Incarnation: The Practice of Wearing Skin

Incarnation: The Practice of Wearing Skin
(Mark 5.25-34)
A message by Dave Shull
Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ
Sammamish, Washington
The Fourth Sunday after Epiphany – January 29, 2012

The second in a series on faith practices explored in our church’s current theology book group book, An Altar in the World, by Barbara Brown Taylor

It’s a teaching that makes Christianity unique. Incarnation. That the God who made all that is came to earth wearing skin. God lived and died wearing skin. And God rose to new life, not as a spirit, but with a new body. If God became flesh, flesh is good. Wearing skin is good.

But you wouldn’t know that from the ways Christianity has talked about bodies and flesh over the centuries. Not long after Jesus, Christians started saying that the flesh is bad. Our bodies became the source of all evil: our bodies are corrupt, lustful, sinful, vile. It is our soul, our spirit that is God-like. Our spirit will live on after we shed ourselves of this evil body.

But that’s not what Jesus taught or believed. Jesus came out of the Jewish world. Unlike the Greeks, Jews didn’t divide people into flesh and spirit. Jesus saw humans as undivided. We weren’t like some living jigsaw puzzle, with a mind piece and a body piece and a spirit piece that fit together to make a whole person. Humans are one piece. And our skin is good.

Unfortunately, followers of Jesus forgot what he said about the body. Instead of challenging their culture that told them the lie that wearing skin is bad, these Christians changed Jesus to fit their culture. So followers of Jesus began telling the lie that Jesus thought wearing skin is evil. One of the tragic legacies of this belief is the high rate of eating disorders and the millions of people who are taught to hate their bodies. Twenty-percent of people diagnosed with eating disorders end up dying – a higher mortality rate than any other psychological disorder. Eighty-one percent of 10-year-old girls are afraid of being fat. Fifty-three percent of 13-year-old girls are unhappy with their bodies. By the time they’re 18, 78% are unhappy with their bodies. The number one wish for girls 11-17 years of age in this country is to lose weight (statistics from Dr. Margo Maine, Holy Wars: Making Peace With Women’s Bodies, Gurze Books, 2000). The rate of eating disorders among boys and young men is on the rise. We’re raising our young people to be at war with their own bodies.

The Christian church needs to get back to Jesus’ view of the body as whole. And good. And beautiful. The Bible is filled with stories that tell us our bodies are good. In the first story in the Bible – the first creation story – God makes the woman and the man. Up until then, God looked at everything God had made, and God said Good. But when God looked at the humans God made, God said Very Good. We have the story of Jesus’ baptism. When Jesus comes out of the Jordan River, and hears a voice from heaven say, “You are chosen and marked by my love, pride of my life.” That voice didn’t say, “I only love your spirit. I’m only proud of your spirit.” That voice didn’t say, “I’d love you a lot more if you were thinner. Or more buff.” That voice said, You are my pride and joy just as you are. In the skin you’re wearing.”

And then we have our gospel story for this morning. If there’s any story that celebrates the goodness of wearing skin, it’s this story.

The woman in this story is trapped in an unhealthy body. She’s had menstrual bleeding for 12 years. Under Jewish law, that makes her unclean. Not only is she unclean, anyone she touches – anyone who touches her – becomes unclean as well. That means for 12 years, the only people who have touched her are the doctors who have taken all her money and brought her no healing. She knows Jesus is coming to town. She knows he can heal her. And she knows if she touches him, she will make him unclean, and likely she’ll be punished. What would you do? As you listen to this story, put yourself in the skin of this 12-years-bleeding, 12-years-without-loving-human-touch woman. This Jesus who can heal her walks into town. What will you do?

Listen for a word from God.
A woman who had suffered a condition of hemorrhaging for twelve years—
a long succession of physicians had treated her, and treated her badly,
taking all her money and leaving her worse off than before—had heard about Jesus.
She slipped in from behind and touched his robe.
She was thinking to herself, "If I can put a finger on his robe, I can get well."
The moment she did it, the flow of blood dried up.
She could feel the change and knew her plague was over and done with.
At the same moment, Jesus felt energy discharging from him.
He turned around to the crowd and asked, "Who touched my robe?"
His disciples said, "What are you talking about?
With this crowd pushing and jostling you, you're asking, 'Who touched me?'
Dozens have touched you!"
But he went on asking, looking around to see who had done it.
The woman, knowing what had happened, knowing she was the one,
stepped up in fear and trembling, knelt before him, and gave him the whole story.
Jesus said to her, "Daughter, you took a risk of faith, and now you're healed and whole.
Live well, live blessed! Be healed of your plague”
(Mark 5.25-34, The Message Re-Mix © 2003 Eugene Peterson).

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

People who hear what Jesus says to this unclean woman are shocked and disgusted. They have done everything they can to keep the lines between clean and unclean clear lines. And Jesus is messing everything up. This woman’s touch just made Jesus unclean. And what does he do? He calls her Daughter. And he tells everyone that her faith is a faith everyone else should have. But that’s what Jesus always does. He finds people who have been cut off from human community because powerful people say their bodies are bad or sick or unclean. Jesus goes up to these excluded ones and says, I’d be honored for you to be part of my family.

Barbara Brown Taylor, who wrote the book I’m basing these messages on, knows we need to heal from the lie that wearing skin is not good. And she offers us an outrageous way to heal. She says,

God loves flesh and blood, no matter what kind of shape it is in. Whether you are sick or well, lovely or irregular, there comes a time when it is vitally important for your spiritual health to drop your clothes, look in the mirror, and say, “Here I am. This is the body-like-no-other that my life has shaped. I live here. This is my soul’s address.”

…When I do this, I generally decide that it is time to do a better job of wearing my skin with gratitude instead of loathing….At the very least, I can practice a little reverence right there in front of the mirror, taking some small credit for standing there unguarded for once (An Altar in the World, HarperOne, 2009. p. 38).

There are lots of reasons I think this is a bad idea. I am someone who has not been comfortable in his skin. There’s a lot about my body I don’t like. I see other people’s bodies. And say, That’s what I want my body to look like. Instead of celebrating the miracle that God wore skin, and in doing that makes all skin holy, I get stuck on what that skin looks like. Instead of seeing God in my body, and in yours, I make judgments. Which keeps me from looking at my skin and your skin, and hearing God say to each, You are chosen and marked by my love. Pride of my life.

Last Tuesday night 20 of us sat in a hotel dining room in the southern Mexican city of San Cristobal de las Casas. Our seminary study group was listening to Julio talk about what life is like for the indigenous people in that area. The indigenous people are natives of that area – like Native Americans in this country. Julio is not indigenous. His family tree includes the Spanish who conquered Mexico in the 1500s. Like many Mexicans of Spanish descent, he spent his early life talking about indigenous people with words like lazy, stupid, drunks, more of a bother than they’re worth.

When Julio was in his 20s, his boss helped him buy a car. For the first time, Julio drove outside San Cristobal. And went into the villages where indigenous people lived. This changed everything. He said, “I’d spent my whole life talking about the indigenous like they were things. But when I went out into these villages, I saw people. People with bodies. Just like me. And I didn’t see what so many tourists see. I didn’t see the beautiful woven clothing the people wore. I saw the people underneath those clothes. I started to get to know them. And that changed everything.”

Julio now devotes a great deal of time and energy to walk alongside indigenous people so they can have the dignity and freedom they deserve.

Later in this service, Lauren Davis will be baptized. She will hear the words God says to all of us who have bodies: You are chosen and marked by my love. Pride of my life. One of the reasons Lauren has chosen to be baptized here is because she says we put skin on God’s words to Jesus. Here people feel God’s love real and strong and alive. We are the Body of Christ. And there’s nothing more important for us to do that to help each other and help anyone we come into contact with believe that wearing skin is good and beautiful. Our love can help people stop being at war with their bodies. We need to help each other believe no matter what we think of ourselves, God looks at us, standing in front of the mirror with our clothes dropped, and says, You are chosen and marked by my love. Pride of my life. We need to help each other believe it’s true.

Amen.

Vision: The Practice of Waking Up to God

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

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

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

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

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

Listen for a word from God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Way

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

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

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

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

Listen for a word from God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I Had a Box of Paints.”

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

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

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

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