Welcome to a new feature at Beatitudes Blog, Preacher’s Post, a weekly bulletin board for sharing ideas, questions, hunches, quotes, poetry, and examples for anyone on the journey to next Sunday’s sermon. Please join the conversation and post your thoughts.
Matthew 4:12-23
Isaiah 9:1-4
1 Cor. 1:10-18
Psalm 27: 1,4-9
The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light; Jesus begins his ministry in the Galilee and calls the disciples with “follow me.”
“There are two ways of spreading light, to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.” ~ Edith Wharton
“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” ~ Frederick Buechner
From a sermon about ordination:
There are many times when I would like to add or subtract words from the Bible. Today, if I could, I would add a few things to this portion of Matthew’s gospel, in his calling of Andrew and Simon and James and John.
I would add a few lines about the call those disciples heard. I would flesh it out a little, with a word or two about what it was like for them to hear the call, what really made them drop their nets, how they knew that they had to follow Jesus. Then it would be easy to talk about a call to ministry, or at least easier.
Because it’s not an easy thing to talk about. A call to ministry—ordained or lay ministry-- just doesn’t always look like Matthew’s story about Jesus’ calling of the disciples. It is very rare for anyone to hear the clear “Follow me” that Matthew records. It is rare to hear that voice in the night that the young boy Samuel heard, rare for an angel Gabriel to announce a new birth, rare to get a new job description from a burning bush. Our lives don’t look like the lives of Moses or Mary or Samuel or Simon or Andrew. Our lives don’t look much like the stories of the bible.
Call looks different for us. So what’s it like? What is this thing we call vocation, that word that comes from the Latin vocare, to call? Does it take a different kind of ears to hear? Does everybody really hear a call from God? Is it only for a few crazy people?
Matthew’s gospel makes it sound as if vocation is about hitting the road, heading off on a grand adventure, leaving behind the mundane world of nets and boats and family obligations. That might be part of someone’s call, part of a turn toward a new direction, but my observation of Christopher and others, both ordained and lay, as well as the stories of the disciples of Jesus, tells me that at bottom, a call, a vocation, is about something else.
It’s a subtle thing, I believe, and it doesn’t usually happen with a one-time cataclysmic burning bush. Most often, it occurs over a long period of time, it can take years before we begin to notice and to piece together the little hunches, the nudges, the inklings. All of this can be disorienting, dislocating, it can mean that some nets need to get dropped along the way. But the thing that makes it a “Call” is that along the way we begin to discover our identity. Whether we have a vocation to be a priest, or a deacon, or a writer, or an artist, or a teacher, or a mother or a dancer, or sometimes a combination of things, vocation is, at bottom, all about our identity. To be called is simply to recognize who we are. That’s probably why it takes so long to figure out sometimes. Vocation is about settling into being authentic.
Authentic. That’s the language of identity we’ve been hearing with our Sunday readings in this season of Epiphany, all that business about baptism, about being called to the ministry of the baptized, the ordination we all share, about being the beloved, being called to the work of justice.
How do we know it when we see it? Best as I can tell, we know we are hearing a call, we are responding to God’s call, when it feels like home. This is hard to describe, of course, and just as when we are talking about God or heaven or something else impossible to describe, we use metaphors. Home is the best one I’ve heard. Home is where you take your shoes off, you climb into your most comfortable clothes, you shed all expectations and “let yourself be”. It’s that place and time we have a sense of lightness, of freedom, when we set down the nets and the ropes and unburden ourselves of the roles that can distract us from our calling.
For some of us, we might feel at home in our physical dwelling, for others, it may be here in church, or some other sacred spot. Some of us may find it in our work, some of us find it in our play, some of us are still looking. Some of us might remember it: that sense of home we had at age 10 or 12 or 20, when we were doing what we really, really loved, before we started listening to voices more external than the deep, true call of God. Getting home may very well require long travel down rocky roads, it may push us to the edge, far beyond our comfort zone. We may find ourselves in a place, a role, a life that is wholly unlike anything we’ve ever known.
Frederick Buechner has a great description of vocation in his book Wishful Thinking: “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet”...
Usually when all the members of a church show up at the same time it is either to welcome the new pastor or dismiss the old one. What would you be your reaction if all the members of your church showed up for worship? Someone would have to call 911. The people came together because they had a hunger to hear the word of God. This hunger was so intense they told the preacher, Ezra, to simply open the Book of the Law of Moses and read.
As I have immersed myself in the transfiguration and its spectacular light show I have been drawn to preach on awe and wonder. Clearly terrorists, ,suicide bombers and our own military understand the power of shocking, awe inducing displays of raw power. Clearly the goal is to demoralize, frighten and dominate. A recent book called The Fire explains the painstaking efforts British Bomber Command undertook to create firestorms in German cities with the goal of mass death and fear among civilian populations. Hard to see where terrorism ends and conventional warfare begins - which has been the Christian position all along really. Anyway, the good news for me is that God's shock and awe ends with the gentle figure of Jesus as the embodiment of an alternative form of power that says "Do not fear" and heads off to Jerusalem and another demonstration of alternative power on another hilltop.
Awe and wonder when focused on the embodiment of God's intimate relation with humanity in the person of Christ clearly leads to a spiritual practice that reframes our valuation of human being as sacred. Living daily with the awe and wonder of our human promise as children of God is a promising good news indeed.
At the bookstore where I work we talk often about the tension between awe and accessibility. On the one hand, confronting a collection of the world's knowledge is naturally daunting and overwhelming. On the other, we want people to access this rich storehouse of information. As I prepare to preach on the Transfiguration I keep returning to the importance of awe and wonder. The experience of the disciples was clearly one of overload and it still is today. Just read one or two commentaries and you will get four or five lists of all the different references in the story - baptism, birth narrative, resurrection, paruousia, exodus - the whole nexus is in the story. How does admitting that the experience of God is one of awesome grandeur transform us? How amazing is it that when the light show is over it is just Jesus standing there- while the wind whistles through the rocks and grass- compressing all of the preceding theophany into this flesh and this story that is not over yet. The transfiguration heightens the tension of what is to come....
Here is an excerpt from my candidacy sermon that I preached last night. I am now interim pastor of Grace Baptist Church in Chicago...
Holy is the Dark
Psalm 42
At night, when the rumble dies down, I can hear the song of my Divine Beloved. This song becomes my prayer. It is the prayer that connects me with my Beloved, with the One from whom I feel estranged all day long. So much of scripture teaches us that the dark is a scary evil time. I know that I am challenging that. I’m challenging it because I found out it’s not always true. What we hear in the dark may be the sound of our own souls singing … crying … reciting poetry.
What you hear in the dark may also be the very voice of your Divine Beloved singing to you … crying out to you …. reciting poetry to you. I think the bulk of scripture tends to make us afraid of the dark. Like little children we are afraid. But I believe that the dark is a holy time and a holy space. God is often depicted as being Light – all light all the time. That’s one metaphor, sure. But that can’t be our only metaphor. It’s one sided. What would it be like for us, as we live on this Earth, to have light all the time? I think it would be terrible. When would we sleep? How would the plants and animals rest? There is no balance to all light all the time. We need the dark. The dark is Holy.
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The psalmist says, “My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and behold the face of God?” She talks about how she participated in the celebrations and festivals, leading the parades and shouting. But now she feels forgotten by God. She has enemies who are harming her. Where is the Divine Beloved for whom she danced and shouted and led the parades? In the holy darkness, where the Divine Beloved danced before light was created, the psalmist hears a song of hope that becomes her prayer.
We too can hear the song of our Divine Beloved. When the world quiets around us do we hear the disquiet in our hearts? Can we tolerate the uneasiness of our own disquiet? Can we hear the song of God and let it become our prayer? The power and holiness of the dark will guide us. In it we can find joy and hope. In it we can find our Divine Beloved.
Alex, I'd say you did preach already: Zeigeist 29.0. AMEN!
I love this new weekly resource. When I have to preach, I'll definitely start here. Thanks Anne!
Aldous Huxley, author of the
Aldous Huxley, author of the classic novel, Brave New World, gives his readers a “warning” of what would come to pass if the government completely controlled our everyday lives. Published in 1932, Huxley wrote the book based on his prediction of how London, his hometown, might look in the year 2540, assuming the continuance of programs to end war, conflict, suffering, and antagonistic (aka: “free”) thought. Huxley painted a picture of what the world would look like if people were unable to speak their minds, or live how they want to, free from the confines of the multiple levels of government. Many people criticized and continue to criticize Huxley for his novel. Several seeds have been planted in the U.S., which have created alarming parallels to Huxley’s novel. The socialist and communist movements have been lurking in the shadows of America for many generations, but the movements have recently come to the forefront of the political platform. Some politicians are attempting to assign the government exclusive control of too many aspects of daily life. For example, in certain areas of Los Angeles, elected officials have created restrictions on where new fast food restaurants can and cannot establish themselves. Yes, you heard me right; the “man” is telling you that you can’t get a juicy hamburger and fries in South L.A., whether you like it or not. What’s worse is that state and national politicians are trying to rob you of your right to access fast and easy payday loans. Politicians want to eliminate payday loans in an attempt to win the votes of bigger corporations like banks, so they can take office and promote their self-interests. Stand up and be heard. Fight to free yourself from the government’s Lingerie Wholesale -increasing power over your daily life.
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