Healing Vision

Revised manuscript for the Sabbath morning sermon for the Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists.

December 29, 2012

Text:  Matthew 4:23-25

The Adventist Church from its early days has given special attention to health, both to healthy habits and to the science and art of healing. I grew up in a home saturated with a deep appreciation for the church's commitment to healing ministry--”to make men whole,” in the words of the motto of Loma Linda University. I met physician friends of my parents who had devoted lifetimes to serving in remote, primitive hospitals, sometimes being the only qualified medical personnel for days travel in any direction. One of my dad's classmates spent his entire life—well into his eighties—serving a bleak, hopeless neighborhood in Watts in Los Angeles.

This year, the church opened its fourth and fifth medical schools in Nigeria and Peru respectively. Healing is our work. It is central to our understanding of what it means to be Adventist. It is central to what it means to be Christian. The community of Jesus is devoted to healing.

And when it comes to listing the healing professions, we can add to our historic list of healers—Doctor, Dentist, Nurse, Physical Therapist, Dietician—new titles: hardware engineers, software engineers, chip builders and screen manufacturers. And accountants. And venture capitalists. All the people who make the world that we live in work.

Our scripture reading summarizes the mission of Jesus in these words:

Jesus traveled throughout the region of Galilee, teaching in the synagogues and announcing the Good News about the Kingdom. And he healed every kind of disease and pain.

News about him spread as far as Syria, and people soon began bringing to him all who were sick. And whatever their sickness or disease, or if they were demon possessed or epileptic or paralyzed—he healed them all. Matthew 4:23-24.

Jesus looked at the pain and trouble of the human condition and saw a calling to heal. In the gospel story, it looks so simple and uncomplicated. Jesus spoke a word or touched someone, and magically their ailments vanished.

We don't have that kind of magical power. I don't and you don't. You may have witnessed miracles, but you have never seen a hospital emptied because all of the patients were magically healed.

The Gospel of Matthew speaks repeatedly of Jesus' healing ministry. In the center of the Gospel we even read that Jesus sent out his 12 disciples to do the same kind of healing ministry. But nowhere in the book is there a formula we can follow to carry out our own healing ministry.

Since the Gospel offers no guidance for actually repeating the healing magic Jesus demonstrated, it's appropriate to ask, what is the purpose of the book? Why read it, if it doesn't give us power?

I believe the primary value of the Gospel is to shape what we see when we look at the world.

The Wise Men traveled a thousand miles on camels to come and see a baby. When they arrived they didn't see “just a baby.” They saw the King of Heaven, the symbol of the presence and favor of God. Because they were scholar-philosophers, steeped in the promise of a glorious, tranquil, peaceful future adumbrated in ancient scriptures, they saw in the child of Mary and Joseph, the father of a new age.

They saw something scarcely anyone else could see. They made the trek because they believed that in the person of this baby God was specially present among us. Their journey was a profound and public Amen to the declarations of the angels in the secret dreams of Mary and Joseph that their baby was a visitation from heaven.

The baby was born. The boy Jesus grew up. At about thirty he was baptized then launched a whirlwind ministry that lasted a brief three years.

What did that ministry look like? The Gospel of Matthew summarizes the first few weeks or months of Jesus' work this way:

Jesus traveled throughout the region of Galilee, teaching in the synagogues and announcing the Good News about the Kingdom. And he healed every kind of disease and pain. (KJV: healing all manner of sickness and all manner of disease among the people.) 4:23

Matthew repeats this idea about ten times in his gospel:

So his fame spread throughout all Syria, and they brought him all the sick, those afflicted with various diseases and pains, demoniacs, epileptics, and paralytics, and he healed them all. 4:25

That evening many demon-possessed people were brought to Jesus. He cast out the evil spirits with a simple command, and he healed all the sick. Matthew 8:16

Jesus traveled through all the towns and villages of that area, teaching in the synagogues and announcing the Good News about the Kingdom. And he healed every kind of disease and illness. Matthew 9:35

Jesus knew what they were planning. So he left that area, and many people followed him. He healed all the sick among them, Matthew 12:15

Jesus saw the huge crowd as he stepped from the boat, and he had compassion on them and healed their sick Matthew 14:14

When the people recognized Jesus, the news of his arrival spread quickly throughout the whole area, and soon people were bringing all their sick to be healed. They begged him to let the sick touch at least the fringe of his robe, and all who touched him were healed. Matthew 14:35-36

A vast crowd brought to him people who were lame, blind, crippled, those who couldn't speak, and many others. They laid them before Jesus, and he healed them all. Matthew 15:30

Large crowds followed him there, and he healed their sick. Matthew 19:2

The blind and the lame came to him in the Temple, and he healed them. Matthew 21:14

This is a heart-warming picture of Jesus the healer. You would have loved being there. The joy and excitement would have been irresistible. People leaping and dancing for joy. No wonder crowds flocked around Jesus. Even if you were a skeptic, you'd have been drawn. It was an unstoppable contagion of happiness.

When Jesus saw someone who was blind, Jesus saw an invitation, a summons to provide healing. The same when he saw someone lame or crippled or unable to speak because of a severe hair lip.

Note that Jesus had the same response to someone who was demon possessed. Jesus did not see people who were filled with the devil as people in need of rebuke or scolding or condemnation or punishment. They needed healing.

EVERY kind of human brokenness was seen by Jesus as a call to healing. The ONLY exception to this was the brokenness of fundamentalism. Jesus hung out with conservative religious leaders of his days—the infamous Pharisees. He went to dinners in their houses. He engaged in theological debates with them. What Jesus believed was closer to their beliefs than any other system of thought. But the conservative religious leaders—the defenders of careful Sabbath-keeping and proper eating, the advocates of avoiding contamination by contact with worldliness—these are the people Jesus scolded on occasion, and even, condemned.

My belief is that the only reason Jesus so sternly condemned the Pharisees was make it clear to all the people they intimidated that the Pharisees did not speak for God.

Over the years as I have studied and restudied the gospel of Matthew, I have found my own vision altered.

If you're coming to church from the south and you exit I-5 at Ravenna Blvd. At the end of the ramp, there will be a little man with a sign waving at you.

Looking out the window, what do you see?

A moocher? A freeloader? Someone who needs a kick in the seat of the pants? Someone in need of punishment? Perhaps.

As our eyes are shaped by the Gospel of Matthew when we look out our windows at this little man, we'll see someone broken by genetics or mental illness or mental deficit or maybe even just bad luck. We will see someone in need of healing.

But this is an easy case. We know nothing about the man, so we can easily invent a story that awakens our sympathy. Let's take a much harder case: A fellow church member. A professional woman. Chronically unable to hold it together in her primary relationships. Scornful of her present husband. Neglectful of her kids. But she talks a good line when it comes to theology.

What do you see when you look at her? You know her behavior is evil. And surely someone as smart and talented and religious as she is ought to be able to do a better job in her primary relationships.

It's pretty easy to imagine that she deserves punishment.

But looking through the eyes of the Gospel, what do we see? A broken person in need of healing. This is not to minimize the evil of what she has done to her husband and her children. Her failure to care richly and consistently for the primary relationships in her life is immoral. Still, when we allow the Gospel to shape the lens through which we view this person, we will find ourselves hungering for healing not retribution. For mercy, not condemnation.

Let me push this to where it really hurts: What if this person who fails to care, this person who wounds hearts through cruel words or casual neglect is the person you are married to or is your parent or your child?

What then? You are too close to be able to invent a story for this person like the sweet fiction we can drape around the person begging on the corner. Can we learn together from the gospel to see even this person as someone who needs healing more than condemnation?

This does not mean you should volunteer to stay in a place where you are being hurt. You may have to run for your life. You may have to set iron clad boundaries and even get legal help enforcing those boundaries. Jesus taught his disciples to run from their tormentors. So let me be crystal clear: If you are being abused, do not remain silent. Get help. It is available.

Still as Matthew's Gospel shapes our souls, we can learn to hunger for healing for the people who are close to us and wound us. For people here at church who are annoying. For coworkers that drive you crazy. We can practice praying for for mercy instead of judgment. As we do this, we will discover an astonishing freedom.

When Jesus practiced his healing arts thousands of people were drawn irresistibly. I imagine that the more skillful we become in looking at people through the lens of the Kingdom of Heaven, the more attractive we will be. Our children will be drawn. Our neighbors will be drawn. Our enemies will be drawn. We ourselves will discover a sweet freedom and lightness in our lives.

As we enter deeply into the ministry of healing, we will find a special pleasure in keeping company with God.

Helping Jesus

Sermon for the Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

December 22, 2012

(Preliminary manuscript)

Text: Matthew 2:1-15, The Wise Men.

Jesus needed help. The way Ellen White tells the story, it took scholars to deliver it. She describes the Magi as wealthy, philosopher-scholars. I like that.

In Matthew's gospel, when Jesus was born, nobody noticed. In that world, half of kids died before age five. Who knew whether this child would be one of the lucky ones to make it?

At the end of chapter one, as readers, we know this child is a Divine Being, the Son of David, the Son of Abraham, the Messiah of God, the carrier of an extraordinary mission. As readers we also know that the specialness of this child is perfectly invisible. We—the church, people who are already believers—we know who he is, but how would people in his neighborhood know?

Maybe the religious leaders will give some kind of signal that God has arrived in the person of the baby of Bethlehem? Nope. Is the local king prepared to recognize the legitimacy of another claimant to the throne of David? Fat chance!

So at the end of chapter one, all we have in support of Jesus' status is Matthew's genealogy and Joseph's dream.

Then at the beginning of chapter two, mysterious strangers from the east show up in Jerusalem asking about the birth of a king whose star they've seen.

If these strangers had been shepherds no one would have paid them any attention. If they had been inn keepers from Bethlehem, yawn. But these strangers weren't shepherds or inn keepers. They were the Magi. The Wise Men. The Three Kings of the Orient. You can read various commentators' theories about the precise identity of these strangers. The central point Matthew makes is this: They commanded attention. The whole city of Jerusalem was stirred by their quest. Their status mattered.

Because of their status, Jesus' was marked as a special child. The wealth of the strangers' gifts funded the flight of the Holy Family to Egypt.

Jesus needed help. Help that only high status, wealthy patrons could give.

Jesus still needs the help of Kings, Wise Men and Magi.

In the mid 80s my personal introduction to AIDS came in a phone call from a church member. I could tell from Ron's voice that something was wrong. He had been to the doctor. He began talking in circles, unable to name the horror. I knew secret parts of his story, so as gently as I could I asked if the doctor had found Karposi's sarcoma. Yes. Had they diagnosed AIDS? Yes.

In those days, it was a death sentence. More than that, a diagnosis of AIDS was an entrance into the abyss. The person became untouchable. When I visited Ron in the hospital, I was required to gown, glove and mask.

The disease was unspeakable. Ron went home to die. In the world his parents lived in, AIDS was regarded as the curse of God. His parents never said the word AIDS out loud.

Jesus needed some help. He needed some one to touch Ron. To show him affection. To be willing to name the disease and still to bless Ron as a treasured son of God.

That help could have been provided by anyone with a generous heart.

But Jesus wanted more.

Jesus touched lepers, showing his gracious favor. But Jesus did more than that. He healed lepers. And Jesus wanted to heal people with AIDS.

Helping Jesus heal AIDS takes far more than than a generous heart.

Jesus needs Magi, scholars, smart people willing to spend years and years in school earning a Ph. D.

Jesus needs laboratories and grants.

AIDS is no longer an automatic death sentence, at least not here, not in places with appropriate medical care. But Jesus is not finished. Jesus is not satisfied that AIDS is now routinely and effectively treated in some populations. Jesus is worried about the rest of humanity.

According to Partners in Health, Paul Farmer's organization, there are 12 million orphans in Africa because of AIDS. Jesus needs help responding to that tragic reality.

Jesus needs virologists. And economists. Epidemiologists. He needs legislators and presidents who will pursue policies that permanently improve the economic and social conditions of their people.

Jesus needs business people who will create income-producing jobs and manufacturers who will produce quality products.

Jesus needs the Magi—smart people with generous hearts and bold spirits, wealthy scholars who dare to chase dreams.

Kids, Jesus needs you. Especially if you're bright. Especially if you have the gifts of drive and focus and intellect that will allow you to earn a Ph. D. and serve the world.

Some of you connect with this story through your life time of professional service, healing people, building houses, maintaining the transportation infrastructure of the region. You have invested decades in designing and maintaining the systems that support our well-being and quality of life.

Jesus is pleased with you. Your service connects with the Christmas story celebrates God's involvement with the messiness of life.

In Matthew's gospel, the Christmas story honors the Canaanite prostitute Rahab, who did what she could to protect life. Matthew pays homage to Ruth, the Moabitess, for her generosity to her mother-in-law. He mentions Boaz, the successful business man and Eliub, the perfect nobody. So we are all included in the glory of Christmas.

Matthew climaxes his telling of the Christmas story with his report on a group of wealthy, risk-taking, adventurous scholars. This is a special message to a certain portion of the population of Green Lake Church.

Today, we are saying Godspeed to Jenny as she heads to South Africa to continue her AIDS research. We salute you, Jenny for helping Jesus.

In the light of the story of the Wise Men, the scholars who came to the aid of Jesus, I wish a special blessing to all of you whose lives are devoted to study and learning. Jesus is counting on you. Keep it up.

Today Is the End of the World, Unless . . .

Today Is the End of the World, Unless . . .

In Africa more than 12 million children have been orphaned by HIV/AIDS. Dying, knowing you are leaving your children to fend for themselves in an environment that is hardscrabble beyond our capacity to imagine, that would be the end of the world. Losing your parents in such an environment, that, too, would be the end of the world.

Many of those deaths, orphaning millions of children, can be prevented. The work of organizations like Partners in Health is delaying and preventing the end of the world. Our dollars can further that work.

Here in the United States our “war on drugs” has resulted in the incarceration of millions of young men, especially young men from poor and non-white families. These young men do not use drugs more frequently than other people, but they are disproportionately prosecuted and convicted in our “war on drugs.” Having the scarlet letter, FELONY, stamped on their life histories is the end of the world for many of these young men, shutting down all kinds of opportunities.

We can change that. For many of these young men, a change in drug policy would mean their world does not end in their teens and twenties. We could release them to contribute to society and enjoy life.

Fascination with the end of the world too often blinds us to the very real opportunities we have to mend the world. We cannot direct the course of asteroids. We cannot tell God when to schedule the Second Coming. But we can take actions that will mean the extension of life and the beautification of the world for millions of people. For millions, whether or not the world ends today is in our hands. Don't blow it.

Immanuel

Sermon for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists
December 15, 2012
Texts: Matthew 1 and 9.

Wednesday morning about 6 a.m. I was walking through the church headed here to the sanctuary. Early morning in a church is a special time. It's quiet. In the heart of winter, at 6 a.m. The sanctuary is dark. With just meager light filtering through the windows from street lights.

There's something special about the sanctuary. We have trained ourselves to expect encounters with God in this space. The room itself speaks of the mystery and wonder of the divine.

I was looking forward to an hour of meditation and prayer sitting here in this sacred room.

But I was interrupted.

As I was walking down the center stairs I heard voices. The lights were on in the Day Care rooms. So as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I glanced that direction expecting to see Pam who is here every morning at 5 a.m. Instead, filling the visual frame created by the doorway, I saw a little girl, I don't know, maybe three years old, sitting on a chair, a circle of curls bobbing as she talked animatedly to Pam who was out of sight around the corner.

The first thought that ran through my head was: Whoa. What kind of life requires parents to drop off their kid at Day Care at 6 in the morning. Are both her parents surgeons scheduled to begin operations at 7? Is her mother, a unit secretary and single? What's it like to be a three year old who has to be dressed, breakfasted, and ready for the day at 6 a.m.?

The second thought that ran through my head was, If I had to drop my little girl off at 6:00 in the morning, I would hope that someone like Pam would be there to welcome her.

The third thought that ran through my head was this week's scripture reading.

This is how Jesus the Messiah was born.

His mother, Mary, was engaged to be married to Joseph. But before the marriage took place, while she was still a virgin, she became pregnant through the power of the Holy Spirit. Joseph, her fiancé, was a good man and did not want to disgrace her publicly, so he decided to break the engagement quietly.

As he considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream. "Joseph, son of David," the angel said, "do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife. For the child within her was conceived by the Holy Spirit. And she will have a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins."

All of this occurred to fulfill the Lord's message through his prophet: "Look! The virgin will conceive a child! She will give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel, which means 'God is with us.'"

When Joseph woke up, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded and took Mary as his wife. But he did not have sexual relations with her until her son was born.

And Joseph named him Jesus.

Matthew's words set us up to expect a very unusual child. The child is fathered by the direct action of God. I don't know exactly what kind of distinctive features I'd expect, but surely since Jesus was a divine-human hybrid, something should be obviously different from pure-bred human kids. To my surprise, the only evidence Matthew presents that baby Jesus has a fifty-percent divine ancestry are the words of an angel spoken in a dream and the words of an ancient prophecy. There is nothing observable about Jesus that is unique. Instead, the specialness of Jesus is utterly hidden. It can be observed only by those with a special ability to see. It does not lie in in the phenomena being observed. Throughout his gospel Matthew works to teach us how to see. He wants us to practice supernatural vision.

Our worship of the Baby Jesus prepares us to see all babies in a golden light. Because Jesus' parents were peasants, we have a special appreciation for the value and dignity of ordinary people. Because of our sense of connection with Joseph and Mary, we have a sense of kinship with people everywhere who lead precarious lives.

At the heart of the Christmas story are the details of an ordinary baby. He sucks and cries. He poops and pees. In Baby Jesus, God and humanity are intimately linked. This link forms a major theme running all through Matthew's gospel. To the untrained eye, there is an ordinary child. But those who have cultivated penetrating vision see the divine.

The stories of Jesus' birth are not merely cute memories, they offer profound wisdom which is reiterated throughout the gospel of Matthew. One of my favorite stories illustrating this wisdom is found in Matthew 9.

The leader of a synagogue came and knelt before Jesus. "My daughter has just died," he said, "but you can bring her back to life again if you just come and lay your hand on her." Matthew 9:18.

If you know anything about Jewish culture, you are immediately riveted. Jews don't kneel. Perhaps you remember the story of Mordecai in the book of Esther. He very nearly got the entire Jewish population annihilated because of his refusal to bow to someone high up in the government. Jews don't kneel for prayer in the synagogue. Now here, this leader in the Jewish community kneels in front of Jesus begging: Please come resurrect my daughter.

Dad's get this. This girl is the light of his life. She is the most beautiful girl in the world. And the sweetest and the smartest and the kindest. The entire world will go dark if she leaves. So dad, who has never before in his entire life, never, ever, not a single time bowed to another human being, is on his knees in front of Jesus begging for the life of his daughter.

In our imaginations we stand with the dads in that crowd. When Jesus begins moving toward the house, we breathe a sigh of relief. If we are at all skeptically inclined, we are anxious. We don't believe Jesus can raise people from the dead. But this time, this once, we hope we are wrong. This dad's desperate affection for his girl has captured our hearts. He must have his daughter again. Surely the universe would not mind bending its rules just this once to allow the return of joy and life.

Jesus and his entourage head off with the father. Along the way, Jesus stops. (Like any good movie, Matthew's movie has twists of plot.) He turns and interacts with a pathetic woman in the crowd. A woman who has been bleeding for 12 years. The bleeding mentioned here meant that for 12 years she was forbidden by the command of Scripture from having any intimate contact with her husband. She was to have no social contact with anyone. Strictly interpreted, the law would have separated her from her children, her sisters. Certainly from participating in worship.

Her life has been living death. But, of course, she deserved it. Or at least, she was the kind of person these kinds of things happen to. People close to her were stirred with revulsion. Bleeding was yucky. Disgusting. So, she was revolting, disgusting, repulsive.

And she had the effrontery to touch Jesus.

He stopped and turned. He had read her touch. Instead of scolding, rebuking, mocking, instead of asking her what was she thinking, imagining she could get away with violating every social and religious taboo and reach out and touch him, a rabbi, no less. Instead of saying or doing any of that Jesus enveloped her in a transforming light.

There in front of that crowd Jesus suddenly revealed her divinity.

“My daughter” he said.

When Kate Middleton gives birth, her child will be royalty. Why? Because Prince William and Kate are royalty. When Jesus, the divine king announced this woman was his daughter, he announced her own glorious status, a glory utterly invisible anyone uninstructed in the secrets of the Kingdom of Heaven.

Matthew softened our hearts with his portrayal of the Jewish synagogue dad bowing in front of Jesus pleading for the life of his daughter. Then having charmed us with the warmth of desire and admiration in that dad's heart, Matthew plays a trick on us. While we are all emotional, sucked in by the drama of this dad's love and loss, he pivots the camera and catches this woman who repulses us, then has us hear Jesus say to her, “My daughter.” Then Jesus seals her status by healing her.

The story ends with Jesus resurrecting the daughter of the synagogue ruler, but by this point in the story the resurrection is anticlimactic. We were all in love with the synagogue ruler's daughter from the beginning of the story. We know it's going to turn out okay for her. The surprise glory of the story is transfiguration of an undesirable, pitiful woman into a glorious queen of heaven, daughter of Jesus the Messiah.

Matthew presents us with the most exalted wisdom in the history of humanity—the vision of beings as the bearers of the divine presence.

See that baby born to Mary, that infant sucking and crying and sniffing and making happy baby noises. Look again, that child is the Son of David, the Son of Abraham, the Messiah of the Jews, the Son of God. Then throughout his gospel, Matthew shows us multiple examples of this same principle. God and God's beloved are hidden in plain sight all through society. Kids and women and men. Lepers, Romans and ruffians. Synagogue rulers and Pharisees. Once we have been learned from Jesus, we see the glory of God glowing in them all.

When we have deeply imbibed the wisdom of Jesus contained in the gospel of Matthew it might transform the story I told at the beginning of my sermon.

On Wednesday at about 6 a.m. I was walking through the church building, anticipating a quiet hour with God here in the quiet emptiness of this sanctuary. I was going to practice contemplation of the infinite.

But I was interrupted. I was prompted to look back over my shoulder toward the Day Care room where I saw, framed by the doorway, a vision of a little child talking with an attentive adult.

In light of the Christmas story, especially the way Matthew tells it, my hours of meditation on the grand mystery of God are not superior to the minutes Pam spends every morning paying close attention to three-year-olds whose parents are off to work.

As a congregation, we at Green Lake Church, rightly give serious attention to shaping our worship services to lift our hearts to God. We spend money and time to make sure this space lifts our spirits and facilitates our engagement with God.

You are to be commended for this.

As a congregation, Green Lake Church also opens its doors at six in the morning, Monday through Friday, to care for children who are in every observable way indistinguishable from Baby Jesus. (Okay Jesus wasn't blond.)

This is certainly no less significant, no less holy, no less admirable.

While I am sitting here in the darkness attending to the mystery of God, Pam is sitting in the light attending to the prattle of three year olds. According to Matthew, Pam's attention to a three year old is not less glorious my prayer and meditation.

And the entire enterprise of caring for children, which occupies so much of our building for much of the week is no less gloriously spiritual, is no less an engagement with God, than is our worship here at 11:00

As a Christian congregation, a community of people owned by the Christmas story, we are called to the highest vision, the glory of God hidden in every child of God, every son and daughter of human kind.

Jesus People

Sermon for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

December 8, 2012

Text: Matthew 1:1-17

Note: this is a slightly edited version of the original.  

Imagine you've sat down to watch a movie. There's music and some graphics then the first scene. You hear a female voice talking conversationally. You see the legs of a chair. Two on the floor. Two in the air. The camera pans up. You see a young woman, perhaps twenty-five years old, in jeans and a sweatshirt, both stained with paint. An easel and paints are in the background. You can see trees moving outside through the large windows of the loft. The artist is leaning back in her chair, feet up on a weathered, oak desk, her ankles crossed. Papers are stacked on the desk. She's talking about some guy she was with last night at a gallery when a gust of wind whips through the studio scattering papers—watercolors? Pen and ink sketches? Pastels? Bills? Pages of a manuscript?

“Hang on.” she says. She drops to the floor chasing the papers. We catch hints of color and line on some of them. Typing on others. Then another gust, and we see a single sheet of paper waft out the window. The girl doesn't see it. She's still on her hands and knees gathering the papers on the floor.

She gets all the papers collected, shuts the window and goes back to her conversation. But you've been set up. What was on that paper? Who is going to find it? When will she miss it? Was it a painting? Was her name on it?

Two thousand years ago, when Matthew wanted to make a movie , he did not have access to a camera, so he created his movie using the available technology. He wrote it in ink on papyrus. But just like he was making a movie, he plants some hooks right at the beginning of his work.

This was before Napster, of course. Before the Apple Store and Amazon. The only way to share Matthew's movie was to copy it by hand. And it was so good, that people made copies, hundreds and hundreds and thousands and thousands of copies, laboriously copied by hand, one word at a time.

At first, all the copies were made using ink and papyrus. They were all in Greek. Then people began translating it into other languages. People with money had their copies done on parchment instead of papyrus. The ultimate manuscript upgrade was gold lettering on vellum.

That's how prized this movie was.

[I will display a framed manuscript page that I received as a gift. It is the first page of the Gospel of Matthew in Latin written in gold on parchment or vellum.]

This is the first page of the Gospel of Matthew. It says, in Latin, “The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, son of David, son of Abraham.” It's the opening scene of Matthew's movie. It sets the stage.

For a thousand years Jews had dreamed of a Messiah, a hero who would set everything right. Over the centuries rabbis had elaborated these expectations. They had dreamed of a hero like King David, a warrior with invincible power to subdue Israel's geopolitical enemies. They dreamed of a patriarch like Abraham, a man so dignified, so exalted, even God paid attention to what he said. The prophets foresaw a hero so holy, so moral and upright, that the entire world would pay him obeisance, not because of his power but because of his goodness. The prophets imagined a hero so spiritual and righteous he would transform the entire nation into an extraordinary community of perfect harmony, justice and mercy.

Jesus is that hero. Jesus is the Messiah. This is the story Matthew tells. 

The first evidence Matthew presents in support of his claims about Jesus is a genealogy. Starting with Abraham, Matthew traces the line of patriarchs down to King David and the establishment of the monarchy. Then Matthew follows Jesus' ancestry down through the royal line, through the famous kings of Judah—Solomon, Josiah, Hezekiah, Jehoshaphat—all the way to the Babylonian captivity. Then even through the horrific debacle of the Babylonian captivity and the subsequent chaos Matthew still traces Jesus' lineage. All the way to Joseph, the husband of Mary, the mother of Jesus.

At first glance it is very much other genealogies scattered here and there in the Bible, a list of the names of male ancestors. But the mysterious paper flying out the window in Matthew's movie is the inclusion of four women in his genealogy story. They stick out like sore thumbs or like gleaming jewels. Women are not included in genealogies, but Matthew includes them any way. You know instantly they are setting us up for something important. But Matthew says nothing about them. He appears to merely mention them in passing, but you know better.You know they are central to Matthew's story. And you are right.

The way Matthew tells it, there were fourteen generations from Abraham to David. Exactly 14 from David to the Babylonian Captivity. Exactly another 14 from the captivity to Jesus Christ. It is a carefully crafted genealogy. Matthew did not just copy birth records. He artfully shapes his genealogy to make the point that Jesus arrived exactly on time, with exactly the right ancestors. Jesus has the perfect credentials, the perfect pedigree.

Jesus Christ, Jesus the Messiah, the son of Abraham, the son of David.

Matthew continues the theme of the royal status of Jesus with his report about the Wise Men. These foreigners say they have come to see the newborn King of the Jews because they had seen his star in the East. They pay homage to Jesus because he is born a king. He is the scion of a royal line.

In chapter 5, Matthew records the Sermon on the Mount. In this sermon, Jesus sketches out the principles of his kingdom. Some scholars think Matthew is deliberately presenting Jesus as the second Moses, the ultimate lawgiver.Matthew presents Jesus as superior to Moses, giving instruction that superceeded the words of Moses in some cases.

In chapter 13, Jesus tells a series of parables, distilling the wisdom of the kingdom of heaven. For Matthew Jesus is the Son of Solomon, the new Wisest Man.

Woven all through the book of Matthew are snapshots of Jesus' dazzling power. Jesus heals the sick, sets free the demon-possessed, gives sight to the blind, sets lame people to dancing, raises the dead.

This is the grand central theme of Matthew's movie: Jesus is the supreme prophet, the greatest king, the wisest teacher, the most powerful healer. He is the Messiah. He was born to be king of a royal line. He fully lived out all the promise of the Messianic dreams.

Finally the story is coming to an end. Jesus has been crucified. Still we haven't learned the meaning of the some of those pages that went wafting out the window right at the beginning of the story. Why did Matthew include those women in the genealogy?

There's not much movie left. Jesus rises from the tomb. Over a period of weeks he appears to groups of his followers, then he summons them to a final meeting.

In that final meeting, we get it. It all makes sense. Jesus directs his disciples to go make disciples of all nations. Not just Jews. After three years of intense ministry focused almost exclusively on the Jewish people, Jesus announces that his spiritual family is all humanity. His kingdom is the world, the entire cosmos. And the citizens of his kingdom are determined not by pedigree but by allegiance to the principles of the kingdom.

The fundamental principles are spelled out in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7). They are illustrated in the Parables of the Kingdom (Matthew 13). They are modeled in Jesus interaction with the Leper, the Centurion, the Tax Collector, the Two Daughters and the Pagan Mother (Matthew 8, 9, 15). The principles are summarized most dramatically in the question about the Greatest Commandment, then even more dramatically focused in the story of the Sheep and Goats (Matthew 25).

All of a sudden we get it. In his opening genealogy, Matthew listed the heroes of Hebrew history, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, David, Hezekiah showing that Jesus was, indeed, the fulfillment of the thousand years of dreams and prophecies and temple liturgy. And Matthew included the four women, Tamar, Rahab, Ruth and the wife of Uriah—all non Jews.

Notice two of them in particular, Rahab and Ruth. Both are heroes in their respective stories. They act as saviors. Rahab was a prostitute in Jericho in the time of Joshua. Joshua sent two spies into the city in preparation for the Jewish invasion of Palestine. Rahab hides the spies from the police who are hot on their trail. In return the spies promise to protect her and her family when the Israelites invade—a promise they keep. Matthew informs us that this Canaanite madam married a Jewish man—was he one of the spies? We don't know. In any case her son is chosen to carry forward the messianic line.

The next woman mentioned in Matthew's genealogy is Ruth. A Jewish couple Naomi and Elimelech emigrated to Moab. There, their two sons, Mahlon and Kilion, married local girls. Then Naomi's husband and both her sons died. Naomi is broken. She tells her daughters-in-law to go back to their father's homes. She has nothing for them. She is going to return to Israel to see if she can eke out an existence there.

Ruth insists on accompanying her mother-in-law. "Where you go, I will go. Your people will be my people, your God my God.

Back in Israel Ruth works to provide food for her mother-in-law. Naomi manages to set Ruth up with a rich, good relative. They get married. Ruth's first born, Obed, is chosen to carry on the Messianic line.

The stories of Rahab and Ruth are especially dramatic because God set aside his own explicitly stated rules to include them.

The people of Jericho were so bad, that God had ordered the Jews to obliterate the city, killing all the people and even all the animals. It was a horrific order, but the writer of the Book of Joshua makes doubly sure that we understand this order came directly from God and that God would severely punish any deviation from it.

Then the same writer includes the story of how Joshua authorized saving Rahab, and not just Rahab herself, but also everyone she had with her in her house.

Ruth was a Moabite. In Deuteronomy 23, Moses had explicitly stated that no Moabite was to be given citizenship among the people of God for a full ten generations after they first came to live in the nation. Ten generations!!!! For us that would be forever.

So, in Deuteronomy God says, "No Moabites!" Then a few pages later in the Bible we find an entire book telling the sweet story of the violation of that rule. Ruth was immediately welcomed into Israel. She was made an ancestor of the Messiah. She is recorded as the great grandmother of King David.

Rahab and Ruth. Matthew puts his cryptic reference to them right at the beginning of his book. On the basis of the explicit command of God they should have been excluded. Instead, they were given the highest honor that could be given to a Jewish woman—they were made mothers of the Messiah.They are honored because they showed mercy, because they saved people. Rahab saved the spies. Ruth saved her mother-in-law. God honored their compassion.

Remember the woman at the beginning of the sermon: what was the paper that blew out the window? It was a letter from home, from Mama. It talked about how Daddy was doing in prison and how bad the trailer smelled because of a leak under the kitchen sink that she couldn't afford to fix.

The young woman's last name was Merrill, as in Merrill Lynch. She grew up dirt poor in northern Mississippi. She had won a scholarship to Exeter Academy. Her first week there, she was sitting by herself in the cafeteria. Some girls joined her. When they heard her name they made some assumptions which she did not correct. That weekend she was invited to one of their homes. She was introduced as a Merrill. Again people made assumptions. She was in. She was from old money. She had pedigree.

And in that world pedigree mattered.

She was bright. Earned a full ride at Bryn Mawr. Now she was in New York City, yesterday her first show opened in a local gallery. She had a boyfriend, a Rockefeller. He was there last night. He has been dazzled by her as a person. He admires her work as an artist. He was walking up the sidewalk toward her loft when the letter from home wafts out Sally's window and drifted down. He sees it. Picks it up and reads it.

Now, you know the plot is going to turn on the question: Will Mr. Rockefeller value Sally on the basis of her work and her character or on the basis of her pedigree just now revealed in that letter from home?

This is the question that Matthew comes back to repeatedly in his story of Jesus. He is talking to Jewish people, people with a thousand years of pedigree in the bank. Jesus the Messiah, the ultimate Jew over and over challenges his Jewish audience to recognize the poverty of pedigree. At one point Jesus even says, “God can create children from rocks, if necessary. He doesn't need you.”

In the book of Matthew Jesus is both the king of the Jews and the king of all humanity. His kingdom is founded not on pedigree but on character.

Rahab and Ruth are included in the Jesus pedigree because both acted saviors. Rahab saved the spies. Ruth served her mother-in-law. Those acts of service trumped any disadvantage of ancestry.

In the Christmas season we celebrate the birth of the Christ child. He belongs not just to Jewish people. Not just to Christian people. He belongs to the world. What is the mark of our belonging? Not pedigree, but character. Jesus makes this point repeatedly in his teaching and his example.

In Matthew's gospel, the grand climax of Jesus' teaching is the story of the sheep and goats. The sheep are the good people and the goats are the bad people. When the great judge commends the sheep for their goodness in giving Jesus food and water and a visit when he was incarcerated, the sheep object. “We never saw you hungry or thirsty.” God responds, “What you did to the lowliest persons, you did to me” (Matt. 25). The goats are excluded because they refused to give care. The great divide between the saved and lost is not religious heritage or theological purity. It is the fundamental question: how did you respond to ordinary human need and well-being.

As our hearts are warmed by the generosity and kindness inspired by the Advent season, let's remember that generosity, compassion and care are the most salient values of the kingdom birthed with the Christ Child.

Dawn

Sermon for Green Lake Church, a Seventh-day Adventist congregation

December 1, 2012

Text: Matthew 4:12-17

Note: This will be my first sermon as the senior pastor of Green Lake Church. I will miss my North Hill Adventist Fellowship congregation immensely. On the other hand I'm excited about the prospect of ministry in the Wallingford, Freemont and University neighborhoods of Seattle.

Years ago in Akron, Ohio, a woman approached me after church. Could I baptize her daughter, Annie?

I should have been a little less enthusiastic. The question fleetingly crossed my mind: why was Mother asking me about baptism for a daughter I had never met? But I was so excited by the prospect of giving Bible studies and preparing someone for baptism, I took the bait, hook, line and sinker.

Could I baptize her daughter? “Sure. Of course. I'd be honored. Let's set up a time for Bible studies and we'll prepare Annie for baptism.”

“You don’t understand.” Mother responded, using the language of that time and place. “My daughter is retarded.”

“No problem.” I answered. “I'll make it real simple.”

“No, you don’t understand. She’s severely retarded. She can’t talk.”

This was a problem.

Mother gave me more information: Annie was twenty. She was about two speaking developmentally. She was still in diapers. The reason I had never seen her was that her mother did not bring her to church. Annie was given to spontaneous, loud vocalizing and erratic movement. Rarely she had seizures. Ruth didn't feel comfortable bringing her to church. But could I baptize her? Could Annie join the church?

Mother knew her request was against the rules. Adventists practice “believer's baptism.” We do not baptize children at the mere request of their parents. Instead baptism is our recognition that persons—whether they are little people who have grown up in the church or big people coming to church as adults—have the capacity to choose to accept grace, to choose to cooperate with God, to participate in goodness. Believer's Baptism expresses our profound commitment to freedom.

We do not baptize two-year-olds. Our doctrine precludes baptizing babies in diapers. Still, Ruth was asking me to baptize her twenty-year-old baby, Annie.

Mother tried to minimize the violation of the rules. “I tell Annie all the time that Jesus loves her. And I think she understands. Sometimes I think she says Jesus. It's not very clear, but I'm pretty sure that's what she is saying.”

What to do?

Church doctrine is unambiguous. Church policy is clear. Equally clear was the desperate longing of this Mother's heart. For her, baptism was the doorway to the kingdom of God. The idea that Annie would be excluded from the kingdom of heaven was a darkness too heavy to bear.

So, in a private ceremony, we broke all the written rules. Overriding tradition and doctrine and policy, we baptized Annie and received her officially as a member of the church.

That Sabbath afternoon was a fulfillment of our scripture reading.

"Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali, the way to the sea, along the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles, hear this: the people sitting in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the territory of the shadow of death a light has dawned. Matthew 4:15-16

We see Jesus lighting a mother's life in a fantastic story in Matthew 15. Jesus was on a private retreat with his disciples. He had actually left Galilee and gone across the border north into a non-Jewish town to escape the press of the crowds. Somehow a pagan woman finds out Jesus is there. She accosts Jesus and company, begging him to exorcise her daughter. First Jesus ignored the woman. When that didn't work to get rid of her, he told her that her request was inappropriate. In fact, Jesus said, she was asking him to go outside the limits of his divine commission. To state it as bluntly as possible, Jesus told the woman, “If I do what you are asking, I would be acting contrary to God's calling.”

Then what did Jesus do? He granted her request! He brought into her life great light. Jesus regard for actual human need was so intense, that it prompted him to step outside the ordinary limits of his divinely-given mission. (See Matthew 15:22-28.)

Certainly for that mother, Jesus arrival in her neighborhood was the dawning of a great light.

I'm intrigued by the cryptic words at the beginning of this verse—Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali, the way to the sea, along the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles. Zebulun and Naphtali were two of the twelve tribes of Israel. They are not particularly famous or infamous for anything. They were the nobodies of Israel, or maybe I should say, they were the everybodies, the ninety-nine percent (or more accurately the sixty-five percent). They had no connection with the monarchy. They were not priests. They weren't famous as warriors. They were just plain folk.

Metaphorically, Annie's mother was one of those Zebulunites. She was a nobody. The only person in her family active in the church. No connections to the important people in the congregation. No college classmates at the General Conference. A true believer living in faithful obscurity.

The darkness referred to in the prophecy was not “special darkness.” It was not extraordinary, newsworthy horror. It was the prosaic darkness characteristic of the human condition. It is the darkness that arises from our fear of alienation. Our suspicion that we are not included. The darkness that haunts a mother's heart when she wonders if there is place in God's church, in God's kingdom, for her special-needs daughter.

Let's go back to our scripture. Matthew described the beginning of Jesus' ministry using the language of Isaiah: Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, Galilee of the Gentiles, hear this: The people sitting in darkness have seen a great light. Those are the words of Isaiah and Matthew.

Jesus used entirely different language: “The kingdom of heaven is at hand. Repent.”

The “great light” of Isaiah and Matthew is the news that the kingdom of heaven is at hand. It's close. Real close. It's right here.

It is so close, so available that repentance makes sense. It's doable. It's possible.

“Repent” is fancy religious language. It would be better translated, “Turn.” or “Alter your life.” Make a good change.” Jesus says, the kingdom of heaven is at hand, so turn, enter. The door is right here.

Jesus does not tell people to adjust their lives in an effort to attain the kingdom of heaven. Rather he tells them, the kingdom of heaven has moved into your world. It's here. It's available. So turn. Turn now. Turn here. Turning is not a desperate, Hail Mary, long shot, aiming at some unlikely goal. It is the confident turning toward the welcoming presence of God.

The story of Annie's mother awakens our sympathies. We are all happy together that Annie was welcomed, that the rules were adjusted so Annie's mother's heart was filled with light.

Sometimes darkness haunts people whose vulnerability is much less obvious than Annie's. People like Nicodemus and Thomas. People like Bob.

When Bob and I met he was taking his first tentative steps back toward some kind of connection with church, unsure whether there was really a place for him.

We shared significant interests outside of church. We became friends. I heard his story. When he first encountered the Adventist Church it was perfect medicine for the chaos and dysfunction in his life. It made sense. It helped. He embraced it completely, zealously. A couple of decades later he was a leader in his church. A paragon of Adventist virtue. Then he found some cracks in the edifice.

Twenty years of obeying all the rules had not transformed all of his unruly impulses. It seemed to him, he was essentially the same person he had been when it all began. He was obviously had not become good enough to pass the heavenly inspection.

He was going to be lost.

The final proof of his hopelessness was his inability to believe the world was 6000 years old. When he had joined the church, he happily set aside everything he had learned in his geology classes and embraced the doctrine of the church. Twenty years later, he could no longer do it.

The church taught 6000 years. He did not believe it. Could not believe it. So, he had resigned himself to being lost. There was nothing to be done about it. He lived in darkness.

As you would expect, I argued. Certainly, the official doctrine of the church was clear. Still, just because he did not believe that particular item in the church's creed, that did not mean he was excluded from church or from the kingdom of heaven.

Bob dismissed my words. “That's just you. We're friends, so, of course, you're going to say that. You're a liberal. No offense, but the people who really count don't think like you do.”

No, I argued. On this point, it's not just me. And I told him the following story.

In the early 2000s the General Conference organized a series of conferences on Faith and Science. I attended as an observer. In the third and final conference held in Denver, a number of conservative theologians called for the church to be more activist in rooting out every faculty member who evinced the slightest doubt about 6000 years. Two of the most pugnacious leaders in this camp were Michael Hasel and Fernando Canale. On Friday afternoon both were on a panel.

A pastor stood and addressed Fernando Canale, “I held evangelistic meetings some years ago. A scientist attended the meetings and asked to be baptized. He worked at a leading research facility in the area. I found out he was already attending church. He was keeping Sabbath at some considerable cost to himself. And he was paying tithe. However, he told me he had one problem. He just could not believe in a short chronology. My question to you: Would you baptize him?”

Canale responded: “That is not the question before us. We are here to debate the official doctrine of the Church. And on that we must be crystal clear. We are talking about what is to be taught and preached in our Church. The actual decision about baptizing someone is a pastoral decision to be made in light of a full knowledge of the circumstances and spiritual life of that person.”

The pastor would not let it go. “Of course, I understand we are debating theology here. But I want to know when I go back to my Church what kind of ministry you are requiring of me. Would you baptize someone who was keeping Sabbath, paying tithe and attending church but did not believe in six days/6000 years?”

Canale clearly did not want to answer the question, but to his credit he finally did. “Based on what you have told us, yes, I would baptize him.” Michael Hasel agreed with Canale.

“So,” I said to my friend Bob. “It's not just me.”

And so, I say to you, behold the astonishing power of the light that shines from the ministry of Jesus.

Canale and Hasel have spent much of their professional lives in the church fighting to exclude slightest hint of wavering in the church's doctrine regarding the age of the world. They believe any weakness in this doctrinal point would undermine the entire system of Adventist theology. Adventist identity and mission would crumble into nothingness if we gave an inch regarding geochronology. The very survival of the church as an institution requires absolutely unbending rigidity on this point. They have written this. In the Faith and Science Conferences they delivered passionate lectures along these lines. Then when confronted not with an idea but with a person—a particular human being, a scientist who held a repugnant idea, but still a person, a human being—in the face of this single person their entire bombastic crusade crumbled. Why?

It was the light that shines from Jesus. For all their doctrinal purity and theological certainty, they could not imagine making the argument that Jesus would exclude a man because of his opinions about fossils. They knew, as every person who is acquainted with the gospels must know, that every time Jesus confronted a conflict between preserving institutional prerogatives and caring for a real, live human being, Jesus cared for the person. Jesus welcomed the person. Jesus touched the person. Jesus defended the person. Jesus shone a great welcoming light.

If Jesus could welcome the tax collector Zacchaeus as a full-fledged son of Abraham, if Jesus could pronounce a Roman centurion's faith superior to any exhibited by the proper people of God, if Jesus could turn on its head an incontrovertible accusation of adultery, it is not possible to imagine he would shut the door of heaven to someone because of their opinions about rocks.

The light of Jesus welcomes my friend Bob, and Dan and Robert and Jean and all those others who have been driven by their own studies to question some element of the Adventist creed. By the rule book Annie's lack of cognitive development excluded her from formal inclusion in the family of God. By the rule book, Bob's hyper cognitive development excluded him from formal inclusion in the family of God. The light that shines from Jesus illumines a welcome into the kingdom that exceeds the power of any rule to exclude.

Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, Galilee of the Gentiles: The people sitting in darkness have seen a great light. On those sitting in the territory of death, a light has dawned.

This Advent season, allow the light of Jesus to suffuse your mind. Then, as you are warmed and brightened, look for Annie's mother or a friend named Bob and share the light.

Farewell

Farewell sermon.

Sermon for North Hill Adventist Fellowship
Sabbath, November 17, 2012
Texts:

But in fact, it is best for you that I go away, because if I don't, the Advocate won't come. If I do go away, then I will send him to you. John 16:7 NLT

I tell you the truth, anyone who believes in me will do the same works I have done, and even greater works, because I am going to be with the Father. John 14:12

In 1984 I had been at the Babylon Church for about four years, longer than any other pastor had stayed in a very long time. The people of Babylon had truly become family. Karin was a key leader in the women's group. The kids of the church were our kids. Our daughter, Bonnie, was their child. We had remodeled the church. We had worked our way through crises together. I had begun imagining living and working together with these saints for the next three decades. Babylon was a charming town. The church was just a couple of blocks from the water. It would be a good place to spend a life.

Then I began experiencing an inner sense of call back to the city. To Manhattan. I brushed it off. Then as it became more insistent over the next few months, I actively resisted it. In my prayers I recited to God all the blessings associated with ministry in Babylon: The deep personal connections. The kids who had become teenagers. The men who were attending church because of their confidence in me. I would miss my art teacher around the corner from the church. And the geology professor at the local college where I had taken a class and hoped to take more. The enjoyment we—Karin and I and the congregation—shared as we worshiped and worked and played together. Besides all this, there were projects at the church we had talked about but had not yet accomplished. A new parking lot. A new roof on the school.

At least some of members thought I was indispensable. I almost believed them. I thought we had developed something together that was so special any change would wreck it. But I could not shake the sense of call to “the City,” i.e. Manhattan. Finally, late on a Wednesday night I told God, “Okay, you want me to move into the City, I'll go.”

The next morning the conference president's secretary called. Could I come to the office for an appointment with the president on Monday? I hung up the phone and told Karin, “The conference wants me to go to Manhattan.”

“How do you know?” she asked. “What did the president say?”

“The president didn't say anything. But I'm going to meet him on Monday. And he's going to ask me to go to the German Church. (Later this congregation changed its name to Church of the Advent Hope.)

Sure enough, on Monday Elder Kretschmar asked if I would move to the church on East 87^th Street in Manhattan. I said yes. Then I began worrying. What would happen to “my church,” to Babylon?

My worry was misplaced.

The conference placed a new pastor who was as different from me as you could get. He was a rough, almost crude, Brooklyn native. A preacher who shouted and pounded the pulpit. The congregation found itself captivated by his preaching. Under his leadership, they completed projects in months that we had been talking about for years. Within a short time, I was a fondly remembered “has been.” We and our friends in Babylon felt the pain of separation, but the church thrived.

So Karin and I went to New York. We worked with a small group of old Germans to create a new church—an English speaking church. Together we formed the only Adventist Church in New York City with a majority non-immigrant membership. It was the only young adult Adventist Church in New York City. It was distinctive enough that the Adventist Review wanted to write an article about what we were doing. (I declined. It was still far too new to be confident of what was going to happen.) Then after six years we left because of family needs. Again people in the congregation and I worried what would happen next. We thought I was indispensable. But guess what. The church thrived. Over the next few years, the attendance doubled.

Now, once again, as Karin and I leave here to go to Green Lake Church, I am causing pain to dear friends by moving. Some of you have expressed concern about the future of North Hill. What is going to happen to our church?

I don't know any way to get around the pain of parting. Some of us have been together for 14 years. This summer at the weddings of Nicolas, Kerstin and Stephanie, I felt like it was my own children who were getting married. We are friends. We are family. Friends and family were not designed to be temporary.

On the other hand, I have great confidence that North Hill will thrive. Not because of the pastor who has been here or because of the pastor who will come, but because of what God has formed in the congregation itself.

Where to start?

First, let's note a comment by Jesus to his disciples the last evening he spent with them.

But in fact, it is best for you that I go away, because if I don't, the Advocate won't come. If I do go away, then I will send him to you. John 16:7 NLT

Jesus was saying to the disciples, “It not just that you will survive my departure. You will thrive in my absence. There is good stuff coming your way that can only arrive if I get out of the way.”

If it was better for Jesus' friends that he leave them, then surely it is possible that something beneficial might result from my leaving. If Jesus was not indispensable, then it's not a stretch to imagine that I might not be indispensable.

North Hill has some very special strengths that will remain long after I'm gone.

A Gracious, Welcoming Atmosphere

The most frequent remark I hear from visitors is, “Your church feels so welcoming.”

Once I got a call from an Adventist theologian, a well-known conservative. They asked me to reach out to their son. This theologian preaches against drums in church and has publicly argued against some of the views I have published. Still this person told me, of all the churches in King and Pierce counties, I think my son would like would like your church best.

I did not create the warm, welcoming atmosphere of North Hill. It was built into this church from the very beginning. It was here before I arrived. It will still be here after I go.

Room for Everyone

Not long after we arrived here at North Hill, one Sabbath during prayer time, the head elder requested prayer for his son who had run away from home and was wanted by the police. At the time I was astonished. Nobody talks about that kind of thing in public. We whisper it. Brian modeled the openness and vulnerability that is the greatest gift of North Hill.

We don't have to pretend. We can be real. We will celebrate together. We also cry together. We don't have to hide failures. We don't have to down play our pride at our kids' successes. We are family. That is something you have created. It existed before I arrived. It will continue.

Bob and Karolyn brought their disabled son, Orin, to church. His vocalizations were sometimes distracting, even annoying. Still, you embraced Orin. You made him a part of our church. He is one of “us.” Receiving Orin, who could not talk, who sometimes made disruptive noises, who was the son of one of our mothers—that is something you did. It is an attitude that you still carry.

More than once someone has stood in our worship service to ask for prayer in connection with their going into detox or into rehab. And instead of standing with the Pharisees in scorn for such miserable human failure, you have stood with Jesus, refusing to condemn and offering your prayers and affirmation.

That will be here when I'm gone.

Working Together

One of the special treasures of our church is our building.

I didn't build it. I didn't design it. You did. It was a painful process. But out of that clumsy, difficult struggle came a building that offers a palpable invitation. There is something magical about the shape of the lobby that puts people at ease. The sanctuary feels inviting, welcoming. It puts people at ease. The only aspect of the building that I can lay even the slightest claim to is the windows. I asked for windows and the building committee put them in. Thank you.

The building cost 1.2 million dollars. I didn't pay for it. You did. You made the down payment. You are paying the mortgage. Your generosity has already cut two years off the mortgage. You have saved us tens of thousands of dollars in interest payments. You did that.

Your generosity has gone way beyond the building. In the years we've been here, we have not just made the payments on our mortgage. Your generosity has allowed us several times to come to the rescue of people facing crisis in their personal mortgages. You have kept people in their homes. That is something you have done. It is something you will continue to do. It is something that can be done because you work together.

When we were building the church we saved tens of thousands of dollars by doing a lot of the work ourselves under the direction of Warren Ford. Warren took several months off work to serve as our project manager. He directed us as we put on the roof and siding and built the stage, among other things. We could not have done it without Warren.

We could not have done it without you.

Once construction got started, we had a problem with people stealing materials from the site. Bob and Karolyn provided an RV, and four of their friends stayed in the RV and guarded our property—Doc Bob, Gary Noble, Mike, and Jack. Bob Kasprzak called them Thugs-R-Us. Once they arrived we never lost another thing.

They were a wild looking bunch. I was proud of you for including “Thugs” in the life of our church. They rendered valuable service and you as a congregation honored them for their service and welcomed them when they participated in our worship services.

Welcoming Old Men

All church growth books I have ever read and all the seminars on church growth I have ever attended have focused on what needs to be done to attract young families with children. Given Jesus' affection for kids this appropriate. Jesus did give special attention to kids. And to women.

Jesus also paid attention to old men with life long histories in the church. The most famous, of course, being Nicodemus. Jesus included Nicodemus without threatening him with damnation or condemnation.

You have followed Jesus in giving a welcome to Old Men with long histories in the church. Many of you may not even be aware that North Hill was the incubator that allowed the formation of the Pacific Northwest Adventist Forum—an organization that provides a sense of belonging for people, mostly over sixty, whose spiritual life is characterized by questioning and doubt. The organization is not based in our church, but it would never have gotten off the ground without the support and permission of this congregation.

Some years ago Wayne Sladek challenged me to do something that would serve old men. And Friends of St Thomas was born. It's a niche ministry. For a few old people, both North Hill people and others from outside the congregation, it has offered a vital fellowship. For some of those involved, it has been the key to their continued participation in the life of the church.

The ministry of Friends of St Thomas would not have been welcomed in every Adventist congregation. Your embrace of these old men is part of the magic of our community.

Children in Church

One of the funnest (is this really a word?) elements of our worship services is the little kids collecting the offering. We've watched little kids outgrow it. I remember when Lindsay, instead of leading our worship team, was padding around the sanctuary collecting dollars. Ania is the current star of the show—having the longest and most consistent run. We treasure her. You bless her dancing and the rowdiness of the boys. They are all your children. Would to God every kid could experience the sweetness of blessing and favor you give to our kids.

As they have gotten older, not all of our kids have remained actively involved in church, but nearly all of them speak very affectionately of “their church.” They remember the blessing of your favor and affirmation. You as a congregation have blessed a whole generation of kids. And you will continue doing so. This church offers a magic affirmation of kids.

Your generosity has supported kids at Buena Vista Adventist School and at Auburn Adventist Academy and at Sunset Lake Camp.

The kids in the Sylvan Chorale, the traveling choral group from the academy, report that North Hill has the best potlucks in the conference. They know you value them. You will still know how to cook after I leave.

Women at North Hill

The fellowship of women here at North Hill has been a strong community. Obviously, its life has been independent from me. It continues.

North Hill Music

North Hill was started, in part, to provide a place where people could worship using contemporary music. We believe that God did not stop inspiring music when Bach died or Isaac Watts or Fanny Crosby. Some of you are here just because of the music.

For many of us, the ministry of our musicians is central to our experience in worship. The music lifts us, feeds us. Several years ago, it was some of you who came up with the idea of hiring a minister of music. And you hired Bonnie. You did that.

And while I might be a bit biased, I regard it as one of the smartest decisions we have made in recent years. Bonnie has brought her piano skills and much more. She has helped you to create groups that include many people in leading worship here.

Bonnie has included people old enough to be her parents and young enough to be her kids in a vital ministry of music. Bonnie is not going to Seattle. She will still be here. She will still be constantly expanding the reach of your music ministry.

What can I say about North Hill Cafe? I didn't start it. I don't run it. Jeff does. I charge you to do all you can to support Jeff's ministry in this area. Ask him what is needed. Volunteer. Make yourself available. This is an amazing ministry.

The Secret People

Who sees the volunteers who clean our bathrooms?

Who sees the volunteers who take care of our landscape? (We will need more volunteers for this with my leaving.)

When Karin was diagnosed with breast cancer six years ago, a number of you came and cleaned our house and fixed us food while she was going through the horrific misery of chemo. More recently a number of you have been involved in providing care to Bernie and Pat as she has battled cancer. That kind of care is largely invisible. It is what makes a church real.

Who notices the people running the camera and the computer and sound system. These functions are indispensable to our life together as a church. You do them faithfully week after week. You make church happen.

And snacks. Snacks feed our souls as well as our stomachs. You do that.

We hold our communion services on Friday nights. We have nearly as many people for our Friday night communions as we have for morning church services. Often you bring friends who arenot church members. These are rich services. They are entirely planned by people other than me. Our communion services will still be here after I leave.

And what can I say about Kitty in the church office. She has been running the church for years. She will continue to do so.

So what is the future of North Hill?

I quoted earlier Jesus' words to his disciples: It is better for you that I leave. Because there is a blessing waiting that cannot come until I leave. Earlier that evening Jesus said,

"I tell you the truth, anyone who believes in me will do the same works I have done, and even greater works, because I am going to be with the Father. John 14:12

I don't know exactly what God is going to do here at North Hill, but I am confident that North Hill's best days are ahead. If I have built well, if we have built well, the future of the church will be more glorious than its past.

In the last year or so, our population of young families with kids has increased. You who have little kids are the next chapter of North Hill As you make friends with one another, as your kids play together and grow together, you will create a new center of vitality and life in the church. The older folks will encourage you. They will invite you to take on leadership and responsibility. Don't be hesitant to step forward. With God's help you are fully qualified to shape the church in its continuing ministry.

North Hill began as a dream in Alan Altman's living room. It continues as a dream—a dream in the heart of God, a dream in the heart of many of you. You are living a dream. Keep dreaming. Keep working. Keep extending grace.

God will bless you. A year from now you will be wishing I was here, not because you need me but because you will know how excited I would be to see what you are doing. You will know how pleased I would be to meet all the new people, to see the young people who have moved into leadership. I know I would be proud of what “my church” is doing.

So I say farewell. I regret the pain of parting. I rejoice in the not-yet-visible, bright future God has in mind for my church, for your church, for our church, for his church.