God's Reign is for the Birds: Matthew 13:31-35

 
*This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite CHurch, Hubbard, Oregon on Sunday, November 18, 2012 as part of a series on Seeds of the Kingdom.

The meaning of the parable of the mustard seed seems apparent.  What begins as the tiniest of seeds grows into a tree large enough to house the birds. The reign of God is like that. Small beginning. Big ending. A handful of disciples become a worldwide church. A few fishermen and women followers grow into a Christian empire. We are the world! Kind of makes your chest swell, doesn't it? Makes you feel important to be at the center of such a glorious, triumphant, ever expanding kingdom. Well, that kind of kingdom may be a world away from what this parable is all about. If we scratch beneath the surface of this parable, we will discover that God's reign is for the birds.

The odd thing about the parable of the mustard seed is Jesus' portrayal of God's reign as a tree. In Matthew Jesus doesn't say the mustard seed grows into a tall bush, but rather into a tree in which the birds make their nests. The mustard bush can reach a height of 8 to 12 feet, but it is still not a tree by any stretch of the imagination. So, why call the mustard bush a tree? In several places in the Old Testament the prophets spoke of kings and empires as being like trees. King Nebuchadnezzar had a dream of a growing tree, whose branches reached the heavens and on which the birds made their nests (Daniel 4). The prophet Daniel interpreted the tree as being the Assyrian king and his empire extending its sovereignty to the ends of the earth. The Assyrian empire grew through brutal violence and domination, forcing Israel into economic and political patronage. Israel was one of the birds nesting under Assyria's tree!

The prophet Ezekiel uses the image of a growing cedar with the birds nesting under its branches as a satire of the empire of Egypt, which falls like a chopped down tree and "upon its ruin dwell all the birds of the air" (Ezekiel 31).  Ezekiel also told a parable of  a twig which grows into a noble cedar and the birds nest in its shade, the same wording found in Mark's version of the parable of the mustard seed (Ezekiel 17). It would appear that Jesus is drawing his images of God's reign from these visions of powerful empires, particularly Ezekiel's parable of Israel as a mighty cedar growing to such a height as to provide a nesting place for the birds. The birds most likely represent the Gentiles, the nations, those outside the house of Israel. What we have in the prophets is an end time vision of Israel growing into a powerful empire which is benefactor to the nations of the earth. What a triumphant vision! And you can understand why Israel hoped to be a mighty cedar overshadowing the nations, when you remember how they had for so long been trampled under the feet of the nations. Imagine the kingdom of Israel dominating all the nations of the earth! What a hopeful vision… at least for Israel.

A mighty tree growing big enough to shade the birds. That would appear to be a more appropriate image of a powerful kingdom. A mighty tree seems to fit Western civilization's vision of a mighty kingdom. Europeans have viewed the expansion of their cultures and empires as being of benefit to other peoples. In our exploits as an American empire we have felt like we have a superior culture and way of life than other peoples and cultures in the world. It’s called “American exceptionalism.” It has been espoused by politicians and flag wavers from the get go of our nation.  Most recently Obama promoted it in his victory speech. On the other hand, other peoples and nations have experienced Western growth and American exceptionalism, as imperialism, colonialism, arrogance, and pride. We want to expand the branches of our imperial tree to overshadow all nations and allow the birds to nest in our branches.

The seed of our nation's beginnings grew into a tree and expanded its branches through violence and oppression of a people who were already native to this land. I once read a book entitled Missionary Conquest written by a Cherokee/Osage seminary professor. It details the exploits of Father Junipero Serra, among other early missionaries to the Americas. People in California know Father Serra as the Franciscan priest who in the 1700's scattered his missions like seeds across the landscape of California. Mission San Buena Ventura is near my home town and Mission Santa Barbara a half hour away.

In order for Christianity to grow into a mighty cedar early mission expansion took the form of forced conversions, physical violence, slave labor conditions, and cultural genocide. Father Serra's mission system was no exception. Native Americans were the birds who nested precariously in the shade of Spain's colonial expansion supported by the roots of the church's missionary work. The sad truth is that we still view Native Americans as the birds who should nest in the shade of our nation's branches, or should I say live on our nation's reservations. The triumphal image of a growing tree which shades the nesting birds is sadly reflected in the scenes of an African-American with lash marks on his back picking cotton on the plantation, an American sailor exploiting a young Pilipino girl near the naval base, and a young missionary trying to expand the kingdom by unconsciously passing off European customs and culture as the gospel truth. This sad parable of our kingdom growing into a mighty cedar is for the birds!

What are we to make of Jesus parable about a mustard seed growing into a big bush for the birds? Jesus' image of God's reign is not of a mighty cedar, but a mustard bush. That's a joke! Get it? Jesus is satirizing Israel's triumphant vision of the kingdom, as Ezekiel did with the kingdom of Egypt. In this parable Jesus compares the reign of God with the tiny mustard seed, which grows into a big bush for the birds. Jesus is transforming our vision of God's reign. Israel’s vision of a growing messianic kingdom based on force, violence, imperialism, and growth through dominating the other nations of the world, led by God’s messiah, is not Christ's empire. It's not how Jesus revealed God's reign.

Jesus revealed God's reign as being like a mustard seed that grew into a big bush for the birds. Mustard seeds and bushes are strange images for God's reign. As we have seen, a mighty cedar would have been a much more appropriate image, or should I say more like what was expected. Then again, speaking of God's reign as being like a woman who puts a small amount of leaven in her dough was just as strange. Leaven was a symbol of evil, something unclean which was purged from one's house. Leaven, like the mustard bush, is an odd image for Jesus to use of God's reign. What Jesus is doing in the parable of the mustard seed is subverting the expected vision of God's reign as a triumphant kingdom with our people on the top in the end. In the same way, Jesus’ own life and mission were subversive of the hope of a coming kingdom of power and domination.

Jesus' life is a paradoxical mustard seed parable. The Messiah, ruler of all nations, comes to us as a tiny, vulnerable baby in a nesting place for chickens and cows. He gathers around himself a small rag tag group of misfits. His idea of growing a kingdom is by telling quirky little stories. Jesus expands God's reign by eating with Roman collaborators and sinners. The branches of Christ's kingdom are spread by blessing children and lifting up the weak. People look into Jesus' mustard seed face and say, "Is this the Messiah?" Like a baker woman, Jesus mixes into God's dough the leaven of the unclean and those cast out of the house. The destitute, women, Samaritans, Gentiles, lepers, outsiders nest in the shadow of Jesus' compassion. These odd birds flock to the branches of Christ's kingdom!

Jesus' mission turns away from the hope of becoming a mighty cedar and grows into a bush for birds. On a desert mountain Jesus refuses the devil's vision of ruling the kingdoms of this world. Through the gates of Jerusalem he rides not on the snorting stead of a conquering king, but the lowly donkey of peace. The disciples look down at Jesus washing their toes and wonder, "Is this the Messiah? Is this the cedar of Lebanon?" Jesus gathers no Zealot army to overthrow Rome, but a small band who gathers to pray in a garden, where he tells them to put away the sword. Jesus is nailed on a splintery tree to die a shameful death, crowned with royal thorns as an enemy of the state. And in the end one dirty bird nailed on a cross next to him pleads, "Remember me, Jesus. Let me nest under the shadow of your tree."  

Jesus reveals to us the reign of God in mustard seeds, bushes, and birds. It is a kingdom which begins with the small and insignificant, the forgotten and forsaken, and grows into a big bush for the birds, for outsiders and outcasts, strangers and sinners, for the multicolored robins and finches beyond the borders of our comfort zones. Jesus reveals to us a kingdom for the birds.

There was once a church nesting on the borders of our imagination. It was a little country church on the edge of town. The steeple stood tall and proud and the bushes were neatly trimmed to proper size. The outside of the church was whitewashed, and you might say the inside was also. In a front pew sits little Jimmy next to his mother, Mrs. Lee. Both are first time visitors. “Little Johnny” is picking his nose and wiping it on his jeans. Mrs. Lee is nervously fiddling with her bulletin. “Little Johnny" is thirty five years old. He got his name from his father, who passed away five years ago. His tongue is thick and his speech childlike. He looks out at the world through almond eyes and a fresh innocence as if seeing life for the first time. There were well-meaning family members and neighbors who said, "Wouldn't it be easier on you if he were in an institution?" They probably said that because they were uncomfortable being around Jimmy, particularly that snorting laugh or saying things that didn't make any sense. It was those attitudes that brought Mrs. Lee and Johnny to this new community.

The church they visited on that first Sunday was uncomfortable also, at first. With broken smiles the members would greet Mrs. Lee and Johnny. After that they didn't know what to say. Some members were annoyed when Jimmy would snort at the preacher's feeble attempt at a joke or when he would say something bizarre to a visitor. But, after a while Johnny seemed to blend in with all the rest of those quirky people----the elderly woman who just had to give you every gory detail about her goiter operation, the well-dressed computer programmer who wanted his name on a plaque for every gift he gave, and all those other members who were handicapped by a fear and an in-group mentality which kept them separate from those who were different.

Soon after visiting the little church Mrs. Lee and Johnny invited to their new church a family they had met at the clinic, who also had a child with Down's syndrome. The church welcomed them with open arms, as they had learned to welcome Mrs. Lee and Johnny. Later a bi-racial family who lived next door to Mrs. Lee and Johnny came to visit after they heard about this odd little church. A family with a tattooed teen and headphones permanently implanted in his ears started attending. The congregation welcomed an undocumented couple from Honduras. This new couple was there on the day they repainted the church and trimmed the hedges. Over the years the small church grew. Oh, it wasn't so much growth in size or money, or prestige in the community, that's for sure. The little church grew from its first awkward attempts at welcoming people different from them until they learned to extend the branches of God's love and compassion to whoever graced their doors from whatever life situation. In the end that small church became a nesting place for the birds.

Automatic Reign: Mark 4:26-29

 
This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubbard, OR on Sunday, November 11, 2012. It is the first in a series entitled "Seeds of the Kingdom."

I remember as a child being asked by my grade school teacher to bring to class an avocado seed. Each of the students took their seed, stuck a toothpick in each side, and suspended the seed in water in a Dixie cup. We wrote our names on the side of each cup with a felt pen and set them on the window sill. I like to think of this childhood experiment as a precursor to hydroponics.  Each day as I came into class with my binder I would look over to see what was happening to my avocado seed. Neither I, nor any of the other children, did anything to our seeds after "planting" them in the water. We would simply come to class, go home on the yellow bus, sleep in our beds, come back to class, and patiently watch our seeds on the window sill. After a while I saw the avocado seed begin to crack in half. A tiny sprout emerged, then a leaf. The sprout turned to a branch, then to a small avocado tree. I did nothing. The seed grew all on its own. I planted the small avocado tree in my yard. As a child it was wondrous thing to see this seed growing all on its own.

The reign of God is like that. It's also like someone who goes out into the field and scatters seed on the ground. Then he puts on his pajamas, hops into bed, snores the night away, gets up in the morning, stretches, eats breakfast, and brushes his teeth. Day in, day out he does the same thing. All the while the seed in the ground cracks open, sprouts into a stalk, then a head, then grows heavy with grain. There is no plowing, hoeing, digging, or cultivating on the part of the farmer. The wheat simply grows on its own. The farmer doesn't even know how it grows. He just waits patiently until it’s time to pick up the sickle and swing it across the golden field. All the farmer does is sow and harvest. The earth produces of itself.

This parable is unique to the gospel of Mark. It is not repeated in the other gospels as are the parables of the sower, the lamp, and the mustard seed. As with many parables, this one begins with the comparative statement: "The kingdom of God is like..." We naturally ask ourselves, "What particularly is the reign of God like? Is it like the sower? The sowing? The seed? The growth? The harvest?" The comparison is most likely not pointing to one or the other element in the parable, but to the whole parable itself. The reign of God is like what happens in this parable. The farmer sleeps and rises. The grain grows and sprouts without the aid of the farmer.  The farmer doesn't even know how it grows. The growth is mysterious and graceful. The earth produces of itself. The word translated "of itself" is the word from which we derive our word automatic. Something which is automatic operates on its own. In our parable the earth produces automatically, of itself, on its own without human effort.

"Now, wait a minute," someone might say, "Are you implying that the reign of God grows automatically? If that's the case, then I beg to differ with you." We live in a world which says, "If I don't do it, it's not going to get done." This earth of ours doesn't run on its own. Things don't just happen automatically. From our corner of the earth everything depends upon us and our work. This wonderful nation of ours wasn't built by people who slept their lives away. We know how this nation grew into "America the beautiful" with its amber waves of grain. It was built with the callused hands of hard working immigrants, who often held down several jobs and worked long hours to make a better world for their families. Can you see the farmer out there in the corn fields behind the plow wiping the sweat from his brow with a red handkerchief? Nothing was handed to us on a platter. Nothing came to us automatically. Blood, sweat, and tears were the seeds that caused us to grow into a strong nation. However, we must not forget the blood, sweat, and tears of those on the underside of our nation's history, those on whose backs we made our progress and who became victims of our striving and building this nation.

As a people we have believed that anything will grow with enough work, self-determination, and know-how. We believe that everything depends upon us. There is nothing we can't accomplish, if we just work hard at it. We have fed our souls on the Horatio Alger story and our-own-boot-straps philosophy. Once upon a time we believed in the myth of inevitable progress. We got so caught up in our own achievements we convinced ourselves that we were the engineers of history guiding it forward along the never ending tracks of progress. This myth of inevitable progress seems to have been an odd mixture of a Christian view of the coming of God's kingdom, the accomplishments of the industrial revolution, evolutionary theory, an ethic of hard work, and a heady dose of optimism. When liberal Christian theologians got drunk on this myth, they began dreaming of the reign of God as something we would eventually build right here on earth with our own hands. The song of inevitable progress played on the ol' juke box, "If we put our minds and muscles to it, there ain't nothin' we can't do it." Then along came the depression, two world wars, the holocaust, and the liberal myth of inevitable progress lay shattered like a wine glass on the floor of human history.

Even with the shattered pieces of this myth lying on the floor, today we still have this unshakable belief in what we can accomplish through enough human effort and knowledge. Through science and technology we believe we can grow a small version of utopia in our own back yard. In this new millennium we are on the cusp of a biotech century where technology and human effort can grow virus resistant transgenetic plants, but also artificially grow human tissues, organs, and the possibly of clones for organ harvesting. This development of knowledge and ability has not come about automatically, but through intense human effort. These same human efforts have brought us to the brink of altering the very order of creation and twisting ourselves into ethical knots we may never untie.  

We have to admit that even in the church we have put a lot of stock in our human ability to make things grow and develop. Nothing is automatic for us. We can't sit back and sleep. If the church is going to grow there must be the constant finger tapping, biting of finger nails, plowing, hoeing, and watering. We may even need to go out and yank on the leaves, stomp on the ground, holler at the plant in order to get it to grow. We must be ever vigilant with hand to the plow, if God's reign is going to sprout. As God's farmers, we Mennonites are known for our labor in the fields of the Lord. We're know there's so much work to be done for God. Foreign missions. Inner city missions. Agricultural development. Economic development. Peace and justice work. Hospitals. Self-help crafts. Disaster relief. Relief sales. Building houses. Serving the church. Committees. Projects. Sunday School. VBS. Work in our neighborhoods and communities. Whew! There's no time to rest, let alone to sleep! Our zeal for work is seen in many MCC workers, who have been known to work on service projects during their retreats, which should be times for inactivity, refreshment, and renewal! "Work, work, work, while it is yet day" is our motto. I have often heard sincere Mennonites praying rather presumptuously to God about our "building the kingdom." Jesus' parable about a farmer who sleeps and rises and a seed which grows automatic is enough to make us itch with nervous energy.

That's why this parable is ripe for us to harvest. Jesus is telling us as a people in a country with a history of trusting in our own human efforts and a church that relishes hard work that the reign of God grows of itself. Automatically! There's not a whole lot we can do to make it grow. It grows on its own. Think of the growth from seed to harvest as "nature's grace." Farmers participate in nature's grace. Their crops grow as gifts. The poet Emerson once asked, "What is a farm but a mute gospel?" Jesus uses the image of the seed growing on its own as gospel, good news. Plants and crops grow pretty much on their own, thank you. Oh, we water and move the ground around a bit. But, there is a wondrous and graceful power that resides within the seed which causes it to grow and flourish on its own without one human having to lift a finger to cause that growth. Its all gift and grace.

A distinguished American surgeon was asked what he relied upon when he operated. He said, "medical grace." He was pointing to the natural healing power residing within the human body which works on its own...automatic. Whether we know it or not, there is also "cosmic grace." We end our work, lie down to sleep, and rise in the morning, but the planet still spins around the sun, the seasons change, gravity holds...automatic. No human effort is needed to make the world turn. There is an intrinsic power which operates of itself in seed and body and earth. Such is God's reign. It grows of itself...automatic. It is not dependent upon us, anymore than a seed needs us pushing and pulling on it.

Now, this doesn't mean we pull the covers of cheap grace up over our heads and snore our lives away. The farmer still sows and reaps. The doctor still operates and prescribes medicine. The Christian still does the work of God's reign. This parable is an antidote to feverish over activity and the DVD Christian constantly operating in fast forward, always in a panic at the sight of the church's unfinished business. This parable calls us to a "holy passivity," a patient trust in God's providence and grace. There is room and time for waiting and wondering and quietly watching the mysteries of God's goodness already at work in the world. At the heart of the seed is nature's grace operating on its own. At the heart of God's reign is a power which operates of itself...automatic. It is always there working within the world, even when evidence of it seems as small as scattered seeds.

The seeds my mother scattered seemed small. A few words from the Bible, prayers as I went to bed, a joking invitation to my father to go to church with us. He was a hard working farmer who helped the lemon trees grow. But, he was a quiet, introverted, private man, with no interest in religion. I would have thought it odd for my father to be in church. I know my mother prayed that he would become a Christian. But, she never forced the issue with my dad. All I ever saw was a patient trust and waiting.  For twenty five years, twenty five years she patiently waited and prayed and scattered her small seeds here and there.

Something odd happened when Iris and I got married and went away to Bible college and seminary. My mother told me my father had started going to church! I couldn’t believe it. And I know it wasn't because my mother pushed and pulled. The hard seed just cracked open on its own! A few years before my father died my mother told me the seed sprouted. My father had walked forward in front of the congregation and accepted Christ! Right there in front of all those people! That was totally unlike my father. I was dumbstruck with wonder and grace.  God's seeds of grace wondrously sprout on their own...automatic.

So, rest in the assurance that God's reign of new life, justice, peace, reconciliation, and faith, hope, and love will continue to grow until the harvest. The harvest will come! God's reign will grow and bear fruit. Put the toothpicks in the avocado seed. Place it in the Dixie cup. Rest. Wake. Wait.  And with wide-eyed wonder watch the windowsill as the seed cracks open and sprouts of itself....automatic.

Our Mother City: Revelation 21:1-6a

 *This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubbard, Oregon on All Saints Sunday, October 28, 2012

What is your idea of paradise; that ideal place where you could  forever. Picture it in your mind for a moment. What do you imagine paradise looks like? A mirror lake nestled among the snowcapped mountains? Fields of waltzing grain? Waves crashing into foam on a sandy shore? An unspoiled wilderness? Farmland with rolling hills and ripe orchards?

Did any of you imagine a city? Hubbard? Woodburn? Canby? Portland? New York? For many of us the city resembles paradise about as much as Hubbard farmland resembles downtown Los Angeles? And yet, John had a vision in which paradise looked, strangely enough, like a city. As a matter of fact, it looked like Jerusalem; a thousand-year-old, cramped city, twice destroyed, without much splendor. This is paradise? I wonder what it would be like if we imagined our own cities as paradise?

Paradise can be envisioned as a new city. John had a vision of the new heaven and earth as a city, a new Jerusalem, descending from heaven. His vision of a new Jerusalem stood in sharp contrast to the pompous city of Rome. John refers to Rome under the cryptic title of another ancient city-- Babylon, where Israel was once held hostage. Both of these cities represented godlessness, oppression, injustice, and violence. It was Rome that was oppressing God's people at the time of John's writing. Rome flattened their beloved city of Jerusalem in 70 A.D. The city of Rome represented all that was oppressive, hurtful, and destructive of community to the Christians in Asia Minor of John's day.

We might compare John's vision of paradise to a black South African envisioning a new Soweto, a Bosnian envisioning a new Sarajevo, an unemployed man dreaming of a new Washington. People living in unjust and oppressive political situations often dream of their cities being made new. They envision a city without hungry children wandering in the streets, without farmers losing their farms to mounting debts, without tanks driving through streets of bombed out buildings. John, and other such dreamers of new worlds, envision future cities of hope that rise up in defiance of the old cities of their present pain.

John's vision is of a new city descending from heaven settling down on earth. In John's vision heaven is not seen as pie-in-the-sky-by-and-by and harps in the clouds. John's vision is earthy. His vision is made from a mixture of the sky and the soil; a new heaven and a new earth. The sod under our feet, the fields we plow, the brooks that gurgle, photons and neutrons, all of creation is made new by the touch of heaven's hand. The chasm separating heaven and earth is bridged. The longings expressed in the Lord's Prayer are finally fulfilled. God's name is hallowed. God's kingdom is come. God's will is done on earth as it is in heaven. The holy city descends from heaven to the earth. Paradise can be envisioned as a new city.

Since the vision is of a new Jerusalem, there is some continuity between the old and the new, between heaven and earth. This city is future and it is present. Within the old Jerusalem are the seeds of the new Jerusalem. The invisible is hidden beneath the visible. The new has been present in the bud of the old, waiting to flower. Glimpses of the new city can even be seen now in the old city. Pieces of heaven are hidden in the places we live here on earth. Or as Robert Browning put it: "Earth is crammed with heaven." The old Jerusalem is not totally unlike the new Jerusalem, just as the risen Christ is not unlike the earthly Jesus. Heaven is not totally unlike the earth. We have seen bits and pieces of heaven on the common ground we walk upon. We have caught glimpses of the heavenly city in the cities in which we live from day to day. Our vision of the new city is really the future hope of the full realization of God's will here on earth. The vision of this new city is not something totally other than the good we have experienced in our earthly cities, but the completion of what we now see only dimly and in part.

So now, we see the lights of this new city dimly reflected---in the courage of the woman who is working through the slow process of healing from abuse, in the clasped hands of leaders of nations that were once longtime enemies, in the full bellies of a homeless family, in stumbling grace of a a young woman kicking her addiction. The four walls of this city are peace, love, joy, and hope. And when we catch sight of it out of the corner of our eye, we recognize this city to be our true home.    

For God dwells in this new city. Since the division of earth and heaven has been healed, this new city is God's permanent home. And God will relate to the children who live in this new home as a loving Parent. God will be like a mother who wipes the tears of her child who has fallen. And like a compassionate Father, God will comfort the lonely man who has lost his wife to a heart attack. God will dry the eyes of those who have long endured the brokenness of their lives caused by early childhood traumas. Death, mourning, and crying will be no more. The pains and sorrows of the old city will be banished.

I know there are many of us, not only those who live in the areas surrounding cities near Zion, but those who care about the healing of all communities, who long for this new city to come. As citizens of the heavenly city, those who live in urban and rural areas long to see the day when there are no longer drug dealers on the streets or racism in its neighborhoods. There are those who would rather be able to walk on streets that are safe and just, more than upon streets made of gold. We hope for the day when those in our world's cities who have tasted the bitter tears of war and death, may taste the fruits of the tree of life. We long to see those struggling to make ends meet with decent jobs and wages.  We long for the day when the races of peoples are reconciled and join hands in an eternal circle as brothers and sisters. Some of us long for that city where our bodies no longer hold us back from doing what our minds dream of doing, like when we were younger. We long for that city where disease and death no longer rob us of our loved ones, where tears are dried, mourning has ceased, grief has been healed. Citizens of heaven, that city is coming! Hallelujah! It lies just over the next horizon. It is a new city, where God forever dwells with God's people.

And this new city, she is our mother. Motherhood represents our primal connection to life, our identity, our most original, earthly relationship. Paul speaks of the new Jerusalem as our true mother. He makes an allegory of Hagar and Sarah as two covenants. Hagar is our covenant with earthly Jerusalem. Sarah is a new covenant with the heavenly Jerusalem. She is our true mother. The new Jerusalem is our mother city. The suffering, brokenness, and bondage of the old cities in which we live are foreign, temporary residences. Our true township doesn't have streets that are marked with signs that read---despair, depression, oppression, rejection, unloved. Those are not the streets of our true mother city. Look closely. Can you see the street names of our true city? The signs read---Freedom St. Hope Dr. Love Circle. Forgiveness Avenue. Peace Way. These are the hometown streets on which we walk. The new Jerusalem is our true mother city.

Can you envision paradise as such a city? If, like John, you can envision a new city coming, what would be the purpose? Surely John's vision of the new city is not a mere fantasy. He is not preaching escapism for those who live under the shadows of the old city. No. Rather, he is offering an alternative vision of the city for Christians who live in cities like Thyatira, Pergamum, Ephesus, Canby, Woodburn, Mollala and Hubbard. This vision was to be read in seven city churches in Asia Minor. Now, we read it from within the cities in which we dwell.

John's vision is subversive visionary rhetoric that instigates a new reality for the city. It's not just pie-in-the-sky images of what we wish our cities could be like, but never can be. Rather, the purpose of this vision of the new city is to move us to live as if the holy city is a present reality and to so create the reality around us as to reflect our vision. As someone once said, "Our visions, stories, and utopias, are not only aesthetic: they engage us." We are being called upon to imagine and live in a new reality of the city here and now in the light of the new city that's coming.

Until the city from above descends, we are to be about the business of laying its foundations. The ground is cleared by those who seek to serve God by serving their neighbor. The mortar is mixed by hands that sew quilts, share monetary resources, and volunteer in community human service organizations. The cement is poured out by those who visit the elderly, the lonely, the sick. The foundation of the new city is set in place by those challenge injustices and inequities in our institutions, church structures, communities, and political policies. The city that comes can only rest upon the foundations built by Jesus Christ, the apostles, and the whole communion of saints. The site where the holy city begins to touch down won't necessarily be Jerusalem for us, but rather the city where we live. As paradoxical as it may sound, it is in our own cities where we lay the foundation for the new city only God can build. In the cities where we live today we will seek to live within the borders of the city that is to come. In our very own cities is where we live for the city that is to come.

There was once a man was tired of the violence and injustice of his city. His family and friends sat for hours listening as he spoke passionately of his desire for a city where peace and justice were wed. Night after night his dreams were filled with images of a city where heaven touched the earth. One day he decided that he could wait no longer. He packed a meager meal, kissed his family, and set off in search of his heavenly city. He reached the woods at nightfall. After eating his meal he lay down to sleep on the hard earth. Again images of the heavenly city danced like phantoms in his dreams.

Upon waking he couldn't exactly remember which direction he had been traveling. But, nevertheless, he set out, driven by his strong desire to reach his new home. He didn't realize he was headed back to where he came from. Emerging from the woods he saw the skyline of a city on the horizon. A foggy haze made the city look like it was floating above the earth. "It must be the heavenly city," he thought. As he got closer to the city he thought it looked strangely familiar. Little did he know. He walked down a street that looked much like his own. He greeted some citizens that looked strangely like his old neighbors. He knocked on a familiar door and greeted the family he found there, and lived happily ever after in the heavenly city of his dreams.

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth...and I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God…and the one who was seated on the throne said, "See, I am making all things new."

To Whom Shall We go? John 6:56-69

 

*This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubbard, Oregon on Sunday, October 21, 2012.

 

John Updike's novel In the Beauty of the Lilies tells the story of Clarence Wilmot, a Presbyterian minister during the early twentieth century. While reading Robert Ingersoll's book Some Mistakes of Moses in order to refute its atheism for a troubled parishioner, the good pastor watches his own faith slip away. He becomes convinced that Ingersoll is right, that "the God of the Pentateuch was an absurd bully, barbarically thundering through the cosmos entirely misconceived. There is no such God, nor should there be." Wilmot confesses his loss of faith to his wife:

“My faith, my dear, seems to have fled. I not only no longer believe with an ideal fervor, I consciously disbelieve. My very voice rebelled, today, against my attempting to put some sort of good face on a doctrine that I intellectually detest. Ingersoll, Hume, Darwin, Renan, Nietzsche—it all rings true, when you’ve read enough to have it sink in; they have not just reason on their side but simple humanity and decency as well. Jehovah and his pet Israelites, that bloody tit-for-tat of the Atonement, the whole business of condemning poor fallible men and women to eternal Hell for a few mistakes in their little lifetimes, the notion in any case that our spirits can survive without eyes or brains or nerves—Stel, it’s been a fearful struggle, I’ve twisted my mind in loops to hold on to some sense in which these things are true enough to preach, but I’ve got to let go or go crazy. I love you for feeling otherwise, and would never argue a man or child out of whatever they believe, but to me it’s all become relics, things left over from our childish nightmares, when there’s daylight now all around us—this is the twentieth century! I can’t keep selling myself and others the opposite of what jumps out at me from every newspaper and physical fact I see. The universe is a hundred percent matter, with the energy that comes in waves out of matter, and poor old humankind is on its own and always has been.”

When Wilmot seeks to resign his ministry, he is accused of selfishness by his wife and told by the moderator of his presbytery to remain in the ministry despite his doubts. But, Reverend Wilmot wants to be true to himself and his unbelief.

The novel traces four generations of the Wilmot family in and out of faith. Updike's characters remind us that some followers, in all honesty, turn away from their faith, while others choose, in all honesty, to remain believers.

Sometimes I’ve wondered why some people turn away from their faith. I have not always understood how at one moment in life someone can live in faith and another moment try to live without it. I have wondered how a person can begin to follow Christ, then later just stop following. Well, it happened one day after Jesus told a crowd of his followers that they must munch on his body and slurp down his blood. Did they take his words literally and think Jesus was calling them to become zombies for Jesus or cannibals for Christ? The dispute that ensued sounds like a much later church conflict over whether or not the bread and the cup of the Eucharist are the real body and blood of Christ. We know that the Romans, who heard of the early Christians practice of eating Christ body and blood, accused them of cannibalism! What Jesus meant by saying that his disciples must eat his body and drink his blood was probably about the necessity of consuming his teachings and feeding on his life to have life withinthem. But, some took his very graphic language to be a bit too much for them, particularly for Jews who avoided rare steak, let alone consuming blood.

Or those who heard this hard saying of Jesus very well may have clearly understood him. Maybe they realized that it meant to radically follow Jesus. It meant consuming and being consumed by Jesus. It meant daily taking upon oneself the identity of being a follower of Jesus, even when things got rough, even when there was a cross down the road, even when it meant becoming part of his peculiar people, and even when it meant standing out within their own Jewish culture. It’s interesting to note that after Jesus’ hard saying about his body and blood there is a statement about one who did not believe and would betray Jesus at the Last Supper. Mention is also made in the context of this saying about Jesus’brothers, who didn’t believe in him. Those are the hard realities.

I’m afraid that we in the church today often want to soft pedal or alter Jesus’ hard sayings, rather than understand them and their deeper implications for our lives. I’m afraid the church is in the business of domesticating Jesus and taming the gospel. We want to make them more comfortable through our compromises. We find ourselves in the company of some earlier disciples who said, “Jesus, your teaching about eating your body and blood is just too harsh. And if it means that we must consume your life, then that’s going too far. It offends my sensibilities and my family members. You aren’t looking to drive away potential followers are you? Couldn’t you say something a bit more palatable and that doesn’t cause people to have to decide for or against you.”

We don’t like Jesus hard words. We don’t like it when Jesus says, “Take up your cross and follow me.” Carrying my own form of execution? That sounds too harsh. Can’t our relationship be more casual? We don’t like it when Jesus says, “Love your enemies.” Youcan’t mean Muslims! That’s going way too far, Jesus. Does this mean I have to stop supporting any and every war? We don’t like it when Jesus says, “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. If you don’t hate your own family, for my sake, you cannot be my disciple.“ Hate my own family? Are you serious? Do you mean that my love for Christ should be so deep that next to it my love for my own family looks like hate? I don’t know if I could tolerate any division in my family over following Christ? We don’t like it when Jesus says, “Unless you consume my body and blood, digest all that I am into your life, then you have no life in you.” Jesus, can’t you tone down all that exclusive language? Aren’t we all believers in our own way?

In seeming contrast to my own message last Sunday let me say this: We don’t like it when there are boundaries to our Christian circle. Would Jesus consider as his true followers all the nominal Christians, half-hearted, occasional, cultural Christians, people who just want to take a little lick of Jesus, but don’t want to consume and be consumed by Christ? By their lives and practice many are in essence saying, “If this journey is too narrow, too well defined, too intense, too time consuming, too life consuming, too harsh, too much like a cross, then I don’t know if I want to be a follower any longer.”

I hear a deep sadness in the tone of the words that follow Jesus’ hard saying: Many of his disciples no longer went about with him. The text may be translated: "Many of his disciples went back to the things of the past." They turned back to the lives they led before they met Jesus. How sad. And it’s still sad. People who have made a profession of faith when they were young get involved in the things of their own lives and never or rarely engage in matters of faith, let alone attend church. They may nibble on “Cheeses of Nazareth,” but find it hard to swallow Jesus whole, body and blood, to eat up his hard as well as his more palatable teachings. No thanks. See you later. How sad. Understandable, but sad.

It's the same kind of sadness I once felt looking through some old photographs of people I used to go to church with. There's "John" in a black and white photo taken at our church. "John's" wife was a member our church. "John" had no interest in church and religion, until he met a bunch of us who from the church. After many conversations about faith and Christ, "John" came to believe and was baptized. He was a faithful church member, following Jesus the best he knew how. Later, he dropped out of church. I can't say that I know that he lost his faith, only that it was no longer a consuming part of his life. As writer George Bernarno once said; "Faith is not a thing one 'loses,' we merely cease to shape our lives by it." John ceased shaping his life by his faith. I often wonder why.

Or I look at the old photo of our church youth group. 70 strong. Young, fresh faces, alive with new found faith in Jesus. Reading their Living Bibles. Praying with intertwined fingers. Crying big crocodile tears at youth camp. Now, I can probably count on my fingers those who still have a living faith and attend church. I often wonder why.

You may imagine a picture on the wall in your home of a son or daughter, niece or nephew, who grew up in church but has since left behind the church and, for all practical purposes their faith, at least the kind of consuming faith Jesus was talking about. We all can picture in our minds people we know who followed Jesus at one time, but at another point in time turned away to pursue their own lives and personal agendas or whose lives are no longer shaped by faith. I still wonder why.

I guess there are a lot of reasons why people stop following Christ. Those in John's gospel who turned away from Christ had problems with his hard sayings. It became difficult to follow Jesus when it sounded like a life consuming, Jesus consuming practice. So, some disciples stopped following him. Sometimes I wonder why more Christians haven’t stopped following Jesus over his hard sayings, like “sell all your possessions and give to the poor,” “if your eye offends you, pluck it out and cast it from you,” “You must be born again” “If you love your family more than me, you cannot be my disciple” and on and on I could go. Jesus once told the parable of the seed and the different soils to show his disciples different reasons why some people don't last as disciples; shallow soil, initial bursts of enthusiasm that don’t last, or the temptations of this world snatch away their faith. I’m sure there are even more reasons. Some disciples simply stop following Jesus.

Today there are many different reasons why people give up on faith, or should I say, cease to shape their lives by it. Two-thirds of nonbelievers or “Nones,” as they are being called, in the US today were former believers. We are becoming more and more a“post-Christian” society. In our increasingly secularized culture, there may come a time when more people will have grown up without believing at all than those who once believed but no longer do.

Step into the gallery of former disciples and look at the portrait collection. On that wall are some snapshots of people who had negative church experiences, like my next door neighbors who were faithful church goers, had a bad experience, and haven’t been back since. Some turned back from following Christ because of church conflicts and dealing with bickering people. Those young faces in the photos dropped out from experiences with unbending church members who were unwilling to try anything new or different from "the way we have always done things."

See those pictures over there? Those people turned away from faith because they had seen too many hypocritical Christians, who profess one thing and live another. They couldn't, in all honesty, believe like that. And those pictures there; the studious-looking people with question marks floating above their heads. Those are the thinkers. They came to view Christianity as intellectually unbelievable. They asked the hard questions of faith and didn't get any adequate answers, like Bart Ehrmann, respected NT scholar. He was once a conservative Evangelical and is now an agnostic. Many former believers, like Ehrmann, have turned from faith to rationalism.

Then, there are those photos over in that dark corner. Those people experienced senseless tragedies or terminal illnesses, either their own or of a loved one. They questioned why God would allow such things to happen. They received no answers; only a deafening silence. So, finally they turned from the path of faith. And those faded portraits? They are those whose faith just seemed to slowly slip away. They started attending church less and less. Their lives got wrapped up in other things; work, family, children, enjoying their weekends, buying stuff, entertainment, enjoying life in and of itself. After a while they joined the "Church Alumni Association." All the people in this gallery turned back from following Christ. To be honest, a number of times I have imagined my portrait hanging in one of the corners of this gallery of former disciples. Still, I can't help but think, "How sad." As you can see with your own eyes, there are many reasons why people give up on being disciples.

Since faith is a dynamic relationship, a lifetime of faith isn't guaranteed.Following Christ is an ongoing journey, a daily affair. Because we follow Christ one day doesn't mean we will the next. Belief, in its biblical sense, is not so much about intellectual acceptance of a list of doctrines that we confess. Belief is more about ongoing trust in God. Believing in God is an active posture of continuing trust. Faith in God requires an ongoing, developing relationship. It isn't something static that we have once and which remains constant regardless of our present relationship. Faith is a verb, not a noun. Faith is a dynamic, spiritual relationship. Faith is a posture and not a possession that we always have like some kind of ID card stuck in our pocket that we show on occasion, which can never be lost no matter what we do or don’t do.

Since faith and following are active, living realities, they hold no lifetime guarantee. Though we exchange rings and vow "'til death do us part," there are no guarantees that any marriage will last a lifetime. The fact is, currently the statistics say half of marriages don't last. That's because the marital covenant is an active, dynamic relationship that must be constantly nurtured and developed. Faith in God and following Christ are also covenants that require constant nurturing and development to last. There's no ultimate guarantee that anyone's faith in God or journey with Christ will last forever. There will be those whose faith ceases to shape their lives and who turn away from following Christ.

But still, why would we turn away from Christ? Where would we go to find words of life? Simon Peter not only speaks for the Twelve, but also for us. If we were to turn away from following Christ, to whom would we go to find the words of eternal life? Who would give us the love, joy and hope we have come to know in Christ? In the midst of our world with its death-dealing violence, where could we find such words of peace? Where would we find the words that make us into new persons? Where would we go to hear such words that turn our world on its head? Why would we turn away from Christ? Who has such wonderful words, that transform us and give us new life?

Paul was a drug addict and an alcoholic. He had to steal in order to support his expensive habit. He stole whatever he could get his hands on. One of his targets was unlocked cars. One day he found such a car. There was nothing inside but a book on the back seat. It probably wouldn't buy him a fix, but it would at least give him something to read between drinks. So he took it.

The book had a red and black cover with the single word "Jesus" on the cover. It contained the gospel words of Jesus. Paul read the words. The words didn't sink in immediately. Sometime later, two young men asked him, "Have you ever heard about Jesus?" "Yeah, I read a book about him," he said. As the conversation continued Paul became more interested and began asking questions. After more reading and conversation, Paul decided to follow Jesus. His life took a dramatic change. He became a totally different person. Paul went to seminary and entered the ministry. He still wonders who left the book in that car with Jesus' words of life in it.

The prospects of death from overdose or the slow death of alcoholism had always been an ever present reality for Paul. Jesus' words were literallywords of life for him. If Paul were to turn back to his past, where in the world would he go to find words of life? Where in the world would any of us, who have experienced the sprouting of new life in us, go to find such words of life?

The truth is, we are faced daily with the choice to believe or not to believe, to follow Christ or to turn back. So, on this day I invite you to choose to believe. Choose to follow in the way of Christ. Choose to live in the light of God’s reign. With Peter we profess that Jesus is the Holy One of God! And we continue to follow Christ in life. That is a choice we made in the past, but also continue to make in the present and will be called upon to make in the future. In the midst of people dropping out of church, giving up on faith, turning away from Christ, somehow by the grace of God, we have chosen to believe and follow in Jesus' way. Honestly, knowing the world in which we live with its comforts and attractions, I am surprised that there are people who still actively choose to follow in the way of Christ! Surprised by grace!

The path we have chosen to follow is not always the easiest one. But, the path of faith leads to life. There's a Native American legend about the two paths of life. One path slopes gently down some low hills to the valley below. The legend says that this is the broad and easy path, but it leads into the desert where death waits. The other path winds upward over a steep and rocky trail. It is filled with difficulties and side trails that lead off to dead ends. There are times on the trail when you may feel like turning back. Only those who chose to endure the difficulties and uncertainties at each turn and trust the main path can reach the heights of the mountain where the eagles soar on the wind.

There is for us one path to life: Jesus Christ. Where else would we go to find such words of life? Today, we stand before the path that Jesus trod. It is the path of trust in God, following Christ one step at a time, one day at a time. Choose this day the path that leads to life. Choose this day the path that leads to the place where we soar with the eagles.

Reflective questions for the reader to ask themselves:

What steps do I need to take to further follow in the path of Jesus and his body, the church?

Do I need to affirm Christ’s words of life for myself?

Do I need to step into the circle of Christian faith and fellowship, to accept Christ as Lord and Savior and publicly witness to my faith through baptism and church membership?

Do I need to renew my faith until I consume and am consumed by Christ’s life?

Do I need to fully commit my time, talents, resources, and all that I have and am to Christ?

Is there a special road or a difficult path Christ is opening up for you that you need strength and support for to take the first steps?

Christ is inviting us all to faith, to follow, to fellowship. Will you choose faith? Will you choose to follow? Will you chose fellowship? To whom else can we go?

 

The God Outside Our Circles: Numbers 11:24-30; Mark 9:38-41

 

Nine-year-old Billy was a popular kid on the block. He had a circle of friends in the neighborhood; mostly boys. No girls were allowed in any of the clubs he created on the spur of the moment. It was a Saturday and his friends were hanging around his driveway bouncing a basketball, skating on the sidewalk, drawing a hopscotch pattern on the driveway with big pieces of colored chalk. Billy liked being the center of attention. That's why he created all those clubs, like the Girl Haters Club and the Backyard Bowling Club. On this Saturday everyone was doing their own thing and kinda ignoring Billy, so he decided to create a new club. He went over, picked up a piece of chalk and drew a circle on the sidewalk. Then, he yelled to all his friends, "Everybody who wants to be in my Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers Club better jump into this circle right now, or you won't be in it!" The boys dropped what they were doing and scrambled to get inside the chalk circle. There was a lot of pushing and shoving as they tried to scrunch themselves into Billy’s circle.

One thing Billy didn't realize was he had drawn his circle too small. As he peeked through the tight circle of boys, Billy could see his best friend Chris was left out. Chris was a bit smaller than the others, so he got pushed aside in the rush. Billy couldn't leave Chris out of the club. Besides, he really wanted all the boys from his block in the circle. It's just that he drew his circle too small. And now look what happened. What was he going to do?

With a big grunt Billy pushed his way out of the circle and told them, "Everybody stay right there!" He went past Chris, whose head was hanging down to his knees. He bent down and grabbed a piece of chalk, and went back to the circle. From the line of the first circle, Billy traced another line over and around the still body of Chris drawing him into a larger circle. Chris now had a smile as bright as the Saturday sun.  The other boys were relieved as they moved into this bigger circle. The first one was just too tight. Pretty soon the little game was over and the boys were all playing basketball together and running over the top of Billy's oblong circle as if it were never there.

We tend to draw circles that mark who's in and who's out. It's a part of human nature. Circle-drawing helps us identify who we are. Boundaries and circles mark our identities and define our primary relationships. We cannot survive in the world without some sense of identity. In that sense circle-drawing can be a good thing.  We draw a circle around our nation. "We are Americans." We draw circles around our race. "We are White." We draw a circle around our sexuality. "We are heterosexual." We draw a circle our wallets. "We are middle-class." Circles let us know who we are and to what groups we belong.  Circles help us to distinguish who's in and who's out, who we include and who we exclude. Circle-drawing has been practiced by cultures throughout the ages. And often circle drawing is a helpful way of clarifying our identity.

The ancient Mediterranean culture of the Bible is no exception to circle drawing. In the society of Jesus' day marking in-groups and out-groups was important. The circles were much tighter then, the lines much thicker, and less permeable. Circles divided Jews from Gentiles, Judeans from Galileans, clans and families from one another, pure from impure, sinners from righteous, followers of one Rabbi from those of another. Loyalty to those in your circle was a serious responsibility, not to be taken lightly.

From behind this cultural curtain steps John, the Circle-Drawer. John walks up to Jesus and says, "Rabbi, we saw this guy casting demons out of people. He was using your name to do it. We couldn't have him doing that in your name. He wasn't following us. So, we put a halt to that heretical nonsense." In other words, that exorcist wasn't "legitimate." The way John put it the problem was not because he wasn't following Jesus, but because he wasn't following the disciples. He wasn't part of their in-group; their inner circle. And, you know, it's critical to know who's in and who's out. Boundaries and circles can be a good thing unless they are not permeable, have no place for entry or exit for others, or cannot expand or be redrawn. John saw the circle of Jesus and his followers as a rather tight circle with little room for those who did not fit their circle’s protocol.

The history of the church follows in the heritage of John, the Circle-drawer. Just let your fingers do the walking through the Yellow Pages and what do you find? An endless list of circles; denominations and divisions in the one Body of Christ: Catholics, Greek Orthodox, Episcopalians, Methodists, African Methodist Episcopal, Presbyterians, Lutherans, Mennonites, Brethren in Christ, Church of the Brethren, Amish, Nazarene, Four Square Gospel, Full Gospel, Pentecostal, Assemblies of God, Church of God, Church of Christ, Church of God in Christ, United Church of Christ, and more varieties of Baptists than Heinz has pickles! We need denominations to help us define who's a part of our group, who's with us and who isn't. But, then we draw even smaller and tighter circles. There are not just Methodists, but particular kinds of Methodists. There are not simply Mennonites, but particular brands of more liberal or conservative Mennonites. And sometimes these circles become exclusive clubs. Folks, the church has had a bad case of John's temperament. We need to ever more clearly define who's in and who's out, who's for us and who's against us to such a degree that our circles can become nooses.

Could it be our tight circle drawing makes us feel like we're in control? No one likes to feel like things are chaotic and out of control. Circles, boundaries, and group identity markers help us gain a sense of control.  By drawing circles we control who's in and who's out. Without circles to identify where we belong? We would be confused about our identity. We need to know who the “liberals” are and who the "conservatives" are, who the gays and who the straights are, and who the Democrats and the Republicans are. Circles help us keep from being identified with "them" over there. Some of us delight in putting people in labeled boxes, or identifiable circles. But that doesn’t always work. I don’t think it works for me. Am I a liberal? Well, yes, and no. Am I a Mennonite? Of course, but not in some ways. Am I a minister? Seems obvious, but in many ways I don’t fit well in those circles. You see, some of us don’t always fit so neatly into the circles other want to fit us in. Fitting ourselves or others into certain circles may make us or our group feel more secure. It can even make us feel like we're in control of things.

Our circle drawing can also become a means of trying to control others by monopolizing power, material goods, and even God's Spirit. In other words, we define those people outside our circle as illegitimate, illegal, unauthorized, unofficial, and even un-godly. That's what happened in the story of Moses when the Spirit fell not only on the elders around the tent, but also upon Eldad and Medad, who prophesied along with the best of them out in the camp.  In a tone of voice very similar to John's, Joshua said to Moses, "Stop them! They aren't legitimate prophets. They are not within the circle. They don't have our official stamp of approval."

We want to orchestrate the movement of the Spirit, become power-brokers of the divine, and have a monopoly on grace. When we seek to draw our Christian circles too tight we're really trying to control God's wild Spirit. In essence we're saying: "This is our show, God. We'll say what your work is and what it isn't, what's legitimate and what isn't. We'll define who's in and who's out, who's for us and who's against us. And by the way, God, you know those charismatics? I have a hard time identifying with them. They’re a bunch of emotional kooks. What they call "the movement of the Spirit" is just getting themselves all worked up into a lather. It's staged. No matter how much they lift their hands in the air and say the name of "Jeeeeeeeezus!" that's not your Spirit. Since they're not one of us, they ought to stop that nonsense."  Can't you hear the circles being drawn? Oh, if only God would pour the Spirit out on all people!  Who can control the wind? Who can monopolize God's power? Who can encompass the perimeter of the Spirit? We may try. Probably because we need to feel like we're in control.

That's about the time Jesus comes along and blows our circles wide open. He perforates, breaks open, erases, and redraws our airtight circles. When John wanted to stop the maverick exorcist, Jesus said, "Don't stop the guy. Nobody whose liberatin' people in my name is gonna say bad things about me. You know what. This is the gospel truth. Anyone who isn't against us is for us." Wow! Kabloom! Jesus blows wide open our in-group/out-group mentality. He throws into question our circle drawing that seeks to identify who's for us and who's against us. Jesus is being extremely tolerant. His circle is open. Dare we call him "liberal?"  No. That would just draw a tight circle around him.

Jesus refuses to live within the cramped circles and impenetrable barriers we erect. He contests the practice of confining God's liberating, healing, and transforming action to a particular group, gender, religious institution, or political perspective. What? Do you mean that God is not a Republican or a Democrat? Jesus challenges his followers to see God's reign outside their own constricted spheres. We see Jesus' open circle in his conversation with a Samaritan woman at a well, his healing of the servant of a Roman centurion (Israel's oppressors), his dining with tax-collectors and sinners, his welcoming of children, his touching lepers, his defying the hoops drawn around race, gender, age, occupation, and the "pure." Jesus redraws our circles when he raises questions like: Who are my friends? Who are my enemies? Who are my brothers and sisters, and mother? Who's greatest in the kingdom of God? Who's first and who's last? Who is my neighbor? I hear the inclusive spirit of Jesus playing in the words of this poem, a favorite of John Oyer I hear :

He drew a circle that

shut me out---

heretic, rebel, a thing to flout,

but love and I had the wit to win

we drew a circle that took him in

We draw circles that keep people out. Then, Jesus comes along and redraws our compressed circles. Jesus’s love draws circles that include people.

That's probably because Jesus knew God works outside our narrow circles. God is bigger than our tiny circles. We can't draw a circle big enough to contain God. God needs a lot of space to work! That's because God is boundless. God can't be squeezed into our closed circles of time, space, knowledge, and language. God transcends all human categories. God bursts out of our confined circles. We worship an infinite God who cannot be carried around in our pockets, in our heads, in our Bibles, in our denominations, or even within our Christian faith. God is alive and active outside our confined human categories and classifications, boxes and boundaries. The Spirit of God is healing, liberating, transforming, and recreating people outside our circles. God's presence and liberating acts are unbounded by our human circles.

The work of our unlimited God cannot be confined to our particular in-group. As a matter of fact, if our circles are too narrow, we may exclude God. Once a sinner was excommunicated and forbidden entry into a small church. He took his woes to God. "They won't let me in their circle, God, because I am a sinner." "What are you complaining about?" said God. "They won't let me in either!" I've wondered whether the Father, in the story of the prodigal son, ran to meet his wayward child with arms formed in an open circle. We cannot contain God's love and action within the narrow constraints of our closed circles.

The church needs to have her eyes forever looking outside her circles, for those who have been excluded and left out of her circles. Even more so, we need to keep our hearts peeled for the Christ outside our circles present in the thirsty, hungry, naked, imprisoned, forgotten and forsaken. We need to keep our hearts peeled for the Spirit outside our circles working miracles among those not in our in-group. We need to keep our hearts peeled for the God outside our circles dancing on the edges of eternity!

We watched earlier a slideshow of a Bridging Cultures beach trip. Bridging Cultures is a good example of the church drawing its circle ever wider to include others normally outside our circles of association. For God is outside our circles drawing us into more expansive circles. Where can we begin to draw our circle wider to be more inclusive of others?

I woke up in bed one morning with an unusual word stuck like a splinter in my morning mind: perichoresis; a rather odd word. I don't know how it got there. I dug it out and looked it up. It's a Greek word whose root denotes continued circular movement, like that of a spinning wheel. A related word is perichoreuo, which means to "dance in a ring or circle." The word perichoresis was used in the early centuries of the Eastern Church to describe the intertwining, encircling movement of the persons of the Trinity. This word stirs up a wonderful image in my imagination. It's a mystic vision of the new heaven and new earth that is to come; an undivided community, a united humanity; a time when all human circles have faded into the boundless circle of God.

             Imagine God as a divine Circle Dancer,

            a heavenly whirling dervish,

            who has been extending a hand to the world

            throughout the ages

            to lead all creation in a celestial folk dance in the round.

           

            God is inviting us all to join the circle dance.

            We're being called to twist and twirl,

            to follow the lead of God's light feet,

            turning and turning and ever turning in a never ending,

            inclusive circle of God's joyful, life-giving movement

            across the floor of time.

 

            Oh, to be caught up in the Spirit's swing and swirl

            until all dividing circles disappear

            and we fall  dizzy

            into the encircling embrace of God! Hallelujah!