Shall We Press On? Philippians 3:4b-14

This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite, Canby, OR on World Communion Sunday, October 2, 2011. The service included international music, my udu drum for the prelude, an illustrated sermon (with my cartoons), communion with Hebrew blessings, Bob Dylan's song "Pressing On" and Mavis Staples rockin' with "Keep Your Eyes on the Prize."


May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.

You wouldn’t know it by looking at me today, but when I was in seminary I used to run four miles every day! The seminary campus where I ran was located in Mill Valley in the San Francisco Bay Area. Morning fog poured over the mountains like soup. Sunshine sparkled on the water with bobbing sailboats. I could see San Francisco from the hill where I went to daily classes. My jog took me along the shores of the bay along a stretch of road with some hills and dips in the road.

Since I was never very athletic, jogging was a real discipline for me. I had to work hard to get up to four miles. By the second mile I could feel the burn in my legs. Sweat began to drip. I was looking forward to getting this run over. My goal was to get back to my apartment and the prize of rest. But, near the end of my four miles I had to jog over a very steep hill. Jogging on flat ground was hard enough. At the point I was most tired, I had to muster every ounce of strength I had left in me to make it up and over that hill. There was no way around that hill. I had to literally strain forward and press on toward my goal. Then, I was home free! Hallelujah!

The apostle Paul uses running as an image for encouraging the Philippian Christians to continued faithfulness. Running a race is one of Paul’s favorite metaphors for living the Christian life in community. Paul draws his images from the Greek games. It is a rich metaphor for our personal and congregational life, though like any metaphor it has its limits. Paul uses various elements of running to encourage Christians. Running involves rigorous training, exercise, and mental preparation. Weights are used in training, and then discarded for the race. Runners compete against each other and run to win. Their goal is the finish line. The winner of the race receives a prize of a wreath or crown of leaves.

In our text for today Paul encourages the Philippian Christians to “press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.” Since the Christian life is like a race it is forward looking, and future oriented. The goal is always ahead of us, not behind us. We have not yet reached our destination. There may be a steep hill ahead that will require every last ounce of our energy. So, press on!

What a powerful message for the church! But, it may catch us in the second mile of a four mile run. God may be calling is into the future, but we may be in the midst of feeling the pain from sore legs. Our race may have enough hills and valleys already to make us weary. The finish line looks too far away. We may just want to sit down and rest or even turn back.



We may be like Charlie Chainedtothepast. Charlie lives in the past among his dusty memories and rusted accomplishments. Charlie remembers how the church used to be and wishes it would return to those good old days, which were probably not all that good. Charlie’s theme song is sung with a longing sigh “If only….” He learned all those Bible stories in Sunday School when he was kid, so he doesn’t need to attend anymore. He can stay home or sit in the church building during Sunday School while his children get their own inoculation against any further growth in the knowledge of Christ. And Charlie has a hard time letting go of old hurts and bad experiences. They cling to him like static socks right out of the dryer. Charlie will bring up about how so-and-so did such-and-such five years ago. He can’t seem to let go of the past. Sorry, Charlie, the past is long gone! Forget what lies behind! Press on!



Could it be that some of us are like Granny Glancingbackwards? She’s trying to press on, but most of her life is behind her. Granny wants to press on, but there’s not much track left in front of her to run! Most of her reference points are in the past; old ways of doing church, traditional music, the way things have always been. She has a hard time welcoming all this new stuff that attracts young people; technology, e-mail, cell phones, videos, contemporary music, multicultural ministry. “Can’t things just be like they used to be?,” says Granny. And Granny’s seen about everything new that’s come down the pike. So, why try something new? We already did that a long time ago. Sorry Granny, as Bob Dylan once sang, “The times they are a changin’” Forget what lies behind! Press on!



For some of us the problem is not so much the past as it is the present, like Sally Stuckinthepresent. This young mom is so wrapped up in frenetic activity of what’s going on in her life, she has no time to rehash the past, let alone think about the future. There’s the three kids, a part-time job, soccer practice, baseball games, cleaning the house, camping, hunting, gardening, and on and on the list goes. And where, pray tell is your husband, Sally? Watching sports and eating chips! We’re lucky if Sally shows up at church on Sunday. There’s no time for quiet, meditation, nurturing her inner spirit. Press on toward the high mark of our calling? Oh, that reminds me that I need to make several calls before I run off to the grocery store and drop off….Sorry, Sally, there’s more to life than running on that hamster wheel! Jesus said, “I have come that you might have life and have it abundantly.” Strain forward! Press on!



Sam Steponoverem is a future-oriented, goal-oriented person. He’s the envy of every company executive. He will try new things, change things around, take some real risks. His focus is on the future, not the past or the present. Sam will do whatever it takes to move things forward, project out into the future. “Enough of the pettiness, short-sightedness, and navel gazing. Let’s roll up our sleeves and get to work on building something new,” says Sam. Sam would just as soon leave all the turtles, stick-in-the-muds, and stragglers behind in leading the church forward. “Like the pastor says, press on, people!” Sam affirms. Except, Sam tends to avoid getting people onboard before the train leaves the station and sometimes walks over people’s feelings as he strains toward the future. Strain forward, Sam. But, bring others along with you. Then, press on!

Enough about us. The goal is far enough ahead for all of us to change, lay aside every weight and sin that drags us down, turn our minds and hearts around, get back on track, use our gifts, and grow into the likeness of Christ. So, shall we press on? We have been called to “press on toward the mark for the prize of our high calling in Jesus.”

Our goal is not just pie-in-the-sky-bye-and-bye. Breaking the ribbon at the finish line isn’t just about dying and going to heaven. Our goal is to live out the high calling of Christ in this life as in the next, on earth as in heaven. Our high and heavenly calling to live in the here and now as if the reign of God has already arrived, as if heaven has kissed the earth, as if the lion has laid down with the lamb, as if Christ were already present among us, as if we have already been reconciled to one another and God, as if there is good news for the poor, release for the captives, freedom for the oppressed. That’s what our high calling looks like. That is our goal. That is our prize. So, press on people! Press on!

If any people and movement models for us running the race and pressing on toward the prize, even against all odds, it’s the story of African-Americans and the Southern Freedom movement. What a fitting title to the PBS series on the Southern Freedom movement; Eyes on the Prize, an image drawn from the pages of the Bible.

My wife, Iris, and I have had the privilege of knowing Dr. Vincent Harding, a neighbor and friend of Martin Luther King Jr., who wrote his Riverside speech against the Vietnam War. He was a church historian, a former Mennonite pastor of Woodlawn Mennonite Church in Chicago, and founded the interracial Mennonite House in Atlanta in 1961, ahead of his time in race relations in the church. Dr. Harding was a senior academic advisor for Eyes on the prize. He was part of the Southern Freedom movement and had to press on, even when he got resistance to his work from within the Mennonite church.

Dr. Harding has written eloquently about his own people chained in slavery as servants to whites. And yet…they pressed on toward a higher calling of freedom. Bearing the heavy weight of Jim Crow laws, segregated lunch counters, separate fountains, separate neighborhoods, discrimination and disdain. And yet….they pressed on toward a higher calling of equality. Feet weary marching in the streets. Facing snarling dogs and firehoses. And yet….they pressed on…they pressed on, keeping their eyes on the prize!

The title of the PBS series was drawn from the song, “Keep Your Eyes on the Prize.” At the end of the service you will hear a bit of Mavis Staples singing these words:

Well, the only chains that we can stand
Are the chains of hand in hand
Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on
Got my hand on the freedom plow
Wouldn't take nothing for my journey now
Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on!
Hold on, (hold on), hold on, (hold on)
Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on!

Brothers and sisters in Christ, now is not the time to give up. Now is not the time for turning back. Though the race has been long and there is a steep hill ahead of us to climb, we must press on! No time for rubbernecking over all the mistakes we have made in the past. Forget what lies behind. Don’t let it weigh you down, brothers and sisters. Keep your eyes on the prize. Press on! Press on!


There is more light and truth yet to break forth from God’s Holy Word.

From every common bush: a sermon on Exodus 3:3-4

There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush. When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, "Moses! Moses!" And he said, "Here I am. Exodus 3: 3-4

A burning bush ignites everyday at Saint Catherine's Monastery at the foot of Mt. Sinai. In the small chapel of this ancient fortress cloister is a stained glass window of the burning bush. It flames in orange and yellow each day as the sun rises behind it. It is a reminder that the bush is still burning. God is still calling us from the common places of our lives.

God calls us from the midst of our everyday lives. The story of Moses' call from an ordinary bush reveals to us a God who calls out to us from within the world, from the midst of common places. The rabbis spoke of God's presence in the bush as "divine condescension." Moses was tending his sheep when God called him from an ordinary bush. Some have tried to explain the phenomenon of the burning bush as a case of St. Elmo's fire or that it was a particular desert bush that blooms bright flowers. What really made that bush burn was the fiery presence of God. An extraordinary God ignited that ordinary bush.

Moses encountered God in a common place. Moses was not kneeling with hands folded in a stained glassed sanctuary before a smoking stone altar. God called out to Moses while he was tending sheep. It would be like God calling us while we were typing on the computer or vacuuming the living room carpet. God shows up while Moses is on the job. And God speaks to him from an ordinary bush. The Sacred breaks in upon us from within our secular experiences. God speaks to us through that which is utterly human. We encounter God through that which is common and ordinary. It is God's presence which ignites the moment. Poet Elizabeth Barret Browning put the truth in this way:

Earth is crammed with heaven
And every common bush afire with God
But only the one who sees
takes off their shoes.

God speaks to us from the midst of everyday life. Have you ever had this kind of experience? It's late at night. You sit alone in the living room. The light from the TV burns up the dark like a retreat campfire. A voice speaks: "Hundreds of homeless will spend this night on the cold streets of the city." At other times you might just Iisten to such news with half an ear. But this time the words of this matter-of-fact report burn deep inside you. You feel as if something or someone is calling upon you to do something, anything.

Or you get a call from a friend from work. It's late in the evening. She has been having problems with her husband. She asks you if you might be able to come over and talk. You tell her your children are all asleep in bed. A soft voice responds, "I understand." As you listen to the silence on the other end of the phone, a voice begins to speak to you. It’s not your friend talking. Neither is it just your guilty
conscience. Something calls from the silence and seems to speak your name. And you must respond.

If you have had such experiences, then possibly you can understand Moses'encounter. From out of ordinary places and common human experiences we sense we are being called forth. Everyday experiences burst into flame with the presence of something which is utterly holy. A voice larger than life itself calls us forth. And we must respond. From the midst of everyday life God calls us.

And often the reason God calls us forth is to send us to people in need. God needed a servant like Moses to deliver his oppressed people held in bondage. It's not a question of whether or not God could have delivered Israel without human assistance. God's modus operandi is through human instruments. God needs people like you and me who will express the intents and purposes ill God through concrete human actions. The divine always works through the human. God's care is expressed through human caring. God's compassion is expressed through human compassion.

There is a story of Moses that says that he was one day grazing his flock and noticed that a little goat had strayed away, so Moses ran after it for fear that it would get lost and die of hunger and thirst in the wilderness. Suddenly, from a distance, Moses saw the little goat stop and drink deeply from a stream. He then understood that the goat was thirsty and why it had left the flock. When Moses came near he said,"My dear little goat! Had I known that you were so thirsty I would not have ran after you." After the goat quenched its thirst Moses placed it on his shoulders and carried it all the way back to the flock. "The goat is weak and young," he caringly thought, "therefore I must carry it." When God saw what Moses had done, God was greatly pleased and said to him, "Deep is your compassion, O Moses. Because of your compassion to this little animal, I will use you to show my compassion. You will shepherd my people Israel."

God's lovingkindness is expressed through human love and kindness. God's power to liberate works in cooperation with human initiative. God needed a human deliverer to liberate the Hebrew slaves. So, God called Moses. God still needs people who will express God's compassion for hurting humanity. So, God continues to call and send forth people into the world God calls and sends people like Harriet Tubman, a woman called "Moses" by her people. She helped transport slaves to freedom on the underground railroad. At night you might have heard the low whistle of the train near the slave cabins, or a bit of the signal song "Go Down Moses." In the morning another group of slaves would have been delivered from Pharoah's plantations. God calls and sends people like Peter Dyck, the Mennonite Central Committee leader who helped transport a group of Russian Mennonites through the Red Sea of Germany to their new homelands in South America.

God also calls and sends ordinary people like you and me. God calls and sends people to assist the ongoing work of refugee centers like the Catholic Worker houses. God calls and sends people to do voluntary service work in low income areas in the U.S. God calls and sends men and women to enter pastoral ministries and to plant churches in places like Los Angeles or as agricultural development workers in Bangladesh or Africa. But, God may be simply be calling you to reach out to that co-worker in distress or to go to a Sunday School room where there are five or six children who need someone to teach them the story of Moses and about our mighty God who still liberates hurting and exploited peoples. God still sees the needs of people with eyes of compassion. It may the needs of oppressed people in Latin America or the simple needs of a neighbor. God sees. And God sends people to respond
to those needs.

The problem seems to be that when God calls us, we tend to make excuses. When God called Moses he had full deck of excuses up his sleeve. Moses responded to God's call with excuses like, "But...but God, I didn't get my name in Who's who. When I go to Pharoah he will say, "Who's he?” But...but God, I don't even know your name. Is it Harold? Harold be thy name? But, God…I'm always stumbling over my words. But...but...but. According to one Jewish Midrash it took God seven
days to convince Moses to go to Pharoah.

The call of Moses fits the typical literary pattern of the call of a prophet. God comes on the scene. God calls the prophet to perform a task. The prophet resists (most often with excuses). The call is repeated. Finally, a sign is foretold. Resisting God's call with excuses is a part of the literary pattern of the call of a prophet.

But excuses also seem to be a part of a human pattern when responding to God’s call. We all make excuses for our inadequacies and mistakes. We often give pretty lame reasons for why we went through the red light or were late for work or didn't prepare for the test. When we feel inadequate we make excuses for why we can't do this or that. When we do something wrong, we try to shift the load of blame off our own shoulders, We may excuse ourselves simply by how we word our responses. Like these awkwardly worded statements found on actual insurance forms reporting accidents: "The telephone pole was approaching. I was attempting to swerve out of its way when it struck the front end." I didn’t realize that trees can attack cars. O how about this doozie: "To avoid hitting the bumper of the car in front, I hit the pedestrian!" Would want to damage two good cars!

Charles R. Snyder, a psychologist at the University of Kansas, has studied excuse making for six years. He says, "Excuses are a way of finding grace in a world in which we are imperfect." (1) Moses knows he is imperfect for the job God has called him to perform, so he makes excuses. God calls us. And we make excuses, "But God, I'm just too busy. But God, I don't have the skills or training. But God, I don't
speak gooder." "But, but, but. " But God… doesn't crush us for all our excuses. God is graceful. God knows we are imperfect. In spite of our imperfections and excuses, God still calls us.

We have the assurance that God will be with us as we go. God promised a reluctant and imperfect Moses, "I will be with you." Moses had the assurance that as he took upon himself the task to which God had called him, God would be present all along the way. God would be working through Moses. And the sign of GOD's presence was not the flaming bush. It was the simple promise that Moses would worship with God's people on that same mountain following the exodus. That's all Moses had to go on. A promise. In the end he would bring the people to the mountain. Not much to go on, but there was the promise. Moses had to respond to God's call with only a simple promise of God's unseen presence.

Jesus has told us, "Go into all nations and make disciples." We are to be instruments, servants of God, to go on Christ's behalf to a hurting world in need of the liberating news of the gospel. That is our calling. Christ is God's fiery presence calling us to go down to a people in bondage to suffering and sin. We are God's human instruments of liberation. And whether the task be great or small, whether or not we feel adequate for our mission, we still have the promise; "I will be with you always, even unto the end of the world." There’s the promise. Christ will be with us.

Whenever God calls, God also promises. God promises to be with you. Whatever God may call you to do for the sake of people who need your presence and compassion, you have the assurance of God's presence. God may not speak from a flaming bush. God may not show up as a cloud by day and a fire by night. God may simply be in the confidence we have from a simple promise like "wherever two or three are gathered..." or an assurance within you that says, "You will know I have been with you when you come out on the other side of this situation you are facing."

You may not be a Moses. You may not have such a dramatic encounter with God that you feel like taking off your shoes. You may not be called upon to face an empire. But, God still calls you. And God sends you. And God promises to be with you as you go.

Can you hear God calling? From the wildernesses of your life? From your common and ordinary routines? Even from within the crackling of the words of this sermon as common as a bush? Can you see the burning of God's presence? God calls out to you. The bush is still burning.

For earth is crammed with heaven
and every common bush afire with God
But only the one who sees
takes off their shoes.

__________________

(1) John M. Leighty, "Excuses, excuses, excuses: Everybody has a few," Houston Chronicle, August 16, 1987.

When the Tree Was Green: a meditation on Luke 23:31

For if they do this when the tree is green, what will happen when it is dry? Luke 23:31


If trees could only talk. Imagine the tale that the tree used for the cross of Jesus might tell. That tree might reminisce about how it was planted by the finger of God in the moist earth on a small hill just outside the walls of Jerusalem. Maybe it would share its first memories as a sprout stretching its arms into the warm sky and the days when looking up at the birds in his branches that it secretly wished that it could fly. Can't you just hear the tree tell of being a young sapling and the time a young boy and girl shared their first kiss under the shadow of its trunk. The green tree might even tell us of the day when he was shaken to his roots by the marching feet of some Roman soldiers passing nearby.

Or the green tree might reveal how it trembled in fear as a carpenter hacked down several of its larger neighbors for purposes unknown. Oh, the horror of the sound of steel against wood hacking, hacking, hacking. It tried to hold its ears at the terrible noise. Craaaack. Whoooosh. Boooom! The trees would hit the ground and the dust curl into the air. Again and again the green tree had to endure the sounds like cries of pain in the night. "What had those trees done to deserve such a fate?" the green tree thought to itself.

Imagine the story that the green tree could weave about the fateful day a dark shadow fell over its branches. It was the carpenter. The tree dreaded the day when the carpenter would eye its trunk. But he knew the tree was still green. There was a lot of life left to course through its wooden veins. If only it could cry out to the carpenter to stop. But it couldn't. The green tree was like a sheep being silently led to the slaughter. The carpenter's legs were spread wide for sure footing. The green tree could hear the carpenter draw in a deep breath, Two big hands grasped the handle of the ax and muscles tightened on his arms as it was lifted. The sun flashed on the steel blade in mid-air.

It seemed like only yesterday that the burly carpenter had cut down two older trees nearby. The sound of the chopping of wood had made the green tree's leaves shake and sap to ooze from its knothole eyes. Why? Why must it be cut down in the prime of life? For what purpose? What had it done to deserve this? The thoughts raced inside the tree.

Then suddenly its thoughts were broken by a sound. Whooosh. The ax cut the thin air. When the sharp blade hit its trunk it shook violently. Sap flowed from its side. There was another blow and another. The tree was beginning to weaken. Craaack. Whooosh. The green tree hit the ground with a thump! The carpenter cut off the branches until finally the tree was stripped naked. The next thing the tree knew, it was on a cart with wobbly wheels heading down a dusty road. It passed under a stone arch in a gate leading into Jerusalem. lnside the city? The tree was hewn into a long plank at the carpenter's shop. On the wall it could see all the instruments of death used upon other innocent trees. There was a clanking of metal as a Roman soldier entered the shop. The green tree was loaded onto another cart and moved to the soldier's quarters.

The Roman soldier unloaded the tree onto the ground. It could see at a distance the crimson silhouette of a man. The man looked like a walking tree, for upon his head were thorny branches. The tree. still oozing sap, felt itself being lifted and placed on the bleeding shoulder of the thorny man. Off they both went down a narrow and winding cobblestone path through the city.

The tree teetered on the shoulder of the thorny man and was bruised several times when the man weakened and fell on the rough pathway. Then someone took the tree off the man’s bloody shoulder and placed him on a strong shoulder of dark skin. The tree could see the crimson figure ahead of him staggering drunk on death's bitter brew. Rounding a corner the thorny man came upon a group of veiled women, weeping and wailing and beating their breasts in sorrow. They must be mourning the predicament of the thorny man. The man in crimson stops and turns his branches toward the women and speaks: "Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and your children. For the days are surely coming when they will say, 'Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that never nursed.' For if they do this when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?" With those
words spoken, the tree knew that the thorny man was a green tree like itself: one who experienced the suffering of the innocent, one who was cut down before his life was fully grown.

Green trees are no good for kindling. They are fresh and moist and do not easily burn. Unlike dry wood, they do not belong in the fire. Just as Jesus did not belong in the fiery trial of crucifixion. Pilate could find no fault in him. Jesus was innocent. His only guilt was compassion for the poor and the outcast, telling dangerous tales of God's kingdom, healing the sick and restoring them to community, and confronting the principalities and powers in 'high places. Three times Pilate had told a crowd of kindling wood that Jesus was too green for the fire. With breath hot like the sirocco winds the hysterical mob cried out, "Let him burn!" Green or not, this tree was going to become kindling wood.

Even the tears of Jerusalem's daughters could not put out the fiery hell of the cross. For soon Jesus, the sprout of Jesse, the root of David, the tree of righteousness, would be engulfed in its red flames. If this innocent one suffered such a tragedy, what would be the fate of the guilty? As an ancient Rabbi once said, "When fire consumes the green, what will the dry do?"

What kind of world burns green trees? Why are crosses constructed for the innocent? Green trees continue to be cut down and thrown in the fire. Stephen received a volley of stones. His only crime was preaching the truth about Jesus. A green tree named Paul was believed to have had an ax put to his neck and Peter was crucified upside down. The pages of history are filled with green trees being thrown into the fire. A forests of green trees were cut down by the Romans as innocent Christians faced the lion and the sword. The sap of their innocent lives runs through the pages of the Martyr's Mirror. And what of those Anabaptist saplings like Michael Sattler, Dirk Willems, and Maekyn Wens? Did they deserve such horrible deaths for honestly living out their faith?

One could add the still-green Martin Luther King Jr., gunned down for marching for equality and justice. Or Oscar Romero, who gave his life while working for justice for the poor in El Salvador and was shot by an assassin while offering the body and blood of Christ in communion. Think of the forest of green trees incinerated at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. And who does not shutter at the very thought of a holocaust of six million innocent fig trees wiped out in Nazi Germany? Have the hundreds of thousands of young trees who faced the US axe in Iraq been forgotten? What kind of world cuts down green trees?

Cry for the young saplings that are bruised and beaten by parents in rage. Weep for the dark oaks growing up on the streets that are chopped down by drive-by shootings while still in the prime of life. Raise a shout to the heavens for the poor sprouts withering up and dying without enough nourishment for their branches to grow and flourish. Even more, weep for ourselves, a dry people who live in a forgetful and forsaken world that still cuts down green trees or turns a blind eye as the axe falls in forests green. Pray that our wooden 'ears hear the words of that green tree on the way to the cross as words of warning and hope for an incendiary world.

For if they do this when the tree is green, what will happen when it is dry?

The Wasteful Sower: a meditation on Mark 4:1-9

The Parable of the Sower brings to my mind the musical Godspell, an oddball, hippie version of Matthew's gospel. When I was in seminary in the 70’s some fellow students and church members put on Godspell at a coffee house my wife, Iris, and I started as a ministry to street people in San Francisco. We dressed up like clowns and acted out, or should I say ad libbed, the parts of the different seeds in the parable of sower. The seed that fell along the pathway was eaten up by a bunch of clucking and arm flapping chickens. The seed that fell on the rocky soil leaped up to life with a smile, but then went limp and withered by dropping to the floor under the sun's heat. The seed that fell among the thorns was grabbed by the neck and choked by a devilish character and a lot of overacting. The seed that fell on good soil bounced up, flexed her muscles, and beamed with joy at the applause of everyone. In this goofy view of the parable the focus was placed on the different responses of the seeds.

There are different angles from which we can view the parable of the sower. Like a camera scanning the parable, we can zoom in close on the seeds lying scattered on the ground. Or we can pull back our shot and capture a view of the different types of soil. Or with time lapsed photography we could watch the different reactions of the seeds. If we were to focus our lens on the different kinds of soil, which is the way Mark's gospel interprets the parable, we might think this parable is about us. As the parable unfolds we might begin to ask ourselves: What kind of soil am I? Am I rocky ground? Do I need to smooth out some rough places in my life? What are the weeds in my soul? What chokes the life out of me? Am I a shallow person? Do I get all worked up and enthusiastic only to give up when the excitement of the new is gone or things get tough? How can I be weedless, fertile soil? If we focus on the different kinds of soil, we would probably end up either feeling guilty or determined to see how we can beat the three-to-one odds of being poor soil for God's word. By focusing on the soils we may try to cultivate our own lives and become fertile fields for God, which is not a bad thing to do.

But….what if the parable of the sower isn't about us at all? What if this parable is not about birds and rocks and thorns, or about our own personal successes and failures, our flaws of character, or the receptiveness of our souls to God’s word? What if, instead of focusing upon the soil, we zoomed in on the sower. What if, by chance, it is a parable about a sower? It is called the parable of the sower, isn't it? The parable would look a bit different from how we have traditionally viewed it. If the sower is the main character of the parable, what might it say about life and God?

If we focused our lens on the sower, one thing we would immediately notice is that the sower flings his seed around rather wastefully. It falls on good and bad soil alike. According to the ancient practice of the peasant farmer, the sower's method is not so unusual. Most often seed was first scattered, then it was plowed under. It seems wasteful of the sower to scatter the seeds willy nilly across the land so it falls along the road, on rocky ground, among the weeds and thorns, as well as on the fertile soil. What might seem wasteful to us was the typical method of sowing for the peasant farmer, who scratched out a living from the dry, rocky Palestinian soil. In order to produce a harvest a lot of seed had to be recklessly, or should I say, graciously wasted. In the parable 75% of the seed was wasted in order to produce an adequate harvest. In that case, the odds of failure with that kind of sowing are three-to-one. There should have been a more efficient and productive way of sowing, don't you think?

If I were sowing the seeds, I would want greater odds of success. I would want to make sure the seed landed on fertile soil. This wasteful scattering of seeds hither and thither would have to stop. With this kind of wasteful sowing the odds of crop failure would be far greater than a fruitful harvest. In my estimation this is bad farming. Don't we all want to be thrifty and productive? We have all been told as children, "Don't be wasteful." Our bosses have encouraged us to be efficient. Those in business try to concentrate their efforts on what is most productive. Don't we all want to decrease the odds of failure in whatever we do? This is not only sound business advice, but good policy for living. Isn't it?

This is the kind of business advice churches are being given from the marketing world. According to marketing strategy, if we want to be a growing, productive church, then being efficient, concentrating on what is productive, and decreasing the odds of failure will keep the church from being wasteful of God's resources. And how does the church increase its growth and productivity? First, by being "market-driven" rather than "product-driven." That is, our focus should be on the needs of the customers, more than upon the product we offer. The soil takes priority over the seed. Second, marketing techniques can help the church be more efficient and productive. Don't spend a lot of time and energy on ministries or activities that do not produce. Increase your odds of success through efficient marketing techniques. One of those marketing techniques would be to focus our outreach on a target group, a certain kind of people, who would be most likely to join our church---what about targeting white, middle-class families with 1.5 children!

One proponent of such methods of church growth has read the parables as marketing strategies and tactics. He sees the parable of the sower as portraying a marketing process "in which there are hot prospects and not-so-hot prospects." In other words, there are certain kinds of people our church should target for the best results. Plant your seeds only in the most productive soil. Finally, according to the market-driven approach to church growth, success is measured primarily in numerical growth. A hundredfold harvest is better than a thirty-fold harvest. According to this scheme, megachurches are on the right track. Maybe that’s why the Mennonite conference I once attended in Kansas held up an 18,000 member congregation in Southern California as a model church. If we read Jesus’ parable of the sower as marketing strategy for the church, then we should follow marketing principles: Don’t be wasteful, seek greater efficiency, concentrate on what is most productive, and whatever else you do, do what you have to do in order to increase the odds of success.

The problem is we end up with a racially, socially, and economically homogeneous church, which is conformed to our affluent-bigger-is-better-culture. The church becomes more concerned about growth than faithfulness to the gospel. Contrary to what Henry Ford once said, what is good for business is not always good for religion. Success may not be the name of the church's game.

Come to think about it, in real life it seems like there are more failures than successes, more waste than growth. Doesn't life reflect the odds of this parable. The odds are against us. Odds are against all those people who grew up in angry, abusive, distant, or neglectful families of ever being whole persons and having healthy relationships. My wife and I should never have adopted our two children and invested so much time and energy in their lives when odds were against them. And why should anyone waste time and energy on people with a lot of personal problems? There are some people out there who are just not worth our efforts, right? Haven't you heard we shouldn't cast our pearls before swine? How many people have you seen who really changed their lives in a positive way from something you said or did compared to those who went on producing the same old negative garbage in their lives? Don't waste good seed on unproductive soil.

A lot of good seed gets wasted on unproductive soil, even in our own lives. We all throw away more time than we spend on nourishing personal and spiritual growth. We waste more energy on trivial pursuits than on productive, meaningful activities. There is a lot of unproductive ground in our lives. Someone right now is probably thinking, "Yeah, you're right. A lot of my life seems to have been wasted. After all these years, what have I really accomplished?" Another listener could be thinking, "I know what you mean. I've been a Christian for a number of years, but my life is still rocky and full of weeds." What a waste!

Consider our society. It’s bad soil. It produces more problems than solutions. Racism, sexism, classism, consumerism, and violence choke the life out of our communities. These are perennial problems that never seem to go away. What can be accomplished by throwing a bunch of tiny seeds around? The problems in society are just too big and bad. Politicians don’t seem to change their mind. People don’t change their ways. Isn’t it just a waste of time and energy trying to produce good fruit from the bad soil of our society. Too many weeds and so much unproductive soil. This seems to be the way life is. Odds are more seeds will land on rocky, thorny, weed-infested soil than on fertile ground. The odds are against us. So, why waste good seeds by tossing them to the wind?

But, you know what, waste seems to be sewn into the fabric of life. Just look out in space through the lens of the Hubble telescope. Can’t you see all that waste out there? The universe is filled with billions upon billions of stars, but there’s only one of those stars, at least that we know of, which is suitable for human life. Looks like an awful waste of space to me! Take a look through the lens of a microscope at the seeds of human life. Seems like a lot of waste there. I remember watching on the Learning Channel a study of human reproduction. The narrator said, "In the reproductive process millions of human sperm, literally "seeds," die as they touch the acidic walls of the uterus." Each of those human seeds bears the potential of becoming an individual human life. Thousands more seeds die along the journey to the female egg. In the end only one sperm out of millions of seeds penetrates the egg to become a unique human being. It takes millions of wasted human seeds for one to finally be productive! In terms of per-unit productivity, it seems like an awful waste of seed. Now, don’t you think that whoever created this universe should have been more efficient when flinging the stars. And whoever thought up this hair-brained method of reproduction should be considered wasteful! From where we stand it sure looks like it takes a lot of wasted seed in order to be productive.

If we focus on the seed or the soil in Jesus’ parable, things do look pretty grim. Productivity has a slim chance. The odds seem to be against us. But, before things start to look too hopeless, let's turn our lens back on the sower in our parable. The sower pays little attention to the condition of soil, or the pathway with human footprints. He seems to ignore the weeds, the thorns, and the hungry birds. He doesn’t seem worry about the odds of success or failure. The sower simply tosses the seeds everywhere on good soil and bad soil alike. He appears to be oblivious to the types of soil on which the seeds land. And the sower isn't stingy with the seed. With wild abandon he throws handfuls of seed across the field like stars flung across the sky. To us the sower appears to be recklessly inefficient and extravagantly wasteful.

God is the sower. God is reckless with goodness and wondrously wasteful with grace. God tosses the lifegiving Word upon the fields of our lives, landing on saint and sinner alike. God wildly sows the seeds of the kingdom without an eye to the nature of the soil. God is recklessly, extravagantly, graciously wasteful with good news, scattering it upon productive and unproductive soil. And odds are God can turn the odds around. God isn't worried about success or failure. God sows the seeds knowing that even though the patches of good earth may be small the harvest will be plentiful. The sowing will bear fruit thirty, sixty, and a hundredfold!

Once upon a time a certain farmer went out into his field to sow seeds. A servant had previously plowed neat rows in which to plant the seeds. As he tossed the seeds into the furrows, some of the seeds fell outside the lines. This didn't seem to bother the farmer. As a matter of fact, the farmer rather enjoyed throwing the seeds willy nilly across the straight furrows. The farmer got so caught up in the sheer joy of tossing the seeds hither and yon he hadn't noticed that he had walked right off the boundaries of the field. That crazy fool of a farmer walked out onto the roadway leading to the city, grabbing handfuls of seeds from his burlap sack, flinging them here and there and everywhere, laughing and singing as he walked along. Some of the seeds landed on the asphalt and were run over by passing cars or were eaten by crows. Other seeds fell among the weeds or onto the chip bags, cans, and other garbage strewn along the roadside. But, the farmer paid no mind to where the seeds landed. He just kept on tossing his seeds across the wide landscape.

Even when the farmer entered the city streets, it didn't stop him from sowing his seeds. Cars late for work honked at him. Drivers with their ear to cell phones yelled out their windows, "Get outta the street you crazy old fool!" But, the farmer kept on gleefully sowing his seeds. Some seeds fell on the drug dealers in the ‘hood and they tried to smoke ‘em. Others fell on the steps of the church and the minister came out….and swept them off. A few seeds fell on a homeless man sleeping on a park bench and he picked them off his worn clothes and ate them for lunch. Still other seeds fell between the thin cracks in the sidewalk and they sprouted into flowers. Others fell in a community garden and sprang up a hundredfold. The farmer sowed his seeds wherever his feet took him until the sun finally set behind the rolling hills. Throughout the season the farmer's bag was never empty of seeds right up until the time of the harvest.

Whoever has two ears on their head, listen to the parable.


This sermon was shared by Rani Wood with her ecumenical community in Perth, Western Australia on Sunday, March 7, 2010. I have posted responses in "comments."

Finding is the First Act: A Meditation on Matthew 13:44-46

I love to watch the Antiques Road Show on TV. Someone stumbles across an old dusty painting or piece of furniture in their grandparents' attic. They bring it to the appraisers at the road show. The appraiser points out a signature, a stamp, or a claw leg which makes the item unique. "This painting is the work of F.M. Evans from 1880’s in England," reports the appraiser rather matter-of-factly. The person who brought in the item says, "Hmmm. That's interesting." Then, I can't wait for the moment when the crucial question is asked; "Do you know how much it's worth?" The befuddled owner says, "No, not really." The appraiser says something like, "This painting would probably bring around fifteen thousand dollars at an auction!" And with eyes bugging out and jaw banging on the table the owner gasps, "O my Goodness, I had no idea it was worth that much!"

We’re fascinated with stories of people coming across unexpected or hidden treasures. These stories can be found in the folklore of every culture. For centuries people have told and listened to trove tales, stories of finding treasures. We’re no different today. We love tales of finding treasures or coming across unexpected riches. A man picks up a lottery ticket in the parking lot of a mini-market, takes it home, turns on the TV, sees the numbers fall in place one by one, and wham!~~~~ an instant millionaire! Someone is digging a pool in their back yard and the shovel hits something hard. It's a box. The lid is pried open and…. Ahoy, me hardies…. a buried treasure! A knock on the door. Knock. Knock. Knock. Still in hair curlers and bath robe the woman slowly turns the knob. Surprise! Publisher's Clearinghouse!

Part of the thrill of these stories is imagining what we would do if we came across hidden treasure or unexpected riches. It's like the game some of us used to play when we were kids, and some of us still play as adults. It's called What-would-I-do-if-I-had-a-million-dollars. Some of us, with guilty pleasure watch Deal or No Deal or Who Wants Want to Be a Millionaire? and imagine ourselves as the winner. We think to ourselves: What would it feel like to win a million smackeroos? How would I spend all that money? Would I give any away to charity or keep it all for myself? Would I quit my job? Would my life change? Would I be the same person I've always been? Maybe filthy rich, but still a humble, everyday kind of person? Stories of finding hidden treasure or coming upon unexpected riches cause us not only to imagine wondrous possibilities, but also cause us to examine our values.

Jesus' parable of the hidden treasure is one such story. Jesus compared the kingdom of heaven to a treasure hidden in a field. It had probably been buried there long ago. In ancient times there were no First National Banks or safety deposit boxes. Valuables were often stored in pottery jars and buried in the ground for safekeeping from bandits or invading enemies. Archaeologists jump for joy when in their digging they come across jars filled with ancient coins or valuables. In 1947 two Bedouin shepherd boys were searching for a lost sheep at Qumran near the hills alongside the Dead Sea. One of the boys threw a rock into a cave and heard a sound like the shattering of pottery. The two boys went inside the cave and saw some elongated jars with ancient scrolls inside. The scrolls were put in the cave to protect them from the invading Romans. The scrolls turned out to be one of the most valuable archaeological finds of the century.

I once watched a story of finding hidden treasure on National Geographic's Explorer. A man was riding his donkey in the desert near the town of Bawiti in Bahria. The donkey's foot broke through a hole in the dirt. Archaeological excavations uncovered 105 mummies, many gilded in gold, along with pottery, jewelry, coins, and artifacts. There may be two miles of treasures and possibly 10,000 mummies buried at this site! Someone just happened to stumble upon hidden treasure.

The hidden treasure in Jesus' parable lies beneath the surface of a common field. Maybe the peasant farmer is tilling the soil with an ox-drawn plow. He meanders down crooked rows when all of a sudden the iron plow blade hits something hard. The farmer wipes the sweat from his brow with his forearm and walks over to see what he’s dug up. Probably another rock. The Palestinian soil was filled with rocks. Someone once said that the angel carrying all the rocks of the world was flying over Palestine when the bag broke. A third of the rocks meant for the world fell on Palestine. The farmer bends over and brushes the dirt off the rock, or what he thinks is a rock. It turns out to be a pottery jar. Slowly he removes the broken pieces. His heart quickens and palms perspire. He works the jar loose from the soil to better see what’s inside. Standing in the open field his jaw drops and he swallows air. What's inside? A treasure! By God, it's a treasure!

The farmer bounces around the field as if on a pogo stick, shouting and laughing and holding the jar above his head. He acts like a madman gone bonkers from the heat of the sun. He yelps some choice Hebrew words that sound like, "Finders keepers..." Then, he catches himself and stops. He quickly pulls the jar under his cloak glancing from side to side. "Hold on, now. Calm down. Someone might see me and figure out what I have found," he murmurs to himself. One raised eyebrow is the only hint of a scheme. Strangely enough, he places the jar back into the hole and covers it with dirt. Grabbing the plow handle the farmer snaps the reins of the ox. A whistle from his puckered lips greets the oxen's ears. The lumbering oxen moves forward cutting another crooked furrow in the field. The farmer sings a joyful tune to the sky in Hebrew, which sounds something like, "If I were a rich man, deedle, deedle, deedle, deedle, deedle, deedle, deedle, dum."

That's not the end of the story. I could tell you about the plot twist. Being a tenant farmer, the land on which he found the treasure was not his. So, legally neither was the treasure. The farmer isn't about to tell the owner he found a treasure on his land. But then, you might begin to wonder about the questionable and sneaky character of this farmer. He's a rogue, a rascal! I could tell you how the farmer ran home at the end of the day. While his wife and children watch dumfounded, the man grabs everything they own----chickens and geese, pots and pans, savings and security, everything, including the kitchen sink. He sells it all to buy that dusty ol' patch of earth with weeds, beetles, mice and all. This farmer was an ignoramus. According to Jewish law, if you find treasure in a field you’ve bought, it reverts to the original owner. I could tell you about all that. Instead, I would like to rewind the tape and freeze frame that moment when the farmer bumped into the hidden treasure. It's like...like stumbling upon the realm of God.

This time you’re the poor farmer with hands clutching the plow handle. But, the scene is a bit different. You’re going about your business working at the office, taking a coffee break, paying bills, raising kids, studying for your class, watching TV, sitting in the pew, plowing one more crooked furrow through your life. It's another ordinary day, just like the last one. The same old story. Then....wham! Your plow hits a rock---- a painful moment of truth, a snag in a relationship, a major loss, an unexpected visitor. It wakes you from your mindless plowing. It stops you in your tracks. Maybe it's a rock or a hard place in your life. Maybe not. Maybe you've come upon a treasure, a gift, hidden beneath the dusty surface of your life. The realm of God is like that, you know.

You go through the routine of your daily life without noticing much of anything, taking everything for granted. Yesterday was like today is like tomorrow. Ho, hum. Then...wham! Something comes unto your path and you have to stop and take a closer look. You come across a letter from an old friend, a word of comfort in a time of distress, a talent you've allowed to collect dust on the shelf.

On the surface it may look like just a plain old rock. You dig deeper...and find... a hidden treasure. The common becomes uncommon. Something hidden beneath the dust of your days turns out to be a priceless treasure. And your heart breaks out in joy. It's as if something deeper, a hidden realm of life pokes through to the surface. There are treasures hidden in common clay jars, and sometimes we stumble upon them.

The realm of God is like treasures hidden beneath the crust of life. Often we don't see them until we run into them unexpectedly and they break through the surface. We stumble upon God's priceless gifts and a rock becomes a treasure. A sudden song takes you back to forgotten days of your youth, when life pulsed hot through your veins. An interruption in your hectic schedule turns into a new adventure. A gaze into the face of your child, that can sometimes be a pain in the… turns into a realization of the treasure that you have been given. You stumble upon the rock of Christ and find riches untold. Or an old clay sermon suddenly cracks open and inside are gems just for you.

These gifts intrude into the moments of our humdrum and ho-hum lives like a treasure from heaven. You dive beneath the surface of things or open the shell of your life and discover the realm of God like a priceless pearl. And nothing's quite the same afterwards. There comes this tantalizing twist in the plot of your life.
Frederick Buechner has come to a rich realization through his writing of novels. He has come to sense that perhaps life itself has a plot, “that the events of our lives, random and witless as they generally seem, have a shape and direction of their own, are seeking to show us something, lead us somewhere...” Buechner says, "I choose to believe that...a saving mystery breaks into our time at odd and unforeseeable moments." The realm of God is like that. It’s like a saving mystery that changes our lives, re-plots our story, again and again. It's like a treasure hidden beneath the dusty surface of life. It's like finding a pearl of great price. At unforeseeable moments we run into these treasures, not made of the stuff of gold or silver, but made of heavenly stuff. They break through the surface of our lives and we are the richer. The realm of God is like that, you know.

The kingdom of heaven is like a peasant who still believed in dreams, a place where you can touch the stuff of another realm. The peasant went by the name of Isaac, son of Aaron. He lived in the Polish city of Krakow. Isaac spent long strenuous hours working to support his family. At night he flopped down on his bed exhausted. One night Isaac dreamed he was walking over a bridge in the far off city of Prague, when a voice told him to look in the water for a valuable treasure. The dream was so realistic he could see the treasure box in the crystal clear water. Night after night he dreamed the same dream.

After two weeks and weary from lack of sleep, Isaac walked the three days journey to Prague. He easily located the bridge in his dreams and had begun to look underneath the bridge, when suddenly…. a policeman grabbed him by the arm and hauled him off to the city jail for questioning. In the interrogation room three large men demanded, "What is a Jew doing under a bridge in a Gentile section of the city?" In desperation he blurted out the truth, telling his interrogators he was trying to find a treasure he had seen in his dreams. "You stupid imbecile," the arresting officer shouted, “do you believe in dreams? I am too smart for such nonsense. Why, for the last two weeks I myself have dreamed that in the city of Krakow, in the house of a peasant named Isaac, son of Aaron, there is a treasure hidden under the floor in his kitchen. Yet, you do not see me wasting time looking for something and someone who does not exist!"

Roaring with laughter, the other two policemen grabbed the peasant by the coat and threw him out into the street. “Go home, foolish dreamer," they laughed. Isaac, son of Aaron, dusted himself off. With heart wildly pounding he ran back to his home in Krakow. Board by board he removed the floor of his kitchen. And there beneath his own home was to his great surprise....

Hidden beneath the floorboard of our common lives are treasures. The priceless treasure of new life in Christ. The riches of the Anabaptist peace tradition. Your diamond-in-the-rough church. The rubies of faith, hope, and love. The family and friends that you take for granted. We may not always see these treasures, but on occasion we stumble over them unexpectedly and recognize them as the pricless gifts that they are. The realm of God is like that.

It first comes as a gift. The farmer plowing the field didn't earn nor did he own the treasure he plowed up. It was out of the joy of finding such a treasure that he sold everything he had to buy the field. And since the field wasn't legally his, the gift came outside the law. It was an unearned, lawless gift. Only after stumbling upon this treasure did he make any sacrifice. The finding of the treasure was what came first. Grace before works. The gift of God before our acts of faith. Or as poet Emily Dickinson put it in a poem about treasures: Finding is the first act/second, the loss. First the gift, then the sacrifice. The realm of God is like that, you know.

We stumble upon the treasures of life, like the realm of God. They come to us unearned and unexpected. It's like when Dan Wakefield was going through a year of extreme stress. He lost his parents, his job, his money, and an important relationship. He relied upon alcohol to get him through. Dan says, "One day I just happened to grab an old Bible..., and with a desperate instinct turned to the Twenty~third Psalm." Reading the psalm didn't result in a miraculous breakthrough. It was an isolated moment of solace and calm. It was like the steel edge of a plow smacking up against a rock in the crooked furrow he had been digging through his life.

That experience, a word from a Christmas Eve sermon, and some other unexpected events plowed up the presence of another realm within Dan's life. He found a treasure, which opened up a new future for him, re-ploted his life. He found a priceless community of faith. His thirst for alcohol was replaced with a thirst for God. He just happened to stumble across a treasure that made all things new. Dan said, "The only concept I know to describe such an experience is that of 'grace' and the accompanying adjective of 'amazing' comes to mind with it."

That's the best word to describe the experience of the farmer who unexpectedly struck something while plowing the field. Grace. Before the selling and the sacrifice, there was grace. We cannot buy or possess the riches of God's realm. We gracefully, or sometimes ungracefully, stumble upon these treasures as we go through life. We find the treasure of God's realm, or more often, it finds us. Finding is the first act. That finding is called grace. It's the word that best describes our experience of suddenly tripping upon God's realm hidden in the dust of our days. Grace. Unexpected, unearned grace. The realm of God is like that, you know.

God is Our Everpresent Help: Psalm 46; Preached this morning at St. Andrew's United Church of Christ, Lancaster, PA

Ein feste burg is unser Gott. A Mighty Fortress is our God. In 1529, when the Protestant cause of the Reformation was wavering in the balance, Martin Luther wrote the hymn A Mighty Fortress is our God. His song was based upon Psalm 46, a hymn of God's enduring power. This psalm has provided assurance and comfort for many from generation to generation who have faced crises and struggles. It is a psalm I have often read to people when they are in the hospital enduring sickness or facing death. In powerful poetic images the psalm extols confidence in God, our refuge and strength in times of trouble. Luther captured well the psalm's image of God as a mighty fortress.

Psalm 46 is a psalm of Zion, the city where it was believed that God dwelt and from where God ruled. It was the place of the temple and Israel's military stronghold. But, this Psalm of Zion does not extol the security and strength of the city itself. The psalm reminds us that it is God in the city and not the king in the palace, nor the priests in the temple, who brings security, order, and peace to the world. Neither church nor state are our refuge and strength. God alone is our ever present help.

The psalm is structured in three parts. Verses 1-3 assure us not to fear, even when all of creation is collapsing around us. Verses 4-7 proclaim God's presence in Zion's midst, even when surrounded by conflict and catastrophe.
In verses 8-11 God calls for peace among the nations. Each section of the psalm contains a confession of confidence in God, a reassuring refrain reminding us that God is with us and is our refuge and our strength.

God is power when the world quakes. Psalm 46 opens with the assurance that God is our refuge and our strength, an everpresent help in times of trouble. There is no need to fear, even in the midst of cosmic cataclysm. The psalmist seems to paint a graphic picture of a catastrophic earthquake. Earthquakes are so powerful they would cause anyone to fear. I was scared out of my wits during the big earthquake in California in 1971. It measured 7.1 on the Richter scale. One morning I woke to a deep rumbling in the earth. My bed was bouncing across the wood floor. I could hear the house was creaking and moaning. Books were flying off the shelf. My mother was banging on my bedroom yelling at me to get out of the house. It was like waking to a nightmare. I prayed to God in fear. It literally felt like the end of the world.

There are times when the ground beneath us shakes and quakes and it feels like the end of our world. Figuratively speaking, the ground on which we stand may be understood as those things which provide us with what appears to be unshakeable "security," our impenetrable nation, our clean bill of health, our steady job, our home sweet home, our friends and family, our social security payments, our retirement fund. These things make us feel safe and secure in the world. Then, something happens unexpectedly, like September 11 and we feel the insecurity that so many nations have felt under our military power and our own terrorism through nuclear threat.

Or what happens to us to shake our security may not be something that can be measured on the Richter scale, but it may feel like a 7.1 quake in the soul. In a serious tone your child's teacher says, "I caught your child cheating on the exam." The boss calls you into the office and with eyes to the floor says, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to lay you off." The letter reads, "Your Medicare benefits have been cut." The doctor walks into the room with a file and some x-rays and states rather stoically, "The test says it’s a malignant tumor." Dark clouds gather overhead and we shiver. Waves of mortality and breakers of insecurity crash on our shore and we tremble. The mountains of our strength rock and reel and we shake in fear.

Sometimes the shaking of our securities may occur through a loss or change which may on the surface seem common or insignificant. It doesn't always take a major crisis to cause the ground beneath us to quake. One of the earliest memories of renowned theologian Teilhard de Chardin was of his hair being cut by his mother in front of the fireplace. The young Teilhard watched in horror as a lock of his hair fell into the fire, blackened and burn ed. To him, a part of himself had turned into nothing. For the first time in his life he understood that he was not indestructible. His young mind needed something permanent and imperishable to provide him with a refuge from the transitoriness of life. So he fixed his attention on iron. He soon discovered iron would rust. So, he turned to rocks, something stable. As Teilhard matured he realized there was no imperishable substance which offered a refuge from a world which decays and crumbles. This was the beginning of a spiritual pilgrimage for Teilhard to search for that Rock and Refuge which stands strong in a world which shakes and falls apart.

The psalmist assures us that God is our refuge and our strength. God is everpresent when our bodies fail us, our years pass into nothingness, and the vibrancy of life fades into faint memories. God is a mighty fortress where we can flee when our faith is being attacked by the swords of doubt and spears of misfortune. God is the Rock upon which we stand when the quicksand of human troubles would pull us under. God is our strength when life has wrung from us the last drop of energy we need just to make It through another day. God is with us. God is our refuge and our strength, an everpresent help in times of trouble.

God is presence when cities and nations rage. The psalmist pictures the nations round about Zion as being in an uproar. Kingdoms totter. The earth melts like a wax candle. The world of politics and policies, of economics and ecology is teetering on the brink of disaster. You don't have to live in ancient land of Jerusalem to understand what this is like. Those of us old enough to have lived through a World War and the Depression know how nations and economies can stagger like drunken men.

We have seen rulers deposed and assassinated and allied countries in conflict. We have watched as the rule of presidents, congressional leaders, and even church leaders have stumbled and fallen. Many of us have watched the slow decay of our inner cities, white flight to the suburbs, segregation of races, unemployment, gangs, and violence flow like sewage through the streets and alleys. We have tasted the bitter waters of pollution from industry without conscience and smelled the fumes of a world burning up its resources without limits. Gazing at a world melting into oblivion we long for the city of God, whose foundations are sure.

It was St. Augustine who so eloquently wrote The City of God, in which he contrasted to the earthly city of humanity. For the psalmist the city of God is both the present earthly Jerusalem and the ideal, heavenly Jerusalem. In contrast to the world, where the "waters roar and foam," a peaceful river makes glad the city of God. God is in the midst of the city. It is God who makes its streets secure. When all we see are cuI de sacs of injustice and dead end streets of beaurocracy, the vision of the city of God opens our eyes to God's presence on the highways and byways of our earthly cities.

To look at our world, our nations, our cities, with an eye only on the earthly, human city is to overlook the presence of God in the world. It can only lead to despair. We can catch glimpses of the city of God within our earthly cities. The city of God is where justice weighs heavy in the scales, righteousness rules the city council, the weak are made strong, the wounded are healed, the hungry are given their just desserts, and persons are not judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. The city of God is governed by what Rabbi Michael Lerner calls the "politics of meaning,” a reconstruction of "the world in a way which takes seriously the uniqueness and preciousness of every human being and our connection to a higher ethical and spiritual purpose that gives meaning to our lives." A river of life flows in the midst of this city. It quenches the thirst of those panting for purpose and joy in living.

The spires of God's city reach into the heavens, while its foundation is rooted in the earth. God is its maker and builder. Each new day which dawns illuminates the presence of God within this city, who roams its streets with sleeves rolled up and is hard at work securing its unstable walls, filling in the potholes of inequity, and checking the flow of its lifegiving waters. God is working at building a new Jerusalem, a new Lancaster, even though the nations rage and the cities seem to be crumbling around us, God is with us. God is our refuge and our strength, an everpresent help in times of trouble.

God is peace when strife and warfare blares its noise. In the final section of the psalm the poet invites us to come and see the things God has done upon the earth while the nations rage and their cities crumble. Ashes as Ground zero in New York City, the flames of the L.A. riots, the smoldering ruins of Sarajevo, the bomb infested fields of Southeast Asia tell the tale of human folly. Our flood of handguns, stockpiles of nuclear weapons, and reliance upon military security bears witness to our insecurity and our trust in human power to save us. Across the silent fields of Vietnam, through the slaughtering fields of Darfur, beyond the sands of Kuwait, throughout the noisy halls of the Pentagon, God is shouting, "Be still and know that I am God! It is my reign of peace which shall rule the nations. I will be exalted above the earth and it is my kingdom which is to come on earth as in heaven."

We have often taken the words "Be still and know that I am God" out of context and used it as a call to quiet meditation. Rather, it is God's command to cease war, to stop the violence and destruction. "Stop the wars, then you will know I am God." To know God is to end our strife and warfare. For God is the one who makes wars to cease to the ends of the earth. God snaps the M-1 rifle in two. God smashes the scud missile. God sets fire to the armored tanks. "Be still," says God. "Stop your fighting and know I am God."

The cry for a world without war and violence is not just the yelling of some radical protesters with their signs waving or the whispering of a minority of Mennonites. It is the roar of God above the raging nations. Be still! Stop the war and violence! You have heard this voice crying out, haven’t you? You have heard it in the words of the prophets Isaiah and Micah, who proclaimed a day when swords will be beaten into plowshares, nation will not lift up sword against nation, nor will they learn war any more (Isaiah 2:4, Micah 4:3).

God's voice echoed in words of Hosea who spoke of a day when weapons and war will be abolished from the land (Hosea 2: 18). The advent angels chime in at the birth of the Prince of Peace, "Peace on earth. Good will to all." You have heard this same cry in the voice of Jesus, who said, "Blessed are the peacemakers," and "Love your enemies." God's voice continued to ring in the words of Anabaptist Conrad Grebel, who reminded us that the sword and killing had ceased with the true Christian. The call for peace could be heard in the words of A.J. Muste when he said, "There is no way to peace. Peace is the way" or Mahatma Gandhi, who said, "My religion is based on truth and nonviolence. Truth is my God and non-violence is the means to reach God." God still cries out to a warring world, "Be still, stop the war and violence, and know that I am God. "

Even when creation trembles, foundations shake, nations rage, kingdoms totter, cities crumble, warfare blares, God is with us. God is our refuge and our strength, an everpresent help in times of trouble.

This truth is worth singing. The psalmist proclaimed this truth in a song. Martin Luther penned a hymn so the truth of this psalm would ring from the rafters. Let us sing with our lives the truth of God, a mighty fortress, our refuge and our strength, an everpresent help in times of trouble.




A New Psalm 46
written by Leo Hartshorn

We need not be afraid,
though oil spills blacken the seas
though volcanoes spit ash into the skies,
though the ground beneath our lives shakes and cracks,
though tornadoes of tragedy rip up the roots of our world,
though the seas of chaos engulf us beneath their waves.

God is our everpresent help.
God is our refuge and our strength.

The peaceful streams of God's presence
water the roots of our spirits
and flood the streets of our cities with joy.
God is always with us,
and comes to us in hours of darkness
as the dawning of a new day.
Presidents and kings may cause their petty skirmishes.
Dictators and regimes may topple to the ground.
But, when God speaks with hot breath the icy world melts.

God is our everpresent help.
God is our refuge and our strength.

Take a good look off into God's future
and see the new world made by divine hands.
That ol' Peacemaker has called a halt to all wars.
See, the rifles snap over God's knee.
Behold, God smashes stockpiles of nuclear weapons with a mighty fist
and puts the match to a fleet of stealth bombers.
God shouts over the noise of battle,
"Stop the fighting!”
When the world obeys, they will know me
as the God I am,
Lover of justice and peace.
When the world finally ceases its warring ways,
then they will know,
I am their refuge and their strength.
I will be exalted over all the earth.

God is our everpresent help.
God is our refuge and our strength.

The Journey of Faith: based on Genesis 12:1-4a; Hebrews 1:1-3,8-19. Preached at Blossom Hill Mennonite Church on Sunday July 19, 2009

Remember Willie Nelson's song On the Road Again? It is a traveling song that reminds me of the exhilaration of being on the road. The lyrics go like this:

On the road again
Just can't wait to get on the road again
The life I love is makin' music with my friends
And I can't wait to get on the road again
On the road again
Goin' places that I've never been
Seein' things that I may never see again,
And I can't wait to get on the road again.

As a musician I have known that feeling of the wind in your face as you move on down the road to unfamiliar and unseen places, meeting new people, and encountering new adventures along the way. It is the pioneer spirit. But, some of us, like my daughter Toni, are settlers. We like to stay put and enjoy the familiar and routine. The idea of journeying is unsettling. That's okay. But, journeying and pilgrimage are significant metaphors for our faith. As a matter of fact, the parents of our faith, Abraham and Sarah, set off on a literal journey that became an archetype of faith as journeying.

We are a people on a journey of faith. Our faith is like a pilgrimage. God calls us to be on the road again. It is not always a literal movement in space and time. It can be a movement of the heart, a spiritual journey toward the territory of God's reign. Journeying is a fitting metaphor for a life of faith. We move across straight and crooked, rough and smooth pathways, treacherous mountains, lush and peaceful plains. Faith, understood as a journey, is dynamic, moving, changing, instead of static, settled, and sedentary. We move toward a destination.

As a metaphor, journeying or pilgrimage has been historically used to describe faith. St. Augustine spoke of faith as a journey toward the City of God, our heavenly abode. He said that as long as we are in our mortal bodies, we are "pilgrims in a foreign land, away from God." John Bunyan's classic Pilgrim's Progress is an extended allegory of the Christian life depicted as a pilgrimage toward the Celestial City. Journey stories like the Wizard of Oz and The Lord of the Rings vividly portray the hazards and hallelujahs of our human pilgrimage.

In the eleventh chapter of Hebrews are listed the heroes and heroines of our faith. The faith of Abraham and Sarah is connected to their journey to an unseen land. The father and mother of our faith were people on the move. God told them to pack up their house, hairdryers, hounds and head off to an unfamiliar place. They had to leave behind their old gods, their old friends, and their old ways and walk out onto the landscape with only the wind of God at their backs. Abraham and Sarah ventured off in obedience to the crazy call of God to become sojourners and pilgrims.

Our faith is grounded in a people on the move. Their journey becomes a symbol for our lives of faith. Hasn't your faith been challenged by twists and turns in the road and the steep hills? A doctor walks into the examination room with a chart and we may be at a turning point. The boss calls you on the phone and says, "We’re gonna have to terminate your position due to budget cuts" and you find yourself on a whole new adventure. Haven't we experienced forks in the road like when this church was called upon to make a decision concerning which way it would go? We have known those sunny rest stops along the way of life, those peaceful valleys, haven't we? A day away by a still lake. A quiet moment of reading. What about mountain top experiences? A church retreat energizes our faith. A meeting with a counselor or spiritual director sets everything in place. We move along life's journey in faith that, with God's guiding hand, we are heading in the right direction.

On the road of faith God calls us forward through sunshine and rain, rough paths and smooth, with companions and alone, toward an unseen destination. We are a people on a journey of faith, which means we are sojourners and pilgrims in this world. There is this kind of "holy unsettledness" a “sacred insecurity” about our lives. As pilgrims on a faith journey we live with a consciousness of the impermanence of our human existence. We dare not cling too tightly to the things of this earth. For this life passes by like the countryside seen through the window of a moving train.

Or a boat. Sufi mystic Jalaluddin Rumi wrote a poem that made me reflect on life as a journey that so quickly passes by. He put it this way:

In a boat down a fast-moving creek,
it feels like trees on the bank
are rushing by. What seems to be
changing around us is rather
the speed of our craft
leaving this world

I wrote a poetic reflection on Rumi’s verse on this blog that went like this:


O Life, slow down the speed of
passing trees and months and years.

In the wake of the boat I see
a child running with abandon in the lemon orchards,
a youth playing wildly on the drums,
a young adult studiously reading books,
a man seriously preaching in a small church,
a middle aged adult sadly packing to move,
an older man wistfully watching his grandson play.

O Life, slow the passing trees,
the speed of the boat
that is leaving this world.

Friends of our youth, with whom we laughed and cried, are now gone. The children we once held in our arms and pushed in the swings have grown up and moved out on their own, well, some of them. The years pass and nothing stays the same. Life is impermanent. We cannot cling to a world passing by. We must move on. This doesn't mean that as sojourners we despise our earthly home and think only of our heavenly abode. It does mean that in many ways we have to pull up those stakes embedded in the past or the way things have always been and move our tents to new plains.

We are sojourners and pilgrims. And like Abraham and Sarah we are foreigners in the land, or to use a phrase of Stanley Hauerwas, we are "resident aliens." We are never fully at home in this world, in our culture, in our nation, in our communities. We are citizens of the city of God, which lies ahead of us. A second century letter to Diognetus describes the lifestyle of early Christians in this manner:

For Christians are not distinguished from the rest of humanity by country, or by speech, or by dress. For they do not dwell in cities of their own, or use a different language, or practice a peculiar life....yet the citizenship which they exhibit is wonderful and admittedly strange. They live in countries of their own, but simply as sojourners; they share the life of citizens, they endure the lot of foreigners; every foreign land is to them a fatherland, and every fatherland a foreign land... They spend their existence upon earth, but their citizenship is in heaven.

Our call as God's people pulls us forward toward vistas beyond the limits of human allegiances and loyalties. Ties of family, country, culture, and ideology became relative when you are on the road toward an unseen county. We live footloose in this world.

This does not mean we always know exactly where we are headed or where our path will lead us in this world. Abraham and Sarah set off for an unseen land. They threw caution to the wind of God and set sail for God's promised land into an unknown future. And God went with them on the journey. When we follow this God-on-the-move, we don't always know the road ahead and where it will take us. We listen for the beckoning voice of God calling us forward and we follow in faith. The call may come as a still, small voice, a deep desire to follow our gifts and dreams, an open door of opportunity, a closing chapter of our life, or an inner movement that calls us to step out and risk doing something new as we reach fork in the road or a new untrodden path. And we go forward in faith not knowing exactly where the road leads.

Forty years ago, when I was in 20 years old, the road ahead of me seemed clear. I was going to be an illustrator or a Rock musician, dreams I had since childhood. After high school I had moved to LA to record an album with Bob Keane, producer for Ritchie Valens, at Del-Fi Records and majored in art at Los Angeles City College. I didn’t expect to meet Richard Gant and have him drag a young hippie Rock musician all over LA to monasteries, cloisters, Catholic masses, Jesus Freak meetings, Charismatic and Pentecostal services! Those were odd new road stands along the highway for me.

I was not expecting to be pulled off the road I was traveling by the US Army and end up filing for conscientious objector status. The military was, in my opinion, a rough road to be forced down. Then again, I wasn’t expecting to have trumpet player Terry Moretti to just happen to come in the back of the Army pharmacy where I worked in Augusta, Georgia and lead me down the road to Atlanta, where I would play drums in a soldier show and tour the South. And upon returning to my home in Southern California and in a Southern Baptist church I wasn’t expecting my path to be crossed by an independent young woman by the name of Iris Illeana De Leon, who played clarinet in the same high school band where I played…guess what. We have now traveled together on life’s journey for 37 years.

During that period of my life journey I had an experience I described as a persistent inner voice calling me to become a minister. I struggled with this call, wondering whether it was my own voice or God's. I still wonder about that. But, at the time I concluded that it must be God's voice. So, I let go of a vocation I wanted to pursue in art, packed my bags, and headed off onto an unknown landscape with Iris beside me. We did not know where we were going to end up, but we went out in faith. We lived on the Riverside campus of California Baptist College, where Purpose-driven Rick Warren was a fellow student, and later in a converted garage in Ontario behind the church where I was a youth pastor.

The next leg of our journey took us the San Francisco Bay area, where I went to Golden Gate Baptist Theological Seminary, studied ancient languages and swept ancient floors. Our path fell on pleasant places, lush hills, and fertile valleys as we made many close friends and were part of an innovative, progressive congregation in San Francisco. Together Iris and I ministered to street people in the Lost and Found coffee house we started, where every Friday candlelight and Christian rock music burned the night away. My passion for theological study raised aspirations for pursuing a doctorate and teaching following my graduation from seminary in 1978. But timing and finances diverted my path. We ended up back at our home congregation, where I was co-pastor, minister of youth and education. There were rough roads ahead along this highway.

The questions seminary taught me to raise were not so welcome in my fundamentalist congregation. To question certain faith assumptions was enough to get you called into the lead pastor's office for an inquisitorial examination. I was forced into an ecclesiastical corner to resign. The road ahead soon covered over with a thick fog.

I had spent five long years of preparation for ministry only to find myself painting signs, changing car tires, and hanging out of helicopters over the ocean! This was not what I had been called by the god of Abraham and Sarah to do. I wandered in the wilderness for three years in a deep fog straining my eyes and my heart looking for a pathway back on to the roadway to church ministry. Where was this god who had called me to sacrifice my deep desire for a vocation in art or music in order to follow a call to ministry? I didn't understand why I was forced to travel that crooked road then and I still don’t understand why.

By the grace of God, sheer luck, or through having a Christian brother, I met a character actor, Greg Walcott, who performed in numerous TV shows and movies, including the infamous cult classic Plan Nine from Outerspace. Greg was also my brother’s pastor. He was creative spirit, who had lad the groundwork for church renewal of Southern Baptist congregation in Burbank, California. He sparked my dreams with his new vision for the church. With a call I was on the road again back to the Los Angeles area. When I got on the saddle in Burbank I brought into practice some of the new, creative ideas I was exploring about church. Within a year Greg’s and my dreams were squelched by congregational members who began to see that the changes necessary for church renewal were too much, too soon. So they began resisting the changes. Those who originally welcomed a new vision ended up wanting to keep things pretty much the same as they had been. The people were settlers at heart. Both Greg and I resigned at the same time and we moved on to new roads. The other day I watched Greg on TV in the movie Norma Rae and reflected on the grace of our paths have crossing once long ago.

I took a road leading to my first pastorate back to the San Francisco bay area in a small Southern Baptist congregation in Alameda, California, a city by the bay across from Oakland and Berkeley. Finally, after ten years I was where I felt I was called to be….in a lead pastoral role. Iris was always beside me, working in secular jobs, and coming alongside us was a daughter, Toni, and two adopted children, Andres and Isabel.

My path crossed that of Dr. James Wm. McClendon, Jr., a fortuitous meeting. Jim was a baptist theologian at Berkeley's Episcopal Divinity School and a member of my small congregation. While teaching a course on Anabaptist history he suggested I might find my spiritual roots in the 16th century Anabaptist movement. My study of the Anabaptists led me to take another unexpected road in my life.

In 1987 I became a Mennonite and was called to be pastor in Houston, Texas. Where would this new road lead me? Well, starting out on this new road was exhilarating and exasperating. The first year the congregation doubled in size. Around the same time we had a major conflict over peace. I had joined a peace church tradition and our congregation was fighting over peace! I didn’t get it then. I don’t get it now. There is not enough time to tell the road stories of many stormy Sundays and dark valleys, hilltops and hallelujahs on my ten year journey in Houston. But, it must have been the sheer grace of God, or simply my not wanting to give up on God and church that kept me in faith and pastoral work.

Another path opened up. This time it was Iris’ call. She was called to lead peace and justice work for Mennonite Central Committee U.S. Again we packed our bags and headed down the road again. This new road ended in Lancaster. After 8 months sitting along the roadside, unemployed, my seemingly dead end trail led to Bethel Mennonite Church, the best available option for a minister who had balanced himself along the edges of the church for so many years.

For five years I found myself in a congregation that not only was not the best fit for me, but had been traveling down a hill of decline. Bethel and Blossom Hill Mennonite Church even had conversations about merger for Bethel’s survival when I was their pastor. At the same time, new avenues opened up for me through my involvement at Lancaster Theological Seminary----doctoral work, ministry supervision, as pastor preceptor, adjunct teacher, resident drummer, and on and on. With Bethel coming to a dead end, as well as 29 years in pastoral ministry, I was ready to get off that road.

Out of nowhere a new pathway opened through the dense forest into a totally new landscape. In 2002 I became Minister of Peace and Justice with Mennonite Mission Network. In that same year I started, with Heidi Beth Wert, Drumming for Peace, which has taken me across the US and to places I could never have imagined, even as a young musician. Frustration with the tough road of church ministry even led me down another path of rediscovering my passion for art, which has just started taking me to new vistas and possibilities.

It has been a long journey. Now, one long and winding road is coming to an end. At the same time my job is ending with Mennonite Mission Network Iris is taking a position as Executive Conference Minister for Pacific Northwest Conference. We will be on the road again to Portland, Oregon. After 36 years of church ministry I have my eyes set on taking an untraveled path, a side road I haven’t been able to take in all these years. I am hoping to explore my creative gifts more fully and pursue work outside the institutional church. This time intentionally.

In many ways it is a scary, unknown, unpredictable, risky adventure after having been on one winding road for so long. But, with the sunset drawing nearer there is this “off the beaten path” that I want to pursue. Who knows, I may end up back on the same old road I have tread for so long. But, a road less traveled has presented itself in my life as a strange new opportunity, an odd crossroad of grace. I want to step out on this new path that may take me further toward the margins of the institutional church. And maybe I will also find the divine Gypsy dancing beside me as a traveling companion.

I share with you these snapshots of my life journey to simply show you how life has twists and turns, unexpected crossroads, and new paths that open up out of nowhere as we try to find our way home. Along our life journey we can trust, even when the road ahead seems foggy or crooked, that our paths will always lead toward home, for our future is guided by an unseen Traveling Partner. The destination may not always be in sight. But, we move forward into an unknown future in faith that an unpredictable, sacred pathway unfolds before us, even when we do not see the hand of a Guide. We step out in risky faith, at times not even knowing where we are going.

We have a vision of an unseen city that looms on a far horizon and draws us ever forward. As a pilgrim people, like Abraham and Sarah, we are looking for that city. Every city, every human habitation will leave us longing for that place where we experience life in its fullness, where our gifts flower and flourish, where peace and justice dwell. We look for that city whose builder and maker is God.

Can you see that city looming up over the horizon? Does the sight lighten your step, quicken your pace, and renew your energy? The city beckons us all forward. We are all pilgrims and sojourners in this life. That is the nature of our spiritual journey. As St. Augustine once said:

This heavenly city, then, while it sojourns on earth, calls citizens out of all nations, and gathers together a society of pilgrims of all languages, not scrupling about diversities in manners, laws, and institutions whereby earthly peace is secured and maintained.

It is this vision of a new community, a new citizenship, a new city that keeps us moving forward, even though we may not see all the winding, wonderful and weary roads ahead. As a pilgrim people we allow the wind of the Spirit to blow us wherever it will in this transient world, trusting that our final destiny is an eternal city. As spiritual children of Abraham and Sarah, we are a people always on the road again.

Even as I pull up my tent pegs and head down a different road, I am reminded that we are all sojourners and pilgrims on a journey of faith. We are all called to step forward in faith, trusting that an unseen hand is guiding all our winding pathways to that city that lies just over that distant horizon.