Learning the Way of Christ, Despite “Us” and “Them” (Ephesians 2:11-22)

Learning the Way of Christ, Despite “Us” and “Them” (Ephesians 2:11-22) 

 A few years back, the question was posed: what happens when you read somebody else’s mail? Perhaps you have recollections of nosy old Aunt Thelma, teakettle in hand to steam a letter open to peek inside. Perhaps you shudder, recollecting the modern day “identity theft” as someone tries to read your mail illegally. No, the question was asked with the most earnest and honest of intent. A New Testament scholar was teaching a group of seminary students how to read an epistle, or letter, in the New Testament. He asked the question: what happens when you read somebody else’s mail?

 In this case, he meant the writings of Paul and a few others, sending letters to first century Christian congregations scattered throughout the Roman Empire. The difficulty of reading “Romans” or “Philippians” or the non-Pauline epistles (“James”, 1-2-3 John, etc.) is the reality that you are only reading one side of the conversation. In other words, we do not have the letters sent by the congregation asking for Paul’s advice. Instead, we are reading only half of the dialogue. To read a New Testament epistle is like taking a bag of full post office mail, sticking a hand in, grabbing a letter at random, and then reading it. (By the way, this is illegal, so do not do it unless you would like a suit with pin stripes). Nonetheless, reading a letter without any background, any idea of what the conversation is about is a challenging task. You might be able to sort out a few details or guess at what is being discussed, however, you must also leave a little room for the fact you do not have all of the facts.

 So, then, why do we read the Epistles? Over the centuries, despite the obvious awkward nature of reading “other people’s mail”, we have learned that what Paul and other epistle writers have to say still speaks a good word. Nonetheless, we have to be careful in our interpretation and assumptions, for again, we are reading “other people’s mail”, postdated sometime around two thousand years ago.

 The Epistles to the Ephesians offers an exercise in cautious yet reverent reading. The scholarship around Ephesians is voluminous, and the epistle offers much fruitful reflection on the life of the Christian and life together in Christian community. What initiated the conversation between the Ephesians and Paul is a little unclear. What has happened in the fellowship that pushes tensions upwards?

Here is where the cautious reading begins. If you are to read a letter from this era, you have to realize most of the New Testament reflects the tension between Jews and Gentiles. In the first century, the earliest Christians considered themselves part of Judaism. The earliest Christian claim of Jesus as the Lord and Messiah, the very Son of God, created great consternation between the earliest disciples and established Judaism of the day. Even within a gathering of early Christians, a follower primarily formed by Jewish identity had difficulty embracing the thought of a Gentile, someone who is “other”, as a fellow disciple. The first years of the Christian tradition were often painful years, as synagogues became hostile to followers of Christ, and early disciples struggled with what it meant to follow Christ and practice a type of faith inclusive of persons otherwise considered excluded.

Thus, Paul enters into the midst of a great debate within the first century: how can Jews and Gentiles be together in the same religion? He sees the battle lines drawn in the midst of the religious lives of Christians. Even from afar, Paul can see the divisions separating persons, and he tosses his two cents in. He says, “Katallagete”.

This Greek phrase means, “Be reconciled!” Paul gives the Christians at Ephesus and those of us “reading other people’s mail” a way forward, though sadly, we shall realize, this way is often the road less taken. In the middle of arduous challenge and the uncertainties accompanying change, Paul responds to the Ephesians as he responds to other Christian churches: be reconciled.

Reconciliation is Paul’s way forward for the Church at conflict. Why does Paul take such a firm word to the Ephesians? Is Paul too bold or frank for his own good? No, Paul speaks with strong convictions fueling his letters. He believes that in the cross of Jesus Christ, God has reconciled the world and brought down the barriers between us all, making us one in Christ Jesus. Aware of the tensions within the Ephesians congregation and the larger troubles between Jewish and Gentile followers of Jesus, listen once more to Paul’s words:

 But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it. So, he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.

Hence, the cross lays low all the barriers constructed by human understandings. The separation humanity often demands or enforces for the privilege of some and the exclusion of others is unveiled for what it is: a distortion of the world reshaped by God’s work in Christ Jesus. Paul claims that divine, not human, initiative has created the world as such. Thus, he tells the Ephesians, what are you waiting for? Begin the work of reconciliation and live in the new household of God! In this new structure, we are no longer “us” and “them”. We are simply “we”, with no favor or discriminatory differences. God has already made this possible. It now up to us to live into this reality.

Elsewhere, Paul calls the early Christians to become “ambassadors of reconciliation”, persons who go and live out a witness to this belief. This is not just a word to the inner circle about an internal matter. God’s reconciling work through Christ is a word for the world. The very Creator of the Universe has offered freely this new way of living with an often violent, broken world. Even encouraging is Paul’s understanding that this reconciliation work begins in the midst of the Church. It makes excellent sense: if we are to be reconcilers, the faithful have to recognize their own need for reconciliation, taking time to work through the “hard math” of what it takes to get beyond the polarities separating us and embracing one another as equals, all standing under the same cross.

I know that one sermon cannot capture the fullness of reconciliation, however, if we were to explore it, surely we would have to start with this foundational truth. If we are to reconcile with one another and share this with the world, we have to have our beliefs rightly formed about reconciliation. It is not something Paul or any of us could have started on our own. God alone makes the opportunity for reconciliation possible through Christ crucified. It is up to us to learn the ways of Christ and live our lives, shaped by the teachings and example of Christ.

Let me share one way that I consider reconciliation possible: it takes practice, intention, and the belief that this is truly the way that God brings peace to the world. I learned this during seminary, however, through the lens of a childhood memory. In seminary, I struggled mightily with the Greek and Hebrew classes. (For starters, adulthood is a lousy time to start learning a language, and secondly, one should not do it at 8 AM as this was the only time of day my seminary offered the course. Trying to learn Greek before the coffee kicks in is quite challenging.) As I was learning my vocabulary words for New Testament Greek, I tried just about anything to help me remember words. When I first came across the phrase “katallagete”, I looked at the word, and I thought it oddly reminded me of the word “cattle gate”.

Being a farm kid, I was around cattle gates all the time. In fact, I suspicion one reason farmers enjoy having sons ride along with them is to have someone who can open the gates and shut them so the dads do not have to get out of the truck! I remember one cattle gate quite vividly. It was called a “cattle guard”, which allowed vehicles to drive across, however, the bars forming the bottom were spaced out enough that cattle could not walk across. (If it helps, imagine a bridge where every other plank has been removed. It takes mindfulness to cross such a bridge.) In fact, the cattle would be startled by their hooves falling between the spaced out piping and therefore avoid trying to cross over to the other side.

I remember as a young child wandering off to the cattle guard to walk across it, balancing myself on the slats and trying not to step on the ground below. It was usually muddy underneath, so it made it a bit thrilling to see if I could avoid getting dirty. (I know, farm kids really had to make their own fun, didn’t they?)

As I saw the word katallagete in seminary, I found it amusing to relate the two concepts. For both, you have to be sure of your footing, willing to risk a little to get to the other side. Once you have learned to risk, you gain a better footing, less prone to stumbling or giving up. Eventually, you can move nimbly and without hindrance.

I suspicion many of us have never heard much about Paul’s writings on reconciliation, despite hearing many sermons on Paul’s letters and much debate over the divisive ways the epistles can be interpreted around gender and sexuality. I believe we have an excellent opportunity to reclaim a major thread of the New Testament’s teachings by doing so. To talk about reconciliation and explore ways of becoming reconciled one to another is critical. Indeed, with all due hope, I hear the wise observation of L. William Countryman, a contemporary Episcopal scholar, who claims reconciliation is “a way of speaking about the end goal of the scriptural story”. If God has brought this about through the work of the cross, then what are we waiting for? “Katallagete!”

To live for God's glory (Ephesians 1:3-14)

Today’s New Testament reading is one long sentence. The English translations tend to render these verses into more chewable sentences. In the Greek manuscripts, verses 3 through 14 go for miles until you finally get to that period, which finally caps things off. For those of you familiar with the Pauline epistles, this may not come as a shock. Paul’s Epistles are often a hard slog to read, with his thoughts framed in the midst of sentences you would have been terrified to diagram in middle school.

So, why does Paul use all these words with such an allergy to basic punctuation? In this passage, Paul cannot help but contain himself. He is writing in praise of God and what God has done for the world in the form of Christ Jesus. It is an unending word of praise drawing together rich imagery of Christ at the center of all Creation. In most of his letters, Paul will offer words of greeting and then a few words of thanksgiving. For the Epistle to the Ephesians, Paul shares this lengthy word of thanksgiving as a word of great thanksgiving meant to inspire and enliven the life of the believers receiving his letter. Despite the world we know it, in its frantic, uncertain, broken down way, Paul claims there is another story at work, a way of looking at the world that inspires and encourages us to live in the midst of the chaos and ambiguity where our faith shall lead us with confidence and grace     

As you might have recalled from the church newsletter or announcements from the pulpit, I was accepted into a program for clergy serving smaller congregations. The good folks at Virginia Theological Seminary envisioned the program, known as the Summer Collegium, as a way to support congregations just like yours. Indeed, the diversity of congregations represented at this year’s event was wonderful. In this year’s class, a diverse group of mainline Protestant clergy attended a gathering of ministers who have spent much of their career in service to congregations of one hundred or less. Some clergy are part-time. Some clergy serve more than one congregation. Some clergy are in rural areas and small towns while others serve congregations in urban and metropolitan areas.

At Coffee Hour, I invite you to look at the booklet featuring an introduction to each of the program participants. Each entry features a brief narrative of the clergy person and their spouse, telling their story of ministry. I find the other half of the entry even more exciting. Each minister’s congregation appears in a wonderful collage of photographs, giving you a glimpse of congregational life in churches across parts of North America.

In our sessions, we talked about the difficulties facing smaller congregations. The current economic downturn affects many congregations nationwide. These churches reflect the ongoing challenges of being numerically smaller than they were decades ago. As clergy shared our challenges and our fears, a lot of joy about the people we serve tended wonderfully to eclipse the worries. Look at the pictures in this booklet, and you will see the beauty and wonder of “being small”. The stories I heard of congregations certainly included ones of challenge, but I was also privileged and indeed blessed to hear of what little congregations are doing to keep the faith. We are not the only congregation out there that is smaller than some of us remember. We are not alone.

Indeed, as I listened to others and shared the story of First Baptist to my colleagues, I found myself smiling and feeling quite joyful. We are doing good work, and I am blessed to hear of what other congregations are doing. Indeed, it felt like one long season of thanksgiving. We know there are challenges. We know it is challenging to be smaller. We have to remind ourselves, however, there are great things happening in small places. Listen to the sounds around the building this morning as the great joy of Vacation Bible School is underway, for its fourth year! Celebrate the opportunities for missional service as we expect a $1500 check from National Ministries as “seed money” to start a cooking program envisioned by congregants earlier this year. Take note of the new tenant, the Vermont Center for Independent Living (VCIL), as their Bennington office has relocated here as of July 1^s. VCIL helps persons with disabilities find avenues of assistance and advocacy. Know even in tough, economic times, we are helping offset the considerable costs of building operations while attracting a non-profit that adds to the types of services the community is learning to find at First Baptist. Yet again, “601 Main Street” becomes known as a place the community can find “healing, community involvement, and spiritual grounding”. Can I hear an Amen?

Each year’s program focuses on an issue for small church clergy. This year the program offered ways for small church pastors to improve their self-care and wellbeing in ministry work. When I asked the Pastoral Relations Committee if I could apply, they were quite supportive, as were the members of the church cabinet. Why? If there has been anything that I have not done well in my ministry, it has been taking care of myself.

In this line of work, you deal with long hours and often-unpredictable schedules. A few years back, a pastoral mentor told me, “Most hands-on ministry work happens in the unexpected parts of your day.” Dealing with a variety of tasks and more importantly, a variety of people on a day-to-day basis is understandable. Nonetheless, I have tended toward skipping days off and vacation, working on projects and keeping up things to the point that I found myself wore out more than refreshed at the start of a day.

As I attended workshops and talked shop with other clergy at the Summer Collegium, I felt some of the frazzled, wore out feelings drain away for the first time in awhile. I slept well, I ate properly, I walked quite a bit, and I bought a good size stack of books. (Everybody has his or her version of retail therapy.) I even found time to play around with my camera. I took the picture of a park bench on the Virginia Theological Seminary campus. Surrounded by a beautiful mini-garden, the bench reminds me that I need to take a moment and be still. I will keep the picture around as a reminder to myself, and I share it with you so that you can likewise claim the good promise of this image.

The past two weeks helped me identify new skills for self-care. I learned that little things count: leaving some things undone at the end of the day, taking time to get up and walk away from a long stretch at the desk. I learned things that we might not think much about: how to make sure I leave a gap in the day to catch my breath, how to ensure I eat properly and well, how to laugh more and let things go.

For example, this Thursday will be my day off for this week. I will tell myself Wednesday evening when I go to sleep to go to sleep, not check email all day Thursday, and avoid getting involved with day-to-day parish matters (even trying to sneak time writing on the sermon). What will require my full attention on Thursday is housework, time with my spouse, a long walk with my dog, reading a book, or since it is summer, enjoying a home cooked meal with a couple of ears of Moses’ corn (just now available this weekend).

As I integrate the learning experiences from the Summer Collegium, I ask your help. Keep asking me “how are you doing?” and “are you taking care of yourself?” And hold me accountable when I need it. This is part of an ongoing learning experience for me, learning to be a good minister while staying in touch with the reality that I cannot do everything.

When I went to the lectionary, I found Paul’s words to the Ephesians rather appropriate in light of my recent learning experiences. While wordy, Paul’s long thanksgiving is a glimpse of life in Christ, letting God be at the center of all things. If there is any measure of “success” for a Christian, I would suggest that it is how well we live our lives with this sort of thanksgiving shaping who we are.

For myself, it is discovering always anew the joy of being called to ministry and the wonders of serving a congregation. For First Baptist, I suggest we let ourselves listen deeply to the call of God for each of us, all members of a particular congregation living together along the journey. And as I learn the habits of taking care of myself, I hope in turn, I can help the congregation learn and grow in our own self-care. We live with some challenging issues and in challenging times. If Paul were to wander in to the congregation, I imagine he’d just tell us to take a moment to breathe, to grow quiet, and listen to his words of thanksgiving again, letting his words help us find our own capacity to “live for the praise of [God’s] glory”. AMEN.

The Daring of Difference

The Daring of Difference

It is an odd image: a prophet of God frightened out of his wits. The image we have of prophets is more in the vein of “fire and brimstone”, that old sage-like fellow in flowing robes, pointing a long bony finger toward people and nation alike with a fire crackling in one’s eyes. “Fire in the belly” is an apt metaphor. So why is Ezekiel, one of God’s prophets, in need of propping up?

The audacity of this image needs to be reveled in: God’s prophet is called to prophetic work, yet it takes divine Spirit to hoist Ezekiel up from his spot, paralyzed there on the floor. Ezekiel is forlorn, prophetic fire extinguished: a prophet daunted, not daring at all.

Look into Ezekiel’s lot in life, and you can see why he falters. The people to whom he was to speak God’s word were as downtrodden as Ezekiel. The proud nation of David now split into two kingdoms, one now in ruins, the other kingdom nearing its end. The people had little left. No spark found among them, not even the prophet felt up to tackling God’s call to speak.

What does it take to be the prophet, when the times are against you, when the majority will not listen, when even the lesser and greater alike have no courage, no pluck left within? Ezekiel was a product of his times: trembling, forlorn, and as for what God could do to change things, Ezekiel was part of a generation certain that even the divine could not solve the problems looming large overhead.

Thus, a truth emerges: prophets are just like us in that each one of them struggles. Each one of them has the pragmatic realities staring them down. Prophets have to develop a taste, and then a thirst, for words like “hope” and “justice”. Only when the conviction that God indeed will speak a contrary word takes hold in their hearts are prophets able to speak the same.

Like the many prophets before and since, Ezekiel stands in the tension of being prophet to a rebellious world. Instead of “Jerusalem restored”, Ezekiel struggles to see something beyond a hope shattered. Instead of a new people rising up, Ezekiel can only see a valley of dry bones. Only when he hears God’s contrary word shall the prophet see that valley of dry bones become something more.

In other words, Ezekiel is a prophet we Baptists can understand.

Back in the 17^th-century, as Baptists began to emerge in Europe, their beliefs and teachings began to work in the minds of these upstart colonists in America. Roger Williams founded the “first” Baptist church in Providence, Rhode Island, in 1638, part of his personal odyssey of living a contrary-minded faith. When he arrived in America in 1630, Williams was a controversial figure, aggravating the Puritan colonial government to the point that within six years, he was banished from Massachusetts. To avoid deportment to England where he was equally unwelcome, Williams set off in the dead of winter 1636 for the wilderness.

I hear a bit of Ezekiel in Williams, a man who tangled with British and colonial authorities alike. Ironically, the British crown and the Puritan government thought of themselves along the same lines: both forms of government thought they alone knew what God had ordained for the order of things. To both, Williams would speak out against theocratic rule, embracing that religion is a matter of conscience and church and state kept separate. What we take for granted today came only because persons like Roger Williams argued for it and suffered consequences.

Recently, I came across a quote taken from Williams’ writings about his banishment from the Bay Colony. Williams set his reflections to verse:

God makes a Path, provides a Guide,

And feeds in Wilderness!

His glorious name while breath remaines, O that I may confesse.

Lost many a time, I have had no Guide, No House, but Hollow Tree!

In stormy Winter night no Fire, no Food, no Company:

In him I have found a House, a Bed,

A Table, a Company:

No Cup so bitter, but’s made sweet. When God shall Sweet’ning be.

(Edwin Gaustad, Liberty of Conscience, Eerdmans, 1991; current edition,

Judson, 1999).

In the midst of tangling with English and then colonial legal and religious leaders, Williams found strength in reading the sacred text. Surely you heard the refrain of the 23^rd Psalm weaving through his reflections. As he established Rhode Island and a Baptist congregation, Williams worked for religious tolerance, creating the first place within North America where persons of any or no religious background were welcome. The subsequent Constitution and Bill of Rights would be indebted to Williams’ early advocacy for religious liberty. When recently at the Library of Congress in Washington, DC, I saw Thomas Jefferson’s historic 1802 letter to the Danbury Baptist Association, assuring them of his likeminded desire to establish the separation of church and state. Jefferson and the Danbury Baptists were indebted to the witness of Roger Williams, the first person in America to speak of the need for such separation. In the 1630s, however, Williams was a pariah and a pest, a threat against the status quo.

As a modern day Baptist congregation known and respected for our interfaith cooperation, we can celebrate that part of our spiritual DNA strengthening our ministry and our place in the community. Nonetheless, the prophetic call still remains. When persons in our society hear the word “Baptist”, religious freedom and interfaith witness are not necessarily the first things we are acquainted with in the American popular consciousness. Like Roger tromping off into the wilderness called “the unknown” toward his future, we present day Baptists who advocate for religious freedom and the liberty of conscience can also feel a bit “out there” in the wilderness. Nonetheless, we see what happens when the prophetic learns these words of hope and fills with the divine Spirit of God. Hopeful future births, even when all witness and wisdom alike say or fathom otherwise.

Another Baptist came to mind as I saw Ezekiel laying there, forlorn and uncertain. In the sermons of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., we are given this sobering and frank account of how King nearly quit the civil rights movement. His family harassed, his life threatened, King nearly buckled one night while alone in the kitchen. In his classic Strength to Love, King writes:

It was not until I became part of the leadership of the Montgomery bus protest that I was actually confronted with the trials of life. Almost immediately after the protest had been undertaken, we began to receive threatening telephone calls and letters in our home. . . .

After a particularly strenuous day, I had reached the saturation point. I was ready to give up. I tried to think of a way to move out of the picture without appearing to be a coward.

In this state of exhaustion, when my courage seemed almost gone, I determined to take my problem to God. My head in my hands, I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud. The words I spoke to God that midnight are still vivid in my memory. “I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But now I am afraid. The people are looking to me for leadership, and if I stand before them without strength and courage, they too will falter. I am at the end of my powers, I have nothing left. I’ve come to the point where I can’t face it alone.”

At that moment I experienced the presence of the Divine as I had never before experienced Him. It seemed as though I could hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice, saying, “Stand up for righteousness, stand up for truth. God will be at your side forever.” Almost at once my fears began to pass from me. My uncertainty disappeared.

Three nights later, our home was bombed. Strangely enough, I accepted the word of the bombing calmly. My experience with God had given me new strength and trust. I knew now that God is able to give us the interior resources to face the storms and problems of life. Let this affirmation be our ringing cry. It will give us courage to face the uncertainties of the future. (Strength to Love, Fortress Press, 1981).

When I have had the privilege of talking to those who knew King in his ministry and civil rights work, there is a respect for his memory and a gentle affirmation to remember that he was a person just like you or me. The King standing there orating his “Dream” speech was the same King who found himself in quiet desperation around the kitchen table one night. Hear that prayer at the kitchen table, and you hear the calling of prone Ezekiel to the bold task of prophetic speech just as surely as you hear a modern Baptist summoned to renewed hope.

In the Hebrew Scriptures, the word “spirit” is “ruach”. Just saying the Hebrew word aloud, you hear its breathiness. Throughout the stories of the Hebrew Scriptures, you hear of the Spirit empowering judges, kings, and prophets. In the New Testament, the Spirit empowers Jesus for his ministry and gathers the Church. Indeed, Mark’s gospel speaks of the Spirit descending upon Jesus at baptism and then seizing him so that Jesus spends forty days and forty nights in the wilderness. When Jesus makes it to the hometown crowd to preach, he speaks with an authority unheard and unexpected previously. Even with the Christ, the Spirit brings a necessary spark, a liveliness, an empowering to speak the truth, that cannot be gone without.

The Spirit empowers the prophets. Whether prone on the ground, preparing to speak in front of the home crowd, sleeping in a hollow tree, or nearly in tears at a kitchen table, the prophet cannot go on without the Spirit filling them. “Ruach” must speak to the prophet before the prophet can summon the breath, the footing, the courage, or the strength to love.

For those of us sitting on what we believe are the sidelines of these stories, do not move to the side so quickly. The world is in need of a prophetic word, speaking to the fallen people, the broken people, the disheartened people, the excluded people. Yes, you might be the prophetic voice next to cry out. Yes, you. Yes, me. May we let the Spirit move in our midst. May we let the Spirit move within us.

The Mysterious Faith (Mark 4:26-27)

The Mysterious Faith

Visit the parsonage sometime, and you will find that Kerry and I own just a small handful of books. (Now that the roar of laughter has subsided….) On one of the bookshelves are several hardback books with identical yellow dust jackets. These books take up nearly half of one long bookshelf. These books are all of the Church Dogmatics, written by 20^th-century Protestant theologian Karl Barth. The influence of these books on 20^th-century theology is significant, and when the opportunity presented itself to purchase the entire set from a retired scholar, I jumped at the chance. The Church Dogmatics originally published in German from the early 1930s up until Barth’s death in 1968. While I have the English translation, some purists seek out the German set with its white dust jackets, affectionately known as “the White Elephant”. One estimate (admittedly from Wikipedia) claims these thirteen volumes of books contain around six million words. Whew!

I grew up hearing Barth’s name mentioned in occasional sermons and then in my religious studies course work in college. By the time I got to seminary, I had formed somewhat of a misinformed opinion about Barth: his theology was too stodgy or aloof for its own good. Reading Barth, however, I find his writings indispensable if you wish to understand the shaping of 20th-century theology. While not a “Barthian”, I can express gratitude for the questions he asked of Christian theology and the influence his writings continue to exert over the questions we wrestle with today.

One of Barth’s observations continues to engage my mind. Barth said, “There has never been anywhere an instinctively sacred sociology” of the Church. In plain English, Barth claims the Church cannot be easily defined or beholden to only “one right way” of being Church. The Church is always rooted in Christ. Of this, Barth is most insistent. Nonetheless, the ways the Church can flourish are many, not few.

As for himself, Jesus said it a bit differently:

The Kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. (Mark 4:26-27)

The best way to read a text is to read it and then let the words hang around in your mind for a spell. When I read this passage, I found myself a bit unsettled the longer I let the parable simmer and play in my mind. On one hand, we have the image of the Kingdom, the very crowning glory of Jesus’ vision of God made known in the world, tossed around willy-nilly. Jesus gives an image messy and unpredictable, far removed from the “cut and dried” understandings about following Jesus we often presume. Worse, contrary to our churchly habits and sensibilities, Jesus presents us with the image of a farmer who goes out, plants the seed liberally, and then saunters off until harvest time.

At this point, I hear my father’s voice call out clear from Kansas, “Son, what sort of fool does that?”

I have never met a non-anxious farmer, including my father. Something is always to be frittered with in the back of your mind: grain prices falling and rising (well, mostly falling), pests and pesticides, drought, deer treating your crop like a free buffet, freak storms, too much rain, too little rain, flooding, hail, the bills coming in and not enough money to cover everything this month, and the list goes on. You stand there in your dusty overalls, the seed company freebie baseball cap on your head, looking to the outside world as if you are a serene old timer in a Norman Rockwell painting. Internally, your stomach is in knots, trying to figure out how to keep the Farmer’s Bank from making your land “the banker’s farm”. Every farmer goes through this, having that moment when you laugh at yourself. That foolish dream you had, thinking you could plant a crop and turn a profit. Sigh!

So here we have two images that make most of us (if we are honest) a bit queasy: the Church that Jesus seeks to sow in the world is not uniform and micromanaged. The gospel will be planted where you least expect it, and trying to guess how it will flourish and yield a goodly harvest is at best guesswork and at worst a bit presumptuous on our part. Where the Kingdom of God grows, there shall be a harvest. As for ourselves, we have to learn how to live with the mysterious ways of God.

In the splendid Oscar-winning film Shakespeare in Love; the playwright is a young man seeking money, not literary awards. He writes plays for the theatres with their raucous crowds. Theatre was very much a rough and tumble experience in Elizabethan England. There is a new play needed, and the theatre manager insists that writer’s block is not an excuse. He demands a script readied for the production of “Romeo and Ethel, the Pirate’s Daughter”, a comedy about love and a bit with a dog doing tricks.

The film follows several characters as they rush around, trying to stage a play with a financial backer and his thugs threatening them with pain if there is no profit, a young woman who disguises herself as a man so she can tread the boards, and a young playwright named Will who seems too flaky to be the great Shakespeare. The Australian actor Geoffrey Rush plays Phillip Henslowe, the theatre manager, who tries to keep everything from flying apart, including the really rotten sounding idea of transforming the comedic play about Ethel into a tragedy about Romeo and Juliet, who is not a pirate’s daughter.

Throughout the film, people ask Henslowe what the play is about and when the play will be ready, and he bluffs to buy Shakespeare and the company more time. Confronted with his angry financial backer, Henslowe claims the theatre business is one whose “natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster”. The financial backer asks, “So what do we do?” Henslowe replies, “Nothing. Strangely enough, it all turns out well.” “ How?” the backer demands. Henslowe replies, “I don’t know. It’s a mystery.”

If we let them be, the parables confound and unsettle us, defying a quick or complete interpretation alike. In these seed parables, we get a cautionary tale about thinking we know the ways of God and how we should be God’s people. We build our houses of worship, our traditions, our creeds, and still we have sacred texts that stick their tongues out at us and remind us of a faith more comfortable with welcoming children gladly, considering the lilies of the field, and scattering seed and letting things be.

For the Church’s defense, let me say that I have seen the wonder of this parable at work. Visiting the little Italian town of Assisi, I experienced the peaceful serenity of a village shaped by the legacy its most famous son, Saint Francis of Assisi. Before his calling to a simpler life, Francis would have been the guy you hoped your daughter did not bring home for the holidays. Francis enjoyed his life as the son of a rich family, known for his charm and singing as well as his foolish ways. Perhaps village idiot would have been his lasting title, not town saint. Yet, something happened in Francis’ life as God called him to leave the life of privilege for a simple brown robe and a way of life that transformed the Church, whether the Church liked it or not.

Ironically, the one who said he wanted no great fame has a basilica named in his honor. The counter-witness, though, is when you enter the room with Francis’ robe purportedly on display. Likely a wishful substitute for the undoubtedly lost original, the robe still exudes a simplicity that the Church, in all its desire for pomp and circumstance, continues to find. Why was this man with such a vainglorious youth revered as saint? Why does a robe exude more holiness than the fineries of the liturgical space around it? “It’s a mystery”, or as Jesus said:

The Kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how.

I suppose the Markan parable would ask to keep things loose and try not to tame the Spirit’s movement. We certainly need to talk with one other. We need to pray and listen for God in the midst of our ministry and missional work. We need to work with purpose and hope, but at the same time, we are in God’s hands, not our own. The future holds much possibility. So much Kingdom/Reign work is yet to come. God scatters seed abundantly. The harvest shall be abundant. Rather than pondering the future or undercutting its potential by our reticence to embrace it, we enter into the mystery that is God at work in the world.

As I prepared assignments for the Summer Collegium, I found myself musing about this Markan parable as it relates to First Baptist. One assignment asked for 1-2 pages about one change that has happened during my pastoral time here. I wrote three pages. (Like Karl Barth, I like writing more than less.) I wrote about the changes that have happened about the congregation and its relationship with this physical plant. If you stop and think about it, we use our building more creatively than a few years ago, and our “build use” revenue is in six months well ahead of what used to be our annual budget’s wishful thinking. We have solidified our community presence in ways unanticipated. Who really thought we would have a health clinic operating here that saw eleven uninsured persons this past Thursday evening? We did not fathom such things, nor did we frankly dream of our old nursery and half of our playroom becoming something different. I suspicion if Jesus read my little paper (and I am sure there are many other things on his divine mind), he might write in the margins:

The Kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how.

The Overwhelming Call (Isaiah 6:1-8)

The Overwhelming Call

A good king is hard to find. As you read the Hebrew Scriptures, the stories of those who ruled Israel usually end on a downbeat note. Saul, the first king, falls upon his sword literally as his reign crumbles to an end. The less kind might say that this pattern will repeat itself, king after king. There will be variations, but always this theme of maligned monarchy serving as a subtext. Even David, the beloved king of Sunday school lessons long ago, is a more complex figure when one reads the text with eyes wide open.

Earlier this year, a short-lived television show called “Kings” took up biblical narrative, particularly the decline of Saul, and the rise of David and recast the story in modern times. Like many good shows, the network did not like the ratings, even though the critics loved it. As I tuned in (thanks to Kerry’s promptings) each week, I became enthralled with how well the narratives speak to modern day. If the show lasted a few seasons, you would have seen David, the earnest “local boy makes good”, become the jaded politico just like “King Silas”, played to malevolent perfection by British actor Ian McShane.

As the text opens, Uzziah, the long-reigning king of Israel, has died. Uzziah offered much to the prosperity and wellbeing of the people, yet he falters toward the end. Uzziah’s reign ends with an uncanny pattern of royal arrogance repeating yet again and his demise decidedly downbeat. He enters the holiest part of the Temple and usurps a role played by the priest.

A king playing priest does not sound like much of political transgression to our American ears, shaped by rulers embroiled in Watergate and all the “-gates” that followed since and surely yet to come. Afflicted by leprosy, Uzziah spent the rest of his reign weakened, needing assistance in ruling the kingdom. Again, a good king is indeed hard to find.

At the end of Uzziah’s reign, a prophet named Isaiah began to be the “bee” in the royal bonnet, decrying the kingdom’s ways. By now, the kingdom was showing signs of wearing thin. The peace and prosperity seemed on the wane, and the nation was becoming a paler shadow of its former glory. Isaiah became the unpopular voice, saying a word few wanted to hear. In other words, Isaiah, like Uzziah, is a perennial character, never “out of season” or behind the times.

As the text opens, Isaiah becomes prophet around the time when King Uzziah dies. Sometime in that pivotal year as one long reign gives way to the sudden and new moment in national life, Isaiah is caught up in a vision, one that brings him into the very presence of God with the seraphim singing and the foundations quaking, and “sensory overload” just begins to describe the scene.

I cannot help but wonder if there is a tweaking of the reader going on here. Uzziah, the one who barreled blithely into the holy temple, thinking himself beyond reproach or limitation, has died. The loyal opposition in the form of Isaiah, lone voice out in the midst of the cacophony, is the one suddenly in the presence of God. God yet again trumps the arrogant king whose royal ways are beyond scrutiny or prediction. The prophet is the only one smart enough to realize that holiness is unable to be domesticated. Uzziah treated the temple as one more thing he could dominate. Isaiah finds himself enraptured into the divine presence and understands immediately that no one, even himself, is worthy to be in the holy presence. Frankly, such humility would have escaped Uzziah.

Biblical scholars call this moment a “theophany”, meaning “an appearance of God”. Thanks to Cecil B. DeMille’s Ten Commandments film, our cultural memory recalls the grand appearance of the burning bush while Charleton Heston stands there in his bathrobe. (The lesson to learn: when you come across an inexplicable case of foliage on fire, take off your shoes. It might be holy ground!) The Bible speaks of God being known in the world through small and grand ways alike, however, when you hear of a text being called a “theophany”, sit up straight in your pews, and put on a safety helmet. It is a major moment, one given to grand spectacle.

In times like these, God intends to shake the foundations of Israel’s world. The divine chorus sings praise tirelessly in God’s holy name, and God’s glory shines in ways that overwhelm the senses. In the year King Uzziah died, the nation did not know what they would do as one kingly power faded and another one arose. A sinking feeling pervades: things were on the cusp of unraveling. The ancient world of the Bible starts to sound not so “ancient”….

As Isaiah stands in the midst of the divine worship, the prophet is summoned to speak a word on behalf of God. Isaiah is called by God, yet Isaiah declares himself unfit. It is a humble word from one who makes headlines sneering at “the powers that be” in the royal courts of Uzziah and his successor. God notes this cry of humility with a response of purifying the prophet’s mouth: a glowing hot coal placed in his mouth. (One admittedly has flashbacks to childhood of a mother making good with her threat with bar of soap in hand. For the record, Mother Hugenot used “Lava Soap”, the same stuff my dad used to get his oily hands clean. You know you were squeaky clean once the Lava Soap sat in your mouth for a few seconds. I’m thankful she did not bring the soap to my ordination service….) I have heard many times the exchange between God and prophet quoted when talking of calling people to ministry: “Here I am! Send me!” Sometimes, modern day folk will take on the exuberance of saying, “Here I am! Send me!” to God, not realizing the scope of what it means. The vocation of prophet is bold yet costly.

God asks Isaiah to bear words that will predict the future: the collapse of the nation and the people failing prey to peril. God has chosen to send the purified prophet to speak to the impure people. The catch, however, is just like that of the prophet Jonah: God calls a prophet to share unpopular words that even the prophet will struggle to bear. Isaiah’s call to be the prophet will be one that knows no great honor or great achievement. Going before a country ruled by ones like Uzziah, Isaiah will have the hard task of declaring the failure of the kingdom and the myths of unbridled prosperity and stability it depended upon. As far as callings go, this one is not one that religious folk innately aspire to seek out. The trappings of popularity and power will not be Isaiah’s to claim. Indeed, as Jesus said centuries later, in another time when Israel was ruled by the myths of power called Herod, the Temple Elite, and the Roman Empire, a prophet will be without honor among his own.

Recall this past week as we welcomed our General Secretary to the pulpit. Dr. Medley shared story after story of our Baptist forebears who spoke out and lived out a contrary witness, even at the defiance of royal, national, and even religious power. Dr. Medley recalled Thomas Helwys, an early Baptist, whose writings regularly challenged King James, aka “the” King James” of the Bible translation associated with his name. We learned of Joanna P. Moore, a 19^th-century woman who could not receive any support to go out among recently freed African Americans in the South’s post-Civil War era. What did she hear? The official group said no, so she found another way to move forward. Now we consider Moore a brave woman and a prophet in a needed time. Then, however, even her own people dismissed her vision for mission.

Thus, it takes courage to be God’s prophet. It takes courage to offer a contrary word to a people entrenched in their ways. Undoubtedly, Isaiah suffered in his call, yet as the kingdom approached its fall, he remained the resolute witness, the one able to speak truth even as the nation and its rulers clung to falsehood.

I recall the words of biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann who expands on our definition of a “theophany” as “an appearance of God”. Brueggemann calls theophanies: “an encounter [with God] in the life of a person or community whereby the future is radically and abruptly defined” (Reverberations of Faith, Westminster/John Knox, 215). Indeed, the foundations of Isaiah’s world shake, called to a prophetic task so far removed from what is acceptable or commendable. Trace the story of Isaiah’s prophetic ministry, and you will see that great tumult waits. You will also see that, even though the days are long away, what God tears down will be someday likewise replaced with new growth. The same God who calls Isaiah to condemn the people will be the one who shall also say, “Comfort, o comfort, my people” when the time is right.

We may never experience anything remotely in the neighborhood of a theophany ourselves. In hearing this story, however, can we ponder the sort of faith the story holds for us? The call to live a contrary witness is for all believers. We live in times not far removed from those of the Bible, in the sense of living in nations and ruled by rulers often more transfixed by their own power than their own good. A prophet may never have the same ecstatic moment described by Isaiah. Nonetheless, in the midst of decrying the broken nature of the world, in the midst of casting doubt over the policies that empower some and disenfranchise others, in the midst of reminding the rulers that they are not the final word, we experience a small glimmering of God’s glory being made known to the world.