1-30-2011 Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Brian K. Jensen

WHY ARE YOU HERE?

    As many of you know, I went to St. Pete Beach, Florida last week for a conference on discipleship.  We stayed at a place called the Tradewinds Sandpiper Resort – not a bad place to be in January.  When I went to check in at the resort I said, “My name is Brian Jensen and I’m here for a conference with the Presbyterian Church.”  The man behind the counter looked for my registration and said, “Ah, here you are.  And you’ll be rooming with Michelle?”  I said, “No, no, no!  There’s no Michelle!  My wife would kill me if I was rooming with a Michelle!”

     What had happened is that their computer immediately located the only Brian Jensen that it had in the system.  Apparently there was a Brian and Michelle Jensen from Lawrence, Kansas who had at one time stayed at that resort.  In any case, the credit card information was correct and I was able to check into my room…even without Michelle.

     It was a conference on discipleship and it was led by some of the best people in the country.  The first day of the conference, I sat by a man named David Hosick, who – of course – served this church for 16 years.  Before they really got into the subject of discipleship, they had each of us introduce ourselves and answer the question, “Why are you here?”  And that’s what all of us did. 

     Dave Hosick, however, really summed the issue up for all of us.  He said in essence, “I am working harder now than I have in all my years of ministry.  But somehow I just don’t seem to be getting the same results.  Somehow I feel as if I no longer know what I’m doing.”  We could all relate.  It’s a very different world out there.  We ministers are working harder than we’ve ever worked before, but the results we are getting are not the same results we are accustomed to getting.  How can we minister effectively in the 21^st century?  Where should we be trying to lead our churches in this day and age?     

    Twenty years ago it was almost as if we measured the success of a church by how many members it had.  Then about ten years ago, the measuring stick changed.  We started to    measure the success of a church by how many people were in worship on Sunday mornings.  Either way, the measuring stick of success had to do with numbers.  The conference I recently attended, however, had a different measuring stick in mind.

    Let’s take a look at the passage we read from the gospel according to Matthew.  There we see Jesus calling his first disciples.  He called two sets of brothers – Peter and Andrew, James and John – to be his first disciples.  The question we have to ask is this: Do you think Jesus calls us to be disciples as well?  Or, let me put it a little differently.  Does Jesus call us to be disciples, or does Jesus call us to be members of a church?  And is there a difference? 

    In theory, perhaps, there is no difference between a disciple of Jesus Christ and a member of   a church.  But in reality, unfortunately, there can be a big difference.  Let me share a poem with you that I wrote many years ago.  It’s called, “A Church Member,” and it goes like this:

 

I’m called to be a church member

At Easter – Christmas, too.

And in between I’ll do my best

If I’ve nothing else to do.

 

            At church I hear of Jesus Christ

            And how he came for all

            I’ll listen to the words unless

            A sale’s on at the mall.

 

If Jesus has a word for me

He knows where I will be.

In summertime, when church begins,

I’ll be on the first tee.

 

            My Christianity, it means

            A lot to me, you know.

            If asked to usher at the church

            I’ll surely try to go.

 

Just don’t ask me to serve the church;

I haven’t got the time.   

I need to same my schedule for

Things so much more sublime.

 

            The world’s much busier today

            Than it was in times past.

            The rat race, it goes on and on.

            I don’t want to place last.

 

Besides, I know of Jesus Christ;

It’s all here in my head.

And isn’t that where faith resides,

That I not be misled?

 

            So don’t ask me to bear a cross

            And others to remember.

            I’m not a disciple of Christ’s,

            I’m only a church member.

 

    Perhaps this has become the problem with the church.  For centuries we sought to raise up good church members and failed to emphasize discipleship.  In this day and age, we seem to have a lack of focus. Life is full of shallow commitments, and our commitment to God seems to have become one of those.  We seem to have misplaced our priorities. Thus, in the 21^st century, perhaps we need to start emphasizing discipleship once again.  Perhaps we need to help church members become disciples of Jesus Christ.

    I did a sermon series a while back on what constitutes a healthy disciple.  The six criteria for determining a healthy disciple that I talked about in that sermon series came from Glenn McDonald’s book, The Disciple Making Church.  The six criteria, you may recall, were as follows:

1)      Who is your Lord?  In other words, when everything else is said and done, whose agenda are you truly following?

 

2)      Who are you?  At the beginning of each day, do you wake up thinking you’ll have to go out and win your own share of security and significance, or can you truly say that those are priceless gifts you have already received?

 

3)      Who is your Barnabas?  Barnabas spoke up for the Apostle Paul and was something of a mentor to him.  Who is your spiritual mentor – the one from whom you are learning how to follow Jesus Christ?

 

4)      Who is your Timothy?  Paul was something of a mentor to Timothy.  Who is your apprentice – the one to whom you are passing along the life lessons that God has entrusted you?

 

5)      Where is your Antioch?  Antioch, to Paul, was something of a safe haven where the call of God could find him.  What small group of friends is your safe haven…that is helping you to discern the call of God in your life?

 

6)      Where is your Macedonia?  Macedonia was a field of ministry for Paul.  What field of ministry is most closely aligned with the call of God on your life, and hauntingly stirs your deepest passion?

 

     The problem with that sermon series, as I look back on it now, is that I don’t think I took it quite far enough.  It was something that may have been interesting to listen to and think about, but I’m not sure it made a fundamental difference in the way we do church.  So let’s take this discipleship issue one step further.  Glenn McDonald goes on to list what he calls the six marks of a disciple.  In other words, if you are a disciple of Jesus Christ, then you have: A heart for Christ alone; a mind transformed by the word of God; arms of love; knees for prayer; a voice to

speak the good news; and a spirit of servanthood and stewardship.

     To have a heart for Christ alone is to make Jesus Christ the priority in all of life.  We come to worship him with all our heart and soul and strength and mind.  A mind transformed by the word of God is a mind that sets aside the world’s values and comes to prioritize God’s values. To have arms of love is to say that we become the hands and feet of Jesus Christ in the world.  We are on a journey of unconditional love.  To have knees for prayer is to say that our posture before God is one of continual dependence.  A voice to speak the good news is a voice that comes to offer hope and encouragement to people everywhere.  And a spirit of servanthood and stewardship is one that sees us as servants of God, and as people who use their time and their treasure to glorify God.

    What might that look like, practically speaking?  The Vienna Presbyterian Church has come up with what they call, “The Seven Covenants of a Disciple of Jesus Christ.”  They are highly practical and I strongly suggest that we come up with a similar slate for our own church.  In fact, the Church Revitalization Task Force – in conjunction with the session – is preparing to do just that.  In any case, here are The Seven Covenants of a Disciple of Jesus Christ as proposed by the Vienna Presbyterian Church.

1)      Pray daily.  Prayer is essential to the life of faith.  It is the chief way we communicate and stay in touch with God.  Begin by setting aside at least one time period a day when you will talk to God.  The ultimate goal is to pray without ceasing and to live prayerfully.

 

2)      Worship continually.  Communal worship is the primary way Christians connect both with God and with each other.  In other words, worship matters.  It is not something we do when it’s convenient or we’ve nothing better to do.  Worship is integral to the life of faith.  Begin by worshipping with a congregation every Sunday.  The ultimate goal is to worship God in every moment of life and to join with God’s people in worship as often as possible.

 

3)      Study diligently.  Studying the Bible, theology and the history of Christianity develops our minds and helps us to focus on the will of God.  Begin by participating in at least one group learning experience each week.  The ultimate goal is significant time devoted to study, and several group learning experiences each week.

 

4)      Live faithfully.  To have integrity, our lives must reflect what we believe, and we must seek to live in harmony with God’s will.  Begin by seeking God’s help in overcoming bad habits and behaviors.  The ultimate goal is complete honesty and integrity in all aspects of our daily lives.

 

5)      Serve creatively.  All Christians are called to ministry in Jesus’ name.  In our ministry we should creatively channel our spiritual gifts and interests to give glory to God.  Begin by engaging in one ministry activity.  The ultimate goal is to generate ministries in which you engage others as partners in ministry with you.

 

6)      Give generously.  You knew there’d be a stewardship angle, didn’t you?  Our lives should reflect the self-giving love of God in Christ by the way we give of ourselves and our resources.  Begin by committing to giving a set proportion of your time and your income for God’s work.  The ultimate goal is to commit to giving freely of your time and resources – tithing and beyond – as God calls you to give.

 

7)      Witness boldly.  Openly share your faith with others, both through your words and your actions.  Begin by sharing and discussing your faith and values with your family or close friends.  The ultimate goal is to freely share and discuss your faith and your values with everyone you encounter.

    There you have it, The Seven Covenants of Discipleship at the Vienna Presbyterian Church in Vienna, Virginia.  What do you think?  First of all, do you believe the future of the church is centered around church membership, or do you believe it is centered around discipleship?  And, if you do, in fact, believe the future of the church is centered around discipleship, do you think we can establish a similar covenant here?

    At the heart of the matter, I think, is this question: Do you believe God was created to serve us, or do you believe we were created to serve God?  Again, do you believe God was created to serve us, or do you believe we were created to serve God?  I think you know the answer to that question.  So let me ask you, as they asked us at that conference in Florida: Why are you here?  Are you here because you’re a member of this church, or are you here because you want to be a disciple of Jesus Christ?  Amen.

 

1-9-2011 Sermon by The Rev. Dr. Brian K. Jensen

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

    About a week before Christmas, I found a book in my box in the church office.  The book is entitled, The Hole in Our Gospel, and it was written by Richard Stearns, the president of World Vision.  There was absolutely no identification as to who gave me the book.  In fact, the only mark on the book at all is where someone took a black pen and scratched out the print that indicated how much the book cost.  In any case, the book is truly outstanding.  I’d really like to know who gave it to me so I could thank them properly.

   Richard Stearns, the author of The Hole in Our Gospel, was at one point in time the very well-to-do C.E.O. of America’s finest tableware company.  They produced and sold luxury goods to those who could afford them.  He lived with his wife and five children in a ten-bedroom house on five acres just outside of Philadelphia.  As Stearns himself put it, “I drove a Jaguar to work every day, and my business travel took me to places such as Paris, Tokyo, London and Rome.  I flew first-class and stayed in the best hotels…I was one of the good guys – you might say a ‘poster child’ for the successful Christian life.”

   He goes on to describe how he wrestled with God’s call to become the president of World Vision.  World Vision International, of course, focuses on feeding the hungry all across the globe.  Yet in order to become president of World Vision, he would have to move his family from Philly to Seattle, and take a significant cut in pay.  It was not an easy decision to make.  It somehow ran against the grain of the proverbial Great American Dream.  Stearns goes into what the decision entailed in great detail.  In any case, he ultimately decided to accept the job, yet you might say he still had cold feet.  Here’s how he describes his first day on the job.

I still remember that first day in my new office at World Vision.  I had taken the plunge, but I was still terrified.  I drove in early, actually hoping I wouldn’t see anyone as I rode the elevator to my new life.  I was certain I looked like a deer in the headlights.  I slipped into my office, closed the door, and cried out to God in prayer.  “I showed up, Lord.  I’m here.  It took every ounce of my courage just to be here.  But I can’t do this job.  I feel helpless for the first time in my life.  I don’t even know what to do next.  It’s up to You now.  You got me into this, and You’ll have to do the rest.  Help me.”  And He did.  For perhaps the first time in my life, God had me right where He wanted me: helpless…and relying completely on Him.     

 

Mother Teresa once said, “I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a letter of love to the world.”  She had it right.  We’re not authors, any of us.  We are just the “pencils.”  Once we understand that, we might actually become useful to God.

     “I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a letter of love to the world.”  That’s quite a statement, don’t you think?  Yet how does one get to the point of seeing one’s self as a little pencil in the hand of a writing God?  Or, perhaps better put, how does one arrive at the conclusion that it’s really about God, and not about me?

     Let’s take a look at the passage we read from the gospel according to Matthew.  There we see Jesus before John the Baptist at the Jordan River.  Jesus has come to John to be baptized by him.  John would have prevented it, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?”

    There are a number of interesting questions surrounding the gospel accounts of Jesus’ baptism. They are questions that date from the earliest of Christian communities. In fact, given the various re-workings of the story by Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, it’s likely that the very existence of this story at all was troubling.  Why, the early church must have wondered, did Jesus need to be baptized by John?  Surely it wasn’t for the forgiveness of sin, was it?  After all, wasn’t Jesus, in fact, sinless?  Surely it wasn’t because John was the greater teacher or prophet, was it?  After all, wasn’t Jesus, in fact, the very Son of God?  Why did Jesus need to be baptized by John at all?

   Is it perhaps because Jesus saw himself as a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who was sending a letter of love to the world?  Is it perhaps because Jesus had arrived at the conclusion that it was really about God and not about him?  I think we might be on to something here.  Jesus realized that if he was to accomplish what God had set out for him to accomplish, he would first   have to surrender to the will of God.  He began his surrender to the will of God by voluntarily surrendering to baptism by John.  To realize that it’s really about God and not about us, we too must be willing to surrender.  We must be willing to surrender control.  Easier said than done, don’t you think? 

     In any case, what happened next?  When Jesus had been baptized – just as he began to emerge from the water – suddenly the heavens were opened.  The Holy Spirit descended upon him like a dove and a voice from heaven said, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.” 

     This, my friends, is the place where Jesus learns who he is in relation to whose he is.  Again, this is the place where Jesus learns who he is in relation to whose he is.  In other words, upon his voluntary surrender to the will of God, Jesus is given the intertwined gifts of identity and affirmation.

     Jesus’ baptism, of course, precedes the commencement of his public ministry.  In the gospel according to John’s account of Jesus’ baptism, this public ministry begins with the calling of the first disciples.  In Matthew, Mark and Luke, however, Jesus is tempted in the wilderness immediately following his baptism, and doesn’t begin calling his disciples until after that.  Yet in all four gospels, I think the theme is clear.  The gift of identity precedes the call to ministry.  We might even go so far as to say that only after having a clear sense of God’s affirmation and identity can Jesus take on the enormous task set before him.  And only after having a clear sense of God’s affirmation and identity can Jesus withstand the temptations that would soon be placed before him.  You see, Satan calls into question Jesus’ relationship with his Father because he knows that Jesus – as with Adam and Eve before him – is vulnerable to temptation precisely to the degree that he is insecure about his identity and mistrusts his relationship with God.  In other words, the more susceptible we are to temptation, the more unsure we tend to be of who and whose we are.

     Perhaps this is where the story of Jesus’ baptism intersects with the stories of our own baptisms.  For we, too, can only live into the mission that God has set before us to the degree that   we hear and believe the good news that we, too, are beloved children of God.  As with Jesus,   we discover in baptism who we are by hearing definitively whose we are.  Baptism is nothing less than the promise that we are beloved children of God.

  I think of what I’ve been trained to say after every baptism I do.  I say, “This child of God is now received into the holy catholic and apostolic church.  See what love the Father has given that we should be called children of God…and we are.”  We are children of God.  Thus, no matter where we go, God will be with us.  No matter what we do, God is for us.  No matter   what we encounter, God will help us.  In baptism we are blessed with the promise of God’s   Holy Spirit.  And, we are given a name.  That name is, “Beloved child of God.”

     Ladies and gentlemen, this matters tremendously because names can be quite powerful.  Some names we have chosen, other names have been given to us.  I think of an old minister I once knew named Bruce Pray.  He got a nickname given to him.  His nickname was “Lettuce.”  Get it?  “Lettuce Pray?”  Actually, it was a fairly appropriate nickname, given what he did for a living.

     Some nicknames aren’t so appropriate though, are they?  In fact, some nicknames sting.    And in small towns, they tend to stick in perpetuity.  What were you called when you were young?  Was it something that made you feel good about yourself?  Or was it something that made you feel ashamed?  What’s in a name?  A lot.  A lot is in a name.  A name can lift us up    to lofty heights of achievement, or it can bring us down to the depths of humiliation.

  When Jesus Christ was baptized, he received his identity and an affirmation.  He came to know both who and whose he was.  The same is true for you. By virtue of your baptism you now know who and whose you are as well.  And, you received a name.  Your name is: Child of God.  And you are a pencil in the hand of a writing God sending a letter of love to the world.  Amen.           

 

12-26-10 Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Brian K. Jensen

WHAT CHRISTMAS IS ALL ABOUT

  Two thousand years ago, in a lowly manger in a far-away place, the Son of God was born into the world.  To have been there – to have seen the infant Jesus in person – would have produced within us a tremendous sense of awe.  It would have left us feeling to things, I think.  One, we don’t deserve to be here; and two, this is where we’ve belonged all along.

     We don’t deserve to be here, and this is where we’ve belonged all along.  How can an event produce two such feelings that seem to be at opposite ends of the emotional spectrum?  Listen to a story by Dr. Joseph L. Wheeler entitled, “The Snow of Christmas.”  Yet as you do, I want you to keep those two ideas in mind: We don’t deserve to be here, and this is where we’ve belonged all along.  Now listen to my slightly edited version of Dr. Wheeler’s story.

   Three doors he had slammed on her: the bedroom, the front and the car.  What started it all, he really couldn’t say.  It was just one of those misunderstandings that grow into arguments.  In a matter of minutes he had managed to unravel a relationship that had taken years to build.  His tongue – out of control – revealed an accusing mind and a withdrawing heart.

     “Catherine,” John said, “it’s all been a huge mistake – you and me.  I’ve tried and tired.  God knows, I’ve tried!  But it just won’t work anymore.  You’re…your wrong for me, and I’m wrong for you.”

     “John!” Catherine cried, in a state of disbelief.

     “Don’t interrupt me,” John shot back.  “I mean it.  We’re through.  What we thought was love, wasn’t.  It just wasn’t.  No sense prolonging a dead thing.  Don’t worry, I’ll see to it that you don’t suffer financially.  I’ll keep making the house payments.  You can keep what’s in the bank accounts, and I’ll send child support for Julie.”

     “John!” Catherine cried again.

     He came to his senses – almost – as he looked into his wife’s anguished eyes and witnessed the shock and the tears.  But his pride was at stake.  Ignoring the wounded appeal of those azure eyes, he had stormed out – his leaving punctuated by the three slamming doors.

     Three weeks later, here he was – pacing a lonely motel room 3000 miles away from home.  Home?  John had no home.  He only had his job – albeit a very good one – and his Mercedes.  That was all.

     Unable to face the prosecutorial effects of his heart and mind, he turned on the television, but that didn’t help a whole lot.  There were Christmas-related commercials and programs on every single channel and one of the ads featured a golden-haired girl who looked a lot like his daughter, Julie.

     He remembered Julie’s wide-eyed anticipation of every Christmas.  The presents under the tree that she’d pick up and evaluate by weight and size and sound – and the finesse with which she’d unwrap and rewrap them.  He found it hard to be stern with her, for did not Catherine, too, unwrap them on the sly?  It seemed that Catherine had been constitutionally unable to wait until

Christmas either.  Julie came about this affliction naturally, John supposed.

    Memories flooded in upon him in torrents now.  How he had loved Christmas, even as a boy at home.  His had always been the responsibility of decorating the Christmas tree – a tree he got to pick out himself.  A real tree, never a fake!  The fragrance of a real tree, the sticky feel of a real tree – even the shedding of a real tree – were all intertwined in the memories of the years.

     His mother had broken down when she heard about the end of John and Catherine’s marriage. Catherine had slipped into her heart – becoming the daughter she had always wanted – from that first Christmas when John had brought her home from college.  When John proposed to Catherine – on a Christmas Eve, no less – he had apologized for the plainness of his home compared to the estate where she had grown up.

   Catherine’s eyes had blazed at that apology.  “Don’t you ever apologize for your home, John!” she exclaimed.  “There is love here – and a mother and a father – not just my lonely, embittered father rattling around in all those endless rooms alone.  This is the kind of home I’ve longed for all my life.”

      “This has got to stop!” John admonished himself.  “There can be no turning back now!”  Out of the motel room he strode, down the hall, down the stairs and out into the city.  Eventually John came to a large New England-style church.  The front doors were opening, and floating out on the night air were the celestial strains of “Ave Maria.” 

     It was more than he could take.  Down the street John strode – mile after mile – until he had left the residential district behind.  On and on he walked.  He did not stop until the city lights no longer kept him from seeing the stars.  As he looked up into the cold, December sky, for the first time in three traumatic weeks he faced his inner self.  And he did not like what he saw.

     Etched for all time in the grooves of his memory were the terrible words he had spoken to the woman to whom he had pledged his life.  How could he have been so cruel?  That brought him face-to-face with the rest of his life.  How could he fix what he had so foolishly broken?

     John knew what he had to do.  Although bone-weary from staying up all night and from the frantic search for airline reservations, he was far too tense to be sleepy.  When he reached his destination he rented a car.  His heart pounded louder as each mile slipped by on the odometer.

   At last!  The city limits.  Had the road to his house ever seemed so long?  Then he turned that last corner on the street to his house.  Darkness…no lights, no car.  He raced inside the house but no one was there.  Where could they be?  And then it hit him.  Could they be at his parents’ house?  He rushed back into the car and sped out of town – hoping against hope that    he was guessing right.  He didn’t dare to trust his fate to a telephone call. 

     About an hour later he saw the cheery lights of his parents’ house.  Through the front window he could see the multicolored lights on the Christmas tree.  And there – in the driveway – was his wife’s car.

     He passed the house, then circled back on an alley road, cutting his lights as he approached the house.  His heart was thumping like a jackhammer.  He ever so quietly opened the back door and stepped into the gloom of the dark hallway.  Then he heard a child’s voice singing.  As he peeked around the corner, he saw his parents watching their grandchild sing, “Silent Night, Holy Night.”  There was a look of ethereal beauty about his daughter that night, lost as she was in her Bethlehem world.

     “Oh, God,” he prayed, “shield her from trouble – from pain – from growing up too soon.”  Then, like a sword thrust through his chest, came the realization that he – her own father – had thrust her out of that protected world children need so much.  He wondered what his daughter had been told.  Would she still love him?  Would she ever trust him again?

     John now turned to look at Catherine.  She was leaning against a window frame, wearing a rose-colored gown that revealed rare beauty of face and form.  But her face – such total desolation John had never seen before.  How woebegone – how utterly weary – she appeared that night.  A lone tear glistened as it trickled down her cheek.

     Oh, how he loved her!  He could hold back no longer.  Silently, he approached her.  Was it too late?  Suddenly, Catherine sensed his presence, and turned away from the vista of falling snow to look at him.  She delayed the moment of reckoning by initially refusing to meet his eyes.  Then slowly – very slowly – she raised her wounded eyes to his…and searched for an answer.    

     Oh, the relief that flooded over John when he saw her eyes widen as they rushed to embrace.

  And then there were three at the window – John, Catherine and Julie – the rest of the world for-gotten in the regained heaven of their own.  And the snow of Christmas Eve continued to fall.

    John did not deserve to be there.  But that was where he belonged all along.  So it is with us as we gaze upon the Christ child.  Our lives are marred with the stain of sin that pervades our lives as we callously turn our backs on God, time and time again.  Yet we see something in the eyes of the Christ Child, don’t we?  There’s an innocence – an unconditional love –  that we long for more than anything else in the world.  This is where we belong.  This is where we’ve belonged all along.

     Undeserving, yet fully forgiven, accepted and loved.  So what do we do with that now?  Where do we go from here?  Well, that’s up to you.  If you’re not transformed, standing as we are on the brink of the Incarnation, then something’s wrong.  For God is here with open arms.  Don’t turn away this time. Turn to God and let him give you peace. That, my friends, is what Christmas is all about.  Amen.

 

12-19-2010 Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Brian K. Jensen

I BELIEVE

   Christmas is less than one week away.  We’ve all been painfully aware that Christmas was on its way.  Advertisers have been hawking their Christmas wares since the end of October.    The Christmas commercials that astound me most are the ones where a husband gives his wife, or a wife gives her husband, a brand new automobile for Christmas.  Do people really do that?  I’d love for my wife to give me a new car for Christmas.  What I wouldn’t love is the years of monthly payments that would follow.

     Speaking of monthly payments, I recently encountered a poem of sorts that pretty much sums up what Christmas in America has become.  It’s entitled, “The Day after Christmas.”  The author is unknown.  Listen closely to the words, just the same.  I think you’ll find them to be eerily prophetic.

 

‘Twas the day after Christmas, and all through the house,

Every creature was hurting – even the mouse.

            The toys were all broken, their batteries dead;

            Santa passed out, with ice on his head.

Wrapping and ribbons just covered the floor,

While upstairs the family continued to snore.

            And I in my T-shirt, new Reeboks and jeans,

            Went into the kitchen, and started to clean.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the sink to see what was the matter.

            Away to the window I flew like a flash,

            Tore open the curtains, and threw up the sash.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a little white truck, with an oversized mirror.

            The driver was smiling, so lively and grand;

            The patch on his jacket said, “U.S. Postman.”

With a handful of bills, he grinned like a fox.

Then quickly he stuffed them into our mailbox.

            Bill after bill after bill, they still came.

            Whistling and shouting he called them by name:

“Now Dillard’s, now Broadway’s, now Penney’s and Sears,

Here’s Levitz and Target and Mervyn’s – all here!

            To the tip of your limit, every store, every mall,

            Now charge-away, charge-away, charge-away all!”

He whooped and he whistled as he finished his work.

He filled up the box, and then turned with a jerk.

            He sprang to his truck and he drove down the road,

            Driving much faster with just half a load.

Then I heard him exclaim with great holiday cheer,

“Enjoy what you got!  You’ll be paying all year!”

 

     Is that what Christmas in America has become?  Is it a time to rack up incredible bills in the spirit of giving, or is there something more?  Christmas is meant to be a time when we celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  We call it the Incarnation, which means, “God in the flesh.”  We proclaim the word Emmanuel, which means, “God with us.”  Tied to the holiday itself is a particular feeling.  And frankly, I don’t think that’s a bad thing.  How could it be a bad thing when perfect strangers are kinder and more loving, and they smile at one another and say, “Merry Christmas?”  While many of us resent the commercialization of Christmas, I think most of us still appreciate the sentimentality. 

     Why, then, is Christmas under fire?  In England, a group called the National Secular Society actually ran television ads during the Christmas season denigrating the Christian faith.  I’ve talked about them in sermons before.  They’re the ones who offer certificates of “debaptism” for those who want to symbolically undo their baptism.  And there are things going on in this country as well, aimed at denouncing – or at least deemphasizing – the Christian faith.

    Students in Plano, Texas, for example, were recently banned from wearing the colors red and green during Winter Break parties.  Why?  Because red and green are Christmas colors and they    might offend some of their peers.  In South Orange, New Jersey, carols were banned during the Christmas season, including those that mention the name of Santa Claus.  Carols were banned in Glendale, Wisconsin schools as well.  They said, “Music programs close to religious holidays should not use the religious aspect of those holidays as an underlying theme or motive.”           

   I think the most astounding case of all is what recently happened in New York City schools.   In a dispute over the display of holiday symbols, New York City schools are allowing Jewish menorahs and Islamic crescents to be displayed.  Yet they ban Christian nativity scenes from being displayed, claiming that the depiction of the birth of Christ does not represent historical fact.  The Jewish and Islamic symbols are allowed because they have what they call a secular dimension.  Christian symbols, however, are what they call “purely religious.”  Thus, they are banned.

   What strikes me here is the fact that they’re claiming that the birth of Jesus Christ is not historical fact.  Perhaps what they really should say is that the way we depict the birth of Jesus Christ is not historical fact.  And you know what?  I can live with that.  I can live with the claim that the way we depict the birth of Jesus Christ is not historical fact.  Because maybe, just maybe, the birth of Jesus Christ is not something that is meant to be proved beyond a shadow of a doubt.  Maybe instead, the birth of Jesus Christ is something that is meant to be believed.

     Consider the passage we read from the gospel according to Matthew.  There are a handful of passages in Scripture – and this is definitely one of them – that trouble a lot of scholars regarding the relationship between the gospels and history.  Perhaps it’s the issue of the virgin birth.  Or, perhaps it’s the way Joseph comes to put so much stock in a dream.  In any case, this is a passage that seems to trouble quite a few Christians.  The historicity of it all just seems a bit sketchy.  We simply cannot prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

     And maybe that’s all right.  As Luther Seminary preaching professor David Lose puts it, “Matthew is not writing history.  Or, to be more accurate, Matthew is writing history the way   all first-century historians operated: he is telling a story in order to persuade.” 

     Did you catch that?  Matthew’s purpose in writing was not to record history.  Matthew’s purpose in writing was to convince his readers that Jesus is the Christ, Son of the living God.   He is not writing history the way we understand it today.  His goal was not to offer a neutral, unbiased, objective account according to the rational standards of our sophisticated twenty-    first century world.  His goal was to say that the baby born of Mary was really the Son of God. 

   Now don’t get me wrong.  Matthew is definitely telling a story he believes is true, and I firmly believe that he wants us to believe it as well.  Yet it’s not the “facts” that Matthew presses upon us, but rather, it’s a larger truth that he can only confess.  And by taking great pains to prove the historicity of the passage Matthew writes, perhaps we miss the treasure Matthew offers.  Matthew offers a confession of faith that in the person of Jesus Christ, God is working to keep the promise he made through Old Testament prophets to bring about the salvation of the world.   

     Matthew begins by laying out an impossible situation.  A girl named Mary – likely just a teenager – is engaged to a man named Joseph.  She turns up pregnant.  Joseph knows the child   is not his.  Being a just man and not wanting to put her to shame, he resolves to divorce her quietly.  Then an angel of the Lord appears to him in a dream and tells him that the child Mary carries is of the Holy Spirit.  The child Mary carries is to become the Messiah Israel has long awaited.  What man among us would believe such a story?  The life of Christ begins amid an impossible situation.

     Borrowing from Luke’s gospel, the story becomes even more impossible.  Mary is great with child and they are forced to travel from Nazareth to Bethlehem – a distance of 80 miles – to take part in a Roman census.  It’s a trip we could do in just over an hour on the interstate, but on foot with a pregnant woman, the trip might have taken five or six days.  Then Jesus was born in a stable, as there was no room for them at the inn.  This child of humble origins rose to become  the most influential man in human history.  God takes the impossible and makes it incredible.  We might even say that God is at his best when we are at our worst.   

   Matthew isn’t trying to give us a history lesson.  Matthew is giving us his confession of faith.  He tells us of how God takes the impossible and makes it incredible.  He tells us that God is at his best when we are at our worst.  He tells us that in this child of humble origins lies the secret

to our salvation.  The question is, do you believe it?

     I’ve thought a lot about the human condition.  Life certainly has its beauty.  There are moments in life we wish could savor and keep forever.  But life is fraught with trials and tribulations as well.  There are times when we suffer unspeakable pain.  There are days we encounter tremendous heartache.  There are moments we find ourselves wrapped in hopelessness.  One thing I’ve decided is that life is impossible without help from above.  Salvation is impossible without help from above. 

   God’s standards are incredibly high.  All of us fall woefully short of perfection.  We let others suffer or we ignore their pain because we’re incredibly self-centered.  We simply can’t help it.  We’re conditioned to think first of ourselves.  And then when we get involved in the Christian faith, one of two things occurs.  We either begin to think we’re better than everyone else, or we begin to think that we’re so far from perfection that there’s no use even trying.  But the further we delve into spiritual matters, the more we come to realize that life is a test we cannot ace the first time we try.  We get better as time goes on.  We do better each time we take the test.  But if we’re honest with ourselves, we never achieve a score of 100%.  We need help.  We need help from above.  If we are ever to achieve salvation, we will need the grace of God in Jesus Christ.

     And that’s the purpose of this child whose birth we celebrate on Christmas Day.  He comes to teach us right from wrong.  He comes to show us the ways of God.  He comes to give his life as a ransom for many.  That’s what Matthew wants to tell us.  He wants to tell us HIS confession of faith, and he wants us to believe it as well.

   So let the New York City schools ban the use of nativity scenes because it cannot be proved that the way we depict the birth of Christ is historical fact.  It is not a story that is meant to be proved.  It is a story that is meant to be believed.  Now I don’t know about you, but I believe.  I believe…with all my heart.  Do you?  Amen.                     

 

12-12-2010 Sermon by The Rev. Dr. Brian K. Jensen

IF YOU SAW A BURNING BUSH

   Mary Doria Russell is the author of a novel called, The Sparrow.  You’ll find the book in the science fiction section of the library, but perhaps it’s really an examination of faith and what it means to question – or even to lose – one’s faith.  Anne Edwards is a character in The Sparrow.  At one point in the book she comments on out how few people seem to notice God when they encounter him.  Listen closely to her words.

God was at Sinai and within weeks, people were dancing in front of a golden calf.      God walked in Jerusalem and days later, folks nailed him up and then went back to  work.  Faced with the divine, people took refuge in the banal, as though answering a cosmic multiple-choice question.  That question is this: If you saw a burning bush, would you (a) call 911, (b) recognize God, or (c) get the hot dogs?  Anne had decided years before that a vanishingly small number of people would recognize God.

    At issue is the failure to recognize God in the day-to-day activities of life.  What would we do if we saw a burning bush?  Would we recognize the divine?  Or would we – like countless others before us – simply take refuge in the banal?  In other words, would we break out the hot dogs?

    John the Baptist was faced with a similar situation in the passage we read from the gospel according to Matthew.  Only John had not come face-to-face with a burning bush.  John had come face-to-face with none other than Jesus of Nazareth.  Matthew’s portrayal of John the Baptist’s doubts about whether Jesus was the long-awaited Messiah are poignant.  He wanted     a definitive answer.  Was Jesus the Christ or not?

   John had been a fiery prophet who proclaimed the Messiah’s coming.  John had been a fearless messianic herald who drew crowds and rebuked religious leaders.  John had been an eschatological visionary who scoured the banks of the River Jordan with a passionate plea for repentance.  Only now John was more like a caged animal – pacing a small cell – wondering if his fire and brimstone had all been for naught.  Thus, perhaps desperate for validation of his ministry, of his suffering and of his efforts, John sends a messenger to Jesus to ask him a momentous question: “Are you he who is to come, or shall we look for another?” 

     Jesus doesn’t give John’s disciples a definitive yes or no answer.  Instead, Jesus recounts the deeds he has done.  He says to John’s disciples, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight and the lame walk; lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear; the dead are raised up and the poor have good news preached to them.  And blessed are those who take no offense at me.”

     I can’t help but wonder how John took Jesus’ answer.  Jesus outlines an impressive resume, to say the least.  Yet it almost assumes that John didn’t know that Jesus was doing those things.  What if it was precisely that John did know what Jesus had been up to and it was that which was causing his doubts?  Given our knowledge of John the Baptist, we might guess that he was looking for something a little more spectacular.  Could it be that the restoration of sight and health and the raising of a few nondescript people from the dead seemed a little too mundane to John?  Could it be that he was somehow looking for more? 

     Well if that’s the case, then Jesus’ response to John’s disciples sounds more like a rebuke than an answer to a question.  And then there’s that last part about not taking offense.  Could John fail to wonder if that comment was directed at him and his doubts?  Taken together, I’d wager that Jesus is telling John that he needs to reconsider his sense of who and what the Messiah really is.  John’s problem, judging from Jesus’ response, is that he has not yet recognized Jesus’ actions as messianic because he has not been trained to see these things as indicators of God’s presence.  Perhaps John, according to Jesus, needs to stretch his imagination as to what the presence of God really looks like.

     The question now is, are we any different?  Or, to put it another way, what limitations have been placed on our imagination and expectations?  Perhaps that’s one of the reasons the Christian tradition seems to be withering in our society.  We fail to see God in the ordinary arenas of life.

     Every week, for example, people come to church.  They hear the Scripture read, they hear a sermon preached, they sing the hymns and they say the prayers.  And, on occasion, they feel as   if they have actually encountered God.  But do they carry that experience with them out of the church and into their everyday lives?  Do they look for God in the ordinary arenas of home and work, economics and politics?  Can they imagine that God is using them in their various roles as employee, as parent, as spouse, as friend, as citizen, and as volunteer…to extend God’s love and blessing to all creation?  In short, can they see God at work outside of the church?

    Listen to this.  In January of 2007, The Washington Post videotaped the reaction of commuters to the music of a violin player at a D.C. Metro subway stop.  The overwhelming majority of the commuters were far too busy to pay him any attention.  A few stopped briefly, and some of them even threw some change into the violin case of the performer.  It was no big deal.  It was just an ordinary day on the D.C. Metro.  Except, it wasn’t just an ordinary day.          

     The violin player wasn’t just an ordinary street performer.  The violin player was Joshua Bell, one of the world’s finest concert violinists.  And Joshua Bell was playing his multi-million dollar Stradivarius violin.  Three days earlier he had filled Boston’s Symphony Hall with people paying a hundred dollars or more a seat to hear him play the very same pieces.  The question The Washington Post reporter asked is simple.  “Have we been trained to recognize beauty outside of the contexts we expect to encounter beauty?”  Or, to put it more simply, “Can we recognize world-class music anywhere outside a concert hall?” 

     Perhaps the same is true of us.  Can we detect God only when God is surrounded by stained-glass windows, pristine pulpits and organ music?  Or have we learned to detect God in the day-to-day events of our lives as well?  I’m not so sure we have.  Truth be told, ministers may have contributed to this state of affairs.  How often do the clergy point to the everyday lives, occupations and opportunities of members of the congregation as examples of God at work?  Truth be told, most of our examples of God at work in the world center around the church.

     David Miller is the author of a book entitled, God at Work.  At the beginning of the book he shares an exercise he regularly uses with groups of congregational leaders.  He asks the question, “By a show of hands, how many of you install Sunday school teachers at the beginning of a new program year?”  Almost every hand in the place goes up.  Then he asks, “And how many of you call the youth group and their leaders forward for prayer during worship before they leave on a mission trip?”  Again, almost every hand in the place goes up.  Then he asks, “And how many of you, early in April, have all the Certified Public Accountants stand up for prayer during the busiest time of their year?”  Typically, not a single hand goes up.  Miller’s point is that through this and a thousand other ways we unintentionally signal that the primary place our people can expect to encounter God is at church…and often, only at church.

     So here’s the million dollar question.  If Sunday after Sunday the sermon has next to nothing to do with life on Monday through Friday – and if week after week we fail to use the hour of worship to help people see God alive and active in the other 167 hours of the week – how long can we expect people to keep giving us that hour when they can find countless other ways to spend it?  The answer, I think, is given each week as one more family doesn’t show up to worship.

     Matthew doesn’t tell us how John reacted to Jesus’ answer to his question.  But we do know that Jesus wasn’t finished speaking.  After giving his response to John’s messenger, he went on to say that John was the greatest of the prophets.  Why?  Because at one point he had recognized and heralded Jesus as the Messiah.  And then Jesus goes even further, saying that the least in the kingdom of heaven – that is, every Christian disciple – is greater than John.  Why?  Because we have perceived in Jesus’ “ordinary” actions the very presence of God.

     God is still present in the ordinary, day-to-day events of our lives.  Once there was a woman who locked her keys in her car at a mall.  Her two-month-old baby was inside.  Not having the funds or the time to call a locksmith, she prayed for God to help her.  Just then a rough looking man approached her and asked if she needed help.  She told him that her keys were locked the car and her baby was in the back seat.  In no time the man found an old coat hanger and picked the lock.  The woman thanked him and said that he was an answer to prayer.  “You’re an angel,” she added.  The man replied, “Oh, I’m no angel ma’am.  I just got out of prison.”  The woman looked to the heavens and cried, “Oh, Lord, you are so wise and good!  You sent me an expert!”

     Seriously though, we do encounter God in the mundane, run-of-the-mill, day-to-day events of our lives.  I see God when a woman volunteers to help a pregnant teenager find a place to live.  I see God when a man writes a check for me to give to someone who might not otherwise have a Thanksgiving dinner.  I see God when a woman organizes an entire church to fill a food pantry.  I see God when a man uses his expertise in tax matters to alleviate an elderly woman’s burden.  Do you see God in things like this?  They happen every day.

     Anne Edwards asked, “If you saw a burning bush, would you (a) call 911, (b) recognize God, or (c) get the hot dogs?”  There are burning bushes all around us.  We just have to open our eyes …and really see.  Amen.