Setting Your Face

Sermon-5 Pentecost-Proper 8-June 27, 2010
The Cloud of Unknowing, "O God, our great companion, lead us ever more deeply into the mystery of your life and ours, that we may be faithful interpreters of Life to each other, through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
The first seven months of the church year (from the end of November on) is a busy time. For 4 weeks in Advent we’re getting ready for Jesus to be born. Then Christmas. Then Epiphany, the season of light. Then Lent, as we walk with Jesus to the cross, Holy Week, Easter and the Resurrection. Six weeks of the risen Jesus appearing to people. Pentecost and the coming of the Holy Spirit. In our lives at Trinity following Pentecost we have graduation, Appreciation Sunday, and the Strawberry Festival. And now we are here. Seven months of non-stop movement. Whew. And now we’re in the Pentecost season. And for the next 22 weeks we will listen to one Sunday after another from the gospel of Luke, with Jesus teaching, proclaiming, confronting, performing miracles, explaining, mentoring, training. It all begins with this phrase, this verse, “(Jesus) he set his face to go to Jerusalem.” So simple, it sounds like a throwaway line. But it means everything. It’s when everything changes.
Up til now, Jesus was just slouching through Israel, growing in understanding of who he was, what he was about. But right here, chapter 9, verse 51, Jesus made the biggest decision of his life-he set his face to go to Jerusalem, and nothing would ever be the same again.
Do you have one moment in your life? Can you look back at a time in your life and say, this is where it all changed, this is where I began my direction, this is when I made the decision to go ahead? I can’t. I look back and always see a series of small choices, and whole lot of unimportant moments that got me to where I am, but not Luke, not this gospel. For him, everything starts NOW, chapter 9, verse 51. When Jesus set his face to g to Jerusalem, it was like Jean-Luc Picard saying, “the battle is here”. Jesus decides to walk from the northernmost part of Israel, Galilee, to Jerusalem in the south. But even more, it’s as if he’s buying a bus ticket from Belleville, Michigan for Washington, D. C. And that’s what we will hear for the next 22 weeks-Jesus gathering steam, developing his message, growing, teaching, training his disciples for the confrontation that’s coming-always looking ahead, always on message. It begins today. Because he set his face for Jerusalem. So that’s what you will hear for the next 5 months from Luke the gospel writer-Jesus on a direct line, focused, aiming towards the capital city, Dorothy going to Oz, Grant headed towards Richmond. No deviations, no side trips. This is it. There is one goal now, for Jesus-to go to the center of it all and face the powers that be.
I’m going to follow the suggestion of Alyce McKenzie Professor of Homiletics at, Southern Methodist University. She says that the gospel on this journey for the next several weeks throughout this summer is all about how NOT to be a disciple. Starting today. It’s as if Luke is saying, Jesus makes the decision to go –and everyone ELSE has to learn what it means, what his message is-and none of them understand, nobody gets it.
It starts with the Samaritans. They don’t want Jesus. Samaria was a land between Galilee and Jerusalem, and the people there had a different set of scriptures and worshipped at a different mountain than the Jews. They didn’t want Jesus because he had set his face to go to Jerusalem. So, it says, they “did not receive him”. That’s a nice euphemism. It means that he couldn’t get a meal, couldn’t get a room, would not be welcome for about 50 miles traveling through this territory. Most Jews going from Galilee to Jerusalem would cross the Jordan and walk through lands of Gentiles rather than travel through Samaria. So first, you want to know how not to be a disciple? Put out the “No Jesus allowed here sign”. Second, John and James, the disciples that my friend Mark calls, the “Thunderboys” say, “we can fix this-let’s just call fire from the skies and destroy Samaria.” Lesson number 2 on how NOT to be a disciple, don’t kill people who don’t want you.
The best commentary on this passage is a story about Abraham Lincoln. During the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln was being criticized for not being harsh enough and severe enough on the soldiers of the South; and one time, after a battle, a general from the North came up to him and said: Why didn’t you destroy your enemy? And President Lincoln answered with those famous words: “Do I not destroy my enemy by making him my friend?”
Lesson number three, know what you’re getting yourself into. All the way along this journey people keep coming up to Jesus, saying, “I’m ready, I want to join up.” Except I have to do this one thing. Jesus had set his face for Jerusalem. This is the moment. You can’t get in only half way. Three times we hear people come up to Jesus wanting to enlist, 3 times Jesus discourages them. This is hard, he tells them, no distractions, no variations, no sidetrips. If you’re going to be my disciple, you have to be all in. And he makes it sound, so difficult, so demanding, so focused that all of them slide away.
How not to be a disciple? Don’t make room in your heart for Jesus. 2nd, get the message wrong-think that it’s all about power and forcing people to believe; third, wait until being a follower is convenient, wait until you have time, and circumstances are right, believe that you can only get in part way-water down the commitment.
That’s how this journey begins. That’s what happens when Jesus sets his face towards Jerusalem. He has to train everyone. He has to teach them what it is not. That’s what you’ll hear this summer. What following Jesus to Jerusalem is NOT. One last story.
Composer Giacomo Puccini, perhaps the greatest opera composer of all time, was suddenly stricken by cancer In 1922 while working on his last opera, "Turandot," which many now consider his best. Puccini said to his students, "If I don't finish 'Turandot,' I want you to finish it for me." Soon afterwards, he died. Puccini's students studied the opera carefully and finally completed it. Four years later, In 1926 the world premiere of "Turandot" was performed in Milan with Puccini's favorite student, Arturo Toscanini, directing. Everything went beautifully until the opera reached the point in the opera where Puccini had been forced to put down his pen because of the fatal weakness. Tears ran down Toscanini's face. He stopped the music, put down his baton, turned to the audience and cried out, "Thus far the Master wrote, but he died." A vast silence filled the opera house. Toscanini picked up the baton again, smiled through his tears and exclaimed, "But his disciples finished his work."
This summer, is not JUST about how NOT to be a disciple. It’s not enough to learn how NOT to follow the master. This summer it will be about how we are to finish his work. Here’s the first lesson on our journey, we set our face to go to Jerusalem with him. Amen.

What Have You To Do With Me, Jesus?

Sermon-4 Pentecost-Proper 7-June 20, 2010
The Cloud of Unknowing, "O God, our great companion, lead us ever more deeply into the mystery of your life and ours, that we may be faithful interpreters of Life to each other, through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
Everyone has heard this story, right? Everyone is familiar with it? Jesus leaves Israel and goes across the Sea of Galilee to a foreign land-the land of the Gerasenes. And when he arrives he meets a man filled with demons. The man lives naked, alone, in the cemetery with the dead, like a wild animal. When Jesus arrives the man screams out, "What have you to do with me, Jesus….?” And Jesus sends the demons into a herd of wild pigs who then jump into the lake and die. So everyone knows this story, right?
The most popular series out right now for teens is a story about vampires. Movies about werewolves and vampires seem to dominate. I get asked about this gospel all the time because people are attracted to stories about evil, and demons, and wil pigs committing suicide and people living without clothes.
Do you remember the verse I preached on last week? “Simon, do you see that woman?” The verse that grabbed me from today’s gospel isn’t the one about demons or pigs-it’s about the man named Legion, who, when he sees Jesus yells, "What have you to do with me, Jesus….?”
All week I felt like the answer to this question was just out of my sight, just beyond what I could reach-til I had a dream about an old book I loved, A Dresser of Sycamore Trees by Garret Keizer. Finally I remembered it. The opening chapter quotes this verse from Psalm 118: “I called to the LORD in my distress; the LORD answered by setting me free.”
Today’s story is about a man who cannot live with people. Cannot live with himself. So he lives among the dead. He is so miserable, so wretched that he cannot even wear clothes. The townspeople try to keep him in chains but nothing will hold him. And then he meets Jesus. "What have you to do with me, Jesus….?” To meet Jesus is not easy for this desolate man. The second thing he says is, “I beg you, do not torment me"—what an odd thing for this man to say. He is a man who is living a demon filled life and he begs Jesus not to torment him?
So Jesus heals this man, gets rid of his demons, this wild animal of a man, and we see him sitting at Jesus’ feet, listening, clothed. And all he wants to do is-what?
“The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with Jesus;”
This poor man asked two things of Jesus-and both times Jesus said “no” The first time he asked Jesus to leave him alone. But Jesus wouldn’t. The second time, after Jesus healed him, he asked that he might follow Jesus-and again, Jesus said no. How odd-isn’t this how most gospel stories end-with the person who is transformed following after Jesus?
“I called to the LORD in my distress; the LORD answered by setting me free.”
We are always trying to figure out what to do with our lives. It’s graduation season so I’m spending a lot of time with 18 year olds asking, “what are you going to do next with your life?” And it’s wedding season so I’m asking a lot of brides and grooms, “so why do you want to spend the rest your life with this person?” Deborah and I just attended a retirement conference and the question at the heart of the conference was, “What else are you going to do with your life?” We spend a lot of time thinking/talking about this question-What am I going to do with my life? Don’t we? We may not come up with very good answers, but we sure ask the question a lot. You know what I have discovered, you never stop asking it, never stop wondering, “what am I supposed to be doing with my life?
Today’s gospel is about a man who had no clue what to do with his life. He was weighed down with so much he couldn’t even bear the heaviness of clothes. And then Jesus healed him. And THEN he knew what he wanted to do-to simply follow Jesus. And Jesus wouldn’t even let him do that. "What have you to do with me, Jesus….?” And Jesus set him free. And the first thing the man wanted to do, was go from being bound to demons, to being yoked to Jesus.
We want to know what to do, we want to know where to go, our direction, our destiny. We all want to have a plan, a goal for our lives. Don’t we? It would be so much easier if God/Jesus just told us what to do. We would probably gripe about it, but at least we would be going somewhere. But Jesus sends this poor man back home. "Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you." That’s his job, that’s his destiny. Poor Legion, all he wanted was to be left alone, or to have someone else run his life, but instead “I called to the LORD in my distress; the LORD answered by setting me free.” God has other plans. Sometimes, our destiny is to simply return home and declare what God is doing in our lives. That doesn’t sound very fulfilling, does it? That isn’t nearly challenging or exciting enough. We want to have more direction than that. But for the man named Legion, he had to learn what it was to live with those who once feared him, he had to go back and be with people who once wanted to keep him in chains and shackles living with the dead, he had to discover what it was to be free. And he had to share with others that a powerful God was a God of healing, hope, and freedom. That was a terrible destiny, a horrifying future for him.
We all want to know what to do with our lives-no matter how old we are, or what our circumstances. I have just as much trouble at 60 knowing what I want to do with my life, as I did at 18. "What have you to do with me, Jesus….?” Is the question that challenges not just Legion, but all of us. And the answer is very frustrating, “I called to the LORD in my distress; the LORD answered by setting me free.” I think what Jesus was telling Legion was, it’s not so important what you do with your life-but who you are. It’s about who you are going to be-now what you are going to do.
I think this is a story about letting this man be free-not telling him what he has to do. And like all great gospel stories, and I think it’s a story about us, too. "What have you to do with me, Jesus ?” “I called to the LORD in my distress; the LORD answered by setting me free.”

Did You See That Woman?

Sermon-3 Pentecost-Proper 6-June 13, 2010
The Cloud of Unknowing, "O God, our great companion, lead us ever more deeply into the mystery of your life and ours, that we may be faithful interpreters of Life to each other, through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
There is a weekly newspaper in Belleville that is very popular. The editor of the paper has strong feelings about the town, and many of the people in it. On occasion when she is reporting a story (not an editorial) she will refer to someone-and if she doesn’t care for that person she will always mention something from their past. It would be as if I said, Deacon Dick here, the man who used to drown kittens, was seen yesterday buying a shirt. When referring to someone she likes, this editor may write something like, “Deacon Dick, the man who saved kittens as a child, was seen yesterday buying a shirt. You always know how this editor feels about the people that she’s reporting on. So a few years ago I wrote a letter to the editor about judging others, and especially how dangerous it is when we ascribe motives-good or bad-to someone. So my letter was published and after the letter there was a response-saying what my motivation probably was for writing it.
That’s usually the problem with judging someone-we tend to see someone, believing that we know what’s in their heart-good or bad. We know why someone does something. If it’s someone we like, they acted with noble reasons. If it’s someone we dislike….
Here is Simon the Pharisee condemning this poor woman in the story. He is judgemental, critical, disapproving of her. He obviously had never read the Hebrew scriptures. He clearly was not familiar with the prophets. He did not deserve to have Jesus come into his home. Right?
Do you see what I’m asking? I’m asking you to judge Simon. That’s the thing about judging someone-it comes so easily to us. I can get to judgement so quickly about someone-whether I have known them a long time-or just met them. And by judgement, I mean making a negative decision about someone-without any foundation or reason.
I had a professor in seminary once who said that he could make a case, that the worst sin, the sin Jesus condemned the most in the New Testament, was being judgemental. It is certainly what cost Jesus his life. Jesus was judged and found guilty. The problem is when we talk about “why” someone is doing something-or, when we talk about a whole group from the actions of one. “They”, for instance, is the most judgemental word I know.
What got me started on all this was one sentence in today’s gospel, “Then turning towards the woman, Jesus said to Simon the Pharisee, "Do you see this woman?...” Do you see this woman?
Everything Jesus does in this story is trying to get Simon to “see” her-as a person-not as a sinner, not as an offender, not as someone who was bad-but as a person. Jesus wants Simon to stop judging her for just a moment so that he can see a person who is in pain, a person who is suffering with their sin-whatever it was.
“Simon, "Do you see this woman?...”
The Old Testament story is probably even more painful. David, the powerful king of Israel, sent one of his soldiers, Uriah, to his death-so he can have his wife, Bathsheba.
This leads to the second teaching about judgement in today’s readings. We will never, ever, admit to being judgemental. No one ever admits to being condemnatory.. We will never, ever, admit to being disapproving of someone else’s motives. And so, when someone is guilty, of acting terribly, we almost always have to carefully describe it. David has a man killed so he can have his wife. So Nathan the prophet comes and tells the king a story about a rich and powerful man who takes away a poor man’s only possession. It ends with Nathan pointing at David, “YOU, ARE THE MAN!”. You are the man. It’s the only way David could hear his story.
We hate being judged. We hate being condemned, disparaged, disapproved of. We hate it so much that often we will go to the ends of the earth to fight it. Often we will judge someone else-for fear that they are judging us. Back in the late 60s I was at the campus Episcopal house, and a visiting bishop was there. A girl came to the service, WEARING JEANS. After the service she came up to the priest and said, “I THINK I SAW THE BISHOP GIVE ME “A LOOK” WHEN HE GAVE ME COMMUNION!” The priest gently told her, “I’m sure you were mistaken, the bishop doesn’t care if you’re in jeans.” But the rest of the semester this girl kept telling people that Bishops couldn’t handle people just “being themselves”. What she didn’t realize, of course, was that she kept judging this bishop, all bishops-not the other way around.
All this is by way of saying, “do you see this woman?” Can we see someone else as a person, not as a sinner, not as someone who is evil, not as someone who is judging us, not as two dimensions. Can we see someone as a person. “Do you see this woman?”
Jesus goes to a religious man’s house for dinner. While there, a woman who is racked with shame and guilt, washes his feet with her tears and dries them with her hair-an extraordinary act of penance. He forgives her sins-without knowing what they are. And proclaims her free. And the woman-and Jesus, are both judged and condemned by the man of religion. Simon the Pharisee. This is like Nathan talking to David. We are supposed to hear this story and see ourselves as the religious people. We are supposed to hear this as a parable-about us. How easy it is to judge, how tempting it is to condemn another. This is a story for the good religious people-us-warning us to be on guard-against ourselves.
Yesterday a panhandler came into the church looking for money, not very presentable-he obviously had slept outside last night. I gave him enough for breakfast, and as he was going away I asked him, “hey, what’s your name?” He told me Clyde Budd-but he goes by Bud. And I thought, you’re not a beggar-you’re Clyde Budd. Did I see this man?

We All Graduate Every Day

Sermon-2 Pentecost-Proper 5-June 6, 2010
The Cloud of Unknowing, "O God, our great companion, lead us ever more deeply into the mystery of your life and ours, that we may be faithful interpreters of Life to each other, through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
I was reading a commentary about today’s readings and it said, “the people watching the raising of the woman of Nain’s son, must have been thinking, ‘what a nice story’”. Jesus brings the only son of a widow back to life. What a nice story.
But the commentator went on to say, that for the widow-in the first story with Elijah, and in the gospel account with Jesus-these weren’t nice stories. This wasn’t a a fairy tale, this was real. This was life and death.
Today is graduation Sunday, the day we honor all those who have completed a course of study in the last year. It is a special time for these people. They have worked hard, given much, and come far. For us, honoring these people today is a nice story-but for them, graduation is very powerful, very important. It may not be life and death, but it is a lot more than a nice story. For them, it is real.
As I reflected on what they have accomplished, I thought of my father. It’s D-Day, and after World War II the government had a program called-The GI Bill-enabling all these millions of young men returning from the war to continue their education. Do you realize that less than half of the men who fought in World War II had actually finished high school? And here they came home and had a chance to go to college-an impossible dream. My dad came home, started college long before I was born-and flunked out. My guess is that happened a lot. But several years later, when I was 6, he tried it again-and this time he finished. I know what that cost him. I know how much he and my mom sacrificed for that dream to come true. When he graduated at age 30 his hair was completely white. It had not been an easy road. It was very hard, and 50 years later I still remember it so clearly. Graduation for him, for us, was a day of incredible pride -and it said to me, “this is what you can do, this is what you can achieve.” It was a day of great power and self-respect. Years later my dad would look back at that time and shake his head in wonder and what he had done. Graduation Day wasn’t just a nice story.
Last night was Jan Oliver’s 54th dance recital. 54 years of teaching young people grace, discipline, and movement. I am in awe of that. Last night was Jan’s graduation day. For 54 years she dedicated her life to showing young people what they could do, what they could achieve. 54 years of devotion and commitment. It was a very powerful moment. It was an overwhelming graduation night.
The day we graduate doesn’t make us smarter than everyone around us, graduation day is not so much about our superior intelligence-it’s about learning something about ourselves. On graduation day, we realize what we accomplish, what we can achieve, who we truly are. It is not about information-it’s about self-learning. Remember what the wizard said in the (Wizard of Oz: “Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the Earth or slinks through slimy seas has a brain. Back where I come from, we have universities, seats of great learning, where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts and with no more brains than you have. But they have one thing you haven't got: a diploma.”
Graduation Day is the day we get our diploma-we learn who we are-and who we can be-that we can accomplish something we never thought we could. It’s the day we realize that we are better or stronger or tougher than we ever knew. Graduation day is the day we learn something about ourselves.
The Tigers had one of these this week. Armando Galarraga pitched what looked like a perfect game. 27 men came to the plate, 27 men were out. It had only been done 20 times in hundreds of thousands of games over 120 years in Major League Baseball. When you do this you become immortal in baseball history. But the umpire made a mistake on the last play of the game and called someone who was out, safe. It was a mistake and there are no changed calls in baseball. Everyone, even the umpire, knew it was a mistake. But Armando Galarraga laughed it off with, “people are human, people make mistakes.” For Armando Galarraga it was graduation day. We learned something about him-and something about baseball-and something about ourselves. Even when we don’t get what we want-we can achieve something even greater than baseball immortality. We learned something more than just about great pitching-we learned about great character in the face of an enormous defeat. It was about disappointment and class. It was graduation day for Armando Galarraga.
A few years ago I told you the story about John Blais. John Blais was a world class athlete who loved competing in triathlons. In 2005 he was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease, a slow paralysis of your body. But he still competed in the 2005 Ironman Championships in Kona, Hawaii. He had this quote: "Even if I have to be rolled across the finish line, I'm finishing." A year later in 2006 he watched the triathlon from a wheelchair. Another athlete completing the race stopped just short of the final tape , got down on the ground, and in honor of John Blais, rolled across the finish line. That had a profound effect on me. So when I went on sabbatical in 2008 I finished 2 months of walking at Santiago de Compostela in Spain. It was the end of my dream. In front of the Cathedral in Santiago where pilgrims have been walking for 1200 years there is a marker that says you are at kilometer 0-the end of the pilgrimage. So I got down on the ground and rolled across that marker. For me, it was graduation day-the day you learn what you can do, what you can achieve, who you can be.
And this is another thing I learned. Everyday can be a graduation day. Every day is an opportunity to learn something new, something powerful, something ennobling about ourselves. It isn’t about school, it’s about the education we realize about life. It’s about seeing that we are more than we thought we were, better, stronger, more dedicated, more tenacious, perhaps kinder, more filled with grace than we realized.
(The 12 people that we honor today all had long journey’s to get here. Some had to climb enormous mountains, overcome incredible challenges to arrive at this moment.) But we’re not just applauding their achievement today, we’re saying that this can be our story, too. We also can achieve more than we thought, we, too, can be better. We too can graduate. In fact, we can look at our lives as one long graduation-one long chance to learn about ourselves, realize who we are, discover who we can be. Everyday is a graduation day. Everyday is an opportunity. It is not a nice story. It’s a story of heroism and grace and sacrifice and victory. Once a year we take a brief moment to acknowledge the graduates in our midst-and to celebrate with them. This is not their last graduation. This is the day we learn what we all can do, who we can be. This is the day we discover what is possible about us. It is not a nice story. It’s real and powerful and valiant. It is the day we realize all of us can graduate, everyday can be a graduation day. Every day we can learn who we are and who we can be. Graduation days never end. It is not a fairy tale.