Born again

Sermon manuscript (final) for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

Communion Sabbath, September 27, 2014

Texts: Psalm 87 and Luke 3:23-38

There was a bear cub up a tree near Brooks Falls in Katmai National Park, and it was crying. It cried for hours, bawling, calling its mother. Mom did not show up. It's crying broke the heart of park rangers, but they have a strict hands-off policy. There was nothing they could do but observe.

Eventually the cub climbed down from the tree and began foraging for food.

This was not good. Bear cubs are very cute. People like to rescue bear cubs. Unfortunately, adult male bears are immune to the cuteness factor. Old males tend to see cute little cubs as dinner. And Katmai National Park is crawling with bears, including grumpy, hungry old males.

This particular cub was in a bad fix. His mother had been vigorously pursued by an amorous male. Eventually, she sent her cub up a tree and took off with the male bear. And never came back. The cub was doomed. With no mom, he was likely to be eaten by a male bear. Or if that didn't happen, he would starve to death come winter.

Then something miraculous happened. A mama bear named Holly took the orphan under her wing. Holly had a nine-month old cub of her own. She added the orphan cub to her family. When rangers first saw the orphan with Holly and her cub, they thought maybe she was just tolerating it. Then they saw Holly nursing both cubs. Since then they've observed Holly protect the cubs from old male bears. They've seen the two cubs sharing a fish together. The erstwhile orphan is an orphan no longer. He has been born again. He is now Holly's cub.

One of the richest treasures of Christian theology is this truth: we can be born again.

Our first birth gives us many treasures: a family name, a genetic inheritance, nationality, ethnicity. Birth determines or influences every aspect of our lives—whether we are tall or short, skinny or fat, smart or not so smart, rich or poor, musical or can't carry a tune, color blind or sensitive to colors.

When we are born again, none of this changes. We have the same family of origin, the same cousins, the same BMI. We can still sing . . . or not. We are still American or Canadian or Eritrean or Brazilian. We are still Scot or Alaskan or Southerner. We still take pride in our ethnic or national heritage. We will still open presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day depending on how it was done in the home we grew up in.

These elements of our identity that flow from our birth are treasures. Being born again does not erase them. Being born again does put them in their proper place. All of these identities become subordinate to our supreme identity as children of God.

Because we have been born again we recognize all of the rest of God's children as our brothers and sisters.

Republicans and Democrats have differing views on how to rank values in shaping legislation. And even when they agree on underlying values, they will frequently differ on the best approach to embodying those values in civic life. But as Christian Democrats and Christian Republicans, we see our political opponents as brothers and sisters. They are part of our family. We are part of their family. We see one another as dearly-loved children of God.

Similarly, when we have theological disputes, those who have been born again see the people with “wrong” views as dearly loved children of God. The status my opponents enjoy as children of God imposes on me the obligation to show them respect. To listen carefully to their arguments.

One of the fascinating aspects of the bear cub story is the interaction between the two cubs. According to rangers, the aggressive behavior of old male bears begins very early. Male cubs fight. They don't share. But in Holly's household they do. Holly's natural-born cub and the orphan have been observed sharing fish together. The generosity of Mama Bear has created a new kind of bear culture.

In the same way, as born again Christians, people adopted into the family of of God, we are called to mimic God in forming a new kind of human community, a community where people show to one another the same grace we have received from God.

Have you ever felt bereft? Have you been excluded, shunned? Parents are not perfect. Some dads are like old male bears. They are dangerous for their children. Some moms are like the delinquent mother bear in this story. They abandon their children or worse. It's not common, but it happens. Sometimes our parents fail us. Sometimes we who are parents fail.

When these things happen, when biological parents fail us, Christianity offers another path to the security of belonging to safe, secure family: We are born again. This new, secure identity is one of richest gifts of the ministry of Jesus.

God is like Holly, the mama bear, prowling Katmai National Park looking for orphan cubs to adopt, orphans to feed and protect and teach. God is looking for us. Holly looks dangerous. She is fully equipped with the massive claws and teeth that make brown bears such formidable carnivores. For a little orphan cub Holly's formidable teeth and claws and bulk are marks of her capacity to allow an orphan cub to be born again, to be a happy, secure member of a new family.

Years ago, my wife got a call from our daughter who was in eighth grade at the time. “Mom, there's a dog here that's been abandoned. She is sitting under a bush out by the street. She watches every car that goes by on the street or comes into the school drive. She pays no attention to any of the people. She just watches the cars. I think she's looking for the car that dumped her. She's been here all day.”

When Karin came to pick Shelley up after school, the dog was still there. Still intently watching every car. Karin was reluctant, but Shelley persuaded her they had to rescue the dog. They got the dog into the car and brought it home. She was well-mannered, but clearly not happy. They put up posters. They advertised on Craig's List. No response. No one claimed the dog.

So Gypsy lived with us.

It appeared to us the dog had been in a pretty rough environment. If I picked up the broom, the dog would run hide in the farthest corner she could find.

My purpose in picking up the broom was to sweep the floor.

But Gypsy, back in those early days when she had first arrived at our house, if she saw me pick up the broom, she would cower in the farthest corner she could find. The terror evoked by the broom diminished over time, but for years the mere sight of the broom would make her nervous.

Which means she experienced a lot of nervousness. Because at our house, with all the traffic—animal and human—in and out, our kitchen floor constantly needs sweeping. Every morning, the very first thing I do, before I sit down at the table before I eat anything, before I go outside, the first thing I do is sweep the floor, to make a welcome environment. I have no hostile intentions. Still, for years in the morning Gypsy would need to find a hiding place while I swept, lest I attack her with the broom.

But not any more. The other day I was sweeping the floor. Gypsy was lying in the middle of the floor. I swept closer and closer. She didn't move. Didn't lift her head. Barely opened one eye. I swept between her legs. She closed her eye. I swept along her back. She didn't stir.

The transformation was complete. She was at home. She knew the broom master. She had no fear.

Sometimes being born again is a magic moment of ecstatic transformation. In a moment our view of God and the world is radically renewed.

For most of us, however, being born again is like Gypsy's transformation. We live with God for a long time and through the years of living with God we come to a deep-seated confidence that the being in charge of sweeping the dirt out of the universe has only kindly intentions toward us. We are at home. We are beloved. We are no longer orphans. It takes a life time to become fully-assimilated members of the household of God. At home with God and with God's family. This is what it means to be born again.

In the New Testament we read that Jesus gave himself to humanity. And through Jesus, God, the Almighty, the King of Heaven, the Creator of Heaven and Earth, was present and giving as well.

Jesus dramatically epitomized this divine presence and kindly regard at the Last Supper with his disciples. He gave them bread and said, “This is my body.” He gave them wine, outflow from crushed grapes, and said, “This is my blood.” When we eat and drink, we are remembering the self-giving of Jesus, the self-giving of God. We are taking in the life of God and are pledging to pass it on.

Sharing Communion together is an affirmation that all of us are no longer orphans. We are at home in the household of God. We have been born again.