It’s Not About the Whale

Jonah 3:10-4:11

        The human spirit is a wonderful gift. But sometimes our heart will only allow us to go as far as our mind can imagine. Intellectually we have been trained to accept particular information as true and we base the path of our daily life on that evidence.  A basic truth of the ancients declared the world was flat. This limited any imagination concerning the vastness of the universe. Because the world was flat, the sun revolved around the earth. Because the world was flat, exploration of the great seas was forbidden. Because the world was flat, even the reign of God was limited to a particular locale. Little was imagined beyond what one could see or experience.

        After spending two generations in Babylon, the sons and daughters of Abraham returned to Jerusalem. For many, The Captivity had been quite a revelation. Before Babylon the Hebrew people depended on an oral tradition. Stories were passed from one generation to the next by word of mouth. The Babylonians stored their memories in manuscripts. Written documents preserved the history, the beliefs, the laws, and even the legends. In Babylon the Rabbis began to write down their ancient stories of faith. What we call the Old Testament made the transformation from campfires to scrolls. A tribal faith became a national institution making the chief priest as influential as the king. 

        When you are a tribal faith, the realm of God is never imagined beyond the landscape of the naked eye. When faith expands beyond the campfire, the shackles on one’s imagination are challenged.

        Yahweh was the God of Israel. Baal was the God of the Philistines. Zeus was the God of the Greeks. Marduk was the God of the Babylonian. Each geographic territory had a god and each god was only as powerful as the people who claimed him. When the Hebrew people restored Jerusalem and began to rebuild the Temple, the question arose, “Was not Yahweh with us in Babylon?” That was a radical idea. It caused great consternation among both priests and scholars. A second question followed. “If Yahweh was not with us, why were we allowed to come home?” This caused an even greater stir in the theological community. The facts were the Persians defeated the Babylonians and Cyrus released the Hebrews. The prevailing belief was Yahweh inspired Cyrus to instigate this act of liberation. If this was true, then how far did the reign of Yahweh extend? Even more important, how far did the love and mercy of God extend? These questions challenged the shackled imaginations of a newly liberated people. Only a story could challenge truths they believed to be self-evident.

        Most of us were introduced to the story of Jonah when we were children. Well, that’s not quite true. We were introduced to the whale. As children we learned God gave Jonah a task to perform and Jonah ran away.  He leapt into the ocean to escape God only to be swallowed by a large fish. Inside the belly of the monster Jonah came to his senses and begged to be released from his watery prison. The whale spit Jonah out on dry land and Jonah hopped on the first bus to Nineveh. After telling the story Mrs. Cartledge looked down at me and said, “When God calls you had better listen. There might be a giant fish lurking in the darkness.” She told a wonderful story but not the one wedged between the Obadiah and Micah. The real story began with a not so simple request, “Jonah, go to Nineveh and tell the Assyrians Yahweh demands repentance.”   Jonah replied, “Not in a thousand lifetimes.”

        The Assyrians were ISIS on steroids. The Assyrians were murderous brutes who smashed villages and burned cities just for sport.  The ten tribes of Israel were swept from the face of the earth by the Assyrians. To go to Nineveh meant certain death but that is not why Jonah ran away. He defied God by declaring the obvious. “You are merciful, gracious, and filled with steadfast love. If Assyria agrees to repent, you will forgive them. I want no part of your act of mercy.” Jonah turned and caught the first boat out of town.

        Are there limits to God’s mercy? Jonah feared there were not. He refused to be the vehicle that brought salvation of his enemy. First, they did not deserve God’s mercy. Second, the idea that God’s love transcended geographical and religious boundaries was heretical. The Hebrews were the children of Abraham. They were the Chosen Ones. They alone were the recipients of God’s grace.   Not Nineveh!    

So God put Jonah into time out. Jonah’s disposition was so sour even the whale couldn’t stand it. The fish finally spit the repugnant missionary onto dry ground. On clearing the water from his ears Jonah now heard, “Go to Nineveh.”

        What choice did he have? Jonah went and reluctantly delivered the word of the Lord. And Nineveh repented.

        Jonah was outraged. He screamed at God, “I knew this would happen. They do not deserve mercy. Do you really think they have the capacity to change? You watch, tomorrow they will be up to their old tricks. You are such a sentimental old fool. Will you never learn?”

        Jonah stormed out into the desert. He sat under the shade of a solitary plant and sulked. God, displaying omnipotent annoyance, killed the plant. Exposed and disgraced Jonah cried, “Why don’t you just let me die!” God responded, “Is the life of a bush more important to you than the fate of 120,000 people?” There was no response from Jonah and the story abruptly ended.

        Only the story never ends. We have been living it for over 2600 years. Like Jonah, how often do we run away when the light of God exposes our limited vision?

        Is my God the God of my enemy?

        Does my God’s mercy extend to my enemy?

        Are we allowed to consider such sacrilege?   As stated earlier we have been trained to accept particular information as truth. Our imagination is shackled by the scope of our knowledge and experience leaving our worldview flat. But don’t despair. God continues to spit us up from the belly of deception. God continues to round out our flat edges. God continues to say to us, “The way to a new community begins with the courage to reimagine what we always believed to be absolutely true.”          Amen.

Remembering 9/11

       Exodus 14:19-31

        As I sat down to look at the lectionary text, the fact that Friday was September 11 probably forced my eyes and heart to give the Exodus passage greater significance. I still remember the tragic image that captivated our collective memories. I am sure most of us distinctly remember what we were doing that September morning. The day before, I had flown into Raleigh. Deb and I were living in Texas when I received word that a dear friend and colleague in Wilmington N.C. had died. His wife wanted me to perform the funeral. I used this as a chance to see my mother and father. The morning of the 11^th I drove my car from Morehead to Wilmington on a back road through Camp Lejeune. Not knowing what was happening, I was somewhat alarmed at the activity by MP’s and security police. I was basically given a personal escort off the base. I turned on my radio and the reports I received seemed like something out of a HG Wells novel. Once I got into Wilmington I was stunned to find the streets deserted. I pulled into a Dick’s Sporting Goods store and witnessed what the whole world was watching. Over and over again we saw the replay of the first plane hitting the Trade Center. Then live I witnessed in disbelief as the second plane appeared. The sky was a cloud of fire and smoke.  Below, those who survived were frantically running for safety with no idea what the next moment might bring.  This image is burned into our collective consciousness. But there was a third horrific memory.  That evening, I drove back to Morehead and watched TV. There were brief flashes of reactions around the world. One was a picture of folks dancing for joy as the cloud of fire and smoke briefly reigned supreme over the broken hearts and psyche of our nation. I thought to myself, “How could they rejoice?”

In the weeks that followed the pews of my church were filled to capacity. People who showed up only on Christmas and Easter suddenly appeared. Some showed came to pray. Some came hoping for a word of hope. Some probably came because they didn’t know where else to go.

        Now it is 19 years later.  Much has changed.  Perhaps our innocence has been stripped.  Perhaps our hearts have been hardened. Perhaps we have been driven by a long season of revenge.  Perhaps we don’t even like remembering because those memories are painful, and on going, and have reached no sense of closure.  Those folks that filled our pews for a week or two have gone. Their reaction was as much one of fear and confusion as anything else. Maybe they just didn’t know where else to go. Maybe they were looking for answers and found none. Sometimes the church doesn’t have answers, only stories.

This morning’s story is about fire and smoke.    The Hebrew people overstayed their welcome in Egypt. Southerners have a great saying about never visiting relatives for more than three days. That is when fish and guest begin to smell. The Hebrew people extended their welcome beyond three generations. So Pharaoh put them to work. Eventually The Hebrew people became so immersed in Egyptian culture they forgot their past and their God. In their misery they cried out to anyone who would listen. Their cries caught the ear of Yahweh and the God of Abraham responded by sending Moses. After numerous conversations with Pharaoh, the scene was set for the Hebrews to leave Egypt. They fled east toward the Promised Land only to discover there was a body of water standing in their way. They looked at the water; then looked back toward Egypt. It was hard to miss the cloud of dust exploding across the western horizon. The chariots of Egyptian Army were descending on the Hebrew people. They turned to Moses and cried out, “Why did you bring us out here to die?” Moses responded, “You are a people of life not death.” He lifted his shaft and a great cloud of smoke and fire separated the children of Israel from the armies of Pharaoh.  As the waters began to part, the Hebrews made their way through the danger to solid ground. In all the smoke the Egyptians could not see what was happening. They followed the Israelites into the water and that was their undoing. As the Israelites were taking their first step toward a new life, the waters rescinded destroying every member of the Egyptian army.  That night the lifeless bodies of the Egyptians washed up on the shore.   This is the oldest story of the Hebrew Scriptures.  It is the story that was told throughout the history of Israel.  When the Jews were in Babylon the story was remembered.  When the Romans destroyed Jerusalem, the story was remembered.  In the death camps of Auschwitz the song faithfully sung was, “Sing to the Lord for God has triumphed graciously, the horse and the rider God has thrown into the sea.”

When we remember 9/11 don’t our hearts burn with a desire for God to once again stir up the waters against those who are our enemies? We want, no more than that, we demand God be judge, jury and prosecuting attorney. We want God to strike vengeance on those we consider to be our enemy. We want a clear and concise action to justify Christians marching forth to war. Fortunately, God is not controlled by our emotions.  Within the utter mystery of the fire and smoke that separated the Israelites from the Egyptians is an unpredictable God.  As we continue to read the stories of the Old and New Testament we discover this is not a God who is endlessly biased toward one people at the expense of another, but a God steadfastly preoccupied with a gracious horizon that we fail to comprehend. This is the God who insists we forgive our enemies not once, not twice but seventy times seven. How does one reconcile the slaughter at the Red Sea and this extraordinary proclamation? The only explanation I can offer is another story which boldly declares God is bigger than us and our agendas.

        The Talmud is an ancient Hebrew commentary which is studied alongside the Torah. For generations these commentaries have been an invaluable tool to Rabbis searching for greater insights. According to a story in the Talmud, the angels were singing and dancing over the deliverance of Israel at the Red Sea. One of the angels noticed that God had not joined their celebration.  “Look”, the angel said, “The Lord, the Creator of the Universe is sitting there weeping!”  They approached God and asked, “Why are you weeping? You delivered your children from the hand of evil.” God said, “I am weeping for the Egyptians washed up on the shore.  Those sons, those husbands, those fathers, are also my children.”  

When we remember 9/11, those memories are filled with images of fire and smoke.  We remember the pain and heartbreak of so many people.  We remember our enemies singing and dancing for joy.  What we fail to remember is our God does not rejoice over the loss of one human soul regardless if they are friend or foe. Maybe this is because so many of us came of age on that fateful day. Our childlike naiveté was lost. Trusting the stranger became difficult, even foolish. Over the past 19 years that suspicion has been extended to neighbors and even family members. On 9/11 New York was a city in ruins. Since that day our suspicion, anger, and distrust has extended beyond the collapsed of the Twin Towers and reached from sea to shining sea. Our hearts have been hardened. We desire a God triumphant. Now, ravaged by a pandemic, enflamed by a 400 year old sin, encouraged by self-righteous prophets, and guided by self-serving leaders on both sides of the aisle, we are a nation divided and only able to agree on one thing.   My opponent is God’s enemy.    

There’s no poetry to our rhetoric, only fiery prose. Without the poet, how can we remember the tears of God?

God of our weary years, God of our silent tears,

Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way;

Thou who hast by thy might, led us into the light,

Keep us forever in thy path we pray.

Lest our feet stray from the place where we met Thee.

Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world we forget Thee.

Shadowed beneath thy hand, may we forever stand.

True to our God, true to our native land.

        James Weldon Johnson wrote those words over 100 years ago. How true they ring today! If we are to look beyond the moment we must do it together. If we are to reclaim the path of righteousness we must do it without prejudice. If we are to recognize of our God, we must do it humbly. If we are to rise above the ruins it must be done with open hands, open hearts, and tears in our eyes.

        Amen.

Three's a Crowd

Matthew 18:15-20

“Three’s a Crowd”

 

I love my daughter’s children, …… but. What a horrible way to start a sermon. Who doesn’t love  grandchildren? Andy and I play golf and fish together. Austin thinks Woody Guthrie is the world’s greatest song writer. And Siddalee……Siddalee is Janis Joplin before drugs. My grandchildren are creative, active, and sometimes very loud. I love them equally, especially when I get them one on one. I even do well when I’m playing with any combination of two.  But when the three of them are together it becomes a disruptive force that erupts with the intensity of the Second Big Bang. Together, they frighten me. I have been known to run to my bedroom, lock the door, and put myself in timeout. So don’t tell me when two or three are gathered, something good is about to happen. I know better. When I was young I heard Deep Purple. The decibel level of that concert does not begin to compare with the Paukert children when they gather in the same room. They play together so well in pairs. But when the third joins they go at it like …… adults.

Isn’t it precious how children imitate us? You put any three adults together to talk about sports, religion, or politics you will end up with five different opinions. Arguing is the national pastime. If you are not arguing with someone it is only because no one is talking to you. This is not something that just happened overnight. According to our scripture this has been going on since the time of Jesus. People argue. People get their feelings hurt. So what happens next?

This is one of those times when our scripture works best when we explore what is on both sides of the text we read. What you probably heard was, “If a member sins against you, point out their fault and see if they agree. If not, repeat the charge in the front of two folks. If the guilty will still not listen, wipe your hands of them. But if  two of you agree and if you are gathered in God’s name, you will be blessed.

That sounds pretty cut and dried. Any child can understand these conditions. Tell someone they hurt you. If they deny it, accuse them in the midst of a crowd. If they deny it again, tell them to take a hike. Then find some folks you really like and sing all three verses of Jesus Loves Me.

If it were only that simple. Let’s back up the bus to verse 18. “There was a shepherd who had 100 sheep. When he got home that evening, one of the sheep was missing. The shepherd went back into the mountains in the middle of the night to find the lost lamb. When he found the sheep, he rejoiced more over the reckless one than the 99 that never went astray. Remember, it is not the will of God that anyone should be lost.”

So let’s read between the lines. Do not think for one moment Jesus was claiming the lost sheep was innocent. The rules were, stay in the flock, don’t wander off, and you will have a pretty good life. But the sheep got distracted. Maybe he saw some grass just over the hill that looked great. Maybe he stayed too long at the water hole. Maybe he was just too lazy to keep up. Whatever happened, it was not the fault of the shepherd. When you have 100 sheep it is hard to keep your eyes on everyone. Every member of the flock has to take responsibility for his own actions. But when the sheep turned up missing, blame no longer mattered. The shepherd had to make a decision. Why risk your neck going back out in the dark when you did everything right but someone else screwed up. Why not leave them? It’s their problem, let them fix it. That is what most of us would do. But God demands a higher standard. God expects us to make things right. Let me put that in stronger words. God expects us to make things right even when it is not our fault.

Now let’s go back to verse 20. A person in the church really ticks you off.  You get along great with the other 99 folks but there is this one guy that just seems to have you in his crosshairs. You’ve tried to avoid him but that makes the situation even more awkward. Then Jesus has the nerve to say, “Go have a private talk with him and straighten this mess out.”

Before you have that conversation I would remind you the Bible was not written by George Mason. You remember George Mason. He possessed the fervor but perhaps not the tact of his friend from Charlottesville. While Jefferson spoke eloquently of the rights of the individual, Mason was much more direct. Standing to speak against King George, Mason said, “Since the king’s will not be punished in the next world, it is up to us to punish him now.”

We applaud this sort of bombastic rhetoric. If we have been dishonored, take a no prisoners. We delight in shaming the person who harms us. If my enemy is brutalized in the exchange, that is just too bad. They stepped over the line and need to be held accountable.

Our primary goal is preserving truth. He did something wrong. We want a confession and we want satisfaction. That is the way we do things here in America. But Jesus didn’t grow up in Kansas. Jesus expects something different. Jesus wants the dignity of the guilty to be preserved.

If I have held your attention up to this moment your inner psyche is probably screaming, “Why would Jesus want me to do that?” The answer is something we might not want to hear. Jesus favors the wellness of the community over the rights of any individual.

Jesus says to us, “You know he is wrong and he knows he is wrong. But why do you want to ruin a relationship? Swallow your pride. Let him keep his. Give reconciliation a chance.”

We all claim to love the good news of the gospel? Well here are some tough words from that same gospel. When we bind ourselves to Christ, we bind ourselves to the one who lived and died for the reconciliation of the world. When we bind ourselves to Christ, we are not free FROM each other; we are free IN each other. We are not dependent on sameness but rather a diversity that allows us to see beyond our individual wants and needs.  When someone puts themself first, when someone harms a member of the body, it becomes our responsibility to heal the wound rather than amputate the guilty.

How did I come to this outrageous conclusion? I read my bible. In the next verse Peter said, “Jesus, this is tough stuff. Are you saying I’m supposed to forgive someone up to seven times?” 

We all know the answer without me sharing it.

The church is fundamentally a place where two or three, or twenty or a hundred folks with different stories and different opinions come together in mutual interdependence under Christ. Jesus says I am not as important as We. Jesus says I have to trust folks who think differently than me. And here is the really hard part. Jesus says the church must be a model of conflict resolution in a world which seems to have run out of options.

Paul writes, “Our whole creation has been groaning hoping for what it has not seen.” What the world has seen is too much revenge, hate, violence, and destruction. What the world has heard is too much righteous indignation. But what the world has seldom witnessed is a reconciliation that begins by placing our pride on the back burner. How do we do that?  

Can you multiplying seventy times seven?      Amen