Vision: The Practice of Waking Up to God

Vision: The Practice of Waking Up to God
(Genesis 28.10-22)
A message by Dave Shull
Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ
Sammamish, Washington
The First Sunday after Epiphany – January 8, 2012

The first in a sermon series on the themes raised in our church’s current theology book group book, An Altar in the World, by Barbara Brown Taylor

When you wake up each day, do you expect God to be there? As you go through what you go through each day, is God in it all with you? At the end of your day, when you go to bed, does God watch you fall asleep

Our Bible story this morning is about a young man who doesn’t believe God has anything to do with him. Like many people we meet in the Bible, Jacob is not a moral role model. He makes his near-starving older brother, Esau, exchange Esau’s inheritance for food. He and his mother conspire against his blind father, Isaac. Jacob dresses like older brother Esau, and Isaac gives Jacob the blessing he meant to give Esau. When we catch up with Jacob in this morning’s Bible story, Jacob is on the run from Esau. Who is heart-broken that Jacob stole his blessing. And who now is out for revenge. Jacob truly lives into the meaning of his name. In Hebrew, Jacob means heel. And that’s truly what Jacob is.

So Jacob flees to the desert. He is alone. He is afraid. He’s never looked for God. And he certainly doesn’t expect God to start looking for him. He’s in for a big surprise.

Listen for a word from God.

Jacob left Beersheba and went to Haran. He came to a certain place and camped for the night since the sun had set. He took one of the stones there, set it under his head and lay down to sleep. And he dreamed: A stairway was set on the ground and it reached all the way to the sky; angels of God were going up and going down on it.

Then God was right before him, saying, "I am God, the God of Abraham and Sarah, the God of your parents Isaac and Rebekah. I'm giving the ground on which you are sleeping to you and to your descendants. Your descendants will be as the dust of the Earth; they'll stretch from west to east and from north to south. All the families of the Earth will bless themselves in you and your descendants. Yes. I'll stay with you, I'll protect you wherever you go, and I'll bring you back to this very ground. I'll stick with you until I've done everything I promised you."

Jacob woke up from his sleep. He said, "God is in this place—truly. And I didn't even know it!" He was terrified. He whispered in awe, "Incredible. Wonderful. Holy. This is God's House. This is the Gate of Heaven."

Jacob was up first thing in the morning. He took the stone he had used for his pillow and stood it up as a memorial pillar and poured oil over it. He christened the place Bethel (God's House). The name of the town had been Luz until then.

Jacob vowed a vow: "If God stands by me and protects me on this journey on which I'm setting out, keeps me in food and clothing, and brings me back in one piece to my father's house, this God will be my God. This stone that I have set up as a memorial pillar will mark this as a place where God lives. And everything you give me, I'll return a tenth to you"
(Genesis 28.10-22, adapted from The Message Re-Mix © 2003 Eugene Peterson).

If you’ve spent much time in church, you’ve probably sung the song, We are climbing Jacob’s ladder…. It’s unfortunate the part of this story about the ladder is the part that was turned into a song. Because the ladder isn’t the point of the story at all.

The point of this story is that God shows up
(Walter Brueggemann, Genesis, John Knox Press, 1982, p. 244).

The point of this story is that God shows up. And makes a promise that changes Jacob’s life forever.  The point of this story is that God makes the same promise to us. And it could change our lives forever if we let it.  Utterly alone, utterly afraid, Jacob decides to go to sleep. And see what the morning brings.  Then he gets the surprise of his life. The God he’s never paid any attention to breaks into his world by breaking into his dreams. And when God breaks into Jacob’s life, God doesn’t have the decency to keep quiet. God walks right up to Jacob. And God speaks: I’ll stay with you always.
I’ll stay with you always.
After that, everything is new. Jacob went to bed utterly alone and utterly afraid. But now God has shown up. And told him, I’ll stay with you. So when Jacob wakes up, he wakes up to God. He doesn’t feel quite as alone. And doesn’t feel quite as afraid. For God has found him. And God has spoken.

Jacob jumps off the cold desert ground. And he shouts so loudly anyone within a ten-mile radius will hear: God is in this place—truly. And I didn't even know it! (Genesis 28.17). He realizes God is everywhere…that all the earth is God’s House. Jacob wakes up to a God who’s as real as the sore head he has from using a rock for a pillow. He wakes up to a God who’s as real as his fear his brother Esau will track him down and do him in.

The author of the book the church book group is reading now tells us what happens when we wake up to God:

Even if Jacob could never find the exact place where the feet of that heavenly ladder came to earth – even if he could never find a single footprint in the sand – his life was changed for good. Having woken up to God, he would never be able to go to sleep again, at least not to the divine presence that had promised to be with him whether he could see it or not
(Barbara Brown Taylor, An Altar in the World, HarperOne, 2009, p. 4).

The message of this story is something that is not easy for rational, reasonable people to accept. The message of this story is that God breaks into our world. Yours and mine. God breaks into our world. And God talks to us. Or at least tries to. God doesn’t keep a polite distance. God doesn’t just “speak” to us through the sunrise over Tiger Mountain or our favorite piece of music. God doesn’t just “show up” in a lover’s embrace or a baby’s cry. Across the millennia, Jacob shouts out to us, God is in this place – truly! And then, because even though he knows God is with him, he’s still kind of a heel, he can’t resist adding with smirk, And I bet you didn’t even know it!

My favorite Old Testament scholar describes what rational, reasonable Christians often feel like doing with a story like this.

The narrative raises difficult questions about the nature of an encounter with God. On the one hand, we may be tempted to imagine that this is a “primitive” religious report that has not pertinence to modern reality, for we have “outgrown” such matters. Or on the other hand, we may wish to explain it psychologically and deny its objective reality. But neither of these will do. The narrative shatters our [need for God to make sense]. It insists the world is a place of such meetings (Brueggemann, p. 242).

What if we let go of our need for God to make sense? What if we let ourselves believe God does things in this world? What if we believe what Jacob is so sure of? What if we believe God is present in this place – truly!? What if we believe God speaks to us all the time? Walks beside us all the time? Loves us all the time?

Friday evening, I had a two-hour phone conversation with someone I truly love. Since September, he has been in a very painful place. A place where anxiety wakes him up at 2 in the morning and keeps him awake until he has to go to work. A place where voices from the past attack his self-confidence. And convince him that in spite of his many accomplishments, behind the outer shell he is hollow. Behind that calm, competent exterior, there is one who’s terrified of being exposed – because that demonic voice convinces him there’s no there there. Stepping back and looking rationally at all his life, he can see that this voice is lying. There’s all kinds of “proof” that he has nothing to be anxious about.

And we talked about how that rational analysis of all his abilities and successes crumbles to ashes under the assault of that voice. Because that voice is irrational. So my friend knows he needs something more than reason and rationality to heal.

He grew up with a reasonable, rational God. Who keeps a polite distance. And doesn’t embarrass us by breaking into our day-to-day lives and talking to us. Three-quarters of the way through our conversation, we started talking about how God just might be right there with him in that hell. How God just might be there. Shining life-giving light onto him. And even though my friend is terrified that that light will show everyone that there’s nothing there, we talked about what might help him stay in that light. In spite of his fears. At the end of our conversation, he asked if we might pray together. So we were silent for quite a while. Listening.

Then he prayed. And he prayed to a God who wasn’t just a nice idea. He prayed to a God who wasn’t just in the mountains he loves so much and where he always feels closest to God. This friend whom I love prayed to the God who comes into that hell with him. And says, I’ll stay with you. And shines a light on him that says, “You are Good Enough.” My friend prayed to a God who was real enough, personal enough to help him heal. He prayed to the God of Jacob, who is in this place, this God whose House is every corner of this earth. Even that corner where my friend hides. Especially that corner where my friend hides.

May we open ourselves to such a God as well. Amen.

Another Way

Another Way
(Matthew 2.1-3, 7-12; “Anthem” by Leonard Cohen; “A Box of Paints”)
A message by Dave Shull
Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ
Sammamish, Washington
Epiphany Sunday – January 1, 2012

The first Sunday of the new calendar year has the grand name Epiphany Sunday. Epiphany is a Greek word that means to make known. The actual day of Epiphany is Jan. 6 – the 12^th day of Christmas. It’s the day when the Wise Ones from the East came with their gifts to the manger. These scholars were the first non-Jews to see Jesus. So Epiphany is when this God who became flesh and blood in Jesus is revealed to non-Jews.

There are lots of things I love about the story of these astrologers from far away. These students of the stars who decide there’s one star they can’t just study. There’s one star they have to follow.

On this new year’s day, the Holy Spirit speaks to me through one part of this story with a special intensity.

Listen for a word from God.

After Jesus was born in Bethlehem village, Judah territory— this was during Herod's kingship—a band of scholars arrived in Jerusalem from the East. They asked around, "Where can we find and pay homage to the newborn King of the Jews? We observed a star in the eastern sky that signaled his birth. We're on pilgrimage to worship him."

When word of their inquiry got to Herod, he was terrified—and not Herod alone, but most of Jerusalem as well. Herod lost no time….He arranged a secret meeting with the scholars from the East. Pretending to be as devout as they were, he got them to tell him exactly when the birth-announcement star appeared. Then he told them the prophecy about Bethlehem, and said, "Go find this child. Leave no stone unturned. As soon as you find him, send word and I'll join you at once in your worship."

Instructed by the king, they set off. Then the star appeared again, the same star they had seen in the eastern skies. It led them on until it hovered over the place of the child. They could hardly contain themselves: They were in the right place! They had arrived at the right time! They entered the house and saw the child in the arms of Mary, his mother. Overcome, they kneeled and worshiped him. Then they opened their luggage and presented gifts: gold, frankincense, myrrh.

In a dream, they were warned not to report back to Herod. So they left the territory without being seen, and returned to their own country by another way
(adapted from Matthew 2.1-3, 7-12, The Message Re-Mix © 2003 Eugene Peterson).

It’s the adverbial phrase at the end of this story that jumps off the page: “[they] returned to their own country by another way” (Matthew 2.12).

A new year is a time for new beginnings. And new beginnings are all about doing something by another way.

The scholars who follow the star to the manger go home by another way. They make a new beginning by changing who and what they worship.

Like any of us, when the scholars start they journey, they don’t know where it will take them. But when they stop following the star, meet with Herod, tell him everything they know about this baby, and seem to agree to return to him when they find him, they show they’ve lost their way. Because instead of worshiping the one the star leads them to, they begin to worship the power that Herod holds. They begin to worship that intoxicating rush one gets hanging out with impressive people. But then they give themselves back to the guidance of the star. They follow it. They see this mother and this infant. And the story says they are “overcome”.

So they choose to worship by another way. They turn away from their worship of human power. And toward the One who is Light and Life. When Light and Life shine through Jesus onto them, they realize all that shone through Herod was that power that comes from keeping people afraid. The star has led them to this Light of God. This is the One whom they now will give their lives for. So they go home by another way.

I wish Matthew had told us how worshiping by another way had changed their lives. But he leaves it up to us to imagine. To imagine what difference it makes when we worship the God of humility and love instead of the gods of power and fear.

But Matthew doesn’t say anything more about them. So how they change by worshiping by another way is left to our imagination. Which may not be a bad thing….

A new year is a time for new beginnings. And new beginnings are all about doing something by another way.

On this new year’s day, songwriter Leonard Cohen asks us to do something by another way.
He asks us to see our brokenness
    not as something to hide or be ashamed of.
He asks us to see our brokenness
    as the way God’s light breaks through us to heal this world.

Linda Srb opened our worship today by singing the first lines of Cohen’s song, “Anthem”.

The birds they sang at the break of day:
    “Start again,” I heard them say.
Don’t dwell on what has passed away
   or what is yet to be.

New year’s day is a time to start again. A time to give each other second and third and thirtieth chances to get it right. Leonard Cohen has us sing about doing life by another way. He knows we cling to past resentments. And dwell in the illusion that if only I had this or if only I were this, my life would be so much better. Cohen tells us to let go of that lie. And to do life another way.

Ring the bells that still can ring.
Don’t dwell on dead dreams.
Go to those places where life awaits you.
Forgive while there’s still a chance.
Ask for pardon while there’s still some love there.
Say “Yes!” to something outrageous while there’s still time.

To any of us who hold ourselves or others to ridiculously high standards, to any of us who fear we’re not good enough or worthy enough for God to love us, Cohen offers a word that frees us:

[F]orget your perfect offering.
There is a crack, a crack in everything – that’s how the light gets in.

I love the poetry. And I don’t know if I trust the poetry. Do I really believe my cracks – my mistakes and wounds and fears are what the living Christ uses to shine the light of his justice and joy through me? Do I really believe if I let people see my mistakes and wounds and fears, that Christ’s light can shine through those cracks and use them to bring healing and hope to others? Instead of just making me feel incompetent and weak? And do I really believe that the cracks in others which I can so easily judge are where I meet the Living Christ, whose light and love heal and bless me?

I know my closest friends are the people I don’t have to hide from. My closest friends are the people who see my cracks. And love me in spite of them…or maybe even because of them. We can impress each other with our talents and abilities. We can blow each other away by our credentials and accomplishments.

But being impressive isn’t the same as being loved. Being impressed isn’t the same as loving. When it comes to loving and being loved, when it comes to being the Body of Jesus Christ, what matters is letting each other see our cracks. What matters is being unashamed we have cracks. Being unembarrassed to let the light of Christ shine through them. Daring to let people see us as we are. And trusting love will come our way anyway. The church is at its best when we welcome one another as the broken and beautiful daughters and sons of God we are. And free each other from the hell of trying to hide our cracks. And say to each other in a way that all of us can trust:
There is a crack, a crack in everything – that’s how the light gets in.

As Linda sings the rest of Leonard Cohen’s “Anthem”, listen for the invitation to live another way in 2012:

We asked for signs, the signs were sent: the birth betrayed, the marriage spent,
yeah the widowhood of every government -- signs for all to see.
I can't run no more with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places say their prayers out loud.
But they've summoned, they've summoned up a thundercloud
and they're going to hear from me.

You can add up the parts but you won't have the sum,
you can strike up the march, there is no drum.
Every heart, every heart to love will come, but like a refugee.

Refrain: Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack, a crack in everything – that's how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in. That’s how the light gets in.

A new year is a time for new beginnings. And new beginnings are all about doing something by another way.

A nameless 12-year-old Israeli girl invites us to love another way on this new year’s day. She wrote a poem that was turned into a song. The song was sung in Oslo, Norway, when Shimon Peres, Yitzhak Rabin, and Yassir Arafat received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1994.

“I Had a Box of Paints.”

I had a box of paints, each color glowing with delight:
I had a box of paints with colors warm and cool and bright.
I had no red for wounds and blood. I had no black for an orphaned child.
I had no white for the face of the dead. I had no yellow for burning sand.
I had orange for joy and life. I had greens for buds and blooms.
I had blue for clear bright skies. I had pink for dreams and rest.
I sat down and painted
peace
(Megan McKenna, Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany: Stories and Reflections on the Sunday Readings, Orbis Books, 1997, p. 220).

You and I can choose how we’re going to love. You and I can choose what colors we’re going to use. We can choose colors that remember past hurts. Colors of anger and coldness and contempt. And we can choose colors that paint peace. Colors that heal and forgive and proclaim a new way to love in this new year. A new beginning that declares a truce and says, Start again!

As you listen to the story of the scholars visiting the baby Jesus, the song of Leonard Cohen, and the poem of this nameless Israeli 12-year-old girl, what do you hear? How is the Spirit of God inviting you to do something by another way in this new year?
-people in the congregations share their thoughts-

Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack, a crack in everything – that's how the light gets in.

Help Me Remember Who I Am

Help Me Remember Who I Am
A Christmas Eve Message by Dave Shull
Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ
Sammamish, Washington
December 24, 2011

I never expected that a 30-year-old tour guide in India would break me open to hear the Christmas stories in a new way. Especially when he was talking about a 3000-year-old story from the Hindu religion. But God is a God of endless surprises. Who has gifts to offer us all the time if we only look for them.

Five weeks ago, our tour guide Markose was showing us around a palace on the southwest corner of India. We stood in front of a tapestry from a Hindu story called The Ramayana. He explained the scene to us. Then he stepped out of his role as tour guide. And into the role of sage. He said, “All of us need a base for our lives. We can’t live good lives from scratch.” Then we went on with the tour.

Though my body moved on with him, my mind was held on to his words. “All of us need a base for our lives. We can’t live good lives from scratch.” Markose was telling us we need to build our lives on some source of wisdom. Whether that base is a faith, a philosophy, or a tradition, it has to be big enough and flexible enough to guide the way we live as we change and as the world we live in changes. Our base gives us our values. Our base helps us make wise decisions and gives us a vision of what we’re living for. Without a base, Markose said, we live from scratch. We make it up as we go along. We have no center or compass. Living like that, Markose said, can’t help us build a more loving world.

As he reflected on a 3000-year-old story from Hinduism, Marcose gave me a new way to hear the Christmas stories. Since coming back from India, I’ve been asking myself, What base do the Christmas stories give me? How do the Christmas stories guide the way I live?

Then this past week, another unexpected gift came my way that broke me open to hearing the familiar stories of this night in a new way. That gift is a folktale told by both Jews and Muslims tell. It’s called “Ahaz the Slave” (below is a paraphrase of this story as printed in Megan McKenna, Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany: Stories and Reflections on the Sunday Readings, Orbis Books, 1998, pp. 179-81).

Once upon a time there was a poor man named Ahaz. He believed in God. He was always covered with mud and was bent over from working in the mines. One day, an officer of the king arrived to find a new attendant for the king. Ten of the more fit slaves were singled out to be interviewed. They were lined up in a row. Each was given an exquisite glass and told to break it. All obeyed immediately. Then the king went to each in turn and asked, “Why did you break it?” The response was simple, “Because you told me to.” One after another, they responded in the same way.

Now, the poor man who believed in God, the man whose name was Ahaz, thought quickly, “I can’t answer the same thing. What can I say?” He was the last of the slaves to be questioned, and when the king got to him, he stammered, “Forgive me, please. I am sorry,” and bowed before the king. It was exactly what he was thinking and feeling, and that was what came out. The king looked at him, smiled, and chose him as his new attendant.

Ahaz remembered what he had learned – to say and do exactly what he thought and felt, the truth and nothing else, no matter what the consequences. And the king found that he grew quickly to trust this man from the mines, because there were so few people who ever told him the truth or what they truly were thinking. They always coated it or covered it in what they thought the king wanted to hear, or bent it to serve their own advantage. Because the king trusted him explicitly, over time he delegated more and more power and authority to Ahaz.

Now, when someone rises in power that quickly, others become envious, jealous, and bitter. Ahaz had many enemies and many more who distrusted him and wondered what he did to so enchant the king. Soon the king’s closest advisers were coming to him every day with the same warning: “King, don’t you realize that Ahaz is robbing you blind? Can’t you see it? Every day, he waits until everyone’s gone. Then he takes the key you trust him with, and goes into your huge inner safe. He stays there over an hour every day. Then he leaves like nothing’s going on. But that inner safe is where the jewels and the land deeds are. That’s where you keep the gifts other rulers have given you. You know Ahaz could stick any of those things in his huge sleeves and make off with them without anyone knowing. King, you’ve got to stop him.”

The king couldn’t believe his most trusted advisor was robbing from him. But finally he decided he needed to make sure. Secretly he had two holes drilled at eye level in the wall of the storeroom so that someone could watch what happened inside.

One evening, the king took up his position. Sure enough, Ahaz arrived alone, entered the storeroom, and then used the keys to get into the great safe. He came out with a carefully folded pile of clothes. They were rags, filthy, smelly, caked with mud and sweat. He placed them on a table along with a candle and a book and some incense. He solemnly took off his robes of state and put on the rags that he had worn the day that he had been removed from the mines and taken to the king’s palace so many years ago. Then he lit the candle and incense and began to pray aloud:

“Lord God, Master of the Universe, I stand before you as you have made me.
Do not let me forget who I am and that I belong to you alone.
Help me to remember that all I do is not for the king, but for you alone.
For it is you who have blessed me and given me all that I now enjoy.
It is for you who have entrusted me the power of this kingdom and the friendship of the king.
Do not let me forget who I am and that I am yours, O Holy One,
and that I live by your mercy and will.”

He prayed like this for over an hour. Then he took off the rags of the slave and carefully folded them up again and put them back into the safe. He dressed again in the robes that were the gift of the king and left the storeroom, locking it behind him.

The king met him in the hallway when he left. Ahaz bowed low to the king. The king grasped him by the shoulders and lifted him up, speaking to him, not as a friend, but as king. “Ahaz,” he began, “you never cease to surprise and amaze me, and you have done it again. All of my counselors have warned me that you are a common thief and that you have been stealing from me behind my back. But you have managed to do something for me that no one else ever has – you have made me remember who I am. I am a king here on earth, but even I, or especially I, must stand before the Holy One and give an account of what I have done and who I am. You have made me remember that I am always God’s servant and belong to God alone. Do not ever let me forget who I truly am.”

Our tour guide Markose reminded me each of us needs a base to build our lives on. The story of Ahaz the slave says it’s easy to forget who we are, so we need people to remind us who we are. Markose and Ahaz tell me whatever it is we base our lives on helps remind us who we are.

Tonight, as you listened to the stories of Jesus’ birth, I wonder if they offered you a base or foundation that reminds you who you are and what you’re living for?

Tonight, the wisdom of Markose and Ahaz leads me to respond to the story of Jesus’ birth asking myself the question, If I’m not willing to follow the Prince of Peace, then why am I here?

Tonight I hear these stories as a call to resist violence. A call to live a different way. This Prince of Peace is the Savior who wants to save this world from surrendering to hate and fear. The Savior who wants us to put our faith in something other than the god of violence.

After our country declared the end of the Iraq War ten days ago, West Point graduate and retired career army officer Andrew Bacevich wrote these words:

The disastrous legacy of the Iraq War extends beyond treasure squandered and lives lost or shattered. Central to [the] legacy [of this war] has been Washington's decisive…abandonment of any…self-restraint regarding the use of violence as an instrument of [diplomacy]. With all remaining...barriers to the use of force having now been set aside, war has become a normal condition, something that the great majority of Americans accept without complaint. War is US”
(Andrew Bacevich, “After Iraq, War Is US,” Global Public Square Blog, 20 December 11).

I don’t know about you. But this Christmas, I need a base the reminds me who I am. The stories of this night give me a base. They remind me I am a follower of the Prince of Peace. That is who I am.

Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace! Hail the Sun of Righteousness.
Light and life to all he brings, risen with healing in his wings.
Mild he lays his glory by, born that we no more may die,
born to raise us from the earth, born to give us second birth.
Hark! the herald angels sing, “Glory to the newborn king.”
(Charles Wesley, “’Hark!’ The Herald Angels Sing”)

Merry Christmas. Amen.

The Word Became Flesh

The Word Became Flesh…So We Can Be Our Child-of-God Selves
(John 1.1-14)
A meditation by Dave Shull
Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ
Sammamish, Washington
The Fourth Sunday of Advent – December 18, 2011

Every year around this time, pastors dust off a Christian teaching with the grand name of the incarnation. The incarnation is the Christian idea that in this baby Jesus Christ, and the adult he grew into, God took on a body. The incarnation says Jesus Christ was both fully divine and fully human. More than anyone or anything else, Jesus shows us who God is and what God is like. And more than anyone else, Jesus shows us what human life can look like. That’s a Reader’s Digest take on the incarnation. Over the centuries, arguments about what the incarnation means and how it works have gotten quite nasty.

I’d be surprised if, during the prayer time today, any of you stood up and said, “I’d like to ask for prayers for me and my best friend. Our relationship is under a lot of stress because our passionate disagreement about the incarnation.” One of the reasons I’d be surprised is because I think pastors and theologians have done a good job turning the incarnation into an abstract, irrelevant fossil. A Christian writer has said, “The incarnation is one of the most powerful parts of my faith. But the church has turned it into something so disembodied and abstract that it floats above the human condition” (Parker Palmer).

No teaching that floats above the human condition can change lives. Or heal brokenness. Or bring joy to the world. A week before we celebrate again the birth of this baby whom the Christian church proclaims is fully God and fully human, I’d like to talk about the incarnation. Not because I want it to become a cause for tension among your family and friends. But because the incarnation lies at the heart of what Christmas means. And it has everything to do with changing lives, and healing brokenness, and bringing joy to the world.

The incarnation shouldn’t be an abstract idea because it started with Jesus. The idea that God would take human form as one who is fully human and fully divine wasn’t hatched by some priests who were bored one Sunday afternoon and had nothing better to do. The incarnation wasn’t created by pointy-headed pundits in some church tower. The idea of God taking human form didn’t come first.

Jesus came first. And it was the people whose lives Jesus changed, and the people Jesus healed, and the people whose worlds Jesus filled with such joy who came up with the idea of the incarnation (the concept of the incarnation as a “from below” theology comes from Stanley J. Grenz, Theology for the Community of God, Eerdmans Publishing Co, 1994, p. 310). Because in this person Jesus, they felt God fully present. In this person Jesus, they came to see the joy and fullness of being human.

Many of the people Jesus came across during his three years travelling through the Galilee were dying. Some were dying from illnesses. Most were dying a slower kind of death. They had a condition, or they had done something. And this had led their families and communities to throw them out. So many of the people who let Jesus into their lives were dying from being totally alone and totally cut off. Because in Jesus, day, being expelled from your community meant you had no identity and no source of support.

Others Jesus came across were stuck in blindness. They were blind to hope and joy and non-violence and second-chances. Jesus came as light that pierced the blindness.

What did Jesus do that led people to see him as Life and Light? Over and over again, Jesus restored isolated individuals to communities of loved ones (John Koenig, New Testament Hospitality, Fortress Press, 1985, p. 30). You know what it’s like to be expelled and excluded. And then to feel a community open their arms to you. And welcome you into belonging, into love, into being human again.

For three years, Jesus the Life-Light created ways for people to be restored to communities of life and light. For three years, Jesus the Life-Light called people to change their lives, healed their brokenness, and showed people they could be joy to the world.

Then everything came crashing down. Rome decided all this talk of changed lives and healing and joy and love of enemies was too dangerous. So in the year 30ad, Rome murdered this Life-Light. And Jesus’ followers scattered. They thought it was all over. They thought the only thing left for them was to go back to where they’d been before Jesus talked to them. Back to their slow dying. Back to blindly making their way through the world.

But then the impossible happened. Easter happened. God emptied the tomb of death. God emptied the tomb of Jesus’ body. And suddenly people who had walked beside Jesus before Rome murdered him felt him with them again. Jesus was alive. He was talking to them. He was walking beside them. And they told everyone of this miracle. This Jesus who had shown them what it was like to live like their Child-of-God selves was alive.

And then something even more outrageous happened. People who had never met Jesus while Jesus was a flesh-and-blood human began to feel him beside them. And hear him. People born long after his murder felt his arms around them. Felt his love. And heard his call to turn away from violence and love even those who hated and feared them. The Living, Risen Jesus began to drawn more and more people who were born long after Rome murdered him More and more people born long after Rome murdered him felt themselves drawn into the presence of the Life-Light.

These were the people who created the Gospel of John. People who’d never walked beside the flesh-and-blood Jesus. But people to whom this Living, Risen Jesus was so powerfully and personally present, they knew God was in him. They knew God was totally present in this Jesus. And they also knew there was no one who was more human.

So these early Christians had to try to figure out who this Jesus was. And all they could come up with was that he was both fully divine and fully human.

That’s how the idea of the incarnation came to be.

And that’s what the community that created the Gospel of John was celebrating when they sang this hymn of wonder and joy to the Life-Light who showed them another way.

The Word was first – the Word present to God, God present to the Word.
The Word was God, in readiness for God from day one.
Everything was created through him;
nothing—not one thing!—came into being without him.
What came into existence was Life, and the Life was Light to live by.
The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness; the darkness couldn’t put it out.
There once was a man, his name John, sent by God to point out the way to the Life-Light.
He came to show everyone where to look, who to believe in.
John was not himself the Light; he was there to show the way to the Light.
The Life-Light was the real thing: every person entering Life he brings into Light.
He was in the world, the world was there through him,
and yet the world didn’t even notice.
He came to his own people, but they didn’t want him.
But whoever did want him,
who believed he was who he claimed and would do what he said,
he made to be their true selves, their child-of-God selves.
These are the God-begotten,
not blood-begotten, not flesh-begotten, not sex-begotten.
The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.
We saw the glory with our own eyes,
the one-of-a-kind glory, like Father, like Son,
generous inside and out, true from start to finish.
(John 1.1-14, The Message Re-Mix © 2003 Eugene Peterson)

This Word made flesh and blood who moved into the neighborhood, this Life-Light who calls each of us to be our Child-of-God selves, is the one we make room for again this Christmas.

Look at your life. Look at the communities you’re part of. Look at your world. Where do you need to change your life? And where can you help someone make the changes they long to make. Where do you need some brokenness to be healed? And where can you heal some brokenness? Where do you need joy? And where can you be joy to someone’s world?
O come ye, O come ye, to Bethlehem (from the carol “O Come, All Ye Faithful”, which we sang earlier in worship).
Amen.

The Messiah Luke Celebrates

The Messiah Luke Celebrates

The Messiah Luke Celebrates: The Good News Who Shows Us the Way to True Peace
(Luke 2.8-14)
A meditation by Dave Shull
Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ
Sammamish, Washington
The Second Sunday of Advent – December 4, 2011

I’m spending these first two weeks of Advent looking at how the gospels of Matthew and Luke talk about the birth of Jesus. I’m drawing on the work of two Jesus scholars (Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The First Christmas, HarperOne, 2007) who say that the way Matthew and Luke tell the story of Jesus’ parents and Jesus’ birth shows us who they believed Jesus was.

Last week, we looked at the gospel of Matthew. We saw that the Messiah Matthew celebrates is the new Moses, coming to give the people a new law. We also saw that Matthew believed Jesus was Emmanuel – the Hebrew word that means God-with-us.

Today we look at how Luke tells the story of Jesus’ birth. And what that shows us about who Jesus Christ is for Luke.

Every time I hear the story of the angels coming to the shepherds to announce Jesus’ birth, I think of “A Charlie Brown Christmas”. And the amazing way Linus tells this story. It’s so simple. And innocent. Like it seems it’s supposed to sound.

But in first-century Palestine, in the Roman Empire, the story Luke tells is anything but simple and innocent. Luke’s story is political dynamite. Because the titles Luke gives to this baby are titles that can only be used for the Roman Emperor. The Empire could charge anyone who tells this story with treason. “A Charlie Brown Christmas” would have a little different feel to it if, as soon as Linus finishes telling the story of Jesus’ birth, some toga-clad security forces had burst into the school and hauled him off.

Listen for a word from God.

There were sheepherders camping in the neighborhood.
They had set night watches over their sheep. Suddenly, God's angel stood among them and God's glory blazed around them. They were terrified.
The angel said, "Don't be afraid. I'm here to announce a great and joyful event that is meant for everybody, worldwide: A Savior has just been born in David's town, a Savior who is Messiah and Master. This is what you're to look for: a baby wrapped in a blanket and lying in a manger."
At once the angel was joined by a huge angelic choir singing God's praises:
“Glory to God in the heavenly heights,
Peace to all men and women on earth who please him.”
(Luke 2.8-14, The Message Re-Mix © 2003 Eugene Peterson)

Luke couldn’t have chosen to write a story that was more in your face toward the Roman Empire. The Roman Emperor was the only one in the Empire who could be called Lord, Son of God, Bringer of Peace, and Savior of the World. But these are the same titles Luke uses in the story he writes about Jesus’ birth. And the same titles he uses in his gospel (Borg and Crossan, p. 57). So it’s clear Luke is telling the Emperor he’s got competition.

And it’s clear Luke is confronting those who are listening to his story with a stark choice. Which Lord, which Son of God, which Bringer of Peace, which Savior of the World are you going to follow? The throne isn’t big enough to hold both the Emperor and Jesus. So, Luke asks, for you, which is it going to be?

The stark contrast between the ways of the Empire and the ways of Jesus emerge most clearly when we look at one of the words in Luke’s story: peace. Of all the words in the story Michele just read, this might be the hardest for Jesus’ followers. I think this Advent it’s the hardest for me.

Empires and Jesus have very different ideas of how to bring peace. Empires and Jesus might both want peace. But how they get there is totally different. And that difference makes all the difference. Because we’re talking about ends and means. And what means we use to bring about an end we desire.

Like all empires, the Roman Empire had a clear sense of what peace was and how to bring it about. Peace came through the smart use of religion, war, and victory. When you can make religion, war, and victory work in your favor, you get peace (Borg and Crossan, p. 65).

It worked something like this: You ask the gods to bless you and your war effort, so you can try to convince yourselves and everyone else the gods are on your side. When you win, you get to define the terms for peace. You thank the gods again. Then when you decide you need to fight another war, the process starts all over again. For the Empire, “it was always about peace through victory, peace through war, peace through violence” (Borg and Crossan, p. 65). Nice and simple.

Then Jesus came along. A different kind of Bringer of Peace. He said the only way to create true peace is by doing what is just. He said the only way to true peace is through nonviolence (Borg and Crossan, p. 69). Peace through loving your enemy. Peace through doing to others what you would wish they did to you. Peace through forgiveness and mercy and making sure everyone has enough. That is how Jesus acts in Luke’s gospel. That is the Jesus the angel proclaims.

So the people who heard Luke’s angel proclaim this news of Jesus’ birth had to make a decision: which Savior will I follow? Whose vision of peace do I want to live for? And give my life for? For the people who heard Luke’s Christmas story at the end of the first century, it was a life and death decision. If they decided to follow the Savior Jesus, the Empire might kill them.

This Advent, we hear the angel’s words. And they call us to answer the same question. Which Savior will we follow? For we live in the 21^st-cenutry American Empire. In an Empire at war in Afghanistan. An Empire that’s fighting an open-ended, anything goes war on whatever the Empire defines as “terror”. So I hear the angel’s words. And I don’t know which Bringer of Peace I trust. I want to live the life Jesus lived … even if it takes me to dangerous places. I want to trust God like the Mahatma Gandhis and Martin Luther Kings I respect so much trusted God. People like this lived nonviolence. Not the nonviolence that gets equated with just letting your enemy do whatever they want to you. But the disciplined, practiced nonviolence that develops imaginative, shrewd ways to surprise our enemy with our creative resistance and our unyielding love. A big part of me knows violence can never bring true, lasting peace. Even if it seems to bring peace for a while.

And then I look at the world. And I know I could never tell someone they shouldn’t do whatever they feel like they need to to protect those they love. I look at people who seem to love to terrify others. Those who seem to have no conscience. And I wonder if nonviolence can ever help heal these people who, no matter what they do, are my sisters and brothers because they are children of God.

When it comes down to it, where to I put my trust? In this Risen, Living Jesus who says nonviolence is the only sure way to peace? Or do I trust the Empire … the Empire that has the guns and the drones and the money and the other trappings of power that our world recognizes and respects?

Where do I put my trust this Advent? Which Savior, which Bringer of Peace do you trust? What tensions, if any, do you feel around that?

I don’t think I’ll ever hear Linus read Luke’s words in the same way again.

The Messiah Matthew Celebrates

The Messiah Matthew Celebrates: The New Moses who is Emmanuel – God-With-Us
(Matthew 1.18-25)
A meditation by Dave Shull
Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ
Sammamish, Washington
The First Sunday of Advent – November 27, 2011

A week ago today, my three travelling companions and I were walking through the city of Kochi, in the state of Kerala, in southwest India, on the shores of the Arabian Sea. It was 85 degrees … and really, really sunny. Kerala has a remarkable history. Almost 3000 years ago, King Solomon used teak from Kerala to build the temple in Jerusalem. In the year 52, the disciple we know as “Doubting Thomas” arrived in Kerala. Thomas created Christian communities there long before Christianity came to the West. In the late 1400s, when the Spanish Inquisition reared its evil head, Kerala became a place that welcomed the Jews the Inquisition had targeted. At various times over the past 500 years, Kerala has come under the control of the Portuguese, the Dutch, and the British. Parts of Kerala have literacy and life expectancy rates higher than the United States.

Our tour guide in Kochi was named Marco. His relatives were among the Portuguese who controlled Kerala in the 1500s. There were lots of things our group wanted to see in Kochi. Like good tourists from the States, we kept looking at our watches, Anxious we were going to miss out on something. When we’d do that, Marco would just look at us and smile. More than once, he said, “If we keep chasing time, the only time we catch up to it is when we die. We should let time chase us.” Which was his poetic way of saying, “Stop worrying about what you might be missing out on. Let yourselves enjoy what’s right in front of you. Let yourselves experience what’s going on right now.”

Today we begin the Christian season of Advent. Advent is a Latin word that means “toward the coming”. In the midst of holiday schedules, these four weeks toward the coming of Christ’s birth call us to stop chasing time. And let ourselves experience Jesus Christ being born again, in front of us, inside us, right now.

Matthew and Luke are the only writers in the New Testament who tell stories about the birth of Jesus. The earliest New Testament writers, Paul and Mark, say nothing about his birth. Which means for the earliest followers of Jesus, how he was born didn’t matter. What mattered for these early followers of Jesus was to stop chasing time. And let themselves build a relationship with the Risen, Living Jesus Christ who was in front of them. Inside them. Right now. It was only after they had built a relationship with this Jesus, and realized how life with him had made them more compassionate and forgiving and just and peaceful, that they started to wonder, “How did such a one as this into being? How was this Jesus who is God in the flesh born?”

So Matthew and Luke began to tell stories of how this Jesus Christ came into being.

The stories they tell are very different. Which is something I love about the Bible. The people who put it together didn’t try to make everything agree. They could talk about the same event in lots of different ways. Maybe the Holy Spirit helped them see that the story of God coming to earth as a person was way too big just to tell in one way.

Matthew and Luke have different stories about Jesus’ birth because each of them had a unique relationship with the Risen, Living Jesus. How each of them talk about Jesus’ birth is shaped by who this Messiah Jesus was for them. Today I invite you to look at the way Matthew tells the story. Next week we’ll look at how Luke tells the story. I hope this will help us learn more about how these two writers experienced the Living Jesus Christ. And I hope the Spirit will break us open so we stop chasing time for at least a few moments this Advent. And meet Christ alive, in front of us, inside us, right now.

The Jesus Christ Matthew has a relationship with is the New Moses who is Emmanuel – God with us. Tradition calls the first speech Jesus gives in Matthew the Sermon on the Mount. But it really should be called “The New Law from the New Mountain” (Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The First Christmas, HarperOne, 2007, p. 44). Because what Jesus does in this sermon is take the 10 commandments Moses brought down from Mt. Sinai and radically re-interpret them. Because they had not formed the kind of community God wanted. The 10 commandments had not given birth to a just, joyful, nonviolent society. So Jesus, the new Moses, offered a new law from a new mountain. With the hope that this time it might be different.

In Matthew’s birth story, there are no shepherds. There’s no crowded inn. Matthew tells a story of Joseph and Mary that his audience would have immediately recognized as the story of Moses’ parents. To make this clear, Suzi will read this morning’s story from Matthew in three different parts.

The birth of Jesus took place like this. His mother, Mary, was engaged to be married to Joseph. Before they came to the marriage bed, Joseph discovered she was pregnant. (It was by the Holy Spirit, but he didn’t know that.) Joseph, chagrined but noble, determined to take care of things quietly so Mary wouldn’t be disgraced.

We can be excused for not hearing anything in this that reminds us of Moses. But the people listening to Matthew tell this story at the end of the first century would have recognized at once the similarities. Because in the first century everyone in the Near East was familiar with a set of Jewish writings about Moses and his parents.

Moses’ father was Amram. His mother was Jochebed are the parents of Moses. Listen for anything this story has in common with what Suzi just read.

When the Israelites heard the command of Pharaoh to cast their male children into the river,…many of God’s people separated from their wives, as did Amram from his wife.

Dangerous pregnancies, and a separation, a leaving, between the man and the woman.

Let’s look at the second part of the story of Jesus as the new Moses.

While he was trying to figure a way out, he had a dream. God’s angel spoke in the dream: “Joseph, son of David, don’t hesitate to get married. Mary’s pregnancy is Spirit-conceived. God’s Holy Spirit has made her pregnant. She will bring a son to birth, and when she does, you, Joseph, will name him Jesus – ‘God saves’ – because he will save people from their sins.” This would bring the prophet’s embryonic sermon to full term:
Watch for this – a virgin will get pregnant and bear a son.
They will name him Immanuel (Hebrew for “God is with us”).

Now from the legend of Moses:

After the lapse of three years the Spirit of God came upon Miriam, so that she went forth and prophesied in the house, saying, “Behold, a son shall be born to my mother and father, and he shall rescue the Israelites from the hands of the Egyptians.”
An angel/spirit comes to Miriam. Miriam is the sister of Moses. Miriam is Hebrew for Mary. And the angel/spirit predicts that this child who is going to be born will save and rescue people from some form of bondage.

How does Matthew conclude this part of the story?

Then Joseph woke up. He did exactly what God’s angel commanded in the dream. He married Mary. But he did not consummate the marriage until she had the baby. He named the baby Jesus (Matthew 1.18-24, The Message ReMix © 2003 Eugene Peterson).

Here’s how the legend of Moses ends.

When Amram heard his young daughter’s prophecy he took back his wife, from whom he had separated in consequence of Pharaoh’s decree to destroy all the male line of the house of Jacob. After three years of separation he went to her and she conceived. When Moses was born, the whole house was at that moment filled with a great light, as the light of the sun and the moon in their splendor.

Just like Joseph, Moses’ father hears a supernatural call to return to his wife. An extraordinary child is conceived. And when the child is born, the heavens respond with uncommon light (this section around the legend of Moses comes from Borg and Crossan, pp. 109-110). Just like the star that guided the magi to the Jesus in Bethlehem.

Matthew sees the Messiah Jesus as the New Moses. Offering a new law from a new mountain. A new law grounded in humility, compassion, nonviolence. A new law that called for profound forgiveness and unyielding commitment.

And Matthew’s relationship with the Risen, Living Christ told Matthew Jesus is Emmanuel. For Matthew, Jesus is God-with-us. Just as Moses stayed with the Hebrew people in spite of their rebelliousness and their rejection of God’s ways, Matthew experiences the new Moses staying with those who seek to follow him. In spite of their rebelliousness and rejection, the Risen One stays with those who seek to follow him. So Matthew makes Jesus as God-with-us bookends for his Gospel. As Suzi read, he begins with the birth story that says Jesus is the child Isaiah prophesied about who would be called God with us. And the last words in this book are the words of the Living, Risen Jesus … those words of life … his promise, “Lo, I will be with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matthew 28.20).

I don’t want this message to be misunderstood. Some people might hear me talk about how Matthew created this birth story from his relationship with the Risen, Living Jesus and say, “Why should I believe something he just made up?”

But doing that totally misses the point. Matthew has created a story which proclaims who Jesus is and what Jesus means for us. There is nothing that could be more true. Matthew knew Jesus as a living, active, calling present. This Jesus was trying to lead his followers to the hardest kind of freedom. A freedom where we love our enemies and where we refuse to surrender to the corrosive power of fear. No one knows exactly how Jesus was conceived or what happened when he was born. And I don’t think that matters. What matters is that Matthew and Luke have given us powerful, life-changing stories of Jesus’ birth that grow out of their relationships with the Living, Risen Jesus Christ. So I believe Matthew. I believe it is true that Jesus is the New Moses. I believe it is true Jesus is Emmanuel, God with us.

As I said at the beginning of this message, what I love about the Bible is that it doesn’t try to tell only one story of God-with-us. The story of God-with-us is way too big to force into one story. God is way too big for any group or any religion to try to take possession of.

Last Sunday, when we were in Kerala, I read this story:

Hindus recall how the god Krishna came to earth as a herder of cows. He used to beckon milkmaids to the forest in the middle of the night to dance the great circle dance. They came, risking everything and Krishna miraculously multiplied himself to dance with each and every one of them. There was plenty of Krishna to go around, an abundance of Krishna’s presence. But the moment the milkmaids became possessive, each thinking that Krishna was dancing with her alone, Krishna disappeared. Krishna’s hide-and-seek in the world enabled the milkmaids to recognize that God was not theirs.

The point is one that speaks to us all. The moment we human beings grasp God with jealousy and possessiveness, we lose hold of God
(Diana Eck, Encountering God, Beacon Press, 1993, pp. 46-7).

Be A Sheep

Be a Sheep
(Matthew 25:31-46)
A reflection by Gloria Rose Koepping
Spirit of Peace, United Church of Christ
Sammamish, Washington
November 20^th, 2011

^31-33"When he finally arrives, blazing in beauty and all his angels with him, the Son of Man will take his place on his glorious throne. Then all the nations will be arranged before him and he will sort the people out, much as a shepherd sorts out sheep and goats, putting sheep to his right and goats to his left.

^34-36"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what's coming to you in this kingdom. It's been ready for you since the world's foundation. And here's why:
   I was hungry and you fed me,
   I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
   I was homeless and you gave me a room,
   I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
   I was sick and you stopped to visit,
   I was in prison and you came to me.'

^37-40"Then those 'sheep' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?' Then the King will say, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.'

^41-43"Then he will turn to the 'goats,' the ones on his left, and say, 'Get out, worthless goats! You're good for nothing but the fires of hell. And why? Because—
   I was hungry and you gave me no meal,
   I was thirsty and you gave me no drink,
   I was homeless and you gave me no bed,
   I was shivering and you gave me no clothes,
   Sick and in prison, and you never visited.'

⁴⁴"Then those 'goats' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry or thirsty or homeless or shivering or sick or in prison and didn't help?'

⁴⁵"He will answer them, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me—you failed to do it to me.'

⁴⁶"Then those 'goats' will be herded to their eternal doom, but the 'sheep' to their eternal reward."
The Message, Matthew 25:31-46

Today’s reading uses the metaphor of a Sheppard herding goats and sheep to suggest how followers of Jesus will be viewed on Judgment Day. It then goes on to spell out what kind of behaviors we ought to emulate in order to make the cut.

When I read anything, I usually approach it as a giant projective, looking for the special message that is intended for me alone, that reflects my psychological or spiritual need of the moment. Today’s gospel I view through the lens of my old Rorschach professor and the nuns from my early elementary school days at St. Philomena’s, my faith community of origin.

Dr. Tom Shill had a buzz cut straight from the 1950’s, even though it was 1980. His hair looked frozen in time. He was one of my favorite instructors in grad school because he taught me to keep looking for multiple levels of meaning in even the simplest things. Instead of being focused on sex and death, as you might expect from a good Freudian, he was always focused on the quality of relationships people had in their lives and what they were doing with that life.

About this bible passage, I can imagine Dr. Shill, complete with his interpreting a Rorschach voice, saying, “So, Sheep… What might THAT mean? What are sheep like? Soft wool, not aggressive, easily led- compliant, will eat extra grass, helpful that way. Now , Goats… What are THEY like? Furry, aggressive, stubborn, will eat just about anything in their way. Plus they have a beard and look a little demonic, wouldn’t you say? Which one do you think is a more healthier percept or image? It depends. It depends on what the animals are doing, what actions are they involved in with each other and themselves. Look carefully; pay as much attention to what the animal is doing as to what it is not doing. Therein, lies your answer.”

Dr. Shill might go on, saying, “Now those sheep, are they REALLY sheep? How do we know? Or do they just LOOK like sheep? Have they disguised themselves in some way? Hidden something? Is that why you NEED a Sheppard to tell them apart? Can the sheep tell who is a goat and who is a sheep? Why is it important to tell the goats from the sheep? Think about what this might mean.….Maybe you do need that Sheppard! He must have something special that other people don’t have if he can see clearly who is really a goat and who is really a sheep.”

“NOW, how does the story end? What happens to the sheep? What fate will befall the goats? It sounds like it depends on whether the animals pay attention to what their neighbors need and notice their plight. How many good works will keep them from the fires of hell? It isn’t exactly clear. If you believe the Sheppard is merciful, even one might be enough. But why TEMPT the Sheppard? It might be prudent to establish a pattern of behavior that promises an eternal reward.”

I can also hear the nuns from St. Philomena’s, in a different way, chiding us to dig deeper into this scripture, looking to see it as more than a list of directives or works of mercy. Sister Francis Julie would say that this Bible passage was very important in the early Christian times, but still has meaning today, although that meaning might have changed some over time. “I don’t want to hear just the obvious answers,” she’d say, “give me something original!”

“So when people are hungry, you should give them food. What does that mean? Yes, it means we should give food to the food bank or to the missions that feed people overseas. In the past, 2000 years ago, giving someone food might have been a life or death gift. We don’t always look at it that way today. But there are people today that need our food to have a better quality of life. Today this passage might also mean that we invite a friend over for lunch and feed them, it might mean we grow food in our pea patch for the food bank, it might mean we bring food to church for snacks or a potluck. It might mean that we bake cupcakes for people who might otherwise not have any. It might even mean we give people what they are hungry for, even if it isn’t food. Sometimes a visit, a short conversation, a card in the mail is what people are hungry for. “ Sister Mary Paul would say, “Never miss an opportunity to do a small kindness. That’s the way you can tell if you are being more sheep-like than goat-like. Now look for those opportunities! “

I suppose the same thing goes for being thirsty. Share that bottle of wine, lemonade, or Martinelli’s cider with a friend. When you walk with your walking buddy, be the one to bring the cold water. My daughter Juliana suggested you might get “extra points for sustainability if you bring it in a multiple use container.” Maybe God doesn’t operate on the point system, but I’m sure you’ll get credit just the same. Donating blood or platelets might fit in this category. Trying to be creative with this verse makes me think music also belongs here. Share your songs. Not just on your iPod, but your voice at church or camp or out and about. When you find a song that inspires you, share it with a friend. Hum a little more. I think people are thirsty for music, for art, for something that touches their spirit.

Giving the homeless a bed is more difficult. I say that because I see so much homelessness and it seems harder to solve. It’s not so easy or safe to invite strangers into our homes and give them beds. It is easier to give money to homeless shelters, or if we see someone in need to direct them towards a shelter, than to take them in ourselves. Surely, many of us have opened our home to host friends, family, visitors or exchange students over time. But those strangers, how are we to bring them in? Here the conversation or solution is a bigger one. Maybe if we buy local, we can help others support their family. Maybe this means that we buy fair trade goods from other countries so that people have money to put a roof over their own head. Maybe that is one way we can share what we have.

Giving people clothes seems to be less of a problem. I have gratefully received hand me downs and I gladly give them away when we outgrow what we have that is still good. Our church has given away backpacks to school kids, and socks, warm hats, and coats to Hero’s for the Homeless. Giving new parents baby clothes is also a social and spiritual work. Think about the many ways that clothes pass through your hands. You buy something for yourself and then notice that it might look better on someone else so you give it to them. You buy a warm coat for your child. It’s all good. (Here, I am also wondering if God would consider earrings as clothes in some fashion. I love to wear earrings and I love to give them to others.) Perhaps.

Visiting the sick and those in prison might be harder for some of us. If you visit someone sick, you might get sick too. It might be scary to do this. Maybe you are also sick, so it might be more of a gift to stay home and send a card. Or drop off chicken soup on their porch, ring the doorbell, and run. Whatever food or companionship you bring, or errands you do for those that are sick is surely a good deed. Taking folks to doctor visits, or the ER, or picking up their medication, also count.

When I think of prisons, it is harder for me. I am not fond of the idea of visiting someone in prison. I want to be practical and safe about my choices and still be able to visit someone. When I was a teenager, I went with my church choir, to sing at the state penitentiary, it was too scary and I have not been back. Maybe someday I will find a way to go there again. I have a colleague who goes to the women’s prison at Purdy to teach meditation once a month. That’s a great community service. These days I usually interpret this part of the passage as meaning the prisons or constraints that people live within, that don’t have bars. When I see someone who is so controlled or stiff about something that they have limited choices, I try to see it as their prison and wonder some about how I can still “visit” them there. I don’t have to fix them, but I can be with them, talk to them, listen to them, even if they are seeing the world differently than I do.

I’d like to think this whole passage in Matthew is like a menu. Do what fits for you. There are plenty of choices and I don’t think you have to do them all. I do believe you need to do what you can to bring more kindness into the world, especially to those that have less kindness in their everyday lives than you do. (I’m sure that’s what my old religion teacher, Sr. Mary Paul would urge us to do.)

So go ahead, be a sheep, be a kind and helpful sheep. Do it because it’s the right thing to do, do it because it feels good, but also do it so the Sheppard can easily pick you out of the herd at the end of the day.