Sunday Sermon

"All I Need to Know...."

A number of years ago a small essay was published and immediately became wildly popular. It’s the kind of essay that you’d find going around the internet these days, forwarded around the country via email. Except that this was before email, and still, it seemed that everyone had heard of this simple little essay. It was written by a man named Robert Fulgham (who wrote a few other things, I’ve heard), and it was called "All I need to know, I learned in kindergarten."
It contained such simple wisdom as:
"Share Everything.
Play Fair.
Don’t Hit People.
Say you’re sorry when you hurt someone.
Warm cookies and milk are good for you.
Take a nap every afternoon.
When you got out into the world, watch for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.".
And I wonder just why it is that this essay got so popular? Perhaps because the lessons seemed so basic, so simple, so fundamental. Wouldn’t the world be a better place if we all did simple things like this? And perhaps because for many of us, kindergarten was the foundation of our life of learning. Back before the lessons got real complicated, back before there was higher math and world relations, back before there were prepositions and psychology – there was kindergarten. And we’d like to think that the things we learned at the beginning of our life, provided a foundation that set us on the right direction throughout our life.

In a way, every single lesson for this weekend has something to do with foundations. The gospel lesson, with its picture of solid and sandy foundations, the words of Moses, exhorting the Israelites to remember the things that God taught them, and to teach them to the children, the reading from Paul about the bedrock of the gospel: the power of salvation. Every single lesson this weekend has something to do with foundations: foundations of faith, the basic instructions, the things we most want to teach our children, the things we most want them to know: the simple lessons like: share everything. Play fair. Say you’re sorry.... hold hands and stick together. What are the foundations of our faith, what are the things we most want our children to know, to believe, to hold onto? Every single lesson today has something to do with foundations, so you know, it must be important. But for today, and to begin, I want to take a look at the gospel story, the story of the wise and foolish men, the ones who built on rock and sand.

Jesus tells the people who are gathered, "The one who hears these words of mine and acts on them is like a wise man who built his house on a rock." Is anyone here curious at all about what Jesus is referring to when he says THESE WORDS OF MINE? These are the words to hear and to act on, and if we do them, if we live them, we are considered wise. Jesus is speaking here at the conclusion of a sermon: he is actually finishing off his famous "Sermon on the Mount," which is full of simple instructions on how to live. Did you know that the Golden Rule, "Do to others as you would have them do to you" is from the Sermon on the Mount? Matthew 7:12. You can look it up. And there are other simple instructions for living in this sermon as well: "Do not just, so that you may not be judged." "Do not store up treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume." "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you." "Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect." Okay, perhaps the sentences are simple, but not so simple to DO. In fact, if we are honest with ourselves, really honest with ourselves, we’ll admit that it’s really difficult, really impossible to do most of the things Jesus preaches about in the Sermon on the Mount – just like, it’s really difficult even to follow some of the simple lessons we learned in Kindergarten. The words are simple, but the lessons are not easy: whether it is to "share everything" and "play fair" or "Say we’re sorry" or even "treat others the way you would want to be treated." And yet Jesus completes his Sermon by telling us: "The one who hears these words and ACTS on them is wise.

You know, in studying around, I have come upon a lot of Bible scholars who deal with these words of Jesus by kind of trying to sweep them under the carpet, telling us: here is why they don’t really apply to us. For example, they say: This is the way it’s going to be when Jesus comes back, but of course there’s no way we can live by these words now, some people say. It's true, it would be a better world if everyone could live by Jesus' teaching -- but -- it's not going to happen. And yet -- there's something foundational in Jesus' words -- the Sermon on the mount ---- there's something basic -- and we see it in his conclusion, in the story of the wise and foolish men, who built on rock and sand. The one who built on rock: that’s easy enough to understand. Rock is solid, sure, and immovable. But sand: what’s that about? In the story, this is not just any sand: the foolish man builds his house on something called a "wadi", which is a dried-up river bed. It’s the dry season now, but inevitably, the rainy season will come, and that sandy place will become a river again. Why wold anyone build a house in a place where they know there will be a river sometime in the future?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the elementary school in China that fell down so quickly and completely because they used poor materials. The people who were building must not have been thinking of the long-range consequences of what they were doing. For some reason or another, they weren’t thinking about the future. They weren’t thinking about the earthquake that would inevitably occur. Now I can’t read their minds and tell you why: whether it was greed and desire for profit, or poverty and a desperate attempt to get something up quickly. Whatever the reason, in the earthquake, that school did not stand. And it’s ironic that this was a school, a place where future citizens and workers are educated. I was reading an article that talked about one of the parents, and how he scrimped and saved to get his child into that school, because education represented hope for him, hope for a better life for his child. And someone betrayed that hope, and the children suffered.

A couple of years ago we held a community forum here at (our church) on the topic of education. Really it was more like a "Table Talk" where we were encouraged to talk about our fears and our faith; our values and our hopes – for our children, and for all the children. There were no "experts" at this meeting, just citizens meeting to declare what they believed. And I remember that near the end of the meeting, the Superintendent of the Bloomington School District stood up and said, "The most important question about education to me is this, ‘Will our children have hope?’ Will they have the hope that a good education provides? Will they have hope for their future? – because you know, children who don’t have hope for their future get into trouble, join gangs, go astray. People who don’t have hope for the future build their dreams on lies and their houses on dry river beds. And the rains come. The rains always come.

Will our children have hope? Will our children have a strong foundation? You know, it's the SAME question. The foundation of our faith IS our hope -- the knowledge that because of Jesus' death and resurrection, we have a future. "We have been born anew to a live hope". And we need to go back to kindergarten to learn and relearn this lesson.

And we need to go back even farther than kindergarten. We need to go back to the baptismal font, where we were proclaimed beloved children of God, sealed by the the Holy Spirit, and marked with the cross of Christ forever. We need to go back to the baptismal font, where our basic identify "Child of God" is given to us as a gift, and where there is nothing we Have to do. We need to go back to the baptismal font, where we received a candle, and were called to "Let your light so shine before others so that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven." That's what we receive in baptism: a rock solid identity: beloved child of God -- and a calling to live up to -- to strive for.

When I was a girl, one of my uncles decided he wanted to build his own house, in southeastern Minnesota. I remember visiting them before they even got started. We camped in a tent on their property, and it seemed like an adventure to me (I don't know how it felt to my aunt). Of course, the first thing my uncle needed to do was to build the foundation, which was in this case the basement. And I have fond memories of that basement, for two reasons: they lived in the basement for a LONG time. I actually remember the basement better than any other part of their house. And also because they had (I thought) the most beautiful multicolored carpet squares on the floor, the kind you get cheap or free from the carpet store. Now it was a long time building this house, and it must have been discouraging at times, with failures, and mistakes, and setbacks, but my uncle had a vision of the finished house, what it looked like, what it would be, and that kept him going, despite discouraging times, and failures. He had a hope -- and that hope was also his foundation.

Everything we need to know -- we learned at the baptismal font -- where we received a rock solid identity "child of God" and a vision of mercy and justice to live by, to strive for, to hope for, for the rest of our lives. "Share everything." "Play fair." "Love your enemies." "When you cross the street, watch for traffic, hold hands, and stick together." And the peace of Christ, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds united in Christ Jesus. AMEN

An Emblem on our Forehead

The first lesson for this weekend, the one from Deuteronomy, exhorts us to remember the life-giving words of God's covenant. "You shall bind them as a sign on your hand," Moses says to the people. "And fix them as an emblem on your forehead. Write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates." My commentaries don't speak specifically about the purpose of having God's words on our hands and on our foreheads, but in my imagination, God's words are on or in our hands, so they are near to us, reminders to us of who and whose we are, and how we are to live. I wonder about the forehead though: perhaps the words are on our forehead not for our sake, but for our neighbors's. Perhaps God's words are an emblem on our forehead because our very lives proclaim God's goodness, and help others know and remember God's steadfast love.

This week I did something very stupid, which I will not be specific about. Let's just say that when I look in the mirror, I see a minor but noticeable injury. (Let's also just say I kind of "hit the wall, literally.) Every time I look at myself, I think, "How could I have been so stupid?" It's not exactly an emblem on my forehead, but it might as well be. It proclaims my utter brokenness, my weaknesses, my tendency to beat myself up. Deep down in my pretty-good, pretty-normal childhood, I also learned how to be ashamed, how to diminish myself, how to consider anything less than perfect not good enough, how to be afraid. It's called human sin. Try as I might to hide my bruise, people will see some of that when they look at me. But I also hope they see something else, something deeper and stronger.

"Child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever."

"You shall put these words of mine in your hearts and soul, and you shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and fix them as an emblem on your forehead."

Turnout

My evening began with the voice of one young man, rapping about his identity as a child of God and his experience of racism, and calling out periodically, "If not us, THEN WHO?" He walked up and down the center aisle of an inner city church, filled with Lutherans and Catholics and Baptists and Episcopalians and Methodists, Hispanics, African Americans, Asians and Anglo Christians. "If not us," he repeated, "THEN WHO?"

The question sticks with me. If not us, then who?

It's so easy to keep separate. I have many things on my mind, all the time: work, family, health, friends, the different pains others have confided, the little enrichments I have indulged in. All these take time, and are important. It's so easy to keep separate. But the question remains, If not us, then who?

I don't know how many people filled the church, people of faith, people of hope. Some people confessed their times of hopelessness, until they banded together to work for justice: in health care, in education, in living wage jobs, in housing. A Lutheran pastor cast a vision of a banquet table with room enough for all; an integrated Baptist choir sang Feast of the Lord and invited us to sing along, to come along, to eat at the banquet where there is room for all. The Pastor talked about the paralyzed man, and the friends who dared to mess with the roof of the house so that he could have a place at the banquet. "Do we dare to mess with the sytem?" "Yes!" we cried, together, and strong.

But it's so easy to keep separate. There are so many things to do, good things, and not enough people to do them.

The church was filled tonight, but there were many people who didn't come, who were invited. They weren't evil people, just busy people, with many things to do, things to juggle.

But some of us were there, and we know (or at least some of us know) (or at least we are beginning to know) that there is power, and there is hope in being together.

We are beginning to cast a vision for creating Healthy Communities, to dare to talk about Race and Justice, especially as it affects education among us.

I was in charge of "turnout" tonight. I called all the churches, and took their numbers, and encouraged them to not give up, and to keep calling and inviting their people to come. I didn't know, even at the last minute, whether the church would be full.

The church was full. And it was powerful.

Now we are used to saying that it doensn't matter how many come. "Wherever two or three are gathered" and all that. And that is true: wherever two or three are gathered, Jesus is present, doing his good work, softening hearts, strengthening the feeble knees and hands.

And yet: Turnout is important. Because some of us know, or are beginning to know, that there is power and there is hope in being together.

The hard work is still ahead. And of course, there are many ways through which we serve.

But "if not us, THEN WHO?"

Get Behind Me

It's a well-known fact that Martin Luther once threw an inkwell at the Devil. His adversary was prowling around, looking for someone to devour, and Martin would have none of it.


Some modern people might think him hopelessly superstitious, deluded, perhaps needing therapy. I on the other hand, think he was -- realistic. More and more in my life, and especially as I grow older, I find hidden wisdom in Martin's view on things.


We all have demons to fight, demons that try to keep us from doing the work God has called us to do. Some of us hear the devil hiss in our ears, "what you do does not really matter; you are really quite insignificant." Others hear, "what others think of you is what really counts." Or, "It has to be perfect. You can't make a mistake." Or, "You are justified by what you do, not who you are." Or, "You can't do that! You are (too old, too young, the wrong gender, ethnicity, not smart enough, or talented enough)."


We all have demons to fight, and anyone, even the nicest, most God-fearing person can be the devil, at a certain moment in time. When Peter said to Jesus, "This shall never happen to you, Lord!"(about his crucifixion), Jesus said to his best friend, "Get behind me, Satan!" Sometimes we have to say it, too.


When I was going to college, and people asked me if I would be getting my "Mrs. degree," implying that the only purpose for college for me would be to find a mate, I should have thought to myself, "Get behind me, Satan!" When I told someone I was going to be a pastor in South Dakota, and they said, "Oh, that's too bad," I should have said "Get behind me, Satan!" When people imply that the social justice work of the church is not integral to our congregation, but somehow peripheral and unimportant (and that I am somehow unimportant), I need to say, "Get behind me, Satan!"


We all have persistent demons to fight, as we seek to be faithful to God's call in our lives. And one of the keys to success is recognizing the demons when they appear, both within and without. The other is recognizing that we are first, last, and always, children of God.

Scout's accomplishment

Scout caught and ate a rabbit today.

We gather she feels good about herself right now. However, we don't feel the same about it.

I don't know. Perhaps she'll write about it later.

Any port in a storm...

Sunday brought severe weather warnings for the afternoon. Possible strong winds, hail and torrential rain, they said. However, sometime in the later afternoon, my husband said, "Hey, where's our rain?" It totally passed us by. Alas, the rain and stormy weather veered north, where, in Hugo and parts of Coon Rapids, a tornado wreaked havoc, killing a two year old and injuring others.

Saturday evening was the first thunderstorm of the thunderstorm season. We noticed the wind coming up first, the sky darkening, and then, just at bedtime, the loud cracks.

And Scout was gone.

We found her in my Husband's office, cowering under his desk. We called her to come to bed, but she stayed put. When I approached her, she flinched a little, and as I reached out to pet her, I could feel that she was trembling.

I finally convinced her to come to our bedroom for the evening. I moved her dog bed over to be closer to me, thinking that this would help.

But when she came into our room, the first thing she did was leap into bed with us -- all 58 pounds of her. My husband and I both started laughing. For the first time, I think we felt like parents comforting a two year old afraid of a storm. I, at least, imagined my girl saying, "Mom, can I sleep with you tonight?"

I do my best to comfort her.

And she returns the favor.

Memorial Day

It's Memorial Day. I can't think of anything new to say, but I'd like to direct you here.

Last year, I posted on this annual event at church. At around this time of year, we have honored one of our World War II veterans at a reception at church. We have heard a story of the heroism of an ordinary man.

More than flowers or memorial services or parades, I think the best way to honor this day is to listen: to listen, honoring the sacrifice and recognizing the horror that is war. Listen closely to the stories, for they will speak softly, these humble and haunted men and women. And they will speak the truth.

I think the second best thing is to realize that all ordinary people can be heroes, both in times of peace and in times of war.