God and Country

When I lived in Japan as a missionary many years ago, I heard a lot of stories.  I heard stories of Japanese Christians, and how they came to faith.  Some of the stories were from the time immediately after Japan lost World War II.  It was a time when the Japanese people did a lot of soul-searching.

I heard one story about man who had been in the military during World War II.  I no longer remember his position, but I still remember the American pastor pointing to the pew where this man always sat, every single Sunday.  He threw away his Shinto "god-shelf" when he became a Christian.  He no longer venerated his ancestors as you were bound to do, as a good Japanese man.  He was all in.

What had finally convinced him of the truth of the Christian faith?

It was the story of the creation of the world.  The Shinto religion only had a creation story for the creation of Japan.  But the Christian faith -- their creation story told of the creation of the whole world.  Therefore, the Christian God must be the greater God.  The Christian God is the God of the whole world, not just one country.

The Christian faith is a tiny minority in Japan.  All of the churches where I worshipped were small, just fifty or sixty people making a congregation.  Yet there was a witness of the good news in Japan, good news of great joy to all the people:  not just one country.

After three years of living and working in Japan, I returned to the United States.  I remembered this man's story, although I'm not sure exactly why.  Perhaps it was so odd to me.  I am used to testimonies that focus on the grace of God in Jesus.  I'm used to hearing stories that focus on personal redemption.  And all of that might have been there.  But the final piece of the puzzle for this man -- was that the Christian God created the whole world.  A god bigger than his country -- that was a god he would follow.  A God who created the whole world was a god worth believing in, a god worth following.

A God who created the whole world.  A God who loves the whole world.  Not just one country.  That is the God we confess when we come to church every Sunday.  That is the God we claim to follow.  So as much as I love my country, as much as I love this place I call home, I have to believe that God has wider concerns.  God loves the people fleeing violence in Central America, the displaced children in Syria, people who are starving, no matter their country.  God wants them to be fed.  God wants them to know God's love and grace.

In the Scriptures there are stories of a promised land and a chosen people:  Abraham and Isaac, and the nation of Israel.  But the chosen people were always set within a larger story:  the story of a God who created, and loves, the whole world.   Not just me, but you.  Not just American children, but children from Syria, children from Guatemala, children who are hungry, children who are afraid.  Wherever they are.

Tonight I am thinking about that Japanese man, the one who threw away his god-shelf and went all-in, who never thought that being Japanese and being Christian were the same thing.  Maybe it was easy, in a country where there were only a few Christians.  But even here in the United States, where there are many more Christians, I think we need to make a distinction.  I need to make a distinction.  I need to throw away my god-shelf and go all in.

I believe in a God who is bigger than my country.

When the Children's Message Becomes the Sermon

I asked someone to bring in a fishing pole for the children's message last Sunday.  I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to do with it.  I know that Jesus didn't fish with a fishing pole.  But it seemed like a good idea at the time so I took the fishing pole with me when I sat down with the children.

I asked them if they had ever gone fishing.  A few of them were enthusiastic that they had.  I asked them if they knew what would be good to put at the end of a fishing pole if they wanted to catch fish.

"Worms!" shouted one little boy.

I said that Jesus told that his disciples that instead of catching fish, they were going to be catching people!  And what would you use at the end of a fishing pole if you wanted to catch people?

Okay, it was a silly question.  And I got some silly answers.

But in Jesus time, people didn't fish with fishing poles.  They used nets to catch fish.  And the disciples would use a kind of net to catch people.

It was the net of God's love.

I got some of the children to make a circle, so that they could be like a net.  Then we caught a few of the other children in the net.  The children in the middle of the circle didn't know how they felt about being inside the net, though.  "How do we get out of here?" they said.

They became a part of the circle.  Pretty soon all of the children were a part of the circle, and there was no one left in the middle.  I said to the congregation, who wants to be inside of God's love?

A few people jumped up, and they got inside the circle.

Pretty soon, though, they were holding hands, and a few more people from the congregation were "caught."

And after they were caught, they became a part of the circle, catching others.

Later on, I preached a "real" sermon, but it wasn't until later in the afternoon that I realized that the circle of God's love was a pretty good image of what it means to be a disciple.  You get caught by God's love, but a little while later you are a part of the circle who shows tells other people about God's love.  You are never meant to just be inside.  You are always meant to be a part of the circle.

And we don't do any of this work alone.

Maybe I should have just kept adding people to the circle and forgotten about the "real" sermon that day.

Sometimes you don't need words.  Sometimes you just need actions.  Sometimes you just need to keep expanding the circle.

Sermon For Pentecost 2: "Traveling Light"

            Maybe it’s because the Vacation Bible School children will be going to Peru this week (at least virtually), but lately I’ve been thinking back to my own mission adventure in Japan long ago. 

            Specifically, I’m remembering the preparation – I remember getting a huge packet of information in the mail one day. 

            It was a large book of instructions, written by all of the current short-term missionaries, with helpful hints about what to bring or leave at home. 

            Some people recommended bringing clogs, because I would be taking off my shoes whenever I went inside. 

            Others mentioned favorite foods I might miss, like Peanut Butter, or boxed Macaroni and Cheese. 

            Some advised bringing a good one volume Bible commentary for help in preparing English language Bible studies for the students. 

            I remember that besides my two suitcases, I purchased a large trunk to fill with necessities.  And I did fill it.

            I can’t help noticing the contrast between the booklet I received, and Jesus’ instructions to the twelve in this passage of Scripture.  

            No advice about what to bring along, no helpful tips about how to change money, no what style of shoe to bring. 

            Instead, Jesus begins by telling them their message, “the Kingdom of Heaven has drawn near.’ 

            And then he tells them what actions go along with this message:  Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. 

            That’s it. 

            Tell the people the good news, and do good among the people where you go.  

            That’s the simple job of missionaries, and it has ever been:  tell the good news, and do good. 

            And then, instead of a list of what to bring, Jesus has a list of what NOT to bring, which is sort of odd.  

            Instead of giving them a list of what to pack, he gives them a list of what NOT to pack, a list of what to let go of, a list of things that might even – for some reason or another – weigh them down.

            I loved being a missionary, and I love mission trips.

             I hope to take more of them with some of you – whether as far away as Peru, or as close as downtown Conroe.

             And I have my bag all packed, but after reading Jesus’ instructions, I’m beginning to think that I may be taking along some things that I don’t really need.

             Maybe I should check it out. 

            Hmmm.  I see that the first thing I have here is my little box of coins from all over the world. 

            I probably don’t need that, since Jesus says, “take no gold, or silver, or copper in your belts.” 

            In fact, it seems like Jesus is saying that I don’t even need my billfold with my cash and credit cards. 

            I will admit, this makes me kind of nervous. 

            I wonder why he told his apostles this.

             I suspect that he wants them to go not as people who have everything, including all of the answers. 

            He wants them to get to know the people in the communities where they are going, and to receive hospitality from them. 

            That means I probably don’t need these canned goods I brought along, because I thought I would miss my favorite foods. 

            Jesus wants his disciples to find the people who are “worthy” in the community where they go, and stay with them, and eat with them, because it’s only when we sit down to eat with people that we can truly get to know them and share the good news in a way they will hear.              

            Make no mistake – the disciples went out to give – to give healing and hope and help – but they also went out to receive. 

            I see I brought an extra sweater – sort of the modern-day equivalent of a tunic, but Jesus says don’t bring any extra clothes along.         No fashion statements for me. 

            If I need extra clothes I will have to trust that I will receive them along the way. 

            And I see that Jesus also says that I am not supposed to bring these extra shoes either.

             I wonder what that is about. 

            It seems like he must want me to go not as someone who is comfortable, but at least sometimes, uncomfortable, and maybe a little needy. 

            But he says don’t take them, so I guess I will put them back. 

            And my bag IS getting somewhat lighter. 

            So that’s not a bad thing.

            Jesus also tells me that the message is really simple:  the good news, the kingdom of heaven has drawn near.  In fact, it’s so close, that it’s in these simple but awesome acts of healing and goodness. 

            That’s it.  So maybe I don’t have to bring these heavy theological books I packed, the ones that make me think I have all the answers

            to the questions people might ask me.

             At least not on this missionary journey that we are taking together. 

            You know, my bag is much lighter now, but there is still something here, and maybe it is something I can take along with me. 

            Oh!  It’s my baptismal certificate! It tells me that I am God’s child.  Maybe that’s all I need, to know who I am, and who I belong to.  

            Maybe this is the most important thing of all.

            When I think about the gift of baptism, usually I think of it as this comforting identity, this promise that life with God, now and forever.              And it is.     

            But baptism is both a gift – and a call.

             It’s the time when we are given the promise that we belong to God, but also the calling to go out and be missionaries!  “let your light so shine before others….” 

            And the only thing we HAVE to take along is our identity… and in fact it’s better that way… because God wants us to travel light.

            We take – ourselves – with all of our gifts and all of our faults – all of our hopes and all of our fears –

            And God uses us – who we are – somehow – to proclaim his mercy and grace.

            The Kingdom of God has drawn near – whether we believe it or not – whether we recognize it or not –

            And when we go to share this good news

            When we travel light

            We don’t go as people who have all the answers

            We go as people who also depend on mercy

            We go as people who are also hungry

            We go as people who are also imperfect

            We go as people who are also needy.

            So put down all the things you think you need today.

            Put down all the things that weigh you down, what you think you know or you need to know.

            Put down your answers, and pick up your questions, your curiosity, and your love,

            Pick up the one thing you need –

            The love which has been poured into your heart,

            The name in which you were baptized.

            The one who will never let you go.

            AMEN

Close Encounters with Jesus: the Woman at the Well

Lent 3 Year A

John 4:5-42

          

            It’s the longest recorded conversation Jesus had with anyone in any of the Gospels. 

            It is full of deep theology, humor, and human interest.  There is eager curiosity, there is misunderstanding, there is deep insight. 

            And it’s a conversation between Jesus – and a Samaritan woman.  He’s not supposed to be talking with her, and they both know it. 

            First, because she is a woman, and second, because she is a Samaritan, an outsider.  Jews and Samaritans did not have anything to do with each other.

            The Samaritans lived in the area which had once been the northern kingdom of Israel. 

            They were of mixed-descent and mixed religion. 

            The Jewish people considered them to have sold out the faith.  When the Jewish people had been taken into captivity in Babylon, and then were allowed to return home, they did not allow Samaritans to help them re-build the temple. 

            The hatred between the two groups was hard and fast. 

            It’s hard to choose from all of the threads in this long conversation. 

            There are so many and they are so rich:  the living water, the Holy Spirit, the God who will be worshipped in spirit and truth. 

            There is Jesus, who wants a drink of water, and the woman, who does not want to have to keep coming to this well, for some reason.

             But for today, I am most fascinated by this – the testimony of the woman, when she leaves her water jar and runs to her village.

            He told me everything I had ever done.  He can’t be the Messiah, can he? 

            What kind of a testimony is that?

            Maybe it is because I have been thinking so much about testimony lately – and I won’t stop either, at today. 

            We are having these “close encounters” with Jesus, lately, and testimonies come from close encounters with Jesus, don’t they?             

             I have heard testimonies in my life – maybe you have too – and often they sound like this, “I was lost, but now I am found.”

             “Jesus changed my life.”  “I know that I am forgiven because of Jesus.”   “God has given my life meaning and purpose.” 

            But here’s what the woman said, here’s the thing that really amazed her:  “He told me everything I had ever done.” 

            What was it about that that convinced her?

            Maybe it was the pure idea of prophecy.

             He was a prophet, and he knew all about her, things that no one else knew. 

            It was his ability to speak about her past and her present that made a difference. 

            He started out by teaching about the deep things of theology:  about living water, about the time coming when true worshippers would worship ‘in spirit and in truth’

            – but it was when he got to her life – that’s when the prophecy, that is when the truth finally hit her, that is when everything he said finally made sense. 

            “He told me everything I had ever done.” 

            But I think it was something else too. 

            When Jesus told her these things about herself, about her life, he didn’t speak in judgment. 

            He was just telling the facts – he didn’t say that she was the worst sort of sinner, and he didn’t even say she needed to turn around and live her life differently. 

            It’s not that he never said that to anyone.  It’s not that those sorts of things don’t need to be said, sometimes, either.  

            Sometimes the kindest thing you can tell another person is, “you need to turn around.  You are living dangerously.”  

            But all Jesus did was tell her about her life. 

            He told her the truth.  Without judgment.  Without looking down on her. 

            He knew her.  I think that was the feeling she had. 

            That deep down, he knew her.

             Maybe it was not just his words about her life, the whole, long conversation, that he was willing to talk with her, and to keep talking with her, and take her questions seriously.  He knew her, deep down.           He knew who she was. 

            He knew what her struggles were, he dreams, her fears. 

            He knew who looked down on her. 

            He knew what she was thirsty for.  Maybe he even knew why she did not want to keep coming to this well to draw water any more. 

            You know how rare that is, to be known – to be really known, by someone else?

             There are so few people who really know us, that we will allow to really know us. 

            There are so few people who know us – and who will walk with us, and keep loving us – no matter what. 

            We are blessed if we have a few of those people in our lives.  We are blessed if we can be one of those people for even one or two others. 

            Jesus met this woman – and it was a life-changing encounter – with Grace.   

            Here was someone who asked her for help – who took her seriously – who answered her questions – who knew her – really knew her, and who loved her. 

            Have you ever had an encounter like this? 

            I recently read a testimony on social media – a woman who became a Lutheran in her teens. 

            She came from another religious tradition, and even though all of Christianity is based on Grace – she had not experienced it before. 

           

            But she remembers sitting in a church service and hearing words of Grace – words of love – she doesn’t even remember now exactly what they were – but she felt such joy and freedom – it just washed over her.

            She said that she went to every service at the church for several months, just to make sure she hadn't heard wrong.

            In this congregation, she said, she had a life-changing encounter with Jesus – the pastor and the people from the congregation taught her and helped her to know God’s grace. 

            They walked with her and were there for her in a time of grief.    

            You know how rare it is to be known, to be really known, by someone else?

             To be known to the depths of our hearts – our hopes, our fears, our dreams, our sorrows --  Jesus knows us.  He knows our temptations and he knows our gifts. 

            He knows what we are hungry for – and he knows our spiritual thirst.

             He knows us, and so he alone can quench our thirst.

            There’s an old song that I sing with the children – maybe you know it….

            I’ve got peace like a river…. in my soul)

            I’ve got joy like a fountain (in my soul)

            I’ve got love like an ocean (in my soul)….

            It’s the water of life, isn’t it?  It’s the love of God.  That's what we need.  And it is deeper and wider than any ocean, overflowing our hearts, enough and more than enough.

            Amen.

           

Details from the Woman at the Well

There are a lot of interesting details in the story of Jesus and the woman at the well.  And I love looking at details.  I don't know if it is my shady past as an English major, or my love of one-to-one conversations, or if it is something else entirely, but I have found details from this story fascinating.

Take for example, the fact that the encounter takes place at high noon.  One chapter ago, Jesus met Nicodemus in the dark.  There is this chiaroscuro quality to their conversation, both light and darkness, insight and ambiguity.  He says, "How can this be?"  He is wrestling with the implications of what Jesus is saying.  That can't be a bad thing.  I think of the darkness in the story as a place of germination for Nicodemus' faith, and for ours, too.

But the next story takes place in broad daylight, high noon.  All the other women came to the well early in the morning when it was not so hot.  Why is the woman there by herself?  There's another detail to be reckoned with.

Here's the detail I am thinking about right now, though:  at the very beginning of the story, Jesus initiates the conversation by saying to the woman, "Give me a drink."

I think this is a very odd evangelism technique.

In John's gospel, Jesus does not come off as needy very often.  From the very beginning, he is the Messiah, the anointed, the Holy One of God.  He is self-assured.  He does weep at Lazarus' tomb.  But then, he raises him from the dead.

But today, he is sitting at Jacob's well on a hot day, and he begins by asking for help.

Water.

That's how this very deep theological conversation, the longest recorded conversation Jesus has with anybody, begins.

I think back to my missionary past, and the assumptions that I made when I first arrived.  I considered the good news that I had to share.  I thought that I should open with that.  Get right to the point.  Tell people what I knew.

But Jesus didn't.  He started with his own vulnerability.  He wanted a drink of water.  But at some point in the conversation, she discovered that she was thirsty too.  She didn't know how thirsty she was.

Sometimes I think that Jesus, at the beginning, is being coy.  "Give me a drink," he says, but he's not REALLY thirsty.  He's just saying that.  But then I think ahead to the end of the story, and how Jesus says, from the cross,  "I am thirsty."  Here he is, the Water of Life himself, and he is thirsty unto death.

Give me a drink, he says.  That is how the Savior of the world saves us.  By being thirsty.

Evangelical

It was Saturday morning.  I was drinking coffee and having a breakfast sandwich in a local spot.  It was mid-morning, not crowded.  I had a beginning, a middle, and an end for the sermon, so I was feeling relatively calm.  I had brought a book and my paper and pencils.  I spent a little time coloring in a prayer icon I had made a few days before, praying again for the names on the paper.

A woman approached me, curious about what I was doing.  I felt a little sheepish.  I wondered, briefly, about the upcoming gospel reading from Matthew 6, and wondered if I was "practicing my piety before others, in order to be praised by them."  Maybe I should not have gotten my pencils out.  Nonetheless, I shared a little about the prayer process with her.  She thought it was a good idea.

She asked a couple more questions, and for some reason, it came up that I was a pastor.  I gave her my card.  She said that she had been studying at another Lutheran church in the area.  She had been Methodist before that, she said.  She read my card carefully, and then said, "What is it about that word 'evangelical'?  Why is everybody 'evangelical' these days?"

My card read that I am a pastor in the "Evangelical Lutheran Church of America."  It is a part of the definition of my denomination that we are "Evangelical," in some way or another.   I was not sure exactly why, but it seemed like the word rankled her.

"It's not a bad word, is it?" I said.  "It's a good word."

"It means good news," she said.

I suppose I understand why the word "Evangelical" could rankle some people.  It's possible that some people share the good news with the subtlety of a bludgeon, making it seem perhaps not like such good news after all.  Maybe the word Evangelical has come to be associated with people giving out tracts with vivid images of the fires of hell, although I am not sure why that is.

It just means good news.

I knew a three year old girl once who used to stand at the front door of the church and shout out, "Welcome to church!"  She shouted it out to everyone who came.  What did she know?  It was just good news to her.  I met a man who shared his testimony with me over hot dogs.  He was lost, but now was found, he said.  It was just good news to him.  He had been a scoundrel and a lout, and he found out he was of value to God.

It may be a word fraught with baggage, but evangelical is what we are.  We are hearing the good news, and sharing the good news, in hot dog joints and at the church door, in hospitals and parks, with colored pencils and songs and stories.  We are supposed to share it without partiality, too.  It is our job.  We are not told to scatter the seeds carefully, but with abandon.   That is what makes the news so good.

Evangelical.  It just means good news.  It is good news for the dying, and good news for the living.  It is good news for the louts, and good news for the pious.  We're all in the same boat.  We all wear the ashes, and the same Heart of Love has room for us all.

Circling the Building, Before Lent Begins

Every morning I take my dog on a walk around my apartment complex.  Sometimes we go a little further, venturing outside the gate and down the street.  But we always make the circle around the apartments.  Every once in awhile we meet another dog.  Some of the dogs are friendly; others are indignant that there is another dog living here (!).  A couple of times we have met a nice couple who are riding their bicycles around the apartment complex.  They know my dog's name, but not mine.  I don't know their names.

Often we run into a man who regularly walks around the apartment complex.  He does not have a dog, but he takes the encircling walk regularly.  We have talked a little bit; mostly, he has told me about his church.  I have mentioned to him a couple of times that I am a pastor, too.  He doesn't seem overly concerned about this.  He asks me whether I think the world is coming to an end, soon.

I always tell him that I don't know.  Since that was Jesus' answer, it seems a pretty safe one.

He thinks that the end of the world is a good possibility.  He believes that there are signs that this is true.  I have to admit, that the thought has crossed my mind, although I suspect that my signs are not exactly the same as his.  But we never get farther than whether or not the end is near.  He says, "I think it is."  I say, "I don't know."

Then he says, "God bless you."  And he keeps walking around the buildings, making his regular circle.

Pretty soon it is going to be Lent.  Wednesday is for Ashes and Confession.  For forty days we'll be walking with Jesus, in prayer and fasting and repentance.  The end is Easter, God's new life and hope in us.  Our journey is 40 days, no more and no less.

I can't get the picture of the man, walking in circles, out of my mind.

We do our daily tasks, praying and walking and wondering.  When someone crosses our path, we say "God bless you."

And we pray, not just in Lent, but in every season, that God uses the circles that we walk in, that God uses our feet and our hands and our poor bruised hearts, and blesses the world, through us.

Witnesses

Tomorrow is All Saints Sunday in my congregation.  I love this Sunday, for many reasons.  I love lighting the candles.  I love remembering.  I love saying the names and knowing some of the stories of the particular saints in my own congregation.

I don't know why it has never occurred to me before how close All Saints is to Election Day.  But on Sunday I will be naming names and lighting candles and talking about the hope and witness of the saints.  On Tuesday it will be Election Day.  Many have already cast their vote, or will cast their vote.      

To be perfectly honest, this election feels different for me.  There have always been negative ads.  There has always been passion.  There have always been both hope and fear.  But it feels different this time.  Fear seems to have the edge over hope.  We are witnesses, but what are we witnessing?

Maybe a better question is this:  What do we hope for?

Tomorrow is All Saints Sunday, and as I light the candles, I will think of the hope of the saints.  I will consider the hope of the saints as the hope for a better city, a place of abundance, where the table is set, where all will be fed, where all will recognize the beauty and value of the children of God.

But the hope of the saints is not limited to that better city.  That hope lights my way right now, even when fear grips me.  The hope means that whatever happens on Tuesday, I will live hoping for a world where the poor are blessed, where the weak are protected, where there is enough for the hungry.  I will live looking for ways to provide shelter for the homeless and for the refugee.

Tomorrow I will light the candles.  And remember that I am a witness too:  I am a witness not to any particular political candidate, but to the love of God.  Every candle is a witness:  against fear, but mostly -- for the victory of God.

The Questions We Don't Ask

The other day my husband was telling me about a conversation he'd had with a young colleague of his, recently married.  They have been contemplating getting a dog, a big move for them.  When he asked how the process was moving along, his colleague confessed that he was very nervous about the prospect, and thought it might be a mistake, although he also thought it might also be inevitable.

"Did you ask him why he was nervous about it?" I asked my husband.

"No," he replied.  "Why?'

Long ago, when I took the training for church-based community organizing, we learned the art of the 'one-to-one' conversation.  We learned to have intentional conversations with parish members and neighbors, and one thing we really worked on was listening for the next question, learning to be curious about the person we were talking to and the stories they wanted to tell us, not just what we wanted to hear.

I'll tell you what: it's not as easy as it sounds.

I don't know why my husband didn't ask his friend the next question about the dog, something about which (I'll admit) I was quite curious.  Possibly he didn't want to pry.  Or perhaps he was already thinking about something he was more interested in than the story of the dog.  Maybe he thought he already had a pretty good idea why getting a dog sounded stressful, and assumed that the reasons would be the same for his colleague.

I find that it is, more often than not, and despite my training, the same for me.

It's not the questions I ask that get me into trouble.

It's the questions I don't ask, because I am not curious, because I think I know the answer already, because I am making assumptions based on my own life and my own experiences.

 A member of our congregation, a young single dad, started bringing his significant other and her children to church on occasion.  I started getting to know them and having conversations with them.  They even asked if I would officiate at their wedding, to which I said, gladly, "yes".

And then one day, I saw pictures of them on Facebook.  They had been visiting a relative's church.  There was the opportunity to be baptized that day.  There were pictures of them all, spontaneously, getting baptized.

"I have always wanted to get baptized with my children!" was the caption underneath the pictures

Though I am a pastor, and I think that Baptism is one of the Best Things we do (or, more precisely, that God does), I never thought to ask her the question:  "Are you baptized?  Would you like to be?"  I made assumptions based on my own experiences -- assumptions about what she needed and didn't need in her faith community, assumptions about her hopes and dreams for her family.

I can't help wondering what I might find out if I learn to listen, and be curious, and ask the next question, the question I'm not even thinking about, at least not now.

I think I know why people are here, or even why they aren't.  I think people are here because of Sunday School, or because we play the hymns they like, or because our worship service is at a convenient time for them, or they have friends who go here.  Maybe that's it.  But how do I know?

But maybe they really want a transformed life.

It's the questions we don't ask that get us into trouble.