Saturday, August 11, 2018

Who Will You Call?

Sermon for Green Lake Church for Sabbath, August 11, 2018.

Texts: Proverbs 17:17; 18:24; 27:6,:9, 10, 17. The language represents a melding of several translations.
Luke 6:12-19
2 Timothy 1:1-4

Tuesday evening I went for a run in our neighborhood. Many streets were blocked off-- with cones or trash cans. One street was closed off with two cars completely the street. What was going on? It was Magnolia’s night out. Neighbors came together to party, share food, play games in the street, connect with one another.

On one street there was a long table set up and people were sitting at the table eating, like it was a grand dining room. It looked like a lot of fun.

The idea behind this is that we will be better neighbors if we know each other. Which, of course, is true.

I like to think of church as a grand block party. It is a festival of the Holy City. And each congregation is a holy neighborhood. We come together each week to strengthen our connection with one another.

In the Gospel Jesus says to his disciples, “I have called you friends.” This morning I want to talk about church as a society of friends, to echo the language of the Quakers. We are citizens of the kingdom of heaven. We are the family of God. We are a holy priesthood. A holy people. We are a gathering of friends.

Some of you here this morning have been friends with each other for fifty or sixty years. Others are new friends. You’ve gotten together in the last year. For most of us, social connections are one of the primary blessing of being part of church.

When I was in college a popular singing group invited me and a couple of other young radicals to travel with them and speak during their concerts. One memorable trip, we headed east over the mountains to some place in North Carolina. We ran into snow. The heater quit working. We huddled together and prayed as the driver of our van navigated the slippery roads. The next afternoon, we presented our concert. The music group finished a song and I was on for a brief commentary. I do not remember what I had planned to say, but as I stood in front of this auditorium full of students I was ambushed by a sudden realization. The song we had just heard was false. And the little speech I had planned was going to be equally false.

The song was this:  

If you know the Lord,
You need nobody else,
To see you through
the darkest night.
You can walk alone,
you only need the Lord
To keep you on the road
marked right.
Take time to pray, every day;
And when you're heading home,
He'll show you the way.
If you know the Lord,
You need nobody else,
To see the Light,
God's wonderful Light.

We always need somebody else. That’s the way we are made. And we will have a happier, healthier spiritual life if we deliberately cultivate friendships.

Of course, those who sing this song, are singing its poetry. Its language is exaggerated to express how much we depend on God and how rich and constant God’s support is. Still, as a young radical committed to truth and careful definitions of theology, I knew the words of the song contradicted the actual life of the church.

The church exists in large part because faith grows most luxuriously in the garden of the holy community. Here at Green Lake Church, I’m constantly touched by the warmth and vigor of our faith. Not “my faith.” Rather, “our faith.” I hear you express solid confidence in God. You know for sure that goodness will blossom, that love will triumph, that God is at work even in the shadows to accomplish something glorious. And your faith gives strength to my own heart and in sermons I hope to reflect back to you that sweet faith which lives in this place.

On Facebook, I have 2000 friends. Most of them are people I don’t know which is to say, they are not friends. And even the people I do know are far too many for me to keep with. They are not my friends. Sure, if I had the opportunity to sit down and learn their story, I would greatly enjoy the experience. But I do not take time to learn their story.  If they disappeared I would not even notice.

Here at Green Lake Church we have 500 plus members. I cannot keep track of 500 people. Again, I would enjoy getting acquainted with everyone on our church roster, but there is not enough space in my head for 500 people.

But 500 people can keep track of 500 people. And when one of you tells Hanz or me about a special need in someone’s life, we committed to acting on that information and responding. But let’s be clear: our response is on your behalf. We are actually carrying forward your caring intention, when we serve someone you have called us about.  

Let’s take a few minutes to give close attention to the words of this morning’s Old Testament reading.

17:17  A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.18:24  A person with many acquaintances may still come to ruin,but there is a friend who sticks closer than a sibling.27:6; Wounds from a friend can be trusted, but an enemy multiplies kisses.27:9  Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart, and heartfelt counsel from a friend brings pleasantness to life. 27:10 Do not forsake your friend or a friend of your family, and do not go to your relative’s house when disaster strikes you— better a neighbor nearby than a relative far away.27:17  As iron sharpens iron, so a friend sharpens a friend.

I would like to add one more proverb, a truth that might get obscured in our world: Friendship takes time. And focus.

Attending church does not create friendships. It gives us opportunity to meet people, to begin acquaintances. But friendship requires time together outside Sabbath morning. Conversation and activity together. Shared life.

In the New Testament there are two very dramatic models for holy friendships.

Paul. Longed for Timothy to come. He remembered good times together. Paul did not merely “wish” for Timothy to come. He picked up the phone and called him, or I should say, he picked up the quill ad wrote him a letter. I miss you. Please come soon.

Jesus. Nearly the first thing Jesus did when he began public ministry was to collect an inner circle of friends. He had thousands of followers and tens of thousands of people who were fascinated and admiring. Out of that mass of people, he chose just twelve to be with him constantly. Then among the twelve he chose three-Peter, James, and John, to be his special inner circle. Jesus needed friends he depended on his friends.

On the last night in Gethsemane, he repeatedly called on his three closest disciples to keep him company. They failed him. But the story stands. The Son of Man, the King of Glory, needed friends.

And we who count ourselves Christian, we are not above our Master. We need friends.

Friends don’t just happen. They are cultivated.

Like flowers.
Like skills.
Like physical prowess.

Let’s deliberately cultivate friendships. Look around the place where you are, here at Green Lake Church. Consider who you would like to be friends with.

Invite them for coffee.
Invite them for a Bible study.
Invite them for a hike, a trip to the zoo, to come serve with you feeding the homeless.
Make time together.


Caution.

I sometimes hear people complain that when they absented themselves from church, no one called them. It would be nice if we were better at noticing absent people and quickly getting in touch with them. But the reality is if you disappear from church, you probably will not get a call. People will assume you are an adult and that the reason you are not here is because you have a another place you would rather be, a place that seemed better to you. So, being polite people, we are not likely to annoy you by asking, “Where are you?” “Why aren’t you in church?” You may wish we would do that, but the odds are, we won’t.

Instead, I ask, who have you become so close to, that if you go away, ore are kept away, you would unhesitatingly pick up the phone and call.

We cannot control what others will do in our absence. We can control what will be our reflexive instinct when bad stuff happens. Let’s build friendships that will sustain us through difficult times.

Build friendships so that when you need a word of encouragement, when you need some counsel, when you need some help, you will automatically pick up the phone and call.

If you are not here, I will assume you are some other place that is good and happy for you. Like Adrian who is attending the Everett Forest Park Church. Ellen, who is tending a romance in Spain. Rohan who runs sound occasionally a Volunteer Park.

If you have done your work of building friendships, when you need the church, you will call. You won’t call the office. You will call particular people who have become your friends through sharing life together.

I want to specifically celebrate people who are helping us to build friendships here at Green Lake.

Bryan Carli who has organized campouts.

Karen Baker who has organized a hike and pizza making party at her house.

The Mehrers and their ice cream party.

The Lacys who provide burgers and ice cream at the conclusion of a hike up north.

Ken Fairchild and Mark Haun who organize Sabbath afternoon hikes.

This work of helping people develop rich, deep friendships is as crucial to the life of the church as is music or preaching.

Jesus called his disciples friends. Let's engage in the necessary disciplines to cultivate and sustain our friendships here in the Christian society of friends.

Saturday, August 4, 2018

In the midst of the sea


Sermon for Green Lake Church for Sabbath, August 4, 2018

Psalm 107:23-31
Psalm 46
Psalm 93:3-4
Mark 4:35-41



4a.m. Thursday morning a week ago, I was sitting in the cockpit of a 27-foot sailboat in open water off the British Columbia coast. The captain was below trying to get some sleep while I tended the helm.  

Huge rolling swells came from behind. 6 feet? 8 feet? 10 feet? Other waves came at us from about 30 degrees off the stern shoving us sideways. The sailboat leaped and wallowed and porpoised. A nearly full moon stood in the sky, abeam, to the starboard, lighting the maelstrom. Sparkling in the spray that leaped from the crests of the waves.

It was magic.

I began reading sailing stories in the pages of National Geographic when I was in high school. I read Two Years Before the Mast and Dove. Later I read Cruising World and dreamed of epic voyages of my own.

It never happened. I did get to sail a twelve-foot dinghy on a lake at summer camp--Indian Creek Camp in Tennessee. That was pretty much it until July 23 when I left Ketchikan in the Wild Card, a Santa Cruz 27. The small blue sail boat that had been part of the R2AK, the Race to Alaska. Adam Clemons was bringing it back to Seattle and he invited me to come along as crew.

It was the chance of a lifetime.

When I signed on with Adam, I imagined long hours of sailing before the wind. I worried about getting bored. I took a thick book to read and made sure I had a couple more books on my phone. I took shorts for hot afternoons and a broad brimmed hat to protect my face from the sun.

The journey was other than I expected.

The first night out we sailed all night taking turns sleeping and manning the helm. Wind escalated. Waves got higher, ten to twelve feet. Fog closed in on us. I spent my hours on watch assiduously following the compass. And being mesmerized by the waves. It was all dark and mysterious and enchanting. And a little scary.

Most nights we anchored in quiet bays and coves and woke to perfect stillness, broken only by the call of gulls and crows. We had long downwind passages. For those of you who know the course, I will say that we did the entire Grenville Channel, 70 kilometers, under sail, at times reaching a speed of nine knots over land due to the combination of a twenty-knot following wind and a five knot following current.  

But it was the night watches on open water that that were the most glorious. And Thursday morning was the best of those. Hours in the heart of the sea, surrounded by a universe of immense waves--at least they were immense to me, a novice sailor on my first voyage.

In those hours of moonlit and sometimes fog enshrouded sailing, I had plenty of time to think. And my thoughts often ran to the words of two Bible passages.

First, I recalled Psalm 46.

God is our refuge and strength,
An ever present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear
though the Earth shakes
and the mountains are heaved into the heart of the sea
Though the sea roars and foams
and the very mountains tremble with their heaving. Psalm 46

The sea was, indeed, roaring and foaming around me. The waves were like racing mountains around me. I sometimes needed to remind myself that I was safe, because it didn’t look like it. As I worked on my sermon another passage came to my attention. Psalm 93:3-4.

The seas have lifted up, O LORD,
the seas have lifted up their voice;
the seas have lifted up their pounding waves.
Mightier than the thunders of many waters,
mightier than the waves of the sea,
the LORD on high is mighty!
Psalm 93:3, 4

Grand words. Grand truth.
Riding our tiny ship in the heart of the maelstrom, another set of words came to me even more frequently than the Psalms. They are the words of an old hymn based on today’s New Testament reading.

No water can swallow the ship where lies
the Master of ocean and earth and skies;

The Gospel story:

At the end of a long day of teaching and healing Jesus directed his disciples to get into a boat and sail across the Sea of Galilee. Other boats followed them. Once they were underway, out on the lake, away from the crowds, away from the pressure of listening and healing and teaching, Jesus was overcome with sleepiness. So he lay down on a seat at the rear of the boat and immediately drifted off into sweet sleep.

There is nothing like it.

On several afternoons, when I ended a shift at the tiller, I would settle myself on the port bench seat, cover my face with a tepee of seat cushions and drift off into sweet sleep. Why not? The captain was at the helm I had not a worry in the world. The rocking of the boat was perfect for sleeping.

Jesus slept.

Then a storm swept in. Wind howled. Waves built. The disciples feared the ship would swamp. At some point in their terror they woke Jesus. “Don't you care that we are going to sink? We're going to die!” they exclaimed.

Jesus sat up. Shook the sleep from his head, then spoke. “Peace. Be still.”

The waves and wind obeyed. The air and water calmed. The maelstrom was replaced by a great calm.

For two thousand years we who call ourselves Christian have gone back to this story as a metaphor for presence and action of God in our own personal storms. We are the disciples, naturally terrified the threatening chaos that engulfs us. Then we remind one another of this story, this picture of Jesus, asleep in the stern of the boat. Asleep because he had no worries.

We assure ourselves that we, too, can sleep. We can rest because we are sailing with the Master. The storms are real. Yes. But the Master is capable. He and we will prevail. And we rehearse the words of the old hymn,

No water can swallow the ship where lies
the Master of ocean and earth and skies;

Jesus is unsinkable, and since we are with him, so are we.

The song writer explicitly expanded his story-telling to include metaphorical storms:

Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea,
Or demons, or men, or whatever it be,
No water can swallow the ship where lies
the Master of ocean and earth and skies;

If I had been out there on the water by myself, i would have been terrified. My only sailing experience was fifty years ago in a twelve foot dinghy that I got to sail on the lake occasionally while at summer camp. I did not know how to manage this sailboat we were in. I knew nothing about sailing in open water surrounded by waves higher than my head. I knew nothing about sailing in twenty-knot winds. I knew nothing about navigating rock- and island-strewn coastal waters.

So, if I had been out there by myself I would have been terrified. With good reason. But I was not out there by myself. So I was not terrified.

I figured if Adam Clemons, the captain, could sleep, we were okay. So instead of worries, I gloried in this once-in-a-lifetime adventure. I reveled in the power and grandeur of the waves. Especially at 4 in the morning when I was at the helm all by myself.

This is the first lesson I brought home.

The second lesson:

My job was to hold our course, consulting the compass every minute or so. I was also supposed to pay attention to the wind so I could alert the captain if it changed direction.

I did pretty well. I held our course true. Proof of this was the GPS track we recorded. I held course except for the one time I had to fiddle with one of our devices and was distracted for two or three minutes. More on that later. But for the most part I held our course, and I enjoyed the wild beauty of the night.

A little before dawn fog enveloped us, completely obliterating the moon. The compass remained my only fixed point of reference.

When we are in a storm, we cannot steer merely by fighting the waves. We steer by paying constant attention to the compass.

On both of my long night watches, we had moonlight for a while and I could take some sense of direction from the moon. But then fog closed in and the compass was the only reference point. On the Thursday night, we had our sail up but the wind had died. We were still being tossed and heaved by somewhat chaotic 8-foot seas. I had to do something with one of our steering devices. I could feel the waves shoving us around, so I frantically finished what I was doing and settled back on course--I thought. I double-checked the compass. In the minute or two I had been distracted we had turned exactly 180 degrees.

I managed to get us turned back around without getting a wave in over the side. And settled down again to keep our bow pointed due east at 90 degrees.

It is easy to become fully occupied by the waves and winds that threaten us. Beware. We cannot steer by fighting the waves. We cannot aim our lives wisely by fighting evil. We must steer by the two great commandments: Love God with our entire being, and love our neighbors as ourselves. This is our compass.

When news makes us angry or irritable, let’s give our attention to the commandment:

The only time I lost control of the boat, it was because I was trying to do something to counter the waves that were shouldering our boat sideways. I was fighting the waves. And in the process, I ended up headed the wrong direction.

So we can get so engaged with fighting evil that we lose sight of our course. Let’s bring our attention again and again to the compass direction give by Jesus.

Let us remember again and again and again,

To love God with our whole being

And to love our neighbors as ourselves.