Buried Alive

Romans 8:31-39

        Since announcing my retirement, more than a handful of you have asked, “Will you still be able to do my funeral?” My hope is I will attend none of your funerals as we continue to live long and healthy lives. I will take it as a compliment that you want me to speak some tender words over your departed remains and I would be more than happy to oblige, but let me remind you, this isn’t my first rodeo.  Each time I have moved to a new church folks have made this request. A year later a new guy takes my place and my former parishioners discovered most ministers are pretty good at the funeral gig.  Once the new kid on the block showed off his chops, I was pretty much released from any future obligations.   I suspect this will be the case here. Soon, very soon, you will be as comfortable and trusting of your next minister as you have been with me.

        On the other hand, aren’t we all just a little bit curious about what folks will say about us when we die? I remember twenty years ago when my father asked if I would preside over his funeral.    The instructions were, “Read the scripture. Give thanks to God. Mention my name only in passing.” Over the next 18 years Dad kept altering the original instructions. The scripture remained the same. Giving thanks to God was expected. But every other year he suggested I might put in a good word about him, or heaven forbid, even share a memory. By the time he died, I really think he wanted to read what I was going to say. And what is wrong with that. Wouldn’t it be delightful to hear how wonderful you were? I went to a funeral of a dear friend and the minister’s first words were, “John was such a great guy I will not even have to lie.”  What a great epitaph.   

So if I were to do your funeral, what would I say? My father’s original request covers the first rule of any good funeral, pick the right scripture and give thanks to God. I have no idea how many funerals I have done, but I would venture to say quite often the scripture selected was Romans 8:31, “If God is for us, who could be against us?”

Once upon a time, before burials turned “pastoral”, the purpose of the funeral was to remind everyone that not even death can replace or conquer the love of God. Paul, nearing the end of his own life, often spoke about suffering. He had been beaten, ship wrecked, spit on, whipped, and arrested more times than can be imagined. He knew his suffering was not unique among his followers. They too had suffered for the faith because the teachings of Christ stood contrary to everything Rome held sacred. Paul wrote, “In everything you do, be humble, graceful, forgiving, and peaceful.” Rome would have not conquered its little corner of the world with that particular slogan painted on its shields. Christian morality was viewed as a threat to Pax Romana. Rome felt compelled to eliminate what Claudius called a radical tumor. Everything but full scale persecution had been tried. Elimination of the cult was the logical next step.   Paul did not welcome his demise, but neither did he fear it.

Contrary to what some distant voices might preach, we are rarely persecuted for our faith. But neither are we immune to suffering. In the United States, over 140,000 people have died from Covid-19. For the millions for folks trying to find job security life is hard. In these difficult times claiming, “If God is for us, who can be against us” seems antiquated, even foolish. Yet 2,000 years of history, 2,000 years of suffering, 2,000 years of faith has convinced me nothing will separate us from God’s love.

Where is the Roman Empire? It is only a memory. Where is Christianity?  Yes it has its flaws. Yes it has its scars. Yes it sometimes makes me shake my head. But the church is still here, not because it is powerful, not because it is perfect, not because we are better than any other religion, but because when we are at our best, we are a reflection of the love of God.

This love reaches into the depths of human despair, embraces those who live in the shadows, and challenges those obsessed with authority. The love of God looks at the present with a clear eye and into the future with hope. The love of God has no beginning or end. It is a love that transcends wrath, is never compromised by excuses, and finds forgiveness to be a soothing balm to condemnation. This love, best exemplified in the death of Jesus, initiates our exodus from sin and freedom from bondage with a liberating promise of hope, joy and justice. To quote Paul, “Nothing in life or death, nothing present or in our future, nothing in all of creation can separate us from this love.”

That is how I would begin your funeral. Once that declaration is made everything else is easy. When I speak of you, I speak of the love of God personified. It has been 90 degrees every day this week but someone has been in our garden harvesting food for folks in need. I have been at the wood pile when it is so cold two pair of gloves isn’t enough. But I am never at the wood pile alone. School supplies greet our elementary students when they arrive at school and they never go home hungry on the week-end. You pay the rent, medical cost, and electric bills for folks you will never meet. And that is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the love you exhibit to both stranger and neighbor. But perhaps my greatest joy being your minister comes when I visit the hospitals and nursing homes. So often I would enter a room and be greeted with the words, “So and so just left”. I look around the room and see it decorated by flowers and cards from members of Rockfish Presbyterian. When I would get back to my office an e-mail or two asks if meals or transportation might be needed. Nothing in all creation can stand against this kind of love.

Marilynn Robinson, was once asked, “What are we doing here?” Robinson, who can be as pragmatic as anyone responded, “It seems to me God, who can be peculiar and more improbable than we might ever imagine, has one consistency. When we heal, when we feed, when we teach, when we love, when we do the good things that matter most, it also matters most to God.”  

My dear, not yet departed friends, in you I have witnessed what matters most to God.           Amen.

I See You

Psalm 139

 

(Paraphrase of Psalm 139)

 

      God you know me inside and out. Every thought that enters my mind, every step, every plan, every word, you know before they happen. You know my past; you know my future. You witness my every move. Usually that comforts me, but not always.

      There seems no way to escape you. In the midst of joy I discover you are already there. When I plunge into despair you are waiting for me. It doesn’t matter where I go, you are there. Even in my darkest nights you point toward the morning.

      You were present when I was born. Nothing about me, from beginning to end, is hiden from your eyes. How frightful, yet how wonderful this has become.

      You know my heart; you ponder my thoughts; you search out my motives; you understand my emotions. Deliver me from that which might hurt me or others. Guide me along your path of truth and love.

     

      When my grandson Andy, was a child I would stand at a distance as he was playing with his mom or dad. When he looked my way, I would point and quietly mouth the words, “I see you.”  Andy would break into a huge grin and point back. There is something special, even intimate, about being known.

      We should remember this when we think of our relationship with God.  Often our image of God begins and ends with the God of creation, the God who is invincible, immortal and wise.  Certainly this image is critical in our understanding God because it serves to remind us that God is always beyond our comprehension and control.  To quote the Westminster Confession, “God is most holy and most free.” This is why God is God and we are not. Yet, don’t we secretly desire to understand God as the One who points at us, and mouths the words, “I see you.”

      Of course that can be a bit alarming.  Who among us wants to be thoroughly examined?  Each November I visit my doctor for a yearly physical.    It is a relatively painless exam in which some blood is taken, numbers recorded, and conclusions drawn about the state of my health.  Usually everything is fine but don’t you hate it when the good doctor looks at the coded language gathered from scales and test tubes, wrinkles her brow, and says, “Hmmmmmm.”  

      There is something frightening about being intimately known.   I like my secrets. I will never be a face-book sort of guy.   Some things are just too personal and that is the way I want to keep them. Sometimes I think my relationship with God would be a little less intimidating if God just remained attached primarily to the affairs of the universe.  It must be a full time job just making Jupiter and Mars orbit correctly. We have had 90 degree heat every day this month. Shouldn’t God be looking into that? Certainly God has better things to do than examine my inner being? Besides, I am not real excited about what the lab results on my faithfulness and purity might reveal.  

      The poet recognizes our panicked impulse to flee this personal examination by God.  He writes, “Where can I go from your spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?”  How do I live with the all-knowing eye of God? 

Let me share some names with you.  Mrs. Johnson, Mrs. Cartledge, Mrs. Rodgers, Mrs. Gardner.  You know these people, only by different names.  When I was a boy growing up in Greensboro NC, I would hop on my bike and make my way outside the restrained confines of my yard.  Alone with friends I would feel free to express myself in ways that might not be quite acceptable by parental standards.   I soon discovered in a small community parenting is a shared event.    I could escape the watchful eye of my mother, but not the vigilant eye of every other mother in the neighborhood.  What made things worse was the mothers had formed a united front.  If I was in Mrs. Johnson’s yard, I was now Mrs. Johnson’s son, with all the rewards and punishments that came with that honor.  Even when my friends and I believed we had “pulled a fast one” communication through the telephone wires was faster than the transportation that brought me home.  There was no fleeing from the presence of that Orwellian confederation. I never appreciated the efforts of that united front until I had children of my own.  Looking back, I realize the eyes that I tried so hard to escape actually informed the hands that lifted me out of more than one difficult situation.

      “O Lord, you have searched me and known me.” I know that should be a comforting thought, but in my spiritual growth I am still little more than a child.  I was raised by a Jewish Calvinist.  That makes no sense unless you have met my father.  From the moment of birth I have been instructed to strive to know God.  Calvin asked, “What is the chief aim of man?”  His response was “To know God by whom we are created.”  For centuries when students would come to their Rabbi and brag of their knowledge of the torah, the Rabbi would remind them, “First, we are created to know God.”   I have spent much of my life trying to comprehend or make sense of this mystery called God.  My journey has looked like the child in the Family Circle cartoon.  I have meandered here and there, experimented with this and that, at times felt certain of my answer, while other times felt lost in my questions. I have fallen short in my search yet always felt strengthened by the journey.  Psalm 139 comes along and unravels my lifetime search with a single affirmation, “God knows you.”  That hardly seems fair.  What do I really know about God beyond the mystery of God’s grace?  The Psalms tell us God is gracious, forgiving, steadfast in love.  But I can only give thanks for that.  I can’t touch it, I can’t feel it, I can’t even prove it.  Paul tells us that God is in Christ.  I believe this, I celebrate it, I live my life according to Paul’s proclamation. But are knowing and believing the same thing?  In this quest of identities, God always has the upper hand.  If a level playing field is what we desire than perhaps we should play somewhere else because first, God knows us deeper than we know ourselves, and second, God chooses to remain a mysterious force, only partially revealed in burning bushes and still small voices.

      As a child, how could I possibly understand my parents keeping an eye on me even when I chose to leave the safety of their garden?  As a child of God,  I am sometimes unnerved by that eternal eye from which I can not flee.    In my imperfect state, God’s constant presence often fills me with as much guilt as comfort.  I know that to be my insecurity rather than God’s intention and yet it is my reality.

      Needing to understand, wanting to be claimed by mercy and grace, I again turn to the poet for help.  He writes, “Such knowledge of God is too wonderful for me; it is so high I can not attain it.”  This Psalmist has reached a plateau in his relationship with God in which God is the one who understands him beyond any desire the writer has to be known. Left with no other choice, the poet surrenders to both God’s wisdom and compassion.   His desire to know God was not defeated.  He was simply overwhelmed by the wonder and grace of this entity we have come to know as Yahweh, Jehovah, the Almighty One.

      When we have lost our way… when with deliberate intent we have turned our back on truth and peace… when we are overcome with mounting anxieties and ever deepening frustrations… when in our loneliness we have sat in despair, too weak to move, too fatigued to lift our head, God has searched us and found us.  While we cannot escape God’s Scrutiny, neither can we escape God’s Love.  God breaks into our busy ….confused …..imperfect…. ordinary lives, and whispers , “I see you; I am still with you; you are going to be OK.”

      And we smile, for what else can we do?  There is something special, even intimate, about being known.

      To God be the glory.      Amen.

                                

 

The Sower

Matthew 13:1-9

The Sower

 

        Our church is blessed with a group of folks who have successfully planted a community garden. They call themselves the Garden Hoes. This project did not happen overnight. The original idea bloomed in their imagination at least six months before the initial seed was planted. The original group carefully researched the idea of their garden. They traveled far and wide to meet with others. A site was carefully selected before any ground was plowed. Poles were planted and a mesh fence erected to protect the plants from deer and rabbits. Inch by inch, row by row, they plotted where each seed would be planted. Then the real work really. They watered, fertilized, weeded, repelled bugs, and turned slugs into alcoholics. Their labor was rewarded as each year’s crop has been greater than the year before. In this year of Covid-19 the garden has been a place folks could go to safely work and discover community. As it turns out gardening is kind of like prayer. All you have to do is be willing to get down on your knees.

        This morning’s scripture confirms Jesus would have been a lousy farmer. He tells a story about a man who went out to sow seeds. Unlike our Garden Hoes, there was no rhyme or reason to his madness. He went out to an open field and just started flinging seeds. They went everywhere. Some fell on the path. Some fell among the rocks. Some fell among thorns. Evidently his aim wasn’t all that bad because some of the seeds managed to find fertile soil.

        Those of you who are gardeners are already calculating the amount of seed wasted by the sower. No one throws seeds on a path unless you happen to love birds. Certainly it is not a bad thing to feed birds but once they clean off the sidewalk they are going to feast on the seeds in the fertile ground. No one throws seed among the rocks because the soil is too thin to support growth. No one throws seeds among the weeds. The fragile plants will be choked out by the established vegetation. By the time you finally get around to throwing the seed on the fertile ground the bag is half empty. It would seem the moral of the story is throw seeds where they have a chance to grow.

        But there is a problem. When Jesus told a parable and folks responded, “That makes sense”, Jesus would reply, “Parables are easy to hear, but a lot harder to understand.” I am thinking, “What is so hard about this parable. Plant the word of God in fertile ground and good things happen?” Then I remember, I’ve been reading the parables of Jesus all my life and more I am open to them, the more complex they become. Early on this parable was so obvious. If you want folks to listen to God, plant the word where the most people are willing to listen. That is why we have churches. Someone planned the Rockfish garden perfectly. A site was selected. Walls were put up to keep all the varmints out. Inside the church the rows were planted. We call them pews. Once a week the plants, we call them members, are watered and fed. Everyone is happy. The plants produce offshoots and the garden just sort of takes care of itself.

        But what if that was not what Jesus was trying to tell us? What if the seeds are people? Each year this church is blessed with the election of elders. Normally I meet with the new class for some training before they are introduced to the session. During the process of being ordained, elders have the chance to tell their faith journey. These stories are amazing. Many mirror my own walk of faith. They were born into a family that attended church. Every week they attended Sunday School and Church. While they may have wandered a bit during the college years they found their bearings and remembered the faith of their youth. In other words, they were baptized, married, and will one day be buried in a church. From the beginning to the end of life, they have always known Jesus.

        But then there are the other stories. Lee Goodrich talked about sitting in a bar with a couple of friends. A stranger stopped by the table asked if he could join them. A casual conversation ensued and eventually the man introduced himself as the minister of a local Presbyterian Church. Because this man was willing to come out into the weeds to have a conversation, Lee and Valarie visited the church and eventually joined.   

        When Lee told this story I was initially embarrassed, not for him but for me. I thought about all the times I have been on a golf course and been paired with a stranger. Eventually the stranger will ask what I do for a living. I worry if I tell the truth he will be mortified because of the word that slipped out of their mouth on the previous hole after missing a five foot putt. I quickly decide a little lie is better than humiliation so I just say I am retired.  An opportunity revealed and an opportunity lost.

        Jesus, unlike me, never seemed to be worried about awkward moments.  Jesus just lets the seeds fly. Sometimes the seed falls on the hard path. I like to think of these seeds as someone who has totally burned out. They have grown weary of every day being the same ritual. To use an overused phrase, “They see no light at the end of their tunnel.” They are looking for a new path, perhaps a new community, but no one is willing to offer a word of hope. Imagine meeting that person. What would you say?

        Sometimes seeds find themselves in rocky soil where the dirt is too thin. Early in life they grew some roots in an Evangelical church that loved Jesus but nobody else. As they grew older the thin theology of their youth was not adequate. They left church, gave up on God, and wandered aimlessly trying to find some deeper soil that would nourish their soul. What would you say to them?

Sometimes folks find themselves in the weeds getting choked by too much doctrine and not enough compassion. Every word is met with an argument, and every solution is rejected out of spite. They become frustrated and angry with meaningless arguments.  What would you say to them?

Jesus continues to throw people our way. They have been beat up by life, by the church, and by folks who have all the answers. What are we supposed to do?  The answer is verse nine. “Let anyone with ears…..listen.”    Amen.

Yokes

Matthew 11:28-30

 

        Our scripture is from the Gospel of Matthew. That is sort of good news/bad news. I know many of you are delighted after a month in the Old Testament I have come to my senses and returned to the gospels. The bad news is the illustration Jesus used is about farm animals. I know nothing about farming. It was only recently that I learned chocolate milk doesn’t come from brown cows. I spent 12 years in West Texas before I could tell the difference between a sheep and a goat. So when Jesus says “Take my yoke upon you”, I end up completely missing the point.

        I understand the first part when Jesus said, “Come to me all ye that are weary and heavy burdened.” I suspect we all get that. These are difficult times. I turn on the TV and one doctor claims we are in the second inning of a nine inning game. I flip the channel and another expert is singing “Don’t worry, be Happy.” No one knows what the truth is and that causes even greater anxiety. We are weary. We are burdened. So we turn to Jesus for a word of hope.

        Because I know nothing about farming, when I read this passage my first response is joy. A narrow reading of this text proclaims all I have to do is name my burden, remove it from my shoulders, turn it over to Jesus, and everything is going to be alright.  (stop)

I wish it were that simple. I wish I believed if I had enough faith my world would right itself because what I am not lacking is faith. I see the hand of God in creation. I experience the joy of God when someone laughs. I feel the pain of God when a child cries. I believe God is beyond what I can imagine and that gives me hope, for I know nothing is beyond God’s restoration. But I can’t wish pain away. I can’t pray death out of existence. I can’t single handedly reverse what has taken years to construct. I can’t place my life into the arms of Jesus and rest assured everything will be OK. As much as we all desire rest from our burdens, the answer has never been to just walk away.

Thanks be to God, this is not what Jesus is saying to us. Like I said, I know nothing about farming which means I know nothing about the idea of a yoke. But I do know how to do research. Let me share what I found. Before tractors, animals, quite often cows, did all the heavy lifting. A yoke was a wooden bar that joined two animals together so they could pull a heavy load. When two animals  work in unison a yoke was not necessary. But that seldom happens. The yoke was a training tool, used to help inexperienced animals learn how to pull the weight of the plow.

This coordinated effort does not happen instantly. The neophyte initially struggles mightily to lead. The results are disastrous. Sometimes the young bull refuses to pull his load. The experienced bull does not accept the extra weight. He patiently moves forward, allowing the trainee to find the stride needed to accomplish the task at hand.

There is a great song out of the African-American tradition that goes:

I want Jesus to walk with me.

I want Jesus to walk with me.

All along my pilgrim journey,

I want Jesus to walk with me.

 

How is that walk possible if all we do is we lay our burdens on God and expect a miracle? Likewise how can we walk with Jesus if we are always pulling away? This walk must be a coordinated stroll moving with a likeness of mind and spirit. It is not something that happens instantly or without practice. Without spiritual discipline it is impossible.

        So how is your prayer life? Do you pray for what you want or do you leave yourself open to the mystery of God?

        Do you spend time in Bible Study? Do you cherry pick and only read the stuff you like? Or do you search for those hidden truths that guide you through the rocky paths?

        When is the last time you visited that list called the gifts of the spirit. A couple of them are kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.        

(go to the communion table)

        When is the last time you picked up the cup of salvation? Our lives are dominated by rechargeable batteries. We plug them in to run our phones, computers, tools, and just about everything else upon which we depend. Communion is my rechargeable battery. At least once a month we come together around this table and share a meal. We do more than celebrate Christ. We acknowledge our dependence on God and each other. We come around this table, as one. We share our joys and burdens, as one. We proclaim our hopes and dreams, as one. We walk together, as one. And because we are together, as one, our yoke is not heavy. Because we are together, as one, our burdens are bearable. Because we are together, as one, we find rest for our soul and confidence in our path.

        The circumstances of our world have separated us, but these circumstances will not keep us apart. We are yoked together in Christ. We are yoked together by the love we have for each other. We are yoked together by our gentleness, our kindness, our prayers, and our faithfulness. We are yoked together by the body of Christ, broken for us. We are yoked together by the blood of Christ, shed for us. Come, all ye who are weary and carrying heavy burdens.

Eat!                                                               Drink! 

Let us walk together through these difficult times.

Amen.