Walking the Talk

(a sermon for September 27, 2020, the 17^th Sunday after Pentecost, based on Matthew 21:23-32)

Let me just say this up front:  I could have been either one of those two sons!

I actually remember a whole lot of times growing up when my father would ask me to do chore or another – raking leaves in the front yard, for instance, or stacking firewood in the garage at camp – and just like the second son in Jesus’ parable I would say, if not altogether happily, then mostly willingly, “Sure, Dad, I’ll do that!” But somehow, I never seemed to get the job done: there was always something else I “needed” to do first, always something that I wanted to be doing rather than the job I was supposed to be doing!  And the best part of all is that I always had a perfectly reasonable, well thought out reason for not doing the job right then: I had the chance to hang out with my friends, for instance; or  it was kind of looking like rain and I didn’t want to get wet;  or (and thinking back, this excuse is my personal favorite), it’s only October, and all the leaves haven’t fallen off the trees yet, so why bother even trying to rake till all the leaves have come down?  Suffice to say, in my callow youth I was the very model of that second son who tells his father, “I go, sir,” out into the vineyard, but “did not go.”

On the other hand, however, I can also recall a few times when I cussed and moaned pretty much without ceasing over some chore or another, to the point where I pretty much refused to cooperate because it wasn’t fair and none of the other kids had to do this kind of hard labor!  So just like the first son of the parable, I said, “I will not.”  But then, those were often the times when, for whatever reason – be it wanting to please my parents or to not be grounded – I changed my mind and did the job I was asked to do.

Like I said before:  I could have been either of those two sons in Jesus’ parable.  But which of these two responses do you think pleased my parents the most (ignoring, for the moment, that they would probably would have been the happiest if I’d just said yes and done the job in the first place!)?  Certainly, when I (to borrow a phrase from another parable) “came to myself,” and went to do the job that I’d previously refused to do, perhaps having learned a lesson or two along the way!

At the end of the day, you see, our talk matters very little; it is the way that we “walk the talk” that is truly important.  As the old saying goes, “actions speak louder than words,” and not only that, actions have a way of showing forth our true selves, especially as it pertains to our place in the Kingdom of God.

Our text for this morning from Matthew’s gospel is set just after Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, and just a few days before his crucifixion on Good Friday; so already there is an inevitably about the events that are unfolding.  In fact, as Rev. Nikki Hardeman of McAfee School of Theology has written, as we pick up the reading today, “emotions are high, the politics are tense, and Jesus has a sense of the danger his life is in,” and “we also see Jesus laying all of his chips on the table and not holding back on his teaching.”

With all that in mind, now we have “the chief priests and elders of the people” coming to Jesus in the temple to challenge him regarding the “authority” by which he can teach the way he does.  It is, of course, a classic “gotcha question” on their part: if, they reasoned, Jesus answers in defiance of their authority as priests and elders, he could be accused of blasphemy, but if Jesus answers in deference to those religious leaders, essentially “walking back” his revolutionary teachings, he’d most certainly lose credibility with the people; which, as far as the scribes and Pharisees were concerned, would be a “win-win” for them!  Jesus, however, was not about to get caught in that kind of trap and so, as was typical of Jesus, answered the elders’ question with a question of his own, this one regarding baptism of John, a question that the temple leadership had no intention of addressing!

So there they all were; and it’s in the midst of this long and very awkward silence that Jesus shares the aforementioned parable about the two sons and their different responses to doing the will of their father.  And what becomes immediately clear is that there’s more going on in this story than the comparative work ethic of that vineyard owner’s two sons!  What Jesus is doing here – quite succinctly, in fact – is calling out those so-called “righteous uprights” who claim to and who may even appear to be following God but who, in truth of fact, do not; while at the same time, putting forth the notion that perhaps there are those who by their reckoning, aren’t doing “the will of the Father,” so to speak, but are in fact doing in every way they are able the will of God!  In fact, Jesus goes on to say to this very silent group of priests and elders, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you.”  (Which, by the way, was a statement not only shocking in and of itself, but also one rife with the politics of the time: because what Jesus was saying was that even those who were collaborators with the Roman occupation – as were many tax collectors of the time – as well as those who sold out their very faith to other religions and other nations – which was in the parlance of ancient Israel was regarded as akin to prostitution – would be more qualified for God’s kingdom than even these priests and elders, who were considered to be among the greatest adherents of the law and the prophets!).  In other words, says Jesus, what you all say about faith and law and authority means nothing at all (!) unless that is actually practiced; unless you are “walking the talk” of righteousness and faith all these other so-called sinners will get into the kingdom ahead of you.

This text offers up the perfect denouement of how Palm Sunday became Good Friday, as well as a great illustration of the hypocrisy of the religious establishment of Jesus’ time.  What’s interesting, though, is that this parable of Jesus also has a way of speaking to our own attitudes of what constitutes true faith and by extension the status of our own access to the kingdom.

To put a finer point on this, how easy is it for us to become a tad, shall we say, judgmental as to who may or may not be faithful in their walk or who are doing God’s work in their lives.  Don’t think this doesn’t happen, friends: after all, we are currently living in days when people regularly make judgments as to the character of others based solely on their differing political views; so why wouldn’t that also happen as a response to matters of religion and faith?  I remember, for instance, years ago as a young pastor serving on an ecumenical planning board charged with creating a charter for a Christian-based community youth center; but this was a job that was never completed because there were some on the board who refused to sign on because they argued that there were other people and churches in the community who were not Christian “enough” to be a part of the outreach (the project, sadly, fell apart in the wake of the arguing).

So, yes, it is tempting to dismiss those who we don’t think are doing the will of God: maybe their theology is different from ours; maybe the choices they’ve made in their lives don’t scream “capital G-good church people,” maybe we struggle with their points of view on some issues, or maybe they’re just… different from us.   And so we cast them in the mold of the second son, the one who was quick to cut and run on anything we’d consider to be true to the faith… what we do, you see, if I can quote Nikki Hardeman again, is “to judge based on what we see, when what we see is a very small part of the picture!”  And what makes this all the more ironic is that at the same time we’re apt not to recognize that there are a good many “believers” out there, maybe even a few of us who are more like the first son than we’d like to admit, people who seem to be doing everything right but whose faith ends up being shallow at best.

And here’s Jesus, who’s asking us now, “Who do you think is doing God’s will… the one who’s saying, “Lord, Lord, yes, yes, sure, sure,” only to fall away at the first sign of… anything; or the one who’s been struggling to live up to what they should be and how they should live and ends up with a deeper and more sincere faith than anyone ever thought possible? 

Well, Jesus has the answer… and it’s the same one that the temple leadership was given: it’s the one who said “no,” and then relented in doing God’s will; the one who understood on some level, to quote David Lose, that “each moment is pregnant with the possibility of receiving God’s grace, repenting of things we’ve done or were done to us, returning to right relationship with God and those around us, and [truly] receiving the future as open rather than determined,” and then doing everything possible to opening themselves to the Kingdom and everything that God has to offer.

And what does this mean for you and for me in this very strange, uncertain and divisive days of 2020?  Well, first off, it’s a reminder to you and me to, as the kids say, not to be so “judgey;” because God’s grace is amazing and that it extends to each and every one of his children “with the gift of acceptance and love and forgiveness that are the hallmarks of the kingdom Jesus proclaims,” (David Lose, again) regardless of how we might perceive their motivations, their experiences, or their worthiness.  So be careful, brothers and sisters, and judge not…

But I also think that there’s something else about his passage, and it’s that Jesus knows that we struggle at times with “doing the will of the Father” as it regards living up to what we profess to believe in faith.  Most especially right now: I dare say that there have been very few of us over the past six months who have not wondered aloud how anyone is supposed to live in love and with true Christian faith in times such as these; and who haven’t thought, however fleetingly, that perhaps – since the world is going to hell in a handbasket, after all (!) – that maybe we ought to cut and run and just do whatever we can to get by!  Bottom line is that the Lord knows what we’re going through in this strange and divisive time; but the Lord is also, even amidst our current struggles, is calling us to “embrace his grace” and “walk the talk,” returning to the vineyard of God’s kingdom in our midst.  We are called to do God’s work in this time and this place, in our time and our place; and by that work our faith will be made stronger.

Beloved, may you and I answer the call today… and as we do, may our thanks be to God!

Amen and AMEN!

© 2020  Rev. Michael W. Lowry.  All Rights Reserved.

 

Stooping Down

(An Online Message for September 20, 2020, the 16^th Sunday after Pentecost, based on Mark 9:30-37)

Her name was Emily, she was six years old, and she was a visitor at our church that Sunday morning.  Well, not exactly a visitor, as she and her family were long time members of the congregation I was serving at the time, but they’d moved away to Atlanta the year before, and this was their first time back with us since they’d left.  So at the fellowship hour after worship, we’d all crowded around these old friends to visit and get caught up.

I have to confess, at first I didn’t even realize that Emily was standing there, so involved was I in all the small talk flying around.  But Emily was there, patiently but quite persistently trying to get my attention.  First it was, “Mr. Lowry… Mr. Lowry… Mr. Lowry!” with the increasing sense of urgency and intensity that kids can do so well!  But such was the clamor of voices in the room and my lack of attentiveness that this wasn’t working, so then she moved on to repeatedly yanking on the ministerial robe!  Now this I noticed; but how did I respond?  I gave her one of these (the wait a minute and shh! Finger!), and went back to my “adult” conversation.

But Emily was undaunted, and a minute or three later, when the crowd had dispersed, I finally looked down to find that Emily’s eyes were completely fixed on any sign she might be granted an audience with her former pastor.  At this point, I’m finally starting to get it, and bending close so I could see and hear her, I say “And how are you, Emily?” 

And Emily, bless her, started to tell me:  about her new school, her teacher, her classmates, how hot Atlanta is, about what she had for breakfast that morning and other matters crucial in the life of a first grader.  The conversation didn’t really last all that long – she got bored with me pretty quickly – and when she was done, Emily gave me a big hug and ran off to be with the other kids of the church.  The whole scene made me laugh, but I have to tell you that I’ve never forgotten that particular pastoral conversation; not so much because of how incredibly important it was to her to tell me about all her adventures, but how much more important it was that I stooped down to really listen!

Wouldn’t you agree that in any true act of caring and love, you’re going to find someone “stooping down” in some way or another?  For instance, if you’re in a serious conversation with someone, one of the non-verbal signals that that person is truly listening to you is that they’ll lean in just a little bit, as if to say, “I’m coming a little closer, because I want to make sure I get every word.”  Likewise, if you’ve ever visited someone in the hospital, then you know how awkward it can be standing by the hospital bed and towering over this person who is feeling weak and sick; so what do you do, or at least what did you do in the days before Covid? You leaned over, or you knelt down, or you pulled up a chair so you can be at their level!  

It’s within such relatively small considerations that are found a spirit of caring and love (and, might I add, if you’ve had a loved one sick or hospitalized over the past several months, then you know that these are the considerations that are truly missed!).  Robert Browning, the great 19^th century poet, says this beautifully in a verse we hear a lot at Christmastime: “Such ever was love’s way – to rise, it stoops.”  And according to Jesus, such is the kingdom of God.

In our text for this morning, Jesus and his disciples have journeyed through Galilee to the village of Capernaum.  They’ve reached the house where they’re staying, and this is when Jesus turns to the disciples and asks, “What were you arguing about on the way?”  Another simple question from Jesus without an easy answer, not to mention another one that’s met with embarrassed silence,  because what they’d been doing out there on the road was arguing about their legacy; specifically, who among them would be eventually be remembered as the best and greatest of disciples!  And even they know how inappropriate that was, not to mention ironic: after all, here was Jesus, who in every aspect of his life was the least, lowest, and servant of all and who’d just barely explained to them that this pilgrimage they were on would inevitably lead to betrayal and his death that would become this incredible sacrifice for the sake of a sinful humanity!  And yet, still here were these disciples all bickering over their own greatness! 

Well, Jesus’ response to this is, to say the least, swift and decisive: “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all,” and to illustrate this point, he takes a child who’s there in the house and “puts it among them” as a living parable.  Cradling this little one in his arms, Jesus says to them, “Whoever embraces one of these children as I do embraces me, and far more than me – God who sent me.” (The Message)

It’s a beautiful and familiar image; but we need to understand that this was no small gesture on Jesus’ part.  When we read this passage, you see, no doubt we think of children like our own; you know, cute and personable, little bundles of energy and personality.  But in Jesus’ time, children were not always viewed that way; but rather as unbridled bundles of chaos of little worth to the world. Many children in those days were sold into slavery, and that’s if they hadn’t already been cast out of society or killed, especially if they were girls. At best, children were to be seen and not heard, and then, not seen very much.

In Mark, when Jesus speaks of “welcoming” a child, the Greek word that’s used is decomai, which translates to mean “to receive or fully accept.”  What this means in the context of this passage is that we have this child who in the scheme of Palestinian life, power and culture means… little or nothing at all.  Jesus, however, embraces that child with love and affection and then says to the others, when you fully receive and accept this little one who’s weak, powerless, unappreciated and unworthy, you’re accepting me.  Now there’s a powerful image:  Jesus is saying, this is how you become “the greatest of all.” For you see, the Kingdom of God is entered through a very small door: in order to get in, you have to stoop to the level of a child!

Two thousand years later, of course, it’s safe to say that we do view the place of children differently and in a more enlightened fashion – in fact, for the most part, in our society today we place a high value on welcoming children, as well as on their welfare and nurture – understanding, of course, that the rising numbers of hurt, abused, abandoned and poverty-stricken children ought to be enough to remind us that as a people, we still have a ways to stoop to reach the level of a child and alleviate that pain. 

But that having been said, friends, I want to suggest to you this morning that for us to focus this text solely on children, as is very tempting to do, is to miss the point of what Jesus is saying.  The fact is, the child that Jesus is holding in his arms could be that homeless man who stands with his sign “Will work for food” down on Fort Eddy Road.  Or it could be that teenager who’s out on the street, abused, forgotten and pregnant, quite literally with no one to go home to.  Or for that matter, maybe it’s your neighbor who has faced such a barrage of tests and needles and chemotherapy that they are physically, emotionally and spiritually beaten down, to the point of feeling as though they don’t even really exist any longer… and being stuck in quarantine isn’t helping the situation at all.  Look in the arms of Jesus, friends, and you’ll see that in his loving embrace he’s cradling those who are weak and hurting and powerless, the outsiders and the nobodies.  Welcome these, Jesus says, receive these who are the least of all, and you’ll be receiving me. 

And whoever receives me, dear one, receives the one who sent me.

It’s still an important lesson, friends, because in truth, it’s all so very tempting, and easy, for us as Christians to glory at who we are!    I mean,  don’t misunderstand me here; I don’t want to overstate this, because I know that most of us don’t run around with an “holier than thou” attitude!   But it’s also true that in the empowerment our faith gives us, as well as in our joy of being with and serving God, there is always a danger of our standing so tall we’ll miss those below.

And that’s why we need Jesus, friends; and in this instance, not so much the “Jesus, Friend, Kind and Gentle” we love to sing about but rather the Jesus of Hard Truth who challenges us to live with a Servant’s heart.  If you’re going to follow me, he says, it begins by reaching out and reaching down into the places of hurt and suffering, stooping down as you go, so that you might be at the same level as those who have been beaten down by life and living, and love them as I have loved you.

This is the gospel of Jesus Christ, friends, and it’s a gospel that applies globally and societally; but never forget that it’s a gospel that applies first to you and me, here and now. Simply put, sometimes the best thing you and I ever do for others is to simply be with them, bringing the love of Christ to them in exactly the places where they are. 

One of the questions I get asked a lot as a pastor is what one is supposed to say to someone who’s just had a death in the family.  We’ve all been there, haven’t we: we’ve gone to the visiting hours, and we wonder how we can possibly get by the awkwardness of the moment and say something, anything that might give our friend some comfort in this horrible grief their experiencing; or at least not say something that will inadvertently make things worse! 

But, you see, the thing is that we really don’t have to worry about that: because it’s not really about what we say; the fact is, what they’re going to remember later on are not our words of eloquence and wisdom, or even that we were at a loss for words.  What they remember is that we were there; that we, that we looked them in the eyes to see their sadness; that we took their hands in ours and we hugged them (if only, these days, in a socially-distanced fashion!) and cried with them for a bit.  Maybe the only words spoken were “I’m sorry,” if that; but it spoke volumes, and trust me, we did more good in that moment, offered more healing, showed more love than we ever thought possible.  And all simply because we cared, and we showed that care by stooping down low enough that we might touch, and fell and share in their pain and grief.

Beloved, if you want an example of how to be “Christ-like” in these troubled times, there it is:  if we can love like that, if we will choose to love like that, letting Christ’s love be manifest in us, then we are not far from the kingdom of God.  As Christians, as followers of Jesus Christ, this is our life’s calling, yours and mine, wherever we are; to love one another with a love that stoops. As it says elsewhere in scripture, “Truly… just as you did it to one of the least of these… you did it to me.”

Go forth and serve the Lord today with that kind of love.  And may our thanks be unto God!

AMEN and AMEN.

© 2020  Rev. Michael W. Lowry.  All Rights Reserved.

 

And That Is What We Are

(An Online Message for September 13, 2020, based on 1 John 3:1-7)

It has newly occurred to me this summer that each day as I set out to face both the world and the challenges that await me there, I leave carrying a great deal of “stuff” along with me.

 Mostly, it’s the things you’d expect: my wallet, keys, phone, sunglasses, maybe some pocket change; and of course, these days you don’t go anywhere without a mask!  Just the everyday essentials for what you’ve got to do every day, right?  But along with all the rest of it, I also carry with me something of much greater importance; and in fact, in your own way, so are each one of you: because each one of us, wherever we go and in whatever we do, brings with us who we are.  Actually, in truth of fact, we carry with us several identities by which we are recognized and distinguished by others; and these are the ways that quite often serve to determine how we relate with those around us.

For instance, I’m Lisa’s husband, I’m my kids’ Dad; I’m also (and shall ever be!) my mother’s son (true story: one day last month while my mother was still in the hospital, I had to go to her bank; and not only did I not know anybody working there, nor had I introduced myself – and I was wearing a mask – the woman behind the counter immediately greeted me by asking how my mother was doing after her fall (!) …she told me afterward she knew who I was because of my eyes!).  And besides that, I’m a son-in-law, a father-in-law and a brother-in-law as well as an uncle to several nieces and nephews. I am a proud resident of the Granite State, but most assuredly a native “Main-uh;” moreover, I’m an American citizen, a tax payer and a voter, thank you very much.  

And to a great many people, I’m also identified, perhaps primarily, as a church pastor.  Now I realize not everybody knows me that way but I have to tell you that over the years I’ve been continually amazed by the number of those outside of the churches I serve who do see me that way, and who approach me just on the basis of that: people (even strangers!) who just want to talk about faith, particularly, as of late, as it applies to these strange and tumultuous times in which we live.   And I’ve never minded that, because I’ve always felt that part of my identity as “a minister” is to pastor to the larger community.

On the other hand, however, I have to be careful not to assume too much: once a few years back, on a day when I happened to be all dressed up in a shirt and tie, I was at a mall department store; and this elderly woman came up behind me, tapped me on the shoulder, and when I’d turned around she said, “You!  Do you know where the light bulbs are?”  Now, for some strange reason, I went right into “pastor mode.”  I simply smiled at this lady and answered, “Well, probably down near the light fixtures, but I don’t really know for sure. Why don’t we find somebody to ask?”  To which this lovely lady replied in a huff, “You don’t know!?  Don’t you work here?”

 So I suppose there are times when that pastoral identity doesn’t come into play, but then again, there have been many other strange and powerful moments over the years when for some unknown reason I have encountered individuals who, right in that place where we were, at that precise moment of the day or night needed me to be… a pastor. These are the moments when this identity I carry as pastor, as a Christian, as a Child of God comes to the forefront, and it suddenly becomes clear to me that this is where I’m supposed to be and what I’m supposed to be doing at this particular moment.  This is who I am.

 And I don’t share this with you this morning to let you know what a great person I am, but rather as a reminder to each of you that you carry this same identity.  No, your job description may not list “pastor” as its title; and even as a person of faith, you might not always consider yourself to be particularly “religious” as it relates to what you do for a living.

On the other hand, though, perhaps for you there was that moment when a friend or a neighbor chose your shoulder on which to cry, and even as you were offering up some comfort, silently you were wondering why you, and not someone else!  Or maybe it was when you found yourself in the middle of a conflict and were surprised to realize that yours had become the voice of reason and reconciliation; or in these strange days of pandemic, that you somehow became the example of hope and strength for the people around you! Or maybe at a time when it was far easier to turn away, you were the one to stand up and speak out for that which is only right and just, or you were the one who rushed in to risk love and care to those in need.  Let me tell you, friends; if any of this applies to you – and I suspect it might – the truth is that you might be more of a “minister” than you think!

For you see, one of the hallmarks of our Christian faith is that as Christians, each of us serves as a reflection of the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.  You may well carry a number of identities in your life – man, woman, spouse, parent, child, friend, worker, teacher, coach, retiree, student – but in and through all of these you carry a name that is given by God and which connects you to God!  Just as a child is a reflection of his or her parents, you too are a reflection of your heavenly parent, a true child of God. That’s the “lesson” of scripture today: “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are.” That is what we are!  That is who I am, and that is who you are! 

So often our mistake is that we assume we work our way up to become children of God.  But our reading from 1 John this morning makes it very clear that we’re already there! We are God’s children now, a status and relationship that is the gift and consequence of God’s love, demonstrated in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.”

And this is good news indeed!  As William Willimon has put it, the best thing about all this is that this is God’s work, not ours.  “I do not always feel like a child of God,” he says.  “I do not always look like a child of God.  God knows I do not always act like a child of God!  But I am.  I am one of God’s children not because of what I did or because of who I am but because God chose me, out of all the universe, to be his child.”

 And so, in love, we have been chosen, you and I.  We’ve been given a new identity, and that transforms… everything! But we need to understand that along with this new identity comes new responsibility.  What’s the first thing we read in 1^st John after this glorious affirmation of our being called Children of God?  It’s that “no one who abides in him sins: no one who sins has either seen him or known him.”  Or, as The Message goes on to translate it, “Don’t let anyone divert you from the truth. It’s the person who acts right who is right, just as we see it lived out in our righteous Messiah.” In other words, a change of identity means a change of stance!  Suddenly, it’s no longer appropriate to do that which goes against our relationship with God.  From here on out, it’s going to matter what it is we reflect toward others; we’re going to need to show forth love and righteousness rather than sin and disobedience; for friends, whatever shines out from us is now a reflection of God!

To be child of God, you see, carries with it the weight of responsible living, of words that speak the true nature of one’s Christian faith, and actions that speak louder than those words; not that we always succeed at that. 

Do you know that there are stores where you can actually rent an engagement ring? Seriously!   I don’t know where this place is, but a few years ago I read an interview with the manager of a store in Boston that was created for just this purpose, and he explained that there are a lot of men who are thinking about proposing to their significant others, but aren’t quite sure if they want to follow through!  And so, not to have make a full commitment of time or money, these men rent the ring for 30 days in order to make their half-hearted proposal!  (Ah, romance!)

Well, folks, there are a great many people today who are living out their faith in exactly the same manner: half-heartedly, with no real commitment nor with any depth to what they believe at all.  But you and I, who are called children of God – for “that is what we are” – and we are called to something more.  We are called to be a reflection of God in all the ways that we speak and live and love; most especially in these days of pandemic when our “visibility,” so to speak, has been forced into the background.

I wonder what kind of commitment, what kind of love and compassion, what kind of faith people see when they look at us.   I mean, it’s one thing to have a sign out front that says “We are the church no matter where or how we meet,” but how is that actually perceived out in the world?  How are we seen, beloved?  Do people see in us merely a half-hearted effort to be good, or at least good enough people; or do they see a shining example of righteousness; people who are not led astray by whatever seems easier or more expedient or personally beneficial for the short term, but who do the right thing in keeping with the Lord’s principles, standing up, speaking out and living what we believe even if that means taking a personal risk for doing so?

It comes down to our statement of faith, made real and “identifiable” in our identity as children of God…

… and that is what we are, beloved: in the work we do, in the ways we relate to one another, in the ways we seek to be faithful in all our dealings, in what we intend for the world.  This day and every day, may that faith come shining through in every large and small happen, in every good word and every warm embrace.  In all things, may our identity be rooted in the love of Jesus Christ!

Thanks be to God!

Amen and AMEN.

© 2020  Rev. Michael W. Lowry.  All Rights Reserved.