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CAN THESE DRY BONES LIVE? Preached by: Sandra Olsen 3/29/20
Ezekiel 37: 1-14
When the southern kingdom of Judah with its capital at Jerusalem, fell to the Babylonians in 587 B. C. E. the leaders, which included the educated and the wealthy, were forced into exile in Babylon. When they arrived, they were neither put in prisons nor refugee camps, nor were they forced into slavery. No, they were free to marry, build homes, work, plant crops and enter into commerce. Since these were among the most talented people in Judah, their talents transferred to Babylon, and so many of them became successful, even wealthy. They also had the freedom of assembly, were allowed them to elect leaders and worship as they pleased. But some had a very hard time worshiping in Babylon, because they could not get over the destruction of their holy city with its exquisite temple. They remembered, and they passed their memories down to the next generations.
But you know how it is: life does go on, and so as the exiled Jews made a new life for themselves in Babylon, many adjusted to their new situation. Most of the original exiles died, and there were those who probably thought they should just take their memories with them. Life in Babylon wasn’t really so bad, was it? So, there was this painful tension between the majority, who adjusted and a much smaller group, who remembered the covenant and what it was God called them to do. After about 53 years the Babylonian empire fell to the Assyrians, and the Jews were offered the chance to go home, back to Jerusalem. But most of them did not want to return. That old dream of being God’s chosen people, the light to the nations, well, for most of them that dream had died a long time ago. They had simply moved on. And so, a majority of the people remained in Babylon. But some, what came to be called “the faithful remnant,” would later return to Jerusalem. Perhaps among the returnees were those who had not been so successful, the inflexible ones, holding on to memories and dreams passed down by parents and grandparents and teachers and prophets and priests, like Ezekiel. And they would remember what Ezekiel had said. They would remember the hope he had tried to give them while they were living in exile in Babylon.
Now Ezekiel was not an easy man; in fact, he could be a real grouch. He had warned the people that they would be severely judged by God for their idolatry, their forgetting their roots and the covenant God had made with them. Ezekiel was no dope; he saw how things were going in Babylon; he saw how many people were adjusting to their new life there, and so his words were tough and pointed. No one who heard him would doubt that he was a man with a mission, a man on fire with a single minded purpose. He told them they were idol worshipers, and their corpses would soon lie beside their idols, and their bones would be scattered around the altars. Undoubtedly many saw Ezekiel as a fanatic, someone bent on a dream that no longer had validity in their new world. It was best to move on, many of them must have thought, because if they continued to cling to the past, they would live in a valley of dried bones. Worse than that they would become those dried up bones. All the flesh, all the meat, all the life giving force would be picked off by carrion birds. Death would swallow the last bit, leaving no scraps---nothing but dried up, bleached out, pure whitened bones.
And in that situation, when the possibility of anything new or vital or life giving looked completely dead, what did God do? God put forth a question. Before the act, there was the question: “Mortal, can these bones live?” And what was Ezekiel supposed to say? How could he possibly know? And so, he was clever enough to put the ball right back into God’s court. “Oh Lord, you know.” And then God told Ezekiel what to say. “Start preaching to these bones,” Ezekiel. “Tell them to hear the Word of the Lord. Tell them that I will cause breath to enter these bones, and they shall live and know that I am the Lord.”
Notice something here. Ezekiel was told to start talking, preaching to those bones before anything had happened to them. God did not first bring the bones back to life, and then have Ezekiel preach. No, the Word came first, because the Word is life; the Word gives life. God’s Word always makes room for hope, and hope has this capacity to bring us back to life. Hope rises up from our bones, and in spite of what looks absurdly impossible, something new comes to life.
You see hope does not bank on the current situation of today. Hope always questions today with the challenge that tomorrow can be different. And of course, if you are among the successful, perhaps like the people who remained behind in Babylon, you do not need or even want to imagine something completely new, because well, you are doing quite well, thank you, and you don’t need to hope for a new beginning. Perhaps in such situations hope is about hanging on to what you already have. It is not about a new beginning. And indeed, I recently read---well before the corona-virus hit--- that people in the upper middle class and beyond have a hard time with hope. Their biggest worry, the article said, is that they will lose ground tomorrow. They feel they are hanging on for dear life. But that is not hope; it’s anxiety. So, it is no surprise that the poor in the gospel always have a special place in God’s promised kingdom, because they are not afraid to hope for something new and radical. Indeed, their lives depend upon tomorrow not looking like today.
Some weeks ago I went to Yale New Haven Hospital to visit my former organist from Center Church in New Haven. Eleanor was in the Intensive Care Unit, and since they were doing a minor procedure I was asked to wait. And while in the waiting area, I met someone who told me in so many words that she felt she was in a valley of dried up bones. That wasn’t the language, she used, but it is what she meant. Her husband was in critical condition, and it was not at all clear he would make it. “When I graduated from college in 1963,” she told me, “I could not find my path. I couldn’t figure out what I really wanted to do. I knew I did not want to be a full time wife and mother, and so I did a lot of different jobs, but none of them satisfied. I was married at 32, old for my generation, a mother of two by the age of 36, and then in my forties in was all about struggling to do all the things middle age people have to do: pay the mortgage, raise kids, drive the kids around to this practice and that one, and then later there were the college bills, and by the time my husband and I were finished with all that, we had become strangers to one another. Nothing bad had happened; no affairs, no big financial mess, no disasters with children. We had shared this life together, and yet, we hardly knew each other. Now, here I am at the age of 78. My husband is probably dying, and what I feel is not this great sadness, but a great emptiness. I feel life has been drained out of me, and I cannot figure out why. I feel I missed something vital, but I don’t know what. And most of all, I do not know what I am supposed to do now.
Have you ever felt like that, as if life has been drained out of you? And then you think to yourself, what am I supposed to do now? We Americans always think we can or should do something. But maybe we can’t. Maybe there are these times when all we can do is hunker down and wait, wait for the question God put to Ezekiel and sometimes puts to us. Can these dry bones live? Can new life come? At times like that, perhaps the only answer we can honestly give is, “O God, you know; only you know.”
Ezekiel 37: 1-14
When the southern kingdom of Judah with its capital at Jerusalem, fell to the Babylonians in 587 B. C. E. the leaders, which included the educated and the wealthy, were forced into exile in Babylon. When they arrived, they were neither put in prisons nor refugee camps, nor were they forced into slavery. No, they were free to marry, build homes, work, plant crops and enter into commerce. Since these were among the most talented people in Judah, their talents transferred to Babylon, and so many of them became successful, even wealthy. They also had the freedom of assembly, were allowed them to elect leaders and worship as they pleased. But some had a very hard time worshiping in Babylon, because they could not get over the destruction of their holy city with its exquisite temple. They remembered, and they passed their memories down to the next generations.
But you know how it is: life does go on, and so as the exiled Jews made a new life for themselves in Babylon, many adjusted to their new situation. Most of the original exiles died, and there were those who probably thought they should just take their memories with them. Life in Babylon wasn’t really so bad, was it? So, there was this painful tension between the majority, who adjusted and a much smaller group, who remembered the covenant and what it was God called them to do. After about 53 years the Babylonian empire fell to the Assyrians, and the Jews were offered the chance to go home, back to Jerusalem. But most of them did not want to return. That old dream of being God’s chosen people, the light to the nations, well, for most of them that dream had died a long time ago. They had simply moved on. And so, a majority of the people remained in Babylon. But some, what came to be called “the faithful remnant,” would later return to Jerusalem. Perhaps among the returnees were those who had not been so successful, the inflexible ones, holding on to memories and dreams passed down by parents and grandparents and teachers and prophets and priests, like Ezekiel. And they would remember what Ezekiel had said. They would remember the hope he had tried to give them while they were living in exile in Babylon.
Now Ezekiel was not an easy man; in fact, he could be a real grouch. He had warned the people that they would be severely judged by God for their idolatry, their forgetting their roots and the covenant God had made with them. Ezekiel was no dope; he saw how things were going in Babylon; he saw how many people were adjusting to their new life there, and so his words were tough and pointed. No one who heard him would doubt that he was a man with a mission, a man on fire with a single minded purpose. He told them they were idol worshipers, and their corpses would soon lie beside their idols, and their bones would be scattered around the altars. Undoubtedly many saw Ezekiel as a fanatic, someone bent on a dream that no longer had validity in their new world. It was best to move on, many of them must have thought, because if they continued to cling to the past, they would live in a valley of dried bones. Worse than that they would become those dried up bones. All the flesh, all the meat, all the life giving force would be picked off by carrion birds. Death would swallow the last bit, leaving no scraps---nothing but dried up, bleached out, pure whitened bones.
And in that situation, when the possibility of anything new or vital or life giving looked completely dead, what did God do? God put forth a question. Before the act, there was the question: “Mortal, can these bones live?” And what was Ezekiel supposed to say? How could he possibly know? And so, he was clever enough to put the ball right back into God’s court. “Oh Lord, you know.” And then God told Ezekiel what to say. “Start preaching to these bones,” Ezekiel. “Tell them to hear the Word of the Lord. Tell them that I will cause breath to enter these bones, and they shall live and know that I am the Lord.”
Notice something here. Ezekiel was told to start talking, preaching to those bones before anything had happened to them. God did not first bring the bones back to life, and then have Ezekiel preach. No, the Word came first, because the Word is life; the Word gives life. God’s Word always makes room for hope, and hope has this capacity to bring us back to life. Hope rises up from our bones, and in spite of what looks absurdly impossible, something new comes to life.
You see hope does not bank on the current situation of today. Hope always questions today with the challenge that tomorrow can be different. And of course, if you are among the successful, perhaps like the people who remained behind in Babylon, you do not need or even want to imagine something completely new, because well, you are doing quite well, thank you, and you don’t need to hope for a new beginning. Perhaps in such situations hope is about hanging on to what you already have. It is not about a new beginning. And indeed, I recently read---well before the corona-virus hit--- that people in the upper middle class and beyond have a hard time with hope. Their biggest worry, the article said, is that they will lose ground tomorrow. They feel they are hanging on for dear life. But that is not hope; it’s anxiety. So, it is no surprise that the poor in the gospel always have a special place in God’s promised kingdom, because they are not afraid to hope for something new and radical. Indeed, their lives depend upon tomorrow not looking like today.
Some weeks ago I went to Yale New Haven Hospital to visit my former organist from Center Church in New Haven. Eleanor was in the Intensive Care Unit, and since they were doing a minor procedure I was asked to wait. And while in the waiting area, I met someone who told me in so many words that she felt she was in a valley of dried up bones. That wasn’t the language, she used, but it is what she meant. Her husband was in critical condition, and it was not at all clear he would make it. “When I graduated from college in 1963,” she told me, “I could not find my path. I couldn’t figure out what I really wanted to do. I knew I did not want to be a full time wife and mother, and so I did a lot of different jobs, but none of them satisfied. I was married at 32, old for my generation, a mother of two by the age of 36, and then in my forties in was all about struggling to do all the things middle age people have to do: pay the mortgage, raise kids, drive the kids around to this practice and that one, and then later there were the college bills, and by the time my husband and I were finished with all that, we had become strangers to one another. Nothing bad had happened; no affairs, no big financial mess, no disasters with children. We had shared this life together, and yet, we hardly knew each other. Now, here I am at the age of 78. My husband is probably dying, and what I feel is not this great sadness, but a great emptiness. I feel life has been drained out of me, and I cannot figure out why. I feel I missed something vital, but I don’t know what. And most of all, I do not know what I am supposed to do now.
Have you ever felt like that, as if life has been drained out of you? And then you think to yourself, what am I supposed to do now? We Americans always think we can or should do something. But maybe we can’t. Maybe there are these times when all we can do is hunker down and wait, wait for the question God put to Ezekiel and sometimes puts to us. Can these dry bones live? Can new life come? At times like that, perhaps the only answer we can honestly give is, “O God, you know; only you know.”
THE MEETING: A SAMARITAN WOMAN SPEAKS Preached by: Sandra Olsen 3/15/2020
John 4: 5-42
I understand that this is Women’s History Month, and last Sunday was International Women’s Day, when people were paying particular attention to women---their stories and aspirations. So with that in mind, it does make sense for me to be here---to tell you my story. Oh, it was such a long time ago, but how well I remember. And why shouldn’t I remember the details? It was, after all, completely unheard of for a Jewish man to speak to a Samaritan, and a woman, why that was even more outrageous. Jewish men did not even speak to Jewish women in public. That was just the way it was; still is, even today, in some parts of the Middle East.
But before I begin with the specifics of my story, I want you to understand something about the enmity between the Samaritans and the Jews. You probably realize that the two groups did not get along, and surely you all know and love the story from Luke’s gospel about the Good Samaritan, who helped the beaten and bleeding Jew, when so many other respectable Jewish leaders passed him by.
Well, memory goes back very far in the Middle East, and so the trouble began in 722 BC, when the Assyrians conquered the northern kingdom of Israel, whose capital was Samaria. Samaritans became the people who intermarried with the pagan invaders, and though Samaritans and Jews both read the same scriptures and were waiting and hoping for the same Messiah, the Jews came to view us as impure, what some people might insultingly call, half breeds. Centuries later, after the Babylonian exile, when the Jews returned to Judah, the southern kingdom, the Samaritans of the northern kingdom did not welcome them home, and so to distinguish ourselves from the Jews, we Samaritans built a rival temple on Mount Gerizim. That is the holy mountain, we insisted, not Mount Sinai. Well, the Jews later destroyed our temple, which hardly made things easier between the two groups. And so, it has gone and continues to go. You can still find some Samaritans today living in Tel Aviv and Nablus, located in what is now the West Bank. But enough of history; now to my story.
It was noon, when I went to draw water from the well. The sun was already high in the sky, and it was hot, very hot. I knew I would be alone, since women always went to the well in the early morning hours before the heat of the day. They would go back and forth, usually a few times in the morning, and then later in the day, in the cool of the late afternoon, they would go again. I was careful to avoid those times, since I did not enjoy the stares and the nasty asides, usually uttered under the breath. Few would ever have the nerve to directly insult me.
It is true; my life hardly conformed to the pattern of womanhood laid down by either Samaritan or Jewish custom, and so it was simply easier for me to avoid potentially unpleasant situations. The man I was living with at the time was not my husband; I had already been married five times, but notice, Jesus said nothing about why I had been married five times. Women, you must remember, could not divorce on their own, so I was left widowed a few times and then men divorced me three times. And why was I divorced? Isn’t it interesting that whenever there is something unusual about a woman’s status, the assumption is made that she must be guilty of some kind of sexual impropriety? Mary Magdalene is a case in point. She is accused of being a prostitute; though nowhere in the scripture does it say that. It is an assumption, just as there is an assumption that I was guilty of some misdeed. My guilt, my crime was that I was barren, and in my day barrenness was always the woman’s fault, a curse pronounced by God. Well, after five husbands the last thing I thought I needed was another one, another man divorcing me because I was cursed.
So here I was at Jacob’s well, and this man, obviously a Jewish man, asked me for water. I thought it strange he was even here; most Jews traveling between Judah in the south and Galilee in the north would avoid going through Samaria by crossing the Jordan River to the east. But not this man. There he stood, looking hot and thirsty, requesting from me a drink of water. It’s strange, but as soon as he spoke, I felt this connecting spark. I mean here was a man, willing to break rules, and since I too was a rule breaker, my whole attention suddenly became focused, sharply focused. Though he asked me for water, he carried no cup. Did he expect me to give him one? But that would be another unclean act, and so, though shocked, I was also immensely curious. What is he really up to, I pondered? What does he really want, I wondered?
He said he wanted water, but do you realize that in your scriptures there are very few examples of Jesus asking anyone for anything. And so, I simply asked him how it was that he, a Jew, would ask me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink of water. But instead of answering my question, instead of taking water from me, he spoke to me in a kind of riddle, telling me that I would be wise to pay attention to his identity. If I only knew who he was, he said, I would ask him for living water. But what was that? I thought he meant fresh, flowing water as opposed to still water. And when he told me I would never be thirsty again, I thought he meant I would never have to return to the well to fill my jug. What a relief that would be. Do you have any idea how heavy water is? One pint weighs one pound, so a 5 gallon jug of water weighs a staggering 40 pounds, and most households would need two or three times that amount for one day.
At the time I did not understand that Jesus was offering to open me up to full and abundant life. I thought his offer was all about making my chores easier. Now, when I look back, I realize this is often how it is in human life. God offers us something big, something that can radically change the course of our lives, and we are ready to settle for far less, like lessening our chores. That’s what the temptation story was all about a few weeks ago. Jesus was offered some pretty big things by Satan, like turning stones into bread, but if he had fallen for that, he would have settled for far less than he was called to be. And he knew it; he knew it even then, while most of us just do not see and understand at the time. We are all like those Israelite's, moaning and complaining to Moses as they wondered, Is God with us or not? All they wanted was water to drink. They had no idea that God was with them on a journey toward living water.
So, they settled, and we settle, not unlike the poor alcoholic who settles for a bottle of booze rather than facing the pain of his life. Fear holds him or her back, just as fear often holds all of us in its nasty grip as we realize there is something to be gained, but also something to be lost. And it is that losing which is the fearful thing.
Oh, I eventually lost my place, a place I had made for myself as the outsider, looking down on people whom I thought were overly conventional and cowardly. But I came to understand that I too was playing it safe, always at a distance from everyone else, where no one could hurt me or make demands on me. I was so self-sufficient, until step by step, I moved outside the little box I had comfortably made into a wider and bigger world. And that is what living water is for; that is what eternal life is about. We cannot reduce eternity to a state after death. It is also about how we live now, how and what we choose to do and what and whom we choose to love. Eternal life is indeed about life, full and abundant life. That is what living water is; that is what it means to drink from the cup Jesus offers. And so, the offer is always being made. We can always begin again, always start over. And when fear would hold us back, we can reach out our hands and say, Jesus, give me your living water. And he does and he will---even if it does not always come in the form we want or expect.
John 4: 5-42
I understand that this is Women’s History Month, and last Sunday was International Women’s Day, when people were paying particular attention to women---their stories and aspirations. So with that in mind, it does make sense for me to be here---to tell you my story. Oh, it was such a long time ago, but how well I remember. And why shouldn’t I remember the details? It was, after all, completely unheard of for a Jewish man to speak to a Samaritan, and a woman, why that was even more outrageous. Jewish men did not even speak to Jewish women in public. That was just the way it was; still is, even today, in some parts of the Middle East.
But before I begin with the specifics of my story, I want you to understand something about the enmity between the Samaritans and the Jews. You probably realize that the two groups did not get along, and surely you all know and love the story from Luke’s gospel about the Good Samaritan, who helped the beaten and bleeding Jew, when so many other respectable Jewish leaders passed him by.
Well, memory goes back very far in the Middle East, and so the trouble began in 722 BC, when the Assyrians conquered the northern kingdom of Israel, whose capital was Samaria. Samaritans became the people who intermarried with the pagan invaders, and though Samaritans and Jews both read the same scriptures and were waiting and hoping for the same Messiah, the Jews came to view us as impure, what some people might insultingly call, half breeds. Centuries later, after the Babylonian exile, when the Jews returned to Judah, the southern kingdom, the Samaritans of the northern kingdom did not welcome them home, and so to distinguish ourselves from the Jews, we Samaritans built a rival temple on Mount Gerizim. That is the holy mountain, we insisted, not Mount Sinai. Well, the Jews later destroyed our temple, which hardly made things easier between the two groups. And so, it has gone and continues to go. You can still find some Samaritans today living in Tel Aviv and Nablus, located in what is now the West Bank. But enough of history; now to my story.
It was noon, when I went to draw water from the well. The sun was already high in the sky, and it was hot, very hot. I knew I would be alone, since women always went to the well in the early morning hours before the heat of the day. They would go back and forth, usually a few times in the morning, and then later in the day, in the cool of the late afternoon, they would go again. I was careful to avoid those times, since I did not enjoy the stares and the nasty asides, usually uttered under the breath. Few would ever have the nerve to directly insult me.
It is true; my life hardly conformed to the pattern of womanhood laid down by either Samaritan or Jewish custom, and so it was simply easier for me to avoid potentially unpleasant situations. The man I was living with at the time was not my husband; I had already been married five times, but notice, Jesus said nothing about why I had been married five times. Women, you must remember, could not divorce on their own, so I was left widowed a few times and then men divorced me three times. And why was I divorced? Isn’t it interesting that whenever there is something unusual about a woman’s status, the assumption is made that she must be guilty of some kind of sexual impropriety? Mary Magdalene is a case in point. She is accused of being a prostitute; though nowhere in the scripture does it say that. It is an assumption, just as there is an assumption that I was guilty of some misdeed. My guilt, my crime was that I was barren, and in my day barrenness was always the woman’s fault, a curse pronounced by God. Well, after five husbands the last thing I thought I needed was another one, another man divorcing me because I was cursed.
So here I was at Jacob’s well, and this man, obviously a Jewish man, asked me for water. I thought it strange he was even here; most Jews traveling between Judah in the south and Galilee in the north would avoid going through Samaria by crossing the Jordan River to the east. But not this man. There he stood, looking hot and thirsty, requesting from me a drink of water. It’s strange, but as soon as he spoke, I felt this connecting spark. I mean here was a man, willing to break rules, and since I too was a rule breaker, my whole attention suddenly became focused, sharply focused. Though he asked me for water, he carried no cup. Did he expect me to give him one? But that would be another unclean act, and so, though shocked, I was also immensely curious. What is he really up to, I pondered? What does he really want, I wondered?
He said he wanted water, but do you realize that in your scriptures there are very few examples of Jesus asking anyone for anything. And so, I simply asked him how it was that he, a Jew, would ask me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink of water. But instead of answering my question, instead of taking water from me, he spoke to me in a kind of riddle, telling me that I would be wise to pay attention to his identity. If I only knew who he was, he said, I would ask him for living water. But what was that? I thought he meant fresh, flowing water as opposed to still water. And when he told me I would never be thirsty again, I thought he meant I would never have to return to the well to fill my jug. What a relief that would be. Do you have any idea how heavy water is? One pint weighs one pound, so a 5 gallon jug of water weighs a staggering 40 pounds, and most households would need two or three times that amount for one day.
At the time I did not understand that Jesus was offering to open me up to full and abundant life. I thought his offer was all about making my chores easier. Now, when I look back, I realize this is often how it is in human life. God offers us something big, something that can radically change the course of our lives, and we are ready to settle for far less, like lessening our chores. That’s what the temptation story was all about a few weeks ago. Jesus was offered some pretty big things by Satan, like turning stones into bread, but if he had fallen for that, he would have settled for far less than he was called to be. And he knew it; he knew it even then, while most of us just do not see and understand at the time. We are all like those Israelite's, moaning and complaining to Moses as they wondered, Is God with us or not? All they wanted was water to drink. They had no idea that God was with them on a journey toward living water.
So, they settled, and we settle, not unlike the poor alcoholic who settles for a bottle of booze rather than facing the pain of his life. Fear holds him or her back, just as fear often holds all of us in its nasty grip as we realize there is something to be gained, but also something to be lost. And it is that losing which is the fearful thing.
Oh, I eventually lost my place, a place I had made for myself as the outsider, looking down on people whom I thought were overly conventional and cowardly. But I came to understand that I too was playing it safe, always at a distance from everyone else, where no one could hurt me or make demands on me. I was so self-sufficient, until step by step, I moved outside the little box I had comfortably made into a wider and bigger world. And that is what living water is for; that is what eternal life is about. We cannot reduce eternity to a state after death. It is also about how we live now, how and what we choose to do and what and whom we choose to love. Eternal life is indeed about life, full and abundant life. That is what living water is; that is what it means to drink from the cup Jesus offers. And so, the offer is always being made. We can always begin again, always start over. And when fear would hold us back, we can reach out our hands and say, Jesus, give me your living water. And he does and he will---even if it does not always come in the form we want or expect.
COMING TO JESUS BY NIGHT Preached by: Sandra Olsen 3/8/2020
Genesis 12: 1-4a
John 3: 1-17
Nicodemus comes to Jesus by night. It’s dark, vision is impaired in these days long before electricity, and for the writer of this gospel night and dark symbolize blindness and misunderstanding. Yet this is when Nicodemus, a Pharisee and leader of the Jews, comes to Jesus. Though this is early in John’s gospel, (only chapter 3) already Jesus has created opposition. Unlike Mathew, Mark and Luke, who show Jesus throwing the money changers out of the Temple right before his arrest and execution, John puts that story at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, in chapter 2 in order to make clear Jesus’ identity. His authority, in other words, extends over and beyond the Temple. The temple can be destroyed, Jesus told the crowd, and in three days “I will rebuild it”---a reference to his resurrection on the third day.
Now Nicodemus, who was a Pharisee, would not have found it beneficial to be associated with such a radical. But he was curious, curious enough to come to Jesus by night. He had seen Jesus perform signs and wonders. In chapter two we are told that people believed in Jesus because of such signs, but it also says at the chapter’s end that Jesus would not entrust himself to those who believed in him because of signs. And then chapter three begins with Nicodemus coming to Jesus by night.
Notice that Nicodemus immediately tells Jesus that he believes in him precisely because of those signs. No one can do these things apart from the presence of God, he told Jesus. But to be impressed by the signs is to be impressed by the wrong things; the signs are not the right reason for believing. If Nicodemus came with questions, he did not get the chance to ask them, because immediately Jesus launches into a theological declaration. He tells Nicodemus that no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above. The Greek word, translated as above, can also mean again or anew. Nicodemus takes it to mean again, which is why he asks the question about entering into his mother’s womb for a second birth. Jesus then tries to explain the difference between spirit and flesh, but still Nicodemus does not get it. How can these things be, Nicodemus ponders, and Jesus simply responds by asking, “Are you a teacher of Israel and yet you do not understand these things?” And then Jesus declares what is perhaps the most memorized biblical verse in the New Testament: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”
We don’t hear anything more from Nicodemus until chapter 7, when he offers a defense of Jesus by reminding his fellow Pharisees that before they can condemn Jesus, their law demands he be fairly tried. Nicodemus appears again, when after Jesus’ death, he goes to his tomb with an excessive load of spices. So while he is a believer, he is an unsure and hesitant one, who is also impressed by the wrong things---not unlike many of us. We believe, but our reasons for believing may be no better than Nicodemus’ reasons. He, at least, witnessed signs and wonders. What do we offer as our reasons for believing in Jesus? Indeed, why are we here in church? Is it because we love the peaceful beauty of this place? Or the intimate trust that develops among members? Is it because we want to learn something new about the Bible, and see it applied to real life, so we can understand our own lives in a different way? Certainly not bad reasons to come to church, but how about the one that goes to the heart of the matter: Are we here, because we want to become disciples? Are we here to follow Jesus? I don’t mean follow perfectly, because perfection is not in our grasp, but do we want to follow more faithfully today than we did yesterday? Do we want to be changed by our encounter with the living Christ?
The gospel is really a kind of lens, and when we put it on, our vision, our view of the world does not look the same. Or at least it should not look the same, and if it does, then something is wrong. When we look through the lens of the gospel, we should not see our enemies the same way. Oh yes, we will still have enemies, but we can’t hate them and claim to be following Christ. We cannot put on the lens of the gospel and see a world, where torture and execution are acceptable. We can’t look at the addicted or the homeless, or the poor as if they deserve their lot in life, because some of them perhaps have made poor decisions. Oh, we can and we sometimes do these things, but we should not fool ourselves into believing that this is how Christ taught us to see. Jesus never once said, “God helps those who help themselves.” On the contrary, he taught, God so loved the world—the whole, inclusive world--- that he gave his Son for the world’s benefit that the world through him might be saved.
Some years ago, when I was at Princeton Theological Seminary for a course, I attended Sunday worship at Nassau Presbyterian Church. It is a lovely building with a strong membership, including many faculty and staff from the University and Seminary, and the preaching is, as you might expect, pretty intellectual. Well, after the service I was standing around in the social room, when this man began to speak with me. I told him the sermon gave me a lot to ponder. “Most likely,” he said, “but I have not understood a sermon here in 25 years. It seems that everyone here is either a professor or a lawyer, or some other highly educated professional, so the ministers tend to preach to them. I’m just a regular guy; I have a very successful house painting business, so I can afford to live in this upscale town, but I don’t have the education that most members have.
“Then why do you stay,” I asked? “What do you get out of it?”
“Oh, I will never leave this church,” he continued, “because it’s the place where I learned to be a better Christian. You see, some years ago, we started these visits to the prison, and so I thought, well, this is something Jesus said we should do, so I will try it. I really wasn’t that enthusiastic, but they needed someone with a van to drive and, so I volunteered. I started visiting people I could have so easily hated---like this rapist. Hey, I have three daughters. What was I doing talking to a man like this? But in time after listening to his story as well as the stories of other prisoners, I began to see them differently from the way the world sees them. And slowly it dawned on me that the gospel is true--- whatever we do to the least of these we do to Christ. I even gave some ex-prisoners jobs. There was this one tough guy, who disappointed me, when he stole money from a home we were painting, but you know something, against reason, I didn’t fire him. I prayed about it, and asked God to help me make the right decision. If I fired him, what would he do? Would he be able to get another job, or would he choose crime? So, I told him I would pay back the money, and I wanted him to continue working for me. I expect you to pay me back, I told him. He was shocked; he thought I had lost my mind. Well, so did my wife. But I felt this is what Jesus would have me do. That was 15 years ago, and that guy is my best worker. No, I may not understand the sermons here, but I have begun to understand what Christ would have me do. That’s why I am here. That’s why I stay.”
The Church is the body of Christ, and we are called to be part of that body. And we might be attracted to a particular church for all kinds of reasons—like my former church in New Haven, which boasted a stunning sanctuary, an exquisite hand built Fisk organ, a talented paid choir and a long and proud history, all of which were wonderful gifts. But none of that should be the main reason for the church. We are in church to be transformed into disciples, to help one another practice Christian faith, which means learning to see differently and act differently from how the world sees and acts. The world does not set the standards. Christ does, and we are called to follow him---although we sometimes stumble after him, or like Nicodemus, impressed by the wrong things, we come to Jesus by night. But at least we come, and that is a beginning.
Genesis 12: 1-4a
John 3: 1-17
Nicodemus comes to Jesus by night. It’s dark, vision is impaired in these days long before electricity, and for the writer of this gospel night and dark symbolize blindness and misunderstanding. Yet this is when Nicodemus, a Pharisee and leader of the Jews, comes to Jesus. Though this is early in John’s gospel, (only chapter 3) already Jesus has created opposition. Unlike Mathew, Mark and Luke, who show Jesus throwing the money changers out of the Temple right before his arrest and execution, John puts that story at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, in chapter 2 in order to make clear Jesus’ identity. His authority, in other words, extends over and beyond the Temple. The temple can be destroyed, Jesus told the crowd, and in three days “I will rebuild it”---a reference to his resurrection on the third day.
Now Nicodemus, who was a Pharisee, would not have found it beneficial to be associated with such a radical. But he was curious, curious enough to come to Jesus by night. He had seen Jesus perform signs and wonders. In chapter two we are told that people believed in Jesus because of such signs, but it also says at the chapter’s end that Jesus would not entrust himself to those who believed in him because of signs. And then chapter three begins with Nicodemus coming to Jesus by night.
Notice that Nicodemus immediately tells Jesus that he believes in him precisely because of those signs. No one can do these things apart from the presence of God, he told Jesus. But to be impressed by the signs is to be impressed by the wrong things; the signs are not the right reason for believing. If Nicodemus came with questions, he did not get the chance to ask them, because immediately Jesus launches into a theological declaration. He tells Nicodemus that no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above. The Greek word, translated as above, can also mean again or anew. Nicodemus takes it to mean again, which is why he asks the question about entering into his mother’s womb for a second birth. Jesus then tries to explain the difference between spirit and flesh, but still Nicodemus does not get it. How can these things be, Nicodemus ponders, and Jesus simply responds by asking, “Are you a teacher of Israel and yet you do not understand these things?” And then Jesus declares what is perhaps the most memorized biblical verse in the New Testament: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”
We don’t hear anything more from Nicodemus until chapter 7, when he offers a defense of Jesus by reminding his fellow Pharisees that before they can condemn Jesus, their law demands he be fairly tried. Nicodemus appears again, when after Jesus’ death, he goes to his tomb with an excessive load of spices. So while he is a believer, he is an unsure and hesitant one, who is also impressed by the wrong things---not unlike many of us. We believe, but our reasons for believing may be no better than Nicodemus’ reasons. He, at least, witnessed signs and wonders. What do we offer as our reasons for believing in Jesus? Indeed, why are we here in church? Is it because we love the peaceful beauty of this place? Or the intimate trust that develops among members? Is it because we want to learn something new about the Bible, and see it applied to real life, so we can understand our own lives in a different way? Certainly not bad reasons to come to church, but how about the one that goes to the heart of the matter: Are we here, because we want to become disciples? Are we here to follow Jesus? I don’t mean follow perfectly, because perfection is not in our grasp, but do we want to follow more faithfully today than we did yesterday? Do we want to be changed by our encounter with the living Christ?
The gospel is really a kind of lens, and when we put it on, our vision, our view of the world does not look the same. Or at least it should not look the same, and if it does, then something is wrong. When we look through the lens of the gospel, we should not see our enemies the same way. Oh yes, we will still have enemies, but we can’t hate them and claim to be following Christ. We cannot put on the lens of the gospel and see a world, where torture and execution are acceptable. We can’t look at the addicted or the homeless, or the poor as if they deserve their lot in life, because some of them perhaps have made poor decisions. Oh, we can and we sometimes do these things, but we should not fool ourselves into believing that this is how Christ taught us to see. Jesus never once said, “God helps those who help themselves.” On the contrary, he taught, God so loved the world—the whole, inclusive world--- that he gave his Son for the world’s benefit that the world through him might be saved.
Some years ago, when I was at Princeton Theological Seminary for a course, I attended Sunday worship at Nassau Presbyterian Church. It is a lovely building with a strong membership, including many faculty and staff from the University and Seminary, and the preaching is, as you might expect, pretty intellectual. Well, after the service I was standing around in the social room, when this man began to speak with me. I told him the sermon gave me a lot to ponder. “Most likely,” he said, “but I have not understood a sermon here in 25 years. It seems that everyone here is either a professor or a lawyer, or some other highly educated professional, so the ministers tend to preach to them. I’m just a regular guy; I have a very successful house painting business, so I can afford to live in this upscale town, but I don’t have the education that most members have.
“Then why do you stay,” I asked? “What do you get out of it?”
“Oh, I will never leave this church,” he continued, “because it’s the place where I learned to be a better Christian. You see, some years ago, we started these visits to the prison, and so I thought, well, this is something Jesus said we should do, so I will try it. I really wasn’t that enthusiastic, but they needed someone with a van to drive and, so I volunteered. I started visiting people I could have so easily hated---like this rapist. Hey, I have three daughters. What was I doing talking to a man like this? But in time after listening to his story as well as the stories of other prisoners, I began to see them differently from the way the world sees them. And slowly it dawned on me that the gospel is true--- whatever we do to the least of these we do to Christ. I even gave some ex-prisoners jobs. There was this one tough guy, who disappointed me, when he stole money from a home we were painting, but you know something, against reason, I didn’t fire him. I prayed about it, and asked God to help me make the right decision. If I fired him, what would he do? Would he be able to get another job, or would he choose crime? So, I told him I would pay back the money, and I wanted him to continue working for me. I expect you to pay me back, I told him. He was shocked; he thought I had lost my mind. Well, so did my wife. But I felt this is what Jesus would have me do. That was 15 years ago, and that guy is my best worker. No, I may not understand the sermons here, but I have begun to understand what Christ would have me do. That’s why I am here. That’s why I stay.”
The Church is the body of Christ, and we are called to be part of that body. And we might be attracted to a particular church for all kinds of reasons—like my former church in New Haven, which boasted a stunning sanctuary, an exquisite hand built Fisk organ, a talented paid choir and a long and proud history, all of which were wonderful gifts. But none of that should be the main reason for the church. We are in church to be transformed into disciples, to help one another practice Christian faith, which means learning to see differently and act differently from how the world sees and acts. The world does not set the standards. Christ does, and we are called to follow him---although we sometimes stumble after him, or like Nicodemus, impressed by the wrong things, we come to Jesus by night. But at least we come, and that is a beginning.
The Temptation of Pride Preached by: Sandra Olsen 3/1/2020
Genesis 2: 15-17; 3: 1-7
Matthew 4: 1-11
No sooner was Jesus baptized than he was led out into the wilderness by the Spirit, where for forty days and nights he was tempted by the devil. Matthew’s version tells us that at his baptism the heavens opened, and the Spirit alighted on Jesus, while a voice claimed him as the Beloved Son. And immediately after that---the next verse, in fact, we are told that the same Spirit led him to the place where he would face the tempter. In other words, it is impossible to be the chosen one, the beloved one, without being tested. There is no spiritual maturity or depth without wrestling with temptation, or as the great Protestant reformer, Martin Luther, would say centuries later, “The worst temptation of all is to have no temptation.”
And so, the Church, throughout its 2000 years of history, has paid great attention to the subject of temptation and its companion, sin. And, according to the Church, the crowning glory of all the sins is Pride. By the Middle Ages the Church had catalogued seven deadly sins: pride, envy, anger, sloth, greed, gluttony and lust. Pride was always considered the linchpin, the major sin, which allowed and encouraged all the other sins. Now we understand that a certain amount of pride is necessary if one is to grow confidence and learn responsibility. It is important to take pride in one’s work and achievements. But this kind of self worth and confidence is not the kind of pride condemned as sinful, and when it is so condemned, it is a terrible injustice. I remember many years ago, when I worked as a chaplain in a state mental hospital, I met Sister Claire, a brilliant woman, who had received her PhD in literature from Columbia University sometime in the mid 1950’s. Her dream had been to teach at St. Mary’s College---at that time the sister college to Indiana’s Notre Dame. St. Mary’s hired her, and she was all set to go, until her Order decided she was too full of pride for her intellectual gifts, and to break her of that pride, she was assigned to teach junior high age girls. But that was not her call, not her gift, and in time she became rebellious, frustrated, angry and finally sick. When I met her, she had already spent over 25 years in the mental hospital.
The desire to use our gifts is not sinful pride. Pride becomes sin when it is excessive self-love, the tendency to elevate the self to the place of God. Adam and Eve became the prototypes of the prideful human, because when Satan told Eve that she could eat of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, she was attracted by the idea that she would be like God. The desire to be more than human is sin. And this is what makes the story of Jesus’ temptation so profoundly revelatory of the human condition. Jesus was not so full of pride that he thought he should be spared the full experience of his humanity, including temptation. Do you recall last week a child’s letter to God that asked, How did you know you are God? Well, Jesus would learn who he was by living fully and facing fully what it is human beings have to face: temptation, suffering and finally death.
In what is surely one of the great masterpieces of western literature, Milton’s Paradise Lost, we have an extraordinary psychological portrayal of pride in the character of Satan. Like the story of Adam and Eve, the truth of Paradise Lost does not depend upon an actual historical occurrence. Its truth lies in its power to reveal something significantly true about the human condition. Milton’s Satan, too proud to pay homage to God, led a rebellion of angels, and then when he was thrown into hell, he claimed it was better to rule there than to serve in heaven. Satan had this warped idea that God’s greatness depended upon submission, and so if he refused to submit to God, he thought he would then replace God. Pride blinded Satan to what truly made God great and attractive. It was not God’s raw power to demand submission, but rather God’s power to love. But pride blinds, allowing the excessively proud to see only a very small portion of reality. They see only the self, a self which sometimes tries to take all the credit.
Some time ago I read an article about the brilliantly talented violinist, Joshua Bell, who claims he is an atheist. Greatly annoyed when a believer told Bell how fortunate he was that God had blessed him with such a wonderful gift, Bell took offense, saying he felt giving God credit diminished his (Bell’s) hard work in becoming a great violinist. Now there is no doubt that hard work and discipline played a major role in Bell’s success, and yes Bell deserves great admiration for all he has achieved. Yet it strikes me as excessively prideful to fail to acknowledge that his ability is not completely self-generated. There was a gift, a potential to begin with, something in his DNA, which Bell then acted upon and worked hard to develop. The strategy of pride is always to attack not at our weakest point, but at our strongest. Remember, Satan was known as Lucifer, the brightest shining star of all the angels, and yet he was the first to fall.
All three temptations Jesus faced in the wilderness involved the self, his identity, what kind of messiah he would be, and in conquering them and living fully, Jesus would become became the man for others. Satan challenged him, “If you are the Son of God, do this: turn these stones into bread; if you are the son of God, throw yourself down, for surely God will lift you up, and in the third temptation he promised Jesus that all the kingdoms of the world would be his, if he would fall down and worship Satan. Jesus did not fall for the bait. As much as the temptations were about Jesus, he also realized they were about God, about what God wanted, which is why Matthew has Jesus answer each temptation with a quote from Deuteronomy, The Old Testament book, which shows us the Jewish people finally ending their wanderings in the wilderness and moving into the Promised Land. While Moses would not reach the Promised Land with them, he reminds the people, Remember the covenant God has made with you. Remember, it is not all about you, but it is all about God and human beings, who are called to faithfulness even as they (and we) face the temptation to run away from that call. And as difficult and trying as that temptation is, it is worse, said Luther, to have no temptation at all, because then our spirituality remains infantile.
Genesis 2: 15-17; 3: 1-7
Matthew 4: 1-11
No sooner was Jesus baptized than he was led out into the wilderness by the Spirit, where for forty days and nights he was tempted by the devil. Matthew’s version tells us that at his baptism the heavens opened, and the Spirit alighted on Jesus, while a voice claimed him as the Beloved Son. And immediately after that---the next verse, in fact, we are told that the same Spirit led him to the place where he would face the tempter. In other words, it is impossible to be the chosen one, the beloved one, without being tested. There is no spiritual maturity or depth without wrestling with temptation, or as the great Protestant reformer, Martin Luther, would say centuries later, “The worst temptation of all is to have no temptation.”
And so, the Church, throughout its 2000 years of history, has paid great attention to the subject of temptation and its companion, sin. And, according to the Church, the crowning glory of all the sins is Pride. By the Middle Ages the Church had catalogued seven deadly sins: pride, envy, anger, sloth, greed, gluttony and lust. Pride was always considered the linchpin, the major sin, which allowed and encouraged all the other sins. Now we understand that a certain amount of pride is necessary if one is to grow confidence and learn responsibility. It is important to take pride in one’s work and achievements. But this kind of self worth and confidence is not the kind of pride condemned as sinful, and when it is so condemned, it is a terrible injustice. I remember many years ago, when I worked as a chaplain in a state mental hospital, I met Sister Claire, a brilliant woman, who had received her PhD in literature from Columbia University sometime in the mid 1950’s. Her dream had been to teach at St. Mary’s College---at that time the sister college to Indiana’s Notre Dame. St. Mary’s hired her, and she was all set to go, until her Order decided she was too full of pride for her intellectual gifts, and to break her of that pride, she was assigned to teach junior high age girls. But that was not her call, not her gift, and in time she became rebellious, frustrated, angry and finally sick. When I met her, she had already spent over 25 years in the mental hospital.
The desire to use our gifts is not sinful pride. Pride becomes sin when it is excessive self-love, the tendency to elevate the self to the place of God. Adam and Eve became the prototypes of the prideful human, because when Satan told Eve that she could eat of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, she was attracted by the idea that she would be like God. The desire to be more than human is sin. And this is what makes the story of Jesus’ temptation so profoundly revelatory of the human condition. Jesus was not so full of pride that he thought he should be spared the full experience of his humanity, including temptation. Do you recall last week a child’s letter to God that asked, How did you know you are God? Well, Jesus would learn who he was by living fully and facing fully what it is human beings have to face: temptation, suffering and finally death.
In what is surely one of the great masterpieces of western literature, Milton’s Paradise Lost, we have an extraordinary psychological portrayal of pride in the character of Satan. Like the story of Adam and Eve, the truth of Paradise Lost does not depend upon an actual historical occurrence. Its truth lies in its power to reveal something significantly true about the human condition. Milton’s Satan, too proud to pay homage to God, led a rebellion of angels, and then when he was thrown into hell, he claimed it was better to rule there than to serve in heaven. Satan had this warped idea that God’s greatness depended upon submission, and so if he refused to submit to God, he thought he would then replace God. Pride blinded Satan to what truly made God great and attractive. It was not God’s raw power to demand submission, but rather God’s power to love. But pride blinds, allowing the excessively proud to see only a very small portion of reality. They see only the self, a self which sometimes tries to take all the credit.
Some time ago I read an article about the brilliantly talented violinist, Joshua Bell, who claims he is an atheist. Greatly annoyed when a believer told Bell how fortunate he was that God had blessed him with such a wonderful gift, Bell took offense, saying he felt giving God credit diminished his (Bell’s) hard work in becoming a great violinist. Now there is no doubt that hard work and discipline played a major role in Bell’s success, and yes Bell deserves great admiration for all he has achieved. Yet it strikes me as excessively prideful to fail to acknowledge that his ability is not completely self-generated. There was a gift, a potential to begin with, something in his DNA, which Bell then acted upon and worked hard to develop. The strategy of pride is always to attack not at our weakest point, but at our strongest. Remember, Satan was known as Lucifer, the brightest shining star of all the angels, and yet he was the first to fall.
All three temptations Jesus faced in the wilderness involved the self, his identity, what kind of messiah he would be, and in conquering them and living fully, Jesus would become became the man for others. Satan challenged him, “If you are the Son of God, do this: turn these stones into bread; if you are the son of God, throw yourself down, for surely God will lift you up, and in the third temptation he promised Jesus that all the kingdoms of the world would be his, if he would fall down and worship Satan. Jesus did not fall for the bait. As much as the temptations were about Jesus, he also realized they were about God, about what God wanted, which is why Matthew has Jesus answer each temptation with a quote from Deuteronomy, The Old Testament book, which shows us the Jewish people finally ending their wanderings in the wilderness and moving into the Promised Land. While Moses would not reach the Promised Land with them, he reminds the people, Remember the covenant God has made with you. Remember, it is not all about you, but it is all about God and human beings, who are called to faithfulness even as they (and we) face the temptation to run away from that call. And as difficult and trying as that temptation is, it is worse, said Luther, to have no temptation at all, because then our spirituality remains infantile.
Ash Wednesday Preached by: Sandra Olsen 2/26/2020
The song wafted into the hospital hallway, and that music, my favorite aria from my favorite opera, Puccini’s La Boheme, was my introduction to Elizabeth. Now I want you to imagine being in a hospital on the floor of a critical care unit, approaching a room and hearing this: Aria played. La Boheme, by the way, is a love story that turns tragic, because the heroine, Mimi, dies from tuberculosis at the opera’s conclusion.
Elizabeth was 37 years old, a gifted neurosurgeon from Johns Hopkins, afflicted with a fatal brain tumor. She was the mother of two children, a girl age 6 and a boy, age 4. She came to University Hospital to die after her husband, who himself was a general surgeon, also at Johns Hopkins, lost courage and ran. I cannot bear to see the love of my life die, he said. God help me; God forgive me. I cannot do it. I cannot face my children with my failure to save their mother. And so he ran, and Elizabeth came with her children to the place where her parents lived and where her father had been a professor of medicine.
Since Elizabeth and I were both lovers of Puccini operas, we had this immediate bond, and she and I grew very close. We had long talks about life and death, and I came to admire greatly her courage and dignity. And I came to admire something else as well: her ability to forgive someone whom she deeply loved and who had broken her heart.
Elizabeth insisted that understanding helps one to forgive, and she did understand her husband. They met in medical school, and they fell deeply in love. Both of them were passionate about medicine, she the intricacies of the human brain, and he the complexities and interrelationship of individual body parts. He did not like to concentrate on one part of the body as she did; he liked the challenge of honing his skills on various body parts---thus, his specialty in general surgery.
Elizabeth told me that her husband’s great enemy was death, and he fought against it with all the determination and skill he could muster. He could not stand to lose a patient, and when he did, he would descend into a deep depression for days on end. He even tried therapy, she said, because he realized his reactions were outside the normal curve. Many surgeons fight death, Elizabeth said, but not to the same degree my husband did. And now, because he knows this is a battle death will finally win, he cannot bear it. I am afraid he is a coward, she said. I know that, and worst of all, he knows it.
Elizabeth was not consumed by anger or bitterness, just a wrenching hurt and also a deep forgiveness, born of love and understanding. She hoped against hope that he would return toward the end, and even on her last day, she would move in and out of consciousness, calling his name, still hoping that he would come. But he never did. When she died her service boasted beautiful voices singing some of Puccini’s most stirring arias as well as the most beautiful arrangement of flowers I have ever seen, ribboned with these words, My love, forgive me. She already had. He did not even have to ask.
There is something about mortality that connects with the theme of forgiveness. Since we do not have an unlimited time, how we bear our hurts, defeats and disappointments matter. If you read the stories of the Greek and Roman myths, especially the stories of the gods and goddesses, the issue of forgiveness never arises. No god or goddess ever says to another god or goddess, I’m sorry; no god or goddess ever offers forgiveness to another divine one. Repentance and forgiveness are not big issues, when time never runs out, because there is an infinite amount of time to redo and remake reality. But we humans do not have infinite time, and so what we do with the finite time we have does matter. We cannot redo our past and outlive our sins. And that is where forgiveness enters.
Today we remember that we are dust and to dust we shall return. We also are reminded that the piety and faithfulness God would ask of us cannot be reduced to a list of rules that can be easily checked off. We are called to cultivate a disposition of the inner heart and spirit, a generosity of judgment that opens itself up wide to others and the world. This is, as Isaiah reminds us, a repairing of the walls or the translation I prefer: the repairing of the breach. Of course, in opening up wide, we open ourselves to great pain and disappointment, as Elizabeth did. She loved her husband to the very end, and though she died with a broken heart, it was not a bitter one. It was a forgiving heart. And that was and is a spiritual victory, which Elizabeth offered to God.
We all have sins to be sorry for, sins to repent of just as we also bear the stinging hurts and betrayals with which others have afflicted us. And how we bear all that says something about the kind of spiritual life we lead and leave behind, when our time on this earth is over. And yet the final consolation and victory are not ours to claim, because in the end it is not all about us, but all about God, our God in Jesus Christ, who assures us that when we fail, there is yet mercy and love. And that is the great spiritual victory, offered by God to all of us.
The song wafted into the hospital hallway, and that music, my favorite aria from my favorite opera, Puccini’s La Boheme, was my introduction to Elizabeth. Now I want you to imagine being in a hospital on the floor of a critical care unit, approaching a room and hearing this: Aria played. La Boheme, by the way, is a love story that turns tragic, because the heroine, Mimi, dies from tuberculosis at the opera’s conclusion.
Elizabeth was 37 years old, a gifted neurosurgeon from Johns Hopkins, afflicted with a fatal brain tumor. She was the mother of two children, a girl age 6 and a boy, age 4. She came to University Hospital to die after her husband, who himself was a general surgeon, also at Johns Hopkins, lost courage and ran. I cannot bear to see the love of my life die, he said. God help me; God forgive me. I cannot do it. I cannot face my children with my failure to save their mother. And so he ran, and Elizabeth came with her children to the place where her parents lived and where her father had been a professor of medicine.
Since Elizabeth and I were both lovers of Puccini operas, we had this immediate bond, and she and I grew very close. We had long talks about life and death, and I came to admire greatly her courage and dignity. And I came to admire something else as well: her ability to forgive someone whom she deeply loved and who had broken her heart.
Elizabeth insisted that understanding helps one to forgive, and she did understand her husband. They met in medical school, and they fell deeply in love. Both of them were passionate about medicine, she the intricacies of the human brain, and he the complexities and interrelationship of individual body parts. He did not like to concentrate on one part of the body as she did; he liked the challenge of honing his skills on various body parts---thus, his specialty in general surgery.
Elizabeth told me that her husband’s great enemy was death, and he fought against it with all the determination and skill he could muster. He could not stand to lose a patient, and when he did, he would descend into a deep depression for days on end. He even tried therapy, she said, because he realized his reactions were outside the normal curve. Many surgeons fight death, Elizabeth said, but not to the same degree my husband did. And now, because he knows this is a battle death will finally win, he cannot bear it. I am afraid he is a coward, she said. I know that, and worst of all, he knows it.
Elizabeth was not consumed by anger or bitterness, just a wrenching hurt and also a deep forgiveness, born of love and understanding. She hoped against hope that he would return toward the end, and even on her last day, she would move in and out of consciousness, calling his name, still hoping that he would come. But he never did. When she died her service boasted beautiful voices singing some of Puccini’s most stirring arias as well as the most beautiful arrangement of flowers I have ever seen, ribboned with these words, My love, forgive me. She already had. He did not even have to ask.
There is something about mortality that connects with the theme of forgiveness. Since we do not have an unlimited time, how we bear our hurts, defeats and disappointments matter. If you read the stories of the Greek and Roman myths, especially the stories of the gods and goddesses, the issue of forgiveness never arises. No god or goddess ever says to another god or goddess, I’m sorry; no god or goddess ever offers forgiveness to another divine one. Repentance and forgiveness are not big issues, when time never runs out, because there is an infinite amount of time to redo and remake reality. But we humans do not have infinite time, and so what we do with the finite time we have does matter. We cannot redo our past and outlive our sins. And that is where forgiveness enters.
Today we remember that we are dust and to dust we shall return. We also are reminded that the piety and faithfulness God would ask of us cannot be reduced to a list of rules that can be easily checked off. We are called to cultivate a disposition of the inner heart and spirit, a generosity of judgment that opens itself up wide to others and the world. This is, as Isaiah reminds us, a repairing of the walls or the translation I prefer: the repairing of the breach. Of course, in opening up wide, we open ourselves to great pain and disappointment, as Elizabeth did. She loved her husband to the very end, and though she died with a broken heart, it was not a bitter one. It was a forgiving heart. And that was and is a spiritual victory, which Elizabeth offered to God.
We all have sins to be sorry for, sins to repent of just as we also bear the stinging hurts and betrayals with which others have afflicted us. And how we bear all that says something about the kind of spiritual life we lead and leave behind, when our time on this earth is over. And yet the final consolation and victory are not ours to claim, because in the end it is not all about us, but all about God, our God in Jesus Christ, who assures us that when we fail, there is yet mercy and love. And that is the great spiritual victory, offered by God to all of us.
LETTERS TO GOD WRITTEN BY CHILDREN, READ BY SANDRA AT THE SERVICE: 2/23/2020
These are the letters from a book called, Letters to God, which Sandra read during the worship service on February 23, 2020.
We plan to print the, Letters to God, written by our congregation and will send it out at a later date.
Letters to God
In Sunday School they told us what you do. Who does it when you are on vacation? Jane
How did you know you were God? Charlene
I read the Bible. What does begat mean? Nobody will tell me. Love Alison
Dear God, Are you really invisible, or is that one of your tricks? Lucy
Dear God, Did you mean for the giraffe to look like that, or was it an accident? I have accidents all the time, so don’t feel bad. Norma
Dear God, Instead of letting people die and having to make new ones, why don’t you just keep the ones you already have? Jane
Dear God, Do animals use you, or is there somebody else for them? Nancy
Dear God, I like the Lord’s Prayer the best of all. Did you have to write it a lot, or did you get it right the first time? I have to write everything I ever write over again. Lois
Dear God, It’s ok that you made different religions, but don’t you get mixed up sometimes? Arnold
Dear God, What does it mean that you are a jealous God? I thought you had everything. Jane
Dear God, Is Reverent Coe a friend of yours, or do you just know him through business? Donny
Dear God, Did you really mean do unto others as they do unto you, because if you did, then I’m going to fix my brother? Darla
Dear God, Thank you for the baby brother, but what I prayed for was a puppy. Joyce
Dear God, Please put another holiday between Christmas and Easter. There is nothing good in there now. Ginny
Dear God, Maybe Cain and Abel would not kill each other so much if they had their own rooms. It works with my brother. Larry
Dear God, I bet it is very hard for you to love all of everybody in the whole world. There are only four people in our family, and I can never do it. Nan
Dear God, My brother told me about being born, but it doesn’t sound right. I think you can do better than this. Marsha
Dear God, In school we learned that Thomas Edison made light, but in Sunday School they said you did it. So I bet he stole your idea. Donna
Dear God, I told my Sunday School teacher that you are made of all kinds of people and all kinds of colors. She told me I was wrong. You ought to be more careful about the people you hire to teach your stuff. Jeff.
Dear God,
I know this is a question that arises again and again, but the pain, evil and suffering in the world are the most significant reasons people offer for not believing in you. And it is neither a trivial question nor a trivial accusation against you. It is perhaps the biggest question we can ponder. And quite frankly, there are no good answers. We can bring our best minds and spirits to this question, and still we come up short. Still there is no answer. And that defense about free will: That just does not cut it, because there is disease that has nothing to do with free will. A young mother dies a terrible death after a valiant fight against cancer. There is no reason for that, nothing that can justify her suffering and the loss her child must bear. It is just the way life is; it is not a perfect world, though some philosophers have argued it is the best of all possible worlds. But that is hard to believe given the massive wrongs history has witnessed---6 million Jews slaughtered for no other reason than their identity as Jews. Why would the free will of the evil doers count more than the free will of the victims? It is no consolation to be told that one day we will understand---one day we shall see face to face as Paul says. That does not really help, because the problems we face and the questions we have are for this life and this earth---not for some beyond. You have given us keen intelligence, and you expect us to use it. And so I conclude that the power you have comes down to love, the power that love has to persuade, but not to force.
These are the letters from a book called, Letters to God, which Sandra read during the worship service on February 23, 2020.
We plan to print the, Letters to God, written by our congregation and will send it out at a later date.
Letters to God
In Sunday School they told us what you do. Who does it when you are on vacation? Jane
How did you know you were God? Charlene
I read the Bible. What does begat mean? Nobody will tell me. Love Alison
Dear God, Are you really invisible, or is that one of your tricks? Lucy
Dear God, Did you mean for the giraffe to look like that, or was it an accident? I have accidents all the time, so don’t feel bad. Norma
Dear God, Instead of letting people die and having to make new ones, why don’t you just keep the ones you already have? Jane
Dear God, Do animals use you, or is there somebody else for them? Nancy
Dear God, I like the Lord’s Prayer the best of all. Did you have to write it a lot, or did you get it right the first time? I have to write everything I ever write over again. Lois
Dear God, It’s ok that you made different religions, but don’t you get mixed up sometimes? Arnold
Dear God, What does it mean that you are a jealous God? I thought you had everything. Jane
Dear God, Is Reverent Coe a friend of yours, or do you just know him through business? Donny
Dear God, Did you really mean do unto others as they do unto you, because if you did, then I’m going to fix my brother? Darla
Dear God, Thank you for the baby brother, but what I prayed for was a puppy. Joyce
Dear God, Please put another holiday between Christmas and Easter. There is nothing good in there now. Ginny
Dear God, Maybe Cain and Abel would not kill each other so much if they had their own rooms. It works with my brother. Larry
Dear God, I bet it is very hard for you to love all of everybody in the whole world. There are only four people in our family, and I can never do it. Nan
Dear God, My brother told me about being born, but it doesn’t sound right. I think you can do better than this. Marsha
Dear God, In school we learned that Thomas Edison made light, but in Sunday School they said you did it. So I bet he stole your idea. Donna
Dear God, I told my Sunday School teacher that you are made of all kinds of people and all kinds of colors. She told me I was wrong. You ought to be more careful about the people you hire to teach your stuff. Jeff.
Dear God,
I know this is a question that arises again and again, but the pain, evil and suffering in the world are the most significant reasons people offer for not believing in you. And it is neither a trivial question nor a trivial accusation against you. It is perhaps the biggest question we can ponder. And quite frankly, there are no good answers. We can bring our best minds and spirits to this question, and still we come up short. Still there is no answer. And that defense about free will: That just does not cut it, because there is disease that has nothing to do with free will. A young mother dies a terrible death after a valiant fight against cancer. There is no reason for that, nothing that can justify her suffering and the loss her child must bear. It is just the way life is; it is not a perfect world, though some philosophers have argued it is the best of all possible worlds. But that is hard to believe given the massive wrongs history has witnessed---6 million Jews slaughtered for no other reason than their identity as Jews. Why would the free will of the evil doers count more than the free will of the victims? It is no consolation to be told that one day we will understand---one day we shall see face to face as Paul says. That does not really help, because the problems we face and the questions we have are for this life and this earth---not for some beyond. You have given us keen intelligence, and you expect us to use it. And so I conclude that the power you have comes down to love, the power that love has to persuade, but not to force.
THE LOVE OF LAW OR THE LAW OF LOVE ~ Preached by Sandra Olsen 2/16/2020
Deuteronomy 30: 15-20
Matthew 5: 21-37
A few years ago, a woman, who exercised at the same place I did, came in one morning all upset, because her husband had decided to work at home that morning, when she was planning to get together with a friend to organize a surprise birthday party for her husband. “What’s the problem?” I asked. “Well, he wanted to know where I was going.” So why didn’t you just make something up, I asked. Oh no, she said. That would have been a lie, and it’s a sin to lie. Now I knew this woman to be a member of a fundamentalist church, and I never discussed religion with her, because I knew we would not agree on much. But since I was already involved in the conversation, I continued. No, that is not really a lie; it’s not about deceit or taking advantage or doing harm. You are simply planning a party. Well, she said. A lie is a lie.
I suppose I should have dropped it, but I didn’t. OK, I continued, what would you do if you had been living in Nazi Germany during the Second World War and you were hiding Jews? Let’s say the Nazis came and asked you if you knew where any Jewish people were hiding. The Nazis in this case would not have the right to the truth, because they would use the truth to do harm. Your moral obligation would be to keep the truth from them. At this point, the woman was clearly upset. I’m not sure; I never thought about something like that. I have always tried to follow the rules of my religion. At which point, I simply said, Religion is not always about following rules. Sometimes you have to think.
The 5th chapter of Matthew, what we know as the Sermon on the Mount, is very much concerned with laws and rules. Matthew was a Jew and standing in that tradition he had a particular notion of law. It was supposed to be life giving, grace filled, as we heard in Deuteronomy, when God puts before the people the choice between life or death.
Now Matthew understood Jesus to be the new Moses, the new lawgiver, who fulfills the law by bringing a new and higher righteousness---the law of love. Now this law of love---this higher righteousness--- can be pretty tricky, because it is demanding and uncomfortable and against the ordinary wisdom of the world. You are not only judged by your actions, hard enough, but also Matthew has Jesus talking about our inner feelings and dispositions, where emotions like anger, greed, jealousy and lust reside.
But the other tricky thing about the law of love is that it is not always a rational rule to follow. Matthew does make a valiant attempt to put it in the form of rules as he shows Jesus setting the bar higher and higher by saying: You have heard it said, but I say to you. And yet this attempt to make love a rule or law hardly exhausts the meaning and conditions of love, because sometimes, as you ask yourself what it means to do the loving thing in a particular situation, you do not always come up with an obvious answer. If you are like the woman whose story I began my sermon with this morning, and you want a list of rules to follow so you don’t have to think things through, the gospel probably will not give you what you want. It casts a very wide net, and though it encompasses rules and laws, sometimes it is also beyond rules and laws.
A few weeks ago, one of my colleagues, a minister in the Presbyterian Church with whom I have a pretty intellectual relationship, called me to discuss Matthew’s idea of higher righteousness and to tell me a story he recently learned from one of his parishioners. Born in 1935, Caroline had grown up in Virginia, the daughter of wealth, whose ancestors were slave holders. Now her parents, she said, were highly educated persons, and they never, ever used the N word, but they were racists through and through, and they had no desire to learn or to change. Well, in 1953, Caroline did what most young southern women did not do: she went North to college, Barnard in New York. And during her senior year in college, she met this young lawyer, fresh out of law school, working on behalf of tenants’ rights. And Carson was committed and brilliant and black, and they fell in love. Well, you can imagine how this was received back in Virginia, where interracial marriage was against the law. But Caroline and Carson did not care what anyone in Virginia thought, and they planned to marry right after Caroline’s graduation--- until Carson suddenly disappeared---gone without a trace. No one knew a thing, and even more outrageous, no one cared to do anything. The police told her, “He got cold feet and ran away,” realizing such a marriage could never work out, at least not in 1957. That was just the way it was.
But Caroline never believed that was the way it was. She suspected her family was involved in Carson’s disappearance, and so she just stopped going home---until 1991, when her father was dying. She had not been home in 35 years, had not spoken to her family, but like the prodigal, they thought she was, she returned. Her mother kissed her on my cheek, but it was clear, Caroline thought, she did not want her there. And so alone Caroline entered her father’s room. Caroline, her father uttered her name, and then he said, Carrie, his affectionate name for her. You have come.
Caroline sat down on the bed and took his hand. It has been a long time, she said, and we both know why. But we will not speak of that now. Oh, but we will, her father insisted. We must speak of it, and then he told her the whole ugly story---how Carson himself was threatened and his family too, his 22 year old brother, run off the road and seriously hurt. Only the first accident, Carson was warned and others would follow. And because Carson was black and it was 1957, the same year the Little Rock Nine tried to integrate Central High, he disappeared--- with financial help from Caroline’s family for him and his family.
Now imagine what you would do or say in such a situation. Imagine hearing what your family had done to the man you were about to marry. But Caroline said nothing; she simply sat there, holding her father’s hand without saying a word about the past. For two days and nights she sat with him until he died. No words of regret were ever spoken by either of them. It was what it was.
And yet my colleague wondered if in that encounter there was a hint of higher righteousness--- higher not in the sense that differences were overcome and healed and forgiveness offered, but higher in the sense that for two days and nights love was the bond that held them together. My colleague had just learned this story; Caroline only told him a few weeks ago, because she wanted to talk to him about forgiveness. My father was still a racist in 1991, when he died, Caroline told her minister. There was no apology for what he had done, and yet she realized that she loved him, just as her father had realized he still loved her. And the question Caroline put to my colleague was this: Can you really love someone when you do not forgive him?
We all know that change is never easy, and sometimes people whom we deeply love do not change in the way we would want or even need. There is a choice between life and death, and tragically, some might choose death, symbolically as well as literally. But perhaps this is when Jesus as the Christ is most helpful, because he teaches us something about being on the side of love, especially when we have been profoundly hurt and betrayed, especially when someone we love does not choose full and abundant life. We can force no one to do what we are convinced is the right thing; we can force no one to change, but we can still be on the side of love, as Caroline and her father realized. And figuring out how to do that---how to be on the side of love is why we are here, why we believe church matters, because it can help us to embrace the higher righteousness, which is the law of love.
Deuteronomy 30: 15-20
Matthew 5: 21-37
A few years ago, a woman, who exercised at the same place I did, came in one morning all upset, because her husband had decided to work at home that morning, when she was planning to get together with a friend to organize a surprise birthday party for her husband. “What’s the problem?” I asked. “Well, he wanted to know where I was going.” So why didn’t you just make something up, I asked. Oh no, she said. That would have been a lie, and it’s a sin to lie. Now I knew this woman to be a member of a fundamentalist church, and I never discussed religion with her, because I knew we would not agree on much. But since I was already involved in the conversation, I continued. No, that is not really a lie; it’s not about deceit or taking advantage or doing harm. You are simply planning a party. Well, she said. A lie is a lie.
I suppose I should have dropped it, but I didn’t. OK, I continued, what would you do if you had been living in Nazi Germany during the Second World War and you were hiding Jews? Let’s say the Nazis came and asked you if you knew where any Jewish people were hiding. The Nazis in this case would not have the right to the truth, because they would use the truth to do harm. Your moral obligation would be to keep the truth from them. At this point, the woman was clearly upset. I’m not sure; I never thought about something like that. I have always tried to follow the rules of my religion. At which point, I simply said, Religion is not always about following rules. Sometimes you have to think.
The 5th chapter of Matthew, what we know as the Sermon on the Mount, is very much concerned with laws and rules. Matthew was a Jew and standing in that tradition he had a particular notion of law. It was supposed to be life giving, grace filled, as we heard in Deuteronomy, when God puts before the people the choice between life or death.
Now Matthew understood Jesus to be the new Moses, the new lawgiver, who fulfills the law by bringing a new and higher righteousness---the law of love. Now this law of love---this higher righteousness--- can be pretty tricky, because it is demanding and uncomfortable and against the ordinary wisdom of the world. You are not only judged by your actions, hard enough, but also Matthew has Jesus talking about our inner feelings and dispositions, where emotions like anger, greed, jealousy and lust reside.
But the other tricky thing about the law of love is that it is not always a rational rule to follow. Matthew does make a valiant attempt to put it in the form of rules as he shows Jesus setting the bar higher and higher by saying: You have heard it said, but I say to you. And yet this attempt to make love a rule or law hardly exhausts the meaning and conditions of love, because sometimes, as you ask yourself what it means to do the loving thing in a particular situation, you do not always come up with an obvious answer. If you are like the woman whose story I began my sermon with this morning, and you want a list of rules to follow so you don’t have to think things through, the gospel probably will not give you what you want. It casts a very wide net, and though it encompasses rules and laws, sometimes it is also beyond rules and laws.
A few weeks ago, one of my colleagues, a minister in the Presbyterian Church with whom I have a pretty intellectual relationship, called me to discuss Matthew’s idea of higher righteousness and to tell me a story he recently learned from one of his parishioners. Born in 1935, Caroline had grown up in Virginia, the daughter of wealth, whose ancestors were slave holders. Now her parents, she said, were highly educated persons, and they never, ever used the N word, but they were racists through and through, and they had no desire to learn or to change. Well, in 1953, Caroline did what most young southern women did not do: she went North to college, Barnard in New York. And during her senior year in college, she met this young lawyer, fresh out of law school, working on behalf of tenants’ rights. And Carson was committed and brilliant and black, and they fell in love. Well, you can imagine how this was received back in Virginia, where interracial marriage was against the law. But Caroline and Carson did not care what anyone in Virginia thought, and they planned to marry right after Caroline’s graduation--- until Carson suddenly disappeared---gone without a trace. No one knew a thing, and even more outrageous, no one cared to do anything. The police told her, “He got cold feet and ran away,” realizing such a marriage could never work out, at least not in 1957. That was just the way it was.
But Caroline never believed that was the way it was. She suspected her family was involved in Carson’s disappearance, and so she just stopped going home---until 1991, when her father was dying. She had not been home in 35 years, had not spoken to her family, but like the prodigal, they thought she was, she returned. Her mother kissed her on my cheek, but it was clear, Caroline thought, she did not want her there. And so alone Caroline entered her father’s room. Caroline, her father uttered her name, and then he said, Carrie, his affectionate name for her. You have come.
Caroline sat down on the bed and took his hand. It has been a long time, she said, and we both know why. But we will not speak of that now. Oh, but we will, her father insisted. We must speak of it, and then he told her the whole ugly story---how Carson himself was threatened and his family too, his 22 year old brother, run off the road and seriously hurt. Only the first accident, Carson was warned and others would follow. And because Carson was black and it was 1957, the same year the Little Rock Nine tried to integrate Central High, he disappeared--- with financial help from Caroline’s family for him and his family.
Now imagine what you would do or say in such a situation. Imagine hearing what your family had done to the man you were about to marry. But Caroline said nothing; she simply sat there, holding her father’s hand without saying a word about the past. For two days and nights she sat with him until he died. No words of regret were ever spoken by either of them. It was what it was.
And yet my colleague wondered if in that encounter there was a hint of higher righteousness--- higher not in the sense that differences were overcome and healed and forgiveness offered, but higher in the sense that for two days and nights love was the bond that held them together. My colleague had just learned this story; Caroline only told him a few weeks ago, because she wanted to talk to him about forgiveness. My father was still a racist in 1991, when he died, Caroline told her minister. There was no apology for what he had done, and yet she realized that she loved him, just as her father had realized he still loved her. And the question Caroline put to my colleague was this: Can you really love someone when you do not forgive him?
We all know that change is never easy, and sometimes people whom we deeply love do not change in the way we would want or even need. There is a choice between life and death, and tragically, some might choose death, symbolically as well as literally. But perhaps this is when Jesus as the Christ is most helpful, because he teaches us something about being on the side of love, especially when we have been profoundly hurt and betrayed, especially when someone we love does not choose full and abundant life. We can force no one to do what we are convinced is the right thing; we can force no one to change, but we can still be on the side of love, as Caroline and her father realized. And figuring out how to do that---how to be on the side of love is why we are here, why we believe church matters, because it can help us to embrace the higher righteousness, which is the law of love.
When Righteousness Calls ~ Preached by Sandra Olsen 2/9/2020
Matthew 5: 13-20
The Gospel of Matthew, the most Jewish sounding gospel of all, presents Jesus as the giver of the new law, the law of higher righteousness. Jesus is not only the fulfillment of the Jewish law, he also moves beyond it, by bringing a law that is far more demanding than the old law as enshrined in the 10 Commandments. Last Sunday we heard Jesus pronounce the Beatitudes, God’s blessings on the poor in spirit, the mournful, the peacemakers, the meek, the persecuted, all kinds of people, struggling with difficult issues. And now in today’s gospel, we hear him beginning to make demands on his listeners. While they are named the salt of the earth and the light of the world, they are reminded to keep their saltiness and to shine forth their light. In other words, they have to obey the fullness of the Law, the law of the prophets and the 10 Commandments, but obedience demands more than following the example of the scribes and the Pharisees. Jesus demands a higher righteousness, and what that consists of will be laid out throughout Matthew’s gospel.
So how is this new law to be applied? Now part of the law did consist of cultic rules and regulations about religious sacrifice and cleanliness, but justice was also important, which included embracing the foreigner, helping the widow and the orphan, treating workers fairly. The Jewish law was always understood to have implications for the wider community and world. And Christianity has followed that teaching, even as it also understands the challenge of applying Jesus’ law of higher righteousness to the social and political realms.
Now one way Christian thinkers have dealt with this challenge is by pointing out that we inhabit two kingdoms, the kingdom of God and the kingdom of earth. Jesus recognized that difference when he said, render to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God. But we still have to ponder what exactly is due each realm. The Protestant reformer, Martin Luther, insisted that the law of love cannot be enacted politically because nations contain criminals and sinners, who must be restrained and sometimes punished. And so justice is the best the earthly kingdom can hope for. Justice is the political expression of the law of love.
If justice is the best we can hope for in the political world, how does justice make room for repentance and forgiveness? Repentance and forgiveness were huge themes in the prophet Isaiah, as you heard this morning, and they were also a major theme in Jesus’ teaching. While we often have this tendency to reduce repentance and forgiveness to the private, personal realm, notice that in Isaiah, the issue was national repentance. And that is a theme we rarely hear in actual history. Of course, there have been exceptions---Abraham Lincoln in his Second Inaugural Address, when he recognized the sin of slavery and the Civil War as an expression of God’s wrath against that terrible sin. Then there was Mikhail Gorbachev in speaking about the end of the Soviet Empire and the oppression it had wrought, and Jimmy Carter, who spoke of our greed for more and more oil. In all of these instances there was recognition of wrong doing and a call to turn away from the errors of the past. But in all of these instances there was great resistance to the idea that there was anything to repent of. So is it any wonder that few political leaders in any nation call for national repentance?
But there is one extraordinary example from recent history, which happened on May 8, 1985, when one of the most important political speeches of the 20th century was made by the then president of Germany’s Bundestag, Richard Freiherr von Weizsacker. Before the German legislature, he gave an unflinching, excuse less enumeration of Nazi crimes and the many degrees of association with those horrors that ordinary Germans had. This was the first time a senior Western German leader publicly challenged the widely heard justification, “I did not know.”
Hitler, he said, did not keep his hatred from the public, but rather used the entire nation as a tool of his hatred. Every German, he said, could witness what Jewish fellow citizens had to suffer. Who could remain innocent, he asked, after the burning of the synagogues, the looting, the withdrawal of rights, the unceasing violation of human worth? It all added up, he said, to “a mountain of human suffering, suffering through death and destruction, suffering through the loss of all that one had mistakenly believed in and for which one had mistakenly fought and worked for.” Now that last reference would have included the president himself, who in 1939 was a 19 year old second lieutenant in the German army invading Poland. Later this same young man would sit as a defending attorney at the Nuremberg trials. My God, he must have asked himself, what had I fought for and defended?
While the speech made headlines all across Europe, it was ignored in the American press. Why? Is it because we as Americans shun the idea of national repentance? Do American Christians think that what Jesus taught has no relationship beyond the personal and private? When this past September I made a trip to Montgomery, Alabama concerning the project of retired clergy visitation, I also visited the Museum of Peace and Justice, known as the lynching museum, because it catalogues the names and places where black people in this country were cruelly lynched---sometimes for the crime of asking a white person for a drink of water. And there is another museum as well---the Legacy Museum, which tells the story of slavery and the fight for civil rights and justice. Yet both museums were erected with private funds; they are not national or even state museums. Is this because as a people, as a nation, we shun national repentance?
Now let’s return to that May 8, 1985 speech by the German President, which was a call for national repentance. That call seeped into the personal and private consciences of people in a little German village, prompting them to walk their own path toward repentance. The story began on March 17, 1945 when five British airmen, flying an American plane, were forced to parachute into a German village. Three weeks earlier American fire bombing had killed 4000 people in the area. On the orders of a town official the Hitler Youth executed the five men on the spot. These executions were a secret the town lived with---until 1989 when a retired Roman Catholic priest learned the truth and began talking publicly about what had happened. His words were neither appreciated nor welcomed. You should keep out of politics, he was told. That is Caesar’s world, not yours. But the priest reminded the village of the 1985 presidential speech, and said, “These are our sins; we must repent and seek forgiveness. There is no more hiding.” Soon others joined his voice, and eventually a memorial to the five airmen was built.
In 1992 a 74 year old Englishwoman, Mrs. Taylor, finally learned the truth about how her airman husband had died. Traveling to Germany for the dedication of the memorial, she stood near the place where her husband had been shot. “Father forgive,” the plaque read, “But let the living be warned.” One of the men who arrived late to the dedication---after Mrs. Taylor had departed--- was a sobbing old man, who confessed that he was among the Hitler Youth who shot the airmen. I did not have the strength to even look at her, he said. I wonder if she could ever forgive me?
Repentance and forgiveness: do they have any place in Caesar’s world? If our answer is no, then why do so many churches, including our own, fly the nation’s flag in the sanctuary? If the answer is no, then why don’t we remove it right now! But if the answer is Yes, if the call to higher righteousness, does have a place in Caesar’s world, then the hard work really begins, the hard word of trying to figure out what is the relationship between God’s kingdom and the kingdom of this world. What does one have to say to the other? How does the law of love challenge the earthly realm? Jesus said, Render to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s. And so there we have it: the two kingdoms, yet one God in Jesus Christ who stands over both. And we are left to struggle with the question of how to live faithfully in those two realms.
At the offering:
If you would be a person of faith, then begin by practicing generosity. Where you find generosity, you will find faith, and where faith grows, so too does generosity.
Prayer: Oh God, we thank you for the blessings in our lives, and now we bring this offering as a sign of our gratitude. Make us wise stewards that in all our giving and receiving we will do your will in Jesus Christ. Amen
Matthew 5: 13-20
The Gospel of Matthew, the most Jewish sounding gospel of all, presents Jesus as the giver of the new law, the law of higher righteousness. Jesus is not only the fulfillment of the Jewish law, he also moves beyond it, by bringing a law that is far more demanding than the old law as enshrined in the 10 Commandments. Last Sunday we heard Jesus pronounce the Beatitudes, God’s blessings on the poor in spirit, the mournful, the peacemakers, the meek, the persecuted, all kinds of people, struggling with difficult issues. And now in today’s gospel, we hear him beginning to make demands on his listeners. While they are named the salt of the earth and the light of the world, they are reminded to keep their saltiness and to shine forth their light. In other words, they have to obey the fullness of the Law, the law of the prophets and the 10 Commandments, but obedience demands more than following the example of the scribes and the Pharisees. Jesus demands a higher righteousness, and what that consists of will be laid out throughout Matthew’s gospel.
So how is this new law to be applied? Now part of the law did consist of cultic rules and regulations about religious sacrifice and cleanliness, but justice was also important, which included embracing the foreigner, helping the widow and the orphan, treating workers fairly. The Jewish law was always understood to have implications for the wider community and world. And Christianity has followed that teaching, even as it also understands the challenge of applying Jesus’ law of higher righteousness to the social and political realms.
Now one way Christian thinkers have dealt with this challenge is by pointing out that we inhabit two kingdoms, the kingdom of God and the kingdom of earth. Jesus recognized that difference when he said, render to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God. But we still have to ponder what exactly is due each realm. The Protestant reformer, Martin Luther, insisted that the law of love cannot be enacted politically because nations contain criminals and sinners, who must be restrained and sometimes punished. And so justice is the best the earthly kingdom can hope for. Justice is the political expression of the law of love.
If justice is the best we can hope for in the political world, how does justice make room for repentance and forgiveness? Repentance and forgiveness were huge themes in the prophet Isaiah, as you heard this morning, and they were also a major theme in Jesus’ teaching. While we often have this tendency to reduce repentance and forgiveness to the private, personal realm, notice that in Isaiah, the issue was national repentance. And that is a theme we rarely hear in actual history. Of course, there have been exceptions---Abraham Lincoln in his Second Inaugural Address, when he recognized the sin of slavery and the Civil War as an expression of God’s wrath against that terrible sin. Then there was Mikhail Gorbachev in speaking about the end of the Soviet Empire and the oppression it had wrought, and Jimmy Carter, who spoke of our greed for more and more oil. In all of these instances there was recognition of wrong doing and a call to turn away from the errors of the past. But in all of these instances there was great resistance to the idea that there was anything to repent of. So is it any wonder that few political leaders in any nation call for national repentance?
But there is one extraordinary example from recent history, which happened on May 8, 1985, when one of the most important political speeches of the 20th century was made by the then president of Germany’s Bundestag, Richard Freiherr von Weizsacker. Before the German legislature, he gave an unflinching, excuse less enumeration of Nazi crimes and the many degrees of association with those horrors that ordinary Germans had. This was the first time a senior Western German leader publicly challenged the widely heard justification, “I did not know.”
Hitler, he said, did not keep his hatred from the public, but rather used the entire nation as a tool of his hatred. Every German, he said, could witness what Jewish fellow citizens had to suffer. Who could remain innocent, he asked, after the burning of the synagogues, the looting, the withdrawal of rights, the unceasing violation of human worth? It all added up, he said, to “a mountain of human suffering, suffering through death and destruction, suffering through the loss of all that one had mistakenly believed in and for which one had mistakenly fought and worked for.” Now that last reference would have included the president himself, who in 1939 was a 19 year old second lieutenant in the German army invading Poland. Later this same young man would sit as a defending attorney at the Nuremberg trials. My God, he must have asked himself, what had I fought for and defended?
While the speech made headlines all across Europe, it was ignored in the American press. Why? Is it because we as Americans shun the idea of national repentance? Do American Christians think that what Jesus taught has no relationship beyond the personal and private? When this past September I made a trip to Montgomery, Alabama concerning the project of retired clergy visitation, I also visited the Museum of Peace and Justice, known as the lynching museum, because it catalogues the names and places where black people in this country were cruelly lynched---sometimes for the crime of asking a white person for a drink of water. And there is another museum as well---the Legacy Museum, which tells the story of slavery and the fight for civil rights and justice. Yet both museums were erected with private funds; they are not national or even state museums. Is this because as a people, as a nation, we shun national repentance?
Now let’s return to that May 8, 1985 speech by the German President, which was a call for national repentance. That call seeped into the personal and private consciences of people in a little German village, prompting them to walk their own path toward repentance. The story began on March 17, 1945 when five British airmen, flying an American plane, were forced to parachute into a German village. Three weeks earlier American fire bombing had killed 4000 people in the area. On the orders of a town official the Hitler Youth executed the five men on the spot. These executions were a secret the town lived with---until 1989 when a retired Roman Catholic priest learned the truth and began talking publicly about what had happened. His words were neither appreciated nor welcomed. You should keep out of politics, he was told. That is Caesar’s world, not yours. But the priest reminded the village of the 1985 presidential speech, and said, “These are our sins; we must repent and seek forgiveness. There is no more hiding.” Soon others joined his voice, and eventually a memorial to the five airmen was built.
In 1992 a 74 year old Englishwoman, Mrs. Taylor, finally learned the truth about how her airman husband had died. Traveling to Germany for the dedication of the memorial, she stood near the place where her husband had been shot. “Father forgive,” the plaque read, “But let the living be warned.” One of the men who arrived late to the dedication---after Mrs. Taylor had departed--- was a sobbing old man, who confessed that he was among the Hitler Youth who shot the airmen. I did not have the strength to even look at her, he said. I wonder if she could ever forgive me?
Repentance and forgiveness: do they have any place in Caesar’s world? If our answer is no, then why do so many churches, including our own, fly the nation’s flag in the sanctuary? If the answer is no, then why don’t we remove it right now! But if the answer is Yes, if the call to higher righteousness, does have a place in Caesar’s world, then the hard work really begins, the hard word of trying to figure out what is the relationship between God’s kingdom and the kingdom of this world. What does one have to say to the other? How does the law of love challenge the earthly realm? Jesus said, Render to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s. And so there we have it: the two kingdoms, yet one God in Jesus Christ who stands over both. And we are left to struggle with the question of how to live faithfully in those two realms.
At the offering:
If you would be a person of faith, then begin by practicing generosity. Where you find generosity, you will find faith, and where faith grows, so too does generosity.
Prayer: Oh God, we thank you for the blessings in our lives, and now we bring this offering as a sign of our gratitude. Make us wise stewards that in all our giving and receiving we will do your will in Jesus Christ. Amen
Blessings Abound ~Rev. Sandra Olsen 2/2/2020
Matthew 5: 1-12
In the last decade or so the subject of happiness has been the focus of numerous books and talk shows. Even serious academics---philosophers, psychologists and historians--- have turned their attention to the subject. Neurobiologists are trying to explain the anatomy of happiness—what neurotransmitters work under what conditions to make us feel happy. Americans in particular think they have a right to be happy, and well, if they are not, it must be the fault of something or someone---their job, their marriage, their diet, their religion, their government, and should they discover that changing these things does not lead to increased happiness, they wonder what went wrong. The pursuit of happiness is a national past time, enshrined by Thomas Jefferson in the Declaration of Independence.
While so many people are obsessed with their happiness, it should give us pause that this word hardly ever appears in the bible, and it is never on Jesus’ lips. Instead there is this word blessed, and somehow, though we are not really sure exactly what it means, we have this sense that blessedness embraces happiness while also being more than happiness. In today’s gospel reading, Jesus has just begun his public ministry. Last week we heard him call his first disciples, and now in the 5th chapter, Matthew shows Jesus ascending the mountain, where like Moses he gives the law, the new law, which begins not with a series of commands, but with a list of blessings. Jesus does not promise the people happiness, but he does promise them blessings.
The Greek word makarios, which is translated here as blessed, has a wide range of meanings that includes fortunate, happy, even privileged. But when Jesus calls the poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, the persecuted, those hungering for righteousness and working for peace as blessed, we wonder what he has in mind, because happy and privileged and fortunate are not the words that immediately come to our mind for such people. So what does Jesus mean by calling them blessed?
The blessedness Jesus refers to here stands in relationship to the kingdom of God, which he claims has already come near in him. The Kingdom is already present, but not yet fully so. The old world with its old rules is passing away, and the blessings that come through and in Jesus are made for the new reality, which Jesus names the kingdom of God or the kingdom of heaven. In God’s reign blessedness does not depend upon wealth or power or intelligence or success. It is a gift, given by God. You don’t earn it; you simply receive it, which is why Jesus uses the examples he does. The people he refers to are struggling with some kind of pain or loss or difficult task. In our world such persons might appear as underachievers, and even the peacemakers, whom we do admire, sometimes carry the burden of seeing their own blood spilt. None of these conditions are comfortable or easy places to be. Yet Jesus calls these people blessed, not because of their achievements---perhaps they failed miserably--- but they are blessed because this is what God’s does; God blesses them. It is God’s nature to bless. And it is supposed to be our nature to receive the blessings, but we often have a hard time doing so, because we can be so full of ourselves, so full of our activities and our self-importance that we are not open to receive.
This is the reason Jesus is so hard on the rich, the powerful and the successful. It isn’t that success is bad, or that it is preferable to be a failure or a loser or abjectly poor. The problem is what humans make of these things. If we are puffed up with our own sense of importance; if our strength and success block our compassion for others, who are neither so fortunate nor talented, then there is something spiritually malformed in us, something which prevents us from receiving God’s blessings.
Jesus called the poor in spirit blessed precisely because they are not so full of themselves; they don’t spend their time trying to prove to others how much they know and can do. They are empty, and their emptiness waits to be filled with what God has to give. Of course, the poor in spirit, the meek, and the mournful can have their own issues; they can descend into deep depression, where their emptiness becomes so debilitating that even the desire to receive is extinguished. No one is immune to spiritual malformation. Anyone can be spiritually malformed, just as anyone can be blessed---the rich, the poor, the successful, the failures. And when we are blessed, we feel God’s unconditional love; we feel we are not alone, because as the Apostle Paul wrote in his Letter to the Romans, If God is with us, who can be against us. And it is in this sense that blessedness can be understood as a form of happiness.
Now February is Black History Month, and last month was The Rev. Martin Luther King’s birthday. I want to point to him, because April, 1968 when he was assassinated, stands out in my memory. I remember it quite well, because parts of the city of Chicago went up in flames, which I could see from my dormitory window. It did not take very long before the National Guard tanks were on the U. of Chicago campus, because as the second largest landowner in the city of Chicago, after the R. C. Church, this elite private University would be protected. I remember all of that, but I also remember how Dr. King’s speech right before his death was played over and over again. He said in his speech to the striking garbage collectors that he was happy; he had no fear of any man. And I remember thinking at the time, how could he be happy. I mean there were so many problems, so much that was not right with the country. What could he mean by being happy? At 18 I did not know, but now, after all these decades, I think I understand what he meant.
The kind of happiness he was referring to was the blessedness of which Jesus spoke. King felt that God was with him; he was surrounded by God’s love, God’s mercy and yes, God’s forgiveness. And that was blessing enough. It did not protect him from the assassin’s bullet, but Jesus was not protected from the cross. Jesus never promised protection. He promised blessings, and King felt and knew that God gave him abundant blessings. And those blessings would continue to pour down on other people, who would lead the movement toward justice long after King was gone. And that is why King could be happy, surrounded as he was by so many apparent defeats and disappointments. And yet those disappointments and defeats could not destroy the blessings, which still continue to flow, not always in the form we might want---worldly success or comfort---but in the form that God gives, if only we have the eyes and the spirit to see and accept.
In the last decade or so the subject of happiness has been the focus of numerous books and talk shows. Even serious academics---philosophers, psychologists and historians--- have turned their attention to the subject. Neurobiologists are trying to explain the anatomy of happiness—what neurotransmitters work under what conditions to make us feel happy. Americans in particular think they have a right to be happy, and well, if they are not, it must be the fault of something or someone---their job, their marriage, their diet, their religion, their government, and should they discover that changing these things does not lead to increased happiness, they wonder what went wrong. The pursuit of happiness is a national past time, enshrined by Thomas Jefferson in the Declaration of Independence.
While so many people are obsessed with their happiness, it should give us pause that this word hardly ever appears in the bible, and it is never on Jesus’ lips. Instead there is this word blessed, and somehow, though we are not really sure exactly what it means, we have this sense that blessedness embraces happiness while also being more than happiness. In today’s gospel reading, Jesus has just begun his public ministry. Last week we heard him call his first disciples, and now in the 5th chapter, Matthew shows Jesus ascending the mountain, where like Moses he gives the law, the new law, which begins not with a series of commands, but with a list of blessings. Jesus does not promise the people happiness, but he does promise them blessings.
The Greek word makarios, which is translated here as blessed, has a wide range of meanings that includes fortunate, happy, even privileged. But when Jesus calls the poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, the persecuted, those hungering for righteousness and working for peace as blessed, we wonder what he has in mind, because happy and privileged and fortunate are not the words that immediately come to our mind for such people. So what does Jesus mean by calling them blessed?
The blessedness Jesus refers to here stands in relationship to the kingdom of God, which he claims has already come near in him. The Kingdom is already present, but not yet fully so. The old world with its old rules is passing away, and the blessings that come through and in Jesus are made for the new reality, which Jesus names the kingdom of God or the kingdom of heaven. In God’s reign blessedness does not depend upon wealth or power or intelligence or success. It is a gift, given by God. You don’t earn it; you simply receive it, which is why Jesus uses the examples he does. The people he refers to are struggling with some kind of pain or loss or difficult task. In our world such persons might appear as underachievers, and even the peacemakers, whom we do admire, sometimes carry the burden of seeing their own blood spilt. None of these conditions are comfortable or easy places to be. Yet Jesus calls these people blessed, not because of their achievements---perhaps they failed miserably--- but they are blessed because this is what God’s does; God blesses them. It is God’s nature to bless. And it is supposed to be our nature to receive the blessings, but we often have a hard time doing so, because we can be so full of ourselves, so full of our activities and our self-importance that we are not open to receive.
This is the reason Jesus is so hard on the rich, the powerful and the successful. It isn’t that success is bad, or that it is preferable to be a failure or a loser or abjectly poor. The problem is what humans make of these things. If we are puffed up with our own sense of importance; if our strength and success block our compassion for others, who are neither so fortunate nor talented, then there is something spiritually malformed in us, something which prevents us from receiving God’s blessings.
Jesus called the poor in spirit blessed precisely because they are not so full of themselves; they don’t spend their time trying to prove to others how much they know and can do. They are empty, and their emptiness waits to be filled with what God has to give. Of course, the poor in spirit, the meek, and the mournful can have their own issues; they can descend into deep depression, where their emptiness becomes so debilitating that even the desire to receive is extinguished. No one is immune to spiritual malformation. Anyone can be spiritually malformed, just as anyone can be blessed---the rich, the poor, the successful, the failures. And when we are blessed, we feel God’s unconditional love; we feel we are not alone, because as the Apostle Paul wrote in his Letter to the Romans, If God is with us, who can be against us. And it is in this sense that blessedness can be understood as a form of happiness.
Now February is Black History Month, and last month was The Rev. Martin Luther King’s birthday. I want to point to him, because April, 1968 when he was assassinated, stands out in my memory. I remember it quite well, because parts of the city of Chicago went up in flames, which I could see from my dormitory window. It did not take very long before the National Guard tanks were on the U. of Chicago campus, because as the second largest landowner in the city of Chicago, after the R. C. Church, this elite private University would be protected. I remember all of that, but I also remember how Dr. King’s speech right before his death was played over and over again. He said in his speech to the striking garbage collectors that he was happy; he had no fear of any man. And I remember thinking at the time, how could he be happy. I mean there were so many problems, so much that was not right with the country. What could he mean by being happy? At 18 I did not know, but now, after all these decades, I think I understand what he meant.
The kind of happiness he was referring to was the blessedness of which Jesus spoke. King felt that God was with him; he was surrounded by God’s love, God’s mercy and yes, God’s forgiveness. And that was blessing enough. It did not protect him from the assassin’s bullet, but Jesus was not protected from the cross. Jesus never promised protection. He promised blessings, and King felt and knew that God gave him abundant blessings. And those blessings would continue to pour down on other people, who would lead the movement toward justice long after King was gone. And that is why King could be happy, surrounded as he was by so many apparent defeats and disappointments. And yet those disappointments and defeats could not destroy the blessings, which still continue to flow, not always in the form we might want---worldly success or comfort---but in the form that God gives, if only we have the eyes and the spirit to see and accept.
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