Acts 13:40-52 | Preaching the Gospel in Confidence
Acts 13:1-39 | The King of Israel is the Savior of the World
My Neighbor: Belongs in the Multiethnic Throne Room
Homily | Grace Hangs Around
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
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Some of us grew up fairly comfortable for the most part. What I mean by that is that life, in general, was left unchallenged because of where, when, and to whom we were born. We didn’t choose a time and place in history complete with running water, ample food on the table, a safe place to sleep, or a set of clean clothes. We never wondered if there would be presents under the tree or if we would have decent back to school shoes. Someone was there to pick us up from soccer practice, get us to the dentist, and help with pre-algebra homework. These and countless other luxuries were awaiting us even as we were in our mother’s wombs.
We had enough money, good health, decent family, and a sense of belonging; these are all wonderful gifts that are to be cherished, not despised. At the same time, these gifts come with a unique spiritual price tag. Those of us who enjoyed these basic necessities of life must understand that living fairly carefree can establish a profound distance between the Man of Sorrows who had no place to lay his head and us out in a safe suburb. Convenience and comfortability tend to cause a lag in our response to the command of Jesus to come and receive rest. We think to ourselves, “We’ll get around to Jesus some other day when he and his rest are actually ‘needed.’ Besides, grace will hang around because that’s just what it does.” And you know what? We’re right. Grace hangs around.
Indeed, that day eventually comes for all of us. Nobody can be for sure when, but when it does, you are as sober as a 16-year-old getting her driver’s license. You see, given enough time, the winds of life keep beating on the ship day and night until we finally find ourselves saying, “My God. This life is so hard. I feel so lost, so confused, so defeated.”
A death. A divorce. A broken relationship. A grief as big as the ocean itself. It's in the hospital room at 2:00 AM or on the living room couch with your face buried deep in your hands; accompanied by your friends sitting there as helpless as you are hopeless. In that moment, you say to yourself, “This has to be a dream. I just know that I’m going to wake up any minute.” But the minute never comes. You never wake up from the nightmare because you never fell asleep. That pain is now going to be part of the rest of your story. Surely it will not be the only part of your story this sadness, this grief, this loss is always going to be present in one sense or another. It is then and there that we discover just how fragile we really are. Yes, that moment reveals to us what our souls really are and what we, as people, really need.
And yet, the reckoning doesn't have to be as dramatic as death, grief, betrayal, and loss. It can also sneak up in the daily humdrum of life. Sometimes it happens when you’re waiting on the bus. Other times it is while washing the dishes on a Thursday night. It happens on Saturday mornings before the phone starts ringing and the day gets going. The coffee is brewing and you give yourself a moment to just stare out the window for no particular reason. When you come to yourself, you wonder just how long you've been there all glassy-eyed and zombie-like. When you come to yourself you realize that the long stare was accompanied by a memory—something feels this out of place. Someone special is missing. Life didn’t take the shape you thought it would. Time is moving too fast.
As those moments come for each of us the gap is closed between people, the playing field is completely leveled, and we all – rich, poor, black, white, famous, ordinary priests, and irreligious all find ourselves in tremendous need. Deep down, our souls are squirming in their chairs like fidgety kindergarteners. We grow more frustrated, irritable anxious, and exhausted by the hour. In our constant jumping from headline to headline, meeting to meeting, worry to worry goal to goal without slowing down and appreciating a sunrise or a good belly laugh with our friends - we develop a low-level rage or sadness that lingers just beneath the surface. Given enough time, we end up snapping at our spouse, our child, a coworker, a friend, or even a total stranger. Somehow we end up content to just to just keep running on caffeine, nicotine, and sugar until those things no longer do the trick.
Then, when the light hits just right, those sacred, humble, bone-crushing and soul-restoring words of Jesus come piercing through; shining, sparkling, twinkling like a Christmas tree –"Come to me." Those words of the Holy Stranger in the dark are suddenly transfigured into the words of your Closest Friend; God’s beloved Son is talking straight to you… and for some reason unbeknownst to you, you can hear him.
As Jesus issues the command "Come to me”; You have to really be paying attention if you’re going hear him. He’s not going to shout over the television, zap your phone, or ask your friend to leave in order to have you look his way. After all, grace hangs around.
When Jesus says “Come to Me and I will give you rest”, you’ve got to make sure not to confuse the Jesus of Scripture with the carnival Jesus that gets paraded around in popular evangelicalism today. The Son of God is not an entertainer. He is not selling snake oil. He is not performing magic tricks to wow the crowd. Jesus offers your soul rest is not looking for employees to hire or fans to help stoke is low self-esteem. He’s neither needy nor a show off. See him for who he really is. Listen to what the Scriptures actually have to say about him. Let him speak for himself. Banish the false images that you collected along the way from a parent, a teacher, or someone else that distorted his smile. The king of Israel and Savior of the world is not a grump. I repeat: Jesus is not a grump.
Don’t waste time dillydallying around with theological precision, humming another song, or endless religious activity! The only thing Jesus insists on is coming straight to him.
What does it look like to come boldly before the throne of grace? I, for sure, don’t have it all figured out but what I have learned in my 40 years in the Church is that Jesus has a strong distaste for religious pretense. The flowery rhetoric, church clothes, and petty bashfulness doesn’t pull the wool over his eyes. He resists our desire to pretend to be better than we really are. He sees the skeletons in the closet, all the wrong turns we’ve made, and still issues the call to “come to him.” When we posture ourselves as either too good or too bad for his grace, we reveal that we’ve lost touch with who we really are and we don’t know Who we’re dealing with. The lamb of God did not and does not flinch.
If you’re going to come to Jesus, then you’ve got to be willing to bring your whole self.
Coming to Jesus is as hard as telling the whole truth about the worst thing you’ve ever done. Coming to Jesus is as difficult as admitting to someone else that what was done to you actually happened. Coming to Jesus requires the fearless resolve of a five-year-old to get out of the bed and shut the closet door on the monster that lurks in the dark between the hangers. Coming to Jesus is serious business because your soul is no laughing matter.
To come boldly before the throne of grace takes real faith, real courage, and real vulnerability. More than that, it takes resolve to cling to what Scripture says about how God feels about you and all that he's done to make things right between you and Him. Once you're there, in the Presence, he will not give you a job assignment, a lecture about how screwed up you are, or a snake. The prophet Isaiah says that the smoldering wick that is your life, he will not snuff out. The bruised reed that is your heart, he will not break. Jesus, He will give your soul the rest it has needed all along. If Good Friday teaches us anything; it’s this – grace hangs around.
Amen.
My Neighbor: The Slave is My Brother
Homily | “What's Up, Doc?”
Saturday morning cartoons. Growing up, I looked forward to Saturday morning cartoons the same way the Archbishop of Canterbury anticipates participating in the Easter liturgy. My grandmother’s house did not smell of incense nor did it resemble a cathedral. Instead, it smelled like cinnamon rolls, bacon grease, and Folgers Coffee. The kitchen had a linoleum floor that kept the score and my Granddad's pipe smoke from the sunroom is forever in my mind. It was the coziest I’ve been in my life. My brother and I would lay on our bellies in our pajamas with our chins propped up on the palms of our hands like bowls of oranges and we would watch Merrie Melodie's Looney Tunes.
I remember the episode in which the neighborhood black cat squeezed under a freshly painted white fence picking up a stripe down her back and the never-ending confusion it caused the lovesick Pepe le Pew. I remember Foghorn Leghorn sneaking up on the sleeping Barnyard Dawg, grabbing him by the tail, beating his backside with a piece of scrap wood, and running off only to have Barnyard’s chain synch down on him at the last second. I remember the Road Runner painting a mural on the side of a stone wall out in the desert deceiving Wile E. Coyote as he slams face-first into it. As Wile E. peeled himself from the wall, the Road Runner would blaze past and you'd hear his only words – “Meep! Meep!” And of course, there's Bugs Bunny jamming a carrot into Elmer Fudd’s rifle causing it to blow up in his face, and as the dust, gunpowder, and soot settles, Bugs is leaning on a tree with a smug look on his face and asks the famous question “Ehhhhh... What’s up, Doc?”
What's up, Doc? When we think of this year, 2020 and more specifically, our own lives, we all stop laughing because the joke is on us. We are the confused skunks, banged up coyotes, Farm dogs on short leashes, and hunters getting picked on by pesky rabbits. In the blink of an eye, everything changed. Kids are now online all day for school. The service industry, sports, concerts, and large gatherings all disappeared. We can’t even see each other‘s faces most of the time. There is ongoing injustice across our land, businesses remain boarded up, fear is everywhere, and America entertained herself to death with the likes of Joe Exotic. (I’ve been told that Tiger King was just as offensive as Jerry Falwell Jr.).
We laugh at the little cartoon characters because the animals that they were chasing remain barely of reach. In fact, the thing that they want more than anything is actually playing a joke on them. At various points throughout this year and certainly throughout our lives, we pause and ask questions like, “Why did this happen?” “Is God good?” "Is this some kind of joke?”
As I think through the stories in the Bible there are countless confused skunks and banged up coyotes. Abraham takes matters into his own hands and lives in regret. Noah is survived by the entire world but the depression still got to him. Moses in his frustration and anger is somewhere out in the desert beating a rock with a stick and doesn’t get to enter the Promised Land. David ignores his father's wisdom and falls into the same vices resulting in the same broken heart his father had. Of all the exhausted men and women in the Bible, the one that kept coming to mind this week for me was the ruler of the Pharisees known as Nicodemus. You see, nobody is more exhausted than a 40-year-old religious man who thinks he should have all the answers to the questions of his own life as well as the very mysteries of God.
Nicodemus was an educated man who held incredible power in his religious community. His knowledge of the Scriptures surpassed everyone around him and he would’ve been considered a model citizen in every way. Yet, there was Somebody Else on the scene. Somebody Else was turning heads because he was turning water to wine. The Apostle John tells us Nicodemus “came to Jesus at night.“ We don’t know why he preferred to talk with Jesus in the dark any more than we recognize the face of the man in the moon. But that’s just what he did. Perhaps he didn’t want his religious friends catching him talking to the odd Rabbi from a backwater town? Or maybe Nicodemus wanted an uninterrupted conversation and so he had to wait his turn like everybody else. Or maybe he felt like he could only be his real self and ask real questions of Jesus when nobody else was looking. Have you, like Nicodemus, ever gone to Jesus in the middle of the night and asked your question?
Not to church...
Not a book study...
Not a conference...
Not a worship song...
Have you ever gone straight to Jesus in the middle of the night?
Though Nicodemus was steeped in the history of Israel he was still keenly aware of the fact that he could no more comprehend the mysteries of God than you are I could contain the Pacific ocean in a Dixie Cup. So in his curiosity, he pulled himself out of bed and went to Jesus.
John writes,
“This man came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher come from God, for no one can do these signs that you do unless God is with him.” ”
I imagine if you or I had an audience with Jesus that night we would've said something along these lines, too. “It's clear that the signs you are doing must be accompanied by God himself!" But Jesus who knows Nicodemus's whole life story and your life story, abruptly responds piercing through to the question behind the question. Jesus knew that what Nicodemus was really asking was “Will I get to see the kingdom of Heaven, too?”
“Jesus answered him, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God.” ”
"Ye must be born again." Those two words; born again. They either mean everything or they mean nothing to someone. We see them on a homemade sign in the end zone of a football game. Sometimes they're slapped up on an overpass amidst all the graffiti. Sometimes they're on the moniker of a Missionary Baptist Church out in the countryside somewhere. Born again. When Jesus said the words "born again" he wasn’t coming up with another way to say “evangelical.” He was putting a carrot in the hunting rifle.
Nicodemus doesn't get it and asks how a person can be born twice. Do you ever have those moments when you're talking and as you're saying the words, you wish you could reach out and grab them and take them back? I imagine that must've been what Nicodemus was thinking in this moment. "I just asked how to be born two times!" There they are, the words are out there, naked, half-baked, standing there like a scarecrow. Jesus explains that there is the kind of birth that every mother does. And that there is another birth that is brought about purely by the work of God alone.
You see, in saying "you must be born again", Jesus was taking all of the worry, the power, and the striving out of Nicodemus' hands, saying "You don't have what it takes to be born again in and of yourself." Just as your mother labored to bring you into the world at zero cost to you and incredible cost to her, so it is with God. You are the passive recipient of Divine Grace. God is the One who brings about your birth from above. One moment you were not and the next you simply were. Why? Because God reached out, and reached within, and gave you a new heart, a new mind, a new life, a new purpose… a new you. What motivated God to do something so extravagant, so over the top, so undeserved for Nicodemus or you or me or anyone else in this world? Jesus said,
“God so loved the world that gave his only begotten son that whosoever would believe in him would not perish but have eternal life.”
It was out of the blazing furnace of the love of God's heart that you have been born again and once you are born, you cannot be unborn. This is what the Apostle Paul stressed more than anything to his Ephesian brothers and sisters – the incomprehensible, immeasurable, uncontainable love of Christ. You belong to the Father, through the purchase of the Son, and the filling of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
My Neighbor: Jesus Expects Justice
Homily | Is There Grace for me too, Pastor?
"Is There Grace for me too, Pastor?"
Well, good morning. It has been 23 weeks since any of us have gathered in any formal manner here at Redemption Church. I simply cannot tell you how much I've missed you. Every Sunday morning, (Jana can attest to this), I am sad. Today, I'm so grateful to give a homily, and the title happens to be a question, and it's this: "Is there grace for me too, pastor?"
The Sunday sadness for me is not simply because I don't get to preach the gospel on a Sunday morning. The sadness happens to be over the fact that I don't get to see your faces. And still today, I don't even get to see your whole faces. God put some real thought into your face, you know. Your face tells a story even when you're not saying anything.
I think the thing I miss most about Sundays is standing on these front steps that I call my "perch" and welcoming people to worship. I've done it every week for years. I love seeing your faces, hugging your necks, and having our brief exchange as you head in to see other saints. Soon you'll be singing to Jesus, praying, hearing the gospel proclaimed and receiving the sacraments.
I love those moments because, to me, it feels like we are acting like our real selves. Both of us – pastor and parishioner. No Scriptures are being read, songs being sung, or prayers being prayed. It's where the liturgy wakes up and takes a deep breath. It's time for the work of the people, not just the pastor.
As people approach the perch, most everyone has the same look on their faces regardless of where they're coming from or what they're currently going through.
There are the hurried moms and dads who just crawled out of the van, struggling to get the kids to Sunday School on time. Both have a question in their eyes: "Is there grace for me too, pastor?" Or maybe it's a friend that is having an ongoing faith crisis, who for some reason or another pulled herself out of bed, filled the tumbler with coffee, and came anyway. When she and I make eye contact, you can tell she's suddenly surprised by herself - she's darkening the doors of a church, and as she gets closer, I can tell she's got the same question in her eyes, too… "Is there grace for me, pastor?" Finally, my wife walks up the sidewalk. The kids blow past me, yelling, "Hey Daddy!" as they head for the donuts. Jana is a woman who has never been fond of the title "pastor's wife." I like that about her. This isn't because she doesn't love my vocation, occupation, or the church. She just doesn't need another "role" to fill any more than anyone else here does. And when I see her, she can see that my eyes are always asking the same question that everyone else has already asked: "Is there grace for me too?" And she always says, something like "I'm so glad to be here today! Jesus loves you, Alex."
And so this morning, I want to just take a few moments and walk through Psalm 23 with you. This undoubtedly is the most famous Psalm in Scripture, and aside from John 3:16 is the most well-known passage in the Bible. David, King of Israel, pens this Psalm in a very personal way. David skips the flowery rhetoric that passes for "worship" on Christian radio. He's also not an angry, argumentative armchair theologian, straining out every theological gnat. David is not speaking to, for, or with the entire congregation of Israel. He speaks in very personal ways about who God is to him and how he relates to him personally. I love this because he knows this art piece isn't going to be confined to a journal entry but is to be included in the hymnbook catalog for the whole nation to sing! David was aware that God not only sees a crowd, he sees faces. God doesn't merely count numbers; he knows names. God is not generally aware of the nation as a whole but is present, immanent, and available to a person. Psalm 23 is for the person asking with their eyes, "Is there grace for me too, pastor?"
David uses two metaphors to describe God. The first is a shepherd, and the second is a host on a wait staff. In both scenarios, King David is the one in need of protection, provision, and guidance. He's the receiver of grace upon grace.
He begins:
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
David opens with the confession that his deepest needs will not be met by the military, politics, the nation, and even his own self. God is his shepherd, and nothing can change that. Many of us are worried about the state of our city, our country, and our world. We are glued to our screens, guessing what tomorrow may bring. This morning you might be at your wit's end, and you're asking, "Is there grace for me too, pastor?" And David says to you,
“the Lord is your shepherd. You are not alone.”
He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters.
Notice that David says that his shepherd knows what's best for him, taking him to pleasant and safe places. Maybe you had your heart broken this year? Perhaps your business suffered tremendously? For some, your marriage has been through the wringer. After 23 weeks, you're asking "Is there grace for me too, pastor?" "I sure need a break." "I need to lay down." "Is there any water nearby?" David says,
“Oh yes! I hope you like the colors green and blue.”
He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
If you know David's story, then you know that his soul was often in need of a God-sized restoration. David understood that his throne would be established forever, but that's not because of his flawless moral track record. It will be by grace alone. To have your soul turned around or inside out is quite the predicament because can't really reach inside and untangle the mess within any more than a person can perform heart surgery on himself. Perhaps by this point in life, the king realized that even anointed men and women can go astray and that the deepest soul-work must be done by God himself. Maybe you've lost your way over the last 23 weeks apart, and your soul is somewhere out there with the prodigal son hungover in a pigsty, and you're wondering this morning, "Is there grace for me too, pastor?" David says,
“Oh yes! The tangled up yarn of your soul is no match for the fingers of God.”
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
David describes the fact that though he's the king of Israel, chosen and anointed by God, he, too, must still walk through the valley o,f the shadow of death. All of life is learning to let go. We let go of our friends. We let go of family members. In the end, we let go of our own selves. The valley of the shadow of death can pop up in any place. It can look like a hospital waiting room. Sometimes it looks like or a late-night fight with your spouse. Sometimes it's in your car when you remember what happened to you so long ago and nobody knows that it happened. We all find ourselves in this valley. Maybe over the last 23 weeks, you've found yourself there, and you're asking, "Is there grace for me too, pastor?" David says,
“Look to the shepherd’s hands and what do you see? In his right hand he has club for the bears, lions, and foxes. And in his left there’s a shepherd staff to pull you back close to his side.”
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.
Though radically different occupations, the shifting of the image from Shepherd to Banquet Host still communicates the heart, intentions, and actions of God. Like you and me, even kings have enemies, get hungry, and enjoy dessert on the house. What kind of God chooses such humility? Here we see Almighty God, the Divine Waiter, with his apron on, preparing a table for his cherished David. The thing about Yahweh is that if he's in the mood to celebrate, he doesn't have to wait until the enemies are all gone to finally pour the best wine and enjoy his friends. Far from it! "Today is the day of salvation!" "Right here in the middle of the chaos, we are going to enjoy being together!" How long has it been since you enjoyed a true uninterrupted Sabbath with God?
Not only does God prepare a meal, but he anoints David with oil. David knows he's king. So why the reminder? Because a title doesn't give David the power, strength, wisdom, courage, or integrity to lead the nation – but anointing does. A relationship does. Maybe this morning you feel far from God and aren't up to the task ahead of you. Perhaps you're asking, "Is there grace for me too, pastor?" David says,
“You are chosen, anointed, and empowered. God is not running out of water or wine! And if he wants to turn one into the other, he will do just that! The cup is overflowing, and the kitchen is stocked! You have only one thing to do today – enjoy it!”
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
As David finishes his meal, he puts down the utensils, wipes his mouth, and stares out the window. After a moment, deep, gut-level gratitude wells up within him. He says out loud to God, his fellow dinner guests, and most certainly to his own soul,
“surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.”
Like those of you who are asking today, "Is there grace for me too, pastor?" David has not forgotten the pain of the past, the presence of the enemies, or tomorrow's rainy forecast. It is with these things in mind that David says, "mercy and goodness are always right on my heels!" And as he draws his final breath, asking, "Is there grace for me too, pastor?" He assures himself that Goodness and Mercy will swallow him up entirely and that "he will in the house of the Lord forever." Amen.