When It Doesn’t Go Like You Hoped

(Mark 14.1-11)
A reflection by Dave Shull
Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ
Sammamish, Washington
The Second Sunday of Lent: February 28, 2010

This is the fourth in a sermon series on the last week of Jesus’ life on earth.

It is based on The Last Week by Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan. Growing up, I went to church and Sunday school every Sunday morning. I was at children’s choir practice every Wednesday after school. By the time I finished 3^rd grade, my faith was as solid as a 9-1/2-year-old’s could be. Then I spent my fourth-grade year living with my family in India. I saw kids my age dying on the streets of New Delhi.  I went back home to small-town Ohio. I heard the same Bible stories. And I sang the same songs in the children’s choir. But I was not the same.

I had looked in the eyes of starving-to-death kids. I’d heard their eyes ask, “Why are you white and rich? Why am I brown and dying?” So I stopped believing in God. I thought, if God exists, there wouldn’t be eyes asking me why I had a future and they didn’t. If God exists, all of us would have enough. And since all of us don’t have enough, there must be no God. God wasn’t doing what I thought God should do. So I stopped believing in God.

What do you do when things don’t turn out like you hope? That’s the question I hear in this morning’s story from Mark’s Gospel.

Listen for a word from God.

In only two days the eight-day Festival of Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread would begin. The high priests and religion scholars were looking for a way they could seize Jesus by stealth and kill him. They agreed that it should not be done during Passover Week. "We don't want the crowds up in arms," they said.

Jesus was at Bethany, a guest of Simon the Leper. While he was eating dinner, a woman came up carrying a bottle of very expensive perfume. Opening the bottle, she poured it on his head. Some of the guests became furious among themselves. "That's criminal! A sheer waste! This perfume could have been sold for well over a year's wages and handed out to the poor." They swelled up in anger, nearly bursting with indignation over her.

But Jesus said, "Let her alone. Why are you giving her a hard time? She has just done something wonderfully significant for me. You will have the poor with you every day for the rest of your lives. Whenever you feel like it, you can do something for them. Not so with me. She did what she could when she could—she pre-anointed my body for burial. And you can be sure that wherever in the whole world the Message is preached, what she just did is going to be talked about admiringly."

Judas Iscariot, one of the Twelve, went to the cabal of high priests, determined to betray him. They couldn't believe their ears, and promised to pay him well. He started looking for just the right moment to hand him over (The Message Remix © 2003 by Eugene Peterson).

God wasn’t doing what I thought God should do. So I stopped believing in God. Jesus isn’t doing that the disciples thought the Messiah should do. He’s not going to lead an army to kill the Romans. Instead, he’s talking about loving enemies and praying for those who persecute us. He’s not going to lead the disciples to places of glory, power, and status. Instead, Jesus has been telling them the same things over and over:

When we get to Jerusalem, Rome’s going to murder me as an enemy of the state. And three days after that, I’m going to burst out of the tomb, alive. But the disciples can’t believe that’s going to happen to the Messiah. They’re waiting for Jesus to change his mind. And then this unnamed woman bursts into their quiet dinner. And she forces them to decide. She pours perfume on Jesus’ head to prepare his body for burial. Which means she believes Jesus when he says he’s gong to die. And she believes she will see him again when he rises. Some writers call this woman the first Christian (Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The Last Week, Harper San Francisco, 2006, p. 104).

Because she’s the first person in the Gospels who believes what Jesus has been saying. Even if it’s not turning out like she hoped, her actions say, I trust you, Jesus. I will stay by your side. And how do the other disciples respond?

They play the old Let’s try to distract him so we don’t have to talk about what’s really going on out there trick. And Jesus sees right through it. He says, what’s this woman has done has nothing to do with the poor! You can choose to show your love to the poor every day. And you know that is what I want you to do. This has to do with one simple thing. Even though this isn’t turning out like you hope, Do you trust me? Will you stay by my side? And within 24 hours, all of his disciples answer, No. Right after this, Judas betrays Jesus. He must feel like a Messiah who’s not going to lead an army against Rome deserves to die.

And before the end of the next night, the other eleven will cut and run. They’ll deny they ever even knew him. It’s like they’re saying to Jesus, If you’re not going to be the Messiah we’d hoped for, we’ll just have to look for someone else to follow. When it doesn’t go like we hope, one choice is to do what the disciples do. And do what I did. We decide God doesn’t exist.

Though we usually don’t admit it, when we do that, it means we think we know how God should work. You’re not doing what you’re supposed to, God. Life isn’t turning out the way it’s supposed to, God. So you’re fired.That’s one way to respond when life doesn’t turn out like we’d hoped. And even though that’s what I did after living in India,I don’t know think that gets you very far.Because some parts of our lives never turn out like we’d hoped. And after we’ve turned away from God, who or where do we turn to? Then where do we go for comfort and strength and understanding and healing and hope then? Ten years after I fired God because I saw too much suffering in the world, I chose to walk through the doors of a church. Because my younger brother had had a psychotic break. And I felt guilty. And I needed somewhere to go with that. I needed comfort. And understanding. And forgiveness. I needed to be held in arms that were way bigger than any human arms. I needed God.

Ten years before, I’d fired God because there was so much suffering. Now, in the midst of my suffering, I started looking for God. Or, more honestly, I let God find me. The song “Enemy of Apathy” sings about this other choice we can make. Instead of firing God, we can let go of the delusion that we know how God should work. Instead of firing God, we can trust God keeps looking for us, even when we’ve stopped looking for God. Let us sing this song together.

She sits like a bird, brooding on the waters,

hov’ring on the chaos of the world’s first day;

she sighs and she sings, mothering creation,

waiting to give birth to all the Word will say.

She wings over earth, resting where she wishes,

lighting close at hand or soaring through the skies;

she nests in the womb, welcoming each wonder,

nourishing potential hidden to our eyes.

She dances in fire, startling her spectators,

waking tongues of ecstasy where dumbness reigned;

she weans and inspires all whose hearts are open,

nor can she be captured, silenced, or restrained.

For she is the Spirit, one with God in essence,

gifted by the Savoir in eternal love;

she is the key opening the scriptures,

enemy of apathy and heavenly dove.

(John L. Bell and Graham Maule © 1988 GIA Publications. All rights reserved.

Reprinted under OneLicense.net #A-714452)

I don’t know if you saw this film footage. But right after the earthquake in Haiti, I saw a TV report that showed Haitians dancing and singing as acts of prayer to God. While their loves ones were being pulled from the rubble, they were dancing and singing their love for God. If there are any people on earth who we could understand might stop believing in God, it is the people of Haiti. But here were people in the midst of unimaginable suffering, singing their love for God. In 2004, I got to do a shared sermon with a woman from Kenya. She has started a non-profit that supports children in her village whose caregivers have died from AIDS. I asked her what burying so many loved ones way too young had done to the faith of the people in her village.How did they keep trusting God? I asked.

She looked at me. Hugged me with her smile. And said, “Dave, that is such a Western question. You people in the West expect life to be easy.And when it’s not you use it as an excuse to stop believing in God. That’s not how it is in Africa. Nobody in my village believes God ever promised us life would be easy. God only promises that God won’t leave us alone.”

That’s the other choice. When it doesn’t turn out like we hoped, we don’t have to fire God. We can admit that there’s so much we don’t know. And we can choose to lean on God, to let God know how much we are hurting, and let God find us. And show us that God never, ever leaves us to face anything alone.

Amen.

For Christians, It’s a Love Problem

(Mark 12.28-34)

A reflection by Dave Shull and the Congregation

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

The First Sunday of Lent: February 21, 2010

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do not retreat into your private world,

that place of safety sheltered from the storm

where you may tend your garden, seek your soul,

and rest with loved ones where the fire burns warm.

To tend a garden is a precious thing,

but dearer still the one where all may roam;

the weeds of poison, poverty and war

demand your care, who call the earth your home.

To seek your soul it is a precious thing,

but you will never find it on your own;

only among the clamor, threat and pain

of other people’s need will love be known.

To rest with loved ones is a precious thing,

but peace of mind exacts a higher cost;

your children will not rest and play in quiet

while they still hear the crying of the lost.

Do not retreat into your private world,

there are more ways than firesides to keep warm;

there is no shelter from the rage of life,

so meets its eye, and dance within the storm.

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

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

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

followers to live?

* * * * * * * * *

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

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

* * * * * * * * *

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

* * * * * * * * *

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

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

* * * * * * * * *

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

* * * * * * * * *

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

* * * * * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

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

Turning Our World Upside-down So We Can Stand Upright

(Mark 11.15-19)

A reflection by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

The Last Sunday after Epiphany: February 14, 2010

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

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

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

Listen for a Word from God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To the man begging in India,

who turned my world upside-down,

so that I could stand upright

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

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

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

Liberated Imagination

(Micah 4.1-4 and Mark 11.1-11)

A reflection by Dave Shull

Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ

Sammamish, Washington

The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany: February 7, 2010

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Listen for a word from God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shout and cheer …!

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus’ anti-triumphal entrance into Jerusalem proclaims:

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

I am a ruler with no warhorses.

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

Can the spectators imagine such a king and kingdom? …

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

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

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

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

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

(Micah 4.1-4).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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