Written & Preached at Montecito Covenant Church by Diana R.G. Trautwein, 12/6/09

I have decided I am not a fan of surprises. Now don’t get me wrong – I like GOOD surprises. But I’m not sure I like those kinds of surprises well enough to make up for the other kind of surprises – those things that shock and startle and wound and worry. In fact, in recent weeks, I have found myself very, VERY wary of such surprises.

And I know that I am not alone in my wariness – a lot of people – a lot of you dear people, and a lot of other people in my life as well – are reeling from strange and scary surprises that have literally smacked them upside the head and left them seeing stars. Let me list just a few:

A hard-earned graduate degree has proven to be a handicap not a help in a long-term job search;

Surprise!

A beloved child is discovered to be wildly abusing controlled substances;

Surprise!

A devoted wife is startled by the sudden exit from her marriage of a husband of nearly 40 years;

Surprise!

An elderly woman’s sudden black-out causes a brain-bleed leading to permanent full-time care;

Surprise!

A struggling middle-aged man on the way to a better life is found dead in his sleep;

Surprise!

These are the kinds of earth-shaking, unexpected happenings that can quickly over-whelm a person. These are the kinds of events that hurt and startle rather than delight and refresh. Surprises like these can change the course of our lives, re-arrange the texture of our days, re-focus our emotional energies, and alter our personal and family story. So, I’ll say it again: I am not a fan of surprises.

And the text before us this morning tells us about a humdinger of one –a surprise that not only changed a personal and family story, but changed the very history of the world. Turn in your Bibles, if you wish, or you might choose to simply listen, to the first chapter of the gospel of Matthew, beginning at verse 18:

¹⁸ This is how the birth of Jesus the Messiah came about: His mother Mary was pledged to be married to Joseph, but before they came together, she was found to be pregnant through the Holy Spirit. ¹⁹ Because Joseph her husband was a righteous man and did not want to expose her to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly. ²⁰ But after he had considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. ²¹ She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” ²² All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: ²³ “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”). ²⁴ When Joseph woke up, he did what the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took Mary home as his wife. ²⁵ But he had no union with her until she gave birth to a son. And he gave him the name Jesus.

This is the word of the Lord for us this day.

Given the time and culture in which we live, I think it is more than a little bit difficult for us to wrap our minds around how hard this particular surprise was for a good, first-century, Jewish man like Joseph. Unmarried women surprise their families with pregnancies every day in the current age, if the tabloids are to be believed, and marriage is quickly becoming an afterthought – last, rather than first, in the line of happenings that used to follow a more particular order. There was, at one time – long, long ago – in another galaxy – far, far away – an old schoolyard poem that went something like this:

“First comes love, then comes marriage,

then comes (you fill in the blank with a pair of names) with a baby carriage.”

Not any more. More often than not, the baby carriage precedes either marriage or love, and there is little, if any, public shame or censure. So you’re going to need to put on your cultural sensitivity hats for a while this morning to more fully grasp the poignancy and the point of this morning’s primary text.

In first century Jewish life, marriage was a big deal – a really big deal. Necessary for the protection of women, who had few, if any rights, and who were always under the wing of a man – either a father, a husband or a son. So finding a husband was something that was done by the entire family and was never left to the vagaries of chance or “love.” Marriages were arranged, and betrothals, engagements, were entered into with all the seriousness of any legally binding contract of the present day. As Don mentioned last week, girls were often between the ages of 12 and 15 when they were betrothed, and men were usually in their late teens or early twenties, sometimes even older. The period of engagement lasted about a year, and it was serious, it was permanent, it was almost the same thing as marriage – it’s just that the couple did not yet live in the same physical space together. The girl remained with her parents, the young man remained with his. At the point of the actual wedding celebration – the young woman would move into the house of her fiancé. But until then, the couple was considered to be married – bound by law and commitment, a union which could only be severed by official decree of divorce.

So when Matthew describes Mary as ‘pledged to be married to Joseph’ in one sentence and in the very next breath calls Joseph ‘her husband,’ he is not contradicting himself. Their commitment was complete, it was just not yet consummated. Which makes the fact that Mary is found to be pregnant more than a little bit troublesome. Because her ‘husband,’ Joseph – a simple man of trade, as the song put it –Joseph, a righteous man as Matthew describes him – Joseph knows that this baby growing inside Mary is not his. No way, no how. Joseph is a good, observant Jewish person. He knows the rules. He lives by the rules. He values, even cherishes the rules and views them as a source of life and power and order. He knows he has honored the rules about betrothed couples staying away from full physical intimacy before the official wedding night. And he knows that he has honored those rules. He does not know that about Mary. Joseph also knows that, if he chose to do so, he could have her publicly humiliated – even stoned – for adultery.

We learn something really important about Joseph right here: We learn that Joseph was a man of righteousness – yes – but he was not a stern moralizer nor a harsh judge. He knew that the ‘right’ thing, the legally obedient thing to do was to end his legal betrothal; but he also knew that he did not want to be vindictive, he did not want to be highhanded, he did not want to be proved righteous in a public forum of any kind. Our text implies that he gave a lot of thought to what to do next, that he very carefully considered his options – and then he did what any thoughtful, deliberate person would do – he decided to sleep on it.

And here’s where our story gets really interesting, isn’t it? And here is also where we connect this text for today to our year-long, self-designed lectionary preaching series on the Holy Spirit, most especially, this is where we connect to the short series-within-the series for Advent this year – looking at how God’s Spirit speaks to people through special messengers called angels. But of all the angel encounters we’re looking at this Advent, this one is unique. This one is different from the others – because in Joseph’s portion of the story of Christmas – he angel comes in a dream, not in person.

I really like that fact, I have to say! Because I’m with Don on this one – angels are not something I’m totally comfortable even thinking about, much less teaching or preaching about. So to look in depth at a story about a dream-angel was somehow easier for me. Because I believe that dreams are powerful psychological and spiritual events and that God can and does speak to us through them. Dreams are a gift of God that enable us to process things that are happening to us in our conscious lives while we’re unconscious, while we’re sleeping. So to spend time studying Joseph’s dream the past few weeks has been both a joy and a privilege.

And here’s what I really love about this dream: in it, God encourages Joseph to re-define what it means to be a righteous person. God invites Joseph to walk right through his fears, to look this strange and scary surprise squarely in the eyes and embrace it. The angel takes what Joseph thought to be bad news and tells him that not only is it NOT bad news, it is the best news he or anyone has ever heard.

For you see, the kingdom of God is breaking into history. The kingdom of God is pushing through that unseen barrier between time and eternity. The kingdom of God is, by God’s choice and God’s design, folding itself into the form of a tiny human life, silently growing within the willing, obedient body of a young, Jewish virgin named Mary. Mary, who is betrothed to a righteous and good man named Joseph, who just happens to be in the line of David, the greatest king in Israel’s history, the line through which the Messiah – the Anointed, the Chosen One will come to save Israel.

And Matthew has taken the first 17 verses of this opening chapter to lay that connection out really clearly. He lists a genealogy which traces Jesus’ human lineage back to Abraham. And along the way, he takes a few – 5 to be exact – surprising detours – by listing women in that family tree – all of whom are of questionable moral character, at least according to the thinking of their neighbors. The fifth of those five is, as we have already noted, Mary, whose morals were questioned even by her betrothed husband.

And then, at verse 18, Matthew’s focus shifts to become much more specific about Joseph, the man who will raise Jesus as his own. We’ve only got 8 short verses here – not a whole lot of detail – but what we do have is pretty amazing. We’ve already discovered that Joseph was both righteous and merciful. We’ve seen that he was deeply thoughtful, reflective and deliberate in his decision making. Now we know that God had a very specific word for him – a word of comfort, hope and challenge.

The angel addresses Joseph with respect, using the title “son of David.” He goes right to the heart of the problem with the words, “Do not be afraid…” Because – let’s be honest here – isn’t fear so often the big ugly thing at the bottom of so much of what motivates us most of the time? Fear of what others will think of us. Fear of what God will think of us. Fear of what will happen if we go this way or that way. Fear of what will happen if we don’t go any way. Fear that we won’t measure up. Fear that if we give up our right to worry, we’ll ‘lose’ control over all those things we really don’t control anyhow! Fear that the surprise – whatever it may be in our own lives – will be too hard, too horrible, too painful, too overwhelming, too, too, too… too much or us to bear.

And the angel of the Lord speaks directly into that fear: “Do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife.” There it is. Complete the deal, Joseph. Make it official. Let go of your fears, of your need to be the man in charge, your need to obey the rules you know… because…some of the rules you know are about to be tossed around like fruit salad. Some of the rules you live by are no longer pertinent. Some of the rules that form your own definition of yourself are slipping out of your hand, changing shape, taking on new colors and textures and interpretations and meanings. Why?

Because what is conceived in Mary is from the Holy Spirit, that’s why. Because life as you know it is changing in ways both subtle and dramatic, that’s why. Because a Holy God has stooped to hide within a human womb, that’s why. Because a mighty plan of salvation, and companionship and transformation is being set in motion…..and you, son of David, you are to be an integral part of that plan. You are to give this plan, this babe who will become a man – you are to give him his name –Yeshua – God saves! For “God saves” – Yeshua – JESUS – will save his people from their sins. Surprise!

And then the entire dream-angel message is set firmly within the context of fulfilled prophecy with those closing words taken from Isaiah 7 …. “they will call him Immanuel, which means ‘God with us.’” God saves. God with us. About as full and complete a picture of Jesus the Messiah as you can find in two names. The name he was called –Jesus. The name that describes who he is and what he came to do – Immanuel. The amazing, saving, incarnate God – fully human, fully divine.

And here’s the last little piece that we must not miss, we simply must not miss. The dream-angel is gone. And Joseph is no longer sleeping, but wide awake. And what we read, in simple and elegant words, is that Joseph did as he was told. He, like Mary in last week’s lesson, did exactly what the angel asked him to do. He immediately brought Mary home as his wife. He cared for her throughout the remainder of her pregnancy. And when she gave birth to that long-promised son, Joseph named him Jesus. And with that simple, obedient act, he gave Jesus not only is given name – but a family name –allowing the miraculously conceived son of Mary to have a full, legal, legitimate place in his first century Jewish home.

In a very real sense, that’s what you and I are asked to do as well, isn’t it? To name Jesus – to allow him full, legitimate access to all of who we are – to listen to the angel of the Lord as he spoke words of promise and hope to Joseph, and to listen as the Holy Spirit speaks those same words to us: Do not be afraid. Call his name Jesus. He shall save his people from their sins. He will be called Immanuel, which means, God with us. Surprise!

Let us pray:

Good and surprising God, who can take even the most difficult of surprises

and somehow work redemption through them,

hear our hearts this morning.

Prepare these hearts to receive you anew,

to name Jesus as savior and lord,

to savor the sweetness of the with-us-God,

who joins us in this vale of tears and says,

“Do not be afraid!”

As we gather round your table of life today,

hear our prayers of confession and contrition.

Remind us again of your gracious choice

to forgive us,

to walk with us,

to encourage us to live our lives in tune with the Holy Spirit,

the Spirit who gives us life with a capital “L,”

and who daily reminds us of your love and grace.

In Jesus’ name we pray.

Amen.

Matthew 6:5-15, Preached at Montecito Covenant Church – By Diana R.G. Trautwein

July 19, 2009

I had a conversation with a friend this week, a friend who happens to be a psychologist with a very full patient load. I told her that I was going to be preaching on prayer this week, specifically on the Lord’s Prayer, and she said to me: “Oh, Diana. I am so glad to hear this. I don’t think there is any more important topic today than prayer. I am seeing so many people in my practice who are confused, stymied, stuck, sort of on information-overload, spending more and more time Twittering, posting on Facebook, checking their emails, surfing the net for everything under the sun, up to and including relationships, that they have no room left to discover and nurture some sense of an ‘inside self,’ an interior space, where they can sit in quiet and discover who they are and who God is.”

Wow. That hit a nerve with me – to be reminded that we are part of a rapidly changing techno-culture that has us dealing with so many words, so many images, so many voices – coming from so many different directions, that our minds are quite literally bombarded and our fingers are swollen to the size of sausages with the amount of texting and typing we’re engaged in on a daily basis. Even those of us without computers (and there are very few who fall into that category any more!) feel the impact of the new technologies we live with today. From the man pacing up and down in the public parking garage yesterday, speaking in a raised voice to no one in particular, until I saw the Bluetooth device in one ear and realized he was on the phone; to the student text-messaging his girlfriend while listening to a classical music concert; to the grandmother (and that would be me!) commenting on her children’s and grandchildren’s blogsite, written while they are visiting countries half a world away – this growing ability to be in constant contact via the world wide web has infiltrated every layer of life. Now don’t get me wrong – a lot of the time – in fact, most of the time, I am a huge fan of all this stuff. I appreciate being able to carry a phone with me. I’ve enjoyed contacts made with old friends and new via Facebook. I love being able to reach someone I love in an instant. I relish having a veritable encyclopedia of information available to me at the click of a button. I do, I really do.

BUT, my friend’s comments drew me back to the scripture before us this morning with a new urgency, and a renewed hunger for fewer words, but deeper ones, for slower points of contact, but richer ones, for a bit of a breather from the incessant and invasive nature of our post-modern, cyber-kinetic age. So, with that idea in mind, please hear the word of the Lord, as it is written in the gospel of Matthew, chapter 6, verses 5-15:

⁵ “And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. ⁶ But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. ⁷ And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. ⁸ Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him. ⁹ “This, then, is how you should pray: 


” ‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name,

¹⁰ your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

¹¹ Give us today our daily bread.

¹² And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.

¹³ And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.

For if you forgive others when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. ¹⁵ But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.

This is God’s word for us this day.

We are looking today at the second of 3 sections in the middle of the three chapters that make up this long sermon of Jesus’ which we’ve been studying all summer – the Sermon on the Mount, which deals with the very center of our faith and practice as Christians. And the first thing I want you to note about this teaching is how very Jewish it is. For in this chunk of the sermon, Jesus draws from his own heritage as a devout Jewish man and infuses that heritage with his own particular slant, his own unique interpretation. In the opening 18 verses of chapter 6, Jesus examines the three basic elements of Jewish piety, the three pillars, the foundation of Jewish belief and practice – almsgiving (which Don dealt with last week), prayer (which we’re looking at today) and fasting (which Don will lead us through next Sunday) – a 3-fold list well-known to every faithful Jewish person in his audience. And he begins his teaching on each of the three with a negative – don’t do it this way – and then he follows up with a positive – do do it this way. Each of the three begins with the same warning: don’t be like the hypocrites – those who act the part of a righteous person. Don’t do these foundational things so that other people can see you and applaud you for your religious perfection. No. Do them quietly, in secret, so that you know and God knows that you’re doing them for the right reasons.

In the teaching before us today, Jesus does a couple of things differently from the other two: first, he adds a second negative warning; and second, he includes an example of what a positive prayer should look like. So, there is the usual negative warning – don’t be like the hypocrites, who pray for others to see, followed by the usual positive admonition – do go into a quiet, hidden place and pray for God to see. And then he adds this second negative: don’t be like the pagans, whose ‘prayers’ sound like babbling – too many words, too many repeated sounds, too little faith that God already knows what is needed before the prayer is offered. And it is in response to this warning against too many words – too much babbling – that Jesus goes on to say: “This, then, is how you should pray,” and we find the prayer before us this morning.

Pretty cool, huh? Don’t you wish that for every time in your life you’ve been told how NOT to do something, you would also be given an example of just how TO do it? Jesus does not disappoint! He gives those who listen to him a great gift – a sample, a model, a pattern for real, meaningful, honest and true prayer. Prayer that leads the disciple down the path of true righteousness, which is the goal of each of the three pillars of Judaism. Prayer that encourages the right ordering of priorities, prayer that allows for the recognition of our needs as dependent human creatures, prayer that doesn’t shy away from the real-world environment in which we live – this wild and wonderful but sometimes dark and dangerous place where we are planted as signposts of the kingdom of God.

I’ve given you a handout this morning, something we rarely do here at MCC, in which I’ve attempted to outline this important set of 11 verses of scripture. It’s a two-sided insert and that’s a helpful tactile and visual image for the two sections of this short, but powerful prayer. I have deliberately written it out as we find it in our text for today, the text found in our pew Bibles, to be exact – and not quite as we just prayed it with the kids a few minutes ago. And I’ve done that for one very particular reason and that is this: most of us are so very familiar with this prayer – whether or not we’re entirely sure if it’s “debts,” “trespasses,” or “sins” – that we too often rattle it off by rote memory and don’t think about it a whole lot. And that is truly sad, and in many ways, antithetical to Jesus’ intent in giving it to us in the first place. I think perhaps what we have called “the Lord’s Prayer” has too often become a prime example of babbling – the very thing Jesus warned us against. Hopefully, spending just a few minutes today looking at this prayer in a slightly different wording and format will help us move away from babbling and toward prayer.

An important first note: these words, as they are recorded for us in Matthew’s gospel, are meant to provide an outline, a pattern, a design rather than a set of words to be repeated verbatim week after week. (And let me just pause for a moment here and immediately say that there is nothing wrong with doing just that – repeating this prayer, from memory, as many times in a day or a week or a worship service as it is helpful and true to do so. It is a beautiful and remarkable prayer and it is worth knowing and saying – as long as that saying comes from the heart as well as the memory.) But what I want to offer to you this morning is a different angle, perhaps a new way of praying this prayer that moves away from ritual toward personal devotional experience. And to do that, I want to offer just a few observations about the prayer as a whole and the prayer in its parts. Please bear in mind that entire books and series of multiple sermons have been written and preached on these words, so our look this morning will be cursory at best.

Notice first that what Jesus says here is not “Here, then, is ‘what’ you should pray. What he says is, “Here, then is ‘how’ you should pray,” giving us a short, simple guideline for conversing with God every day. And he borrows ideas and even phrases here and there from the prayers that all of his listeners were familiar with – the Hebrew Kaddish, which was the closing prayer in the weekly synagogue service, and the 18 Benedictions, which were to be prayed 3 times a day, at sunrise, noonday and sunset. But Jesus puts them together uniquely and he condenses them a lot. The front side of your handout includes each of the phrases from the first section of the prayer – the things Jesus encourages us to say to God about God. What Jesus says to us here, with this format for our prayers, is this: begin by remembering to whom you are speaking.

God is Father – one of the loveliest names for God in all of scripture, and one that Jesus used frequently. But here are two things to note right away – first, God is not just my father – he is our father. Everywhere in the entire prayer, as a matter of fact, where the first person is used, it is used in the plural, not the singular. With each and every usage, we are reminded that we are in relationship with one another, as well as with God. As one of my pastors long ago used to say, and I’m sure you’ve all heard it: “There are no Lone Ranger Christians.” We are always part of a body, a community, a family, with the Triune God as head, as Father of us all.

And the second thing to notice about this opening line is that our Father, who is personal and close at hand, is also Other – different, distinct, HOLY. God is our heavenly father. And God’s name – which is the same thing as saying God’s character, God’s being – is to be held as sacred, set apart, hallowed, holy. So – God is Father, God is our Father, God is holy.

And it is a wonder to me that we can ever rattle off the next three lines – your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. If you wanted to draw the marrow, the meat, the center, out of this prayer, I think these 3 phrases would be it: The Lord’s prayer is a kingdom prayer, a prayer of recognition of and submission to God’s kingdom will, which was ushered in with the work of Jesus and which will ultimately be fulfilled at the end of time. The more I reflect on that powerful truth, the more awestruck I am, the more moved to fear and trembling. Do we really understand what we are saying, what we are asking, when we pray these words?

Because they remind me of the other time we hear words like these from the lips of Jesus – in that garden in Gethsemane, remember? “Not my will, but yours be done…” as he awaited certain torture and death. Even there, even then, Jesus recognized the sovereignty of God the Father, the overarching goodness of God’s plan, despite the pain involved in bringing it to pass. These are not ‘white-flag,’ throw-your-hands-in-the-air kind of words. These are words of adoration, recognition and willing participation in the rule and will of God for creation, no matter the cost to us personally. And that is the through-line for this entire prayer, for Jesus’ entire ministry, for the life and work of the church, for the ultimate fulfillment and satisfaction of each and every one of us: Your kingdom come. Your will be done

Big stuff, big vision, ultimate reality.

Now turn that sheet over and be reminded of how gracious this Kingdom God of ours truly is. For here is where we find the closest thing we’re going to find in this prayer to a ‘list.’ This is where we talk to God about ourselves. Four requests – daily bread, forgiveness of sin, avoidance of temptation or testing, protection from the evil one. Jesus does not forget that we are but dust and ashes, that as creatures whose frame he well knows, we are dependent on our God for life, for sustenance, for spiritual and emotional health, and for the strength and ability to follow the way of righteous living to which we are called.

Although there is a ton of stuff that could be said about these closing words, (and as far as the scripture itself is concerned, these are the closing words of the Lord’s Prayer – the ones that we close with each time we say it were added very early in the church’s history, they come from the Old Testament, and they are quite appropriate for our corporate use in worship), but of these textual closing words, I want to comment on just one line – as it is a line which Jesus chooses to repeat in a slightly different form in the closing verses of today’s passage.

In both places, Jesus speaks quite strongly of the power of forgiveness. And he makes very clear that the true power of the forgiveness we receive from God our Father will be evidenced in our lives by our willingness and ability to forgive others. This is not a you-do-this-and-then-God-will-do-that kind of statement. It is a cause-and-effect statement, but in this way only: if you have ever truly experienced, to the depths of your soul and the soles of your feet, the remarkable and generous gift of grace which comes from God’s forgiveness of your many sins and frailties – if you’ve ‘gotten’ that real good – then the necessary and natural overflow of that experience has to show up in the way you treat other people who have ‘done you wrong.’ And if you’re carrying around a grudge, a reservoir of hurt feelings, a resistance to letting grace flow through you to the one who has hurt you, then there is no real way that you can experience God’s forgiveness in the way that forgiveness is designed to be experienced.

Fifty words, give or take a few. Fifty words. Far from babbling, far from repetitive, far from trying to manipulate God with lots of noise. Fifty words, that if used as a template for our prayer life can simplify and personalize the entire experience. Try taking one phrase each day and living with that throughout your day – reflecting on its meaning with all that do, all whom you meet. Or try using this sheet, with its blank spaces between phrases, to write your own words underneath each one. Or use the phrases of this prayer as a means of centering and quieting yourself. Sit in a private place, in a relaxed posture – without your cell phone, or your blackberry, or your laptop anywhere nearby – and softly say a phrase with each breath in and each breath out. See if that doesn’t help you discover and nurture some sense of an ‘inside self,’ an interior space, where you can sit in quiet and discover who you are and who God is.

Will you pray with me, please?

Eternal God, our Father, may we hold your name holy this day.

Help us, teach us, to pray for the coming of your kingdom,

in our lives, in our homes, in our families, in our world.

Let your will be done in us, through us. Your perfect will –

as it is done in heaven, so here as well.

You know our needs already,

but we are bold to ask that you would give us

what we need each day to be fruitful, faithful people of yours.

Enough bread of all kinds –

bread to eat, bread to nourish us spiritually,

bread to remind us of the future Great Banquet when your will rules all.

And open us to the power of your forgiveness that we, in turn, might offer

that grace, that loving acceptance, to those who hurt us.

We pray today for deliverance from all that would tempt us away from your perfect will,

and for protection from the fiery darts of evil that would keep us from following you well.

We give you praise for all of life and gladly acknowledge that

yours is the kingdom,

yours is the power,

yours is the glory.

Amen.

About once a month, I take a two hour drive up the 101 to San Luis Obispo.  For me, this drive is one of the most beautiful in the world.  I’m not quite sure why, except that for the first 20 or so miles, I set my cruise control to take me alongside the rugged California coastline north of Santa Barbara.  Then I turn into a twisting, uphill canyon that takes me into the Santa Ynez Valley, with its rolling hills of golden grass, dotted with several varieties of oak trees for the next 15 miles, followed by the land-hugging, espaliered rows of grapevines on either side of the road for about 20 more miles.  Along the way, I drive through Los Alamos, Orcutt, Santa Maria, Nipomo and finally head out to the coast once more through the Five Cities area (Arroyo Grande/ Oceano/Grover Beach/Pismo Beach/Shell Beach) before turning the final bend into SLO, with Avila Beach stretching ahead on the left, and the canyons and hills of the outskirts of the city on my right.  As long as the traffic is not too heavy, I can literally feel the cares and concerns of the previous few days fall away from my shoulders as I drive.

I’m preaching this Sunday on John 15:9-15 – the second half of Jesus’ evocative teaching about abiding. This 7-verse chunk of John’s gospel offers several avenues for reflection and comment, including these ideas:
the connections between love and law;
the meaning and experience of joy;
the beauties and responsibilities of being chosen and appointed;
a definition/description of ‘bearing fruit that will last;’ and…the meaning, modelling and mastering of the art and discipline of friendship. And it’s that last one that has captured my imagination and curiosity this time around.

We’ve just come through (well, almost completely through) a desperate and terrifying time in Santa Barbara. A time of imminent disaster, sleepless nights, displacement from home and possessions, and the stupefyingly paralyzing specter of flames on all sides. This was the view from one part of our town, looking at all the rest of our town last Thursday night: There have been many points in the last week when I have been too exhausted, too depleted, too psychically battered to put together any kind of coherent prayer, sometimes any coherent thought. The phone still worked, however, as did the computer, and those two tools – products of the last 100 years of human inventiveness – allowed me access to a wide circle of friends during an exceedingly stressful time. Thank God for that!

Interestingly enough, the vast majority of that network (not that the network itself is all that vast :>) are friends of mine because of our connection to one another through Jesus. We are all grafted onto the same vine, joined to the same life source, connected to one another by our shared dependence upon our Holy Friend for nourishment, strength, sustenance and power. Because of that, there was a very real sense that these friends, more than some others, truly ‘got’ what was happening within me and within our larger church community. I can’t really explain that – I just know it to be true.

Well, let me take a stab at ‘explaining’ it. Maybe describing it is the best I can do. Describing it in light of my reading and reflecting on John 15 this week. In the opening verses of that chapter, Jesus chooses a word picture that is viscerally familiar to his audience – the vineyard. “I am the vine,” he claims in verse 1 (last week’s lesson), and in verse 5, he adds, “and you are the branches.” “Remain/stay/abide in me…” Look at the pictures of grape vines posted above. Note especially the points at which branches are connected to trunks. Do you see how large the base of each branch is? How widely open each one is to the vine? How firmly connected? And those branches are about as productive of grapes as they are big enough – in other words, as well-connected – as they are to that trunk.

That’s the basis upon which the rest of this extended analogy is built. We need to be attached to Jesus, like a small child attaches him/herself to his/her parents’ leg! Like a firm anchor is buried in the bottom of a swirling sea. Like a sturdy house is bolted to a stone foundation. So any understanding of the teaching found in verses 9-15 needs to be entwined with the picture formed in verses 1-8. Friends of Jesus (part 2) are those who abide in him (part 1), who dwell in him, who stay with him, who unashamedly draw sustenance from him, who know that any ‘doing’ that counts must come from ‘being’ in the right place first. And, if it’s not stretching the metaphor too tightly, any doing that counts (as fruit, shall we say?) is a natural outgrowth of that being.

My goodness, that’s a hard lesson for me! One that I seem to have to learn over and over and over again. Being busy is a high value in the culture of this land, perhaps even more markedly so in central California than in other parts of it. It’s beautiful here – the weather is generally terrific (EXCEPT for sundowner winds). So there’s no excuse for not getting out there, for not adding one more activity, planning one more event or series or training session or ….???? Practicing the fine art of presence is looked at with suspicion at best, condescension at worst. Being present – with oneself, with others, and most of all, with God – is generally not highly regarded. I can so easily be sucked into the pressures of both world and of church to ‘be productive’ in a quantitative, measurable way that time spent being quiet, reflective, attentive gets squeezed out and devalued. I continually have to learn that ‘fruit that lasts’ will not come from my own efforts to produce it. Fruit comes as a natural by-product of abiding; the only ‘doing’ that will make a real difference in my life or the lives of others is the doing that comes naturally and sequentially from a place of centeredness, not busyness, from focused reflection, not distraction. Meaningful, long-lasting fruit comes from paying attention rather than seeking it.

to be continued…

A Sermon Preached on Palm Sunday
Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29, Mark 11:1-11, John 12:12-16
Preached by Diana R.G. Trautwein at Montecito Covenant Church
April 5, 2009

I want us to think together today about story: the power of story, the wonder of story, the wisdom and elegant simplicity of story, the aha!-that-rings-so-true-ness of story. And there’s a reason that I want us to do this today, of all days, this day… this Palm Sunday, this last Sunday of Lent, this first day of Holy Week… this day. Primarily, I want us to do this is because we are – you and I and all those around this world and across time and history who follow Jesus, the Carpenter from Nazareth – we are people of story, of the story, of God’s story.

Sometimes, I think we forget that. Or perhaps, more accurately, we get so very used to it that we allow the wonder of it to somehow fall away, we allow it to become humdrum, routine, old hat. And sometimes, I think we shy away from it, we shy away from the very story-ness of it all, preferring instead to somehow synthesize the sweetness and simplicity of the story-that-speaks-such-power-and-truth into something that more closely resembles dogma, or doctrine, or a set of assumptions or a collection of perfectly correct behaviors to be checked off of some kind of cosmic list in the sky that will magically transform us into particular kinds of rule-followers, rather than story-followers, or even more specifically and definitively, Jesus-followers.

But today – this day, this Palm Sunday, this last Sunday in Lent, this first day of Holy Week, this day – I want us to remember that right here, and right now, we find ourselves at the heart of the story – not the center of a list of doctrines and not in the middle of any humdrum, ‘old hat’ sort of tale, either. No. Today, we are at the center of it all. And unless we are, somehow, by the goodness and grace of God, able to jump, headlong, with both feet, all-or-nothing, willy-nilly, right into the midst of this story, God’s story of creation and salvation and community, as Eugene Peterson has summarized it; God’s story of love and action and decision and sacrifice and mystery – unless we are able to jump right in there, to embrace the story, to believe it, and live it –then we, of all people on earth, are most to be pitied. For it is in engaging with, entering into, re-telling and re-living and re-interpreting the story for ourselves today – right this minute, in the here-and-now, Palm Sunday of the year of our Lord, 2009 – that we discover again the core of our faith, the reason for our existence, the joy of our lives, and the amazing truth that lies at the center of the universe.

So, let me invite you in – come right on in – to the story – God’s story that begins at the beginning and winds its wondrous way through the early pages and the middle pages and the later pages, and then invites us to consider the glorious end, which is, of course, still to come, yet is, most assuredly, already written. At the place where we find ourselves in the story this morning, we can surely hear both echoes and intimations. The echoes call to mind earlier parts of the story, for we can see in the plot and the characters before us this day – two versions of which you heard read just moments ago – that there are leitmotifs, themes and ideas and images that we’ve seen and heard before. We hear words that we’ve heard before – the very words of the ancient psalm we listened to at the top of the service, are repeated almost verbatim in each of the two gospel readings. And we can picture images that we’ve ‘seen’ before. Branches and boughs and palms are tossed in all three pieces of the story that we’ve heard today.

And people are traveling to Jerusalem – specifically, traveling to the temple – in all three pieces as well – in Psalm 118 and Mark 11 and John 12. All of those pilgrims are traveling to the very centerpiece and heartbeat of their story as followers of Yahweh, God Almighty, Creator of the Universe, Storyteller and Storymaker Extraordinaire. Yes, the story, as we join it today, has these echoes, these reminders that we are joining an adventure already in progress. There is a backstory, so to speak, of hundreds of years of relationship and estrangement between God and God’s people, of trial and error, of joy and sorrow, of trying and failing and beginning again. At the point we jump into the story today, we find that the people of God are in a painfully familiar place, living in the land promised and given to them, but living there under someone else’s authority and oppression. And they are good and tired of that authority and that oppression. They’re exhausted by it, in fact, and they are ready, they are oh-so-ready, for something to change, for something to ‘give,’ for someone to show up and bring that change, even force that change, and to restore: their fortunes and their place in the world, their image of themselves, and their deep desire for freedom and autonomy and national integrity and deliverance.

And we can identify with that, can’t we? It’s at this point that ‘their’ story becomes also ‘our’ story. For even though geographically and politically we are blessed to live in a land of ‘freedom,’ there are still so many things that speak with far too much authority into our lives, people or events or conditions that oppress us in some fashion or other, even here, even now – things from which we need to be rescued. Fear is tops on the list just now, I have a hunch. Fear and uncertainty, perhaps even dread, as the news around the country and around the world continues to be grim and grimmer. We live in a time of fear and hopelessness, about money, about war, about violence, about too much government or too little government, about life in general. And of course, there is a long list of other oppressive and invasive things in our lives as well – things like expectations – our own and others,’ or addictions – our own and others,’ or physical pain or illness, or relational pain or illness, or occupational or educational or mental or emotional pain or illness. We, too, are looking for hope, for deliverance. This story includes us, right from the get-go. We are there– with our fears and our expectations and our addictions and our pain and our illness and our longing.

And then, the central character arrives on the scene, the lead actor in this story,
the one with the best lines,
the one on whom the crowd focuses their fondest hopes and dreams,
the one who leads the way into the city,
the one who climbs up on the donkey he has specially ordered for the occasion,
the one who accepts the praise and adulation of the crowds,
the one who steps dramatically right onto center stage, willingly and willfully riding into Jerusalem –
that place of seething enmity and anger,
that place where all those who fear and hate him are gathering and plotting and planning,
that place where a mere six days from now, he will once again hear cries from the crowd, only those cries will have morphed from songs of joy and adoration into screams of hatred and accusation,
that place where all that is hard and dark and evil in this world will come face-to-face with all that is gentle and light and good in this world, and the outcome of that face-down will change the direction of history forever.

For THAT’S were we are in this story of ours, this story of God’s. this story of ours and God’s. We’re right on the brink, at the edge, in the liminal place, the ‘thin place,’ where earth and heaven meet and astounding things can and do happen.

This day in the life and calendar of the church is called by two names – Palm Sunday and Passion Sunday. You can probably figure out why. We remember the palms – those symbols of victory and national pride and exuberance and hope. And we remember the passion – which, at its root, means suffering. We remember the passion of our Lord. And we could very well end our service this morning by reading out the whole long passion/suffering narrative as recorded in the gospel of John, for that is an alternate text for this Sunday’s reading. Palm Sunday. Passion Sunday.

Palm Sunday – a day of celebration, great hopes and even greater expectations. “Has the Promised One in our grand story come to save us?” the people wonder. “Hosanna!” they cry. “Save us now!” it means. “Rescue us from these hateful Romans, who rule over us with such violence!” “Bring us victory and freedom, at last!” Ah, that’s what they wanted! A hero, a shining knight clad in special, powerful, God-given, supernatural armor of some sort, able to leap tall buildings with a single bound, willing to strike fear into the hearts of the enemy. Someone powerful, militant, a warrior-king. That’s what they wanted, that’s what they expected, that’s what they dreamed about, that’s what they hoped for.

But then…But then…there is also Passion Sunday – a day with the looming shadow of a cross spreading its way through every hour. And here’s where the intimations come into our story today, for while there are, as we have already noted, those echoes of the earlier parts of this story ringing through this day, there are also hints, signals, pointers toward what comes next. There are hints that expectations are not going to be met, that hopes are going to be dashed, that rescue, deliverance, salvation is going to be dramatically re-defined.

There is the donkey, of course. The quiet, domestic beast of burden, which was also at that time a widely-accepted symbol of peace, as opposed to war; a picture of welcome, as opposed to conquest. There is no stallion here, surely an animal far more suitable for the warrior-king of their expectations. And then, there is the anti-climax in Mark’s gospel, where the end of this particular parade is nothing much at all. Jesus arrives at the temple, he looks around at everything there, notices it is getting dark, he and his friends leave. The end. Not what might be expected at the end of all that shouting and palm tossing. And finally, there is the clear statement of misunderstanding in John’s telling of this event. The statement that even the disciples are not seeing the hints that are there, they fail to see their rabbi as the kind of fulfillment he truly is, the living, in-the-flesh, suffering-servant, peace-loving, non-conquering king that their faithful prophets had predicted. They see only what they want to see at that moment, just like the people in the crowd. Just like you and like me.

For we, too, have certain expectations for Jesus. Certain dreams, definitions, hopes – certain boxes within which to lodge him, or wedge him, or lock him. We may not picture a 1st century warrior-king, but I know we imagine a different kind of Savior than the one we are meeting in the story – in this strange and beautiful and horrible and mysterious story that will continue to unfold all through the week ahead. We might rather imagine a Savior who will heal all our illnesses, and guarantee us great grades, and bless us with material success, and bring us a great relationship, and keep our children clean and sober and safe, and spare us the indignities of old age, and not embarrass us with all that talk about sacrifice, and carrying a cross, and the first being last, and the last being first, and dying to self in order to live a real and holy life. We’re not so very different from those folks by the roadside who later become that mob by the courthouse. No, we’re not so very different.

Are you finding yourself in the story? Are you taking a good, honest ‘read’ of the hero? Are you surprised by any of it? Are you amazed at the power of it? Overcome by the sadness of it? Astonished by the meaning of it? You do know what it means, right? It means everything. It means that all of us who long for deliverance can find it, that all of us in need of true rescue will receive it, that all of us looking for salvation, will see it – if we have eyes to see! For the question being asked of us by the story is this one, and Jesus, himself, is asking it: Will you welcome me, just as I am? Or are you only willing to receive the one you wish I were, or the one you think I should be?

For the point of this remarkable story, is, after all, to tell us that the God who created us, the God who called us, the God who chose us, is, in fact, the God who promises to save us – not from Rome and not from all the bad and hard things that happen to the human race precisely because we are the human race. No. This God promises to save us from ourselves – because that is, in truth, the most urgent kind of salvation needed by each of us and by all of us.

Indeed, we are living today in a time where hope is in short supply. Indeed, we are living today in a time – much like the time depicted in this story – when whatever hope there is takes on all kinds of shapes and permutations and distortions, all of them focused on political or financial or physical deliverance/ rescue/salvation – so much so that we allow little or no space for a deeper and more real understanding and experience of what hope and rescue can be, what salvation truly is.

For Jesus rode into Jerusalem on that donkey to begin the final leg of his journey to deliver us from our very worst enemy, the enemy within our own spirit, our own soul. He comes to save us from the dreadful, unceasing warfare within that is caused by our unending proclivity toward sin and self-destruction, and, by extension, the destruction of everyone around us. For we are, left to our own devices, incapable of defeating this enemy without help. And help is what it’s all about. This ride into Jerusalem is a signal that Help is on the way! And it is coming in a way that none of us could expect, or even explain. But coming, it most definitely is.

And this table, my dear friends, this table, spread before us again today, is a living, enacted parable of that help. This table is a picture of the story –the story we’ve been invited to engage with, enter into, re-tell and re-live and re-interpret for ourselves today – right this minute, in the here-and-now, Palm Sunday of the year of our Lord, 2009. It is here – in the story and in the table – that we discover again the core of our faith, the reason for our existence, the joy of our lives, and the amazing truth that lies at the center of the universe. Hosanna! Hallelujah! Amen.

I’m going through some older posts, re-working them a bit and I’ll be putting them out for different writing prompts and invitations. This one is for The Red Dress Club’s ‘a favorite blog’ invitation. This was originally written in January of ’09. It might be helpful to know that I live on the central coast of California…
When I got my first really good 35mm camera almost 12 years ago, I jumped into my car and started chasing the sunset. It was May, and the sky was beautiful.

Things have evened off in my family in recent days, just in time for me to get into sermon prep mode once again. The gospel text for this week is Luke 8:26-39 – the healing of the demon-possessed man of Gerasene. A man who was so beset by evil that he lived a solitary life, among the tombs outside of town, the local pigs and their keepers his only regular company. A life marked by isolation, confusion, nakedness and delusion. His presence outside the town appears to have given the people residing within that town some sense of control over the scary things in life – chain them up, hide them away in the ‘unclean,’ outside-the-pale places, put them under guard and thereby feel morally superior and physically and psychically immune to any threat they might carry. That’s what we still tend to do with those things that frighten us, don’t you think? Especially those things within ourselves that we find scary, unruly, unpredictable, unacceptable. We chain them up and try and bury them, yet they can still surprise us with their potential for harm.

That’s direction number one.

What must it be like to be inhabited by multitudes of evil forces? Modern western readers read this story from at least two very different points of view. Many cringe a little, put off by the very idea of demons, at least demons as they were understood in biblical times: malevolent spiritual entities which could, on occasion, ‘possess’ human beings. It is true that many non-religious people have been fascinated by the idea (hence the success of films like “The Exorcist,” and even, it might be argued, the interest in witchcraft and the occult in successful book series like “Harry Potter,” in this generation, and “The Oz” books in our parents’.) But I think it could be argued that the general intellectual zeitgeist of 21st century life would allow little room for belief in actual, literal demons. Too primiitive, too unsophisticated, too medieval, too weird. Most moderns (or post-moderns) are not comfortable with the whole idea of spiritual realities that invade our physical world.

But then there is that second point of view, one that causes me almost as much sadness as the first. Too many 21st century Christians give the idea of demons and demon possession more credence than the biblical record would warrant. There are teachers out there who would have us pray ‘against’ the demons in the corners of the hospital rooms we visit, who would too quickly lay blame for typical childhood misbehavior on the presence of a ‘spirit of evil’ possessing a child. Either extreme is unfortunate and unhelpful. Denying the presence of evil as a malevolent force at work in our world flies in the face of way too much evidence to the contrary – ask any homicide detective or forensic psychologist. But too quickly assigning every wrong-headed choice or misbegotten behavior to the work of the devil and his minions makes no space for human sinfulness or free will. Somewhere, there must be a happy medium (slight pun intended :>)

That’s direction number two.

What are the demons that possess us in this day and age? What are we afraid of and how do we choose to cope with those fears? The Gerasene was a frightening figure, prone to violence, living as an outcast, a perfect picture of the untamed, usually unnamed, beasts that dwell within the human psyche. This story reminds us, with very powerful imagery, that Jesus has authority – healing, releasing, freedom-giving authority – over all those things that frighten us, that can at times conrol us, that cause us grief and pain. But we must allow Jesus free access to those fears if they are to be released. The demoniac was right in Jesus’ face, recognizing his authority, bargaining with him and ultimately his demons were sent packing. The townspeople were so shaken by this demonstrastion of pwer and of health that they asked Jesus to leave them. I guess it depends on what you’re most afraid of – the evil we know or the authority we don’t quite understand and certainly can’t control.

That’s direction number three (or is it a restatement of direction number one???)

Pretty soon now, I’m going to have to choose where I’m headed. I’ll try and keep you posted.

It’s hard for me to get out here and write anything on this weird website when life is crazy. Things happen to me and in me that I’d like to write about, but wonder just who might read it and what they might think. Some things, apparently, are too deeply personal to put into words for public consumption.

I’ve always been a big one for saying what I think – even though I usually need to write in order to do that. I never think quickly enough in conversation, especially difficult, tense conversation. I try to resist anger – and lapse into withdrawal; I try to resist sarcasm – and lapse into stammering non sequitors; I try to resist shock – and lapse into stunned silence. Which is the same thing, I guess. I’m not very good at engaging issues in the moment, especially in situations where I feel uncertain or threatened. So this space has been a breathing point for me. I can write about things I care about, express opinions, try out ideas —- without the pressures inherent in conversation. But I find that I cannot easily write about those things that are nearest and dearest to my heart, especially when they involve people I care about and situations that are scary. And we are in the middle of a very scary one these days.

So, one of these days soon I hope to get back to this space with reflections on scripture, on life, on ministry. But right now, there is no room inside for much else besides putting one foot in front of the other as I try to stay centered in the Spirit, faithfully do the tasks I am assigned at work, love my family in all their various settings and difficulties, and do a little better job at self-care. Hope to ‘talk’ to you soon.

Warren Thompson was one of those rare people God gives us in life. People with a quiet, Jesus-like authority, with no hypocrisy showing up anywhere, no interest in recognition, or ostentation of any kind, absolutely no desire for prominence in any up-front sort of way. People who truly see Jesus as their only authority,who model their lives after Jesus’ self-giving love, after Jesus’ powerful truth-telling, after Jesus’ back-of-the-line, servant’s heart, servant’s attitude, servant’s behavior kind of living.

Thomps was that kind of person, and his absence from this planet impoverishes me and everyone who ever knew him. And while my heart weeps for his loss, I also celebrate his life and the life of Jesus that I and so many others saw in him.

Warren Thompson came to faith later in life than many. He had survived World War II and come home to meet and marry his sweetheart, Nancy. He was in his mid-to late 20’s when he encountered Jesus for the 1^st time and that encounter changed his life forever.

He and Nancy raised two kids, one of whom is a pastor on the east coast and the other of whom has magnificently raised her two daughters as a single mom the last few years. Thomps and Nancy joined Pasadena Covenant church in the 1950’s, and both became diligent students of the Bible, and active members of small groups and prayer circles. In their quiet, humble way, both of them became the kind of bedrock lay leaders that pastors dream of having in their congregations.

When my family and I came to PCC in 1975, our kids were 3, 5 and 7 and we watched as this tall, skinny guy in his mid 50’s hung out with the high school students week after week. We later learned that he had been hanging out with high school students for years, going to midweek activities, attending winter and summer camps as a counselor, traveling to Mexico on mission trips, coming to high school Sunday school each and every week.

And doing a whole lot more than that. Thomps worked for the 3M Corporation there in Pasadena and every day, when he left work, he would ask God to show him whom he should contact on his way home. And then he’d drop by a student’s home, or call and meet someone for coffee or a Coke. Sometimes, he’d take them to breakfast, before work. Thomps literally gave himself away to those students – almost 30 years of those students. He was never shy about praying for kids, either, wherever they were. He wanted to know what they were learning from the word, what they were learning from their prayer times. He wanted to know how they were living like Jesus – and he did all of this with a spirit of gentle humility that was wondrous to behold. And if they weren’t living like Jesus, he loved them extravagantly anyway.

He was willing to be made fun of for being an old guy, he was willing to not be hip or hep or cool or ‘hot.’ He was willing to give himself away lavishly so that others might see Jesus. He gave extravagantly, he gave exuberantly, he gave joyfully, he gave gladly and even gleefully at times. He loved Jesus and he loved students. During his years of mentorship with the students coming through the youth ministry at Pasadena, at least a dozen and maybe closer to 20 individuals – mostly young men, because that’s who Thomps invested in – went into full time Christian service of one kind or another. Some are pastoring, some are missionaries, some are psychologists, some are youth workers themselves. That list includes several who are or were part of the community of faith at Montecito Covenant, including our former pastor.

Many others of those students answered God’s call to lay ministry, like their friend Thomps had, and they are serving God in churches, hospitals, homes, and schools all over the place. In his later years – I think when he turned 70 he decided he was really too old to work with students! – he became a lay pastor of visitation and began a ministry of powerful and loving care for seniors and others in the larger community, participating in weekly church staff meetings and praying regularly for each person on that staff. It was my privilege to serve beside Thomps for 5 years, 2 as a student intern and 3 as a member of the staff there, and I will be forever grateful that he is a part of my story.

When our son was about to go into high school, Thomps began to talk about ‘retiring’ from student ministries. We literally begged him to reconsider, to hang in there for 4 more years while Eric and his cohort of friends came of age, which he graciously agreed to do. And Warren Thompson became one of the most important figures in our son’s life, providing loving and faithful encouragement through high school and beyond. We will be at his memorial service on the 17th of this month, giving thanks to God for a remarkable life. Thomps was probably the closest I will ever come to seeing Jesus this side of heaven. He was that extravagant in his love, that generous in his attention, that alive in his love for God and for others.

So, as I invite our congregation to gather around the table on Sunday, I want to give thanks for his life. And I want to give thanks for his Savior, who is also my Savior, and their Savior.

That same Jesus who rejected an authority dependent upon ostentation, or privilege, or exploitation, or entitlement. That same Jesus who lived and ministered from a center of true authority – the authority of truth, humility, compassion and mercy. That same Jesus who noticed the widow in the temple courts, who lamented the abuses of authority which contributed to her poverty, and who drew attention to the way her extravagant giving mirrored his own coming sacrifice.

And I will offer this prayer, on behalf of us all:

Holy Friend, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, and our Father,

We have to admit, Lord, that this teaching is sometimes really hard for us. We like the trappings. We prefer the peacock feathers to the tiny birds’ nest [a reference to our spectacular altar piece which is a lovely study in contrasts.] We like to be shown respect, we like to enjoy a perk here and there, we like to feel important, to feel needed and necessary.

Where that can really get us into trouble, though, is when we begin to lie to ourselves and to you, when we begin to believe that we really are entitled to those perks because…we’ve done so much good, or we’ve worked so hard to attain a certain status, or educational degree, or years of service at our place of employment – or whatever. We’ve begun to think that somehow we deserve all those points of privilege that we enjoy so much.

Forgive us, Lord, for the ways we abuse whatever form of authority we may have gained in this life. Forgive us for wanting desperately to impress other people more than we want to live for you. Forgive us for wanting to live the good life more than we want to be good people. Forgive us for consciously or unconsciously stepping on somebody else to get to the rewards we think we deserve. And, by the power of your Spirit at work within us, enable us more and more, day by day, little by little, to look like your son Jesus, to whose table we come, and in whose name we pray, Amen.

Do you ever have one of those liminal moments when you feel as if you’ve been given a peek at a new kind of reality? A momentary glimpse of life as God intended it to be lived? Those kind of moments fall like gifts into our laps – and they almost always take us by surprise. I had one of those moments this morning, during worship.