What are You Expecting?

(Genesis 1.1-3 and John 1.1-3a)

A sermon preached by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

The First Sunday of Advent: November 29, 2009

My cousin and his wife are expecting. One of the ways they’re living into this time of expectation is looking through books of baby names. I don’t usually expect people to respond to name suggestions with howls of laughter. But howls of laughter are what I heard when they read:

Everyone I know with an unusual name loves it. It’s only the losers named Dave

that think having an unusual name is bad, and who cares what they think. They’re named Dave. (spoken by Penn Jillette, father of Moxie CrimeFighter and Zolten)

Peter’s and my surrogate son, Pedro, is expecting. Before Christmas, the Department of Homeland Security should let him know if they’re going to approve his request for political asylum and let him stay in this country. One of the ways Pedro’s living into this time of expectation is by talking, laughing, and singing with a vigor and volume he hasn’t shown up to now.

As we gather on this first Sunday of Advent, different people are expecting different things. Advent means to come. Come Christmas Eve, it’s not like Christians are expecting Jesus to come into the world again as a baby as he did around 6 B.C. That’s not going to happen.

But what could we expect to happen between now and Christmas Day?

As that candle of hope burns this morning, what hope burns in you? What are you expecting? What might bring to birth whatever it is you’re expecting?

I’ve talked before about my spiritual director Sheila. The motorcycle-riding ex-nun who keeps finding me when I try to hide behind my reasonable faith that doesn’t get me anywhere. Once, after I’d said something I’m sure was quite reasonable, Sheila said, “Dave, you don’t expect enough from God.”

Do you expect anything this Advent? Do you expect enough…or anything…from God?

I’m not blaming First Presbyterian Church of Wooster, Ohio, or Yale Divinity School, or anyplace else when I say that nobody taught me to expect things from God. People taught me God expected things from me. I know people encouraged me to pray. But I don’t know how much they or I expected God to answer those prayers. I don’t recall people telling me to expect things from God. Even as they and I talked about God’s love, I don’t know how much I felt that love for me. Or how much I believed that that love was a power I could rely on. Or be comforted by. Or expect things from.

This may sound like a joke, or sound sarcastic, but it’s not: I wish someone would have taught me what the Trinity was all about. Because I think that would have helped me believe God wants to be close to me. It would have helped me feel like God wants to love me. And help me ask God for what I need. And help me expect God to respond – because God enjoys giving us what we pray for.

The Trinity says God is not some solitary, self-sufficient, go-it-alone Super Hero who either keeps a distance from us or is the puppeteer of the world. The Trinity says the only way we can talk about God is by attaching words to God like with, for, in. The Trinity says the only way we can talk about God is by saying things like God reaching out to, God moving toward, God drawing in, God walking beside, God listening to, God loving fiercely.

People who don’t like the idea of the Trinity say it’s not in the Bible. And it’s true the word isn’t in the Bible. But if we look at the first three verses of the Bible, and the first three verses of John’s Gospel, we find the idea behind the Trinity is right there.

Listen for a word from God.

First this: God created the Heavens and Earth – all you see, all you don’t see….God’s Spirit brooded like a bird above the watery abyss. God spoke: “Light!” And light appeared (Genesis 1.1-3, The Message).

In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God. And the Word was

God. The Word was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him, not one thing came into being (John 1.1-3a, New Revised Standard Version).

In your bulletin, there’s a sung version of these words from John. Let us read them

together. And then the choir will sing them.

Before the world began, one Word was there; grounded in God he was, rooted in care;

by him all things were made, in him was love displayed,

through him, God spoke, and said, “I am for you”

(John Bell, “I Am For You” © 1987 Wild Goose Publications).

Right from the start of the Bible, we’ve got God. And we’ve got God’s Spirit brooding over creation. We’ve got God speaking. The Hebrew word for God’s speech is the Greek word logos. And logos is the word John uses when he says, In the beginning was the Word. But this capital “W” Word isn’t just any old word. The Hebrew word for God speaking, and the Greek word logos, is refers to the way the invisible God becomes visible. It’s how we see the God who can’t be seen. When God was leading the Hebrew people through the wilderness with a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night: that was God speaking; that was this logos.

And the early Christians discovered something amazing. When they looked at Jesus Christ, and when they felt the presence of the Risen Christ after Easter, they knew they were seeing and feeling God. Jesus Christ made God visible. So Jesus was this Word of God, this power that made the invisible God visible. Which means when God speaks, “Light!”, God was speaking a thing. God was speaking a person. God was speaking this logos. God spoke, and the Logos, the Word that is God did something to make God visible. Like bring forth light…and trees…and each other.

What the Christian belief about the Trinity says is that we see God in Jesus Christ because the Holy Spirit opens our eyes and ears and hearts to see God in Jesus Christ. The Holy Spirit opens us to see God in the person of Jesus Christ. We can’t just talk about God as if God is a solitary, isolated being. In traditional Christian language, God is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Unfortunately, many Christians believe God is actually a male. And on that basis of that “fact”, they restrict the rights and dignity of women. I wish there were a good way to talk about the Trinity without using exclusively male language. Some try to use, Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. But that reduces the Trinity to functions: One part of the Trinity creates. Another part saves. And another part is like our breath, keeping us alive. But each person of the Trinity has the powers of the others. Using “Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer” loses any sense of God as a dynamic being in relationship and in community.

One way to try to make the language of the Trinity less male is to draw on the fact that the Hebrew word for Spirit is a feminine noun. I’m not sure how we’d talk about a feminine Spirit. But I think we need to keep working at that. Because I think we need to hold on to that language of relationship that “Father” and “Son” imply. The Trinity is about relationship or it’s nothing. The doctrine of the Trinity says these three persons of God look on each other with love and tenderness. The doctrine of the Trinity says the unseeable God is present in the Word, Jesus Christ. We see God in Jesus Christ because the power of the Holy Spirit lets us recognize Jesus Christ as the Word of God. As the one who makes God visible in the world. And the power that lets us see God in the Word Jesus Christ is the Holy Spirit. The Spirit opens our eyes to see God and to connect to God as we see and connect with the Word Jesus Christ. They are always working together. You can’t separate these three persons who are God.

So all of the work of the Trinity is about building relationships. At the very heart of God is this dynamic of Father-Son-Holy Spirit. The most famous icon of the Trinity has three angelic-looking beings. Interestingly they do not have a clear gender. They sit in a circle. They look into each other’s faces with love. They are together. This is the God Christians worship. This is the God in whose name we are baptized. The God who calls us Beloved. The God we pray to and who prays through us.

It is the God of prepositions and participles. The God with, the God for, the God in, the God reaching out, drawing close, walking with, forgiving, loving, healing, calling. Always in relationship. Always in community. Always opening our eyes and hearts wider and wider. So God can draws us into Her circle. Where Father, Son, and Spirit sit. And dance. And feast. And draw in, draw in, draw in….they draw in this world in love. Because this God of the Trinity can do nothing else. For this God of the Trinity is a God whose truest truth is sharing love. The Father, Son, and Spirit share love with one another. They draw all of creation into their circle of love. Love is the truth of the God of the Trinity. We cannot talk about this God without talking about the love that creates and nurtures the community God shares among God’s self. And with creation.

Which gets us back to what Sheila told me. “Dave, you don’t expect enough from God.”

If the God I say I believe in is the God of the Trinity…if the Jesus I walk with is the member of the Trinity who lets me see God, and who loves me with God’s love and shows me how to live in God’s way…why don’t I expect things from God? If last Friday night’s stunning sunset, and the love you share with me, and the passion of all true peacemakers are ways this God-in-community reaches out to help us heal and forgive and deepen our bonds with one another…then why don’t I expect more from this God? Because clearly this God works miracles.

Drawing us into Her circle…filling us to bursting with a love we have to share there’s so much of it…filling us to bursting with a love that will to sour if we try to keep it to ourselves…this God cries out, It’s Advent…What are you expecting?

Showing the World Another Way of Doing Life, Part 4: We Refuse to Hate

(Matthew 5.43-49 and Luke 23.33-34)

A sermon preached by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

The 34^th Sunday in Ordinary Time: November 22, 2009

When I finished this sermon, I thought to myself, If I were sitting where you’re sitting, this might be the kind of sermon I’d dismiss. It’s based on two of the most impossible-to-follow statements Jesus ever made. And if I were sitting where you’re sitting, and heard this sermon, I might think, That might have worked for Jesus in the world he lived in. But when I look at my life, and when I look at how the world works, this doesn’t work.

Listen for a word from God.

Matthew 5.43-48

Jesus continued speaking to those gathered on the hillside above the Sea of Galilee:

“You’re familiar with the old written law, ‘Love your friend,’

and its unwritten companion, ‘Hate your enemy.’

I’m challenging that.

I’m telling you to love your enemies.

Let them bring out the best in you, not the worst.

When someone gives you a hard time, respond with the energies of prayer,

for then you are working out of your true selves, your God-created selves.

This is what God does.

God sends the sun to warm and the rain to nourish to everyone, regardless:

the good and bad, the nice and nasty.

If all you do is love the lovable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that.

If you simply say hello to those who greet you, do you expect a medal?

Any run-of-the-mill sinner does that.

“In a word, what I’m saying is, Grow up.

You’re kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity.

Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you.”

Luke 23.33-34

When everyone got to the place called Skull Hill, they crucified Jesus,

along with the criminals, one on his right, the other on his left.

Jesus prayed, “Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they are doing.”

(adapted from Eugene Peterson, The Message)

On October 2, 2006, a 32-year-old father walked into an Amish schoolhouse in Lancaster County Pennsylvania. After having the teacher, visiting parents, and the male students leave, Charles Roberts IV shot the ten girl students. Then he shot and killed himself. A note he left for his wife talked about their daughter Elise. Fourteen years earlier, Elise had been born prematurely. She lived for only 20 minutes. But her death lived still inside her father. Seeing living, happy girls drove him only to a deeper darkness about the fact that Elise was not alive. In his note, Carl Roberts said to his wife,

I am not worthy of you….I am filled with so much hate, hate toward myself, hate towards God, and unimaginable emptiness it seems like every time we do something fun I think about how Elise wasn’t there to share it with us and I go right back to anger (Jonas Beiler with Shawn Smucker, Think No Evil: Inside the Story of the Amish Schoolhouse Shooting…and Beyond. Howard Books, 2009, p. 41).

Any school shooting makes news. But a CBS report the day of the shootings shows what made this school shooting different:

In just about any other community, a deadly school shooting would have brought demands from civil leaders for tighter gun laws and better security, and the victims’ loved ones would have lashed out at the gunman’s family or threatened to sue.

But that’s not the Amish way.

As they struggle with the slayings of five of their children in a one-room schoolhouse, the Amish in this Lancaster County village are turning the other cheek, urging forgiveness of the killer….‘The hurt is very great…But they don’t balance the hurt with hate.’

In the aftermath of Monday’s violence, the Amish are looking inward, relying on themselves and their faith, just as they have for centuries….

‘The Amish neighbor of Carol Roberts and his family came by the house,… and offered forgiveness to the family…. A man whose three grandnephews were inside the school said, ‘I hope [the Roberts family] stays around here and they’ll have a lot of friends and a lot of support’ (Beiler and Smucker, p. 117).

A man stood next to the body of his 13-year-old granddaughter. Her siblings and cousins were also there. Though it was only one day after the shootings, this grieving grandfather told these young people, “We must not think evil of this man.” Not only did these grieving, stunned Amish refuse to hate. Not only did they reach out to the shooter’s grieved, stunned wife and children. These Amish were determined to make sure their children did not get caught up in the cycle of hate and retribution (p. 119).

Two weeks after the shooting, 100 people from Nickel Mines gathered. All of the families of the schoolchildren were there. And so were Charles Roberts’ wife, her parents, and his parents. They first spoke. They apologized for what Charles had done. And they shared their grief in the loss of Charles.

Then the families spoke.

“How are your children?” they asked Charles’ wife.

“How are you?” they asked her again.

And each of the families echoed the same sentiment time and time again: “We don’t hold you responsible in any way for what your husband did. We don’t think your husband is a bad man – he was just confused and hurt and troubled.”

One of the Amish men who had lost a daughter stood to speak…. “I knew who you were before,” the Amish man said slowly, with tears in his eyes, “and I always recognized your husband. But I never really knew you or your family. I want to welcome you and your family to come to my home any time that you would like. I hope this will start a firm friendship between our families.” And the rest of the crowd quietly agreed. Just two weeks after their worlds were shattered, these people committed themselves to becoming better people and better neighbors to one another in the future (pp. 166-7).

The millions of people who listened to this story of the forgiving Amish kept asking themselves, “How? How can they not hate? How can they not want revenge? And justice?”

The Amish would tell you, “We didn’t just decide to forgive. The Amish have been practicing forgiveness for 500 years. And for 500 years we’ve been trying to pass it down to our kids. Not just by talking about it. But by how we live.”

From the time they gathered in Switzerland in 1525, the religious ancestors of the Amish were persecuted. The state church demanded Christians perform infant baptisms. The Amish believed the person being baptized had to choose freely to follow Jesus. So, even though they’d been baptized as children, they performed a second baptism on believers. That’s why they were called Anabaptists. Second baptism. The state arrested, tortured, and killed these Anabaptists unless they were willing to turn against their faith. Early on the Anabaptists decided that their response to this very real persecution would be nonviolent, even passive, favoring the rewards of eternity instead of the temporary, worldly ways of self-defense and vengeance (p. 157). Our impossible-to-follow teachings of Jesus for this

morning – love your enemies and forgive those who do you harm – are two texts that shaped this non-violent, forgiving lifestyle the Anabaptists adopted and taught to their children and grandchildren.

Another way they passed on this way of living was through a 1000-page book called Martyrs Mirror. This book tells the story of their religious ancestors who tried to put these clear, hard words of Jesus into practice. By loving their enemies. By forgiving.

One of the most well-known stories from Martyrs Mirror is that of Dirk Willems. In 1569, he found himself being hunted down by the local authorities for being an Anabaptist. If they caught him, they would give him two choices: renounce his faith in the second baptism or be put to death.

They discovered his whereabouts and sent a “thief catcher” after him. He successfully crossed a river than had a very thin layer of ice. Looking back, he saw the thief catcher break through the ice and flounder in the frigid current. Though his escape was now virtually guaranteed, Dirk couldn’t let the man die. He ran back across the thin ice and rescued him. Instead of rewarding his rescuer by letting him go, the thief catcher turned him into the authorities, who eventually tortured Willems and burned him at the stake.

When Amish parents reads this story to their kids, they are “teaching them how to respond to those who treat them unfairly. And [they are] reminding them that even if a troubled man walks into a humble schoolhouse and kills one of [their] daughters, [they] can draw from the same rich reservoir of forgiveness that led Dirk Willems to show mercy to his own executioner” (p. 178).

What if we tried to take seriously Jesus’ teachings to love our enemies and forgive those who harm us? What if we decided to be a place where our children and grandchildren and nieces and cousins and friends saw us trying to follow this impossible way of Jesus? This commitment to refuse to hate. To release ourselves from anger, resentment, hate, or the urge for revenge despite the injury we suffered. To let go of hope for a different past (p. 178).

A man who was raised Amish and wrote a book about the Nickel Mines school shootings ends the book this way:

I often think about my own life, and what it means to forgive. I wonder if sometimes, when someone wrongs me, I hold on to that pain, almost as a monument to remind me how much they hurt me. Do I sometimes secretly enjoy those reminders, allowing myself the freedom to look occasionally on them and remember how that person was so wrong to do me that harm? The Amish were wise enough to tear down [the school where the shootings took place so it would not become] a “monument” that would remind them, every time they passed it, of thee pain dealt them by one man. Am I willing to dismantle those things that have caused me bitterness and pain?

What about you? Remember what the Amish said when they were asked how we should represent them to the press. All they wanted was to see this tragedy point people to Christ. Have you let the hurts you have experienced at the hands of others keep you from enjoying the abundant life God intends for you?

[Y]ou really do have a choice when it comes to forgiveness. You can wear your old hurts like a badge of honor, dragging yourself and others into the vortex of bitterness and anger. Or you can take the high road, the wise road, and, like the Amish, tear down those old strongholds, rake thee soil free of the debris that reminds you of your pain, and plant new seeds of friendship and grace. It won’t be easy. And it will take time. But if you let the new grass grow in your life, who knows?

Maybe your children and your grandchildren and even their children will follow your example.

It has happened before. (pp. 207-8).

Amen.

Showing the World Another Way of Doing Life, Part 3: We Don’t Talk about Forgiveness without Admitting our Desire for Revenge

(Luke 22.39-51)

A sermon preached by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

The 33^rd Sunday in Ordinary Time: November 15, 2009

“If you ask the average person to tell you what Christians believe, they can do that. If you ask the average person how Christians live, they are struck silent. We Christians haven’t done a very good job showing the world another way of doing life.”

These haunting words of Shane Claiborne led to this four-part sermon series on how we can show the world another way of doing life. Two weeks ago I said Christians live like we know there’s more-than-enough. Last week I said Christians let go of what we cling to, even if it’s what gives us security or meaning or what keeps me able to live our lives in the balcony. We let go of what we cling to so we can jump into the fray, where Jesus stands by us as we pick up the cross and walk with him on the way he calls us.

This morning we look at another way we’re called to show the world another way of doing life. Listen for a word from God.

As he often did when he needed time for prayer, Jesus went to Mount Olives. The disciples followed him….Jesus pulled away from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, “Abba God, remove this cup from me. But please, not what I want. What do you want?” At once an angel from heaven was at his side, strengthening him. He prayed on all the harder. Sweat, wrung from him like drops of blood, poured off his face.

He got up from prayer, went back to the disciples and found them asleep, drugged by grief. He said, “What business do you have sleeping? Get up. Pray so you won’t give in to temptation.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a crowd showed up. Judas, the one from the Twelve, in the lead. He came right up to Jesus to kiss him. Jesus said, “Judas, you would betray the Chosen One with a kiss?”

When those with him saw what was happening, they said, “Rabbi, should we strike them with our swords?” One of them took a swing at the Chief Priest’s servant and cut off his right ear. Jesus said, “Stop! No more of this!” Then Jesus touched the servant’s ear and healed it (Luke 22.39-51; adapted from The Message © 1993-96, 2001-03, Zondervan).

Up until Wednesday, I was all set to preach a sermon about forgiveness. About how Christians are supposed to forgive, even though it’s often very hard to do. I’ve heard lots of those kinds of sermons. And maybe you have to. And I’ve given more than a couple of them. And then I came across this book, Beyond Revenge: The Evolution of the Forgiveness Instinct (Michael McCullough, Jossey-Bass, 2008). This book tells me what I don’t want to hear. Like to be human is to want revenge. The desire for revenge is not a sickness that can be cured. It’s as deeply a part of being human as the desire to forgive. There are some ways to increase the desire to forgive. And some ways to reduce the likelihood people will be vengeful. But the desire for revenge is very real within us Christians, because it’s very real in all humans. So we can’t talk about forgiveness without talking about the desire for revenge.

I’ve never heard a sermon about the human desire for revenge. And I’ve certainly never preached one. But maybe one of the ways we can show the world another way of doing life is by making this a place where we can talk about things like our desire for revenge. We don’t have to come in wearing our “everything’s fine with me and I’m really ready to forgive everyone” face. We come in as we are. And we feel free to talk about whatever is going on with us – even those things we feel ashamed or embarrassed about. Even those things we don’t think Christians should feel.

Mark Twain said, Mark Twain once wrote, “Revenge is wicked, & unchristian & in every way unbecoming….(But it is powerful sweet, anyway).” (Private letter, Dec. 27, 1869). Michael McCullough writes,

“A 21^st century paraphrase might read, ‘Revenge pays neurochemical dividends.’ People who have been harmed by another person are goaded into revenge by a brain system that hands them a promissory note certifying that revenge, when it comes, will make develop a plan for obtaining revenge. When avengers actually see their transgressors experiencing the pain they’ve planned for them, they get the pleasurable jolt that the seeking system had promised. A hard truth of human nature is that it’s often pleasant to watch our enemies suffer, and it’s a pleasure that we’ll sometimes go to great lengths to acquire. Natural selection’s logic here seems pretty easy to comprehend: by paying us back with pleasure, our brains ensure that we’ll go to the trouble of seeking the social advantages that come from returning harm for harm. Injustice, modern neuroscience tells us, can make sadists of us all (p. 46).

If the desire for revenge is part of being human, then it’s something our evolutionary ancestors experienced as valuable for their survival. How did the desire for revenge help assure them that they’d have lots of grandchildren…and so would thrive as a species? Michael McCullough gives three suggestions.

Say you hurt me or someone who is a member of my family or group. I strike back. That might keep you from acting aggressively toward me again.

Or say that you have seen me take revenge on someone else who hurts me. That might deter you from even thinking about doing anything to me or to someone who’s part of my group.

Both of these deal with defending ones honor. Our evolutionary ancestors who make their living herding livestock were willing to take revenge in order to preserve their honor because they knew if they lost their honor they likely would die. You make a living herding sheep or goats or cattle. I don’t think you’ll do anything to me if I steal your herd. Or someone steals a few of your animals, and you don’t do anything to punish that person. You lose honor in my sight. If I want to expand my herd, then I might just go ahead and do that. And then you’re left with no livelihood. You and your family might die. So you have to be willing to take revenge against me if you hope to survive. If I’m a farmer and you don’t honor me as much, it’s not like you can sneak into my field at night and steal all my barley crop. For the herder to be viewed as willing to take revenge was much more a matter of life-and-death than for the farmer.

The third way the desire for revenge may have been something that helped our ancestors survive has to do with people who don’t do their fair share. We depend on each other for our survival. And say one of us refuses to do our part. Instead of gathering berries for all of us to put in the common pot, I keep back half of what I collect for my immediate family. Since my selfishness threatens the survival of the whole group, they take revenge out on me. In the hope that the next time I will act on behalf of the common good (p. 49).

How deeply this desire for revenge as a survival mechanism is a part of us is suggested by a study done 10 years ago. Researchers wanted to know why white men in the American South have higher levels of gun violence than white men in the North. And they connected it to where in Europe people’s ancestors came from. The Europeans who settled in the American South came from Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. They and their ancestors had made their living as herders. So a couple of centuries later, they still carried this herder honor mentality with them. They felt like any threat to their honor threatened their survival. And if someone witnessed an attack on their honor, the brains of these white Southern men secreted hormones that are tied to stress, dominance, and aggression. They were sure the witness thought they were less manly, courageous, and tough.

Northern men didn’t think the witness thought any less of them. Their brains didn’t secret these hormones. What was different? Most of the Europeans who settled in the north came England, Germany, and Holland. These Europeans were farmers. They weren’t as obsessed with the need to protect their honor by keeping others afraid of them. It’s not like someone’s going to come onto my farm during the night and steal my barley crop. Farmers weren’t as vulnerable as herders. And centuries later, these white Northern men didn’t have this sense that someone who someone bump into and curse them. Gun violence today is connected to violated honor rooted in experiences of ancestors hundreds of years go. That’s how deeply rooted is the desire for revenge in us (McCullough, p. 54).

Jesus’ followers see the temple guards coming to arrest him. They love Jesus. They want to protect him. They have sacrificed everything to follow him. Now everything they have given their lives for is at risk. If Jesus is arrested, he will be executed. And then what will become of them? Not only will he be dead, but the guards see them with Jesus, so it’s only a matter of time before they’re arrested. So what if Jesus has told them to love their enemies. And to turn the other cheek. They need to act. “Rabbi, should we strike them with our swords?” It’s a rhetorical question. Of course they should strike the guards with their swords. Before Jesus has a chance to answer, one of his followers has cut off an enemy’s ear. It’s about honor. It’s about not looking weak. It’s about protecting yourself from people who want to hurt you. It’s about survival.

But Jesus isn’t going there. For him, it’s not about protecting his honor or anyone else’s honor. For him, it’s about showing the world another way of doing life. He knew God was doing something through him that none of his followers could begin to grasp until the first Easter. When the tomb would be empty. And the world would know that with God death couldn’t even end life….that God would hold us in love and in life even after we died. So Jesus tells his followers to put away their swords. He heals the ear of the one who has come to arrest him. When Jesus’ followers see that he loves this man who has come to arrest him, they run away into the night. They’ve given up on this Jesus. They don’t believe love is stronger than the desire for revenge. They don’t believe there’s another way of doing life other than violence and revenge.

The Waorani tribe of Ecuador show us Jesus and his forgiveness have the power to tame even the most violent desire for revenge. Micael McCullough tells the story:

“Anthropologists first made contact with the Waorani people of eastern Ecuador in 1958, when they numbered about 600. In short order, the Waorani became renowned in anthropological circles for their ferocity and for the ease with which they spiraled into blood feuds. By the time anthropologists began studying them, revenge was starting to tear this tiny culture apart. Homicide was the leading cause of death among adults, and entire family groups were being wiped out in the blood feuds….

“Then, in an evolutionary nanosecond, the cycles of revenge were stopped in their tracks, and Waorani culture was transformed. Something important had happened.

“That something was the introduction of Christianity by Western missionaries. When the missionaries had arrived back in 1956, five of the missionary men were killed. This encounter set the stage for all that was to come, because the Waorani warriors couldn’t understand why the missionaries had refused to use their guns to defend themselves. The fact that the remaining missionaries refused to retaliate after the raid only added to the Waorani’s fascination with them. Instead of trying to wreak vengeance on the Waorani, the missionaries wanted to ‘save’ them.

“The Waorani began to conclude that it was the missionaries’ religion, with all its talk of Jesus and love and forgiveness, that made them different. Perhaps this strange religion could help the Waorani solve their own problems with revenge.

“The warriors who killed the five missionaries would be among the earliest adopters of the missionaries’ new religion. Then, seeing that Christianity was powerful enough o cause even their fiercest warriors to surrender their grudges, many other Waorani eventually followed suit. By 1973, about 500 Waorani had converted to the Christian faith. They settled into a new community of converts, where they were able to reunite with loved ones, ebjoy protection from old vendettas, and benefit from access to the trade goods that were being imported from the modern world. Of all the benefits that their new way of life afforded them, though, the most appealing were the Christian injunction against revenge and its message of forgiveness. The missionaries encouraged the converts to demonstrate the sincerity of their conversions by surrendering their vendettas (a common mantra of the new converts was ‘On behalf of Jesus, do not spear’). As one convert explained, ‘Before the [missionaries] came and taught us about God we lived spearing. Back and forth, back and forth we speared, they died. We tried to stop killing. We would say, that’s enough, leave off the spearing. Then someone would kill and we would return to killing back and forth. After hearing and believe in God, [my wife] and I told them not to spear on our behalf, no matter how we died. And we ceased killing others back and forth. Just a few years ago when some Waorani men killed my sister, I refused to spear on her behalf. Had I not believed, they would all be dead now’” (pp. 213-14).

Sometimes we don’t think the way we live makes any difference. Sometimes we don’t think our faith has the power to change the world. “I refused to spear on [my sister’s] behalf. Had I not believed, they would all be dead now.” Amen.

Showing the World Another Way of Doing Life, Part 2: We Let Go of Whatever We Cling to and Take Up a Cross

(Mark 8.27-37)

A sermon preached by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

The 32^nd Sunday in Ordinary Time: November 8, 2009

This morning is the second in a 4-part series about how we Christians can show the world another way of doing life. Last week we talked about living like we know there's more than enough.

This morning I want to invite us to show the world that following Jesus means letting go of whatever we cling to, and taking up a cross.

Listen for a Word from God.

Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi; and on the way he asked his disciples, "Who do people say that I am?" And they answered him, "John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets." He asked them, "But who do you say that I am?" Peter answered, "You are the Messiah." And Jesus sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.

The Gospel of Mark probably was written about 40 years after Jesus was executed and raised from the dead. So the first people who read Mark's Gospel knew Jesus was the Messiah, which is the Hebrew word for Christ. They knew Jesus was the one sent by God to gather them into a new group of people who would make God's kingdom real on earth. After Peter has messed up so many times in this Gospel, Mark's readers can't believe Peter's finally said something intelligent. He proclaims that Jesus is the Messiah. They begin to think Jesus wasn't so short-sighted choosing him to be the rock on which Jesus would build this new kingdom community.

But Peter's glory doesn't last long.

Then Jesus began to teach the disciples that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, "Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things."

We can forgive Peter for reacting so violently to Jesus saying he was going to suffer and be killed. It wasn't in anyone's playbook that the Messiah would suffer. And it wasn't in anyone's playbook that the Messiah would be murdered like a common criminal. Peter expected Jesus the Messiah to lead them into Jerusalem like a conquering army. They'd wipe out everybody working for the Roman Empire. And they'd reclaim the land for God. Peter was expecting a plum political appointment.maybe vice-Messiah or something. Peter thinks Jesus isn't getting enough sleep. Or he's eating or drinking something that's messing with his little grey cells. He's got to keep Jesus from saying things like this. No one will follow him if they think he's going to suffer and be killed. Even if he talks about being raised on the third day.

Jesus called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves, and take up their cross, and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life?"

There are 2 billion Christians in the world. Why would so many people choose to follow Jesus when he tells us, If you want to come after me, you must deny yourself, and take up your cross, and follow me (Mark 8.34)? It kind of makes me wonder if we're paying attention. Why would we choose to follow a Jesus who is so demanding? Maybe we don't think Jesus was really serious when he said stuff like that.

Or maybe we do. Maybe some of us Christians choose to follow him because we want a Messiah who expects something from us. We want a Messiah who demands everything from us. Because we want our lives to matter. We want to live for something larger than ourselves. And we realize the safe, reasonable, rational ways we've lived our lives isn't working. We show love. We stand up for justice. We are generous. But something's missing. Our lives are busy and full. But we're not passionate about what we're doing.

For some of us Christians, maybe a text like this is why we're following Jesus. Because we know trying to deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow him is what will throw us into the fray. And bring us the kind of lives we want. Not lives that protect us from anything. But lives that hurl us from the safety of the balcony.into a place where there is a cross to pick up. Which may be the riskiest, scariest thing we've ever done. But it's where life is for us. It's where Jesus is for us. It's where the path is that will take us into places where we've never felt more alive. Where we've never felt so much love sucked out of us. And where we've never known such joy. And never felt God closer and more in love with us and this amazing world She has made.

Before we can deny ourselves, and take up our cross, and follow, I think we have to be willing to let go of what we cling to. Listen to the refrain of the song the choir sang at the beginning of the service:

Sing hey for the carpenter leaving his tools!

Sing hey for the Pharisees leaving their rules!

Sing hey for the fishermen leaving their nets!

Sing hey for the people who leave their regrets!

(John Bell, "Sing Hey for the Carpenter" � 1987 Iona Community)

As a carpenter, my tools give me my identity. They give me a way to earn money. They give me a sense of purpose. If I let go of my tools, who am I? What am I here for? How will I make a living?

The Pharisees got their identity by believing that the way to love God was to follow the religious rules. That's what they clung to so they knew what they were living for.

I can regret that I've lived most of my life in the balcony. I can regret I've been too afraid to jump out of that safe place, and dive into the fray. I can feel like my life is a bit stale and colorless. But as long as I cling to my regrets, then I won't have enough energy or imagination to bolt out of the balcony. Staying there might mean I'll always feel like I'm not following Jesus like I want to. But it is familiar. And I can find people who tell me I'm doing something useful with my life. Even if I hunger for so much more.

Denying ourselves means letting go of whatever it is we cling to that lets us stay in the balcony instead of jumping into the fray. As the choir sang,

come leave what you cling to, lay down what you clutch

and find, with hands empty, that hearts can hold much.

When Jesus tells us to deny ourselves, he's asking, "What are you most afraid of being without? What are you most afraid of being in the world without? That is what might be keeping you from picking up the cross that is yours. That is what might be keeping you from saying Yes to a cross that would bring you the kind of sorrow, frustration, life, and joy you never knew existed. It's a cross where you'd fall in love with me and feel my love so real you'd burst. So look at what you're totally afraid of being without. And let it go. Lay it down. And step into my arms. Walk with me and with others who have left the safety of the balc0ny. And jumped into the fray. Terrified to be without what they've been clinging to for so long. But together. Arm in arm. Hand in hand. Ready to have their hearts broken. Ready for the love that never comes easy. Ready to help create the miracles that mostly come hard.

Fred Small is a song-writer who writes songs about things that really happened. He listens to

ordinary people talk about their lives. And he shows us what can happen when such ordinary people

let go of what they cling to. And dive into passionate living.

"Leslie is Different" - A true story

Words & Music by Fred Small

"No Limit" � 1985 Rounder Records Corp.

The neighbor up the road brought the message

(Joe and May never had a phone).

Five children grown and gone to college,

now they lived out on Pewaukee Lake alone.

And the nurse at the big Milwaukee hospital

said, "We've got a baby here with no eyes,

it's retarded, it's got cerebral palsy -

six months old living only to die.

And we remembered the tiny Englishwoman

used to hire out as a nurse-governess.

May Lemke, will you take this broken child

off our hands?"

And God loves a fool, cause she said Yes.

She said:

Chorus:

Leslie is different, like everyone in the world:

he's kind of awkward, kind of fragile,

kind of graceful, kind of tough,

he's kind of slow, he's kind of clever.

He's just Leslie. That's enough.

He just lay there, helpless and silent,

not a tear, not a smile, not a word.

But they held him and rocked him

and sang him to sleep,

and talked to him as if he really heard.

And he grew with the sun and affection,

though his body was spindly and small.

And a hundred times they stood him

with his hands upon the fence,

and a hundred times watched him fall.

And their daughters warned it was useless.

They said, "Mama, that boy will break your heart."

She said, "Love never comes easy,

and miracles mostly come hard." She said.

May used to play the piano

and sing the old songs from the war.

There was always music on the radio

and the records she bought at the store.

And sometimes they swore he was listening,

though of course there was no way to know.

Maybe he was flying in his own blue sky

where no one else would ever go.

maybe he was lost in a forest

where demons and woodspirits dwell.

But for 15 years he had never spoke a word,

never taken one step for himself. But they said.

Along about three in the morning,

a ripple of music broke the night.

Joe's fallen asleep with the TV again!

May reached over to turn on the light.

But the music kept getting louder,

and the TV was quiet and cold.

Leslie was playing the piano,

and his fingers were agile and bold.

A Tchaikovsky piano concerto,

like water breaking over a dam.

A river of ecstasy flowed through his hands,

and each note cried out, I Am!

Showing the World Another Way of Doing Life, Part 1: We Live Knowing there is More than Enough

(Mark 6.32-44)

A sermon preached by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

All Saints Day: November 1, 2009

Christians around the world celebrate today as All Saints Day. A person who is a saint for me is Grandma Shull. She and my grandfather were missionaries for 40 years. So they had no money. But everything about her was rich. She knew God had given her so much. And she said thank you to God by giving back. It was like she knew there was more than enough of everything to go around. Until I was well into my 20s, every year for my birthday, Grandma sent me a check for $2. It wasn't the amount that mattered. It was being remembered and loved so richly by her. Around her, I always knew there was more than enough.

Two weeks ago I shared a quote that continues to haunt me. It's by Shane Claiborne, who wrote the book Jesus for President that we're going to start studying together in a week. He said, "If you ask most people what Christians believe, they can tell you....But if you ask the average person how Christians live, they are struck silent. We have not shown the world another way of doing life. Christians pretty much live like everybody else; [we] just sprinkle a little Jesus in along the way" (Shane Claiborne, The Irresistible Revolution, Zondervan, 2006, p. 117). Over the next four weeks, I'd like to talk about four ways that I think we Christians can show the world another way of doing life.

Today, I want us to imagine living like we know there is more than enough.

Even though the Bible is filled with stories about the abundance and extravagance of God, most of the time I don't live like there's more than enough. I don't often live like there's enough time, money, kindness, patience, space, power, imagination, community, or hope. Our economy and our world live the lie that there is not enough. When we believe this lie, we can never have enough. We can never be enough. The gospel of our culture and economy makes us violent, depressed, fearful, anxious, greedy, and willing to destroy the very earth that sustains our life.

If we want a different kind of world, we Christians need to live by God's economy. We need to show the world that there is more than enough.

Our Gospel reading this morning sets up the contrast between our economy and God's economy. The disciples are students of modern economic theory. They take an inventory of the situation. Five thousand hungry people are in the middle of nowhere. There are fives loaves of bread and two fish. It's not a pretty picture. They tell Jesus to send them all back home so they can feed themselves. Jesus, who lives God's economy, sees a totally different picture. He doesn't see the scarcity that the disciples do. And since what we see shapes how we respond, Jesus responds in an utterly outrageous way. He shows everyone around him that with God's power and love, there is more than enough. Much more.

Listen for a word from God.

Jesus and his disciples got in a boat and went off to a remote place by themselves. Someone saw them going and the word got around. From the surrounding town people went on foot, running, and got there ahead of them. When Jesus arrived, he saw this huge crowd. At the sight of them, his heart broke - like sheep with no shepherd they were. He went right to work teaching them.

When his disciples thought this had gone on long enough - it was quite late in the day - they interrupted: "We are a long way out in the country, and it's very late. Pronounce a benediction and send these folks off so they can get some supper."

Jesus said, "You do it. Fix supper for them."

They replied, "Are you serious? You want us to go spend a fortune on food for their supper?"

But he was quite serious. "How many loaves of bread to you have? Take an inventory."

That didn't take long. "Five," they said, "plus two fish."

Jesus got them all to sit down in groups of fifty or a hundred - they looked like a patchwork quilt of wildflowers spread out on the green grass! He took the five loaves and two fish, lifted his face to heaven in prayer, blessed, broke, and gave the bread to the disciples. And the disciples in turn gave it to the people. He did the same with the fish. They all ate their fill. The disciples gathered twelve baskets of leftovers. More than five thousand were at the supper.

The story says that when Jesus sees this crowd, his heart broke. He falls in love with these people. He combines this deep love with the power of God. And the 5000 are filled. With more than enough to go around. The key is what Jesus does with the bread and the fish. He takes it, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it. Do you remember any other time in the Gospels when Jesus takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it? At the last supper. This is a story about communion and Eucharist. It's not a story about some supernatural multiplication of a tiny bit of food. And I don't believe it's a story about all these people sharing what they brought so everyone would have enough. Jesus came to announce that God's kingdom of joy and justice was present here and now in him, and tell us that that this kingdom can come alive through us as well. So we need the faith and the imagination, we need to believe in God's power and love so much, that we can look at a situation our culture would call hopeless. And instead see more than enough to go around.

Three stories about not enough and more than enough.

Princeton seminary wanted to find out what makes people most likely to help a stranger in need. So they did a study looking at three variables. One was why the person went to seminary. Were they more interested in the work of a pastor, or in finding ways to live their faith in their day-to-day lives? Second was what they'd been studying most recently. Half the group was put in a class where they had to prepare a presentation on issues around ordination to the ministry. The other half was preparing presentations on the story of the Good Samaritan - the story where the only person who stops to help someone in need is the arch-enemy of the needy one. The third variable had to do with time. In the class before their presentations on ordination or the Good Samaritan parable, half the group was told by the teacher, "Oh, I've kept you too long. You need to get to the next building for your presentations as quickly as you can." The other half of the sample was told before they had to go to the next building for their presentations, "We've finished a little early today. So you've got plenty of time to get there."

Both sets of students were sent off to the other building. Along the way, each student came across a man slumped in an alley, head down, eyes closed, coughing and groaning.

The researchers wanted to know which students were most likely to stop and help the man in need.

People familiar with the study predicted the same thing. They said the students who would stop to help the hurting man would be the ones who had entered seminary because they wanted to live out their faith by helping people, and the ones who had been studying the Good Samaritan parable.

They were wrong. The only thing that determined whether students stopped to help was whether they felt like they had enough time Some of the students who were on their way to do a presentation on the Good Samaritan stepped over the man slumped across their path. Of the students who were told they were late to their presentations, only ten percent stopped to help. Ninety percent of them didn't think there was enough time to help this person. Of the students who felt they had enough time, 63% stopped to help. Feeling like there wasn't enough time led people normally compassionate people to withhold love from someone in need (summary from Malcolm Gladwell, The Tipping Point, p. 165).

A second story.

Shane Claiborne is part of a community called The Simple Way. This group of adults and children live in an area of Philadelphia which most of us wouldn't walk through in broad daylight, let alone move into. Here is what Claiborne says he has learned from his neighbors about how to move from not enough to more than enough.

"One of our neighbors owns a pizza parlor around the corner. The owner and his family are from Afghanistan, and during the war his loved ones became refugees. He heard about our efforts for peace, bringing attention to the desperate situation in Afghanistan. He made our pizzas with love and joy, sincerely thanking us for what we do. And he always told us to name our own price, for money was irrelevant.

"A family very dear to our hearts own the Josefina minimart across the street from us. Over the years we have become inseparable. The kids come over for homework, participate in our theater camp, and beat us at Skip-Bo (though they cheat sometimes). We helped rehab their house; they helped teach us Spanish. Oftentimes they need transportation to restock the store or pick up the kids. We found that we could insure them (actually at no extra cost) under our policy. So we share cars and resources, and they never take our money for groceries. We are not good Samaritans, nor are we an efficient non-profit provider. We are family with them, and money has lost its relevance" (Shane Claiborne, "Mark 2: Sharing Economic Resources with Fellow community Members and the Needy Among Us," The Rutba House, School(s) for Conversion: 12 Marks of a New Monasticism, Cascade Books, 2005, p. 36).

The gospel of our culture and economy would look at this block in Philadelphia and see blighted, hopeless, not enough. But the people who live on this block see something else. Because they have fallen in love with each other. They listen to the gospel of God's economy. Filled with the love and power of God, they live like there is always more than enough.

The third story is about a guy at the Recovery Caf� I'll call Gregory.

At the Recovery Caf�, I facilitate a weekly support group. Last Friday during the check-in time, Gregory said, "I can't imagine being happier than I am right now. I passed my tests to become a volunteer at the Seattle Aquarium. On my third test, I needed an 80 to pass, and I got an 81. And seeing all the kids at the aquarium, I've realized what I want to do with my life. I want to be an elementary school teacher. I think I'd love to do that." The week before, one of the members of the Recovery Circle had talked about the Lupus fundraising walk he'd been organizing. And the next day, Gregory was at the walk. Soaking wet from that morning's downpour. Without any sponsors. But ready to do the walk. To show his friend he had enough time and love to share.

By any measure, Gregory has had a very hard life. He lives in a shelter. He lives with mental illness. He lives with cocaine and alcohol abuse. And.Gregory seems to be living by God's economy. Because where most of us would look at a life and see depressing, bleak, hopeless, Gregory looks at his life, and sees, "I can't imagine being happier than I am right now." He sees so much more than enough, he has to share it.

Standing in the middle of nowhere before 5000 hungry, tired people, Jesus took next-to-no amount of food. He lifted it to God, he broke it, he gave it to them. And there ended up being so much more than enough. That is God's economy. Where we live by the assurance that when God's power and love fill us, we always know there is more than enough. Some Princeton students show us that we are more loving when we live knowing there's more than enough time. The community of The Simple Way, some Afghani pizza makers, and the Mexican owners of a minimart have fallen in love with each other. So they are rich with more than enough.though they have no money. Because he isn't used to having very much, Gregory can look at a life many of us would see as lacking so much, and say, "I can't imagine being happier than I am right now."

May these living saints teach us how to live knowing there is more than enough. There is much more than enough. Amen.