breathtaking! Our world of politics and power…our world of competition and commercialism…our world of revolt and revenge…our world of brutality and broken hearts…sees only bombs and bucks and as the way to peace. But the world of Christian faith sees in this staggering, stunning story another road to peace.


I have asked you to imagine the face of Mary, and I have asked you to look at the faces of those shepherds. Now I ask you to look at the faces of the disciples as they gather around a table in the upper room. Look at their faces as they see Jesus raise a loaf of bread, and what they hear from his voice are these words: this is my body. And imagine their faces as he holds up a chalice of wine and says: this is my blood. What a blessing the bread and wine has been for all these centuries! We carry that blessing with us, digested into our innards, into our blood stream and into every cell in our body. These blessings of bread and wine are part of our very spirit when we come here.

Then we leave this place and enter our 21st century world with its violence and crassness, its loves and its hatreds, its weirdness and its winsomeness, its tragedies and its joys, and we offer to that world what we have: a blessing, given to us by the hand of Christ, and shared with that world we call our home.

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November 30, 2014 JOURNEY TOWARD HOPE

Mark 13: 32-37
A sermon by Thomas R. McKibbens
November 30, 2014

Hear the sermon.

The day after Thanksgiving is Black Friday, considered the busiest shopping day of the year and traditionally the beginning of the Christmas shopping season. Its name, Black Friday, indicates the point at which retailers begin to turn a profit, as in being “in the black.”
A less well known, but perhaps more important designation of the day after Thanksgiving is the unofficial National Day of Listening, a day when Americans are urged to set aside time to listen to each other’s stories. It began in 2008 by the national oral history project called StoryCorps. Few things could be more appropriate in our current social/political climate than to have Black Friday coincide with listening to one another.
We all have our stories to tell, and at the root of much of the shouting and destruction in Ferguson and elsewhere this week is that awful feeling that comes with the phrase, “You’re not listening to me!” Whether in a home or a business or in Congress or in larger communities, there are few things more frustrating and anger-arousing than the sense that no one is listening to you.
Clearly, there is very little that we ourselves can do to intervene in the violence we have witnessed in Ferguson this week other than to pray for peace. But what we can do is to start where we are, and that means taking the time to listen to one another, especially to those of other races. We all have our stories, and they need to be shared.
Story-telling seems to be in our DNA! We love it. How many times have we heard children say to an adult, “Tell me a story”? We love good story-tellers like Garrison Keiller. We become emotionally involved with stories that we know are fictional, such as the sophisticated soap opera that we all know as Downton Abby. From the Countess to the kitchen maid, we hang on to every episode as if it is all true. We get caught up in the story!
I am convinced that it is not more information that people crave. We are up to our eyeballs in information. It is not more statistics about crime or racial profiling or injustices that are most needed in our day. We have all experienced the fact that just one person, one friend, who truly listens and who is truly understanding, who takes the trouble to listen to us, can totally change our outlook on the world. This gift of truly listening to one another must somehow come on a much larger scale. It must come in homes and communities and churches and neighborhoods. It must come in industry and politics and race relations. If we do not listen to one another and hear each other’s stories, we doomed to live in our little silos of self-understanding and never venture out to see the world through someone else’s eyes.
One way of thinking about being together in a church is that it is a merging of our stories. You have a story and I have a story. They were once separate stories, but in being church together, our stories begin to merge. As we listen to one another, our individual life stories begin to be OUR story—not just MY story and YOUR story. You can always know when a new member is truly becoming incorporated into the fellowship of a church by listening to the new member’s language. When he or she begins to speak of the church as OUR church, rather than YOUR church, you can know that the new member is being incorporated into the fellowship. The same is true of communities and even a nation. That transition from the word YOUR to the word OUR is absolutely crucial.
As we begin to look toward the celebration of the birth of Jesus, we are all in great need of stories of hope and encouragement. We are battered and bruised from bad news. Nothing travels faster than the speed of light with the one exception of bad news! And we have heard enough of bad news this year. We are desperate for some good news.
So we read today a passage that is framed in apocalyptic language. Why?…because apocalyptic language always arises during times of bad news. No wonder we hear much of it at the end of the Gospel of Mark. This is a text that was written for Christians at a time of great crisis in the life of the early church. The first great wave of persecution of Christians had begun, and the tiny congregations that had been meeting in relative safety suddenly had to flee to the hills to survive. Out of that despair and crisis of faith came this gospel.
The author of the gospel of Mark gathered together all the authentic sayings of Jesus he or she could find, and placed them in some coherent order to compile what we believe to be the earliest of the four gospels to be written. [Please do not be thrown when I say, “he or she.” The gospel of Mark is anonymous. We really do not know who wrote it.] In the midst of a crisis of faith, this gospel stood as a witness to the faithful God whose presence is made known even in the midst of bad news.
So this unique, sometimes even strange apocalyptic language, is always a language of hope. The gospel of Mark was reminding those Christians who had almost lost hope, who saw no solution to the violence that surrounded them and threatened their safety, that in spite of all that was happening, God was…is…and will be! That is to say, apocalyptic language is a language of encouragement.
This language was written to people who were worn down by bad news. It reminded readers from the 1st century to the 21st century that our ultimate hope does not lie in the Dow index; it does not lie in the military; it does not rest on the results of political elections; it does not rely on housing prices or budgets or the state of the economy. All of these measures reflect daily levels of hopefulness at times, but are not the ultimate source of hope.
Our ultimate hope does not come from these things. In the most difficult of times, Jesus said not only to watch for signs of hope, but to be especially watchful when it is the darkest of times. Here is how he put it: Therefore, keep awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn. Surely this language was deliberately chosen. The Roman military divided the night into four watches. The evening watch was 6:00 – 9:00 PM, the midnight watch was 9:00 – midnight. The cockcrow watch was from midnight to 3:00 AM. And the morning or “dawn” watch was from 3:00 – 6:00 AM. Those were the darkest times, times when there is not sign of a bright future. That is when we are warned to keep alert.
Jesus was saying that there is a future even in the darkest of times, and at the conclusion of that future, there is God—the same God who was with us in the past and is with us now. Christian faith is realistic; it sees the world situation as clearly as anyone else. But we do not and we will not participate in the glum and gloomy despair of those who see no hope in the great challenges of our day such as racial reconciliation and peace in the Middle East and poverty and the eradication of disease. We are people of hope, even in the most challenging times, because our ultimate hope is not dependent on that list of issues that normally comprises the content of the evening news.
Advent is a journey we are taking together. It is a journey of listening to the old story once again, but listening with new ears and renewed hope. At the entrance to Dante’s Inferno was the sign: “All hope abandon, ye who enter here!” At the entrance to this church is a more encouraging word: “All hope claim and celebrate, ye who enter here!”
We journey under the banner of faith, hope, and love, not doom, gloom, and despair! Here we sing “O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come!” Here we hold up a cross and sing, not dirges, but alleluias! Here we declare a word of encouragement for the present and a word of hope that will never die.

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Matthew 25: 31-46
A sermon by Thomas R. McKibbens
November 23, 2014

Hear the sermon.

We have come to the last Sunday in the liturgical year. Yes, I know that Baptists traditionally have not paid much attention to the liturgical calendar except for Christmas and Easter, but for most of the Christian world this is the last Sunday of the church year. It is worth pondering that over the centuries the Christian tradition began the church year with Advent and Jesus as a baby and then follows the major events of his life from childhood through the resurrection. Then seven weeks later the church celebrates the story of Pentecost and the spreading of the church around the world. That, in short, is the general outline of the church calendar.


This last Sunday in the church calendar, however, is something special. It is called Christ the King Sunday. So the year begins with Jesus as a baby and ends with Jesus as a king and a judge…not a popular image of Jesus today, when we would much rather think of Jesus as a companion, a friend, a healer, or a Savior. Today is the one Sunday of the year when the church considers the implications of Jesus as the victorious king, judging the world.

It’s a sobering thought, isn’t it? When you cut through all the apocalyptic imagery of this parable that is peculiar to that time and age, images such as sheep and goats, the devil and his angels, eternal fire and punishment, all of that…you still get the reality of a judgment. Jesus the judge of the world! In our world of non-judgmental, “my conscience is my guide” morality, this parable comes to us as a jolt. Clear away all the apocalyptic paraphernalia, and what you get is something very simple: the idea that one day the whole world will be judged.

And notice that the image is that nations will be judged (v. 32). Nations! That is a frightful thought! Nations? We are so used to an individualistic religion, the idea that we will make a personal account before God at the end of time, that it stretches our imaginations to think of a nation standing before Christ at the end of time to be judged. But that is precisely the image we get here in this parable, and it is enough to keep you awake at night.

The thought that large groups of people, organized into political entities, governed by recognized officials and guided by laws interpreted by a court system, will one day be judged as a political entity, is so foreign to our religious thinking that it comes as a shock. But here it is, in a parable Jesus spoke just hours before he will face his own death. If nothing else, Jesus had a way of getting their attention, and with this one he hit a home run.


It is just like Jesus to simplify our ethics. He had a way of cutting through all the legalisms, all the arguments, all the complexities of interpretation, all the intricate networks of excuses and complications and predicaments, the maze of explanations about Keynesian economics and post-Keynesian economics and New-Keynesian economics, and he brings it down to one simple question: did you help people?

Now wait! Don’t go back to personal benevolence! This parable is talking about national policy! Did you help people? Did your national political leaders, your laws, your courts, your structures of society, help people? If you are in a democratic society, did your people vote to help people? Did they support candidates that committed to help people?

The test Jesus gave in this parable of judgment is not based on a complex definition of need. He made it simple:

…for I was hungry, and you gave me food,
I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink,
I was a stranger and you welcomed me,
I was naked and you gave me clothing,
I was sick and you took care of me,
I was in prison and you visited me.

The judgment of a nation, in other words, will not be based on the knowledge it has amassed, the power of its military, the influence of its economy, or the sophistication of its arts. It is not based on whether a nation is a democracy, a socialist society, a constitutional monarchy, or even a dictatorship. There is no mention of a faith test: not one word about believing in Jesus or even if a nation is religious. There is no word here about church attendance or religious practices of any kind!

This parable cuts it down to the one question every nation must ultimately answer: how did we react to human need, especially for those who are most vulnerable? This is not about flipping a quarter toward a person on the street corner who has no shelter; this is about supporting national policies that effectively eradicate the pain of families losing their shelter in this most sophisticated land in the world. This is not about buying a turkey for a less fortunate family at Thanksgiving; this is about influencing the turkeys in Washington to actually do something about the shame of persistent poverty and real hunger in this land of plenty!

No wonder we ignore this parable! It is easier to emphasize private morality while we let national policies go their own way. Yes, the poor will always be with us, as Jesus once said, but the poor need not be ignored and marginalized and made to feel guilty for being poor. There is a gentleness about this critical criterion, a caring about this critical criterion, a compassion about this critical criterion that transcends political parties and ideological positions. Any nation, any political party, any administration, any government (local or national), has the capacity to reach out to the least of these: the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the cold, the sick, the prisoner.


There is one more surprising aspect of this parable that I want to point out. There is an unusual emphasis on the ability to see. Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry…or thirsty? And when was it that we saw you a stranger…or naked? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you? There is an extraordinary emphasis on seeing!

That is to say, the limit of our judgment is based on the limit of our seeing the need. At no time in history have we had greater capacity to see and understand the root causes of the needs around us. We have the technology to know the needs of people and to implement strategies to meet those needs as never before! We have satellites scanning the earth looking for weapons and terrorists, and they fail to interpret the obvious: by far the greatest weapon of terror on earth is persistent, grinding, humiliating, hunger and thirst and sickness and limited educational opportunities in a world of plenty. There is no greater terrorism on earth than the terrorism of watching your child die of hunger. That kind of terrorism is the fertile seedbed for the other kind of terrorism that breeds the evil of suicide bombers and those who decapitate innocent people.

It is clear that the long-term solution to terrorism is an international war on poverty and disease and despair and hopelessness. There is not a soul here who does not respect the incredible bravery and sacrifice of those in the military. There is not a soul here who does not pray for those in the military. But when judgment day comes, as this parable promises, and nations are brought before the judgment seat of God, that judgment will not be based on the might of a nation’s military force or the bravery of the men and women who make up the military.

That ultimate judgment will be based on how we responded to the elementary human needs growing out of hunger and thirst and loneliness and despair found in ordinary human beings whom we can see.


The surprise ending of this parable, of course, is that when a nation treats people with this kind of gentle compassion, that nation is treating Christ with compassion. And when a nation withholds such help, it is withheld from Christ himself.

On this Thanksgiving Sunday, when we think of national need, let us consider national judgment. Let us remember with genuine gratitude the sons and daughters of this nation who are serving in the military, sometimes in dangerous places far from home. No one fails to be grateful for their sacrifice and the sacrifices of their families.

And on this Thanksgiving, let us remember the critical criterion of judgment for any nation: …just as you did it to one of the least of these…you did it to me.

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November 16, 2014 SUBSTANCE ABUSE

Lamentations 3: 19-23 and Matthew 25: 14-30
A sermon by Thomas R. McKibbens
November 16, 2014

Hear the sermon.

On January 1, 1863, the final draft of the Emancipation Proclamation was brought to Abraham Lincoln by Secretary of State William Seward, helped by his son Frederick. Years later, Frederick wrote about the scene: “The broad sheet was spread open before him on the Cabinet table. Mr. Lincoln dipped his pen in the ink, and then, holding it a moment above the sheet, seemed to hesitate. Looking around, he said, ‘I never in my life felt more certain that I was doing right, than I do in signing this paper. But I have been receiving calls and shaking hands since nine o’clock this morning, till my arm is stiff and numb. Now this signature is one that will be closely examined, and if they find my hand trembled they will say he had some compunctions. But anyway, it is going to be done.’ So saying, he slowly and carefully wrote his name at the bottom of the proclamation.”

You can easily google pictures of that signature at the bottom of the Emancipation Proclamation, and you can see how deliberately and carefully he wrote it. He meant it!

This is the day we are asked to sign at the bottom of our Pledge Card to support the ministries of this church. It is a day when we do not hesitate, a day when with quiet determination we sign our card and place it in the offering plate as an act of worship. And we mean it!


Some people think of Pledge Sunday as a day of arm twisting, a day when the preacher is supposed to preach a sermon designed to make you feel guilty if you don’t pledge, or if you don’t pledge enough. Rubbish! Pledge Sunday is not about guilt or arm-twisting! Pledge Sunday is a day to celebrate faithfulness: both God’s faithfulness to us and our faithfulness to God.

When I was growing up, Pledge Sunday was a day when a wooden model of the church building was placed on the communion table. It had a slit cut into the roof of the model, and during the service, the entire congregation marched down to the front and placed their pledge cards into the slit in the roof of the church model. It was a powerful symbol of faithfulness that I will never forget. I remember to this day how moved I was to see that everyone participated. Everyone cared deeply for the church, and everyone supported it. The amount of each pledge, of course, was private; but the act of pledging was public.

We live in a different world today. Money matters are intensely private. This is, after all, New England! But I still feel something of that powerful symbol on Pledge Sunday. It proclaims that the health of this church is a shared commitment, a united act of faithfulness, and it is still very inspiring.


Not surprisingly, Jesus had something to say about faithfulness. He told a story about three servants who were given five talents, two talents, and one talent respectively. The master, obviously a symbol for God in the story, leaves town and the servants are left with the decision of what to do with the master’s money. At the end of the story, the master returns and compliments two of the servants with the familiar words, Well done, good and faithful servant.
But I have always been bothered by the severity of the reprimand the master gave to the third servant who buried his money in the backyard and returned every last penny of it to the master. He is called wicked and lazy, and then comes that terrible phrase that leaves us baffled: to those who have shall more be given. And from those who have not, even the little they have, shall be taken away. What can we say about such a statement? Is that a fitting thing to be read in a Christian pulpit? To those who have, they shall receive more? To the Wall Street tycoons who already get Christmas bonuses in the millions, to the professional athletes who measure their contracts in seven figures? More? And to the struggling, minimum wage burger-turner, to the single mother cleaning rooms in a hotel, even what little they have will be taken away? Is that what this text is saying?

Where is the grace in that? It seems so harsh, so cruel, so un-Christian! Where is the grace in this master who is so tough on this well-intentioned, entirely honest and scrupulous servant?

Truth is, grace permeates the story, if you look at it closely. It runs throughout the whole account. It is there from the very first line. The master is going away on a journey and he summons his three servants and gave them—not SOME of his money, not just a little cash to tide them over until he got back. What does the text say? It says that he gave them everything! He divided his substance among them. He put every last cent of his money in their care. That means that when he got back, everything of what he has—his entire estate—has been utterly dependent on what they have done with his substance. If they have blown it, he is bankrupt! He has given them everything until he gets back.

It is worth noting that this is a story that Jesus told toward the end, just before he begins his journey toward the cross. He is about to leave his disciples, and he has given them everything! He must have wondered how his disciples would use the gifts he had given them. His concerns about them must have been, not that they would be too careless, but that they would be too careful. They would abuse the substance of what he had given them by being too careful with it. In other words, substance abuse is not being too risky, but being too careful with what God has given us!

In the story he told, the two servants who were complimented were the ones willing to take risks. The story is clearly suggesting that the master is looking for a few wheeler-dealers with whom to wheel and deal! Pledge Sunday is a time to wheel and deal! Making a pledge to the church is not giving God a gratuity for serving us. God is not a divine waiter at our life’s table! God has put the whole world into our hands. God has entrusted us with God’s whole property. That is grace! We delude ourselves when we think that what we have is ours. It all belongs to God! The question is, what are we going to do with it? How will we invest it?

Where are the wheelers and dealers in the church these days? If there is a problem with the church budget, it is not that it is too high, but that it is far too low. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if those of us who have already filled out our pledge cards just marked through them right now and started over to do some real wheeling and dealing—taking some risks! Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we invested our resources in a way that allowed us to expand our ministries in this church? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we oversubscribed our budget so that we would have to call a special business meeting to ask, “How would you like to use these additional funds?”


This interim period is no time to be content with business as usual. It is time for some wheeling and dealing of our resources! And that wheeling and dealing will take every single one of us—young and old, rich and poor, working and retired, and I can even add—students and regular visitors.

Some people look at the sermon on Pledge Sunday and think the preacher is like a spiritual used car salesman trying to sell a clunker and acting like it’s the greatest thing on the road. But Pledge Sunday is not about slick salesmanship. It is about a serious and joyful act of faithfulness. No one is trying to get you to buy something you don’t want or need. Like you, I am a fellow worshipper, a recipient of more blessings than I can count, and in debt to the church in general and this church in particular.

I propose that we view the offering of our pledge cards the way an ancient priest offered sacrifices to God. He chose the very best that he could find, a lamb without blemish, as the ancient accounts relate it. And there before the altar he would offer the best in behalf of God’s people.

Let us decide to give the best we can—call it a “pledge without blemish!” And then let us have some fun with God’s money! Take some risks, and let this moment be an explosion of faith. And then listen closely, for you may hear a still, small voice saying, Well done, good and faithful servants!

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November 9, 2014 CHOICES THAT MATTER

Joshua 24: 1-3a, 14-28
A sermon by Thomas R. McKibbens
November 9, 2014

Hear the sermon.

Did you see the cartoon of a voting booth with the curtain drawn so that all you could see is a pair of spindly legs beneath the curtains? Underneath is the caption, “Can you hear me now?” (The problem with political jokes is that they sometimes get elected!)


The classic text from the book of Joshua that we heard this morning seems meant for the week after an election day: …choose you this day…. It was a day of choice, and to choose one always means to reject another. This, of course, is true for every choice we make. To choose a life partner and seal it with marriage vows is to reject all others as potential mates (although some people seem to want to keep all their options open!) And that commitment/rejection cycle carries on throughout our lives. We choose one job at the cost of rejecting others. We choose one road at the cost of turning away from others. To paraphrase Robert Frost, there are multiple roads and they always diverge in the yellow wood.

In this democracy that we all love, we are deeply influenced by the idea of the freedom of choice. But we are never free FROM choices. This text is a call to make a choice. We have grown fond of the idea of checking “all of the above” in the multiple choices of our lives. We want to gain the advantages of every moral code, every religious system, every philosophical approach.

But there are also those times in our lives when we need to choose. The day comes when we have to check one, commit to one, embrace one. The time has run out, the options are narrowed, the choices are focused, and the pencil is ready. What do we do? We choose! Not to choose is to live in a never-never land of eternal childhood. Not to choose is to attempt to have it all by having nothing. Not to choose is to choose nothing.

There comes a time when we have to choose, to sign on the dotted line, to make tangible choices that affect the future of our lives and the institutions we love. There is a sentimental attachment to the beauty of this place, the familiar sounds of hymns and the ancient cadences of scripture, and the sacred memories many of you hold here. We can enjoy the music of the masters played with the distinctive sound of this organ, and we can love the harmonies of the anthems that thrill our souls and lift our spirits. All of that is wonderful.

But the coming of Pledge Sunday a week from today is about choosing. It is about hard numbers that represent the reality of the costs of ministry to this community and this world. It represents a real choice on the part of each of us. To be specific, it represents our part in pledging the financial resources required to make this church function well in this crucial time of transition. “It’s not easy this year,” we hear people say. That’s right—it is not easy, it never was easy, it never will be easy. Christian faith is not about being easy. As the faithful of every generation remind us, there is a cost to discipleship. So the echoes of Joshua’s words reach from Shechem all the way to 75 North Main Street in Providence: Choose you this day!


But let us take this one step further. The biblical text we are examining says more than Choose you this day…. There is more to the sentence. It says, Choose you this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your ancestors served…or the gods…in whose land you are living. In other words, this is a THEOLOGICAL choice we are making, not just an economic choice.

It is easy and popular to caricature those ancestors who worshipped here with a strictness that seems quaint today. We imagine the bearded fathers and bustled mothers leading their children into their rented pew. We wonder how they sat on hard pews in church for long hours hearing sermons that went on forever. Much of that, of course, was cultural, and none of us would want to resurrect many of those practices. But underneath all that acculturation there was something that our world still needs.

To use a word we seldom hear any more, there was a devoutness that expressed itself in a firm commitment to a specific place…this place…this particular church….in their time. This church, both in the sense of the congregation and also in the sense of this meetinghouse, was not built by wishy-washy accommodation that said, “All religion is basically the same.” It was built by people who were convinced that their understanding of true religious freedom demanded a choice: Choose you this day whom you will serve!

This is far more than a convenient sound bite from Joshua’s sermon. It is recorded in scripture because something happened that day that they never forgot. In their normal form of worship, the people responded to Joshua’s call for a choice by shouting back at him, We will also serve the Lord, for he is our God. After all, we might say, we were born and raised in church. Of course we will serve God! Our ancestors were deacons and Sunday School teachers and even graduates of seminaries. They served their churches and gave their money…surely that ought to count for me! They made wonderful choices that made it possible for me to be here today!

But the call in the text is frightfully personal: YOU choose! It is not our ancestor’s choices that will make the difference today. It is our choices. It is our commitments. It is our loyalties. No church can exist on good feelings alone. No church can thrive on memories of past accomplishments. No time is free from financial pressures. And no congregation is free from stress. That has always been the case, and still the day comes when we are called on to choose.


But there is more: the end of this story about Joshua is stunning. It involves the congregation shouting back in response to Joshua’s sermon that day. I think that if you shouted back at me after I got excited in a sermon I might faint! I wouldn’t know what to do! But Joshua was used to it. So he stepped back up to the podium. “Hold the Postlude just a minute. Stop singing the closing hymn long enough for me to say one more thing.” And he got their attention. The music stops playing and the people stop singing. It is deathly quiet. He looks them in the eyes and says, almost in a whisper, “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.” And they stand there in stunned silence until some voice back in the back says, “We mean it!” And the rest of them join in, “Yes, we mean it! We really mean it!”

So the end of the text says that Joshua took a large stone and set it up under THE oak tree at Shechem. This was not just any oak tree…it was THE oak tree. What does that mean? And what was the stone? The text doesn’t say. It doesn’t have to! The readers all knew about the oak tree at Shechem.

Five hundred years earlier, their ancestor Abraham had come to that land under the compulsion of a divine pledge: I will make of you a great nation. When he reached that place in Shechem, their ancestor Abraham had built an altar to God under a sacred oak tree—THAT oak tree. Now, five hundred years later, the people are gathered together at that sacred place where the story of their beginnings as a nation had first taken shape. There Joshua took a stone. Could it have been one of the original stones that Abraham had used so long ago? Could it have been one of the very stones preserved through the centuries like Plymouth Rock is preserved today? Could it have been from the very same altar that Abraham had built so long before?

The implication is that it was. It was a spiritual renewal of a promise of a whole people saying, “We will not forget the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob. We will not forget the sacrifices of those who served before us. We will not forget the commitment of those who made this place great.


Next Sunday the church leaders are calling on us all to make a tangible, visible commitment, to fill out a little pledge card that says, “This is what I intend to do under God in supporting this church in 2015. This is my solemn covenant with this church and with God. This is my tangible statement that I will not forget those who made it possible for me to be here, and I will do my part to make sure future generations will be able to worship in this place.”

I am not speaking these words as an outsider. Yes, I know that my church membership is elsewhere, but my wife and I will join you next Sunday in making our pledge to this church, for we believe in you and what you are doing in Providence and beyond. We will join you in pledging our resources as a way of following the way of Jesus Christ as shown by the generations who walked this way before us. We will join you in pledging for the future of this great church!

When we do that, we may sense the smiles of all those bearded fathers, those bustled mothers, those students, and those children who preceded us in this place, for we will join that great chorus of saints who, with firm and honest commitment, have said, As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord!

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November 2, 2014 COME NOW, LET US REASON

Isaiah 1: 10-20
A sermon by Thomas R. McKibbens
November 2, 2014

Hear the sermon.

Come now, let us reason together…, says the text. What a novel idea! We are all saturated with political attack ads that are long on exaggeration and short on reasoning, ads that demonize rather than inform. Trash talk is in; reasoning is out. Shouting is in; reasoning is out. And unfortunately, the lack of reasoning together seems to spread to other areas of life: in offices, in schools, in athletic events, in homes, even in churches! In many cases, there is a lot of shouting at each other and not much listening and reasoning together.


There was not much reasoning going on when this text was first spoken. There was a lot of shouting. In fact, if I preached like Isaiah preached in this passage, you would probably tell me politely that you have decided to find some other minister for the interim, thank you very much!
He starts by insulting his congregation: Hear the word of the Lord, you rulers of Sodom! Listen to the teaching of our God, you people of Gomorrah! In case you missed the insult, Isaiah was not preaching in Sodom or Gomorrah; he was preaching to a well-heeled congregation in Jerusalem. But they all knew the reputation of Sodom and Gomorrah. That was like trash talk! He was trashing his own congregation!

He must have been really young and stupid when he preached this! He must have been upset and fed up with what he perceived as their hypocrisy. It takes some years and life experiences for a preacher to recognize that there is hypocrisy in everyone, including oneself. It takes experience to know that you don’t change that by venting your frustration in a sermon. But here he is, young and brash, virtually trashing them from the pulpit!

I am surprised that this sermon even survived! I am surprised he even got out the next sentence before they threw him out! But you have to give credit to the congregation. They must have believed in freedom of the pulpit because they let him speak. Or perhaps they knew he was young and know-it-all, and they were willing to let him ripen a bit.

So Isaiah goes on with his harangue. What follows is a list of the holiest activities in their collective religious life: their elaborate sacrificial system, their incense, their holidays and prayers, their worship services….today he might have included all our holiest moments: the Lord’s Supper, baptism, our pot-luck dinners, our Christmas pageants—he lists the whole religious apparatus.

And then Isaiah, saying that he was speaking for God, says in effect: “All that stuff bores me to death. Your worship services give me indigestion. Your prayer meetings make me sick! You can keep it up, but I (and that “I” refers to God)…I will not hear you!” Now that is heavy stuff! Isaiah is on the attack! He is venting, and nothing seems to slow him down!

Why is he depicting God as angry? Because, according to Isaiah, your hands are full of blood. Literally, the Hebrew says, Your hands are dripping with bloods. Now, how do you think that went over with the people? Can’t you just hear the parking lot conversations? “How long will we put up with that young preacher?” “Who does he think he is?” “Is that what we get for a seminary education?” “Who was chair of that Search Committee?” But still, they let him speak. You have to give credit to that congregation. They were exceptionally gracious and understanding.

So Isaiah wipes his brow with a handkerchief, rolls up his sleeves, and continues his sermon. Now that he has told them off, he is ready to tell them what they need to do, and his prescription is short and to the point. In our Bibles, it makes up just two verses, comprising one sentence (vv. 16-17)! But what an extraordinary sentence it is! It is a sentence that contains nine imperative verbs. You can easily count them: wash, make, remove, cease, learn, seek, correct, defend, and plead. Nine very strong verbs, all in the imperative form!
Do you remember when your parents resorted to the imperative? If you were doing something that mildly irritated them, they might say, “Now don’t you think you would rather do this?” That is NOT the imperative form. But if you were doing something that absolutely infuriated them, and they were at their wit’s end, then you would get the imperatives that would shoot out like lightning bolts: “Quit it! Put it down! March to your room! Go to bed!” Those are imperatives. Parents save them for special occasions.

That is the grammatical form Isaiah used in this sermon. And did you notice that not one of those imperative verbs is “believe”? Not one! When did we get the idea that being a Christian means checking off a list of doctrines that we believe? Not from the Bible! Doctrine was not the issue! I imagine anyone in that congregation could sit down and carry on an extended theological conversation about belief. They were not lacking in doctrinal correctness.

What they lacked was personal ethics and social justice. Isaiah was making the radical claim that personal ethics and social justice are more important to God than correct doctrine and worship by the book. He was saying, “Forget your worn-out creeds if you can’t treat people with respect and dignity.”


OK—let’s take a breather here and give young, brash, impulsive, bold, and undiplomatic Isaiah a break. At least he knows how to get our attention! He has those folk sitting on the edge of their pews! He paints a word picture that has them captivated. The scene is a Hebrew courtroom. The language is the language of a Jewish law court. Come now, let us reason together was a formula used by a judge about to read a sentence. It is equivalent to a modern judge saying the formula: Has the jury reached a verdict? No one is breathing. You can hear a pin drop.

In Isaiah’s word picture, the religious establishment is standing before the judge, and the judge is about to pass sentence. The judge opens his mouth and says, “The evidence is overwhelming; the hands of the religious community are dripping with blood.” There is a rumble of approval in the courtroom as the crowd mumbles its favor. The crowd, after all, is fed up with pious religious hypocrisy.

Then the judge calls for order and continues with the sentence: “The court declares that their guilt is completely forgiven! “What!” shouts the crowd! “What did you say? Surely not!” Then the judge adds this: “But this forgiveness is not free: it comes with a price. The religious community must from this point on live up to its doctrine by seeking justice, correcting oppression, defending the fatherless, and pleading for the widow.”

The courtroom sits in stunned silence. Finally, a local pastor stands up at the defense table and speaks: “You mean we are scot free?” “No,” says the judge, “you are not scot free; you are only free if you become the conscience of the community; you are only free if you live out your faith in tangible ways that convinces the court that you are sincere in your faith.

This is the scene described by Isaiah. It is a word picture that is seared into their minds, and it has lived through the centuries because it is a universal truth. The beautiful words of forgiveness are forever linked to the nine imperatives that precede those words.


Centuries later, Jesus would make this clear to a man named Zacchaeus. Remember him?–the little fellow up in the tree who had cheated and swindled his way into wealth and prominence. Half of my goods I give to the poor; and if I have defrauded any one of anything, I restore it fourfold, said Zacchaeus.
Jesus responds by saying, Today, salvation has come to this house…, not because Zacchaeus had correct Christology or because Zacchaeus had a particular view of the Bible, or because Zacchaeus could recite a creed. Salvation came because he learned to love his neighbor, and he knew deep down that he was loved, forgiven, and accepted by the great Power of the universe.

When you receive your bread and that little thimble full of Welch’s grape juice this morning, you may look at them and think, “They are so tiny, and we have the audacity to call this a supper!” But that little piece of bread is not small; it symbolizes a gift so big that it covers the whole world! And that little bit of grape juice is not small; it symbolizes a grace that is greater than all our sin.

Come now, let us reason together. We are loved…forgiven…accepted by God; when we know that, there is very little we cannot do when we work together as a congregation.

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October 26, 2014 FAITHFUL TO THE DREAM

Deuteronomy 34: 1-12
A sermon by Thomas R. McKibbens
October 26, 2014

Hear the sermon.

How would you like to write your own epitaph? Cemeteries today tend to require that all headstones be the same size and shape, and none of them with epitaphs. How boring! Whatever their reasons for such dullness, we and those who follow us have lost something when they do away with epitaphs.
Epitaphs are a gift to future generations. Most of us are familiar with variations of this often used and somewhat smug epitaph found in multiple cemeteries around the world:
Come, blooming youths, as you walk by,
And on these lines do cast an eye.
As you are now, so once was I,
As I am now, so shall you be.
Remember this and follow me.

To which someone at a cemetery in Waynesville, NC replied by writing on the tombstone:
To follow you I am not content,
How do I know which way you went?

Then there is the wonderful epitaph of Mel Blanc, who was the voice of Porky Pig. It simply reads, “That’s all, folks!” Also in Hollywood, there is the epitaph of Jackie Gleason: “And away we go!”
In Uniontown, Pennsylvania, is the epitaph of a man named Jonathan Blake:
Here lies the body of Jonathan Blake,
Stepped on the gas instead of the brake.

Boot Hill in Tombstone, Arizona has some wonderful epitaphs:
Here lies Lester Moore
Four slugs from a 44
No less, no more.

OK—one more: this one is from Albany, NY:
Harry Edsel Smith
Born 1903-Died 1942
Looked up the elevator shaft
To see if the car
Was on the way down.
It was

This stuff is priceless: like the gravestone of the hypochondriac in Georgia that says, “I told you I was sick!”



There is an extraordinary epitaph in the story of the death of Moses. It was written by someone who was obviously struck by the fact that the shining star of Israel’s history had no monument, not even a gravesite for people to visit. No one knew where he was buried. So in a postscript to the book of Deuteronomy, some unknown author gave Moses an epitaph: Never since has there arisen a prophet in Israel like Moses.

That is quite an epitaph! Who among us would not like to have something like that said about us? Never since has there arisen a golfer in New England like me…. Never since has there arisen a soccer mom in Providence like me…. You know, we could let our imaginations go wild on this!

But Moses was assigned this spectacular epitaph. There appears to be some wistfulness in this epitaph. After all, Moses had a hard life. The very people who revered him when he died gave him hell while he was living! And finally, when they reached the very edge of the Promised Land, Moses climbs Mount Pisgah and looks out over the land of his dreams.

Ah, the land of his dreams, the land for which he had been yearning all those years, the land toward which all his work and struggle had been directed for a lifetime. And now, at long last, he stands on top of Mount Pisgah looking out over that land, and he will never step foot on it. The biblical text says almost pathetically: Then Moses, the servant of the Lord, died there in the land of Moab…. The fulfillment of his lifetime dream would be left to someone else.


The unspoken message of this story is that many great dreams are greater than one lifetime can fulfill. In fact, the great dreams are constructed on a scale too large to fulfill in one lifetime. When we hear a resonate baritone voice singing a spiritual like, Deep river, my home is over Jordan…, a spiritual inspired by this very biblical story, we imagine all the generations of slaves who dreamed of freedom but never got there. They died and were buried, often in unmarked graves, while their children and their children’s children were left to cross over into freedom.

It is, of course, very good to experience the fruits of our labor and to know the fulfillment of dreams come true. But it is also true that some dreams are greater than the scope of our lifetimes. We need those mega-dreams, those dreams that are bigger than we can fulfill in one generation. We all need a place that holds up the standard of great dreams…dreams like the hope of “a beloved community,” the dreams of the prophets like a time when justice will roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream, dreams of Jesus when he spoke of the meek and the merciful and the pure in heart and the peacemakers and the salt of the earth. We need a place where we can grapple with difficult dreams like loving our enemies and who is our neighbor and praying for those who persecute you. We need a community where the dream of love becomes flesh-and-blood real.

Church is just such a place! Church holds up dreams greater than one lifetime can fulfill. Providence was founded on a dream that was oh so fragile at the time: a dream of soul liberty and separation of church and state. In 1638, who could have imagined that a whole nation would adopt that dream? That dream was bigger than the lifetime of Roger Williams.

When we gather as a church, we are working together to fulfill a dream, a dream that is bigger than one person, bigger than one congregation, bigger than one lifetime can fulfill. We constantly work together on this dream; we teach it to our children; we pass on to the next generation that gleam in the eye, that hope for a better world, that Way of living which Jesus taught us. Being faithful to that mega-dream takes a lifetime and more.

Why anyone would ever imagine that working for that dream is not worth our greatest investment, our deepest commitment, and our most fervent prayers is beyond me. Society goes through trends when church is more or less important. We endure periods when scandal rocks parts of the church, when attendance rises or falls, and the quality of church programming varies over the years. But the dream remains. It is as real today as it was in the golden glow of yesteryear when this church, along with most Protestant churches, was filled with people.

When we announced today that the theme for this year’s stewardship emphasis is “Choices That Matter,” we were thinking not just of political choices. We will, I hope, all make choices and vote on Election Day. Those are important choices. But there is also our choice to invest in the church’s dream, a dream greater than the budgetary needs for one year. Sure, a church budget pays for the heat…it pays for the salaries of staff members…it pays all the bills an institution like ours accumulates in order to function. And, it pays out generous checks to ministries in this community and around the world to keep the larger dream alive.
The function of a church budget is not so much to keep the lights on in the building as it is to keep the dream alive in our hearts! That dream is greater than the sum of all our bills. It is the dream that we fund, and it calls for faithfulness.

Moses died and is buried on Mount Pisgah. Joshua steps into his place, and he in turn eventually dies and is buried. New circumstances require new leaders, and generation after generation does its part and passes the leadership on. Yet through all those generations, the one dream, inspired by the divine Spirit, remains constant.


Some of you are familiar with the mountain near Asheville, NC called Mount Pisgah.  You can understand why it was named Mount Pisgah. It is a 360 degree view. On a clear day you can see 100 miles over some of the most beautiful land in America.

On a good day, this church is our Mount Pisgah. When we worship together we are casting our eyes over a dream of a world that is just and peaceful, a world in which wars are no more and hatred is vanquished, a world in which there is enough for everyone, and a world in which compassion prevails. It is dream articulated so eloquently by Martin Luther King in August of 1963: a dream “when all of God’s children, black and white, Jews and gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing…Free at last….” Our generation now carries this dream, and we will pass it on to the next.

That dream sustains us; it inspires us; it compels us. And like Moses, there will come a day when we will say to those we love, “This is a dream that I now leave for you, but be assured that you are not alone.” May it be said of this generation that we were faithful to the dream, faithful to the hope, and faithful to the reality of living that dream in the community of faith that we know as the First Baptist Church in America.

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October 19, 2014 TAKE YOUR MAT

Take your mat
John 5: 2-18
A sermon by Linda Bausserman

Hear the sermon.

Our scripture today is like a one act play with two scenes. The first scene takes place near the edge of the city by a pool of water. The second takes place in the temple and the two are tied together by a man who is healed by Jesus. Apparently this pool on the outskirts of the city was fed by a spring. When the spring released water, the surface of the pool would ripple. People believed that the first person into the pool when the waters were disturbed, would be healed. So, as you can imagine, the pool was surrounded by the sick, the maimed, the desperate. Among those people, was a man who had been there for 38 years, waiting for his turn to be healed. We don’t know what his infirmity was; but it hindered quick movement to the pool. And apparently he had no friends or family to help him. It must have been an every-man-for-himself kind of place. Into this mass of suffering humanity waded Jesus. He went straight to this man – surely the most pitiable of all those gathered there. Jesus asked him, “Do you want to be healed?” Well duh! What an astounding question! “I can’t get to the pool fast enough,” the man replies. Jesus says, “Pick up your mat and walk.” and he does.
Now I have a little different take on this from what I have heard in sermons and read in commentaries. I have seen implications that the man was accustomed to his life of ease on his pallet and thus there was some doubt that he really wanted to be healed. Not an unreasonable question and one can certainly make a powerful sermon based whether we really desire healing which would also involve a change in lifestyle. The man in our story would have to go out and find a job to support himself. It had been 38 years – what skills might he still have? He would have to start completely from scratch. Certainly a daunting prospect as anyone knows who had been out of work for a while. But look at the light this interpretation puts on Jesus. I don’t think Jesus was taunting this guy for his laziness nor accusing him of not trying hard enough or of being a welfare cheat. I can’t imagine what this man’s frame of mind might have been after all these years of frustration, disappointment and pain. I think Jesus posed the question to give the man a minute to recover from his surprise and start the transition from despair to hope. I also don’t think the man’s answer was evasive. We expect him, of course, to say yes, enthusiastically and joyfully. But as we read later in the story, he didn’t even know who Jesus was so wasn’t aware of the possibilities. The idea that someone might heal him on the spot was probably incomprehensible, just as it would be today. I think that he was simply telling Jesus what he needed – someone to help him get down into the water in the pool. Can you imagine how surprised and flustered he must have been that someone paid attention to him and might be willing to help him after all this time? Then Jesus simply tells him to get up and carry his mat. And, he does. Don’t you wonder why Jesus tells him to take his mat? It isn’t the first time Jesus has done that. He also told a paralytic that he healed to carry his mat. I don’t know how long this man had been lying on that particular mat; but, I can’t imagine that he would want to take it with him. And, why should Jesus care about what he did with it? It sounds a bit like Jesus’ admonition: “take up your cross and follow me.” (“Pick up your mat and walk”) The man is not only healed, he is charged with something to do. Perhaps the mat will serve as a reminder of where he came from and what Jesus has done for him. Though he is healed, his illness is a burden that he must bear – certainly 38 years of suffering will leave a mark on a person. We all have our mats to carry as we face what life brings us.
This story also raises a difficult question – why was this particular man healed? Most of the stories of healing involve people who come to Jesus or are brought to him to be healed. I believe that this is the only time that Jesus approached someone and asked if they wanted to be healed. It appears that Jesus didn’t heal unless someone wanted it. However, it also seems that any time someone in the Bible asked for healing Jesus provided it. So we are left wondering why we aren’t always healed when we ask for it. It wouldn’t surprise me if everyone here has had the experience that their prayers for healing of a friend or family member weren’t answered the way they wanted. It is clear in this story that Jesus didn’t heal everyone. He might have waved his arm in a mighty gesture and healed everyone by the pool. But he didn’t. Don’t we wish God would wave a mighty arm over West Africa and heal all those afflicted with Ebola. But it doesn’t seem to work that way. Jesus chose this one man. It’s tempting to speculate that he chose this man because his was the worst case. He had after all suffered there for long time. But perhaps the time spent there spoke to his capacity for hope. Perhaps during his time there, he had come to deep spiritual truths as people often do in times of great suffering. We can assume that he was religious because the first place he went after being healed was the temple. Still, he had done nothing obvious to make him Jesus’ choice. He didn’t ask to be healed or profess any belief in Jesus himself. He hadn’t done any great deed that might make him worthy of reward. There was nothing special about him to make him stand out as deserving to be healed. Perhaps Jesus chose him simply because he was the person most needing healing. Why some people are healed and others not, only God knows; but I find comfort knowing that Jesus comes to us in our worst moments, unbidden, to offer hope if not healing. And isn’t that what we really need, hope to carry on, comfort that we are not alone, knowledge that God is with us in our suffering?
There are, of course, examples in the Bible where God didn’t answer the petitioners the way they wanted. One is Paul who prayed to have what he called ‘a thorn in his side’ removed. We don’t know what that thorn was – it has been speculated that it was malaria because Paul came from Tarsus, a mosquito breeding-ground. God’s answer to Paul was not healing but “My grace is sufficient for you” which I take to mean that though God wouldn’t remove the thorn, he would provide Paul the support to get through it or bear it. And apparently he did because Paul learned to live with his thorn. He remained faithful to God and lived into his sixties and died not from this thorn but by martyrdom. I don’t know why Paul wasn’t healed. It seems he had already had plenty of suffering in his life of beatings and imprisonments. But since he wasn’t healed, I’m grateful that he wrote about it. If a person like Paul wasn’t always given what he asked for, why should I be disappointed when my petitions aren’t answered the way I wish. It doesn’t mean that I should give up praying, prayer keeps up the connection with God and gives us hope. Hope that God will be with us, as he was with Paul, no matter what. So our challenge is to remain faithful, like Paul – no matter what.
Another example was Jesus himself in the garden of Gethsemane. He asked that the cup of suffering be taken from him. God didn’t remove the cup but Jesus also remained faithful. Despite feeling forsaken by God on the cross, he said “Into Thy hands I commend my spirit.” And the outcome was resurrection and joy. When our prayers for healing aren’t answered the way we want, it’s small comfort in the midst of the suffering to know that we are in good company. But at least we should not assume that we aren’t good enough, or aren’t praying enough or don’t have enough faith if we don’t get the answers we want. What we can be sure of is that God is there with us in our most difficult moments, supporting us, loving us and giving us hope.
Now the healing is not the end of this story. There is a second scene in this play. The man went to the temple, carrying his mat and immediately got into trouble. It was against the law to carry a mat on the Sabbath. No one was interested in the astounding fact that he had been sick for 38 years and was now well. They were more concerned that he had broken a law. For them, you shall not carry anything on the Sabbath had become a more important law than love your neighbor! They also confronted Jesus, who had broken the law by healing on the Sabbath. There were at least three other healings that took place in the temple on the Sabbath and each time Jesus tried to get the Pharisees to understand that people are more important than the law. The law was meant to help people in their relationship to God, not do them harm. Unfortunately, they never did get it.
Our Thursday evening group has been reading a book by Thomas Cahill, the same author that Tom has mentioned in a couple of his sermons. Cahill suggests that Jesus is preaching to two groups of people, the powerless and the powerful. Take, for example, the beatitudes. Some are directed toward people who have no control over their situation and others toward those who are in their position by choice. Cahill places the mourners, the meek, the pure and the persecuted among the powerless who have had their situation thrust upon them. Saying that the powerless are blessed reminded them that God loves them and will see to their ultimate triumph. In contrast, the poor in spirit, the champions of justice for the downtrodden, the merciful and the peacemakers have chosen to be the way they are. And the powerful are goaded by these examples of people who are blessed because they have abandoned their comfort for the sake of others. To use a quote you have probably heard before, the purpose of Jesus message is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. Our story today seems to fit into that pattern. In scene 1 Jesus blessed a powerless man. He chose to heal a suffering man on the Sabbath even though it was against the law. He surely knew that he would get into trouble for it. But it provided him yet another opportunity, in scene 2, to show the people in power what their priorities should be.
Jesus always puts people first. Yet he never forces anyone to accept him. He never interferes with our free will. Similarly, we are offered opportunities to serve; but, again, how we respond is our choice. In our lives there will be times of suffering. But there will also be times when we can be of service to our neighbor. When we are suffering, we are called to trust. When life is good, we are challenged to help others. Whatever our situation, however, we are assured that God support and guide us. God will always be there with us, loving us.

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October 12, 2014 POWER, SEX, AND A SELF-MADE GOD

Exodus 32: 1-14 and Matthew 23: 23-28
A sermon by Thomas R. McKibbens
October 12, 2014

Hear the sermon.

If you think of an ancient story like the worship of the golden calf to be hopelessly out of date and having no connection with the 21st century, I invite you to think with me this morning about how closely and clearly such a story speaks to our day.
The story has Moses standing next to God on Mt. Sinai, and you half expect Moses to be pulling his hair out in frustration! Instead, God observes that crowd dancing around a golden calf and calls them a stiff-necked people and growls to Moses, Now let me alone, so that my wrath may burn hot against them, as if God was not capable of being furious with them when Moses was present!
We do not know what convinced Aaron to turn against his brother Moses. Perhaps it was a case of sibling rivalry, as novelist Frederick Buechner speculates. What we do know is that it had to do with power and control. There was no question that the God of Sinai was powerful, but not controllable, and people yearn to have a god that they can control.
Isn’t it interesting that as long as this God was saving them from the Egyptians or providing manna, they were fine with that! But no sooner did God make some ethical demands on them in the form of the Ten Commandments, and they were ready to fall down before a golden calf. The word really indicates a bull. There was nothing unusual about that. Every culture in the ancient world was connected to bull worship of some kind. A snorting bull was a pervasive symbol of power and virility in the ancient world.
It still is: consider the statue of the Wall Street bull in Manhattan. What a symbol! It is eleven feet tall, with nostrils flaring, and its wickedly long, sharp horns are ready to gore. Its tail is curved like a lash. This contemporary bull shows an aggressive, even belligerent force on the move, and also symbolizes unpredictability. Not a bad symbol for the stock market!
The bull in the biblical story, like any bull market today, is made of the gold and jewelry of the people. Aaron had the bull fashioned into a deity. For them, the bull represented a powerful, sexually active, and promiscuous god who would not burden them with any ethical guidelines and no call for a covenant commitment to live together in peace and justice. This god cared nothing for the poor, the stranger, or the sick. This god was mute in the face of any behavior they chose.
And choose they did! The enigmatic biblical phrase, rose up to revel, has definite sexual connotations. So with no ethical guidelines, no restrictions on behavior, these people reveled before the golden bull, celebrating not just freedom, but license to do whatever in the world they wanted to do!
So what contemporary meaning can we take away from this primitive story? Why does the picture of the golden bull linger in our collective consciousness? What is it about this story that can speak to a tech-friendly 21st century crowd?
Let us start with this: the problem was not irreligion. There was plenty of religion dancing around that golden bull. So when you hear someone say that all religion is basically the same, you know better. The worship of the golden bull is not the same as the worship of the God of Sinai!
To use the imagery of this story, how do we know when religion is worshipping a golden bull, and when religion is worshipping the God of Sinai? How do we distinguish between the two? What is good religion and what is bad religion? This is a question raised repeatedly by thoughtful people.
Some critics of religion seem to see only bad religion, and no one of us would even attempt to deny the critics who claim that religion can be bad. Clearly, bad religion has led to bloody wars, cruel persecutions, human sacrifice, and hypocrisy, and it can be narrow-minded, selfish, and intolerant. Sheer cruelty and brutal murder practiced by bullies claiming to represent Islam can make our stomach turn and be an embarrassment to faithful Muslims around the world. No one denies that there is bad religion.
After all, bad religion was what Jesus confronted! I doubt that he ever encountered an atheist! Irreligion was not a problem he confronted. If you read the gospel stories closely, you will see that Jesus was constantly trying to bring people back to good religion. Listen to him address bad religion: Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint, dill, and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faith!
So let us think together about good religion. Out of the mysterious smoke and thunder of Sinai came Moses with Ten Commandments chiseled on stone. From those Ten Commandments came a prophetic tradition that is clearly articulated in the prophets: What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices? says the Lord. I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams and the fat of fed beasts…. cease to do evil. Learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow–so said Isaiah.
And then there was Micah: He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.
Good religion passionately cares about justice, kindness, and humility. Good religion cares about the poor and needy, the overlooked and the oppressed. This is the prophetic tradition, and it is clearly the tradition for which Jesus lived and died. Bad religion stood at the foot of the cross and mocked him, saying: He saved others; he cannot save himself. Bad religion walked into Jerusalem past those three crosses on Golgotha and ducked its head, ignoring the injustice on the hill above them, the same way we duck our heads and ignore the injustice in our world. Good religion stays focused on justice, kindness, and humility. And so it has been for 2,000 years.
For the last two centuries it has been assumed by western culture that as society becomes more scientific and technological, people will become more secular and less religious. On the surface, the decline in church attendance might lead us to believe that assumption. Church attendance may be in decline, but some studies show that religion has actually increased!
So we have no lack of religion. The problem is lack of good religion! Just as the story we read today about the golden bull represents a picture of bad religion, I want to leave you with a picture of good religion. Here is a word picture that has quickly traveled the internet and has thus become well-known throughout the world and is read and re-read at the beginning of each school year. I am talking about the letter written by Nelba Marquez-Greene to school teachers everywhere. Here is a condensed version of it:
I lost my 6-year-old daughter Ana Grace on Dec. 14, 2012, in the rampage at Sandy Hook Elementary School. My son, who was in the building and heard the shooting, survived.
While waiting in the firehouse that day to hear the official news that our daughter was dead, my husband and I made promises to ourselves, to each other, and to our son. We promised to face the future with courage, faith, and love. As teachers and school employees begin this new year, my wish for you is that same courage, faith, and love….
Parents are sending their precious children to you this fall. Some will come fully prepared, and others not. They will come fed and with empty bellies. They will come from intact homes and fractured ones. Love them all.

A few weeks before the shooting, Ana Grace and I shared a special morning. Lunches were packed and clothes were picked out the night before, so we had extra time to snuggle. And while I lay in bed with my beautiful caramel princess, she sensed that I was distracted and asked, “What’s the matter, Mom?” I remember saying to her, “Nothing, baby. It’s just work.” She looked at me for a very long time with a thoughtful stare, then she told me, “Don’t let them suck your fun circuits dry, Mom.”
As you begin this school year, remember Ana Grace. Walk with courage, with faith, and with love. And don’t let them suck your fun circuits dry.”
She was writing that letter to teachers everywhere, but she could have been writing it to any of us. This is good religion. And it happens not just among the teachers and school workers to whom she was writing, but also in homes and offices and labs and hospitals and on farms and in the air. And thank God, it also happens in churches!
We all worry about the events in the news over which we have very little influence and no control. It can be frustrating and frightening. But there are some things over which we do have influence and even some control. We can practice good religion every single day. There are people to help, children and youth to respect and love and guide, patients to treat, clients to deal with honestly, colleagues to honor, friends to care for, and family members to love. There are grateful notes to write, kind words to type, compliments to tweet, and hugs to give. These are all daily actions of good religion.
Good religion is confidence that life has meaning because whatever we may face, life has a divine origin and a divine destiny. Whatever we may face, we have the divine promise from Christ himself, I am with you always. And if little Ana Grace were living and speaking with us today, she might remind us that in the midst of all our busy lives, “Don’t let them suck your fun circuits dry.”

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