Watching For What’s Already Here
Isaiah 2: 1-5 & Romans 13: 11-14
Roger C. Lynn
November 28, 2004
Advent 1 - Hope

Today we enter the season of Advent. This is the beginning of a new year in the Church calendar. It is when we begin again to tell the story of faith. We lift up themes of hope, peace, joy and love. We speak in hushed whispers of expectation and anticipation as we watch and wait and prepare for the message of Christmas -- the coming of Christ into the world. There is a stillness about this season, as we wait in the pre-dawn darkness for the wonder of the new sunrise. This is a season of stories, poetry and metaphor, because the reality we are trying to grasp far outstrips the ability of our language to describe. I believe there is tremendous value in immersing ourselves in such stories and rituals, because when we take such an approach to the sacred we stand a chance of experiencing the truth in ways which are far deeper and richer than if we merely think about them intellectually.

But it is also important to make very sure that our stories don’t lead us down unhelpful paths in our understanding of God and the ways in which God relates to us. Because we are are finite people who experience life in a linear way, with a past, present and future, and because our stories tend to flow in the same sort of linear fashion, there is a strong temptation to think that God fits into that pattern as well. Particularly at Christmas time, it is easy to start talking about God doing a new thing. Even the word “Advent” points us to something happening in the world that has never happened before. Both scriptures for this morning play into this kind of thinking. “In the days to come...” writes Isaiah. “You know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep...” writes Paul. Surely God must be doing something new, we find ourselves thinking. And pretty soon, unless we are very careful, we end up with a very odd understanding of God. Robert Capon, theologian and author, describes it as the sewing machine view of God. History moves along from one event to the next, without much or any of God’s presence. And then, occasionally, from time to time, God pushes down into history and then pulls back out again. So, for example, we might see God entering history in the burning bush for Moses, then in various and periodic events through the wilderness experience, once in a while through the prophets, from time to time in the life of kings like David, and finally, in one extraordinary push, God shows up in the life of Jesus. Such an understanding leaves us with a whole lot of life untouched by the presence of God. We spend our time watching and waiting for those rare moments when God might show up. Not really a very satisfying way to live. But there is another way to look at life.

What if what we are watching for is, in fact, already here? What if we are waiting, not for God to show up, but for us to be open enough to perceive that God is already here? Advent, then, becomes the season when we anticipate finding God in each new moment, rather than in one particular moment. When we start looking for God everywhere we discover that God been here all along, just waiting to be discovered. When we allow such a shift in our perspective we find that everything is fresh and new. When we read the promise in Isaiah, that God will come to all people everywhere and mediate harmony in the midst of disputes, and peace will reign supreme, we are tempted to ask, “When will this happen? What is God waiting for?” But with a shift of perspective we begin to see that it is, in fact, already happening, and the more we open ourselves to it, the more real it becomes. God is not waiting for anything, except for us to notice. Paul writes to the Romans that it is time to wake up. It would do no good to wake up unless the reality into which we are waking is already what we are seeking. We are like children asleep and safely enfolded in the arms of a loving parent. The reality of the parent’s arms around us is not affected by our sleep-induced lack of awareness. All that is affected is our ability to fully enjoy the experience. And all that is required for such enjoyment is waking up.

So this Advent season, as we speak of watching and waiting and anticipating, I invite you to remember that God is already fully present, right here and right now. No amount of attention on our part can make it any more real, and no lack of attention on our part can make it any less real, because it is already fully and completely real. The watching and waiting and anticipating does not bring God more fully into our presence. It does, however, bring God more fully into our awareness. And the more fully we are aware, the more fully we are alive. Let us, therefore, be fully alive with God in this and every season.

Whose Peace Are We Seeking?
Isaiah 11: 1-9 & Matthew 3: 1-12
Roger C. Lynn
December 5, 2004
Advent 2 - Peace

Every year the second Sunday in Advent is Peace Sunday. It is a time to pause and reflect on what it means to speak about God’s Shalom, and to envision what it would look like if we were to experience it in our lives and in our world. One Sunday a year is certainly not adequate for such a vitally important topic. But at least it is a start.

We might begin with a reminder about the definition of Shalom. It is a Hebrew word which often gets translated as Peace. But perhaps a fuller, richer, more accurate translation would be Wholeness. When we seek to live our lives in harmony with God we begin to experience healing. The brokenness which contributes to so much pain and violence in our world begins to heal. Peace, real peace, emerges. It is a peace which rises up out of an expansive re-orientation of all of life, rather than a peace which is imposed through conflict being repressed. It is not about negotiated settlements. It is about deep and genuine transformation. Such peace does not come simply because we work hard enough to make it happen. It comes when we allow God’s Spirit to flow in us and through us.

But just because it is powered by God does not mean that it is easy to achieve. It still requires our active cooperation and participation, and even our best intentions can be derailed. We seldom experience 20/20 vision when it comes to matters of the spirit, and we are frequently plagued with blind spots that take us totally by surprise.

Take, for example, Isaiah’s grand vision of peace which we read this morning. Speaking to a people whose future looked bleak, he offers them an amazing word of hope concerning God’s radically inclusive peace. It will be shaped by wisdom and understanding, a concern for the poor and the meek of the world. There will be no limits to who can be brought together -- even those whom we would consider “natural” enemies, like lambs and wolves, goats and leopards, calves and lions, poisonous snakes and little children. The peace Isaiah envisions is not “natural” -- at least not in the way we normally use that word. It requires nothing less than the transforming power of God’s active presence. And such unnatural peace is precisely what Isaiah has in mind. But right in the middle of this marvelous vision, we see what I believe is evidence of a blind spot. Transformation abounds. Enemies live together in peaceable co-existence. All is right with the world. And then in the midst of it all, Isaiah adds, “...and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked.” (Isaiah 11:4) Of course wickedness has no place in this peaceful reality which is being described, but apparently it simply never occurs to Isaiah that any other solution might be possible besides killing them. Such an answer certainly has its appeal -- the problem is neatly eliminated. There is no need for the messy business of actually struggling and growing and discovering ways to live with those whom we consider to be enemies. But I do not believe it is an answer that fits well with God’s Shalom. Isaiah apparently wasn’t even aware of an inconsistency. Such is the nature of blind spots.

We find an even more glaring example in the story of John the Baptist. Here is a man who was so close and yet so far from understanding. Matthew’s Gospel begins the description of John with his declaration that “the kingdom of heaven has come near.” (Matthew 3:2) This is the same message which Jesus proclaimed. It is at the very heart of what we who follow Jesus believe. It is the ever-present closeness of God, right here in the very midst of us, that offers us both hope and meaning for our living. It is God’s presence in our lives that makes possible the healing wholeness of God’s Shalom. John is clearly on to something important. It even seems he has some sense that the nearness of God will be revealed in a particularly powerful way in the life and ministry of Jesus. But as Matthew tells the story it quickly becomes apparent that John is so caught up in his own ideas about how God works in the world he is unable to fully grasp the radical nature of the message Jesus is coming to proclaim. In his tirade against the Pharisees and Sadducees he rightly challenges them to bear fruit worthy of repentance. Repentance means recognizing that the path we’re on is leading us away from life and making the decision to change directions. It only makes sense that if such a decision is genuine it will be evident in the way your life is being lived. But he doesn’t stop there. He goes on to threaten that, “Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.” (Matthew 3:10) We even see this harsh, unbending view of God in John’s description of Jesus. “His winnowing-fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing-floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.’ ” (Matthew 3:12) Whenever I read that I want to ask, “Who is he talking about? Because it sure isn’t the Jesus I find revealed in the Gospels.” Matthew even provides us with a dramatic illustration of John’s misunderstanding in the very next story. We are told that when Jesus came to be baptized by John the heavens opened up. I have no doubt John was surprised by what he saw. Based on his preaching, he might have expected thunder and lightning and balls of fire to rain down when the heavens opened up. Instead he sees a dove -- ancient symbol of God’s peace. John’s message does not fit well with a vision of God’s Shalom. He wasn’t even aware of an inconsistency. Such is the nature of blind spots.

We all want peace. We want it in our personal lives. We want it in our communities and in our nation. We want it in our world. There is even something appealing about the idea of peace being shalom -- healing and wholeness. We could definitely do with a little wholeness these days. But we would do well to learn a lesson from Isaiah and John. If we are not very careful we may find ourselves seeking peace based more on our own blind spots than on God’s all-inclusive shalom. We live in a world where nuclear weapons have been called peace-keepers, where our government seeks to bring peace to another country by bombing them, where those with dissenting views are encouraged to keep the peace by keeping silent and learning to live with the rules, where we secure our own peace by imposing force on those who disagree. If and when we dare to envision peace in our world today, what does it look like? Is it peace that is achieved through the elimination (extermination) of our enemies? Or is it peace that is achieved through the transformation of brokenness into a new and uniting wholeness? It is peace that is dependent solely on our own efforts? Or is it peace that is dependent on being open to the transforming power of God’s Spirit? I believe that God is always calling us to ever more fully live into the reality of peace -- personally, locally and globally. Whose peace are we seeking?

Unexpected Joy!
Isaiah 35: 1-10 & Matthew 11: 2-11
Roger C. Lynn
December 12, 2004
Advent 3 - Joy

Experiencing joy is a faith statement! It is a demonstration of confidence that, appearances-to-the-contrary-nonwithstanding, God is present and active right here in the midst of life. Joy is not based on external circumstances, but on internal trust. Thus it is that joy shows up in surprising and unexpected places in our lives. We aren’t always looking for it, but it is always there waiting to be discovered when we least expect it. Frederick Buechner has this to say about Joy: “Happiness turns up more or less where you’d expect it to -- a good marriage, a rewarding job, a pleasant vacation. Joy, on the other hand, is as notoriously unpredictable as the one who bequeaths it.” (from Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC)

We live in a world that regularly seems to present us with circumstances which fly in the face of any joyful attitudes we might possibly hope to entertain. How can we rejoice when war and violence continue to ravage people around the world? How can we rejoice when disease and hunger continue to claim so many lives in so many places near and far? How can we rejoice when “fill in the blank with whatever latest headline you choose”? How indeed!

The prophet Isaiah brought a message of hope and rejoicing to the Hebrew people at a time when they were languishing in exile in a foreign country, cut off from home and culture and all that gave their lives meaning. Into those circumstances he dared to proclaim that what seems obvious is not always the final and ultimate word on the true nature of reality. What he describes is radical transformation -- a turning upside down of everything that seems to be true. Wilderness, dry land and desert will blossom, the blind will see, the deaf will hear, the mute will sing, the lame will leap, and water (a very potent symbol of life in that arid region) will pour forth in the desert. That which seems impossible, a safe passageway for them to return home, will indeed become a reality. Isaiah could make such an outlandish declaration not because the present circumstances of his people provided any evidence that it might be true, but because he had confidence that God is not restricted by the limitations we see as insurmountable. The joy he proclaimed is not based on verifiable evidence. It is based on that which is always unexpected -- the mysterious and ongoing activity of God among us.

In Matthew’s Gospel we find John the Baptist asking a seemingly odd question of Jesus. “Are you the One, or should we wait for another?” This is, you may recall, the same John who earlier baptized Jesus and saw the heavens open up and a dove descending in declaration of Jesus’ status as God’s anointed one. So, why in the world would he now be wondering? I suspect it is because Jesus was not the Messiah John had been expecting. John had been looking for someone to come with power and wrath and drive the Roman occupiers out of the Promised Land with God’s vengeance. That made sense to John. He understood that way of thinking about God and the world. But that is not how Jesus understood God or the world. Listen to Jesus’ reply. “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” (Matthew 11:4-5) According to Jesus, the meaning of God’s presence in our lives and in our world, the source of our true joy, is the reality of radical transformation. It is not what we expect to find most of the time, but it is all around us if we will watch for it. Such joy is always available to us.

John McCutcheon is a singer/songwriter who wrote a song a few years ago about Vedran Smailovic, who was a resident of Sarajevo in the early 1990’s, when that city was a battle zone. Vedran was a cello player who provided an occasion for unexpected joy in the midst of unspeakable horror when he began playing his cello out in the street everyday.

In the Streets of Sarajevo (2001)
words and music by John McCutcheon

He was there one Sunday morning
At the corner of the square
In a freshly pressed tuxedo
In a simple folding chair
Just after curfew lifted
When everything was still
He played his cello
In the morning chill

In the streets of Sarajevo
A place of flame and death
This music so surprising
The whole world held its breath
And each morning he returned
To that spot and he would play
In the streets of Sarajevo everyday

And everyday he made me wonder
Where did he ever find
The music midst the madness
The courage to be kind
The long forgotten beauty
We thought was blown away
In the streets of Sarajevo everyday

And many was the day
The soldiers asked him who he was
They warned him of the danger
In doing what he does
Many said that he was crazy
To risk his life in such a way
On the streets of Sarajevo everyday

I wish someone could tell me
Who is crazy, who is sane
Those who stand in protest
Or those who drop these bombs like rain
Those who fill our lives with death
In this place where children play
On the streets of Sarajevo everyday

So I come here in defiance
And to add a bit of grace
Try to ease the awful hatred
And the horror of this place
To remember there is beauty
No matter what they say
In the streets of Sarajevo everyday

And everyday I see them
Those who will not stand aside
Who refuse to be defeated
Who rage against the tide
They are a glimmer in the darkness
The rolling of the stone
A message in a bottle
From the distant shores of home

And everyday he made me wonder
Where did he ever find
The music midst the madness
The courage to be kind
The long forgotten beauty
We thought was blown away
In the streets of Sarajevo
And in the streets of Tel Aviv
And in the streets of Jakarta
And in the streets of every city everyday

©2001 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

My friend Amy Martin, also a singer/songwriter, was despairing over the results of the recent election, when she remembered the words of the hymn we will be singing in just a few minutes, “My Life Flows On.”

“What though the darkness ’round me close
Songs in the night it giveth.
No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that rock I’m clinging.
Since love is Lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?”

It isn’t about what’s happening around us. It isn’t even about what is happening to us. It is about what’s happening within us. We discover unexpected joy whenever we remember that we are a part of something vastly bigger and stronger and more enduring than anything the world can ever manage to throw at us. That doesn’t mean life will always be easy, or fun, or painless. But it does mean that we can choose how we will respond to all of life, including even the most painful parts of life. When we choose joy, springing as it does out of a deep confidence in God’s active and loving presence, we choose to respond out of a position of strength. Think about how much stronger you feel, how much more able to do whatever needs to be done, when you are filled with joy, as compared to those occasions when you are filled with despair. Indeed, with God in the midst of us, how can we keep from singing?

And so, in the midst of this world in which we live that is so filled with pain and violence and hatred and suffering and ugliness of every sort and in unbelievable proportions, I invite you to watch for signs of God’s presence, to look for opportunities to rejoice, to participate in the ongoing work of God’s radical transformation. The alternative is simply too depressing to even consider. So please, choose joy!

The Scandal of Radical Love
Matthew 1: 1-24
Roger C. Lynn
December 19, 2004
Advent 4 - Love

I’m going to do something I’ve never done in worship before. In fact, you may have never been in worship where this has been done. I’m going to read one of the most boring sections to be found anywhere in the entire Bible -- the genealogy at the beginning of Matthew’s Gospel. The exits have all been locked, so please don’t try to run away. Take a deep breath and it will all be over soon.

Actually, I surprised myself with this decision. Matthew’s Gospel has always been my least favorite of the four Gospels because it has always seemed so stiff and rigid. But what I’m discovering is that there is an amazingly powerful message hiding just beneath the surface, waiting to be discovered. For instance, why in the world would the author choose to begin such an important work -- the story of the good news of Jesus -- in such a dreadfully boring way? Forty two generations of genealogy. Was he trying to turn people off before they even had a chance to hear the message? Well, as it turns out, I think he had something else in mind. He’s making a powerfully subtle statement about the truth he sees revealed in the life of Jesus. The good news of God’s love -- everyone is accepted, everyone is welcome, everyone can play a part in bringing God’s love to the world. It isn’t about being righteous (following the rules), it isn’t about being “good” enough, it isn’t about meeting some pre-determined set of criteria. It is about being who we are and allowing God to work in us and through us. And yes, all of this can be seen in the genealogy. Let’s take take a look. I don’t have a clue who many of these people were (which in itself may also say a lot about who God can use), but just the few I do know a bit about makes the case loud and clear.

(Matthew 1:1-17) An account of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham. Abraham was the father of Isaac (Sarah laughed at the idea of God giving them children in their old age, then both of them participated in forcing the issue by using a slave girl to conceive a child), and Isaac the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers, and Judah the father of Perez and Zerah by Tamar, and Perez the father of Hezron, and Hezron the father of Aram, and Aram the father of Aminadab, and Aminadab the father of Nahshon, and Nahshon the father of Salmon, and Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab (Rahab the foreigner who betrayed her own government by helping spies escape, also a prostitute), and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth (another foreigner), and Obed the father of Jesse, and Jesse the father of King David. And David was the father of Solomon by the wife of Uriah (the mention of “the wife a Uriah” reminds us that David was an adulterer and a murderer), and Solomon the father of Rehoboam, and Rehoboam the father of Abijah, and Abijah the father of Asaph, and Asaph the father of Jehoshaphat, and Jehoshaphat the father of Joram, and Joram the father of Uzziah, and Uzziah the father of Jotham, and Jotham the father of Ahaz, and Ahaz the father of Hezekiah, and Hezekiah the father of Manasseh, and Manasseh the father of Amos, and Amos the father of Josiah, and Josiah the father of Jechoniah and his brothers, at the time of the deportation to Babylon (mentioning the deportation moves us from personal to national scandal -- the entire people were conquered, subjugated and exiled). And after the deportation to Babylon: Jechoniah was the father of Salathiel, and Salathiel the father of Zerubbabel, and Zerubbabel the father of Abiud, and Abiud the father of Eliakim, and Eliakim the father of Azor, and Azor the father of Zadok, and Zadok the father of Achim, and Achim the father of Eliud, and Eliud the father of Eleazar, and Eleazar the father of Matthan, and Matthan the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Joseph the husband of Mary, of whom Jesus was born, who is called the Messiah. So all the generations from Abraham to David are fourteen generations; and from David to the deportation to Babylon, fourteen generations; and from the deportation to Babylon to the Messiah, fourteen generations.

Talk about skeletons in the family closet, and Matthew revels in them, putting them right out front. These are Jesus’ kind of people! This is what Jesus is all about. And just in case we missed the point, he follows up the genealogy with the whole Joseph and Mary story. (Matthew 1:18-24) Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’ All this took place to fulfil what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel’, which means, ‘God is with us.’ When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife.

Who are Jesus’ parents -- a young, unmarried, pregnant girl, and a man who chooses to marry her anyway even though it would have been unbelievably scandalous for him to do so (the law would have allowed him to have her killed).

The lesson? What are we celebrating at Christmas? Being included on God’s list requires nothing except a willingness to be included on the list -- which, considering the company we will be keeping, is pretty scandalous. So in keeping with the best pastoral, biblical, faithful tradition I know, I hope you will experience a scandalous Christmas and a radically scandalous new year, as together we revel in God’s outrageously inclusive love.