Sermon for Easter 5: The Gift of Identity

1 Peter 2:2-10

            When I was a little girl, there was a pretty solid line between the kinds of toys boys got to play with the toys girls got – for example, my brother got trucks – we got dolls – we got the Easy Bake Oven, he got the chemistry seat.  But every once in awhile, my brother got something that I kind of envied, that I wished someone had gotten for me, instead.  One of those presents was something called a “Rock Tumbler.”   This was a contraption, or a machine that promised to make plain ordinary stones into beautiful shiny agates.  You just put the rocks into the machine – more than one at a time, of course, and you put in something called ‘grit’ – and you turned on the machine and the rocks went round and round  --and when they came out – magic!  -- they were changed, they were beautiful, they were something you might want to put on a necklace and hang around your neck.

            “Come to him, a living stone… and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house….”

            During this season of Easter, we’ve been contemplating some of the gifts of the Resurrection –- the gift of Jesus’ presence with us, the gift of the community.  This week the gift is:  identity.  Who are we?  Who are you?   There are many answers to that question –the answer last week would have been that we are sheep, for example.   We are sheep, and Jesus is our shepherd.  Or in Ephesians, Paul writes that we are no longer strangers, but we are citizens, and part of the household of God.

              But today, Peter says that we are – stones. “living stones” – but still ‘stones.’ We are stones – and Jesus is the cornerstone.  But, what does he mean?  How can it be a gift to be a stone? 

           

            Perhaps to begin to answer that question, we need to look at places where there are stones in the Bible.  And yes – there are actually many references to stones in the scriptures.

             I did a whole Bible study once, and learned a lot of stories about stones.  For example, there’s the story of Jacob, fleeing from his twin brother Esau.  He has stolen the birthright and the blessing that belongs to his brother, and now he’s on the run.  When he stops for the night, he uses a stone for a pillow.  Can you imagine anything more uncomfortable?  I can’t. But during the night he dreams of a ladder reaching to heaven, with angels descending and ascending.           .And God made a covenant there with him.  God promised to be with him and to bless his family.

             So in the morning Jacob took that stone pillow, and he poured oil over it, and he called the place “Bethel”  - the house of God, and he says, “surely God is in this place, and I didn’t even know it.”

            A stone is the house of God.

            There are many other stories about stones in the Bible.  There is the shepherd boy David and his five smooth stones, only one of which he needed to kill Goliath.  There is “Ebenezer” – (ever wonder about that word?) the “stone of help” that the Israelites put down after a victory in battle, to remind them of God’s help to them.  There is the way the Psalmist always talks about God as the “rock of our salvation.”    There are stones all over the Bible, one at a time, or in groups.        

            There is this story from the book of Joshua about the Israelites going into the promised land, and how each tribe took a stone from the wilderness across the river into the promised land.  Twelve stones to remember where they had been – to take to the place they were going.

            And then there is the stone that the builders rejected – Jesus – the one who became the cornerstone.   There is the stone that no one recognized, that one that was tossed aside  -- but chosen and precious in God’s eyes.We are stones, and Jesus is our cornerstone.  But what does this mean?

            Well,  for one thing it means is that we are precious. 

            We are precious to God – even if we are not great in the world.   We are chosen by God – and set apart by God – for a particular purpose.         We may look ordinary, we may look  plain – but God sees something in us  --

            When my niece Rachel was a little girl I used to watch her pick up rocks in the yard.  She was fascinated by stones, but I could never figure out how she decided which were her favorite ones.  A few of them were shiny, but many of them just looked ordinary and plain.  She would pick them up and then line them all up, her treasures, especially chosen and precious.  And  that is that way it is between us and God.  For some mysterious reason, God has picked us up and has made us a part of the spiritual house. 

            Beth-el.  The house of God. 

            Who are you?  Who are we? 

            What is your basic identity?  There are so many ways we can answer that question, if we want to.  And to be truthful, there are many who would be eager to answer that question for us.   In the Old Testament, the Egyptians told the Hebrew people that they were slaves – but God kept telling them that they were free – and then he set them free.  Who are you?  You are consumers, only driven by your greed.  You are poor, you are rich,  you are defined by your past, and you can’t escape.  You are a bleeding-heart, you are idealistic, and your compassion makes you weak.  You are only one person, and you can’t make a difference.

            But God says, no.  God tells you who you are, and it is a gift. 

            You are flawed and forgiven person, a sign a God, a stone of help, a sign of the presence of God, reminders of the presence of God, even in the wilderness.   

            And despite all appearance to the contrary, you are strong, but not in the way you might think.

            One thing about rock:  it’s strong.

             If you have a house made of rock, it is going to last.  Right? 

            Think about that old folk tale, the three little pigs.  And how when the wolf got to the third house, made of brick, he couldn’t destroy it.  Because it was strong.

            Some of you have been praying for a friend of mine, Melissa.  She is a pastor in Minneapolis.   She serves a bilingual congregation, and a couple of weeks ago, her son, a senior at the University of Minnesota, was swept into the Mississsippi River.  His friend was sitting with him and somehow got out. They searched and searched and hoped and hoped, but finally they found his body.  And it has been heartbreaking. 

And she has been writing and sharing her pain and her faith with her church and the wider community who surrounds her, and people keep saying she is strong, and she keeps saying she is not.

            But she is strong. 

           

            She is strong because she is only leaning on Jesus, and she is clinging to the promise that she and her son are both children of God, and that is what makes her strong.  She is strong because she knows who she is, and she knows that both she and her son belong to God.   She is strong because Jesus is all she’s got.  And he’s got her, and he’s got her son.

            Who are you?   

            You are the house of God, a sign of God’s presence, even in the wilderness. 

            You are precious and chosen, made beautiful in the rock tumbler of pain and forgiveness.  And Jesus is your cornerstone.

            AMEN

Random Thoughts

I'm not very good at removing stains from garments.

This just recently occurred to me, again, after taking a shirt out of the washing machine.  I had soaked it and scrubbed it and it looked all right until I held it up to the light and thought I still noticed a very very faint discoloration.   Earlier I was soaking a pair of pants with black marks on them.  I had gotten home after meeting a couple of church visitors that day, and noticed these black marks (ink? dirt?  something else?) and had no idea where they came from.  I sprayed, soaked, and scrubbed.  The stains on the pants got lighter but did not go away.

My mother is great at removing stains.  I am sure that if I gave these garments to my mom she would be able to get these stains out.  It is possible that she just doesn't give up, that she uses more elbow grease, that she knows some secret stain-removal ingredients or that she has stain-removal superpowers.  I am not sure which.  Is it a symptom of a terrible character flaw?  When I took that shirt out of the washing machine again, and saw the faint outline of the stain, I wondered about it.

* * *

Recently there was a raging social media discussion about pastors who are introverts, and how they (we) can possibly be effective pastors.  Someone sort of suggested that it was a shame that Lutherans don't have holy orders so that introverts would have a place where they would be more comfortable serving.  The poster intimated that we were perhaps unsuited to "the rough and tumble of the parish."

I don't feel attracted to holy orders.

Just so you know.

The parish is "rough and tumble" in a lot of ways.  Some of them are hard for me, but I am not sure if it's because I am an introvert.  It may be more a function of both my peculiar gifts and neuroses.   Other parts of parish ministry (aka "the rough and tumble) are exactly why I love it so much:  all of the ages together, watching people grow through pain and joy, the chaos, the singing, the people who are fearfully and wonderfully made.

I am thinking about the fact that I am an introvert, but also the fact that it is not all that I am, and wondering what it is about us sometimes:  why do we reduce each other to some simple labels?  Do I do that to myself, too?  Sell myself short with some explanatory labels?

* * *

I am not good at getting stains out of clothing.  Maybe it's because I am an introvert, not suited to the rough and tumble of the stain-fighting household.  Maybe I give up too easily.  Maybe I have other gifts.

* * *

I just started reading this book by Swedish author Fredrik Backman.  It's called my grandmother asked me to tell you she's sorry.  It's about a little girl named Elsa who is 'different' and who his teased and bullied by her classmates, but whose grandmother is her champion and superhero.  The little girl talks about her grandmother's superpower, and says that everyone has them.  One of their neighbors' superpowers is making a cookie called "dreams."

I hope that, at the end of the story, Elsa discovers that she has a superpower too.

The Christmas Program Prelude

For some reason, lately I have been thinking about the Christmas program in my first parish.  It was on Sunday morning on the third or fourth Sunday of Advent.  Sometimes the Sunday School teachers would ask me for advice about the program;  was there a theme or a script that I knew about?  Sometimes they had their own idea, and I had very little input, except to open and close with prayer.

What I am remembering right now, though, is not the program itself, but the prelude.  No one asked me about this either.  The Christmas program prelude was a tradition that had begun long before I arrived, and it would continue whether I approved of it or not.  No one was asking permission.

The regular organist did not play the prelude on that particular Sunday.  Instead, the prelude was played by any chidden who were taking music lessons and wanted to play.  They ranged in age from four to twelve, and were all ability levels.  Some children played Silent Night with one finger.  Some children played a recital piece.  They were mostly piano students, but there was occasionally a flute, or a violin.

I keep thinking about the Christmas Program Prelude, and contrasting it with the impressive music at some of the larger churches around.   But I wonder if there is room for the Christmas program prelude.

Every church has different strengths and different faults.  But some churches have a particular strength:  the ability to recognize the gifts of all ages, and even welcome them.

People Are Needy. People are Gifted.

One of the hazards of visiting people in the hospital, in nursing homes, and while they are grieving is coming to regard people as the sum total of their needs and deficiencies.

I visit people when they can't get out of bed.  I visit people when they are numb with grief.  I visit people when they have forgotten who they are, or when their hands tremble, or when all they can swallow is the tiniest bit of a wafer dipped in wine.  I visit people when they are helpless.  I hold the hands of people who are at the end of their rope, and sometimes it feels like it is my job to tie the knot that they can hang on to.  Or Something.

This is called Pastoral Care.  It is to go and pray for people, to say the words of hope, to give the bread and wine that feeds people, to listen and to keep saying the most important things, "You are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked by the cross of Christ forever.  God is for you.  Nothing can separate you from God's love."

There's something humbling about this.  I remember going into a hospital room where a parish member really wanted a nurse to take her to the bathroom more than she wanted to talk to me -- at least at that moment.   Whatever it was I have to offer, it sometimes doesn't seem to be nearly enough.

But there's something else as well.  When I go to visit someone in the hospital, or a nursing home, or to plan a funeral, and I call that "pastoral care",  I'm tempted to see myself as the giver and the other person as the "needy person", and it's so much more complicated than that.

I also will go out to coffee with a church member, just to get to know them better, to hear some of their stories, to find out what they are passionate about, to learn about their family or their work.  I once got to hear a story from a woman who broke up a schoolyard fight when she was ten, and knew, right away, that this was her vocation.  Recently someone else called me and said she wanted to get together so she could figure out what she could offer to her church, now that she was retired.

I'm beginning to think that this is pastoral care too, and that pastoral care that focuses exclusively on people's neediness is not as helpful as it seems.  Instead of just praying for people, maybe good 'pastoral care' will pray with people;  instead of seeing myself as giver and the other as 'receiver', maybe good pastoral care will see us as partners, with gifts to offer each other, with ministry to do together, for the sake of the world.

Once I heard someone say the phrase "the less fortunate", as in "at Christmas-time, let's give to the 'less-fortunate.'"  Something about the phrase bothered me, the way it separated people into "them" and "us" -- as in *them* the needy ones, and *us* the  gifted ones, the fortunate, the givers.  But it's a lot more complicated than that, isn't it?  We're all needy, and we're all gifted.  Some wounds are on the outside.  Some gifts are hidden on the inside.

One of the hazards of visiting people in the hospital, in nursing homes, and while they are grieving is coming to regard people as the sum total of their needs and deficiencies.

The truth is, people (including me) are the sum total of their needs, their deficiencies, their stories, their gifts, their hopes, their fears, their strengths, their utter helplessness,  and, most of all, the indelible mark of God upon their lives, which expresses their incalculable worth.  "You are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked by the cross of Christ forever."

Just Another Meeting Night

My congregation has been in a pastoral transition for about a year now, which poses its challenges, creates opportunities, and -- may I say -- also causes me, occasionally, to be surprised.

Our congregation, like many other congregations, has meetings.  We have Leadership Board meetings.  We have Worship Planning Meetings.  We have Committee Meetings.  We have Global Mission Meetings.  We have Education Meetings.  We have Stewardship Meetings (sometimes).  Lately, since we are in a pastoral transition, there have been other sorts of meetings as well.

You get the picture. 

As associate pastor, there have been places where my input has been welcome, and other areas that I haven't been much involved. One of the places I haven't been involved has been a group called the "Nominating Committee."  Their job has been to help fill the positions on the Board and other committees as they come up for election.

Like many jobs involving regular meetings, there hasn't been a long line of people waiting to do this job.

But about a year and a half ago, I had an idea about doing something different with this group.  And, since no one told me not to, I started doing it.

Using some principles from the field of organizing, I made the former "Nominating Committee" into a "Leadership Development Committee" instead, with these objectives:

1.  Create connections and get to know other people in the congregation.
2.  Learn more about them as people:  their stories, their interests, passions, concerns.
3.  Help them to find places in and out of the congregation to develop their gifts.
4.  Find out who can be developed as a congregational leader and help them find places to serve.

I didn't get this out of a book I read, and, even now, I wonder if this will work.  We are coming up to the Congregational Meeting at the end of the fall, and will need to have people willing to serve in congregational positions.  That's the criteria I imagine the congregation will use to judge whether this "system" works.

In the meantime, we try to have "one to one" conversations with two other people very month and report out on them.  Recently we discovered in a conversation a retired woman who really wanted to be involved in a Social Service ministry -- so we're giving her the opportunity.  We're making lists of people who like to do "hands on" ministry and hate meetings, who play instruments, who like to sing, who like to clean and to cook.  We're finding out about people who are passionate about being a more diverse and inclusive faith community.

(Now we could use a good method to keep track of all of this information for us.)

When we do ask people to do a task, or lead a group, or be involved in something, we do it in the context of a relationship we are building, and after knowing something about the person we are talking to.  We HOPE that we are asking them to be involved in something that they care about, and that will help them grow in their discipleship.

Every month when we meet around the table, I'm amazed:  what we are doing feels strategic, holy, and risky.  I go away every month impressed by the leadership of the people around the table, the people they are meeting, the circles that a rippling out from six people into the congregation.

As associate pastor, I often had ideas, sometimes ideas that I didn't really have the power to implement.  It's always safer to have an idea if you don't ever had to try it and see if it works.  (something like being a political pundit.)

But here I am, putting an idea into action, experimenting with my congregation, rallying the troops, not really knowing whether what I am doing will succeed or fail.  I do think that this organizational principal will bear fruit, but that we will have to be patient.  But I don't KNOW it.   What I do know is that I am discovering (by experiment) more and more of who I am as a leader.

I'll let you know how it goes.  Okay?

A Little Grace

When I got home from church tonight my husband told me that we had had a visitor about an hour before. She was a young, dark-haired woman, and my husband said she had a dog in her car. She also seemed to know Scout. She asked for "Pastor Roth," but I was at our church's book group, discussing Pillars of the Earth.

She dropped of a gift card for Borders and a nice bouquet of flowers.

The flowers look really nice on our dining room table, and in the middle of the developing pre-refinishing-hardwood-floor mess.

Right now, I can't figure out who the visitor is. It's a mystery, and I can't figure it out. I thought I would look through the church directory, but I forgot to bring one home.

I've been asking a lot of questions, like "Did she wear glasses?" "Was she tall?" I think my husband is tired of me answering questions. I think I need to just let it be.

It's hard though. I can't figure out what prompted this unexpected gift. I want to figure out the mystery.

It's made me think back, though, on gifts I have received, recently and long ago, some large, mostly small.

Three quilts, from the ladies' aids at each of my churches in South Dakota
a quart of fresh raspberries delivered to my door every July.
Deer Sausage, green beans, wild asparagus
a handmade angel
a small Japanese teacup from the town of Hagi
the recipe for Tortellini Soup
three small hand made books given to me by strangers

It's an abundant life, really, if I allow myself to catch a glimpse of it
if I allow myself to open my hands and share it.

Product Placement

I got some lovely presents a few weeks ago at my birthday party. But one of them was a complete surprise. A friend of my husband and mine stopped by late in the afternoon with a card and an apology for her lateness. Everyone else had already gone home.

When I opened the card, there was some tissue paper inside. There was also a pen. And not just any pen. It was a Namiki retractable fountain pen.

I love pens. I have loved pens ever since I was a little girl, and I wanted my mom and dad to get me the 12 pack of pens you could get for Christmas at the local Woolworth's store. One of my high school teachers suggested that I switch from ball point pens to fountain pens long ago (this was before gel pens and roller balls were even a gleam in someone's imagination). I do have one fountain pen, a Lamy brand, which I consider affordable. And I have looked at the Namiki pens when we trek over to our local pen store, usually to pick up refills. But I have never dared to hope that I would ever actually own a Namiki retractable fountain pen. It is a luxury beyond my means.

Our friend had filled up the little cartridge (called a bladder) with a kind of blue-ish black ink. She showed me how to do this, for when I would want to refill it myself. But I didn't have any ink or cartridges yet.

Sunday I ran out of ink, so we went over to the pen store to get some bottled ink and some cartridges. We discovered that the pen lacked something like a 'cartridge cover' needed when you use a cartridge rather than bottled ink. Since it is an older model pen, he didn't have any replacements in the store.

So today I called the company, and explained my dilemma. She asked whether I could get a replacement locally. I named our store, and said that they didn't have any on hand. "Oh, that's too bad," she said. "Why don't I send you a complementary one?" And she took my name and address. She also gave me some good websites that I could go to for information about their products.

I told my husband, "That was one of the most pleasant conversations I have ever had with customer service."

After a moment, he replied, "It's because they think we're rich."

I'll bet Rolls Royce customers get pretty good customer service, too.

Sunday Sermon: Pentecost

"Varieties of Gifts"

A number of years ago, a popular children’s book imagined a brightly colored fish swimming through a great sea. I think at least a part of the book’s appeal, at least with young children, were the glittery images of the different scales on this special fish. He was called – for obvious reasons – The Rainbow Fish. And he loved and was proud of his brightly colored scales – who wouldn’t be? – and he was very offended when a little blue fish, an ordinary fish, came up to him and asked him: could he please give him one of his bright shining scales? Just a little one, please.
Of course, he wouldn’t give up one of this scales! Those were the things that made him beautiful! They belonged to him! And the beautiful Rainbow Fish swam away from the little blue fish.

Today is a kind of a "Rainbow Day" – for it is the Day of Pentecost, the day that the Holy Spirit fell on the disciples, all gathered in one place. It was a day of brightness, and great power – the colors of fire and the sound of wind, a day God opened God’s hand and poured forth gifts on ordinary people, scared people, wondering people. A variety of gifts came down from heaven, and caused ordinary disciples to do things they never imagined that they would do. So what do we do to make this day special?Some of us wear red – a bright color – to try to capture the passion, the excitement of that day long ago. Sometimes a congregation will try to capture the energy by hearing the readings in different languages, or bringing wind chimes, or some other sound effect – what can we do really to help us to experience what it was like on that day? One moment the disciples are inside the house, together – the next they are outside – with tongues of fire dancing on their heads and the word of God dancing on their lips. That’s what is looked like, when the apostles first received the gifts of the Spirit: a rainbow of color and sound.

The gifts of the Spirit: that’s what Paul is talking about as well, in our lesson from first Corinthians. "There are varieties of gifts, but the same spirit," he tells them. "There are varieties of services, but the same Lord, and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone." So the Holy Spirit that fell down on the believers on Pentecost kept falling on Christians – even in Corinth – giving them a variety of gifts, glittery and beautiful. And the Holy Spirit that fell on Pentecost – and that fell on the Corinthians – as well falls on us, here and now, and gives us as well a variety, a rainbow of gifts.

Except that with the Corinthians, there was a problem. And we get an inkling of the problem as we read Paul’s letter, when he tells them: "To each is given a manifestation of the Spirit for the common good." It seems that the Christians in Corinth were acting a little like the Rainbow Fish – they were proud of their beautiful gifts, and they used them to compete with each other, to try to figure out who was better. They thought that the gifts they had received were for their own benefit only, and not for the sake of one another – for the common good, as Paul writes. So what was supposed to be a good thing turned out to be the cause of pride and arguing and division. There are many gifts – Paul reminds us – but only one Lord, only one God – and our many gifts are be used for one another’s sake, for the "common good".

The common good – we hear this phrase sometimes, in a political way, and in fact, Paul is borrowing it from the political life of his own day. But what does it mean? I once heard a friend of mine talking about living in a cooperative versus a condominium. They seem similar in many ways. Both are places where people live together. They are something like apartment buildings, but they are different. He explained the difference this way: "In a condominium you think about what’s good for ME. In a cooperative, you think about what’s good for us – and that’s good for me."

To me, that’s also a good description of "the common good" – there are some things that are just good for me, but there are also things that are good for us, for all of us, that make our community better – more beautiful, more just. Paul writes that the many varieties of spiritual gifts that have been given to us as Christians are not simply for our own benefit, but to share with one another. Then he recites a list of gifts: wisdom and knowledge, healing and miracles and tongues – not in an attempt to limit our minds about God’s gifts, but I think to expand them. There are probably many more gifts than these listed: gifts of listening as well as speaking, gifts of compassion and mercy, gifts of hospitality. Paul wants to open our minds to the many gifts that the Spirit is giving to us – and to those around us. For I think the Corinthians had a limited vision of both God’s gifts – and of who could have them.

You know there are two pitfalls for us when we think about the subject of gifts of the Spirit. And one is the pitfall that the Rainbow Fish fell into: He believed that his beautiful scales were given just for him, to make him beautiful. The first one is pride – and a temptation to think of ourselves as better than someone else. But there’s another temptation as well – and that’s the temptation to think that we don’t have any gifts, that what we do isn’t valuable, that we are useless. Perhaps it’s either because we are too young or too old. Perhaps because we think we are too small and insignificant. Perhaps it is because others put us down, and tell us we don’t know what we’re talking about. Sometimes you might be tempted to just give up, because others are ignoring you, don’t think you have a contribution to make.

I remember many years ago seeing a cover of the Lutheran that shocked me. It was a picture of a starving child in the Sudan. I remember that it was so painful to see that in our house, we kept it face down on our coffee table. And I remember that many people wrote letters to the editor of the Lutheran, protesting because they had put such an image on the cover of their magazine. And finally, I remember hearing that a Sunday School class somewhere had seen that picture, and decided to collect pennies to send to those children. "If everyone would do a little, it would be a lot, and there would be no more starving children," they said. And I am glad that no one told them that they did not have a gift to share, for the common good. I think they had the gift of faith: what do you think?

I was privileged to go to the 9th grade confirmation retreat last weekend. One of the things we do on the retreat (besides not get much sleep) is to complete a "Spiritual Gifts Inventory" on Friday night. There some of the students discover that they have the gift of Leadership, others Encouragement, some the gift of Service and others Administration, or Mercy, or Hospitality. Then on Saturday, they spend the afternoon at doing a "challenge course" where they spend about 3 hours using these gifts (and others) for the "common good": to complete challenges that they could not do alone. The different tasks required coordination and imagination, leadership and compassion – and many other gifts, too many to be numbered. And they required that the students learn to work together for the good of all.

There is one more pitfall, too, when we consider the gifts of the spirit: and that is to forget what OUR common good is. For us who gather here this morning, and for the apostles who gathered on that first Pentecost: Our common good is the common mission of going out into the world, and sharing the love of God in word and deed. Our common good is to share – not just with one another – but with our neighbors and with strangers, with friends and with enemies – the hope that is in us. Our common good is to share God's wide and forgiving love -- and do it with words and deeds of mercy and justice.

We have a beautiful gospel, a story of a God who loves us each in all of our variety, who came to heal us and forgive us and to share his life with us, and to die for us. We have a beautiful gospel of a God who took a small band of ordinary people – gave them a mission, gave them gifts, and made them into a Church. And in this Church, even one of us, from the youngest to the oldest, from the richest to the poorest, has gifts to share – with us, and with the world.

At the end of the story of the Rainbow Fish, the little Rainbow fish finally learns to share. It is a difficult lesson for him, but he starts to give away his beautiful scales, one by one, to the other fish in the sea. Finally, all he has left is one beautiful scale – but the sea is filled with color, and filled with life, and filled with glittering fish. That is the vision for us as well: to go out and share our many gifts, so that finally, in the end, the whole world is filled with the love of God in Christ.
AMEN