Feb 28 Sermon

For Christians, It’s a Love Problem

(Mark 12.28-34)

A reflection by Dave Shull and the Congregation

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

The First Sunday of Lent: February 21, 2010

One of the religion scholars came up. Hearing the lively exchanges of question and answer and seeing how sharp Jesus was in his answers, he put in his question: "Which is most important of all the commandments?"

Jesus said, "The first in importance is, 'Listen, Israel: The Lord your God is one; so love the Lord God with all your passion and prayer and intelligence and energy.' And here is the second: 'Love others as well as you love yourself.' There is no other commandment that ranks with these."

The religion scholar said, "A wonderful answer, Teacher! So lucid and accurate—that God is one and there is no other. And loving him with all passion and intelligence and energy, and loving others as well as you love yourself. Why, that's better than all offerings and sacrifices put together!"

When Jesus realized how insightful he was, he said, "You're almost there, right on the border of God's kingdom."

After that, no one else dared ask a question (from The Message Remix © 2003 by Eugene Peterson).

President Calvin Coolidge was called Silent Cal because he didn’t waste words. As President Coolidge walked out of church one day, a reporter asked, “Mr. President, what did the preacher talk about today?” Silent Cal replied, “Talked about sin. He was against it.”

There are some topics it’s hard to say something new about. You preach about sin. You’re against it. You preach about love. Hopefully, you’re for it … at least in some way.

In the story Michele just read, Jesus is as clear as he can be. He says, If you want to follow me, there’s only one way to live. My followers live love. God made you because God loves you. God knew you before you were formed. The only way to say “thanks” to God for loving you is to love others and love yourself. That’s it, says Jesus.

That’s really all Jesus is saying in this story. There’s not much I can say that’s new about his invitation to love God, and let God’s love for us free us to love others and love ourselves.

That’s why I e-mailed you all last Thursday night. I invited you to read the words Michele read. And to read the words of a hymn we’re going to sing in a minute. And see if a story comes up about love that you’d like to share. I don’t know how to preach about the kind of love Jesus invites his followers to live. All we can do is live love. And inspire each other with stories of people who show us how to love.

The song “Do Not Retreat” is the wisest song about love I know of. The hymn is in your bulletin. Let us sing it together.

Do not retreat into your private world,

that place of safety sheltered from the storm

where you may tend your garden, seek your soul,

and rest with loved ones where the fire burns warm.

To tend a garden is a precious thing,

but dearer still the one where all may roam;

the weeds of poison, poverty and war

demand your care, who call the earth your home.

To seek your soul it is a precious thing,

but you will never find it on your own;

only among the clamor, threat and pain

of other people’s need will love be known.

To rest with loved ones is a precious thing,

but peace of mind exacts a higher cost;

your children will not rest and play in quiet

while they still hear the crying of the lost.

Do not retreat into your private world,

there are more ways than firesides to keep warm;

there is no shelter from the rage of life,

so meets its eye, and dance within the storm.

(Words by Kathy Galloway © 1983 GIA Publications, reprinted under Onelicense.net #A-714452; sung to the tune “Sursum Corda” by Alfred Morton Smith)

I love this song because it speaks to the deep love Jesus says we receive and give when we’re alone, when we’re snug and safe, when we’re nurturing life, when we’re with loved ones. Jesus spent time doing all these things. And he knows his followers find love doing these things. And this song invites us to love in a deeper and riskier way than these. Living the love of Jesus means letting him lead us into places we never thought to go. We let him lead us into places of deep suffering, pain, and need … places where we feel we have nothing to offer. Because in those times when I feel most inadequate and incompetent, I admit, “Jesus, I need you!” And that’s when miracles happen. That’s when Jesus Christ becomes most real to us. That’s when we find the life we’ve been looking for all along. Following Jesus into those places where we don’t feel like we have anything to give, we also open ourselves to receive the friendship of people we’d never get to know because their needs leaves us feeling so inadequate. So we come together as equals … as needy, hungry, scared, beautiful sisters and brothers of Christ. And love is found. And we are never the same again.

This song is the “story” I have to share that calls me to a deeper love. What story have you brought about something or someone that makes real for you the love Jesus invites his

followers to live?

* * * * * * * * *

I was driving with my partner to St. Louis for Christmas to be with her family. We were in our Ford Explorer. It was totally filled with Christmas packages. We were driving through the middle of Illinois … when we hit some black ice. Suddenly, we were sideways … rolling. All the windows were blown out. The dog was nowhere to be found. We called out, “Sidney!” Then we saw her. She was sitting in the median. Perfect. We looked around. One of our tires was in a tree.

An Econoline van pulled over. The people asked, “Are you okay?” We said, “We think we’re okay.” They said, “Where are you going? Is there any way you can help?” We said, “We’re going to St. Louis.” They said, “That’s where we’re going.” We said, “We’re going to Webster Groves.” They said, “We’re going to Webster Groves!” So we loaded everything into that car. We filled it totally. There was still black ice. It was still treacherous. Angels lifted our van. These people gave a ride to total strangers. When we got back home, I said I need to thank these people. I owe them so much. But I lost their name. I lost their contact information. I can’t thank them. But for me, I will thank them every day. That’s what love is about to me.

* * * * * * * * *

I thought a lot about what Dave wrote us. I believe it’s not hard to love people who are lovable in our congregation and our families. It’s not hard to have love for your friends. That’s natural. Yet Jesus calls us to love those who are unlovable. It’s been hard for me personally. When we’ve gone through some tough times in the past here at the church … when I see someone who has offended me or someone in my family … and the I know I’m called to love someone enough to pray for them …. We’ve been through some tough times here … and I realize the only way to get past that is to ask forgiveness from someone who totally disagrees with me. When we can bring ourselves authentically to love another person who has hurt us … to pray for their welfare … not to pray that they’ll change (which I want them to do) but to pray for their goodness and their welfare … something pretty magical happens. I think our church has survived because we’ve been able to do that.

* * * * * * * * *

I’ve been spending time at a fundraiser the Mulims are putting on because they want to build a mosque in Redmond. I believe we need to embrace other cultures and religions. When we were preparing for it one night, I was the only woman there without a headband … I did wear my Texas baseball cap! It was amazing how they welcomed me. I was clearly not part of them. It was amazing to see how they conduct themselves. Is it different? Not really. Do they do a better job? Probably not …

Last night was the actual fundraiser. There were people from all over the world. Their imam is from Indonesia. We were not to eat until 8:45. They knew how much money they needed. Then a gentleman got up and proceeded to collect money … we couldn’t eat until we raised everything we needed. He asked, “$25,000?” And two people said they’d give that much. Then he asked, “$20,000.” In a little over an hour they raised a million dollars. I was very well accepted. Last night I wore an actual dress hat. I sat beside a lady from Pakistan. The food was great.

* * * * * * * * *

My cousin Yad lives on the West Bank in Palestine. After my divorce, I was going through a really rough time as a single mom. He came to visit us in Portland, and I got to know him a lot better. After he went back to the West Bank, we’d periodically call each other and check in. When I’d gotten through the hardest parts after the divorce, I’d call him when things were really bad there … when there were blockades and curfews on the West Bank. I was really worried about him and his family. So I called to ask if they were safe, and if they were okay. He’d say it was sad because his kids wanted to play outside … but he felt it wasn’t safe. I tried to ask him more … and he kept saying to me, “I’m worried about you. How are you? How are your kids?” I finally realized he needed and wanted to hear how we were doing. His expression of love was remarkable to me. What he’s gone through is more profound than anything I’ve ever gone through. And yet he made me believe he thought my troubles were the worst. And he wanted to show his love for me.

* * * * * * * * *

I was 39 years old and I was cynical. I went to church but didn’t really believe. One day I went into a veterinary clinic. It was crammed full of people because it was a low-cost clinic. Suddenly I was filled with this amazing love. I was just filled with it. I felt like I could have gone up to anyone in there and given them a hug. And there were some really scraggly looking people there! But I had that much love in me. And I never doubted God again.

* * * * * * * * *

The Italian priest Arturo Paoli spent his life working in Argentina with the poor and the young. His loving friendships with these people often led to conflicts with the government. His life of trying to give and receive the love of Jesus led him this conclusion:

Being a Christian is not a problem of the will, or of instruction, but of love. Christians are

persons who discover that they are loved, and find that the best response they can give,

the only way to say ‘thanks’ for the love they receive, is the response of loving. The very

need to love leads them not to refuse any proposal, any path that seems to them to be

a good one for building communion …. If you really love, if you’ve been captured by the

love of Christ, you throw yourself into the battle for communion, but you’re on the

lookout not to lose the essential thing: love for human beings. The problem is difficult,

and we can’t escape it (Gather In My Name, Orbis Press, 1987, pp. 137-8).

Amen.

*The title is adapted from a chapter in Arturo Paoli, Gather In My Name, Orbis Press, 1987

Turning Our World Upside-down So We Can Stand Upright

(Mark 11.15-19)

A reflection by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

The Last Sunday after Epiphany: February 14, 2010

The second in an eight-part series of reflections on the last week of Jesus’ life,

based on the chronology in the Gospel of Mark. Today is Monday of Holy Week.

Our Bible story this morning is from the Gospel of Mark. It is Monday of the last week of Jesus’ life.

Listen for a Word from God.

Jesus and the disciples arrived at Jerusalem. Immediately on entering the Temple Jesus started throwing out everyone who had set up shop there, buying and selling. He kicked over the tables of the bankers and the stalls of the pigeon merchants. He didn't let anyone even carry a basket through the Temple. And then he taught them, quoting this text: 
My house was designated a house of prayer for the nations; 
You've turned it into a hangout for thieves.

The high priests and religion scholars heard what was going on and plotted how they might get rid of him. They panicked, for the entire crowd was carried away by his teaching.

At evening, Jesus and his disciples left the city (Mark 11.12-19, The Message).

May God help us hear and live this word. Amen.

Several weeks ago we were at Starbucks for our Monday evening coffeehouse conversations. We read the story you just heard. And I asked the dozen people there what they’d heard preachers and Sunday School teachers say this story means. We all said the same thing. Jesus was angry because the people changing money in the Temple were charging too much. They were padding their commissions. That’s why Jesus stormed into the Temple, turned over all their tables, and drove them out.

It would be really convenient for most of us if that’s what this story was about. If Jesus is angry about Temple moneychangers making a little too much money, that doesn’t rock my world too much. He’s not asking me to do anything differently … so I can just cheer him on as he tells those greedy moneychangers where to get off.

But that’s not what this story is about. To hear what Jesus is saying, all we have to do is listen to the words he uses … and where they come from. (For a good treatment of what Jesus was really doing in the Temple, see Marcus Borg & John Dominic Crossan, The Last Week: A Day-by-Day Account of Jesus’ Final Week in Jerusalem, Harper San Francisco, 2006, pp. 47-53, and Tom Wright, Mark for Everyone, SPCK, 2001, pp. 149-54). After he clears out the Temple, Jesus becomes the teacher. He uses words from the prophet Jeremiah. Who was speaking for God when he said, You've turned [God’s] house into a hangout for thieves (11.17).

When Jeremiah spoke for God 600 years before Jesus, he wasn’t talking about moneychangers padding their commissions. He was watching people come into the Temple, worship God, go out of the Temple. And not live any differently. Even though some of them came to the Temple every day to pray, nothing changed. They still ignored street people and orphans and widows. They still supported their government when their government killed, stole, and oppressed (Jeremiah 7.3-7, 11).

When Jesus cleans out the Temple, he’s not complaining about unethical moneylenders. He’s saying the Temple is doing nothing to show people a different way to live. They are still backing violence, theft, and oppression. Jesus’ actions say to the Temple authorities, “You have completely forgotten what it means to be leaders in the house of God. The Temple is where people are supposed to learn what justice looks like. This is where people are supposed to enter, and feel God’s love and forgiveness and be given new life … so they can go out and fall in love with the world. But you, Temple leaders, have thrown God out. You’ve turned the Temple into a place where you show people what injustice looks like. And then you dare tell people that’s the kind of world God wants.”

And when I hear Jesus say that the Temple has forgotten what it means to be God’s house, I wonder what he’s saying about the Christian Church.

The Apostle Paul calls the Church the body of Christ (I Corinthians 12.27). When the Risen Christ looks at his body, I wonder what he sees. And what he thinks. This story from Mark leads me to wonder, Why does the Church exist? And are we doing what the Risen Christ wants his body to do?

This is way too big a question to deal with in one sermon. Or after worship in one sermon talkback. So I’d like to start to answer this question by looking at the word church. And by liberating our imaginations, so we can see some of what the body of Christ might be.

I want to make a modest suggestion. That we imagine replacing the words the church with the words the Way. I didn’t invent this phrase. Right after Jesus’ death and resurrection, the people who came together to follow him called themselves the Way (Acts 22.4). I want to reclaim that word, because I think calling the church the Way frees us to become more like Jesus wants his body to be.

The phrase the Way offers a sense of movement. Following Jesus on the Way is not about staying put and staying comfortable. It’s not about building some grand structure and expecting people to come there and be impressed and become like us. Christ’s Spirit is moving within us. Stirring us up. Making us restless. Healing us. Loving us and loving us and loving us. We move through our world. We see beauty that inspires us to commit ourselves to create more beauty. We see brokenness that breaks our hearts. And we know we need to walk alongside those whose brokenness breaks our heart. So we can help them heal. And so we can be healed by the ones we thought we were healing. But who become Christ to us. And whose friendship changes us forever.

To think of ourselves as the Way instead of the church asks us to be light on our feet. We can’t have too much of anything that’s heavy. We can’t have too much stuff. Or too much nostalgia. Or too much certainty about way things ought to be done. People of the Way don’t have too many valuable and beautiful things we’re afraid might get broken … or stolen. Instead, we move through this world with a spirit of lightness and freedom. That’s one of the things I find most exciting about us. We’re light on our feet. We aren’t weighed down by the things that can become more important to us than following Jesus.

Imagining ourselves as the Way instead of the church reminds us we never arrive. We never get there – wherever there is. The Way says what life is about is walking beside others who are walking beside Jesus. Falling down, picking each other up, falling down, picking each other up … as we try to do this almost-impossible thing of being Jesus’ body on this earth. Loving, loving, loving … forgiving, forgiving, forgiving … rejecting violence always … letting joy fill us so we never become bitter … taking the risk of seeing the face of God in our enemy. And letting ourselves fall more and more in love with this Jesus, with each other, with ourselves. We let ourselves fall more and more in love with the motley collection of people we stumble across, and who stumble across us … people who decide the life they’ve been looking for forever is the life of following on the Way.

It’s still pretty true that the most segregated period of the week is Sunday mornings. Most congregations do not resemble a rainbow but tend more toward primarily one color. I look at those who Jesus hung out with with a deep sense of envy. One writer speaks to my envy. “What an extraordinary thing it must have been to sit around a table with that eclectic mix of Zealot revolutionaries, Roman tax collectors, peasants, Samaritans, prostitutes, and fishermen, all conspiring to find a radical new way of life” (Shane Claiborne, The Irresistible Revolution, Zondervan Press, 2006, p. 139). I wish I knew how to build friendships naturally with people who don’t look and sound so much like me. I know we can’t become that eclectic mix if we think following Jesus is about people just naturally finding their way to us and our church. If we’re people of the Way … if we believe we have been given Good News to share … and if we believe God waits to meet us in people who don’t look or sound like us … then we have to risk stepping out. We have to risk stepping out of the known and the comfortable and the established and the safe. To form friendships with people who come from different places and have very different stories than we do, we have to find ways and find the courage to enter the scarier worlds where others live … and let them be our hosts … and let them change us ….

Finally, the image of the Way says we see the world as it is. You’ve been on the hiking trail for several hours. A 1000-foot vertical rise awaits you. You might wish the path sloped gently downwards, right through the doors of Café Ladro. But what’s real is that thousand-foot vertical rise. People of the Way can’t hide behind stained-glass windows and mahogany doors and burglar alarms, and pretend what’s outside isn’t there and doesn’t need them. People of the Way see what’s in front of us. And we imagine ways to respond. With love, humility, and justice. Without violence or defensiveness. With a desire to make friends with what and whom we fear. So we all might walk with each other and with Jesus on the Way.

Every week here at Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ, we say we build a faith that asks questions and changes us. I love this phrase. Because following Jesus is all about asking questions. And all about changing. Following Jesus is about living a rhythm of movement. So we choose to leave what is comfortable. We choose to step away from what we know into what we do not. Into places we’ve never been before. Because life is not about arriving but about being on a rhythm of movement. So we are willing to let go of so much that we’d rather cling to … so we can be light on our feet. And allow Jesus Christ to lead us. To places where most people don’t look our sound like us … to places where we are stretched and challenged in painful ways … As people of the Way, we allow Jesus Christ to lead us to places where we see how the world really is … even if we don’t want to see it. Because this is God’s world. Even if seeing it breaks our hearts, this is God’s world. It’s where Christ wants to lead us.

One of you gave me a book for Christmas by someone who has followed Jesus on the Way to some of the most broken places on this earth. This man and his family have spent their lives living alongside people who call these violent, impoverished places ‘home’. And these unlikely neighbors have fallen in love with each other. The writer dedicates his book to a man whose name he doesn’t know …

To the man begging in India,

who turned my world upside-down,

so that I could stand upright

(John B. Hayes, Sub-merge: Living Deep in a Shallow World, Regal, 2006).

That’s what Jesus wants his body to do. We travel as the Way … we follow people who follow Jesus on the Way … and we let our journey turn our worlds upside-down. So we can stand upright. And see the world as it is. And fall in love with it anew. Amen.

*The title is from the dedication page of John B. Hayes, Sub-merge: Living Deep in a Shallow World, Regal, 2006

Liberated Imagination

(Micah 4.1-4 and Mark 11.1-11)

A reflection by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany: February 7, 2010

Every Sunday School classroom I was in growing up had a picture of Jesus surrounded by kids. Sometimes I wished Jesus were my Sunday School teacher.

If Jesus were a Sunday School teacher, I think one morning he’d invite the kids’ parents and their regular school teachers to come to class. And he’d teach them the Harry Chapin song, “Flowers Are Red”. In the song, a boy goes to his first day of school, grabs some crayons, and starts drawing flowers. His teacher looks at what he’s doing, and says,

Flowers are red young man, green leaves are green
There's no need to see flowers any other way than they way they always have been seen.

But the little boy said ... There are so many colors in the rainbow
So many colors in the morning sun, so many colors in the flower and I see every one.

But his teacher can only imagine what she sees. And insists that he do the same thing. When the boy moves to a new town, his new teacher wants him to paint flowers using all the colors of the morning sun. He tells her there’s no need to see flowers any other way than the way they always have been seen. Which is red and green.

I think Jesus the Sunday School teacher would keep firing up kids’ imaginations because he knows it’s a tragedy when anyone’s imagination dies. He knows liberated imaginations can make the world as beautiful as God dreams for it to be.

Up until last year, I never thought the Palm Sunday story had anything to do with liberated imagination. In sermons and Bible commentaries and everywhere else, I’d always heard this Jesus parade on the donkey with the waving branches described as a “triumphal entry”. And then five days later Jesus was dead. Which seemed odd coming so soon after such a triumphal entry.

But last year I shared with you something about Palm Sunday I’d just learned. This so-called triumphal entry was actually the most imaginative bit of street theater ever to hit Jerusalem. Everybody watching the Jesus parade knew he was dissing the parade that happened every year at Passover. Passover celebrates the liberation of the Hebrews from slavery in Egypt. During Passover the population of Jerusalem quintupled. And the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, needed to keep the peace. All these Jewish pilgrims gathered together to celebrate the liberation of their ancestors from slavery might begin to think that they should try to liberate themselves from Roman occupation. To stop those thoughts from happening, every year at Passover Pontius Pilate put on the truly triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Warhorses, weapons, armor, leather … It was Rome’s subtle way to remind them, We’ve got all the power. You’re smart to be afraid of us. Don’t be foolish enough to imagine silly things like freedom or justice or life without war.

But when our story takes place in the year 30, Jesus decides it’s time to let everyone know there’s more than one kind of parade in Jerusalem (Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The Last Week, Harper San Francisco, 2006, pp. 17-18).

Listen for a word from God.

When the disciples and Jesus were nearing Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany on Mount Olives, Jesus sent off two of the disciples with instructions: “Go to the village across from you. As soon as you enter, you’ll find a colt tethered, one that has never yet been ridden. Untie it and bring it. If anyone asks, ‘What are you doing?’ say, ‘The Master needs him, and will return him right away.’”

They went and found a colt tied to a door at the street corner and untied it. Some of those standing there said, “What are you doing untying that colt?” The disciples replied exactly as Jesus had instructed them, and the people let them alone. They brought the colt to Jesus, spread their coats on it, and he mounted.

The people gave him a wonderful welcome, some throwing their coats on the street, others spreading out rushes they had cut in the fields. Running ahead and following after, they were calling out, “Hosanna! Blessed is the One who comes in God’s name! Blessed the coming reign of our ancestor David! Hosanna in highest heaven!”

Jesus entered Jerusalem, then entered the Temple. He looked around, taking it all in. But by now it was late, so he went back to Bethany with the Twelve (from The Message ReMix © 2003 by Eugene Peterson).

Why is Jesus stage this imaginative bit of street theater? He knows he needs to break open everybody’s imaginations. By showing them there’s more than one kind of parade, he wants them to imagine that there also is more than one kind of king, and more than one kind of kingdom. What kind of king is he? What kind of kingdom is he calling people to help build? When the Jews see the Jesus parade, they know the answer.

The Jews who flooded to Jerusalem for Passover know their sacred stories. Seeing Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey, they remember what the prophet Zechariah had told people in that city 600 years before:

Shout and cheer …!

Your king is coming! … a humble king riding on a donkey ….

[He says,] “I’ve had it with war – no more chariots …

no more warhorses, no more swords and spears, bows and arrows.”

He will offer peace to the nations, a peaceful rule worldwide …

(Zechariah 9.9-10, The Message, adapted).

Jesus’ anti-triumphal entrance into Jerusalem proclaims:

I am a king with no army, Jesus tells them.

I am a ruler with no warhorses.

I am a sovereign with no desire to keep people afraid.

Can the spectators imagine such a king and kingdom? …

It’s hard to fault them if they can’t. All they’ve known is the violence of war, poverty, and fear. And it’s getting worse. More and more large landowners were forcing peasants off land that had been in their families for generations. Without a piece of land to call their own, without the ability to grow food for their families and have a little extra to sell or trade, they became day laborers, beggars, or slaves. Which is why so many peasants were supporting a rebel movement that wanted to overthrow Rome with violence. A bloody war that defeated Rome was the only way these peasants could imagine having enough, and not always being afraid.

But Jesus’ street theater showed them another way. This king shouts, “I’ve had it with war!” So what does he want these startled and somewhat amused spectators of his parade to imagine?

He wants them to imagine a king and a kingdom like the prophet Micah sings about. He wants them to imagine what we’ve been singing this morning.

And everyone ‘neath their vine and fig tree shall live in peace and unafraid (repeat).

And into ploughshares beat their swords; nations shall learn war no more (repeat)

(Micah 4.1-4).

In Micah’s world … in the world Jesus’ parade creates … everyone has a small piece of land to call their own. So everyone has enough. Because the weapons of war are now used to nourish life, there is no war. Without weapons, with everyone having enough, everyone can live without fear.

Can you imagine a world that looks like we’ve been singing about?

There are days I can imagine it. The hard thing for me is having a clue how to take a step or two closer to making it real. I need imaginative people to teach me how to step out into the world … and playfully show that we are part of Jesus’ kingdom. Where the power of love truly is the strongest force in all creation.

Some of my “imagination” teachers are a group of Christians in Philadelphia who show us what can happen a community’s imagination is captured by Micah’s song. And when they playfully sing it. A member of that community tells the story:

Philadelphia [was] pass[ing] anti-homeless legislation, making it illegal to sleep in the parks, … ask for money, [and] … lie down on the sidewalks …. One of the city’s boldest moves was … bann[ing] all food from … [Love Park, where many homeless people hung out]. Specifically, [the law] reads, “All persons must cease and desist from distributing food.” [T]hey began fining those of us who continued to share food. We started wondering what in the world it meant to love our neighbors as ourselves when [our neighbors] were being jailed for sleeping and eating. As St. Augustine said, “An unjust law is no law at all.” What did it mean to … uphold God’s law of love? Either we had to invite them into our home (which reached capacity), or we wanted to be out with them, in solidarity. So we threw a party in Love Park.

About a hundred of us gathered in Love Park with homeless friends. We worshiped, sang, and prayed. Then we served communion, which was illegal …. Then we continued … “breaking … bread” by serving pizzas. It was a love feast. [T]hen we slept overnight in the park with our homeless friends. We did that week after week … [O]ne night after worship… the police circled the park and arrested all of us …. We were taken to jail in handcuffs [and then released]. But over and over, [we] slept out, and over and over, we were arrested ….

As we stood before the judge, I wore a shirt that read, “Jesus was homeless.” The judge … said, “Hmmm, I didn’t know that …. You guys might stand a chance.”

…. Before we went to court, we read all of the Scriptures where Jesus warns his disciples that they will be dragged before courts and into jails, and they had new meaning for us. [Jesus] warned them not to worry about what to say, so we didn’t …

We faced numerous charges, jail time, thousands of dollars in fines, and hours and hours of community service. [Which was kind of ironic since that’s what we felt like we were doing feeding and making friends with homeless people.]

The judge said to the court, “What is in question here is not whether these folks broke the law; that is quite clear. What is in question is the constitutionality of the law.”

The D[istrict] A[ttorney] shot back, “The constitutionality of the law is not before the court.” And [she] threw her papers on the table.

The judge retorted, “The constitutionality of the law is before every court. [I]f it weren’t for people who broke unjust laws, we wouldn’t have the freedom that we have. We’d still have slavery. That’s the story of this country, from the Boston Tea Party to the civil rights movement. These people are not criminals; they are freedom fighters. I find them all not guilty, on every charge.”

The papers called it a “Revolutionary Court Decision.” And the judge asked us for a “Jesus was homeless” T-shirt (Shane Claiborne, The Irresistible Revolution, Zondervan, 2006, pp. 232-4).

When a law or policy or tradition tells us we’re not allowed to love our neighbors, what are Christians supposed to do? Throughout history, small groups of Christians have come up with playful, imaginative ways to love them anyway.

When you look around your world, where are we being kept from showing love to our neighbors? How are we being told by governing authorities that the love we want to show, the justice we want to bring about, the fear we want to erase, is unrealistic or impossible?

Jesus’ anti-triumphal entry into Jerusalem and the community serving communion to homeless people in a Philadelphia park are two playful, imaginative ways to show this world we’re following another king … and building another kingdom. Because Micah’s song has found a home in us. And so we have to keep singing it. Amen.

A World Where Everyone is the Greatest

(Mark 10.32-45)

A reflection by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

The Fourth Sunday after Epiphany: January 31, 2010

When I think about how Jesus asks his followers to live, I wonder why any of us says Yes to his call?

Jesus tells the rich man who wants to follow him that first he has to sell everything he has and give it to the poor; only then can he return and follow him (Mark 10.17-31). So Jesus asks his followers to redistribute wealth so every life in creation has enough.

Jesus stands on a hillside in Galilee, and says, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5.43-48). So Jesus asks his followers never to respond to violence with violence. And to refuse to give permanent shelter to hate.

Jesus hangs on his cross, and prays, “Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they are doing” (Luke 23.33-34). So Jesus asks his followers to move through the desire for revenge so, in time, they can forgive all who harm them.

Is there something Jesus calls his followers to do that you find especially hard these days? …

If this is how Jesus asks his followers to live, why do any of us say Yes to his call? Why does anyone choose to follow him?

This morning’s reading from Mark’s Gospel sounds like it only adds to the list of impossible things Jesus asks of his followers. In a culture whose highest-rated TV programs are championship sports events and entertainment awards shows, how do we hear what Jesus says? And how do we imagine following it?

Listen for a word from God.

Back on the road, Jesus, and his followers set out for Jerusalem. Jesus had a head start on them; the disciples were amazed, and the others following were afraid. He took aside the Twelve and began again to go over what to expect next. "Listen to me carefully. We're on our way up to Jerusalem. When we get there, the Son of Man will be betrayed to the religious leaders and scholars. They will sentence him to death. Then they will hand him over to the Romans, who will mock and spit on him, give him the third degree, and kill him. After three days he will rise alive."

James and John, Zebedee's sons, came up to him. "Teacher, we have something we want you to do for us."

"What is it? I'll see what I can do."

"Arrange it," they said, "so that we will be awarded the highest places of honor in your glory—one of us at your right, the other at your left."

Jesus said, "You have no idea what you're asking. Are you capable of drinking the cup I drink, of being baptized in the baptism I'm about to be plunged into?"

"Sure," they said. "Why not?"

Jesus said, "Come to think of it, you will drink the cup I drink, and be baptized in my baptism. But as to awarding places of honor, that's not my business. There are other arrangements for that."

When the other ten heard of this conversation, they lost their tempers with James and John. Jesus got them together to settle things down. "You've observed how godless rulers throw their weight around," he said, "and when people get a little power how quickly it goes to their heads. It's not going to be that way with you. Whoever wants to be great must become a servant. Whoever wants to be first among you must be your slave. That is what the Son of Man has done: He came to serve, not to be served—and then to give away his life in exchange for many who are held hostage” (adapted from The Message Remix © 2003 by Eugene Peterson).

This is the third time in Mark’s Gospel Jesus tells his followers that when they get to Jerusalem, he is going to be tortured and killed. And they refuse to hear it. They hold on to the belief that Jesus will lead them to a triumphal entrance in Jerusalem. And after he kills all those nasty Romans, they will bask in the glorious greatness of the kingdom he will build there. James and John’s delusions of greatness take this form: Going into Jerusalem with Jesus will be like walking down the red carpet at the Academy Awards presentation. They imagine climbing out of the limousine on either side of Jesus … spotlights and TV cameras everywhere … drumrolls announcing their entrance. James and John can see the YouTube clips already. Greatness will be ours! they think.

The rest of the disciples get angry with James and John. Not because James and John refuse to accept the fact that they’re following Jesus to his death. No. They’re angry because they didn’t ask Jesus the question first. They want seats of greatness in this glorious kingdom that Jesus will build in Jerusalem.

And Jesus tells these followers whom he loves and who drive him crazy, You don’t have a clue what it means to be great.

He asks, do you think great means achievement? Making the honor roll? Winning the pennant? Wearing the green jacket? Pastoring the biggest congregation? Shattering box-office sales records? Being known and noticed wherever you go?

Jesus says, If that’s what you think, then you’re confusing success with greatness. Winning the championship, getting the promotion, being popular and sought after may be signs of success. And may be reasons to celebrate.

But for Jesus, success has nothing to do with greatness. Jesus says, to be great, you must be a servant. The way Jesus sees it, those who are great devote their lives to help make individuals, communities, and institutions more whole, more loving, and more just. To be great is to inspire individuals, communities, and institutions to become servants themselves.

Which doesn’t mean servants become doormats. Jesus doesn’t ask people to follow him by themselves. It’s impossible to follow Jesus alone. Almost every book in the New Testament is written to faith communities who want to follow Jesus. Which means Jesus asks his followers to live in these next-to-impossible ways because it’s not at all impossible to follow him when we’re doing it with each other. We can be great – we can be servants – without becoming doormats because we are part of a community of servants. So there will always be those in our community who want to serve us when we need more wholeness, healing, love, and justice. So there’s no contradiction between being great … and needing others. There’s no shame in not being the best, and not having it all, and not being able to do it all. There’s no shame in needing people to lend us a hand or a shoulder or a $20 bill … or lend us their faith for a while because we don’t fell like God is too close or too real these days.

Being great means loving and letting yourself be loved back. It has nothing to do with success.

Henri Nouwen taught spirituality at Notre Dame, Yale, and Harvard. He was one of the most popular and sought-after religion speakers in the world. Everything he published became a best-seller. Who could argue that he had not achieved greatness? He had convinced himself he was great.

So why did he feel empty?

Nouwen left Harvard … and traveled east a bit … to Toronto. Where he spent the last 12 years of his life living and falling in love with people who couldn’t read any of his books or listen to any of his speeches or be impressed by his very impressive resume. In Toronto, Nouwen lived and fell in love with people who were so severely handicapped many could not talk, or feed themselves, or dress themselves. People couldn’t understand his actions. All those great universities where all those great students and great colleagues are … and Nouwen throws greatness away … to live with people who will never recognize or appreciate his greatness. Why would he be so foolish?

Nouwen would be so foolish because he knew he had spent his whole life thinking success was greatness. His success had left him empty. And now he wanted to be great in the way Jesus says we’re great. His teacher on what it means to be great was a severely handicapped young man named Adam. Nouwen writes:

I want you to understand a little better what happened between Adam and me. Maybe I can say it very simply. Adam taught me a lot about God's love in a very concrete way. First of all, he taught me that being is more important than doing, that God wants me to be with God and not to do all sorts of things to prove that I'm valuable. My whole life had been doing, doing, doing, so people would finally recognize that I was okay. I'm such a driven person who wants to do thousands and thousands of things so that I can somehow finally show that I'm a worthwhile being. People say, "Henri, you're okay." Here I was with Adam and Adam said, "I don't care what you do as long as you will be with me." It wasn't easy just to be with Adam. It isn't easy to simply be with a person without accomplishing much.

Adam showed Henri what all his great students and colleagues and books couldn’t. For Jesus, greatness is not about success. Greatness is about serving. To show what it means to be great, Jesus takes us back to our baptism. Where God says to each person, You are chosen and marked by my love, pride of my life. If everyone is chosen and marked by God’s love … if God takes infinite pride in everyone, then everyone is great. How dare any of us who follow Jesus believe we can decide what makes someone great? God made us. So we are great. And we live into our greatness by being servants.

A deep sadness in my family history has to do with what my grandparents decided made someone great. My great-grandparents had 10 children: 7 boys and three girls. Six of the boys became ministers. My great-grandparents were so proud. How great to have so many ministers in the family. The seventh son became a handy-man. And his parents were ashamed of him. I’m sure it’s not the only reason this great-uncle lived with mental illness most of his life. But it’s a part of the reason. To be treated like a failure, and a disappointment … to hear all your brothers called great … when Ralph was just as great as any of them.

Maybe that’s why we follow Jesus. In spite of all he asks of his followers. Because he throws out all the ways our culture tells us we’re not great. He throws out the shame that paralyzes and the standards of success that leave so many kids and adults alike feeling like failures. He says to all, no matter who they are and who they are not, no matter what they can and cannot do, Follow me. And we follow. Because all of us can bless another life with wholeness. All of us can help another life heal. All of us can love. All of us can bring a bit more justice to this world.

All of us can be servants. All of us are great. And all of us can live into our greatness by becoming servants. Amen.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Writing this sermon, I was inspired by various works on the topic of servant leadership. Check works by Robert Greenleaf, Steven Covey, and Margaret Wheatley. I also was inspired by Donald Kraybill’s book, The Upside-down Kingdom, Herald Press, 1978, particularly the last two chapters.

Companions In the Tension

(Mark 10.17-31)

A reflection by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ, Sammamish, Washington

The Third Sunday after Epiphany: January 24, 2010

I am sitting in my Christian ethics class the first semester of divinity school. Our first paper is due in a week. The professor is a nun who from time to time wears a Detroit Tigers baseball cap. She says, “I know some professors here give extensions on papers to everyone who asks. I don’t. Unless there’s an extreme emergency, all papers are due next Thursday. There will be no extensions.”

A student raises his hand and asks, “What do you mean when you say there won’t be any extensions?” He looks totally sincere. Professor Farley looks right at him and says, “When I say there will be no extensions, I mean there will be no extensions.”

At the time, I know I couldn’t believe anyone would ask a question like that. Professor Farley couldn’t have been any clearer. But over time I’ve come to understand what he was doing. When someone tells us something that doesn’t fit with how we think the world works, or how it’s supposed to work, then we resist. We can’t believe the person means what it sounds like they’re saying. So we try to figure out a way to convince ourselves they mean something else. I know I do that with the Bible. There are things the Bible is quite clear about. And I know there are times when I can get myself to believe, It just sounds like Jesus is saying that. But what he really means is … and then I’m off! On some marvelous flight of fancy that has no basis in reality.

This morning’s Gospel reading from Mark is a story that doesn’t fit with most Christians’ view of how the world is supposed to work. I don’t think there’s any story about Jesus that Christians have worked harder to convince themselves Jesus can’t possibly mean what he says. As you listen to the first half of this story, listen for a word from God.

As Jesus went out into the street, a man came running up, greeted him with great reverence, and asked, “Good Teacher, what must I do to get eternal life?”

Jesus said, “Why are you calling me good? No one is good, only God. You know the commandments: Don’t murder, don’t commit adultery, don’t steal, don’t lie, don’t cheat, honor your father and your mother.”

He said, “Teacher, I have – from my youth! – kept them all!”

Jesus looked at him hard in the eye – and loved him! He said, “There’s one thing left: Go sell whatever you have and give it to the poor. All your wealth will then be heavenly wealth. And come follow me.”

This was the last thing he expected to hear, and he walked off with a heavy heart. He was holding on tight to a lot of things, and not about to let go.

Looking at his disciples, Jesus said, “Do you have any idea how difficult it is for people who ‘have it all’ to enter God’s kingdom?” The disciples couldn’t believe what they were hearing, but Jesus kept on: “You can’t imagine how difficult. I’d say it’s easier for a camel to go through a needle’s eye than for the rich to get into God’s kingdom.”

The most creative attempt to show Jesus can’t possibly mean what he says was made over 600 years ago. Some Bible scholars said that somewhere in Palestine there used to be a gate called The Eye of the Needle. The arch of this gate was so low that camels couldn’t walk through it up-right. They actually had to get down on their knees and crawl through it … (Ched Myers, Binding the Strong Man, Orbis Press, 1988, p. 275). But they could make it through the eye of the needle …. These Bible scholars wanted to believe they could follow Jesus and hold on to all the wealth they had. They didn’t want to believe their wealth – or the wealth of those who were paying their salaries – could prevent them from receiving eternal life and entering the kingdom of God.

So they convinced themselves such a gate existed. They convinced themselves a camel actually could go through the eye of a needle. Because if a camel can’t do that, and the rich can’t enter God’s kingdom … then we and all the people we love who have wealth are lost. And Jesus can’t be saying that.

I’ll return shortly to this tension between wanting to follow Jesus and trying to change what he says because it feels impossible to live like he asks us to.

But first, we need a definition. The rich man asks Jesus, What must I do to get eternal life? And Jesus responds by talking about the kingdom of God. For first-century Jews, eternal life and the kingdom of God refer to the same thing. They have nothing to do with heaven, or with life after death. For Jews in the first century, “eternal life” and “God’s kingdom” describe a time and place on this earth. We have eternal life and the kingdom of God is here when and where the world looks like God wants it to look. When and where all of creation is healed and whole. Twenty-five hundred years ago, a prophet named Isaiah painted a picture of “eternal life” and the kingdom of God:

No more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress.

No more shall there be in it an infant that lives but a few days,

or an old person who does not live out a lifetime …

They shall build homes and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit; …

they shall not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain

(Is. 65.19-25, New Revised Standard Version).

Any place and any time people are trying to make the world look like this is eternal life and the kingdom of God. So this rich man is asking Jesus, “What do I have to do to get a skybox seat in that world?”

After the rich man tries to convince Jesus he’s kept all God’s commandments since he was in Pampers, Jesus look[s] at him hard in the eye – and love[s] him (10.21)! And then Jesus says what Bible scholars have spent centuries trying to tell us he doesn’t mean. “There’s one thing left: Go sell whatever you have and give it to the poor. All your wealth will then be heavenly wealth. And come follow me” (10.21).

Jesus looks at this man with love … And the rich man can’t look back at him. We don’t even know if he sees the love Jesus has for him. All we know is that he knows he can’t do what Jesus asks. He can’t live without all the wealth he’s holding on to. So he walks away with a heavy heart. To look for eternal life somewhere else. Or to give up on the search all together.

What makes this story so sad is that he came so close to finding what he was looking for. Jesus, where can I get eternal life? The second half of this morning’s story tells us eternal life was looking at him with love. Eternal life was right in front of him. But because Jesus was offering him eternal life in a way that didn’t fit with how he thought the world worked, he couldn’t receive the gift Jesus offered. Instead, he turned his back and walked away.

Listen for a Word from God.

Jesus said, “I’d say it’s easier for a camel to go through a needle’s eye that for the rich to get into God’s kingdom.” That set the disciples back on their heels. “Then who has any chance at all?” they asked.

Jesus was blunt: “No chance at all if you think you can pull it off by yourself. Every chance in the world if you let God do it.” Peter tried another angle: “We left everything and followed you.”

Jesus said, “Mark my words, no one who sacrifices house, brothers, sisters, mother, father, children, land – whatever – because of me and the Message will lose out. They’ll get all back, but multiplied many times in homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children, and land – but also in troubles. And then the bonus of eternal life! This is once again the Great Reversal: Many who are first will end up last, and the last first” (Mark 10.17-31, The Message Remix © 2003 by Eugene Peterson).

What this passage says is that following Jesus is living eternal life. Following Jesus is living in the kingdom of God. Because Jesus was healing this broken creation and making it whole again. He went from town to town. Looking into the eyes of the people who’d been taught they didn’t matter and didn’t count. And who had come to believe that. And when these unloved ones looked back into the eyes of Jesus … they saw the love of God. A love that was for them. And healing started to happen. And creation started to become whole. It’s exactly what Isaiah had written about. Eternal life … the kingdom of God … had come to earth. And everyone following Jesus was a part of it.

Including the disciples. Who dropped their fishing nets and left their boat when Jesus called them. They had done what the rich man thought was impossible. They let go of all their wealth to follow Jesus.

Jesus looks at you and me. He looks hard at us with those eyes that say, “I love you.” And what does he ask of us?

Maybe I’m being like the people who invented the gate named The Eye of the Needle when I say this. But in this story, I don’t hear Jesus saying to every single person, If you want to follow me, you have to sell everything you have and give it to the poor. There are people who depend on us for all kinds of support that require money. Are we just to leave them without that support? Is Jesus saying we should drop all our commitments and responsibilities?

I don’t think so.

But … what I believe he is saying is that eternal life and the kingdom of God are absolutely impossible without a pretty radical redistribution of wealth (idea from Ched Myers, pp. 275-6). Eternal life is no weeping because no more infants die after just a few days and none of the rest of us dies before we’ve lived out a lifetime. If that is eternal life, then eternal life is where and when every life on this planet has what they need to survive. And no one has too much. Every week, when we pray, “Give us this day our daily bread …. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” this is what we are saying. Eternal life is everyone having enough … daily bread and a roof over our heads and people who love them and let them love them back. The kingdom of God cannot come when so many have so much … and so many do not have enough.

I know I live in that tension. And I do not like it. Part of me is committed to give everything I have to follow Jesus. And a part of me holds tightly to what I have. And I don’t know what to do.

For me, Jesus is life. He is life lived passionately. He is love, forgiveness, and joy. He is life that sees violence as evil and says we can do better than that. He is life that sees converting the enemy as worth giving his life for. He is life that rejoices and weeps … dances and dreams. He is life that stops what it’s doing long enough and often enough … to notice what is right in front of it. And see all that God has given. Right here and now. He is life that knows it cannot truly be alive until there enough bread, enough shelter, enough healing, and enough love for every life in this broken and beautiful creation.

Then there’s that part of me that doesn’t want to let go of large parts of wealth. Or doesn’t have a clue what my life would look like after this redistribution of wealth Jesus clearly calls us to. And so I don’t. Which means every time I pray, and read the Bible, and come to church, that tension only increases.

Maybe your social circles are different’ than mine. Maybe your circles of friends are different. Maybe you have friends with whom you talk about the tensions we feel between your religious faith and your wealth. Maybe you have companions with whom you talk about what it’s like to have too much wealth … or not to have enough. What it’s like to want to place your faith in God … when we know we put a lot more faith and trust in stocks and bonds and mutual funds.

This congregation has done its own distribution of wealth in some pretty astounding ways. We sent boxes and boxes of supplies to schoolchildren in Iraq. We have collected 2500 pounds of food for the Issaquah food bank. We have fed children in the Reach for the Sky July program. Because so many people here want to cook for, serve, and eat with our homeless sisters and brothers in Tent City, we added a second night to provide food for them. And with the number of you who want to serve, we could probably cover at least two more nights. Last week, we collected $1499 for Haiti. Last week I was talking to a pastor friend who serves a church that has nine times more people in worship than we do. They collected $1100 for Haiti. The Spirit of Christ is so alive in this place that we consistently give far beyond what anyone could expect. We know wealth is not distributed evenly in this world and in this community. And when we’re asked to bring some eternal life into being, we consistently step up. And say, “Here we are.”

And … I’d like to invite us to take another step. I’d like to invite us to become a community where we can companions for each other in the tensions. I don’t know if that will ever happen here. But I hope we can be companions in the tensions that exist between having too much or too little wealth … and following the Jesus who says, You can’t pray, “Thy Kingdom come,” you can’t talk about eternal life, unless you are willing to redistribute the wealth you have. Amen.

Other Seas

(Mark 8.27-29)

A reflection by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

The Second Sunday after Epiphany – January 17, 2010

Jesus and his disciples headed out for the villages around Caesarea Philippi. As they walked, he asked, “Who do the people say I am?”

“Some say ‘John the Baptizer,”’ they said. “Others say ‘Elijah.’ Still others say ‘one of the prophets.’

He then asked, “And you – what are you saying about me? Who am I?”

Peter gave the answer: “You are the Christ, the Messiah” (The Message Remix © 2003 by Eugene Peterson).

When I think of Jesus asking his disciples, “Who do the people say that I am?”, I think of the movie “Telladaga Nights. ” And the prayer Ricky the race-car driver offers before the family dinner.

Ricky prays: "Dear Lord Baby Jesus … We thank you so much for this bountiful harvest of Dominos, KFC, and the always delicious Taco Bell. I just want to take time to say thank you for my family .... Dear Lord Baby Jesus, we also thank you for my wife's father Chip. We hope that you can use your Baby Jesus powers to heal him and his horrible leg …. Dear Tiny Infant Jesus..."

His wife Carley breaks in, "Hey, um... you know, sweetie, Jesus did grow up. You don't always have to call him baby. It's a bit odd and off puttin' to pray to a baby."

Ricky’s undaunted. "Well, look, I like the Christmas Jesus best when I'm sayin' grace ….

Ricky’s father in law screams, “He’s a man! He had a beard!” ….

Ricky insists, “Look, I like the baby version the best, do you hear me? ….

Ricky’s friend Cal now chimes in. “I like to picture Jesus in a Tuxedo T-shirt, 'cause it says, like, 'I want to be formal, but I'm here to party, too.' I like to party, so I like my Jesus to party.”

Not to be outdone, Ricky and Carley’s son, Walker, joins the conversation: “I like to picture Jesus as a ninja, fighting off evil samurai.”

Friend Cal continues, “I like to think of Jesus with like giant eagles' wings and singin' lead vocals for Lynyrd Skynyrd with like an Angel Band, and I'm in the front row ….

Then Ricky concludes, "Dear Eight Pound, Six Ounce, Newborn Baby Jesus, don't even know a word yet, just a little infant, so cuddly, but still omnipotent: we just thank you for all the races I've won …. Thank you, for all your power and your grace, Dear Baby God, Amen."

A couple of months ago, I shared a quote with you from a pastor of a huge church in Seattle, who said, “In [the book of] Revelation, Jesus is a prize fighter with a tattoo down his leg, a sword in His hand and the commitment to make someone bleed. That is a guy I can worship …. I cannot worship a guy I can beat up” (Mark Driscoll, quoted in Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw, Jesus for President © 2008 by The Simple Way, p. 194).

“And you,” Jesus asks, “What are you saying about me? Who am I?”

It’s a question all Christians need to answer again and again through our lives. Jesus is the one Christians follow. And who we say Jesus is has a lot to do with how we live. What we live for. And what we dream about doing.

Today, Linda and I are going to share with you one way each of us answers Jesus’ question. We’re going to do that by talking a bit. And by singing a bit.

For me, a hymn that answers Jesus’ question, Who are you saying I am? is “You Have Come Down to the Lakeshore”. It is #173 in your hymnals. Please sing with me.

You have come down to the lakeshore seeking neither the wise nor the wealthy,

but only asking for me to follow.

Refrain:

O Jesus, you have looked into my eyes; kindly smiling, you’ve called out my name.

On the sand I have abandoned my small boat; now with you I will seek other seas.

You know full well my possessions. Neither treasure nor weapons for conquest,

just these my fishnets and will for working. (Refrain)

You need my hands, my exhaustion, working love for the rest of the weary –

a love that’s willing to go on loving. (Refrain)

You who have fished other waters; you, the longing of souls that are yearning;

as loving Friend, you have come to call me. (Refrain)

It’s in the refrain where I hear who I say Jesus is:

On the sand I have abandoned my small boat; now with you I will seek other seas.

All through the Gospels, Jesus tries to get people to leave their small boats behind. And step out with him to seek a different way to live. There were all kinds of people in Jesus’ day whom respectable people avoided – sick people, poor people, women, foreigners. If you wanted people to respect you, you avoided these people as well. But for some reason, those were exactly the kinds of people Jesus hung with. He talked to them. He healed them. He ate with them. He loved them. He treated them like they mattered. They were used to being alone. And ignored. And despised. They didn’t need very bit boats when they were alone, ignored, and despised.

But Jesus had shown them they were sacred. He’d opened them to larger lives, bolder dreams, and wider grace. These all take up far more room than their small boats can hold. Now that they have felt his love, their small boats can’t fit all the new possibilities and paths that lay before them So Jesus tells them: “Leave those small boats behind. Follow me. And we’ll seek other seas.”

For a while I’ve felt like Peter, Pedro, and my current living situation in our condo was like a small boat Jesus was calling me to abandon. As I’ve shared with you, I hear Jesus calling me to help create a place where Christians can live together. A place where we can share living space, meals, worship, money, cars … a place where we can share a vision of what it means to follow Jesus in an economically edgy area. So we can build friendships with people who live with addiction and mental illness, people who have spent time in prison and who have no place to call home … I dream of a group of Christian who live together, and who live with and around people who don’t often get invitations to dine and hang out with respectable people. But who have wisdom, faith, and life to share which respectable people like me need.

The biggest obstacle to moving ahead with this dream has been my certainty that this community needed to be somewhere other than Seattle. When Peter and I moved out here over 15 years ago, my Midwest soul couldn’t imagine making the upper-left-hand corner of the US my long-term home. So these are the things I knew needed to happen before Jesus and I could seek the other sea that is this residential Christian community:

1) Peter needed to stop enjoying his job at University Congregational United Church of Christ;

2) Then Peter and I needed to look for and find church jobs in some city closer to the middle of the country;

3) Then we needed to get settled and get to know some people.

4) Then we needed to start talking up this idea of a residential Christian community and hopefully find people who were interested so we could move ahead to try to create it.

Only after all that happened could I abandon the small boat that is my current living situation … and seek the larger life and bolder dream I know Jesus wants me to seek with him.

A couple months ago, I was telling a friend how stuck I felt because I couldn’t move ahead with this dream. She asked, “Why?” And I listed the four things that needed to happen before I could move ahead. When I got done, she just looked at me. And said, “You’re really making it hard for God to help you make this dream come true.” It was like Jesus was speaking through her. “I’m calling you to abandon your way-too-small boat, Dave,” Jesus was saying. “I’m telling you to drop it like a bad habit. But you’re setting up all these things that need to happen before you leave it behind.” Jesus was trying to get my attention.

Then, in December, Peter and I had dinner with a couple in their 20s we hadn’t seen in months. We talked about community. And I felt their passion. And I felt our shared energy. As Peter and I were biking home from that dinner, I asked myself, Why have I limited my imagination so much when it comes to where this community might be? Why have I always assumed it can’t be in Seattle?

Who do I say you are, Jesus? I say you’re the dream-planter. You plant dreams in us … and you will not leave us alone unless we’re doing whatever we need to to make that dream real. If we’re setting up obstacles to the dream you’ve planted in us, then you’re the frustration-builder. For you refuse to leave us alone. When our lives are too small, when our dreams are too safe, when we close ourselves off to the grace that reminds us we’re sacred … you keep calling us. Abandon that small boat. Because the life I have for you, the dreams I’ve planted in you, the grace I have to shower upon you will never fit in that boat. You and I – we’re going to seek other seas.

So this dream-planter, this frustration-builder, this companion-to-other-seas, has called me to bolder dreams. I’m learning how to dream that this community of Christians living together will take shape in Seattle. I don’t need to keep making it hard for God to help me make this dream come true. I believe Jesus plants dreams in us. And wants to hear how they form. And, if they’re his dream for us, he then wants to walk beside us to seek ways to make them real. Because that’s were the largest life and the widest grace is for us.

In Ted Kennedy’s autobiography, True Compass, he tells this story. It’s August 28, 1963. The day of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s March on Washington. Kennedy writes,

I [was in] my office [in the Capitol] watch[ing] the speeches on television. That iswhere I saw Dr. King rise to deliver his prepared remarks about Negro suffering andaspirations for freedom ….I listened to those remarks and watched as Dr. King finished and turned to sit down and then abruptly turned back to the crowd. Although I could not distinguish her, and her voice was not picked up by the microphones, the great gospel singer Mahalia Jackson had blurted out to Dr. King from behind him, ‘Tell them about your dream, Martin! Tell them about the dream!’ And Martin Luther King did. In a decade in which cataclysmic events inspired lasting oratory, the Georgia-born minister spontaneously delivered the great aria of the civil rights movement (© 2008, Hatchette Book Company, p. 201).

Jesus, what I say about you is that you blurt out to each of us, usually from behind, “Tell me about your dream. Tell them about the dream. Then ditch that too-small boat that isn’t big enough to carry that dream. And walk with me. You and I, we’ll seek other seas.”