Miracles

I just recently started reading a new book.

I know this isn't big news.  I have a lot of books, and I even read some of them.  This particular book is called "8 Virtues of Rapidly Growing Churches."

Now, this is not a title to which I would ordinarily gravitate.  Not because I don't want to grow rapidly but because I am suspicious of "prescriptions" for growing.  But I ordered this title after recognizing the name of one of the authors (he also wrote a book praising small churches), and because I was curious about the first virtue:  "Rapidly Growing Churches Believe in Miracles and Act Accordingly."

I was both attracted and sort of frustrated by this virtue.  First of all, a miracle is not a prescription.  You can't make a miracle happen.  There aren't 7 steps about miracles.  A miracle is a mystery.  That intrigued me.

The authors almost didn't include this first virtue -- how can you replicate the miraculous?  But it was a part of the story of every pastor and every congregation they interviewed.  Early in the church's history, there were miracles -- the right staff person at just the right time, the gift of land, a lay leader who emerged to lead a ministry.  One pastor told the story of a young man in the congregation who was ill.  The congregation prayed for this young man, and, though it was not instantaneous, this young man experienced healing.  This healing had a profound effect on that congregation.  They began to expect God to show up in new ways in their worship and in their lives.

All of the rapidly growing churches tell similar stories of miracles in their midst.  And because of these miracles, the churches began to pray in a different way.  They began to sense the Spirit among them in a different way.  And they began to see in a different way as well.  They began to look for the Spirit, working in the midst of their congregation.  And finally, they began to act in a different way -- to make bold changes based on where they saw the Spirit at work.

This chapter about miracles -- also talked about failure.  the churches that experienced miracles, also experienced failure.  I'm pretty sure that if this chapter had not mentioned failure, I would not have liked it as much.  The churches dreamed big and made mistakes.  Sometimes big mistakes.  Sometimes painful and discouraging mistakes.  Worship services where no one showed up.

But they learned from those mistakes.  Those mistakes did not discourage them from continuing to look for miracles, continuing to ask where the Spirit was moving in their congregation and in the community they served.

Because of that first chapter, I have been thinking about miracles and failures.  I believe that I have seen miracles here, even though I haven't necessarily been bold to name them.  To be truthful, most of the miracles have been people:  new people who have walked in the door, people who have stepped up just at the right time.

I remember when I first came to this congregation, there were not very many children.  And I remember thinking that I had no idea what to do.  There wasn't a Sunday School, because there were not enough children to have one.  So, I had no idea what to do, and then a family came.  and then another family came.  And then another family came.  And I was still pretty sure that it wasn't because of a strategy of mine, because I had no strategy, except praying fervently, and loving everyone.

It was a miracle.

There have been other miracles, too, small but important.  For some reason, they are all people.  People who stayed.  People who returned.  People who showed up.

I have seen some failures too.  We have tried some experiments that have not gone as expected.  But the idea is to learn from them, and continue to believe that the Spirit is moving among us.  The idea is to keep asking the question, "Where is God leading us?  Where does God want us to go?"

The trick is to not let the failures keep us from seeing the miracles.  The trick is to keep stepping out, sure that God will act among us.

The authors tell a story, a midrash from the Jewish tradition, as part of this chapter.  When the people of Israel were escaping from Egypt, and stuck at the Red Sea, God promised that he would part the sea if the people would cross.  But someone had to step out in faith before God would part the sea.  Someone had to put their feet in the water and take the risk.  There was one man (the story says) he waded into the water.  He waded up to his ankles, and nothing happened.  He waded up to his knees, and still nothing happened.  He waded up to his waist and still nothing happened.  And when he was up to his neck, then God parted the waters and the people of Israel walked across.

That's it, isn't it?  Believing in miracles sounds good -- but it also means that we have to wade out into the deep water sometimes, and that's hard.

Maybe that's why I sometimes keep the miracles I see to myself.  When the Spirit is working among us, it's exciting and wonderful -- and scary.

Sermon for Epiphany 5: "Ordinary Miracle"

based on Mark 1:29-39

            

            The theme for pre-school chapel this week was “Jesus' Many Miracles.”  With a theme like that, where do you begin?

             The feeding of the 5,000?  The four men who lowered their  friend through the roof so that Jesus could heal him

             The ten lepers who were cleansed?  The two blind men Jesus healed?  The one little girl he raised from the dead? 

            I started with this one – the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law. 

            Notice it happens RIGHT after Jesus leaves the synagogue – right after his teaching and casting out of the demon. 

            He goes to Simon Peter’s house and Simon’s mother-in-law is sick.  She has a fever.  And I say to all of the children, “Have you ever had a fever?” – and they all said “Yes!”

            It’s an ordinary sickness, something all of us can understand, especially in a year when there is a particularly scary variety of flu going around. 

            We have all had a fever – although it might help to remember that there was a time when a fever was a lot more worrisome than it usually is now. 

            I remember hearing a story at a funeral once – the woman who died, I was told, had a secret. 

            She had been married once, briefly, before her current marriage.  But her husband had died after they were married only a short time, maybe a year. 

            He died of an infection.  Her second husband got sick with an infection, but he got well – because in the intervening two years – they had discovered – penicillin. It must have seemed like a miracle.

            So a fever – it’s a common sickness – an ordinary sickness – and maybe we can even imagine being healed from a fever – more than we can imagine some Jesus’ other miracles. 

            Peter’s mother in law was sick in bed with aches and pains and she couldn’t do the things that she was used to doing – and Jesus came right up to her – not worried about germs or anything – and he took her by the hand and healed her

            And she got up and served them.

             And I have thought of this scene in somewhat humorous ways, I’ll admit

            – I’ve pictured her as a sort of first century version of Raymond’s mother on Everybody Loves Raymond, getting up and putting on a big pot of stew, because that’s what Jesus and his disciples needed right now.

            “You hungry?  Sit down.  I’m better now.”

            Women’s work is never done, am I right?

            There’s something about this scene that I love – and – I’ll confess – something about it that bothers me. 

            I love it because it shows that Peter’s mother-in-law is fully healed.  And you know, I’ve had a fever, and even when it leaves, getting up and cooking –that’s not the first thing I want to do. 

            Well, actually, though I love cooking “a little” – it’s not always my favorite thing, so maybe part of what bothers me is the idea that she’s the one who has to do it.   

            I know that she’s doing it with love – and I know that she’s doing it as well out of gratitude and love --- she’s serving for the same reason all of us do ANYTHING – to show our gratitude and thanksgiving.   

            So I love that this scene shows this woman getting up with energy – and giving back with gratitude – and not in some big and dramatic way, but in an ordinary way.

             Really, it’s an example of living generously.  She is a giver – and when she is healed, what is the first thing she does? 

            She gives.  She serves.  She cooks and makes her guests feel at home.

            So this is a great example of how healing is not an end point – it’s a beginning point. 

            Or maybe it’s both an end – and a beginning. 

           

            When we are healed by Jesus, when we are set free by Jesus, when we are given life and forgiveness and hope by Jesus – it’s the end of one thing – but it’s the beginning of another. 

            It’s the beginning of a new purpose in life, the beginning of hands and  hearts and lives more open – the beginning of living with generosity. 

            But here’s what else I think about – when I think about Peter’s mother-in-law – I just hate to have her gifts restricted to cooking and cleaning. 

            Those are good gifts.  But they are not the only gifts – and not the only gifts for women. 

            Recently I read somewhere that the word here for service – it’s the greek word “diakonia” by the way, is used in scripture two different ways.  If the subject is a woman, diakonia is translated “serve” or “wait on”. 

            But if the subject is a man, or men, the word is translated as “served as a deacon”, “did a deacon’s job.” 

            Hmmm.

             And what was a deacon’s job?  In the early church, deacons were servants, that’s for sure.

             But what they did was organize in the church to make sure that those who were needy got their needs met by the resources of the community. 

            They operated the food bank, for example.  Made sure the money collected went to the people who needed it.    As one commentator put it – they connected “the need with the resource.”

            And this perspective answers a question that I have about this scripture reading.  How did all of those people – the needy people – find out about Jesus, and where he was staying?  Was it just the mysterious Holy Spirit? 

            Maybe.  OR maybe Peter’s mother-in-law was doing a deacon’s job – not just making the stew and cleaning the house – but going out and telling people where the resource could be found – the healer for all of their hearts, and bodies and souls. 

            Need – and resource.  That’s what it means to be a deacon.  That’s what it means to be a servant.  

             I recently read a story about a priest In Bolivia, Father Pedro Arrupe. 

            One day Father Arrupe was invited to the home of a poor member of his congregation. 

            “The man had a gift for the padre, he explained.  So Arrupe accompanied the man and was led to a shack, where the man lived with his wife and children.  It was so rough, small, and spare, it took Arrupe’s breath away.  He was moved so deeply, his eyes brimmed with tears.  Then The man led him to a huge opening  in the wall.  Not a window but just a hole, and he pointed.  It was a sunset.   That was his gift.  *

            Need – and resource.   He brought the priest to the Sunset – and it was an ordinary miracle.

            Because we all need healing – of some kind or another – and we all have gifts to share – holes through which we show and share the glory of God.  

            And there is more kind of healing – and what do we do – when we leave here?   And when we share – when we serve – we become ordinary miracles. 

            Because despite everything about us that is marred and flawed and wounded and broken, we show forth the glory of God. 

            We connect our children to the one who made sunsets, and beauty, and them. 

            We connect homeless families with food and shelter and the love of God.  We connect sinners with the source of healing and hope.

            Need – and resource.

            Come to the table and open your hands to receive the life and healing you need. 

            And then go – as an ordinary miracle – to share that healing with others. 

            AMEN

           

*the story about Father Aruppe I found in “Barking tothe Choir,” Father Gregory Boyle

For the insight about the work of the deacons in the early church, I am indebted to Richard Swanson, and his essay from "Provoking the Gospel"

Ordinary Miracles

This was the last part of my sermon this morning….

Here it is:  All Saints Sunday, and one of the things I love about this day is that it is all about ordinary miracles. 

            All Saints Day is not a day to remember and celebrate famous people who have done great things, but it is a day to remember and give thanks for the ordinary miracles – the ordinary saints – in our lives.   Some of them we will name here in a little while.  Some of them we will name in the silence of our hearts.  Some of them are well known to our whole congregation.  Some of them are only known to a few of us.  They are ordinary people, but they were washed in the waters of baptism, and the light shines of Christ shines in them.  Their names are Don and Jan, Jean and Jim, Grace and Herlanda, Ivar and Emil and Otto and Marian and Gisela.  Some of them sang in the choir, and some of them worked in the kitchen, and some of them fought in wars, and some of them took meals on wheels to shut ins.  Some of them were healers, and some of them were teachers, some of and some of them – like the little girl who told Naaman about the prophet Elisha – some of them have names known only to a few people, or only to God.  Some were important, like Naaman – but all of them are saints because this ordinary miracle happened to them – they were washed in the waters of baptism, they were cleansed from sin, they were named children of God, and the light of Jesus shines in them.  Today we remember them.  Ordinary saints.  Beloved by God. 

            Today I am thinking of so many saints, so many ordinary, holy people.   To be holy is to be set apart for a particular purpose.  I am thinking about saints and what I learned from them.  I am thinking about Harriet, who made it her simple practice to name ten blessings every day.  Ten blessings.  And who taught me to see blessings in unexpected places.  And people.  I am thinking about Jim, who considered going into the ministry.  He became a teacher.  And he DID go into the ministry.  He was set aside for this purpose.   I am thinking about Pearl, who reminded us that Jesus is in this place with us, even when we are fighting and arguing with each other.  I am thinking of Gil, who taught me that to be passionate about the gospel and to be passionate about social justice were the same thing, part of the same discipleship, sharing the love of God with the world.  And I am thinking about Jean  and Jan, who were healers by vocation, and who knew the difference between being healed and being cured,

who knew that even though they were not cured, they were healed, because the hope of Jesus living in them never died. 

            I am thinking of so many ordinary miracles.  Including you. 

            Each one of you.

            Someday we will all worship around the throne of the lamb in the place where there is no more death, and no more pain, where the lamb will be the light.

             In the meantime, each of us here is a miracle. 

            By some miracle, Jesus lives in us and Jesus shines through us. 

            Right here and now.  Alleluia.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN

All the Pretty Little Parables

Here's a secret:  I like the little parables, the ones we heard in church last week (mustard seed, yeast, treasure-in-field, pearl, net-of-fish) better than many of the longer parables that Jesus tells.  I especially like these little parables better than the parables where Jesus has to break down and give an explanation of the parable a little while later.   I prefer the eye-brow raising ambiguity of these stories more than the dreadful clarity of the parable of the sower, or at least its explanation.  Perhaps I just prefer ambiguity.  Or the possibility of a surplus of meaning.

There they are, a handful of one-sentence stories, challenging me to squeeze the Kingdom of God into six words, or a 120 character tweet, or a three-line haiku.  They are the Shortest Parables Ever, full of simple complexity, or complex simplicity.  They seem to mean one thing, but if you turn them over, and look on the underside, you discover unknown worlds.  The mustard seed seems to be a parable about tiny seeds growing into great trees, until you realize that the mustard tree is really a bush, not a tree, and to make matters worse, an invasive species, like buckthorn or creeping charlie or even the oregano I didn't plant this year, but which appeared anyway.  The mustard seed seems to be a nice parable about the smallest amount of faith doing wonderful things, until you start thinking about what it means to be an invasive species in a world that isn't always wild about you.

They are all like that, these parables.  Think harder about the treasure in the field, and how weird it is that the man finds the treasure and then hides it again in the field.  Why not just take the treasure?  No, he hides it and then he goes and sells everything he has so he can buy the whole field.  The kingdom of heaven is like that.  Get it?  (Okay, not really.)  There's an irrational, extravagant, even wasteful joy to it.

I tell you, it makes me hear the story this week:  the story of the feeding of the five thousand, in a whole different way.  Having come from three straight weeks of parables, I can't totally get them out of my system.  I still think I'm hearing a story.  I want to say:  "The Kingdom of heaven is like five loaves and two fish, which, when they were divided up and shared, were enough to feed everyone, with leftovers."

Or possibly, I want to say, "The Kingdom of heaven is like 5,000 uninvited guests (not including women and children) who come over when all you wanted was to be alone."

I used to think that the issue with this parable was whether or not it really was a miracle.  Did Jesus really feed 5,000 people with five loaves and two fishes?  Did the menu literally expand?  There are those who say that what really happened was that hearts expanded instead; when Jesus broke the bread and blessed it, all of those who were so afraid to share what they had suddenly changed their minds.  There was always enough.  They just had to decide to share it.

But now I'm thinking of the story as a parable, just like those last three weeks of parables, just like the little parables we heard last week.  It shows us a glimpse of the kingdom of heaven, where in the midst of grieving and injustice, God is making a new world:  delicious, messy, with more leftovers than we can handle.  It also invites us to see parables in the stuff of our own lives:  ordinary, abundant, miraculous, ambiguous.

Once, long ago, I lived for a month with a small group of German Lutheran sisters out in the desert in Arizona.  They lived by faith, they said, which means that they did not go shopping, but gardened and prayed and trusted God for their food.  I was not sure how it worked.  But I remember one Sunday evening when our cupboards were bare, that we sat in the living room and prayed and prayed.  While we were praying the doorbell rang.  Someone had dropped off two bags of groceries.  I knew that I couldn't count on things like this happening all the time.  At the same time I also knew:  the kingdom of heaven is similar to this.

So the Kingdom of heaven is like yeast, a pearl, a net -- and five loaves and two fish divided, which were enough.  The Kingdom of heaven is like a fresh bouquet of flowers left outside your door, or like a ball of yarn of many colors, being woven into a mysterious garment fit for a king.  The kingdom of heaven is like a room at the nursing home, where an old woman lays dying, when a young woman runs in and tenderly kisses her on the forehead.  The Kingdom of heaven is like that.

Get it?  (Not entirely, I admit.)

But that is all right.  There is more to life than understanding.  There is the surplus of meaning, the Kingdom of heaven breaking in, breaking our hearts, feeding us, in more ways than one.