reallifepastor

Because, yes.  The church is deeply flawed.  There are too many parts of the body of Christ who beat up on the fragile, the vulnerable, and the different.  But despite its flaws, the church is still the best means we have of sharing the Good news that God’s love is for everyone.  All of us can cite examples, personal experiences with churches that have gone bad–or worse yet, churches that have gone boring–but what might happen if church went right?  What might happen if we took the Gospel message seriously, this good news that God’s love REALLY is for everyone, the good news that God really does hope for everyone’s wholeness?  What might happen if we really tried to live out that message?

Oh, man!  Can you imagine if the church were “clicking on all cylinders?”  What might happen to this world if the entire body of Christ lived the good news of God’s love for every person?  What might happen to this church and the community around us if we got even more intentional about sharing the good news of God’s love?  Just think what we could do!  Just think what kind of return we’d get–that God’s kin-dom would get–if we invested even more of our time, talent, and treasure in this place!  Think of all the people whose lives would change– people whose lives would change!–because they experienced God’s love in this place, among these people.

Don’t you know that that’s why we’re here?  We’re here to live God’s love and share it with others so that their lives can change…

so that the spiritually hungry might be fed,

so that the wounded might be healed,

so that the grieving might find comfort,

so that the lonely might find friendship,

so that the weary might find rest,

so that the outcast might find acceptance,

so that we all might experience God=s love

and in that love discover our own worth,

our own dignity,

our own preciousness in God=s sight.

What we’re doing here is holy work!  We are busy building God’s kin-dom.  What will you invest?  

 In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.

 Kimberleigh Buchanan   (2007)  2011

Luke 12:13-21

Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” ¹⁴But he said to him, “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” ¹⁵And he said to them, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” ¹⁶Then he told them a parable: “The land of a rich man produced abundantly. ¹⁷And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ ¹⁸Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. ¹⁹And I will say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ ²⁰But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ ²¹So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”

            The next few Sundays, we’ll be looking at some of Jesus’ parables.  Last week we looked at a dramatic or acted-out parable—the time when Jesus turned the water to wine as a sign of the abundance of God’s love and grace.

            This week, we get a more traditional narrative parable, the story of the talents.  This parable—like most of Jesus’ parables—is about the kin-dom of God.  That means it reveals something about God’s dreams for how the world will be when all God’s children wake up and get to work helping God’s kin-dom come on earth as it is in heaven.                                

In this story, the kin-dom is like a man going on a journey who called together his servants and gave each of them a certain number of talents.  A talent in those days was a sum of money equal to about 15 years of a day laborer’s wages.   So, this man who’s going away on a journey gives 5, 2, and 1 talents, respectively, to three of his servants, then leaves.  The first two servants double their boss’s investment, yielding a total of 14 talents on an initial investment of 7.  When the boss returns from his journey, he’s pleased with their results.  ‘Well done, good and trustworthy slave,’ he says to each of them.

The third servant…well, the third servant is scared of his boss.  Afraid he’ll lose his boss’s investment, he hides the 1 talent, buries it in the ground.  When the boss returns and the third servant comes back with the same single talent, the boss is not pleased.  ‘You wicked and lazy slave!’ he says…then he says something about casting the servant into outer darkness where there’ll be weeping and gnashing of teeth.  No Christmas bonus for him!

So, what was Jesus trying to say with this parable?  Some churches have read this story literally…they give everybody in the church $100 and ask them to give a good return on the money after a certain period of time.  Now that I think about it, I don’t recall ever having read a follow-up story about how they did.  Interesting…

Reading the parable literally like that is one way to interpret it.  But if we look at it  more closely, I think we’ll see there’s more to it.  The first thing you notice when you take a closer look is that this parable comes at the end of Jesus’ ministry…in fact, it’s the next to the last parable he tells before his arrest and crucifixion.  By this point in the story, Jesus knows his time with his disciples is very short.  Like a professor does when she realizes the term’s about to end, Jesus is trying to cram everything he can into his final lessons.

So, what’s he trying to say?  What might this parable have meant to his disciples?  First off, the “man going on a journey” is most likely Jesus.  He’s arrested in the very next chapter and crucified in the chapter after that.  Yes, Jesus definitely was a man going on a journey.  But having roamed the countryside without a salary to speak of for three years, it’s doubtful he had any money to give his disciples.  So, if Jesus wasn’t giving the disciples money on his departure, what was he giving them?  What had he been giving them?

Remember, now, this is a parable of the kin-dom, a story that reveals something about God’s dreams for how the world will be when we all wake up and get to work.  So, what was it Jesus had given the disciples that he would want them to double?  What investment had Jesus made in the disciples whose return would help to prosper the kin-dom of God? 

The things that Jesus had been investing in his disciples all this time were…his ideas, his stories, his radical notion that God loves all people, perhaps especially, the poor…his idea that the outer trappings of religion don’t mean nearly so much as what’s going on in the hearts of believers….his idea that loving our enemies is part and parcel of the kin-dom…his idea that eye for an eye theology isn’t God’s theology…

Jesus is a man going on a journey, a professor at the end of the semester…he knows his time on earth is short and getting shorter fast…so, through this parable, he’s trying to tell his disciples that if God’s kin-dom is ever to come, they’re going to have to multiply everything he’s given them— every idea, every story, every prayer, every sign… If they take his gifts–these radical ideas about God’s kin-dom–if the disciples were to take Jesus’ gifts and hide them, if they were to bury the good news he’s given them, what would happen to God’s dreams for the world?  They’d die.  If the disciples didn’t take Jesus ideas and, as the parable says, “trade” with them, all God’s hopes for the world would die.

That’s why Jesus told this parable at the end of his ministry.  It’s what Clarence Jordan called a “kick-in-the-pants” parable…a story that’s meant to get people up off their comfortable chairs and working hard for the kin-dom.  In his three years with them, Jesus had given his disciples everything they needed to know to get working on God’s kin-dom…he’d given them grade A starter seed…but if they buried those seed in the ground without any nurture, without any support, without any tending, those seeds were going to die in the ground.  Jesus was desperate for those first century disciples to get what he was saying and multiply his teaching…because that was the only way, the only way God’s kin-dom was going to get off the ground.

Nice parable.  Nice story, isn’t it…for those first century disciples?  Whoo-ee, Jesus really laid it on them.  And, if you read the rest of the New Testament, they seemed to get the message, didn’t they?  Take a look sometime at the book of Acts.  It’ll make you tired reading how fast the church grew in the next few decades after Jesus’ departure from the scene.  Oh, there might have been a few of those first century disciples who took Jesus’ lessons, put them in a notebook, and shoved the notebook to the back of the closet…but enough of the other disciples took those radical kin-dom ideas out and traded with them, exercised them, nurtured them, and grew them, that God’s kin-dom grew, too. 

What a great first century parable.  I sure am glad those disciples way back then were able to “crack” that parable.  Based on the evidence, they cracked it good.  They got its meaning and lived it out.  Good for them!

What about us?  What does this parable mean to us, 2,000 years later?  What does this parable mean to us in the 21^st century?  It means the same exact thing it meant in the first century.  Just look around the world, friends.  Do you think God’s dreams for the world have been fulfilled?  With all the war, all the crime, all the poverty and hunger and thirst and disease and hatred and eye-for-an-eye justice seeking that goes on?  Not even Pollyanna on her very best day could say that God’s dreams for the world have been fulfilled.  God’s kin-dom is not yet come on earth as it is in heaven.

And why not?  It’s been 2,000 years, right?  Why hasn’t God’s kin-dom come on earth as it is in heaven?  God’s kin-dom hasn’t yet come on earth as it is in heaven because somebody somewhere along the way buried the treasure Jesus gave us.  God’s kin-dom hasn’t yet come on earth as it is in heaven because somebody somewhere along the way hid Jesus’ radical ideas about living our religion authentically and loving our enemies and doing unto others as we would have them do unto us.  God’s kin-dom hasn’t yet come on earth as it is in heaven because somebody somewhere chose to take the amazing gifts of his words and his life and bury them in the ground.

Was it you?

 In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.

Kimberleigh Buchanan  ©   2011

Matthew 25:14-30

“For it is as if a man, going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them; ¹⁵to one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away. ¹⁶The one who had received the five talents went off at once and traded with them, and made five more talents. ¹⁷In the same way, the one who had the two talents made two more talents. ¹⁸But the one who had received the one talent went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money. ¹⁹After a long time the master of those slaves came and settled accounts with them. ²⁰Then the one who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five more talents, saying, ‘Master, you handed over to me five talents; see, I have made five more talents.’ ²¹His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.’ ²²And the one with the two talents also came forward, saying, ‘Master, you handed over to me two talents; see, I have made two more talents.’ ²³His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.’ ²⁴Then the one who had received the one talent also came forward, saying, ‘Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; ²⁵so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.’ ²⁶But his master replied, ‘You wicked and lazy slave! You knew, did you, that I reap where I did not sow, and gather where I did not scatter? ²⁷Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have received what was my own with interest. ²⁸So take the talent from him, and give it to the one with the ten talents. ²⁹For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. ³⁰As for this worthless slave, throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’

This chapter describes two main tensions in the Koinonia community–the tension between the community and established churches and the tension between the ideals and the reality of living in community.

First, the church tension. From the beginning, there was some question as to whether Koinonia was a church community or not. Some Koinonians chose to do all their worshiping within the community; others chose to join and/or attend Rehoboth Baptist Church…which worked fine until the Brownes brought an agriculture student from India to worship. This student was not Christian and wnted to learn about Protestantism in the South while he studied at Florida State University. Because the man was dark skinned, the church took offense. A dis-fellowshiping process was begun.

I’ve been dis-fellowshiped before. While I was on staff at Viriginia-Highland Baptist Church in Atlanta, we, along with Oakhurst Baptist in Decatur, were dis-fellowshiped by the Georgia Baptist Convention. At the Macon Convention Center in November 1999, 2,000 Geogia Baptists cheered for us to be removed from the rolls. I was frightened, perhaps more frightened than I’ve ever been. (We later learned that sheriff’s deputies had been assigned to follow us around the convention center to provide protection.) It was the ugliest display of “Christian” conviction I’d ever seen.

Even when you know that you’re living contrary to many of your brothers and sisters in Christ, the experience of being excluded from the fellowship is traumatic. It makes you rethink everything you ever believed about Christian faith….at least it made me re-think my faith.

Because Clarence and the Koinonia crew were so committed to living into God’s kin-dom, and because they already had begun to stir things up in their Sumter County community, perhaps they were better prepared to deal with being dis-fellowshiped…or maybe it was just as traumatic for them as it was for us in 1999.

Now, the other tension addressed in this chapter–the tension between the ideal and the reality of living in community.

Before reading “Cotton Patch Evidence,” I always assumed that Koinonia was a little piece of heaven (or kin-dom of heaven) on earth. I began studying Koinonia because I thought here was one Christian community–a community started by Baptists, no less–who had gotten it right.

Then I read this chapter and learned that living community, really living it is hard. How do you handle finances? How do you divvy up the workload? Should each home have a kitchen, or should everyone depend on community meals for nourishment? Who raises the children, individual families or the community? If everyone is equal, how is the community led? How does the community account for the differing gifts of the community’s members?

To figure all of this out–to figure out any of it, really–you have to have meetings. Lots and lots of meetings.

Congregational (with a little c) churches make a lot of their decisions by meetings/talking. There have been times when church members (usually Catholics or Methodists, churches with hierarchical structures) have pulled me aside after a council meeting and said, “I think things would go more smoothly and efficiently if you’d just tell us what to do.” Those people are exactly right. Things would move more quickly if I pulled rank…but we are a congregational church through and through (which basically means, I have no rank). To the best of our ability, all major decisions made FOR the community are made BY the community. It might not be as efficient as a hierarchical model, but it is a model that honors every voice in the community. As one person has said, “In the UCC you might not get your way, but you always get your say.”)

The thing that I think is so hard for church members today is this idea that community is hard work. So many people come to chuch looking for exactly the kind of worship experience, exactly the kind of outreach programs, exactly the kind of small group experiences they want. If they find everything they want, they stay. But the minute something happens that doesn’t fit with what they want, they leave….

…which is a fine process for nurturing one’s own spirituality, but it is not a means of living in community. Living in a community means working it out together. Living in community means learning from the things that happen that aren’t your cup of tea. Living in community means listening as much as you speak. Living in community means setting your own desires aside on occasion for the good of the community. I fear that, in many ways, our society has become so individualistic, so attuned to instant gratificiation, that we are losing the gifts of true community…all because we simply don’t want to do the work.

The biggest surprise for me in reading “Cotton Patch Evidence” came in this chapter. I never knew that Clarence asked the community if it would be better if he and his family left the community. His speaking engagements kept him away from the community and its work for long periods of time. His constant leaving and returning was disruptive. A person who could recognize his disruptiveness to the community and who was willing to sacrifice membership in the community for the good of the community…that is a person who was truly committed to koinonia.

When I read “Cotton Patch Evidence” the first time, this was the one chapter that made me nervous. Clarence’s ideas about the military were waaaay out there, I thought. I wasn’t sure how I felt about completely eschewing military service.

But, because of my gender, my relationship with military service always has been theoretical–I literally could take it or leave it. Regardless of what age I might have lived in, I never would have had to face the reality of a military draft.

For my husband, though, who graduated from high school in 1973–the draft was a very real thing…it was something he dreaded, something he thought about constantly, something that forced him to figure out how he really felt about war and being forced to serve in the military. Who he is as a Christian and a citizen was formed by his experience of the draft.

In many ways, the draft or the idea of military conscription is still theoretical for me…but, having read this chapter a second time, I hope that I would (or would have) had the gumption and moral clarity Clarence had when working out his own beliefs about military service.

For Clarence, the issue really was quite simple: How can one child of God, a person created in God’s image, kill another child of God, also created in God’s image? Jesus said “love your enemies.” Period. Killing someone, for Clarence, could in no way be seen as an act of love.

My favorite quote in this chapter: “If you love your friends and love your enemies, there’s no one else to hate.” That about sums the whole thing up for Clarence.

So…is the military as a whole unnecessary? I don’t think I can go there. In many ways the military serves an important purpose in the world. That doesn’t mean that everything the military does is right or even logical (the current conflicts in which our military is engaged, for example). I do know, though, that there are many faithful people serving in the military, many people fulfilling many roles who are happily living out their Christian faith in military service.

What would I have done if conscripted to serve in the military? I don’t know…I have no way of knowing. Here’s what I do know….It is good that there have been Clarence Jordans and Quakers and myriad others who have sought to be released from military service because of religious beliefs. Whether their’s is the only “christian” response to war and conscription, I don’t know. I do know that their stands against war help raise the moral question of war for ALL of us…and that is an important thing.

Would Jesus have occupied Wall Street? That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out all week. The Jesus we meet in the Gospels often stands in solidarity with the poor; he speaks truth to power. I don’t know if Jesus ever carried a placard and marched in a protest, but he did do some civil disobedience on occasion. So, if he were here on earth today, he might be toting a sign through the financial district. I’m just not clear enough yet about this current “occupation” to have a clear sense of what a faithful person should be doing about, with, or in it. At this point, I don’t know whether Jesus would have occupied Wall Street.

Regardless of what Jesus might do in New York City today, we learn a lot from what he did do at a wedding in 1st century Judea.

Here’s what’s happened in the story thus far. John has introduced the whole thing by reminding us that Jesus came from God, that Jesus always has been with God. “In the beginning was the word and the word was with God and the word was God.” Then, John says, “the word became flesh and dwelt among us.” Or, as they liked to say in the 60s, “God put some skin on.” The theological word for this “enfleshment” is incarnation. In-the-flesh actions that reveal God…John calls those actions “signs.” So when Jesus does one of these signs, he reveals God to us. And the sign we get today is the very first sign Jesus does in the book of John: he turns water to wine. At a wedding.

Jesus, his family, and the disciples have been invited to a wedding. As sometimes happens at these gatherings, the wine runs out. Jesus’ mom comes to him and says, “They have no wine.”
There’s all kinds of speculation about why Mary came to Jesus. Had she been seeing his little miracles all along and thought he could remedy the situation? Was she wanting him to show off a little so she could claim some Mama-pride? Clarence Jordan has an interesting take on this question of Jesus’ Mama’s request. He says she came to Jesus because his disciples were the ones who drank up all the wine. Not so much a “Show us what you can do, Son,” as “Those disciples of yours are a thirsty bunch. You’d better run down to the 7-11 and get some more wine…You can just get that kind in the box. They’ve drunk enough by now that nobody will care.”

In the English translation, Jesus’ response comes off sounding testy. “Woman, what concern is that to you and me?” In the original Greek, the response isn’t rude at all. It’s more: “Ma’am, why is that our concern?” Then he says, “My hour has not yet come.” What hour is that? It’s the hour when he’s going to start doing signs that reveal God. “Mama, I’m going to start working tomorrow. Today, just let me enjoy this wedding party.”

But just then, Jesus spots 6 water jugs, the kind that were used for purification… basically, that means they were the foot bowls where people washed their feet before they entered the house. Jesus sees these 6 jugs and a light bulb clicks on. “Oh! What a great opportunity for a sign!” He couldn’t help it. That’s just how Messiahs think. Where normal people would have seen water bowls, he saw sermon illustrations.

Anyway, Jesus tells the people there to “fill the jugs with water”…which means what? They weren’t full, right? So, you’ve got half-full water jugs. And how many jugs was it? Six. In Jewish faith, the number of completion was seven. So, you’ve got six—not seven—half-filled jugs, the epitome of incompleteness. Now, you understand that there wasn’t some law that said you have to have seven foot-washing jars and that you should keep them full…nothing like that. No, Jesus just saw these jars, noticed there were six and that they were half full and took advantage of the situation to make a point, to draw a picture, to tell a story, to act out a “parable,” if you will.

So, he tells the people nearby to fill up the jugs, which they do–“to the brim,” John tells us. By the time the filling’s done, those jars are as full as they possibly can be. Then he says to draw out some water and take it to the steward. You know the rest. By the time the cup reaches the steward, that foot-washing water has turned into wine…and not just any wine, but the best wine. The steward says to the bridegroom, “Usually people serve the good wine first, then, after everyone’s had a few, they bring out the boxed stuff. But you have kept the good wine until now.”

Okay. How many of you tuned out the minute I mentioned water turning to wine? Water into wine? That’s just not possible. Wine comes from grapes, not water. H2O does not wine make! If it did? Our fund-raising problems would be solved, right?
If you’re focusing on the how-water-could-turn-into-wine question, quit it. If we get bogged down with the science of this sign, we’re going to miss the point and miss it badly. The point of this story is not some scientific oddity in first century Palestine. The point of this story is what it reveals about God.

So, what was Jesus trying to reveal about God in this action, this lived-out parable, this sign? Six jars, not seven. Incomplete. Half-filled jugs. Again, incomplete. Jesus begins his ministry by saying that the way the people had been understanding God to that point hadn’t been complete. It’s true the’d spent millennia learning about and worshiping God… but as rich as that experience had been, Jesus was showing people that what they thought had been the good wine had been only a foretaste of what was to come. What they thought had been sufficient water, was only a drop in the bucket compared to what God wanted to give them. In this sign, Jesus used the materials at hand to demonstrate a deep, spiritual truth: And that truth was this: God is bursting on the scene in a brand new and amazingly generous way. God’s grace is rich and abundant… and it’s here right now!

That’s some good stuff Jesus was revealing about God in that sign of the wedding wine. Excellent story. But the question remains: Would Jesus have occupied Wall Street? If he were here today, would protesting on Wall Street be one of Jesus’ signs?

Personally, I don’t know. I do know that Jesus advocated for economic justice. “Sell all you have and give to the poor,” he told the rich young ruler. I do know that he stood in solidarity with the poor. “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” I do know that Jesus spoke truth to power on many occasions, an activity that eventually got him killed. What I’m not sure about is whether he would have marched with one of those homemade picket signs in the world’s largest financial district. If Jesus were here today, I’m not sure what signs he’d be using to show us God.

But maybe wondering what Jesus would do if he were dwelling among us today isn’t the real issue. In fact, it could be that wondering what Jesus would do if he were dwelling among us today keeps us from dealing with the real issue. It’s great to see how Jesus showed us God in the first century…especially when the God he showed us is generous and gracious and joyous and takes such delight in us. But if we leave it at that, as a nice story written in the first century, what good is it? Yes, Jesus did this sign, he acted out just who God is for those first century people…so what? Is the real issue what Jesus did 2,000 years ago?

Or is the real issue what we are going to do in the next minutes, hours, days, months, years? In today’s story Jesus performed a sign, he became a sign… a sign that showed with clarity just who God is. Here, I think, is the real issue, the real question: How might we become signs that reveal God to those around us?
If you read the Pilgrimage devotion this past Wednesday, you know that former member Rachel Small joined the “occupation” on Wall Street. On the eve of her participation, Rachel shared these thoughts. “I am aware … that these rallies are not really good tools for changing hearts or minds. They are excellent tools for boosting the spirits of like-minded people. When nonviolent action is taken that challenges the status quo, they can also be really good tools for getting a message into coverage by the media. Perhaps the best that can be hoped for with signs and protests is to rouse the apathetic into caring.

“But as long as there is a stark us-vs.-them attitude of dueling placards, hearts and minds will not be changed. The change happens when people of different minds build trusting relationships with each other and begin to hear each other’s stories. Change happens when empathy, not righteous anger, is aroused in the other. It happens when we humble ourselves enough to see God in the other, and to allow them to see God through us. It is much harder than making a sign. It is lifelong work, to which we have all been called.”

Making signs is fine, sometimes even important…but the harder work, as Rachel says and as Jesus demonstrated at that wedding in Cana, the harder work is being a sign; the harder work is “allowing others to see God through us.” We might write “God loves you” on a sign, but listening to someone with whom we disagree might show God’s love more clearly. We might tell others God loves them, but how much more loudly might our lives speak if we acted out that love?

At that wedding in Cana—or Canton, Georgia in the Cotton Patch Version—Jesus used the materials at hand—just a few old foot washing bowls—and acted out a parable of the abundance of God’s love and grace. That’s what Jesus did—He used what was there and used it to show people God. As we survey the world around us, what might we use to reveal God’s love to others? What simple action might demonstrate the depth of God’s concern for all people? How might we show others the abundance of God’s love and grace? How might WE become signs of God?

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness. Amen.

Kimberleigh Buchanan © 2011

On a trip to the Holy Land in 1992, I saw lots of things I’d never seen before: Byzantine mosaics in northern Jordan, rock carvings at Petra, Jews in prayer at the Western Wall, Muslims in prayer at the Al Aqsa Mosque. Beautiful things. Old things. And, to me, foreign things. But what I saw as we approached a Palestinian refugee camp was far more foreign than anything else I had ever seen: walls around the camp. Barbed wire atop the walls. Israeli soldiers in guard houses dotting the wall. I’d never visited a neighborhood hovered over by automatic-toting guards. It was unnerving.

Refusing to drive us into the camp–the Israeli plates on the bus would have made that dangerous–the bus driver let us out at the road. We swept into the camp with a wave of joyful children just returning from school. Inside the camp, we were greeted by our host and taken to the kitchen of a preschool. There, our host motioned to a woman who held a tray of plastic cups filled with lemonade. “Please, have some lemonade,” the host said in heavily accented English. Visions of the wall, the barbed wire, the guards, the guns, the sub-standard buildings, the skeletons of destroyed buildings–all those pictures danced across my mind and I thought: “So much has been taken from these people. Will I also take their lemonade?” All of us in the group hesitated…much to our host=s dismay. “Please, please, have some lemonade.” Her plea was compelling. Each of us reached for lemonade. And drank. “You like?” our host asked hopefully. We did like. The lemonade was sweet and cold and very welcome.

Now, I was savvy enough to know that we were being played a little. Americans visiting a refugee camp? Of course, the Palestinians were going to try to make their case against Israel (which they did). But that offering of lemonade…it was so much more than a gesture or–to put it crassl–a bribe. That offering seemed to grow out of a deep, fundamental place in those people. Had we refused their gift of lemonade, I got the sense that we would have offended them deeply. Despite their poverty, they needed to give us something AND to have us receive their gift.

Foundational to Arab cultures–and to many other of the world’s cultures–is the practice of hospitality. And we’re not unacquainted with the concept of hospitality in our own culture. Many of our churches have hospitality committees. Just try not serving coffee some Sunday morning! Many of us from the South pride ourselves on Southern hospitality. But, if you think about it, in our culture, hospitality often is an add-on to the regular business of life. How many times have you heard people commenting about Pilgrimage: “It”s such a friendly church!”? Why do they always sound so surprised? Perhaps because friendliness–hospitality–isn’t something we’re socialized to expect. In our culture, hospitality is supplemental, something you get extra credit for. It’s not so much part of the currency of everyday living.

Which, I think, is why we sometimes miss the point of communion. Here at Pilgrimage, we usually practice communion by intinction, which means we pull off a piece of bread, dip it in the juice and eat it. Have you ever noticed that the bread we use sometimes doesn’t tear so easily? Have you ever had this experience–you go to tear off a small piece of bread and instead of a nibble, you end up with a hunk? And very quickly, you palm the hunk and dip only the tip in the juice and then, just as quickly, put the whole thing in your mouth and look around, hoping no one saw you? Then you go back to your seat and begin chewing….and chewing…and chewing…and when we start singing “Let There Be Peace on Earth,” you can’t sing because you’re still chewing? I won’t ask for a show of hands, but has that ever happened to you?

What impels us to apologize for taking what we deem to be too large a portion of the bread? Why are we embarrassed when we end up with a hunk rather than a nibble? This is just a guess, but I wonder if, in our minds, we feel we’re only entitled to just so much–just so much bread, just so much juice….just so much of God’s grace. I wonder if we come to this table seeing this bread, this juice as a reward we’ve earned (or not earned) rather than as a gift that’s given freely, a gift that’s given, not because we are good, but simply because we are?

Today’s Gospel lesson is one of my favorites. “Let the little children come to me,” Jesus says. We use those words every week for Children’s Time to remind us all–children and adults alikeBthat children are a vital part of God=s realm…and of this church.

The other great part of these verses from Mark is Jesus’ comment that Awhoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.” I wish Jesus had said more about that. What exactly does it mean to receive God’s realm like a little child? Or, more appropriate for today: What does it mean to receive communion as a little child?

There long have been debates in churches about the appropriateness of serving children communion. In some traditions, first communion is a really big deal…something you buy a new dress or suit for. In other traditions, you don’t take communion until you’ve made a profession of your Christian faith. Here at Pilgrimage, we encourage children to participate in communion. There is, of course, merit to the don’t-serve-them-communion-until-they-understand-what-it-means way of thinking. If we don’t instruct our children–and ourselves–on the meaning of this meal, then communion becomes no more than a snack break during church. But who among us completely understands what transpires at this table? We’re given bread and juice and are told it’s flesh and blood. Is that something you completely understand?
To tell the truth, I think children may have a better understanding of the holy meal than we adults do. There’s the five year old who takes the bread, but carefully avoids the juice. Do you really want to drink BLOOD? Then there’s the six year old whose bread drops into the cup. He reaches in with his fist, grabs the bread, squeezes the excess juice out of it, eats it, and bounces back to his seat, wiping his purple hand on his white shirt. And then there’s the other six year old…the one who came up to me after one worship service, tugged on my robe, and asked: “Can I have some more bread? My daddy made me drop the first piece.”

What do these kids know? They know that communion is a big deal. They know that participating in communion is an important part of being in this community. They know something of the danger of this meal…and the mystery. They assume they will be nourished by the meal. They rarely take nibbles…and never hide hunks. How do children receive communion? With joy and wonder and respect and a complete lack of self-consciousness. Children receive communion as a gift. Oh, we have a responsibility to teach our children what we understand this meal to mean. But I think we also have a responsibility to learn from children what THEY understand about this meal. If we watch children for very long, we might just get a glimpse of what this table is all about. We might begin to see it as a place of radical hospitality, a place where God feeds us extravagantly and with profound love.

Father Mark Gruber tells of the time his Land Rover broke down in the Egyptian desert. Leaning against the front fender, fretting over how he was going to get out of the fix, he spied a goat. He tracked the goat to a Bedouin camp. Remember what we said earlier about Arab cultures and their practice of hospitality? These Bedouins were very Arab.

Bedouins roam the deserts, living in tents, wandering from camp to camp, scraping nourishment for themselves and their animals from the stark, unforgiving land. Occasionally, they happen on a water source. While camped near that source, they stock up, especially on bread. Because they go for long periods without water, they make a kind of bread that lasts a long time. The bread has a very hard crust. When the crust is broken–even after many weeks–the bread inside is moist and tender. Often a Bedouin family will make a basket full of these bread cakes at one time to use over the course of many months of travel.

Father Mark had only hoped to gain from the Bedouins information about mechanics in the area. What he received instead was a feast. During the meal, the leader of the tribe drew a bread cake from a basket, cracked it open, and offered it to Father Mark. He ate the bread and thanked his host. As soon as he finished the first bread cake, his host cracked open a second and offered it to him. Father Mark ate; again, he thanked his host. When the man cracked open a third cake and handed it to Father Mark, the now extremely full monk demurred, communicating to his host that he really could eat no more. The man responded by cracking open a fourth bread cake ….and a fifth…and a sixth…and every single bread cake in the basket until there was none left. It was the family=s entire supply of bread. Of this extravagant gesture, Father Mark writes: “The gesture was unmistakable: he wanted me to know that he had withheld from me nothing; he had reserved from me no gift, but had imparted to me everything at his disposal. He wanted me to know that I had been received well, and by this great gesture, this extravagant waste, this complete sacrifice, I would be persuaded, convinced of his kindness. I would be certain of his hospitality.” (Gruber, Mark, O.S.B. ABreaking Bread,@ pp.90-92 in Food: True Stories of Life on the Road. Edited by Richard Sterling. San Francisco: Travelers’ Tales, Inc., 1996.)

I wonder how our experience at this table might differ if we saw it like Father Mark’s experience in that Bedouin camp? What might happen if we came to this table, not to receive the tiny nibble of a reward we have earned (or think we haven’t)…what might happen if we came to this table prepared to receive the extravagance of a gift, a grace, a love purchased at great price just for us? I wonder how our experience of this table would differ if we received God’s gift to us here like little children? I wonder if we might feel more loved by God? I wonder if we might feel more generous with our own bread? I wonder if, certain of our own place at the table, we would be better prepared–eager, even–to make room at the table for others?

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness. Amen.

Kimberleigh Buchanan © 2011 (2003)

Mark 10:13-16

People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them. ¹⁴But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. ¹⁵Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.” ¹⁶And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.

The wilderness of waiting… Have you ever experienced that kind of wilderness? A place that is both wild and barren, a place far from home, a place where you learn a lot about yourself, but don’t quite feel settled, you don’t quite feel complete?

In his letter to the Romans, Paul is writing to friends who are in a wilderness time. They are a minority group in Rome. They’re experiencing persecution. They’re disconnected from other communities of believers. No doubt they’re learning a lot about themselves in their wilderness experience, no doubt their faith is growing, but there is a strong sense that they are not yet who they will become. They hope for a day when they will breathe freely, when they will be free. And, as with all people who wait for something better, the Roman believers need encouragement…which is why Paul sends this letter.

The great thing about Paul’s letters is that, while they were sent to particular communities dealing with specific issues, he speaks about those issues in ways that resonate with anyone on a faith journey. We might not be experiencing the kind of persecution those first century believers in Rome were experiencing, but I’m guessing that every one of us here knows something about not feeling completely whole in our faith journeys. I imagine that very few of us feel like we’ve arrived at our spiritual destination. Which of us every moment of every day feels as close to God as we possibly can get?

Every week at Pilgrimage, we say the familiar words—say them with me: “One fact remains that does not change, God has loved you, loves you now, and will always love you. This is the good news that brings us new life.” We all know that right? We all know that God loves us. But feeling that love? That’s a different thing completely. Knowing that God loves us and really feeling loved by God…two very different journeys. One of the journeys happens in our head, our intellect, in the abstract. The other happens in the real world, in the context of the material things around us, in our own flesh and blood.

As Paul is trying to describe this gap between the relationship with God we do have and the relationship with God for which we hope, it makes sense that he seizes on the image of adoption. Whatever else you might think of the Apostle Paul, he was a brilliant theologian. His arguments are complex; his images sometimes startling in their accuracy. This idea of “groaning as we wait for adoption” is one of them. Considering how lost we sometimes feel, how much we long to feel connected to something larger than ourselves, how desperately we want to feel—really feel—like children of God, Paul seized on the deepest longing known to human beings, the longing to belong.

Wanting to get some sense of the experience of waiting for adoption, I sent a request to several people in our congregation who know something about the adoption process. It’s interesting that each of the four families who responded is at a different stage in the process. Susan Dempsey and Becky Nelson are several years beyond the adoption of their girls. The adoption process for Brendan Ashton, Kristi and Angie’s son, was just completed this summer. Next Sunday, Matthew Kozak Gula will be baptized. The following Wednesday, his adoption will be complete. And Wayne and Stephen have been actively waiting to adopt for a year and a half now. Four different families; four different perspectives from which to view the process of waiting for adoption.

While their places in the waiting process are different, in all the stories, the waiting itself is similar. It involves profound longing, a feeling of incompleteness, a fierce love for something one doesn’t yet have, a deep desire to belong. In Romans, Paul says this: “For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” There is perhaps no other population in the world who understands hope better than those who are waiting for adoption.

Because each of the stories is beautiful and important, I wanted you to have copies of them. I invite you to take them and read them at your leisure. Right now, I’d like to read from two of those stories.

First, on the “groaning” that attends waiting for adoption, Angela Gula wrote: “These words couldn’t be any truer for Michelle and me. Even before Matthew’s birth we waited, anticipating the day that we would legally be recognized as a family. We always knew it would be a challenging process….we knew it would take time…there was plenty of groaning, some frustration and even some tears shed. What we didn’t know was just how anxious we’d get as the day approached. Here we are now, just 10 days from the final hearing and we continue to groan inwardly while we wait for adoption.”

Paul was a master wordsmith. There comes a point in his writing, though, where he recognizes that much of the faith journey, much of human experience happens far deeper than words can go. How often can you say, “I really want to have a child!” Or, “I really want to feel like God’s child,” before the words feel superficial, old, small? There comes a point when words just don’t communicate the fullness of the meaning any more. At those moments–moments when we long for something so desperately there are no words left–groaning can help….even when there are only 10 days left before the adoption happens.

Everyone who has awaited adoption understands something of the pain of the waiting process, of the need for patience. At this point, in our community, the people who are best acquainted with this particular pain are Wayne and Steve. As you’ll read, the first part of the adoption process went quickly for them….mostly because they had control over the process. They filled out paperwork, went to state-mandated classes, completed a home study.

Then came the real waiting process, the time when they wait to be matched with a child or children. Here’s how they talk about the process of waiting. “Needless to say, here we are over a year later and we are still in the matching process. We keep telling ourselves that the right child will come into our lives at the right time for the right reasons, but sometimes that just doesn’t feel like enough when you have spent so much time preparing your heart for a child of your own. We continue to pray for patience and guidance as we wait for parenthood.”

Wayne and Steve’s story ends with prayer, a prayer for patience. Paul ends his discussion of waiting for adoption–waiting to feel, really feel, at one with God–with prayer, too. These are some of the best words about prayer in all of Scripture. He writes: Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. Don’t you love that? We get to the place where we don’t know what to say, where the feelings go deeper than words can reach, where all we can do is groan….and somehow the Spirit understands our groaning, then translates it into the language of sighs and communicates it to God? We groan, the Spirit sighs, and God still gets the message. Isn’t that great?

Are you waiting for adoption this morning? Not so much the kind that Wayne and Steve, Angela and Michelle, and many children in the foster care system are waiting for…are you waiting for adoption by God? Are you waiting to feel, really feel, like you belong to God’s family? Are you ready to get through all the words, all the forms, all the superficialities to the material reality of actually living with God? Are you ready to emerge from the wilderness and find your way home?

Today’s sermon ends with a time of prayer. In this time of prayer, I encourage you to refrain from words. Simply be in the presence of God. Communicate this morning in the language of sighs, or groans, if you need to. The invitation is to cut through all the superficialities and get to the heart of what you’re feeling in your heart…because God wants to know what’s going on there…and whatever you express to God from that deep, wordless place, God will understand. God will understand. Let us join our hearts together in prayer. [Two minutes]

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness. Amen.
Kimberleigh Buchanan © 2011

Romans 8:18-25

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.

And so, Clarence and Martin set about making Koinonia habitable for their families and began the hard work of farming.

Not long after they’d moved in, they got their first visit from the KKK, folks who were upset that Clarence and Martin were sharing meals with the African American man they’d hired to work for them. In a tense stand-off, Clarence responded with customary humor. By means of that humor, he made a connection with his complainant and defused the situation.

Humor notwithstanding, Clarence and Martin were afraid. The KKK was no organization to mess with. I was struck by Clarence’s comments regarding their fear: “It was not a question of whether or not we were to be scared…but whether or not we would be obedient.” “It scared hell out of us, but the althernative was to not do it, and that scared us more.” (38, 39)

It’s that total commitment to God’s work–with every fiber of your being, every cell in your body–that so characterized Clarence….and that I’m not yet sure I’ve made. TOTAL commitment, that’s hard. Especially when the bad guys are breathing down your neck.

In a post a couple of months ago, I talked about starting to work my way through the Spiritual exercises of St. Ignatius. Swept up in the Koinonia stuff, I haven’t kept up with posts about the Exercises.

But this week, the two are intersecting. The basic journey of the Exercises in the first nine weeks was this–Feeling God’s love, acknowledging my defenses against that love (sin), and accepting God’s love even in my sinfulness (or inability to receive God’s love into my depths).

This week, the invitation in the Exercises is to hear God’s call–this One who loves me completely–to work with God in the world. Now, I’m all about working with God in the world. I’ve been preaching that forever. The difference with the invitation from the Exercises is that I don’t work with God in the world because “that’s what Christians do.” I work with God in the world because God loves me and, out of that love, invites me to work alongside. Working for justice is not simply another thing to do, just one more religious activity designed to get the God of guilt off our backs. No, working for justice in the world is something we do because God loves us and because the only loving response to that love is to join God in God’s work in the world. I don’t know. Maybe it’s a subtle shift…but, for me, it’s a big one.

Two other fun things about ch.3…Clarence’s creativity with the farming–climbing on the roof each morning to see what other farmers were doing, starting a “crop” of chickens, the mobile peanut harvester, the cow library… and the way he began to draw young, idealistic followers of Jesus to Koinonia. The more I read about Clarence, the more I want to meet him. This was one impassioned, faithful, creative, and charismatic man. What possibly could come next?

In this chapter, Lee does a great job of describing Clarence’s M.O. with everything he did. (1) He was deeply immersed in Scripture. A true Baptist, he believed that God speaks through the pages of Scripture. It was his desperate desire to know, really know what Jesus was talking about, especially in the sermon on the mount, that led him to become a Greek scholar.

(2) Though he immersed himself in Scripture in his studies, exegesis was never the end of the Bible study process for Clarence. If you’re not going to live by the truths you learn in Scripture, what’s the point? So, looking closely at the life around him–particularly the plight of the poor, which in Louisville, were largely people of color–Clarence sought to LIVE the biblical truths he discerned in his study of Scripture. (Hence his comment that the associational offices “should be put in the inner city, ‘where our preachers will have to wade through the shipwrecks of humanity to get there. I believe they would be better preachers.” (23) The Gospel wasn’t just words on a page for Clarence. The Gospel is to be lived in the here and now.

3) The third piece that always was key for Clarence, was community. Scripture is important, living the Gospel in real life is vital, but you can’t go it alone. You need a place to study and reflect on what you’re learning and what you’re doing. It makes sense that Clarence–in his attempts to reflect and discern–ended up in partnerships like the Koinonia group at the seminary and in relationship with people like Martin England and businessman A J Steilberg.

As committed as Clarenc was to Scripture, living Scripture (especially the teachings of Jesus) in real life, and doing all of that in community, the birth of the Koinonia “experiment” in Sumter County, Georgia, makes sense.

On p.26, when describing the on-camps Koinonia group, Lee summarizes the three main concerns of Clarence Jordan. In the group, “Clarence began to toss out his ideas about pacifism, racial equality, and the radical stewardship of complete sharing.” Those three ideas–peace, the brother-and sisterhood of all people, and economic justice–will shape everything else that is to come.

Question: On p.24, Lee writes: “The storehouse plan was tabled, but the question of waht influence a [person’s] faith ought to have on his economic resources apparently continued to tumble end over nd in Clarence’s mind.” What relationship do you see between faith and money?

Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.
If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,”
even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you. (Psalm 139: 7-12)

**********************

A friend of mine has a plaque that reads, “Bidden or unbidden, God is present.” I’m not sure who spoke the words first, but I think they must have been inspired by Psalm 139. We heard the words read earlier. Now, we’re going to pray them…and we’re going to pray them in the context of 9/11. I can tell you that God was present everywhere and with everyone on September 11, 2001. I can tell you that God continues to work in and through that traumatic experience. I can tell you that, even after 9/11, God has loved you, loves you now, and will always love you….but how much more powerful will the experience be if you have the opportunity yourselves to get reassurance from God?

And so, Allen will read a line from Psalm 139, then I will suggest an image from September 11, 2001 to help you pray that line. After the prayer, you are invited to come forward and light a candle. You might come with a specific prayer in mind or simply to add a tiny piece of light to the room this day. For whatever reason, you are invited to come. I also invite you to come shoeless, as a way to signify that we all are standing on holy ground. Let us pray.

Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? Remember where you were on September 11, 2001, what you were doing, your first instincts when you heard the news. Now remember—or imagine, if you don’t remember—God’s presence with you on that day. (Silence)

If I ascend to heaven, you are there; Think of the people who died that day. Imagine them safely in God’s arms. (Silence)

if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. Think of all the people who have experienced hell since that day. Imagine that, even in the harsh difficulties of their lives, God is with them, too. (Silence)

If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.
No matter where you have been since 9/11, no matter how your life has been impacted by that event, no matter how much poorer or more frightened or leery of your fellow human beings you might have become, no matter where your life’s journey has taken you since 9/11, imagine God beside you, leading you every step of the way, holding fast to you. Still. Always. (Silence)

If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,”  Imagine the darkness of those days in September 2001, the dust and smoke, the grief and fear, the helplessness and hopelessness. (Silence)

even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you.   Now, imagine God’s light breaking through your darkness. Feel the light warm your eyes, feel the light of God’s love surround you and hold you. (Silence)

God, we thank you that, bidden or unbidden, you always are present with us.  Amen.

[Candle lighting]