"Living the Questions." A Sermon from Littlefield Presbyterian Church on Matthew 16:13-20.

"Living the Questions"

Matthew 16:13-20 

         “Who do you say Jesus is?” is one of the most challenging and important questions in the gospels.  Knowing that his time with his disciples will be coming to an end, Jesus periodically tests their understanding.

            Jesus asks his disciples, "Who are the people saying that the Son of Man is?"

            The disciples give four answers.  Some think of Jesus as John the Baptist, others as Elijah, still others as Jeremiah, and some say one of the prophets.  Some people are identifying Jesus with dead prophets who had been sent by God who did miraculous deeds and who had stood toe-to-toe with kings, speaking truth to power, in words of challenge, opposition, and hope from Yahweh. 

            Each of these ideas makes sense in some way.  But each of these popular understandings fails to discern the depth and fullness of Jesus’ identity.  The people look at Jesus, but they only see the reflection of religious ideas from their past.  They have a hard time imagining that God could be doing something new.

            The true identity of Jesus is at the very heart of the gospel message and the Christian movement.  Jesus has been described as a great teacher of wisdom, a social reformer, a champion of individual freedom and worth, or a revolutionary.  There are grains of truth in all of these ideas, but, as Tom Long says, in each case people have “pounded a peg labeled “Jesus” into a hole drilled to fit into their own religious preconceptions.”[1]

            When Jesus asks the disciples, “Who do you say I am?”-- they named some of the incomplete and mistaken understandings of who Jesus is. Then Peter blurts out,  "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God."

            Something in the way Peter says those words or some uncertainty in the disciples' voices causes Jesus to recognize that they had pronounced the truth without actually comprehending it.  So Jesus tells the disciples to be quiet and not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.  But, if they can’t tell anyone, how will they build an ekklesia-- a gathering of those called--on the truth of his identity?

            I think Mitzi Smith puts it well when she says “by the life they live, a life of love for God, a life that loves the other as much as one loves herself, and a life in pursuit of justice and peace.”  The disciples’ lives “will speak louder, more truthfully, and more effectively than their words.”[2]

            Mitzi envisions the kind of church it could be. “On this rock, thou shall not build a prison nation. On this rock, thou shall not build a nation where millions of children are homeless and hungry…. On this rock, let us build assemblies that demonstrate belief in a living, speaking, incarnating God, a God of freedom and not of oppression, a God of justice, love, and peace.”

            Who are the people saying Jesus is?  Who do we say Jesus is?  What do our lives say about who we believe Jesus is?

            Every day, our faith calls us to live in the midst of these questions. We live in the tension between the prevailing and popular pronouncements we hear and our daily confessions of who we know Jesus to be through our study of the scriptures and prayer and living in a community that encourages and challenges us.

            When people claiming to be Christian leaders support unjust policies--who are they saying Jesus is? When people say, “We are a Christian nation,” but fail to care for those who are hungry or homeless or oppressed-- who are we saying Jesus is?

            When Jesus asks his disciples “Who do you say I am,” Peter comes forward and speaks up. He figures out what he needs to say, what he believes, and he says it. So I think it’s important to ask: Does Jesus say he will build his church on Peter because he got the right answer? Or because he spoke up?  (I don’t have a simple answer for you on this. I’ll just let you ponder it.)

            I believe our faith can empower us to step up--out of the crowd or in the middle of the masses, or in the face of idolatries.  We need to pay attention to what we see going on and keep asking, “Who do we say Jesus is?”

            I believe Jesus is the Son of the living God, the God of love and compassion and justice. I believe Jesus “came to live among us, full of grace and truth”[3] because Jesus is God’s way of showing us how much God loves us and all people.  Jesus reveals to us a living and loving God who cries for Heather Heyer and for the victims of Barcelona and Cambrills in Spain, a God who cares for those in the path of the storm in the Gulf and for those who are the victims of violence or racial or ethnic profiling.

            I believe Jesus also came to show us what’s possible. Rather than giving in to disease, Jesus healed people. Rather than abandon people to their demons, Jesus showed compassion. Rather than let people go hungry because there’s not enough to go around, Jesus fed people. Jesus refused to be limited by the status quo and invites us to do the same. In the resurrection, Jesus shows us that goodness is stronger than evil and love is stronger than hate or fear or even death. In his life and in his teachings, Jesus shows us that God’s love wins.

            There is so much going on in the world right now, in our nation and in our communities, that needs our prayers, our efforts, our work, and commitment. The living God calls us in our individual lives and in our life as the church to confess Christ-- the suffering Christ who always sides with the vulnerable, in word and deed.  With our lives, with our relationships, our bank accounts, our time, our energy, we are called to proclaim who we say Jesus is. In light of Jesus’ actions and teachings, how will our lives be different?

            The Rev. Jill Duffield is the Editor of The Presbyterian Outlook and lives in the Charlottesville, Virginia area. She was actively involved with the interfaith group who witnessed to their faith and against hate and white supremacy a few weeks ago.

            In Jill’s posts, she talks about the chants that echoed through the campus of the University of Virginia during the “Unite the Right” rally. “They will not replace us.” “Jew will not replace us.” As Jill writes, white supremacists don’t see neighbors to love-- they see competitors to be feared.

            Jill writes that, at one point on Saturday, August 12, she found herself standing beside a young, African-American woman from “over the mountain,” about 40 miles west of Charlottesville. She’s an Episcopal priest who’d heard and heeded the call to come and support area faith leaders.

            As they talked, they could hear chants coming from the park where the Unite the Right rally was to be held at noon. The crowd grew louder and angrier, audible even above the din of the helicopters hovering overhead. The chant that wafted into the Methodist church parking lot was filled with expletives and invectives.

            Jill said her new friend shook her head and looked down. Then she looked up and said something Jill didn’t expect: “There are a lot of hurting people over there.”  The she added: “There is no joy over in that park. They are hurting.”

            Jill writes, “Her grace caught me off guard and I think my expression revealed my surprise, because she continued: “We have to remember that they are hurting, because we need to be the church for them, too. If we forget that, we’ve lost everything that really matters.”
            Jill says, “In that moment, I felt that all my faith fit into a thimble, while hers overflowed into the menacing streets outside our protected parking lot.  She was rock solid in who Jesus is and therefore who we are called to be, and no earthly power – no matter how ruthlessly oppressive – was going to make her forget it.”[4]

            When we know how much God loves us-- how beloved and irreplaceable we are to God, we don’t need to be afraid of being replaced by others, and we can know the peace that passes understanding.  The unshakeable foundation upon which Christ builds the church is this love.

            Jesus gives the keys of the kingdom of heaven to Peter and to the whole church,[5]  as a symbol of the authority of the church on earth.  What the church does--  the decisions we make, the grace we show, the truths we teach--  these all matter to God. 

            When the church reaches out to share the good news of God’s love to someone who is alienated from God, when we teach the faith to a child, when we care for someone in need, when we offer hospitality to a stranger, when we stand in solidarity with those who are marginalized or oppressed or stand up for justice--  we are living into God’s future—the kingdom of heaven—here and now.  When we do that-- we are participating in the very life of God.

           

            Thanks be to God!  Amen!

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

August 27, 2017

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[1] Thomas G. Long, Matthew. (Westminster John Knox Press, 1997), page 184.

[2] Mitzi Smith, “Commentary on Matthew 16:13-20, at Working Preacher. http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3361

[3] John 1:14

[4] Jill Duffield, “Looking into the Lectionary” at The Presbyterian Outlook at  https://pres-outlook.org/2017/08/12th-sunday-pentecost-august-27-2017/

[5] Matt. 18:18

Palm / Passion Sunday: The Story of Christ's Passion

Palm / Passion Sunday is always a full day for us at Littlefield.  We begin with the liturgy of the palms, including a procession in which we remember Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem.  The service moves toward the story of the crucifixion. It's a powerful service.

We have a brief introduction to put the Passion story into context, and then we hear the story.  This year, we heard from Matthew's gospel.

INTRODUCTORY MEDITATION

 

In a few moments, we are going to hear the story of Christ’s Passion, as told by Matthew. 

            The crowds greeted him as the Lord’s Messiah, with loud hosannas.  They were hoping Jesus would overthrow the Roman oppressors, and the Romans took note.

            On the other side of the city there was another parade.  Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor of the region, was entering the city with his cavalry and foot soldiers, as he did every Passover.  There was often trouble in Jerusalem around the time of the Passover—a festival that celebrated the Jewish people’s liberation from an earlier empire.   So, the governor would bring in his troops to reinforce the troops that were permanently stationed near the Temple, as a show of power and force. 

            The peasants in the crowd knew the symbolism from the prophet Zechariah:  a new kind of king would be coming to Jerusalem “humble, and riding on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” 

            In the prophecy, this king would banish war from the land— no more chariots, war-horses, or bows.  Jesus’s procession was a counter-demonstration, a contrast to what was happening on the other side of the city.  

            Pilate’s procession embodied the power, glory, and violence of the empire that ruled the world.  Jesus’ procession embodied an alternative vision-- the kingdom of God.  This contrast— between the kingdom of God and the kingdom of Caesar— is central not only to the gospel story--   to the story of Jesus and the church.

            The people in the crowd who shouted “Hosanna” were half right.  Jesus did come as God’s Messiah. But they didn’t understand what that meant. This was not about “regime change” by violence, but the love of God poured out upon the world in a way that breaks down the things we use to separate “us” from “the” and brings us together to be a community of God’s beloved people.[1]

            The religious and political authorities were also half right. Jesus was a threat.   Jesus is still a threat. He threatens our inclination to define ourselves and others as “us” and “them.” He threatens our trust in securing our future by hoarding wealth and power. He threatens our habit of drawing lines and making rules about who is acceptable and who is not.[2] He threatens our trust in trying to secure our safety and security by violence.

            During Holy Week, may we be startled and challenged into seeing God’s Reign afresh, as the subversive, empire-challenging reality that it is.

Following this introduction, we heard the story of Christ’s Passion, according to the Gospel of Matthew.  You can follow this link to read it online:

http://bible.oremus.org/?passage=Matthew+26

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[1] David Lose, Palm / Passion Sunday A.  http://www.davidlose.net/2017/04/palmpassion-sunday-a/

[2] I am indebted to David Lose here.  http://www.davidlose.net/2017/04/palmpassion-sunday-a/

"Reason to Rejoice": A sermon from Littlefield Presbyterian Church on the Third Sunday of Advent.

"Reason to Rejoice"

Matthew 11:2-11; Isaiah 35:1019

         The third Sunday of Advent has traditionally been known as Joy Sunday.   That’s why we lit the pink candle today  Yet, as I meditated on the scripture passages for this Sunday,  I remember  how painful a season this can be for many people.   Some people are lonely… some are grieving the loss of a loved one, some are struggling with illness and wondering where God is in the midst of it all.  Some are struggling with depression or anxiety.  Some are trying to maintain their sobriety during a season of parties.  Some are too poor to be a part of the festival of extravagance the merchants would have us believe is what Christmas is all about.   

            We grieve that there’s so much wrong in our nation and in the world.  In the midst of all this, a lot of people may be wondering:  where’s the good news?

            I think when we look around our world, it exposes our brokenness as humans and as a society and our need for a Savior.  We live in a broken world.  We’re still waiting for the kingdom of God, and we yearn for it.  We wait and hope for what we can’t yet see.

            In the gospel lesson we just heard, we hear John beginning to doubt his own message.   This is the same John who recognized Jesus from his mother's womb, leaping with joy when her cousin Mary came to visit.  John, who lived in the desert alone, crying out when anyone approached,  "Prepare the way of the Lord!"   John the Baptizer, who was there at Jesus’ baptism, when heaven opened and the spirit of God descended on Jesus like a dove.     

            So what's happened to John--  that he should suddenly doubt Jesus' identity? "Are you the one who is to come--  or shall we look for another? Are you the one, Jesus?

            John had envisioned a mighty and powerful Messiah, who would sweep away all the wickedness of the world and destroy evil.  The Messiah will set the world straight.  Justice and righteousness will rule the day.  The oppressed will be liberated and the hungry will be fed.  Those who resist and continue to sin will be separated from the righteous like chaff from the wheat.  They'll be swept away and cast into the "unquenchable fire."

            That's what John expected and proclaimed.  That's what drew crowds to hear his message and be baptized.  Then Jesus arrived on the scene.  John stepped aside...  and essentially said,  "Go for it, Jesus!  Bring in the Kingdom!  Wipe out the old age, and bring in the new!"  And nothing happened.

            By this time, Jesus has preached the Sermon on the Mount.  He's healed people possessed by demons and raised Jairus' daughter from the dead.  His ministry has taken root, and a crowd of believers around him is growing.

            But nothing was happening the way John had thought it would.  The Messiah was supposed to change things.  He was supposed to fix it so that the wicked no longer prospered and the righteous people, like himself, were saved. 

            Things weren't going well for John.  He was in prison.           Nothing was happening the way he'd envisioned it.  At one word from the Messiah, the very walls of his prison should come tumbling down.  But far from rescuing John--  Jesus was into more and more trouble himself. Jesus wasn't throwing anybody into unquenchable fire.  He wasn’t wiping out sinners. No.  He was visiting them in their homes, and eating with them!

            So...  John finds himself not living in a new era-- but imprisoned in a very old world dungeon, with a lot of questions and doubts.  Sitting in the darkness of Herod's dungeon, John knew he may not have long to live.  He doesn't want to die still wondering about the Messiah, so he sends word to Jesus.  "Are you the one who is to come?  Or are we to wait for another?" 

            Could it be that John's question is our question today as well? By simple virtue of our being here this morning, we make the statement that we-- like John--  have recognized the Messiah in Jesus.  In our different ways, we're trying to prepare the way of the Lord.  Every week, we come together and confess our faith that Jesus is LORD.  Every week, we search for new, more effective ways to teach and preach and live that truth. 

            Along the way, we've acquired some definite ideas about our Lord.  As students of the Bible...  of tradition...  and of our own experience, we have certain expectations of Jesus and what he will do for us his people--  sooner or later.

            But—if we’re honest with ourselves-- who hasn't had DOUBTS?  Who has never--  in anger, hurt, disappointment, or loss-- asked John's question?   Jesus, are you the one?  Or shall we look for another?   Think about it.  When we look to other things for our joy and excitement and security-- haven't we gone off to look for another?   When other things take priority over worshiping God on Sunday mornings or in our lives—haven’t we gone off to look for another?  Are you the one, Jesus?  Or shall we look for another?

            We turn on the evening news, and sometimes it’s hard not to wonder, Jesus, are you the one--are shall we look for another?

            John was the one who had baptized Jesus a year or two before, but now he’s in prison.  Maybe John is wondering if all the preaching and  baptizing he did out in the wilderness meant anything at all, or whether his work for the kingdom of heaven had been for nothing.  Maybe he’d been wrong about Jesus, and he should see if there’s someone else out there who will make this a better world.  "Are you the one, or should we  look for another?”   John’s question gives voice to our doubts and uncertainty, even in the midst of anticipation.  
            John looked around the world and wonder, “If Jesus is the one, where’s the evidence that there’s a transformation underway?  Doesn’t the world look pretty much the same as it was before Jesus, in terms of idolatry, injustice exploitation, and violence?  It doesn’t look like things are getting better. 
            “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” is a question of longing -- longing for what we deeply hope, longing for promises to be fulfilled, even when it seems impossible.
            Jesus tells John’s friends, “Go back and tell my cousin John that things move in fits and starts, but there are always signs of hope. Sometimes when we aren’t seeing the results we’d hoped for,  when our lives aren’t the way we need or want them to be, we need to look a little differently at kingdom signs.  

            We might want to hand Jesus the ax John talked about, to see him chop down all the trees that don't bear good fruit. That might feel  satisfying to us.   But no-- Jesus sends us back into the wilderness of our lives, with words of love on our lips--  to help somebody carry a load of grief... to feed hungry people,   and give warm hats and gloves to those who need them...   or to bring cookies and carols and holiday cheer to a lonely shut-in.

            They seem like such small efforts.  But they are the tasks we have been given to do, while we wait.   And we have promised to try.

             

            During Advent, we're reminded that we wait for the second and final coming of Christ.  It’s a paradox:  Christ has come.  Christ is here with us.  Christ is yet to come.   But in the meantime, we're given the sight to see glimpses of God's Kingdom breaking in.  A kingdom that comes, not by force,  but by the birth of a child who came to life in a humble little stable, behind an inn.  The Kingdom of God was present in that common, yet extraordinary birth, as God was born as a helpless baby who came to live among us, full of grace and truth, to share our suffering and pain, to die for our sakes on the cross, and to be raised from the dead, conquering sin and death.  The mystery we celebrate at Christmas is the mystery of God-with-us. Emmanuel.  

           

            When Jesus sent word back to John—“the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them”—he wasn’t just cataloguing his previous day’s to-do list.  Nor was he simply quoting Isaiah.[1] 

            Most importantly, Jesus was encouraging John to cultivate an eschatological eyesight, to see past what is yet unfinished in our world in order to catch a glimpse of the Kingdom of God drawing near.

            A few years ago, near the end of the twentieth century, some people in the Presbyterian denomination pulled out their calculators and assessed things from a certain angle and then went public with a startling prediction.  Influenced by all the literature about the decline of the mainline church, they predicted that if present trends continued, Presbyterians would become virtually non-existent sometime in the twenty-first century. 

            They put this prediction in what they thought was a particularly clever way.  They said that, if present trends continued, Presbyterians would become “the Amish of the twenty-first century.”  It was a way of saying that, for all practical purposes, Presbyterians would be marginalized and irrelevant, as if we were horse-and-buggy people—totally out of date and rendered invisible by our irrelevance in a world that had totally eclipsed us. 

            Ted Wardlaw remembers that prediction was made in print and was repeated at any number of church meetings.  Whenever that prediction was voiced—“the Amish of the twenty-first century”—people laughed at how cleverly the thought was put.

            Then, ten years ago, in the fall of 2006, we watched as an Amish community in West Nickel Mines, in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania grieved over and buried a group of their own children who had been slaughtered in their one-room school house by a rage-filled man with a gun that he finally turned on himself. 

            In the midst of their grieving, this Amish community paused to send a delegation to reach out in forgiveness and compassion to the widow and family of the one who had slaughtered their children, and even to provide financial support for them.  The world watched in disbelief as they summoned a strength that was impossible, humanly speaking, a strength that helped them deal with the sin and tragedy that had penetrated their world by beholding it all with the right kind of eyesight. 

            We watched as they returned love for evil, as they reached out in healing and redemption.  We watched in awe as they directed our gaze, if we had the eyesight ourselves to see it, toward a light shining in the darkness--  a light that the darkness could not overcome.

            What a witness!   In a world that can be dark and threatening and incomplete and full of terror, would that we can have the right kind of eyesight, as we move further into God’s future.

            On this Third Sunday of Advent, the rose-colored candle reminds us that God invites us into joy.  God offers us hope, trusting that the day is coming when that hope will become reality.

            In the meantime, every time we reach out with love, care, forgiveness, and compassion the Kingdom of God grows a little larger   and is that much closer to being fulfilled. 

            So-- in the meantime, let us look toward the light that shines in the darkness--  the light that darkness does not overcome.

            Come, Lord Jesus!

           

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

December 11, 2016

          

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[1] Isaiah 35:5