Give an Account

October 26, 2008
Luke 1:1-6; 1 Peter 3:10-18
Accounting seems to be pretty important these days when so many accounts seem so out of balance. Thus it strikes me as both perfectly appropriate and profoundly important to speak together today about what it means to give an account, to take account, to account for ourselves.
In a few minutes, session will present a draft budget for the congregation for 2009. That’s one way that we account for our common life. A few moments ago, we baptized a new disciple of Jesus Christ and welcomed into membership in our common life at Clarendon four people committed to trying to follow the way of Jesus in the world. They were asked – along with the rest of us – to state their purpose, to give an account of their trust in Jesus as lord and savior. That’s another way that we account for ourselves.
The author of Luke clearly understood the importance of giving account for his trust in Jesus, for telling the story of how he understood Jesus as lord and savior. The author of 1 Peter knew that followers of Jesus would be asked to give account for their own commitments to Jesus as lord and savior.
So here we stand, October 26, 2008, the church of Jesus Christ at Clarendon. People of the way of Christ, living in what many cultural commentators are calling a critical historical juncture, what New Testament writers might have called a kairos moment – are we prepared to give an account of the hope that is in us?
Ezekiel understood the power of giving an account. Speak a word of hope to the dry bones in the valley and they will rise up again with new life and dance. Offer a testimony to a future otherwise and the people will rise to embrace it. That is what it means to give testimony, and speaking that word of hope to the world is central to our common life.
Christian faith has always been a personal matter, but it has never been a private possession. We are called to share it with the world, to give an account of the hope that is within us.
Diana Butler Bass suggests that “Testimony is not about God fixing people. Rather, it speaks of God making wholeness out of human woundedness, human incompleteness.”
While not identical with preaching, testimony does involve what Walter Brueggemann, in his seminal work Testimony to Otherwise, said in defining preaching: “the chance to summon and nurture an alternative community with an alternative identity, vision, and vocation, preoccupied with praise and obedience toward the God we Christians know fully in Jesus of Nazareth.”
We call forth a future otherwise when we speak to the way that God is active in our lives because God at work in our lives is always at work on bringing into being the kingdom of God in our time. This is the hope that is within me as God works in my life. So let me give an account this morning for the hope that is within me.
What is the nature of this hope? Well, what is the nature of the wholeness that we seek and of the woundedness that we bear?
I had my initial contact with Clarendon Presbyterian Church just about six years ago, when I found the pastoral position posted on the PC(U.S.A.) web site. The story – the testimony – of the common hope for a more just and welcoming church, a congregation trying to live out the love and the justice of the gospel of Jesus Christ resonated deeply with me. The courageous and outspoken commitment to sharing the gospel with those long marginalized by the church and the commitment to giving voice to those long silenced spoke to me.
The effort to maintain and grow that witness from a small, struggling institution – well, truth be told, that scared me. The thought of moving to a place where the cost of living was going to outpace our prospects for making a living was certainly a bit intimidating. The challenge of learning how to lead in this context was just this side of overwhelming.
Nevertheless, I believed from the beginning of our common ministry more than five years ago that God has called us together for just such a time as this.
We are, all of us, broken in some way, and the specifics of the wounds suffered in this community give us some equally specific and powerful gifts as well. Let me offer my testimony on how I see God making wholeness out of our woundedness, shalom out of our brokenness.
Because this is the Sunday of our fall congregational meeting, I’m going to frame this testimony around the way that we organize our common life and lift up some specific instances of God at work in this common life and work. And, because we should always work with an attitude of gratitude, I’m going to testify to the way God is at work in and through the lives of some specific individuals to whom I want to express profound thanks for being Christ to me during the past 12 months.
About exactly one year ago I was struggling through one of the periodic bouts of depression that are part of my genetic inheritance. The focal point of that depression was the sense that we were stuck here at Clarendon in an unproductive kind of dance rhythm of two steps up and three steps back, three steps up and two steps back – going nowhere fast.
A little over a year ago session set some fairly ambitious goals for increasing worship attendance, membership, participation and giving. I was, frankly, in a funk about the prospect of attaining any of them, and while it gives me no pleasure to say it, it does not grieve me much this morning to report that we have not met any of the measureable goals that we set.
Attendance is about where it was last fall – hovering between 45-50 most Sundays. Our pledges came in a few thousand dollars short of what we initially talked about, and we are running a little bit behind on fulfilling what we did pledge.
But you know what? I am filled this morning with a profound sense of gratitude and hope. Why?
Well maybe we set certain goals a bit too soon. Maybe not. And maybe we’re measuring only part of what we should or could. Maybe not.
Whatever the case on determining the proper metrics for church vitality, I am standing before you this morning to testify that the Spirit of God is alive and well in this small community and that the people of God are responding to that Spirit in remarkable ways.
We’ve witnessed it already this morning as we welcomed a few more folks into this fellowship and as we celebrate the baptism of a young woman who is finding her way with God in our midst.
We’ve witnessed such growth in the lives of many of our members over the past year, so I want to invite a few folks to stand up here with me.
To begin with, I want the young people and all those who have worked with them to join me. You have been incredibly faithful this year: painting the nursery, painting the clinic room, sharing music with us, inspiring us with you energy and enthusiasm. So I want to give y’all a small token of my gratitude with this book of songs, and the promise that I will gladly work with you to learn them so we can teach them to the whole community.
While you are up here, do you have any testimony – anything you’d like to say about what church means for you, or about what y’all are working on together?

Next, will all the folks who have helped with the worship planning team during the past year come up please?
We have experienced a sense of authentic worship revival at Clarendon during the past year, thanks be to God and to the energy, imagination and love of this group. We’ve experienced the power of testimony in our worship during Advent, Lent and through the summer. We look forward to more of the same in the months to come, and toward that end I’m pleased to give this group both props and resources.
While you are up here, do you have any testimony to offer concerning the ways that we have worshipped, the ways your own sense of God’s presence in your life has been enhanced, or any hints of things to come?

My own definition of worship is pretty expansive. I think whenever we gather together and God is honored or praised and God’s creation is loved we have worshipped. One of the things that has lifted my soul over and again during the past year is sharing meals with you. Another has been sharing music with you. Both of those experiences have been greatly enhanced by the great improvements we have made together to our space.
So, I want to invite up all the folks who have painted, scrubbed, measured, or otherwise labored in this vineyard to make it a more welcoming place. And, at the same time, I want all those folks who have cooked for Wii Kirk or cooked for the More Light Annual Meeting to come up. And, I want all those folks who have served as greeters for worship services or other events to come up as well.
As we talked about in worship a couple of weeks ago, hospitality is a central practice of Christian faith. We express our faith in God and our commitment to follow the way of Jesus in the way that welcome strangers into our midst. Making and breaking bread together is one of the ways we express that hospitality. So I want to offer you two things that capture the work of the past year for me: a paint brush and some cookies!
While you are up here, do you have any testimony to offer concerning the ways that we have offered hospitality during the past year or any hints of things to come?

When God’s presence in our lives becomes powerful and real we respond, inevitably and inescapably, with acts of service for the sake of the least of these, the powerless and the outcast. I do not claim to understand precisely why that is so, I simply stand here as a witness. I have seen it over and over and over again, and can testify to this truth: when we become God-filled we are love-filled and it overflows and touches lives all around us.
So, I want to invite up here all those who have bagged groceries at AFAC during the past year, all those who helped with the More Light Annual Meeting, all those who helped paint the children’s clinic room last spring, and those who supported our work with the women’s shelter last Christmas.
The love of God flows through us as we seek to follow the risen Christ, and as we see Christ in one another and in the least of these our sisters and brothers we hear and respond to the call of Jesus to serve and love and welcome all those who so desperately need to hear a word of love and acceptance, those who so desperately need to feel an embrace, to be fed, to be clothed, to find a measure of justice and of peace.
It is for those, and in honor of you who have given of yourselves, that I offer up these gifts of food for AFAC and personal care items for Doorways.
While you are up here, do you have any testimony to offer concerning the ways that we have offered compassion and service during the past year or any hints of things to come?

All of this work and worship would not be possible without the careful stewardship of our financial gifts. So I want to invite up everyone who has worked on the budget and finances, everyone who has counted on a Sunday morning, and, now, everyone who as contributed financially to the work and witness of the congregation.
I wish I can offer a gift of treasure in your honor that would, once and for all, close our budget gap, but I cannot. So I’ll simply pledge to you that we will continue to work in our household to be faithful to God’s call to be generous with what we have been given.
While you are up here, do you have any testimony to offer concerning the ways that we have offered from our treasure during the past year or any hints of things to come?

Finally, as I look around at each of you this morning, gathered here around font and table, I am mindful of that old Civil War-era hymn. Through all the tumult and the strife, how can I keep from singing.
So I am grateful this morning for the gift of song, and since the choir and Amy are already up here, let me express my gratitude with a couple of gifts for y’all in the form of music.

As I look around this morning I know that my testimony is embodied in you. Christians understand truth as revealed in and through the relationship of humanity with God in Jesus. Truth is not some abstract tenant out there waiting for us to argue it out correctly. Truth is incarnate in real human lives. The hope that is within me rests on that truth as it is incarnate in you. The testimony of our faithfulness is the lives that we are together leading in this place. Some folks look around here and see a valley of dry bones. I look – and listen – and discern the spirit of God blowing through us with power and might.
So as I look back over the last year, I can see with the clarity of hindsight the ways that God is bringing forth wholeness through the brokenness of our lives, and as I look forward with, shall we say, the clarity of hope, I do firmly testify that God is working still in this place and we shall, as the psalmist put it, see the glory of the Lord in the land of the living. Thanks be to God.

Secret Garden

Psalm 61; Matthew 26:36-45
October 19, 2008
Let’s begin with a contemplative reading of this familiar passage. Listen for a word or phrase that seems to shine or resonate for you; listen, then, for a word from God:
Then Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, ‘Sit here while I go over there and pray.’ 37He took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be grieved and agitated. 38Then he said to them, ‘I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me.’ 39And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, ‘My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.’ 40Then he came to the disciples and found them sleeping; and he said to Peter, ‘So, could you not stay awake with me one hour? 41Stay awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial;* the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.’ 42Again he went away for the second time and prayed, ‘My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done.’ 43Again he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were heavy. 44So leaving them again, he went away and prayed for the third time, saying the same words. 45Then he came to the disciples and said to them, ‘Are you still sleeping and taking your rest?’
What did you hear?

As I was contemplating contemplation last week I kept returning to this passage. In this scene of extremis, Jesus does what a faithful person, a God-oriented person does when facing a time of great trial. He prays.
Perhaps more to the point, first he merely stays awake. Peter, James and John cannot keep their eyes open. To be faithful, then, means first to be awake, to be attentive to the signs of the times around you.
Jesus retreats to the garden to pray, but his contemplative prayer is not an escape from the world but rather an awakening to the world and God’s active presence in it.
It seems to me that this is the heart of contemplative prayer, and that, therefore, contemplative prayer is at the heart of Christian life.
I don’t know how many of you noticed it this morning, but Karen Kimmel created a beautiful wall hanging for the narthex that reads: “enter to pray, leave to serve.” That rhythm of prayer and service, worship and action, praise and struggle is the joyous dance of the people of God.
So, what is this thing called contemplative prayer that is so crucial to faithful living?
Trappist monk Thomas Merton described it this way: “Prayer is then not just a formula of words, or a series of desires springing up in the heart – it is the orientation of our whole body, mind and spirit to God in silence, attention, and adoration. All good meditative prayer is a conversion of our entire self to God.”
Contemplative prayer, then, is about personal integrity, about our wholeness, about, that is to say, shalom. It is, as Jesus’ prayers in the garden demonstrate, about aligning our lives with God’s active will in the world. It is, as Jesus clearly understood, about finding stillness in the midst of the craziness of the world so that the still, small voice of God can echo in the chambers of our longing hearts.
In that sense, contemplative prayer is about unplugging from all the usual outlets that bind our time and lives into perpetual busyness, and plugging into God.
When I put it that way, I realize quite quickly what a challenging practice contemplative prayer is. Like most of you, I live a pretty wired life. Some folks speak of giving their lives to God; I feel more often like I’ve given my life to Google. Rather than searching my soul, I search the world wide web. Rather than set aside time for prayer, I open my Google calendar and find my time filled with all manner of activities. And when the busyness ceases for a moment or two, rather than seek God in nature or in scripture or in holy conversation, I collapse in front of my computer screen and seek escape on YouTube. I wonder if any of you share that feeling from time to time – whatever your particular means of escape.
It’s telling that the Chinese characters for busyness can be translated as “soul killing.”
I want to be a disciple of Jesus Christ, but I find myself thinking, “it’s no wonder the disciples fell asleep.”
While they certainly didn’t have the panoply of consumer distractions that fill our days and empty our purses, the feeling of distracted busyness is nothing new under the sun. We may have perfected it to the point of “entertaining ourselves to death,” but clearly Jesus’ followers had a hard time staying awake to the presence of God as well.
So, what are we to do?
The great wisdom teaching of 12-step programs reminds us that the journey toward wholeness begins in recognition of our brokenness. That’s why we’re focusing on Christian practices this fall, and that’s why we’ve shaped this worship around silence and contemplation – stepping into the experience can remind us both of its absence in so much of the rest of our lives, and also provide us a bit of experiential learning of a few prayerful practices.
That’s why we lit so many candles this morning: to lift up the practice of finding a focal point for your contemplations and the practice of holding our concerns and our celebrations in the light. That’s why we’ve sat in silence together this morning: to remind ourselves of the deep human need for stillness, and of the trust in community required from us in order to sit together quietly. That’s why we engaged in a bit of lectio divina, or divine reading, of the Gethsemane story together. That is an ancient monastic practice of Bible study as prayer – listening for a word from God in scripture.
In the days and weeks and months ahead, we will continue to pray together, to study together, to seek God in the quiet beauty of this place and also in the work that we do together to be God’s hands in the world breaking in the kingdom of God one bag of groceries at a time, one shared meal at a time, one song at a time, one moment of silence at a time, one prayer at a time, one step at a time.
Jesus understood the wisdom of working, eating, praying and studying together. One imagines that, as a good Jewish man, he would have turned often to the psalms for inspiration and consolation – in other words, in prayer. So, as we try to be faithful followers, as we try to stay awake in the world, let the words of the psalmist be our affirmation and our amen this morning.
Psalm 61 is printed in the bulletin. I invite you to find it now and we will read it together, with men reading the odd verses and women the even verses:
1Hear my cry, O God;
listen to my prayer.
2From the end of the earth I call to you,
when my heart is faint.
Lead me to the rock
that is higher than I;
3for you are my refuge,
a strong tower against the enemy.
4Let me abide in your tent forever,
find refuge under the shelter of your wings.
5For you, O God, have heard my vows;
you have given me the heritage of those who fear your name.
8So I will always sing praises to your name,
as I pay my vows day after day.

Heart Surgery

October 12, 2008
Ezekiel 36:22-32; Matthew 13:10-20
When Ed White joined us for worship last month he reflected back on growing up during the Great Depression, noting that while his family was poor, so was everybody else. He spoke of the pulling together in the nation and the bond of common suffering. Over the years, I’ve talked with lots of folks – including my parents – who lived through those days, and most all of them speak about it in the same terms such that you almost wish you were there.
And, well … be careful what you wish for!
Recession. Depression. Financial crisis. Global credit crunch.
Call it what you will, and I certainly do not pretend any insight, expertise or even a decent clue about the current state of the economy or about what’s around the next bend.
Indeed, as I wrote these words in the middle of last week, I did so with only two certainties in mind:
First, what I wrote on Wednesday could be turned completely upside down by Friday, and my words from Thursday could well be irrelevant by Sunday. I did not say that all certainties would be comforting.
But, second, this certainty: Jesus Christ is lord and savior, thus I can be certain that though the wrong be oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.
I’ve heard a few folks ask over the past several weeks, “where is God in the midst of all this?”
I can’t help but think of the story of Jesus, asleep in the stern in the midst of the storm at sea. When his disciples, in a panic, wake him up, he simply says, “where’s your faith?”
I like to imagine that he followed that up with, “let me get some sleep now.”
That’s the Jesus who speaks to us right now, in the midst of this storm: where is your faith?
As it was for Jesus’ followers then, it is for his followers today a simple question: where is our faith? In whom do we trust? What is, for us, right now the heart of the matter?
Is it our 401k statements? Is it the front page headlines? “Global Rate Cuts Fail to Contain Crisis,” screamed the Post on Thursday morning. Is it the political news – does our hope rest in John McCain or Barack Obama?
It’s not that those are unimportant, or that there’s no difference, or that the choices – political, economic, social – that face us don’t matter.
It’s rather this: our well being, our wholeness, our shalom rests on something far deeper than the Dow, far more profound than the Post, far more permanent than our politics.
Christian faith has always been about healing and wholeness, and while it has always been personal it has never been private. Thus, as we consider the present moment and the fractured, unsettled, frightened feelings that so many of us share, remember your own baptism this morning.
You and I, we entered into a community of care and concern and compassion when we were baptized, just as we welcomed Benjamin into that community this morning. It is a community formed and shaped around the singular notion that belonging to one another in Christ brings us wholeness, healing and peace.
That was the heart of the Jesus movement from its inception. Everywhere he went, people were touched, restored, healed and made whole. Jesus was, and remains, many things to many people, and there’s precious little agreement about a lot of it. But one thing everyone agrees on is this: Jesus was a healer – of bodies and souls, of individuals and communities. Where he went, shalom followed.
And most of all, where Jesus went, hearts were healed. He was the great surgeon of the heart.
In our culture and language, when we use the heart as metaphor it speaks of feelings and emotions. In Jesus’ culture and language, the heart was more than that – it was used metaphorically much the way we use soul, or perhaps mind when we use that to suggest something including but more than intellect.
Jesus understood that his followers – indeed, his age – needed nothing so much as to get a new mind for a new time, to have their hearts restored.
As I look around right now, I am struck by that same necessity. We must get a new mind for this new time, we must have our hearts restored.
The church has always been, at its best, a place of healing hearts. We find this healing in many ways, but they can be reduced to two: pray and act. We pray and act for justice. We pray and act for peace. We pray and act for wholeness.
I was visiting with Bobbie English last week, and she was giving thanks for our prayers and marveling at the amount of food that members of this community have brought her as her own heart heals. She said, with a typical Bobbie laugh, “I can feel the love.” We pray and act for healing.
That is the heart of the matter.
I fundamentally believe that they best way through our own difficulties, our own brokenness, our own suffering is through the suffering of others. That is to say, if you want to get through this – whatever this is – then join in solidarity with others who are suffering. Compassion – suffering with. Jesus said to his followers, “be compassionate as your father in heaven is compassionate.”
Those words speak to us now. We are called to pray and act on behalf of the suffering of the world even as we ourselves suffer.
Baptism is both the invitation into this suffering and the sign and seal of the promise that we will never suffer alone in this community. Baptism, as such, is the first step into our own redemption and restoration, our own wholeness and communion with God and with one another in this community of compassion.
As God promised the ancient community to whom Ezekiel spoke, “I will sprinkle clean water upon you, and you shall be clean from all your uncleannesses, and from all your idols I will cleanse you. A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.”
So, this morning, remember your own baptism. Feel your own heart restored as you recall those cleansing waters of restoration.
This is a time for healing, a time for seeking wholeness, for the world is surely broken and in need of a bit of heart surgery.
In the midst of writing this last week, I caught author Sarah Vowell on NPR Talk of the Nation, talking about her new book on the Puritans. Her commentary led me to look up John Winthrop's sermon, "A Model of Christian Charity," in which he holds the New World up as a city on a hill. His words rung true to both our historical moment and to the question of how we practice the healing as a community, how we perform surgery of the heart.
Winthrop wrote the piece during the 1630 crossing of the Atlantic as the Puritans came to America to found that city on the hill, and lay claim to their share of its promise. The Puritans' vision surely foundered on the shoals of reality and their own excesses -- including Winthrop's -- but Winthrop's advice to those voyagers resonate today as the nation struggles in the rough water of a battered economy and a diminished politics.
"Now the only way to avoid this shipwreck, and to provide for our posterity, is to follow the counsel of Micah, to do justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly with our God. For this end, we must be knit together, in this work, as one man. We must entertain each other in brotherly affection. We must be willing to abridge ourselves of our superfluities, for the supply of others’ necessities. We must uphold a familiar commerce together in all meekness, gentleness, patience and liberality. We must delight in each other; make others’ conditions our own; rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together, always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, as members of the same body. So shall we keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace."
May it be so for us today. Amen.

Holy Listening

October 5, 2008
Isaiah 6; John 1:43-51
The cell phone rings.
“Hello? Uh, no. Sorry, you must have the wrong number.”
Sorry about that. She was looking for a Dawid. So, to begin
– the cell phone rings again
“Hello? Sorry. Look I told you before you have the wrong number
… what’s that? No, my name is David. Who did you say you were?
The great I Am?
… Oh, that’s OK, no problem. Oh … a Hebrew pronunciation. Yeah, most folks mess up my last name.
… Right. Yeah, I suppose I don’t have any name problems compared to you with the whole I am who I am thing.
Uh … God? Look, I’m really busy right now. I’m right in the middle of worship.
What’s that? What better time to talk to God? Uh … right.
Look, could we talk later, maybe this afternoon? You could come to me in a dream during my nap.
Now? Well I was just beginning my sermon.
What’s it called? Oh, I named this one “Holy Listening.”
What’s it about? Well, I was going to talk about discernment.
Yeah, discernment … you know, listening for God’s call and vocation and that kind of thing.
Yeah, you’re right. Kind of ironic.
Yes, you do have a good sense of humor. I agree.
Yes, I have always thought the duck-billed platypus was kind of funny.
No, no I meant really funny.
Is everybody in the congregation laughing, too?
Yes, indeed. They agree, you have a heavenly sense of humor.
Oh, sorry.
Right. I’ll stick to preaching and leave the stand up to you.
Excuse me, God, the congregation would like to know if I could put you on speaker?
Oh, right. You hate that echo effect. Yeah, me too.
The sermon? Yes, on call and discernment.
Well, I was going to throw together a few good quotations about discernment, like this one from the Catholic theologian, Wendy Wright, who says, “discernment requires that we pay attention. … [It] is about feeling texture, assessing weight, watching the plumb line, listening for overtones, searching for shards, feeling the quickening, surrendering to love.”
… Yeah, I liked that one. Especially the part about paying attention. I have a friend who says she thinks of discernment simply as waking up to what’s really going on around you.
… Yes, that’s Leanne Hodges, how’d you know?
Oh, right. The omniscient thing. Must come in handy now and then.
Then there’s Parker Palmer, the Quaker, who talks about listening to your life, and letting your life speak. I like the idea of paying attention, day by day, to our own life stories.
… What’s that? What about my own story of discerning call?
I guess a big part of that for me has come in paying attention to turning points in my own life, and trying to figure out where you were in them, and where you were nudging me. I must say, it’s highly unusual to get a phone call about this. You’re usually a bit more obtuse and obscure – no offense.
Non taken? Good.
Yes, I know this is just my imagination at work – but you gave me that gift and besides, it’s kind of fun having this chat.
Anyway, where was I?
Oh, right, my own story and turning points.
Well, one of them came way back in 1995, when I heard the story from John that we read here a couple of minutes ago – the one about Philip and Nathanial. Cheryl and I were dipping our toes in the water of church again after a long absence.
… excuse me? Oh, well, you know, we were busy starting a family and finishing school and so on. … I know, we didn’t call, we didn’t write, we didn’t come to visit. What, are you some kind of Jewish mother? … And father, right! Well, look, I’m sorry. I’m here now, OK.
Anyway, the preacher read that story and preached a sermon about it. I really don’t remember the sermon at all. … Yeah, I know, nobody remembers sermons. Maybe you should call better story tellers.
What’s that? You work with what you’ve got?
Anyway, the preacher talked about how even some of Jesus’ first disciples didn’t know what to make of him, and how they had a lot of doubts, but found something in that invitation to “come and see” that was irresistible. And I guess we did, too.
That church was having a meeting right after worship, not a big, long thing, just a simple brief informational gathering for people interesting in exploring membership, in coming and seeing. So we did, and the rest, as they say, is history.
… Who says that? Lots of people, it’s a common expression. No, it doesn’t mean I think I’m going down in history books. It’s just what happened.
… Well, yes, I suppose what happened was that we learned a bit better how to listen for you and look for you day by day to figure out what you were calling us to do.
… Yes, that’s why I called this sermon “Holy Listening,” because it’s about listening for what is holy in your life.
What’s that? I could have spelled it with a “w” and still called in “wholly listening”? Yes, it would have been a good pun. Yes, God, you do have a killer sense of humor. No, no, I’m not just saying that to make you feel good.
… Are you as funny as Jon Stewart? Oh, I’m sure you must be. No, really.
(aside) wow, now I understand that part about the “jealous God.”
Oh, nothing, just speaking with the congregation for a moment. Remember? The middle of worship? Sermon. No, really, no problem.
… Yes, you’re absolutely right, of course. We should be talking together as a community about listening for you. That’s why we are beginning an exploring membership group, and a CALL group, and we’re doing the Saving Jesus stuff, too.
… What’s that? Jesus has always needed saving? He was a problem child and you always had to worry about him getting in trouble? Really. Well, we’re trying our best to follow the example he set. … Yes, we’ll be careful. Thanks for your concern. … Right, just doing your job as the compassionate creator of the universe.
So, God, can I ask you a question? Yes. I am wondering if this call and discernment stuff really works. I mean, all my life I’ve been trying to listen for you and figure out what you want me to do with my life, and I’m never really sure that I’m on the right track.
Yes, you did call this morning, and I really appreciate it – yes, I do recall that it’s all in my imagination, but I’m OK with that. Anyway, I’m still wondering about the call stuff. I mean, Isaiah saw all those wacky heavenly creatures when he heard your call.
What’s that? Isaiah was a little wacked himself … and always kind of wordy. But the important thing was he said, “here I am, Lord.” That makes sense, but still, that was a long, long time ago, and, you said yourself, he was a little wacked.
Who’s that? Sorry, I didn’t catch the name? Oh, yes, Nat, from the CALL program here last fall. Yes, she was really searching. Yes, she didn’t really like her job at the television station. Oh, yeah, she really loves working with horses. What’s that? Yes, I guess that’s true, her experience of listening in community for your call helped her name that love, that passion and her own gifts, and I think it did give her the courage to go for it. Yes, it’s really cool, she quit her job and she moved to North Carolina to work with horses. What’s that? That’s exactly where you wanted her to be all along? That’s really great.
No, I’m not just saying that. It is really great when we figure out where we ought to be and who we ought to be and how we ought to be.
Hm … when we find ourselves there, that is when we begin to minister? That’s interesting … well, more than interesting. Right, it’s crucial. Yes, I agree – it is the entire point of living – to be in ministry in the world. No, of course not. Not all ministries of word and sacrament, but ministries of teaching, of healing, of feeding, of caring, of leading, of serving the least of these.
Yes, I think all of us hunger for that.
You have to run now? Really? A star about to go super-nova? You just love watching that kind of thing? Hey, it sounds pretty cool to me. Have fun!
Right. You’re God and it’s a pretty good gig.
Thanks for the call. Bye now.
Right, you just say, “amen.”
Wow! No minutes at all. God must have a great call plan.
Let me close with an observation from theologian Mark McIntosh:
From there first encounter with the crucified and risen Jesus, believers have been drawn into a worshipping community where truth has given itself to be known in the creation of new life together. Spiritual discernment has arisen naturally and most necessarily for such a common life, because it reflects the pressure of a living truth – refusing partiality and bias, pushing beyond individual understanding, opening the discerning community to the creative, self-sharing life from which all truth springs. Discerning truth could never be a lonely form of life. The truth humanity hungers for seems far too large a feast for solitary diners. It requires a sharing far too joyful for any but the truly wise. For they alone discern the depth of thanks most justly due so great a giver. Knowing the giver in each gift, they are themselves set free from small desires and awake to God’s desire in every thing; they discern its truth in praise.
Let us give thanks and praise to the giver of life. Let us gather at this table. Let us join in the feast. Amen.