Arduous, Happy Journey

Sermon manuscript for Green Lake Church

for Sabbath, December 27, 2014.

Matthew 2:1-11

They were rich and happy. That they were rich was obvious. You could tell from all the silver on the harness on their camels. You could tell from their clothes. You could tell from the size of their caravan.

They were happy, but we'll get to that later.

According to legend, there were three of them. Their names: Balthasar, Melchior, and Caspar. The Bible calls them Magi which probably means they were wealthy, religious philosophers from Persia. They are the three men on camels you see in nativity scenes.

They are sitting in an caravansary, an inn, in Jerusalem, the fabled City of the God. Most people who travel in the Middle East have stories to tell, and 2000 ago, travelers had even more stories to tell. Still, it was these three noble men, kings perhaps, tribal leaders, Magi, who were the center of attention. All the other stories and story-tellers had been eclipsed.

Balthasar is telling how their journey began:

I was up on the roof looking at the stars just like I do every night. Suddenly, as I was looking toward the southwest, a new star appeared. Just like that. Out of nowhere. I couldn’t believe it. I rubbed my eyes. Shut them. And looked again. It was still there. It was brighter than Venus. And besides Venus was a morning star at that time.

You ask me, could it have been a star I hadn’t noticed before? No. I’ve spent forty years studying the stars. I know what’s up there and this star had never been there before. And no, it was no shooting star. It stayed in the sky.

I sent servants running to all over the city to tell my friends—other philosophers and scientists—to go outside and look to the southwest. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going crazy. But they saw it, too. By ten o’clock my house was full of people talking about the star.

It was a wild night. I mean it’s not every night that a new star appears.

We talked until nearly dawn. By the time everyone had left I knew that I had to go. This star was a summons. This is what I have lived for.

At this point Melchior picked up the story.

How did we know what the star meant? How did we know we were supposed come to Jerusalem and find a king?

Well that’s actually two different questions. How did we know what the star meant?

For over a thousand years our people have handed down a prophecy by a man named Balaam. His prophecy is also in the Hebrew Scriptures. Here’s what he said:

This is the prophecy of Balaam the son of Beor, the man whose eyes are open, who heard the words of God, who knew the knowledge of the most High, who saw the vision of the Almighty: I shall see him, but not now: I shall behold him, but not near. There shall come a Star out of Jacob, and a Scepter shall rise out of Israel, and shall smite the corners of Moab. . . Edom shall become his possession, . . . and Israel shall do valiantly. Out of Jacob shall come he who will have dominion. Numbers 24:15-17

This prophecy is just one piece in a network of prophecies that that center on the idea of a Messiah, a king who will be the sum of the best virtues of all kings. A king who whose reign will be so glorious that forever will be too short a time for its unfolding.

The Jewish prophet, Daniel, who lived in Babylon about 500 years ago predicted a succession of empires that led up to the Roman empire. Daniel ended his prophecy with these words:

At the time of those rulers the God of heaven will establish a kingdom that will never end. It will never be conquered, but will completely destroy all those empires and then last forever. Daniel 2:44

Before Daniel, the Jewish prophet Isaiah who lived right here in this city, had written:

Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and the government shall be upon his shoulders. His name will be called Wonderful, Counselor, The Mighty God, The Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and peace there shall be no end. He will establish David’s throne on a foundation of justice and rule justly forever. Isaiah 9:6

Another prophet wrote:

Many nations will come and say,

“Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord,

to the Temple of the God of Jacob,

so that he can teach us his ways,

and we can obey his teachings.”

His teachings will go out from Jerusalem,

the word of the Lord from that city.

The Lord will judge many nations;

He will make decisions about strong nations that are far way.

They will hammer their swords into plow blades

and their spears into pruning hooks.

Nations will no longer raise swords against other nations;

they will not train for war anymore.

Everyone will sit under his own vine and fig tree,

and no one will make them afraid

because the Lord All-Powerful has said it.

Micah 4:2-4

Other prophecies among our people back in Persia confirm these glorious vision. Even Roman poets have pictured a glorious future, a golden age, when peace and justice will be the norm.

I’ve been studying this stuff for most of my life. When I saw that star, I knew in my gut that this was the announcement of the birth of the king. And I knew I was going to attempt to find this royal child and pay my respects. My friends thought I was crazy. But Balthasar and Caspar had the same conviction. So we put together the expedition, and here we are. And we are going to stay here until we find the king.”

The group broke up and everyone headed to bed. The next morning the Magi ate early and headed out into the city to continue looking for the king. Around noon as they were talking with a shop keeper, a messenger approached and said King Herod requested them to come to his palace for an interview.

The messenger led them into the palace by an obscure rear entrance and ushered them into the king’s audience chamber. He greeted them warmly and inquired about their trip. He quizzed them about the economies in Damascus and Babylon, then asked them whether they had had any success in their search for the child king. He told them he had heard about the new king and that he had inquired of the Jewish scholars at the temple. According to these experts, the new king was not to be born in Jerusalem but in Bethlehem just a few miles distant.

The exact words of the prophecy were:

But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,

are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;

for out of you will come a ruler

who will be the shepherd of my people Israel.

Matthew 2:6 quoting from Micah 5:2

“Listen,” Herod said, “it would be one of the high points of my reign if I could pay respects to this Great King. Go to Bethlehem and search diligently for the child. When you find him, send me word so that I, too, may go and worship him. And gentlemen, I would count it a favor if you would treat our conversation as confidential.”

The Magi were led back out the hidden entrance and into a busy street.

It was dusk before they were ready to leave. No one in those days traveled at night, but the Magi set out headed south toward Bethlehem. As the sun set there was the star, apparently directly over the town of Bethlehem. They were overjoyed. It was a clear sign that they were on the right track.

They reached Bethlehem and found an inn for the night. In response to their queries, the innkeeper immediately told them about a couple named Mary and Joseph.

The next morning the Wise Men, the Magi, visited the house of Mary and Joseph. They listened to the stories of the visit of the shepherds, the curious blessing of the aged priest Simeon in the temple. The rich old men presented their gifts. They bowed and paid obeisance to the infant Jesus. Then headed home, avoiding Jerusalem because God had warned them in a dream not to go back to Herod.

And for 1500 miles Balthasar, Melchior and Caspar rode in the deep satisfaction of that visit. Mission accomplished. They had seen the Messiah. They had worshiped. They were happy.

How do I know they were happy? Because they poured everything they had into a grand venture, a venture that summoned them. They had been beckoned, enticed, and had said, yes.

This is one of the essential elements of authentic Christianity—enticement.

The Gospel of Matthew pictures this over and over. Crowds were drawn to listen to Jesus' teaching, to be touched by Jesus' healing.

Our calling as a church is to entice one another ever farther, ever deeper into the journey of following Jesus. Like most journeys, this journey may have surprises, shocks even. Still, our greatest joy will be found in pressing on, assured by the words of the Bible and the testimony of the church, that this is a good journey and that when we see the Christ we will be fully satisfied.

Chosen Trouble

Sermon manuscript for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

For Sabbath, December 20, 2014

Wednesday morning I left the house early headed for Seattle. It was dark and raining. Headlights and tail lights reflected in the water on the highway. 3.64 miles from my house, heading down a slight hill, I noticed an animal dead on the shoulder of road just outside the white line. A wing was extended and my first thought was, that's an owl.

I sometimes remove dead animals from the road in our neighborhood. It's a sign of respect for the life, of reverence for the beauty of creation. I place the animals in the bushes where the ordinary processes of nature will recycle them. This seems more dignified than being turned into an ugly spot on the pavement. I have a special fascination with big birds. In addition to wanting to show respect by removing them from the ugliness of their highway destiny, I find the allure of getting close too strong to resist. Handling a hawk or duck, touching its feathers and examining its intricate coloring is pure magic. It's illegal to possess the feathers, but I don't think it's illegal to pick up a bird and examine it.

All this ran through my head in a few seconds. A half mile down the highway I turned into a side road. Did a U-turn and headed back to check out my sighting. Drove past the spot, did another U-turn and pulled off on the shoulder with my headlights pointed at the bird. I don't know why I thought it was an owl. In my lights it looked like duck. I went to pick it up, and the duck's head was missing. Then I realized, no, it really was an owl. It was lying on its back. A duck in that position would show off its long neck. An owl on the other hand is so compact, it's just a single lump of feathers. I spotted its beak and could make out the outlines of its face.

I had never touched an owl before. Never seen one up this close. Even though it was dead, there were no marks on it. I picked it up. It was still warm. Instead of putting it in the bushes, I put it in my car figuring I would show it to a few of my bird friends before disposing of it properly. (Carolyn, the church administrator is an officer in the Audubon Society. My friend, Brian, is an insane birder. I figured I'd show it to the kids in the Day Care.)

With the bird lying on its back on the floor on the passenger side of the car, I headed on into Seattle. The traffic was terrible. The trip took twice as long as usual. The sky grew lighter. Somewhere near Southcenter I happened to glance down at my dead bird and was startled to see him standing up. He was a bit wobbly on his feet, but he was clearly not dead!

Now what? I had visions of the headlines: Man attacked by owl. I-5 closed by the resulting accident. I had pictures in my head of massive flapping wings and sharp talons. This was not good! But what could I do, I was in the center lane of I-5. I had to keep driving.

Of course, I now glanced at my bird every few seconds to assess the risk of attack. He appeared to be pretty lethargic. He never lifted his wings. He faced away from me. Once or twice he looked my direction and opened his left eye. Other than that, he just stood there swaying a bit, looking like he might be a little drunk. Which would make sense given the fact I was pretty sure he had been knocked unconscious by a collision with a car wind shield.

Fifteen minutes later, he was still just standing there. I looked at the clock. Maybe Brian would be awake. Even if he weren't, this was important enough, I'd wake him up.

“Brian, I have a problem. I picked up a dead owl. But now it's resurrected itself. It's standing on the floor of my car. I don't know how badly hurt it is. Do you know if there is any place that rescues injured owls?”

Brian didn't know, but he promised to get online, find out and call me back.

Then I began thinking, I need some kind of container to put this bird in. Sooner or later if he doesn't die, he's going to try to get out of the car. He's going to be flapping against the glass. I called Anne, the director of the Day Care. She's an animal lover, maybe she had a dog crate I could borrow.

She did not have a dog crate, but she did have a cat crate. I explained my problem. She said she'd get to the church as soon as she could.

When I pulled up here at the church, Fred was still sitting in the same spot on the floor of my car. When I opened my door and got out, he didn't look, didn't move.

Anne arrived with big leather gloves, a pillow case and a cat crate. She cautiously opened the passenger door, slipped the pillow case over the owl, carried him inside, then transferred him to the cat crate.

I took him around to show the kids at the day care then got busy figuring out my next move.

When I picked up the owl, it was a dead bird. It was a beautiful thing which I was going to own for a few hours until I properly disposed of it. I was in complete control. I could of simply set it back down in the bushes at the edge of the road and left it to the crows and other scavengers. Once I put it in my car, as long as it was dead, I was free to dispose of it any time. It was not a problem.

But now, it was alive. Suddenly I was not in control. A living creature you have taken in suddenly imposes obligations. I was stuck. I couldn't just let it go. I had driven it 35 miles away from its home. I had taken it from the country into the heart of Seattle.

And besides, I couldn't just release it until I knew it could fend for itself.

Carolyn told me about a rescue place in Arlington. That was a long way away, but I called them anyway. At least they could advise me. No answer.

Brian called me back and told me about a rescue place in Kent—South Sound Critter Care. The lady there urged me to bring the bird in as soon as possible. I groaned. It was an hour's drive away. That was going to be two and half hours out of my day.

I began scolding myself. Why did I pick up the stupid bird? I should have just looked at it and put it in the bushes. Let nature take its course. But, I had picked it up. I had brought with me into the heart of the City. And now it was alive. It was my problem.

I remember years ago, I had visited some people who had a huge parrot or macaw. While they were out of the living room I had walked over to the bird, it climbed off its perch and onto my arm. The bird and I were having a pleasant conversation when the people came back into the living room.

I put the bird back on its perch and visited with the people. At the end of our visit they offered me the bird. The man was sick and facing a very uncertain future. “That bird never lets strangers approach him. He's dangerous. He obviously likes you. Would you take him?”

I was flattered. I was even tempted. He was a really cool bird. But I had the presence of mind to say that I should check with my wife before taking another animal into the house. Karin delicately suggested I do a little research on the care required by such birds. Thanks to google, I discovered that birds like that needed four or five hours of contact time daily with their person. FOUR TO FIVE HOURS!!!!!!!!

I told the bird's people thanks but no thanks.

Unfortunately, with this owl, I had not considered the possibility that it would resurrect itself and become a dependent, living creature and rearrange my entire day.

I briefly considered just keeping it in the crate until Thursday. But my schedule Thursday was no more convenient than Wednesday. I could take the bird back to where I found it and release it. But that was as far away as the rescue center.

I was stuck. What an idiot. I glared at the bird which was invisible inside the crate in a dark corner of my office.

I talked with Carolyn, took care of a few urgent phone calls, then carried the cat crate with its bird cargo out to the car and headed for Kent, wondering if the bird would still be alive when I got there, wondering if this whole thing was a waste of time. But what else could I do?

In the Christmas story there are some surprises like my owl who resurrected himself. Joseph falls in love with a young girl named Mary. Only after he is hooked, hopelessly in love, only then does he get the news she is going to have an inconvenient pregnancy.

Jesus is born. The angels sing. Rich men from Persia show up to honor the child.

Then King Herod gets in a snit and the holy family barely escapes slaughter.

Would Mary have agreed to this project if she had known the full extent of tragedy and horror she would confront?

Would Joseph have stuck with Mary if he had known her son was going to expose the whole family to the threat of death?

I like to think he would have. Every time we allow ourselves to love, we are taking a huge risk. We are exposing our hearts to the risk of disappointment and grief. Still, that's what lovers do. They take risks. They dare.

The decision to have a child is always a risky matter. Perhaps if you have your children when you are a teenager, you can avoid the scary awareness of all the things that can go wrong. Commonly, we parents dream our children will be healthy and beautiful and smart and ambitious and righteous. Of course. But especially if we are a little older when we have children, we know we are signing up for a risky adventure. Problems happen. Difficulties arise. Illness and accidents invade our lives. Knowing this, perhaps only vaguely, still we embrace the adventure. It's who we are. We become parents.

Let's take this the next step. According to the Gospel of Mark, Jesus was the Son of God. According the Gospel of Luke, Jesus was the Son of generations of fathers going all the way back to Adam—who was the son of God. While the teenage Mary could not possibly have understood the challenges she was signing up for when she agreed to be the mother of Jesus, God the Father knew full well what was ahead.

The injustice and trauma in Jesus life were expected by God. God proceeded anyway. It's what parents do.

At the heart of our faith is the conviction that God has devoted the best resources of heaven to saving people. God sees the mess people are in and God responds. God neutralizes guilt so that wrong doers can imagine a new life beyond their moral failures. God promises healing to those who are harmed by intention or by accident. God gives special reassurance to those in poverty, those who suffer from mental illness, those whose irregularities have made them pariahs.

Our mess is not just our problem. It's God's problem.

The owl drunk with a head injury, standing unsteadily on the floor of my car, had a problem. Because of the culture I am part of—a culture shaped by the life-affirming values of this church, and the animal-affirming values of our house—I was stuck. Since my dead owl had come back to life, I had a problem.

The owl's problem was my problem. But here is the radical difference between the message of the owl story and the message of the Christmas story.

The owl tricked me into getting involved in his life.

The Christmas story declares emphatically that God gladly, boldly, deliberately got involved in our lives. We are not a dead owl that came to life in God's cosmos, bringing with us unexpected inconvenience.

According to the Christmas story we are the treasured, desired children of God.

According to classic Christianity, God knew the difficulties, the pain, the massive injustice that would arise from the life of human beings. God proceeded anyway. The challenge of saving humanity, of redemption, atonement, peacemaking, restoration—all of that—is not something God is stuck with. God did not pick humanity up from the side of the road, imagining that he was holding in his hands something beautiful and fully in his control only to be astonished when we came to life and disordered the tidy beauty of the universe.

Rather God looked ahead at the creativity and energy of humanity. God saw that we would pervert our freedom. God saw the full range of possibilities, and said, “Let's do it.” I hope this is not being too irreverent, but I imagine God saying, “What would my life be without my children? Safety and unruffled order is nothing compared to the wild adventure of having children.”

Christmas, the celebration of the birth of Jesus, is redolent with sweetness and charm. Sweet baby Jesus, holy infant, tender and mild. Christmas also declares that our problems, our needs, our tragedies and struggles with injustice—all this is not a problem that has taken God unawares. These are not dead owls that have resurrected themselves in God's car and imposed themselves on God. Rather the heartbreak of humanity, and even the challenge of healing evil and restoring the world—all this has been freely chosen by God because this mess is your life, and you are God's prized son. You are God's precious daughter.

We are all baby Jesus. Loved and treasured.

This is what we mean when we say, Merry Christmas.

An Astonishing Mercy

Sermon manuscript for Gig Harbor Adventist Fellowship. (Andreas is preaching at Green Lake Church on December 13)

Sabbath, December 13, 2014

Based on Joshua 9, 2 Samuel 21, Luke 10, and Acts 15

It's one of those tense moments that in the hands of the right movie director make you hold your breath. What's going to happen?

Over here on the right of the screen you see angry argument. An army of rough characters is arguing with their general and a few other chiefs and dignitaries. Over on the left side of scene you can see people cowering, mothers holding their children close. Men standing with crossed arms. Impassive faces, awaiting their fate.

The camera zooms in on the argument. The soldiers are insisting the general give the order to attack. This is going to be a quick slaughter. It's the right thing to do. Just give the order.

The general stands feet planted, his arms on his hips. Listening, but not bending. There is no negotiation. He had already said no. It's not going to happen.

He repeats what he's said dozens of times:

We gave these people our word. We signed a treaty. Yes, they tricked us. Yes, they were dishonest. But we will not sink to their level. We will not go back on our word. We will not violate a treaty. No!

Slowly the commotion subsides. The angry soldiers move back into their groups muttering. The people at risk, the people whose fate was the center of this fierce conflict relax a bit. The crisis eases.

Finally, the general, having quieted his men, turns to talk with the people on the other side of this treaty. He is joined by tribal elders.

“What were you thinking?” he demands. “Why did you deceive us? Why did you trick us into signing a treaty by saying you lived nearby?”

They replied, "We did it because we--your servants--were clearly told that the LORD your God commanded his servant Moses to give you this entire land and to destroy all the people living in it. So we feared greatly for our lives because of you. That is why we have done this. (Joshua 9)

Did you get that? These people—they were called Gibeonites—knew that God had ordered the Jewish people to annihilate the residents of Canaan. The Gibeonites had heard about the miraculous triumphs of Israel against the Egyptians, the Amorites and the people of Jericho. They knew they didn't stand a chance militarily, so they decided to try a different stratagem.

They sent a delegation to ask for a peace treaty with the Jewish people. Of course, they knew the Israelites weren't supposed to make treaties with local people in Canaan, so they stole a different identity. The delegation dressed in worn-out clothes, they carried stale bread and old, cracking wine skins. They wore sandals with broken straps.

When the Gibeonite delegation arrived in the Jewish camp, the Jews were suspicious. “Don't you know we're not supposed to make treaties with people from around here?”

(Moses had specifically allowed them to make treaties with distant nations but had forbidden them to make treaties or even any concessions to the local residents of Canaan. The locals were to be exterminated. Moses repeated this command over and over. There was no ambiguity.)

“Oh, course, we understand,” the Gibeonites said. “We know you can't make treaties with Canaanites, but we are from way far from here. This stale bread: It was fresh from the oven when we started our trip. These wine skins—their water bottles—they were in pretty good shape when we set out. And our sandals. They were new. It's taken us weeks of travel to get here. But your fame has gone everywhere. That's why our elders sent us to make a treaty with you. You are clearly going to be a great nation. We want to be your allies.”

Joshua and the elders were suspicious, but the bread was stale. The wine skins were cracked. The sandals were worn. It was gratifying that the fame of God's power was so widespread, so sure, why not. Joshua and the elders made a treaty. They pledged protection and non-aggression to the reps of the Gibeonites.

Three days later, the Jews learn they've been had. These people are the Gibeonites, a subdivision of one of the major Canaanite tribes. These are the very people God had told them: Don't make treaties with them. Show no mercy. Exterminate them. Annihilate them. Absolute eradication.

The Israelite army marched to Gibeon.

The rank and file of the army wanted to get busy doing God's work. They wanted to rid the earth of these lying, conniving, scheming pagans. But Joshua stops them.

“We gave our word. We took an oath. I don't care what God said. I know what we said. We will not break our word.”

My question to you: Was Joshua right? Or was the army right?

God said destroy these people. Joshua said spare them. The army wanted to do what God said. Joshua refused. Was Joshua right?

For a minute, I'm going to ignore your opinion. Let's look to see if the Bible itself answers this question. In Joshua 9, the chapter that tells this story, it seems evident to me that the writer is making a statement in favor of Joshua, but this is implicit, not explicit. However, in 2 Samuel 21, the Bible is horribly explicit.

There was a famine in the land of Israel during the time of King David. King David has his priests inquire of God regarding the reason for the famine. God says the famine has come as punishment on the nation because of actions taken by the previous king, King Saul. His patriotic zeal had led him to slaughter the Gibeonites. He imagined he was carrying out the will of God. Weren't these Gibeonites part of the Canaanite peoples? Hadn't God spoken through Moses repeatedly ordering the complete extermination of the Gibeonite people?

Now God is requiring King David, the “man after God's own heart” to address this issue. God makes it's clear that Saul's action, the slaughter of the Gibeonites was unjust, immoral.

Acting in accord with the justice system of that ancient culture, David delivered seven descendants of Saul to the Gibeonite elders to be executed as pay back for the slaughter Saul had directed.

After these executions, the famine went away. The land was at peace.

This whole story sounds bizarre to us. But before we dismiss it as an irrelevant, ancient tale, let me ask you, have you ever wondered if you were hopelessly excluded from the favor of God?

I have a friend who frequently tells me he knows he is going to be lost. I don't know for sure where his certainty comes from. As he's gotten older, his connection with God has gotten shakier. According to standard Christian formulas if his faith is shaky, then his salvation is shaky. Because we all know that God says if you don't believe you will be damned, sent to hell, lost.

But is that really so?

What if a person's loss of faith can be traced to dementia? If a person loses his faith because the person has lost mental function, do you imagine that God would really damn such a person? Don't you imagine that Jesus, like the ancient Joshua would step in and say, Hey wait a minute, I gave that person my word.

What about people who are developmentally disabled and are never able to articulate faith? What about people who are forty years old, unable to talk, and still in diapers? Is it still true that we would insist, they can't be saved because they haven't said the necessary words expressing faith?

What about homosexuals? Christians are so sure they are like the Canaanites. God hates them. God excludes them. But what if these folks have seen God's power and presence in this church, and they want to enjoy the grace of God that is specially available here? Will we act like Joshua's army and rehearse the words of condemnation or will we act like Joshua and defend their right to a safe and secure home here among the people of God?

In the famous story of the Good Samaritan, the good conservative religious scholar set up the story by asking who deserves to be included. Jesus answers by asking who is good enough to open the door. In Jesus story, it is the person with defective religion who is celebrate as the truly good person, the person who embodies the intentions of heaven.

What about us? When we read our Bibles do we underline the passages that express divine displeasure or divine welcome?

In Acts 15, the leaders of the early Christian church were debating the rules for including and excluding people from the church. There were devout conservatives who wanted to hold up the standards. They wanted to make sure everyone who joined the church measured up to exalted standards. Peter finally stood up and said, “Look, you know that God included people who had none of the credentials you people are talking about. God astonished us by giving a demonstrable gift of the Holy Spirit to unbaptized, uncircumcised pagans. Are we really supposed to be more particular than God? Then Peter made this fascinating statement: “Why are you now challenging God by burdening the Gentile believers with a yoke that neither we nor our ancestors were able to bear?”

Note Peter's argument: we have tried the approach of measuring everyone by standards. It doesn't work for us. It didn't work for our ancestors. Why would we impose it on the new people. Leave them alone.

My appeal to us: will we stand with Joshua and protect vulnerable people, even people who have questionable credentials? Or will we stand with Joshua's army and demand that God's harshest judgments be implemented?

Will we stand with the Pharisees and work to keep the church pure or will we stand with Peter and boldly welcome all God calls?

Building Peace

Sermon manuscript for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

For Sabbath, December 6, 2014

This is a preliminary version. Revision likely. Comments welcome.

Texts:

Isaiah 9: 6-7

Mark 4:35-39

The front page of Wednesday's Seattle Times featured this headline: “Mammoth cleanup ahead for fouled Duwamish River.” The entire page above the centerfold was taken up with an aerial photo of floating cranes and barges and dredging apparatus just upstream of the South Park Bridge. This equipment was engaged in early stages of the mammoth cleanup.

The reason for the headline was the release the day before of the final draft of a plan to clean up the Duwamish River. The project will take nearly twenty years. It will cost 342 million dollars. A million cubic yards of extremely contaminated sediment will be removed. Hundreds of acres of river bottom where the contamination is less will be covered with clean rock and sand to seal the toxins in place.

When the project is completed, the river will be a better place, a sweeter place. Perch and sole and crabs and clams will no longer be contaminated with PCBs and arsenic. People who eat fish from the river will no longer be poisoned by their catch.

The cleanup on the Duwamish will improve the water quality of the entire Puget Sound.

It might seem like a long way from the Duwamish River to the Bethlehem of Christmas fame, but I think I have found a worm hole that connects them.

In the Advent Candle reading this morning, we heard the words of Isaiah 9.

For a child is born to us, a son is given to us.

The government will rest on his shoulders.

He will be called:

Wonderful Counselor,

Mighty God,

Everlasting Father,

Prince of Peace.

His government and its peace will never end.

[Isaiah 9:6-7 NLT] 6

This is a prophecy of the work of the Messiah, a description of the mission of Jesus, the baby born in Bethlehem.

The priest Zecharias prophesied:

The morning light from heaven is about to break upon us,

to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,

and to guide us to the path of peace.”

Luke 1:78-79

What is this peace that is mentioned in both these passages? Jesus is the Prince of Peace. His mission is to guide us into the path of peace. What does that mean?

It might be tempting to define peace as merely the absence of violent conflict. But peace is far more fundamental than that. Making peace is far more than stopping war. Making peace means creating opportunities for people to thrive. The first picture of peace making in the Bible comes right at the beginning:

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and void and darkness covered the face of the earth. God stepped into that dark and lifeless void and created light and life. God turned chaos into the Garden of Eden. This is what it means to make peace.

The mission of Jesus was to bring healing and hope and harmony. To end conflict by replacing enmity with community. Making peace means making the world better. The goal of peacemaking is joy, harmony, well-being. This was the mission of the Son of God. When we make this mission our own, when we practice peacemaking, we are acting like the children of God, we are demonstrating our family connection.

Right now, our country is roiled with controversy surrounding killings by the police. In some instances, the details are murky. In others, the evidence is glaringly clear: gross injustice has been done. Whatever the details of this incident or that, we know beyond the shadow of a doubt: Black men and boys suffer disproportionately from police wrong-doing. Whatever the facts in any particular case, as a society we are failing to give equal welcome and equal protection to Black men and boys. This is wrong.

Denouncing the evil is the easy part. The hard question, and the best question is: How do we make peace? Not just, How do we end the egregious miscarriages of justice? but How do we create a society that promotes the well-being of all, includin pg Black men and boys?

We are Christians. Being a Christian means more than saying Merry Christmas instead of Happy Holidays. Being a Christian means more than going on mission trips to foreign lands. It means more than having a correct opinion about soteriology. (I couldn't help myself. I thought I would toss in a latinate word here to highlight the risk of dressing up irrelevant theorizing with fancy words.) Christians are followers of Christ. At minimum, this means we are called to be peacemakers. We are called to be active in turning chaos into the Garden of Eden. We are called to do all we can to cooperate with Jesus in making peace. Here. Now.

For about a century, people dumped “stuff” in the Duwamish River. Tires and trash. Old trucks. Carcinogenic lubricants and coolants. Sewage. Industrial waste. Some of this dumping was done with clear knowledge of its potential for doing harm. Some of the dumping was done without a realization of the consequences. Some was inadvertent. However it happened and whoever was responsible, for a hundred years human activity turned the Duwamish River into a place like the dark, lifeless void mentioned at the beginning of Genesis. We had created chaos.

Activists, reformers, protesters eventually got our attention. This soiling was wrong. This chaos making was immoral. We had an obligation to do what we could to reverse a hundred years of wreckage and spoilage. It was time to make peace. The restoration is going to take decades and hundreds of millions of dollars, but as a civilization we owe this to the river. We owe this to our children.

Like the mess in the Duwamish, the problems of race and class that confront us have been a long time in the making. Making peace from the chaos we have created will take time and cost money. But as children of the Prince of Peace, do we have any options? Our obligations to our Heavenly Master and to our children require us to make peace. Not just stop the war. Not just end hostilities. We are called to work toward the beauty of the Garden of Eden.

I appeal especially to you who are young. Put your energy, your minds, your education, your advantages to work for peace. Yes, pursue your careers. Yes, dream of a comfortable income and a nice house. But dream higher than that. Ask God to give you a vision higher and nobler than mere survival or comfort. Partner with God in making peace, in turning chaos into the Garden of Eden.

The moral of the Christmas story is that God did not ignore the chaos, the mess. God gave his best to humanity. Any of you who are parents will understand that behind all the complicated theology we have developed over the last two millennia, the core message of the Jesus story is this: God gave his best, his highest, his most treasured to humanity. Making peace is not a hobby for God. It is the very essence of the divine existence.

So when you young people dream big dreams of making the world better, when you take great risks, and attempt heroic feats, you are entering into the very life of God.

The child of Bethlehem and the Duwamish River are connected through the worm hole of a mission to bring about healing and new life. In fact, every effort to bring healing and harmony, to foster life and happiness is a cooperation with the mission of God.

Thursday morning, next to a different Seattle waterway, I caught a glimpse of the power of holy imagination to create peace.

I left the church about 7:30 and ran over to the Ballard Locks. I jogged across the locks and ran down to see if there were any fish moving through the fish ladder. No fish. Back up top, I headed toward the rest room. There was a sign out front: Closed. But inside I could hear a commotion of voices.

I pushed open the door. A worker was standing there. With a big grin on his face, he announced, “We're open. You can come in.”

His speech was not entirely clear but his grin was perfectly understandable.

“You're open?” I asked. “It's okay if I come in?”

Another worker came around the corner, pushing a mop. He saw me and grinned. It was obvious both men had some cognitive impairment. They were simple people.

They were delighted I had come to their restroom. “We keep everything clean,” the first guy declared with obvious pride. His partner, the one with the mop, grinned at his buddy, and repeated, nodding his head. “We keep everything clean.”

“And you're sure it's okay for me to come in now?” I'm watching the guy with the mop continue sweeping back and forth across the floor.

“Yes. We're open. Everything's clean.”

A supervisor stuck his head out of a store room and confirmed that I was welcome to use the facilities.

As I resumed my running, back across the locks and up the streets of Ballard, headed back here to the church I replayed the scene over and over in my head.

The two men with special needs were obviously finding satisfaction in real work. They were building peace, reducing chaos and increasing life-sustaining order in a tiny corner of the world—the restrooms at the Ballard Locks. They were mopping floors, wiping walls and toilets. They were making the world better.

But they could do this only because other people, an entire system, had worked to put them into a place where their disabilities did not keep them from the satisfaction of work. There was an entire system of supervisors and community support that enabled these guys to play their part in the peacemaking of God.

I wondered about their supervisor. What kind of special person does it take to direct the work of people with cognitive difficulties, people who want to work, to contribute, but are not capable of competing in our intense society? I wondered at the geniuses who found a way to connect these two simple men with their big grins and hearts of gold and impaired cognition with meaningful work.

This season as we sing Christmas carols and enjoy Christmas cookies and Christmas gifts, let's ask God to give us a brighter, clearer vision of how we can cooperate with the Prince of Peace in his work of transforming chaos into an idyllic Garden of Eden. Let's work for a community that comes ever closer to the ideals of God.

Holiness Is Like Running

(Column for the Green Lake Church December, 2014, Gazette)

Holiness is like running. No matter how far you go or how fast you run, you dream of running farther, faster. No matter how generous, loyal, merciful, honest, compassionate or hardworking you are, you will dream of more.

Holiness is like running: It is not defined by what you don't do, but what you do. You don't run by avoiding chairs. You don't do holiness by avoiding sin. Running is not “flight from” but “striving toward.”

Holiness is like running: The stories of the superstars are wonderful inspiration. They are destructive if we read them as standards. Let them spur you to your best efforts. Don't allow anyone to use them to disparage you.

Holiness is like running: some people are naturally better at it than others. Genetics gives us our joints, muscles and tendons. Not all bodies are equal. Genetics and personal history shape us. Not all persons are equally capable of holy action.

Holiness is like running: one of the first commandments for marathon runners is run your own race. Run the right pace for you. Holiness does not come in one size fits all. Pursue the goodness God puts in front of you.

Holiness is like running: you learn it best by practice and by spending time with other people who are actually doing it.

Holiness is like running: it offers a unique pleasure available only at significant cost. The cost of holiness is not some toll imposed by God, it is the struggle to transcend moral and relational inertia.

* * *

I was originally enticed into running by my roommate, Bill Shelly, in the second half of my first year of college. He had become my closest friend. I admired him. So when he began urging me to run with him, I eventually yielded and allowed him to drag me out onto the track. At that point I could not run even one a mile without walking. He kept pulling me forward, keeping me company and staying one step ahead of me.

He pulled me through pain of that initial training on the track, then into the hills behind the school. We ran through college and through seminary. We ran in the hills of southern France. It was glorious. Then after seminary, out in the real world, the pressures of life took over. I quit running. Other things to do. Not enough time.

I worked with health educators. I heard them lecture about the importance of exercise for optimal health and nodded my head. Exercise was one of the eight ways to avoid getting sick and dying. I agreed with the lecturers. I knew I should be getting regular exercise, and for me the best exercise is running. Still, I never quite got around to it. Then a few years ago. I read a book that told stories of runners. The book focused on a couple of amazing races, the Leadville 100 and a race with Tarahumaras of Copper Canyon. The people who ran in these races were crazy . . . and having fun chasing impossible dreams. I was enticed back into running.

This is the only way to holiness—enticement. When we catch a glimpse of the happiness of doing good, sometimes it sets our hearts on fire. We remember other times when we practiced holiness and tasted joy, and we decide to pursue it again. We hear a friend mention some adventure in their own pursuit of holiness, and we catch the note of joy in the telling and become aware of the hunger in our own souls for that joy.

I don't think we can scold people into holiness. We cannot berate people into holiness. We cannot push or scare people into holiness. Fear of the end of time or the close of probation or the frown of God will not goad people into holiness. Sermons about the miserable conditions of Laodicea will lift people from their lethargy. But sometimes a clear vision of the joy of holiness will awaken us to once again put on our holy shoes and chase after higher, sweeter goodness. No matter how far or how fast we go, we will still dream of going farther and faster. Still, while dreaming of greater triumphs, we will revel in the joy of the present journey.

The Christmas story is an evocation of the joy of holiness. The angels are happy. The shepherds are happy. The Wise Men are happy enough for a thousand mile camel ride. There are ineluctable costs associated with all this joy. Still, the happiness is so rich, no one thinks of avoiding the cost.

This Christmas season, as you enjoy the music and lights, the food and gifts, I invite you to consider tasting again or more deeply the happiness of the pursuit of holiness.